#figuring out what to do on the fly with the momentum I am given

[the-punforgiven]

Y'know how people always talk about weed being a "gateway drug" that leads into doing heavier and heavier drugs as you go on?

That's what longsword was to me, I tried fighting with a greatsword yesterday and I can't go back, I need another hit already lol

[astranite]

Squid Hug!

Not ThunderPride and probably late for Gordon day, but have some FishTank fluffy hurt/comfort instead! I am tired and the gender fluid/genderqueer Gordon thing I am writing is currently not cooperating. I just had a really clear image in my head of Gordon running up to people he loves and full body tackle hugging them!

Small warning for a mention of Gordon's hydrofoil accident but that's all I think.

Enjoy :)

------

“Squid hug!” Gordon exclaimed before taking a running leap at Virgil. 

Virgil barely had time to brace before kilograms of flying squid collided with him, all limbs wrapping around Virgil. The momentum made him stagger, and Gordon was lucky they both didn’t go down to the ground. His arms instinctively went around Gordon to support him even as Gords clung to him like a particularly insistent barnacle, or possibly cephalopod. 

“Can’t breathe, Fish,” he reminded, because those tentacle-like appendages were vice tight around his neck. 

Gordon loosened his grip with a sheepish, “Sorry Virge.”

Equilibrium and oxygen re-gained, Virgil was free to ask, “What’s up, Squid?”

“Nothing,” Gordon muttered and buried his face at Virgil’s shoulder. 

The obstinate avoidance rang alarm bells. It was characteristic for Gordon deflect using humour to play a bad situation off as a joke, but nearly unheard of for Gordon to outright refuse to answer his questions. Virgil’s brows drew together, knowing Gordon was unable to see his concern, with how he was hiding against his shirt.

“When it’s nothing, usually give me a little more warning.” Not much more, but there was something else going on here setting off Virgil’s big brother senses.

He jostled Gordon gently, “You okay?”

The only effect it had was to make Gordon’s arms and legs tighten once more. His fingers bunched in Virgil’s flannel and his ankles hooked together behind his back. It was pretty clear he didn’t want to go anywhere.

Virgil felt as if Gordon was attempting to press them close enough to turn them into a single, eight limbed entity. Which was a very Gordon thing to do.

But it was also so Virgil couldn’t let him go.

Oh Gords. 

Virgil rubbed a hand over Gordon’s tense back and shoulders and just held him. 

“I’ve got you, it’s alright,” he murmured. 

Gordon was physically affectionate as a rule, always bumping elbows with siblings and sitting near enough to lean on someone. He’d had been that way ever since he was small. The the nickname ‘Squid’ was given from the way he clung on, more than from his swimming abilities. Unlike Alan, who quickly got to the stage of whining to be let down to run around like the big kids, Gordy never grew out of wanting to be carried around. Unless he sensed you were trying to keep him out of some sort of mischief and then it was like attempting to prevent a slippery wriggling fish from escape.

Gordon was always most comfortable sharing a personal space bubble. On bad days he was downright clingy, refusing to be out of touching range of anyone. 

Virgil never minded. Not before and not after, when a teary Gordon in the thick of recovering from the accident had confessed to how much it scared him to be left drifting and unmoored when he was in pain and alone. How contact was one of the only things that could make the unbearable even the slightest bit better. Virgil spent many long nights in the hospital and after gripping Gordon’s hand when he was hurting too much for even a hug. This was better, so much better than that. 

Sure, having someone in his space could get annoying, especially when he was doing maintenance on his ‘bird or working on his art. A inadvertent knock sending delicate mechanical components skittering across the floor. Chattering commentary interrupting his thoughts. A shadow leaning over his shoulder to see what he was doing, blocking the light from reaching his page. 

They figured it out. Gordon would sit on Virgil’s workshop bench, swinging his legs, but careful of where he poked curious fingers. Virgil had a set of noise-cancelling headphones to play his own music through, for when everything got to be too much. He picked up a marine-themed sticker book, because a bored fish was a troublesome one, which occupied Gordon for several hours, tucked into Virgil’s side and engrossed in placing sea creatures just so, while Virgil finished colouring a drawing he’d been meaning to get to for some time. Gordon learnt not to get between an artist and their light source because Virgil’s old fashioned paper sketchbook does not glow like a tablet.

Accidents were forgiven. After a bump to Virgil’s arm sent his pencil scribbling across his page, he was hugging an apologetic Gordon to his side and working out how to incorporate the extra line into the rest of his drawing. When Virgil just needed his own space for a bit, he helped to find Scott or John or Alan instead. Gordon dealt with splatters of paint and mechanical oil finding their way onto his already colourful shirts too.

Sometimes, after rescues or his own nightmares, Virgil needed the contact just as much. Plus, he loved hugs.

Right now, he held onto Gordon, even if they were standing in the middle of the lounge, even if he had other places he could be. That didn’t matter. Virgil could take Gordon’s weight as long as he needed to.

Virgil felt Gordon’s chest expand against his own as Gordon took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

“It’s okay, Vee. I’m okay,” Gordon said. 

Vee, another one of Gordon’s nicknames for him. Virge, Virgy. Vee. 

Virgil buried his face in Gordon’s blonde hair to hide his sappy smile, brought out by the fond affection in his brother’s tone. Gordon would tease him if he saw, as usual ignoring that he could be just as bad. 

“You wanna talk about it?” Virgil offered.

Gordon shrugged, as much as he could when still latched onto Virgil.

“Sure,” Gordon said, “It isn’t anything really. Missed you on rescues lately, is all.”

His casual words were belied by how he held on a touch too tight.

Virgil gave an encouraging ‘go on’ hum, in hope Gordon might open up a bit more. 

It was true they hadn’t seen each other much this week, rescues overlapping and running late. No one had time for more than a pat on the back and a scoffed protein bar before the callout alarms went off again. Virgil hadn’t spoken to any of his siblings aside from terse updates from John and Scott’s clipped commands. A rough week all round. 

Most of those missions he’d flown out without Gordon in his usual co-pilot’s seat. International Rescue was so over-stretched, sending them out solo was the only way to cover all the incidents without breaking flight hour limits into pieces. Then Module Four’s mechanism something broke, and Virgil hadn’t had a chance to even figure out the problem yet, so Gordon got send out all over the world in his Thunderbird alone. 

It was Virgil’s turn to cling to Gordon, because he’d dropped Four and Gordon into the Atlantic and hadn’t seen more than a glimpse of yellow submarine bobbing amidst inky waves since. They’d been ships passing in the night, caught up in their own oceans of sea and sky.

Yesterday, Grandma had called it, everyone was too exhausted and she pulled medical rank. She alternatively sweet talked and threatened the GDF into stepping up to allow the Tracys to take their mandated leave. This was their first off time together in a while.

Virgil rested his chin on top of Gordon’s head, inhaling the scent of chlorine and saltwater that no shampoo invented could remove. Comforting in its familiarity, because it meant Gordon was here and safe in his arms.

“‘M fine. Just need more hugs.” The words were mumbled into Virgil’s shoulder, barely audible where Gordon’s voice usually rang out loudest. But Virgil heard them. He always heard his little brothers. He heard the silent, ‘Don’t let go,’ too.

Virgil pressed a kiss to Gordon’s forehead, then carried on with his day plus one clingy squid passenger. 

Virgil manoeuvred into the kitchen easily, then jiggled Gordon up to free a hand for the coffee maker. His third cup, not his first because his flying fish catching skills weren’t up to scratch before his second, unless the situation was particularly dire.

He was well practised at the art of operating one handedly, while toting around kid brothers. Or not so kid brothers, in Gordon’s case. 

Virgil put his muscle to good use picking up more than a fair share of stubborn older brothers too. At this point it was really just a ready-made excuse to skip the gym weights on a given day. He could throw an exhausted Scott over his shoulder without breaking a sweat despite any protests, when he found him sleeping face down on Tracy Industries paperwork at dad’s desk. He’d caught John far too many times too, in a losing battle with gravity midway to the floor. Virgil would scoop up the jumble of flailing, lanky limbs to take the complaining redhead back to bed. There was a reason he was the heavy lifter in the family.

Gordon wouldn’t be considered light by most people’s standards, his compact swimmer’s build packing a surprising amount of muscle per centimetre of height. Gordon was the only one of Virgil’s brothers who was shorter than him, except for Alan. Though that wasn’t likely to be for long, Alan’s slight build set to follow Scott and John’s tall, slim frames the moment he hit his growth spurt. 

Point was, Virgil had lifted plenty of heavier and less cooperative rescuees for far longer distances. Carrying the cuddlefish around the house? No challenge. And Gordon would always be little to him, that was just the way the world went.

Virgil poked around the cupboards, reveaing John’s chocolate stash. The one his space brother absolutely knew everyone knew about, but hadn’t moved because it was mostly used for family emotional support chocolate. Gordon helpfully took the chocolate packet, with no ulterior motives whatsoever. Then the coffee was done, and Virgil inhaled the steam from his mug of warm, heavenly brew.

Gordon wriggled out of his arms when they reached the sunken lounges, darting away to retrieve blankets. Virgil settled with his back against the couch side, legs stretched out, his coffee sat in easy reach on the floor level. He turned on the holoprojector, flicking through moderately mindless television programs. 

A pile of blankets thrown down heralded Gordon’s return. He flopped on top of Virgil as if there was no other room on the couch, knocking the breath out of Virgil’s lungs for the second time today. Virgil just wrestled Gordon into a more comfortable position where his lumpy elbows weren’t jabbing his ribs. 

Virgil sipped his coffee with a sigh. This was more like it, especially after a week where he was lucky to get two gulps of instant into him before it went cold. Now, where had the chocolate gotten to?

The distinct crinkle of foil alerted him to brotherly treachery. “Gordon,” He warned.

“Viiirgil,” Gordon sung out, propping himself up with a hand on Virgil’s shoulder to wave the bar of chocolate in his face.

Rolling his eyes, Virgil snatched the packet back. He huffed in mock affront, because he wasn’t giving in easily, secretly glad of the return of Gordon’s cheeky grin and cheery teasing.

He stuffed a few squares into his mouth. Whittakers, because John had good taste and Virgil had dragged him along on the last supply run to Aotearoa.

With the sweetness of the chocolate and rich coffee, the holoprojecter murmuring in the background, the warm weight of Gordon resting on his chest, Virgil was content. They both were. 

Gordon laughed softly at the show, then shuffled around to cuddle up closer to Virgil, whispering, “Squid hug!” 

[babyboibucky]

Babysitting Bucky - Part 4

Pairing: FATWS!Bucky x Reader

Word Count: 1,644

Summary: You’ve been assigned by the government to keep an eye on the Winter Soldier to ensure that he was no longer a threat to the world.

A/N: Things are getting interesting for these two lol, if I missed out on anyone in the tag list, please let me know. If you would like to be added, please also inform me whether it’s for this series only or for everything Bucky xoxo

MASTERLIST

-

FOUR

It was a little past nine in the morning when you heard Sam and Bucky arrive back at the compound. You leaned against the counter in the kitchen as you waited for the two men to show up and when they finally sauntered in, you immediately cleared your throat.

"How was your run, Mister Barnes?" you asked, lifting a brow at Bucky.

Sam rolled his eyes and groaned, "Please don't tell me you need to join us on our daily morning jog too."

You held up a hand at Sam, "Mister Wilson, I do not care for you." Turning your gaze back to Bucky, you crossed your arms over your chest. "So, how was the run?" you asked again.

"Damn, lady." you heard Sam utter under his breath as he walked towards the fridge to fetch himself a glass of water.

Bucky merely shrugged, "It was good. I mean, I was three laps ahead of Sam the entire time so yeah." he explained and smirked at Sam who grunted in response.

"Oh and we passed by a civilian who tried to use my trigger words and it almost worked. Almost."

Bucky must've have noticed the slight change in your demeanor because he immediately let out a chuckle, "I was kidding, Agent. Nothing happened. We literally just ran."

You scoffed, "Do you really think that this is all a joke, Mister Barnes? I asked because I need to send a weekly report to the government and if they notice even the slightest discrepancy, they will apprehend you. Like I said, I am not an enemy. I may not be a friend either but I reassure you, Mister Barnes, I am more than willing to vouch for your stability. That is if you participate and help me out here."

As much as you hated the fact that you needed to always be around Bucky wherever he went, it wasn't like you had a choice. Besides, you believed that he was no longer a threat but you needed evidence. You needed something to present to the government to make them believe so. You also understood why Bucky behaved the way he did but was it really so hard to participate?

Bucky heaved out a sigh, "I'm sorry." he mumbled. "It's weird...to have someone follow you around when you do normal stuff, y'know?"

Taken aback at how quickly Bucky apologized, you nodded in understanding and apologized for being aggressive as well.

"We have training later, maybe it'd be better to have you spar with Bucky instead. Might make things less weird for him. Only if you can handle the cyborg." Sam chuckled.

"I look forward to it." you smirked.

---

It was three in the afternoon when you went to the compound’s gym. Sam and Bucky were already inside the boxing ring, sparring. You watched for a while as you wrapped your hands with bandages; you eye the Winter Soldier carefully, analyzing his every move.

Hit, evade, kick, punch, evade, punch.

Every single time he tried to hit Sam, the latter was able to avoid him. You noticed that Bucky had a certain pattern that he followed. A few more attacks later and Sam was able to knock him off, pinning him down on the ground.

“Man, you’re getting rusty.” Sam commented, offering a hand at Bucky who remained on the ground.

“He was restraining his moves.” You interjected as you walked towards the ring, bending down as you slid beneath the ropes.

Sam lifted a brow at you as he watched you enter the ring, “And why would he be restraining his moves?” He asked.

You shrugged, “If Mister Barnes stopped pulling his punches, you would’ve been sent to the ER by now.”

Sam scoffed in offense. It wasn’t your intention to belittle the Falcon, in fact, he was holding up against a super soldier pretty well. However, Bucky was an enhanced human being and had vibranium for an arm. He knew the extent of his skills and was aware of the fact that Sam wouldn’t be able to take every single blow if he wouldn’t restrain himself.

The Winter Soldier would injure Sam without a doubt, but Bucky Barnes? He wouldn’t hurt a fly.

“The Winter Soldier wouldn’t have given you a chance to evade his attack. Am I right?” You turned to Bucky who was obviously surprised at how you easily figured him out.

He shrugged, “You tell me, Agent. I’m not the one tasked to find out the answer to that.”

Sam hummed, “Yeah, okay. Point taken.” He said. “Barnes is yours, Agent.” He smirked and moved out of the ring.

He sat on the bench facing the ring, looking forward to see you spar with Bucky. You, on the other hand, was just as excited. You could sense that the two still doubted your skills; maybe showing off your capabilities would help in gaining their respect and cooperation.

“Do I need to pull my punches, Agent?” Bucky cracked his neck.

“I don’t know, Mister Barnes. Do you?”

You didn’t give Bucky any chance to respond to your question and immediately ran towards him, using a foot sweep to trip him. Bucky was caught off guard and found himself on his back with you quickly moving to straddle his metal arm with your legs, pinning him to the ground.

“Holy shit!” You heard Sam guffaw as he clapped his hands.

“Shut up, Sam!” Bucky choked out before using the entire strength of his metal arm to throw you off of him.

You groaned when you landed on your front, quickly rolling to the side when you sensed Bucky’s attempt to hold you down. A combination of punches and kicks were exchanged between the both of you, with Bucky gaining the upper hand when he twisted your arm behind your back, holding you tightly against his chest.

“I don’t think you’ll like it if I stopped restraining myself, Agent.” Bucky said, voice deep and rough.

His grip on you tightened as you tried to fight him off. Heaving out a deep breath, you relaxed and let out a groan. Thinking that you probably realized that winning over him was futile, Bucky loosened his grip on you and you took it as a chance to stomp on his foot before throwing your head back, hitting his nose with the back of your skull.

“I think I can take it, Mister Barnes. Try me.” You boasted, quickly moving away from Bucky.

“I’d rather not.” Bucky responded.

No words were exchange from then on, only grunts and breaths as the two of you continued to spar. At times, Bucky would have you tackled on the ground only for you to choke him with your thighs, flipping him over as you tried to land a hard punch that he easily caught with his metal hand.

“That all you can give me, Mister Barnes?” you leaned forward as you straddled him, your fist still in Bucky’s metal hand.

He darkly chuckled, “You know I can do more, I just prefer not to.” he said and let go of your hand before grabbing your arm and throwing you over to the side.

“Yeah, well I guess you’re a coward for holding back.” you panted and sprinted towards Bucky, using the momentum to throw your legs over his shoulder, twisting your body as you brought him back down to the ground ala Black Widow.

You immediately got up and moved away from Bucky who lifted his head and stared at you with a frown, “Where did you learn that?” he asked curiously.

“Your babysitter Black Widow-ed the shit outta you.” Sam chuckled.

Bucky rolled his eyes as he got up from the ground, “Do you ever shut the fuck up, Sam?”

“Do better, Mister Barnes. You’re putting the Soldat to shame.”

 A split second. All it took was a split second for Bucky to tackle you onto the ground with his metal hand loosely wrapped around your neck. Your eyes were wide as you looked up at Bucky, the glint in his eyes long gone and replaced with something else.

Anger?

“Do not ever compare me to the Soldat.” he said through gritted teeth.

His hand remained wrapped around your throat but they didn’t budge, didn’t tighten nor shook in an attempt to do so.

“Why not?” you lifted a brow.

“I may still be the Winter Soldier, but I’m not the same man I used to be. I’d rather hold back and lose to you, Agent. Because the Soldat doesn’t exist, not anymore.” he said.

You knew it was a low blow to try and trigger him. You felt bad for doing so, seeing how he reacted to your statement when you brought up his dark past. But at the same time, his actions relieved you. Even with him hovering over you, metal hand wrapped around your neck, you didn’t experience any sort of worry nor fear. He was firm yet gentle with how his fingers remained loose around you.

Bucky was in full control of his actions.

You stared up at Bucky’s eyes and realized how blue they were. When you didn’t budge beneath him, Bucky let go of your neck and got up but immediately fell to the ground when you tripped him with your leg.

“That’s what I thought, Mister Barnes.” you said as you stood up, dusting your hands off. “You’re not dangerous. Thanks for the cooperation, I’ll include that in my weekly reports.” you said and slide out of the ring.

“All that for a test?” Sam incredulously asked as he watched you retreat from the gym.

You turned around, “It wasn’t a test, Mister Wilson. That was me trying to get to know Mister Barnes better.” you said and left the gym but not before hearing Sam’s comment about you.

“Man, we underestimated your babysitter.”

---

Babysitting Bucky Tag List:

@chipilerendi @procrastinationinawriter @supraveng @sammypotato67

Everything Bucky Tag List:

@ddowii @jessou893 

Sign up on my tag list here - https://forms.gle/b5haFXewSKqnXxxh7

[remmushound]

Rise boys = Raphael, Leonardo, Donatello, and Michelangelo. Bay boys = Donnie, Raph, Mikey, and Leo.

This is a fic to lead into a Bayverse/Riseverse crossover! This is also an opening to make any requests for the bay/Rise interactions! I’m also accepting bay requests separate from the crossover! @brightlotusmoon

Link to second part: https://remmushound.tumblr.com/post/645470221504839680/brightlotusmoon-part-2-of-the-bayrise

The alarms sounded in the lair in the early morning, while Donnie was still in REM sleep and Mikey still wrapped himself snuggly in his blankets. When Raph still hugged the bear he always denied he owned and while even Leo still hadn’t woke to take advantage of the day. The only occupant of the lair that was awake was an old rat in the dojo, taking advantage of his son’s absence to meditate on current issues that worried his mind.

His ears jerked to attention as the nirvana of his mind was jarred with Donnie’s warning alarm. He was to his feet in an instant, and soon from their rooms came his sons one by one. Leo first, like always, closely followed by Donnie, and then Raph, and last Mikey.

“Dude, who turned on the screaming?”

“Talk to me Don.”

“Working on it!” Donnie was already at his desk, working a mile a minute to pull up the camera from where the alarm originated. “Got it— wait, that’s not right.”

“What is it?” As usually, Leo was hovering over Donnie’s shoulder and looking at the screen.

“Just looks like black to me.” Raph grunted from where he stood, a more respectable distance away.

“Yeah— it is— somethings up with the cameras.”

“What, they broke?”

“No, someone turned them off— and the only way they could do that is to hack into the camera’s systems—.”

“Which obviously didn't happen.” Leo said, “Could someone be covering the screen a different way?”

“Well, I mean, I guess, but—”

“Alright, then lets move out— try to get a better idea of what we’re dealing with here.”

“Don’t gotta tell me twice.”

Leo held out his arm to stop Raph from running off immediately. “Careful, Raph. This could just be a sewer worker in over his head.”

“Yeah. Or it could be the Shredder.” Raph growled.

“Exactly. So be ready, but quiet. No use exposing ourselves if we don’t need to.”

Leo made the motion and Raph took point and was the first down the slide that took them out of the lair. Mikey was after him quickly. “Don’t worry, I’m a professional!” Mikey waved jazz hands.

“So am I.” Leo shoved Mikey down the slide after Raph. “Don, you next.”

“Arlight, but Leo I really think—”

Leo shoved Donnie into the tube the moment he got within sliding distance, and then gave it a few seconds before jumping in after him. The slide was a steep one, more like a straight drop than anything else, and eventually curving into a slope and then a tunnel. For a moment during the decent, Leo felt his shell leave the wall, and he braced himself for the jostling that came when he hit the curve straight on. He could see all three brothers in front of him in varying stages of the slide, Mikey making every attempt to loop around the length of the tunnel as many times as possible, which kindled his speed enough that he was dangerously close to colliding with Raph. He did another loop, narrowly avoiding the older turtle as he took the lead

“SNOOZE YOU LOSE, RAPH!”

“Mikey! Stop breaking formation!”

“Woah—“

Raph had to put on a quick break as he almost ran into Mikey’s shell, and the momentum made him spin around and slow. Before he could right himself, Donnie started to panic and tried to avoid raph by sliding over the walls as Mikey had, but it wasn’t fast enough and collided into Raph’s plastron.

“WATCH IT DONNIE!”

“THIS WASN’T MY INTENTION!”

“OUT OF THE WAY!” Leo just barely escaped another collision by doing the same move as Mikey, dodging the backup of his brothers as he sped after Mikey.

It took another half a minute for Raph and Donnie to detangle from each other, still sliding all the while.

“Move your arm!”

“Ow, that’s my leg—“

“I don’t care what it is, I’m gonna break it!”

“I’m trying— oh, my glasses—“

“Get offa me Don!”

“I’m struggling just as much as you are!”

Finally, Donnie got himself separated and held his position by digging his staff into the stone to defy the rushing water. He waited until Raphael had turned the corner before he let himself go once more to rush after him.

~~~~~

“Get back here.” Leo growled and grabbed Mikey the moment he caught up, turning the smaller turtle to face him.

“Ah— mercy—!”

“What’s up with breaking formation?”

Raph arrived, flying out of the slide and into the lower section of sewer, landing hard behind them.

“I coulda crushed you!” Raph gave Mikey a harsh shove.

“Hey hey hey, chillax, my dudes!” Mikey tried, holding his hands up in defeat. “I didn't mean to!”

“That’s not an excuse!”

Leo heard Donnie fly out and breathed a sigh. That was all of them.

“Guys, Quit fighting!” Donnie tried to get between them and Mikey. “We’re not alone here, remember?”

“Right.” Leo huffed, and made a motion for the brothers to follow him. “Remember— stick to the shadows and if we do find something, wait for my command before you do anything. Think you can handle that, Mikey?”

“What? I could do that in my sleep, bruh! I’m a shadow! You’re think I’m over here— hwa ha!” He fliped around Leo waving his nunchaku, “—but I’m really—over here!”

Leo prodded the handle of his sword into Mikey’s stomach to quiet him before he took the lead in climbing up the tube that led to the higher section of sewer. The walls were slick and lined with a thick layer of sludge, so getting a grip was difficult, but not impossible. Every so often he’d look down to make sure his brothers were following after him— Mikey, Donnie, and Raph in that order. If they were to fall, each brother would be able to catch the ones on top of him— Mikey could hold Leo, but if he fell then Donnie could catch both Mikey and Leo, and if all three fell, then Raph was at the bottom as backup.

Leo stopped as he reached the surface, just barely peeking his nose up over the edge. All he saw was dark sewer, and after a minute of searching every shadow and potential hiding space, he felt a sharp prod.

“Ow!”

“Move it!” Mikey insisted impatiently, “I don’t wanna look at your butt all day!”

Leo growled and retaliated with a careful kick to Mikey’s shoulder before pulling himselfup finally through the tunnel. He took another look around before turning to give his brothers the signal to follow, but Mikey was already through and Donnie was halfway out.

Leo made a ‘really guys?” motion and sighed, just letting the misdemeanor pass as his three brothers joined him in the dark tunnel.

“See anything Don?”

Donnie hummed and pulled his goggles down over his face to get a better view in the dark.

“Hm. Not picking up any heat signatures besides ours, but there’s splash marks on the walls higher than the current should be able to reach.”

“Meaning?”

“Something’s been splashing around here recently— the amount of residue is too big to be a rat. It could be a dog maybe, but that wouldn’t explain the camera…”

“Dude, it’s like, totally an aligator.”

“No it’s not.” Raph nudged his baby brother.

“No, dude, it totally is! I read about it once!”

“There are no gators in the sewer Mike.”

“Actually, there’s reports of gators living in the tunnels as far back as the nineteen twenties. The story goes that people would buy baby gators when they were small and cute and abandon them when they got too big to be kept in an apartment. The fascinating part is that the city actually rescues up to a hundred alligators a year from exotic breeders or incompetant owners with no liscence.”

“Donnie—“

“Though theoretically they could survive in the sewers for a short time, long-term survival would be highly improbable given cold tempatures and the bacteria in human feces. The only reason we can survive down here is because—“

“DONNIE.” Leo said, this time louder, “The alarm?”

“Oh. Right.” Donnie cleared his throat, looking away sadly as his rant went unfinished. “I… am detecting trace amounts of mutagen, but that could just be cross-contamination from one of us or Splinter. I’m sure someone would have told us if Bebop or Rocksteady escaped.”

There came a noise. A loud, jarring noise like the snap of metal. Each brother had their weapons ready before the sound even stopped echoing, dropping into their respective defense stances as they stared down the side of the tunnel that the noise came from. Nothing happened. A minute passed. Nothing.

“Think they left—?” Mikey was shushed thrice.

Leo gave the motion for his team to follow him as he lead the way down the tunnel.

“It could be an ambush.” Donnie whispered to Leo as they approached.

“If it is, we’ll be prepared—“

Leo held out his hand to stop his brothers as the sound started up again. It took a second, but eventually Leo took notice that it wasn’t the same sound. This time it wasn’t metal snapping, it was more like groaning. Like someone had taken two metal pipes and twisted them together. And there were footsteps— heavy, slow footsteps in uneven intervals.

“What in the world…?”

Leo squinted when a figure made itself known. It looked amost like a spider, with a massive, spiked body and five and a half legs. It seemed to have two heads each moving separately of the other, and the noises it made sounded like something under great strain or in pain. It swayed unsteadly before them and tried to take a step forward.

“Stop right there!” Leo commanded to the beast, holding his katana in its direction.

The monster seemed to understand., and it stopped.

“Leo, that’s—“

Leo shushed Donnie.

“But it’s—“

The figure tried to move toward them again and Leo flashed his sword in another threat. “I said stay back!”

“LEO!” Donnie didn't give Leo the chance to say anything, pulling up his goggles and flicking a flashlight on the creature. “Look…”

The creature— or more like creatures— flinched at the light shined in their faces. Of the six legs Leo had thought he’d seen, only two of them proved to be real, and the one creature turned out to be two. The smaller one was on the bottom, supporting a second, larger creature on his back. Leo, Raph, and Mikey all gasped and withdrew in their shock, but Donnie held steadfast and kept the light trained on the enemy.

The smaller creature was a dark green with stripes of purple streaking across him, purple armor torn and some lost all together. He only had one kneepad and both of his sock peices were soaked dark and torn. His elbow pads remained mostly untouched, and his hands were bare. Technology littered his body— goggles on his head and a tablet on his arm and a belt and shoulder straps that supported a massive shield over his back— over his shell. From the armor came four metal arms, one of them broken and the rest straining to support the immense weight on top of him.

The larger was big enough to cover his carrier almost like a blanket, hiding a majority of the small turtle beneath his massive plastron and bulking arms. He might have been a lighter shade of green— it was hard to tell in the lighting, and even then it hardly mattered. The only evidence the great beast was still living was the fact that he was moving his head around, just slightly. Thick streams of crimson bubbled forth from a gaping wound in his carapace, bleeding out and covering him in streams of shiny red that dripped down his arms and side and onto his companion. He gave the slightest groan at the light shining on him and tried to open his eyes.

“What the fuuuuu…?” Leo gaped.

The purple-clad mutant looked weakly to the four with tired, terrified eyes. “Help…”

He collapsed into the sewage.

[candy-and-writing]

What A Triple Lutz Can Do

Dark! Bucky x Ice Skater! Reader x Dark! Steve

Summary: Steve and Bucky have found each other again, after everything they've been through. When Steve meets you at the Winter Olympics, he decides you're the perfect little doll for their plan.

Warnings: non con/dub con, stalking, drugging, kidnapping, male masturbation, pet names—kitten, oral sex (female and male), fingering, poly relationship (m/m/f), somnophilia, light bondage, more to be added as the story goes on

A/N: This is loosely based off @henchry​ post about Chris Evans dating an ice skater. I read it and instantly had this idea, I’ve just never posted it. I think I unintentionally used bunny by @buckybarney​ as inspiration in making final edits. They also helped me figure out how to make this moodboard, so thank you! Please let me know if you enjoyed this, I had a lot of fun writing this!

I am NOT responsible for your media content consumption. This work is not intended for those under the age of 18 due to explicit sexual content and/or dark themes. By reading this work you agree that you are at least 18 years of age. I do not consent to have my work posted on any third party app or website; if you are seeing this work anywhere other than tumblr and archiveofourown, it has been reposted without my permission.

Before the war, before Bucky had fallen off the train and Steve crashed into the ice, before the Avengers and before and the world made Steve Rogers harder—colder—he liked to call himself a hopeless romantic. He wanted to meet eyes with someone across a diner and feel the fireworks explode in his chest. He wanted to buy a girl flowers, he wanted to walk down the streets of Brooklyn while it was snowing with her hand warming his. He wanted to buy his girl a ring, he wanted to get married, have a family.

He thought he would get that with Peggy, but he missed his chance. When he woke up in another century, he thought for sure he would never get his happily ever after. The women today were so. . . brash. A lady was supposed to be kind, polite, and dutiful. He understood that times were different, but that shouldn't excuse the ungrateful attitudes.

Then he found Bucky again, and the crazy world he had been forced into didn't seem so hopeless anymore. 

Tony had received a call from the International Olympics Committee, formally inviting the Avengers to the Winter Olympics. They were in Italy this year, Milan and Cortina. It was the first Olympic Games to be held in two cities, according to Bruce.

The committee had asked Steve to conduct the medal presentations for ice skating and hockey. They wanted Thor to carry the torch for the opening ceremony, but he was off-world and unavailable.

So here Steve was, sitting in the Mediolanum Forum venue next to Sam so he could watch the ice skating events. He figured if he was going to be giving the winners their medals, he should see why they won.

The committee had given the team access to front row seating, and that's where he was when you came out.

You were the third skater, and the first American representative, to take the ice. Your hair was pulled into a braided braid low on the side of your head with a blue flower pinned above the bun. The little dress you wore was modest—the same shade of blue that matched your flower and a sleeveless neckline that connected to a sheer fabric for sleeves and a higher neck, the little flowy skirt stopping in the middle of your thigh. Lines of little jewels dipped along your bust, beads varying in size. You had makeup on, like all the previous girls, but yours was light and glittery—save for the ruby red lipstick, but even that looked classical on you. It reminded Steve of the makeup women would wear back in the thirties.

He was so focused on you that Sam had to elbow him in the ribs to get his attention. He shut his jaw then, listening to the way your name rolled off the commentator's tongue, the syllables lining and matching each other perfectly.

You were twenty-one, and this was your first time competing in the Olympics. You've competed in other national and international tournaments, and you've done good in them if he was understanding correctly. It made an odd sense of pride swell in his chest. You were skating to Disney's Beauty and the Beast.

You moved to the middle of the rink as the announcer informed the stadium who conducted and performed your piece. You had four quads set in your routine, two in the first half and two in the second. It got quiet in the arena as you raised your arm over your head and arched your back like a ballerina. Steve counted five seconds before the music started and you spun around slowly. You started to move your body and—

Oh. Oh.

Steve was sure his jaw had dropped to the floor. The way you moved was bewitching, beautifully languid yet articulate. It was like the music moved through you, coursing through your veins as you made it entirely your own, bringing something so utterly delicate and ethereal out of the melody. You made it show in your body, in your movements.

The first of your quads were coming up, something called a quadruple lutz. Steve didn't know what it was, but when you threw your leg back and jumped, spinning in the air before landing and the crowd erupted into applause, he figured you did it correctly.

Your feet glided across the ice as you skated backward, your muscles tensing—you were preparing for your next quad. You kicked your leg back and used it as momentum to jump, spinning and landing what the commentator called a quadruple flip. The crowd cheered again.

Your expression—the raw focus and determination hiding behind your eyes—was gorgeous. Your crimson lips were parted slightly, eyelids hooded as you brought your head up. The delicate expression, the way your shoulders tensed as you jumped and spun in the air once, twice, three times before you landed gracefully on your toes had the breath leaving his lungs.

It was art. You were a work of art. So beautiful he wanted to lock you behind a glass cage and put you on display. You commanded the ice as if you controlled it, with such a degree of intricacy that Steve thought if you jumped high enough or spun fast enough you would grow wings and fly away.

You were in your element. You kicked your foot back before bringing it forward, using it to start your jump. You spun in the air and landed on one foot, your other leg spread out and leading the twirl you used to end the jump. The stadium cheered, Sam said something about a triple axel.

Steve wished the song lasted forever, wished he could watch you forever, but soon there was a flute trilling and you slowed, circling back to the center of the rink and just like that—your performance was over. The crowd exploded into cheers, throwing flowers, stuffed toys, anything they had in their pockets.

You broke into a smile, your plump lips parting and bringing out your dimples. Steve swooned as you waved to the crowd, bending to pick up a rose. Your gaze met his, and he swore he felt fireworks erupt in his chest. You smiled at him before skating off the ice, hugging a man sporting a red lightweight jacket with the USA logo embroidered on the sleeve, his dark hair slicked back. Steve watched as you smiled at him, not missing the way he stared at your ass as you turned away.

Then, suddenly, you were in first place. Your eyes went wide and you jumped up, hugging the man in the red jacket—Steve assumed he was your coach. He heard your squeal above the rest of the cheers.

Even from where he was sitting, your eyes were bright, brighter than your smile. Steve was proud of you, pride swelled in his chest as he watched you speak with a reporter. His eyes stayed glued to you as you shook hands with the reporter, your coach walking you to the locker rooms. He watched you until he couldn't anymore.

A strange desire pulled at his heart as he pulled his Stark Pad out, looking you in F.R.I.D.A.Y.'s database.

--

After watching your performance every other skater seemed dull, incomparable, to you. The judges must have thought so, too. You stayed in first place, winning the competition.

According to F.R.I.D.A.Y, you grew up in Chicago, but you moved to Manhattan for college. You got a new coach, Adrian Tucker, who was a gold and silver medalist back in the nineties. You're a junior at NYU, majoring in Art History. You have an Instagram, some sort of social media Peter had been trying to convince him to get, and Steve created an account immediately just to follow you. You had pictures of yourself, of friends, of the rink, even a pair of ballet shoes.

So you did ballet, good to know.

The award ceremony couldn't come soon enough. The idea of being closer to you sent butterflies fluttering through his stomach. Ever since he had gotten him back, Steve and Bucky have been talking about settling down—creating a life with a girl and starting a family. But they haven't found the right partner, but maybe. . . ?

When he stood in front of you, he swore he almost stopped breathing. You were gorgeous. Your hair had been taken out of the bun, cascading down your shoulders in loose waves. Your makeup was still done the same, but he noticed light freckles dotting along the bridge of your nose. Your eyes sparkled up at him—good God, you barely stood past his chest—your painted lips parted in a smile as you took him in. He placed the gold medal around your neck, congratulating you. You whispered a small, "thank you, Captain," and Steve felt a spark of electricity jolt down his groin.

Your voice was light, melodic, quiet. You were respectful, something he valued in people, in women. He could almost imagine you posed as the perfect housewife. With the perfect husband—or husbands—with the white picket fence, the kids. He could imagine your belly swollen, the little children running around calling you 'mama'. You were young, right at that age where women would start becoming wives and mothers back in his day. The thought only made his cock harder as he watched you on the platform, waving to the audience with the biggest smile on your face.

As he sat back down next to Sam, he pulled his phone out of his pocket. He pulled up Bucky's contact and sent him a picture from your Instagram.

'I think I found her,' he typed.

--

Bucky remembered the first time he realized he was in love with Steve—he was sixteen. He had danced around with plenty of girls already but none of them ever really seemed to stick. He had saved up enough money to spend Steve's birthday at Coney Island, that was the day he made Steve ride the Cyclone, back when he was still skinny. He had bought Steve a hotdog, which a pelican attacked him over. Bucky was crying from laughter, face red and stomach aching, when he looked over at Steve. Something just clicked then.

The past couple of months, Steve and Bucky had been making plans to add a third partner into life. After all this time, fighting Nazis and being mind-controlled and saving the universe time and time again, they both agreed they deserved it—that they deserved a family. They had both been selfless for so long, was it so wrong to want someone to be selfless for them? To want someone soft that could share their love?

Steve and Bucky were great together—the love of each other's lives, in fact—but they shared an overwhelming need to dominate, to control. On and off the field. When they fucked they were ruthless, full of scraping nails and biting teeth. Fingertips that left bruises that lasted for days. They needed someone else, someone they could focus that control on, someone who could take them so gently and lovingly, a way they rarely took each other.

Then he got Steve's text. You were young, and it wasn't hard to find out almost everything he needed to know about you. Steve helped him use F.R.I.D.A.Y to figure out where you live—a small apartment that was close to your college campus. You could walk to class if the weather permitted it. It also wasn't too far from the ice rink you trained at. It was easy for Bucky to find a building across from your suite where they could watch you. You liked to keep your window open, let the sunlight in.

They took turns sitting on the roof of the neighboring building, looking through a pair of binoculars. They would watch you for hours—watch you do simple things like reading. That was Bucky's favorite, the way your lips moved ever so slightly as you read the words on the page. You enjoyed reading horror novels—Steven King, Mary Downing Hahn, an author named Chuck Palahnuik. A worn copy of Bram Stoker's Dracula and Mary Shelley's Frankenstein sat on your bookshelf. At first glance, Bucky never would have pegged you as a horror kind of girl, you were too sweet and too timid. As he continued to watch you through the cameras Steve had him install, though, he saw that you very much liked psychological thrillers. You would watch a show on YouTube about true crime and haunted locations, a couple of amateurs who didn't quite know what they were doing. They were funny, though. Steve and Bucky would watch you laugh as you stared at your phone, smiling to yourself.

You trained at a ballet studio in lower Manhattan, worked out at a gym a block away from that. They were quick to memorize your routine once they started. You'd wake up at five-thirty every morning and make yourself some breakfast. On Monday, Wednesday, and Friday's you hit the gym and the studio; you'd go to whatever classes you had that day, grab a coffee at the campus cafe, then head to the skating rink for two hours. Two and a half hours max. You went home, studied, and then you were left to your own devices. Sometimes you read, sometimes you baked and God, Bucky almost couldn't stop drooling at the thought of tasting your cooking. You'd watch television in your small living room and be in bed no later than eleven o'clock every night to start your day again.

One Monday morning, Steve and had followed you to the gym. They'd been doing that the last few weeks. At first, Steve reasoned it was so they could watch over you, in case you got into some trouble. Some mornings they planned on running into you on the sidewalk, pretending it was an accident—there was a flower cart along your route you liked to stop and admire, sometimes buying a bouquet of daisies for your little bachelor pad—but the timing never seemed right. Steve was never wearing the right shirt, or Bucky's hair was always a mess from the wind.

You took a cab, which Steve followed a couple of cars behind on his motorcycle. The air was brisk, the first signs of spring coming into the city. Some of the trees had started growing their leaves again, vibrant greens against the grey winter sky. He parked his bike underneath a plotted tree that had just started to turn, the tips of the leaves a bright green as blossoms began to bloom, pastel pinks against vibrant greens with petals blowing in the wind. He bought a newspaper from a vendor a couple of stores down and sat on a nearby bench, catching up with the world as he counted down the minutes. You would be in there for an hour and fifteen minutes almost exactly.

Steve almost couldn't sit still. He was itching to get his hands on you, to feel you. He and Bucky have been watching you for a long time now, waiting for the right moment to get their hands on you. Steve was growing impatient.

At forty-five minutes, his eyes began to flick up at the building every few minutes. He knew it wasn't time yet, but there was always a chance you got done early.

At an hour, his gaze hovered just above the paper. Ten more minutes, he told himself.

At an hour and twelve minutes, you emerged. Steve watched as you hugged your coat to your chest and began walking. The studio you danced at was only a block away, so you wouldn't have to be out in the cold for long. Still, Steve couldn't help but chastise you for not wearing something warmer. All you had on were a pair of thin leggings—that hugged your ass beautifully, he might add—and a compression tank top under your lightweight sweater.

Steve rushed to his bike, folding the newspaper in his hand and revving up the engine. He drove down the block, parking in front of a cafe across from the ballet studio. He watched you enter the studio and sat at a table, ordering a cup of coffee. He saw you through the floor-to-ceiling windows, your let stretched up over your head. He reached for his sketchbook and pencil, laying it out on the table before him.

The night of the Olympics, the first time after Steve had seen you, he stayed up all night drawing you. He found a video of your performance on the internet, watching it on repeat as he drew you in different positions. The first sketch he did was of you with your arm over your head, just before you started skating. He found he loved drawing the shape of your lips, so the next sketch was a portrait of your face. Your long lashes were hooded, eyes downcast and your lips parted slightly as the pencil scratched against the paper, your plump lips etched in charcoal. The expression Steve caught you in was oddly ethereal, the kind of innocence that Steve found absolutely breathtaking.

His phone vibrated in his pocket. Steve sighed, pulling the device out of his jeans. Cursing, he reread the message Sam sent, looking back up across the street. You were still in front of the window, leg propped up on a bar with your upper body reaching for your foot. He sighed, closing his sketchbook as he stomped toward his bike.

--

Steve and Bucky trudged back into the Compound, exhausted and irritated. Not only have they been unable to see you for a week and a half, forced to watch you through the cameras hidden throughout your apartment, but the mission had been a complete bust. They had been sent away to Northern Peru, where Fury had given them intel about a group of HYDRA smugglers shipping illegal weapons into the country. Unfortunately, Steve and Bucky spent twelve days in a cramped, boiling building across from the target's warehouse and managed to find nothing before Fury called them back.

Steve was sweaty, Bucky hadn't taken a shower in a week, and they missed you. Bucky wanted to touch you, he wanted to kiss you until you were breathless. He watched you on his phone when he could, often opting to watch the camera feed than to sleep.

Once they were in their suite, Steve stripped his uniform off, leaving it in a heap on the floor to pick up later. Right now he just wanted to feel clean. He turned the shower on and peeled his boxers off as Bucky undressed, Steve stepping below the showerhead. The warm water felt nice against his taut muscles, his shoulders relaxing under the water pressure. He watched the dirt and grime from the mission get washed away, down the drain in muddy-grey color.

As he massaged shampoo through his hair, his thoughts wandered back to you, fingers itching to run against your skin. The way your lips always looked so soft, how utterly delicious you would look with them wrapped around his cock. The sweet little noises you would make as he forced himself down your throat—you were so small, it wouldn't take much to make you choke on him.

Steve groaned as his fist wrapped around his length. Almost two weeks without imagining you on your knees, imagining your mouth on him and he was oh so sensitive. He cursed, running his thumb over his slit. He pictured your tongue dragging against his girth, your wrecked expression as you struggled to take him deeper, as Bucky struggled to fit himself in behind you. He fisted himself faster, gasping out your name.

"Yeah, baby," he mumbled to himself. "Just like that. Fuck."

He could only imagine how beautiful you would look when you came. Your skin sweaty, hips bucking, your innocent little eyes rolling to the back of your head as you squealed. Oh, you were definitely a squealer. They would make you cum over and over and—

He bit back a moan as he came, hot white spurts coating his stomach as he slowed his movements, nerves on fire. He sighed, rinsing himself off before he turned the water off. He was still hard, he wasn't sure he'd be able to get himself off.

The tips of his fingers buzzed as he redressed himself and Bucky hopped in the shower. Steve didn't know if it was the stress of the mission or the adrenaline you gave him, but he couldn't wait anymore. He didn't have the patience to wait anymore.

He was watching the camera feeds in your apartment when Bucky came out of the bathroom. All it took was one look from Steve—they already had it all planned out, they just had to put it into motion.

--

You struggled to unlock your door, twisting the key in the lock a few times, cursing as you pushed your shoulder against the door, stumbling as the door swung open. You managed to catch yourself before knocking over your vase of daisies, straightening as you waited for your world to stop spinning.

You knew it had been a bad idea when you agreed to go out tonight. You're such a lightweight and after just three shots and half a glass of wine, you're going to have a killer hangover in the morning. God, and it's three a.m. But Annie had begged you to come with them. You haven't hung out with her in so long, you were desperate to see her again. You just wished she hadn't dragged you out to a bar.

You dropped your handbag on your little dining room table, opening the refrigerator to pour yourself a glass of orange juice. You drank half the glass in a couple of gulps, letting out a sigh as you set the glass down. As you moved to pull your phone out of your purse, you heard the floorboards creak, like someone was taking a step.

You froze, looking down the hall. The boards in your bedroom creak like that when you step down on a certain spot, but you've been in the apartment long enough to learn where it is exactly and step around it.

As quietly as you could, you made your way down the hall, checking the bathroom. You've seen enough horror movies in your life to know never to close the shower curtain when you weren't using it, so with a quick glance you knew the room was empty.

Your bedroom was at the end of the hall, the door cracked open. You walked in, carefully looking around. Your closet door was open, the windows were closed, you turned and looked towards your dresser mirror and—

You saw the figure behind you before you could react. Your eyes went wide, their hand coming up to cover your mouth before you could muster a scream. Your hands flew up to the hand, legs kicking out as the intruder dragged you out of your bedroom. You screamed into the hand, thrashing as you felt a sharp prick in your neck.

"It's alright," they cooed. "Shhh, it's okay, doll. You're just gonna go to sleep for a little while, okay?"

You shook your head frantically, tears streaming down your face as you felt your body getting tired. You blinked furiously, trying to fight the sleepy feeling. Your muscles felt like dead weight, you stopped kicking your feet as your grip on the man's cold hand went slack.

"That's a good girl," he crooned. "Just relax, kitten. I'm not gonna hurt you."

Your tongue felt heavy in your mouth. Your vision blurred, and then everything went black.

[huntingbounties]

Unstoppable Force

     “What the fuck are you?”

      The hand clutching his shirt was unmoving as the tips of his boots just barely held to the ground. His focus kept on the brick of a hand that was trying to force its way out of his grip.

      Strong. For the first time in a long time, Roman found himself gritting his teeth as he strained to hold onto it. He had to take another approach.

     Beyond the hand stood a silhouette of a man. Features were shaved down, no hair stood on the man’s head, and his clothes almost looked as if they’d vanished and replaced by a bulkier build. Roman’s eyes could make out gray from the fist to the face.

     “I’m tired, Riley. I’m tired of always chasing you. I’ve tried talking to you, but you just never listen,” the stone figure said. He jerked his arm out of Roman’s grasp with supposed ease. It reared back for another hit.

      Things were moving so fast. He had no time to compute everything that was going on. Survival was on the forefront of his brain. His legs swung forward as the arm reared back. His boots landed on the man’s stomach and pushed off the pavement with all the force he could muster. The shirt keeping them connected tore away from his person as he saw the cocked fist fly through the air his head once occupied. 

     His back came to the sudden crash of the tile ground below, the wind falling from him again. There was no time to recollect as he saw a shadowy trunk of an arm coming straight down. He rolled to the side only to hear a hard thud followed by cracks of ceramic. Shards of tile scattered across the floor and his eyes went wide.

     Of course he’s a fuckin’ mutant. Of FUCKING COURSE.

      Roman kicked off the stone wrist to give him some backwards momentum so he could roll to his feet. He found a stable base and stood back up, the tatters of his shirt draping down from his unbuttoned jacket.

     The figure before him got up from the crouching position it was in, hand shaking away shards of debris as if it was simple dirt. “Are you willing to listen now? Or do I have to bring you in the hard way?”

     Roman’s lungs heaved as his lip started to curl in disgust. This wasn’t just a friendly visit, no. It was never to tell him about their father. Maybe that was part of the plan, but it was all to drag him in after all. He tried to sweeten him up with some kind of family familiarity. The very thought made that disgusted feeling behind his tender abs swell with anger. 

     “Don’t look at me like that, Riley. I am not the one you should be angry with. I’ve given you chance after chance after chance, all of them thrown away by you and you alone.” Aaron took a heavy step forward, his weight crushing the shards of tile that rested in front of them.

      As the figure got closer, Roman’s breathing hastened more and more. His hands turned to fists that drew behind him. Through the low light, the blue of his eyes started to brighten enough to emit the curves of his cheeks and brows. 

      Aaron’s head tilted as he noticed the change. “Riley...You don’t want to do this-”

     “For fuck’s sake, STOP CALLING ME THAT,” Roman snapped, boots crashing to the floor as he sprinted forward. His left hand flung itself forward as a surge of electricity flooded the entire room with bright blue. The sleeve of his arm burned and disintegrated at it flew through the air towards the head of his target. He felt all of his power flood into this one swing, more than he’d ever fired in one punch. His body went numb as time seemed to slow down.

      His eyes saw the clay shape of what should’ve been a face as well as the concrete body he was swinging at. It didn’t look human, but he had no doubt that that was the person he’d called his brother twenty years ago.

      Aaron. His older brother. The one person who fed him, clothed him, and protected him when their parents did not. The boy that had protected him from their father time and time again.

      And here he was, throwing a killing blow right at his head. And he couldn’t stop.

      In a flash of movement, Roman’s left arm was knocked off course, flying towards the wall beside him. He didn’t get to move it back to where he wanted as he felt a hard force crash into the side of his head. An explosion roared and filled the room. Light flashed. And his head crashed to the tile hard enough that he couldn’t tell what events happened first.

       His eyes rolled in his head. There was a flood of metal on the tip of his tongue that he tried to spit out but it merely dribbled out the side of his lips. A cold breeze swepted over him as his nerves started to come back to life. The left side of his head felt warm and wet as the right had a heavy sting radiating from it. Then the left matched the right ten fold. 

       His vision came back as he saw a hole blown through the wall next to him, seeing the streetlights only a few feet away before his head turned to look back up. 

      He couldn’t remember where he was, what he was doing, or how he ended up on the floor. As he tried to sit up, a heavy force struck him on the chest then across the face. Despite how much he wanted to fight back whatever was attacking him, his body was lifeless and limp. He heard cracks and thuds, as well as huffs.

     Were they his own? No. No, he was grunting. The huffs came from above. Huffs that filled the air more and more as the hits stopped coming.

     He blinked over and over though something covered his vision. Blood? Was there blood in his eyes? He tried blinking it away until he finally found the strength to lift his right arm. He went to wipe his face clean but his hand was knocked back to the ground. 

       “Ri-Riley...Why...Why couldn’t you just listen?! I didn’t WANT this!”

       The words came and went as his body started to ache all over. His face twisted in pain as it all came racing to him. His left arm was fuzzy and numb all at once, his head had the worst migraine of his life, and his lungs felt heavy under a crumbling chest. His eyes watered as his nose blocked whatever he could make out of the shape above him.

      “A-A...Aar--.”

       He wheezed and spat blood from his throat before sputtering to himself. Everything was slowly coming back to him with the pain as a harsh reminder. 

      “Aar....Go fuck yourself...,” he managed to whisper as his hand started to spark again. He saw the figure above him shake its head and lean down with an arm raised. He watched it come down again. His eyes shut themselves to prepare for the blow.

      But it never came.

      The weight of his body diminished to nothing.

      His wounds were silenced. 

      He heard the crash of concrete to tile once again and saw the arm stretched through him. Wait, no, it wasn’t him. It was...smoke? Did he miss?

       Roman looked down best he could and didn’t see his torn shirt or dead legs, but just a hovering of dark wisps. 

       Was...was it another mutant? Were they here to stop it all?

        He couldn’t tell. All he knew was that Aaron tried another punch into the darkness and only hit the ground again. 

      Leave. GO. GO NOW. LIFT YOURSELF AND GO, ROMAN.

       And just like that, he felt his head move out the hole from the room only to see his brother alone in a destroyed hallway.

      Alone. 

      And not following. 

[takadasaiko]

Job First, Dinner Later (a Phoenix Initiative short)

He hated guns. He hated the weight of them in his hand, the jarring sensation as the hammer pulled back to kick the firing pin forward to send the bullet flying through the barrel. The loud CRACK as it exited, speeding towards the target. It was always towards the target.  Muscle memory, even in the chaos, was as strong of a weapon as anything else.

In that moment the world froze around him. Silent, save for the shout of pain when it made impact.

Because it almost always made impact.

Except when it didn't.

Shit.

He hated guns, but he hated being shot at even more.

Lucas dove to his right, barely missing the onslaught of return fire. He flipped a table as he moved, using it to duck behind, back braced and neck bent. It was nice to live in the moment and all, but he really needed to learn how to take himself out of it in the middle of a firefight.

Or keep himself out of a firefight. Yeah. That was probably the safer option.

"All we want is Martinez," one of the shooters - probably the one he'd been aiming for and missed. Figured. - called out and Lucas squeezed his eyes shut tightly, pulling his screaming thoughts under control. He was good under pressure. He was even good in a fight, given just the right set of circumstances. He just needed to stall them.

"Allie?" he called back, the name rolling off his tongue as a serious question. "I mean, she's a helluva bookie, but she's really picky about new clients and --" Another bullet pinged off the overturned table and his mouth snapped shut.

"Alejandro Martinez, turned State against his brothers."

"If by brothers you mean the super violent gang he was recruited into at twelve years old, I'm gonna step out on a limb and say he's taken a different direction in life." Shuffling caught his attention and he listened carefully. Okay. He thought he knew where they were. "And maybe you should too," he offered the unsolicited advice as he pivoted, still crouched low to the ground, around the table and took aim at....

An empty room. This just wasn't his day.

Lucas loosed a long sigh as he felt the barrel of a gun press against the back of his head. "I'd ask you how you keep your steps so quiet, but...."

"Not gonna matter long," the voice behind him growled.

"You know my team has this place surrounded, right?" Lucas asked, frozen where he was with the gun pointed uselessly in front of him.

"Your team ain't been anywhere near here, only you. Gun down."

He hated when they called his bluffs. If asked, he considered himself a talented bluffer. Most days, at least. Apparently not today. Lucas laid his weapon down and raised his hands slowly. Deliberately. Not that it was going to do a damn bit of good. He was a dead man as soon as he'd missed the shot.

Well, he'd been a dead man more than once.

He swore he felt it before the action unfolded. A wisp of air,  a spark of energy. She'd have told him he was absurd, but she always knew how to make an entrance. Silent, undetected until the very last moment, and that's exactly it. He knew she was going to save him before the man behind him had even pulled the hammer back.

The pressure at the back of his head was the first to go, relieved instantly and followed by a yelp of surprise. Even facing the other way, Lucas could practically see her hauling his attacker back and off his feet, using surprise and strength in tandem to fling him back, grabbing his weapon in mid-flight and wrenching it from his grasp. Lucas turned, feeling his mouth drop open without permission as he watched her straighten over the downed thug - Marcus Henry, he recognized now  that he could see him - that had been ready to decorate the warehouse floor with brain matter. His, to be exact. Not preferable.

Henry shuffled back, shocked by the shift in power. Instead of staring down at the lanky brains-behind-the-operation with a gun to his head, he found himself staring up at Sam Henderson. Tall and lean, all muscle and intentional strength, her dark eyes bore into him. "Hi there," she greeted, her words casual and her voice sharp as a knife. "You might want to tell your boys to drop their guns.”

Lucas whipped back, finding two of Henry’s followers staring wide-eyed. One started to raise his weapon but, with barely a glance, Sam leveled her stolen gun in her left hand and the would-be attacker was dead before he hit the ground. His partner set his own gun on the concrete floor and backpedaled towards the exit.

Sam let him, her focus returning to Henry. “Do you know who I am?"

"No," Henry managed and Lucas was relatively sure that this man - whose kill number was well into the double digits - was ready to piss himself from the look on his face.  He'd been on the other end of one of Sam's looks before. Usually when he was late for a dinner that she had made it on time for.

"I'm with the Surripere Coalition."

Real fear fell over him. "I don't know what he has to do with --"

Shit. Again. Shit.

"He has nothing to do with this," Sam answered, and in one swift, unplanned  move she twisted, leveled her gun at him, and took the shot.

The bullet clipped his left shoulder hard enough that Lucas felt it bite through vest and dress shirt and down to scrape across skin.  He yelped loudly as he turned with the  momentum and let himself fall facedown against the floor. The filthy, disgusting floor. She owed him big time for this.

"But my boss would like a word with you about guns you stole last month," Sam finished.

"Why?" Henry managed, fear saturating the short question.

"Because you thought you were stealing them from the LAPD, but you were stealing them from us," Sam answered. There was a pause, as if she were giving him a moment to mull it over, before Lucas heard a loud THUMP and what he was 99.9% sure was a body hitting the floor behind him.

A foot nudged him. "You're good, drama king."

He cracked an eye open and rolled over to meet her gaze. "You shot me."

"I clipped you." Sam reached down to offer him a hand up, which he took. "Martinez safe?"

"On his way out of the country. I got my snitch whisked away to a new life and you got -" his gaze flickered to the unconscious man -  "your gangbanger enforcer."

"He's a means to the end. You gonna tell me you've never rescued someone that didn't deserve it?"

"Can't win 'em all."

A small, amused sort of smile quirked her lips up at the corners. "Sure we can." She reached forward, her fingers latching around his vest and dragging him to her where he found his lips pressed to hers. He melted there, arms easing around her waist as he leaned into the kiss. He could feel the chaos of the gunfight slip away and, just for just a moment, there was only this. Only them.

"Maybe we can," he murmured as they broke, green eyes meeting dark brown.

"We will," she promised and tipped up, a quick and playful second kiss against his lips signaling  that  it was time to go.

Lucas' eyes drifted closed, despite himself, savoring the brief moment. When he opened them again she was gathering up her bounty. "I'm thinking Italian for dinner."

"Job first, dinner later," she breathed.

"Gnocchi?"

A huff of a sigh met him. "Sure." A pause and the barest of smiles that anyone else would have missed. "Have I mentioned I love you?"

"I'm gonna guess it's the reason you married me."

"As good as your cooking is, that's not the reason." She offered him a wink and then was gone, leaving Lucas alone in the warehouse.

His cell phone rang and he picked it up.

"Boss, we've got Martinez. You good?"

"Golden. Fill him in. I'll see you in a few."

He ended the call, his gaze shifting to the door Sam had left through and winced at the gash along his shoulder.  Okay. Right. Jobs first, dinner later. That's the way they worked.

End.

---

Notes: I don’t tend to write prose for my original work very often anymore. These two are leads in a pilot project of mine and, when I had an exceptionally rough night a couple of nights ago, this is what happened. I love my battle couple.

If anyone’s at all interested, I love chattering about then. Happy to take any questions if you have them.

[the-sympathetic-villain]

You Belong With Me - Chapter 33

AO3 | First | Previous | Next | Masterpost  

Description:   Much to his surprise, after being released from prison for a crime he didn’t commit, Logan has been appointed as a the prince’s new advisor.  

Word Count: 5303

Chapter Warnings: Combat, Restraints, Minor Anger and Angst (Let me know if I need to add anything!)

-

    “Focus.”

    “I am trying, Vee.” Logan muttered, rubbing at his wrist as Virgil's tight grip released from his forearm.

    “I can tell when your head is somewhere else, L." Virgil chided him softly. He gently massaged his temples in an attempt to prevent the headache he could feel building behind his eyes. “I know you've got a lot on your mind, and I'm not trying to downplay what you’re feeling, but this is still happening. Remus is still free—”

    “I know it's important, Virgil.” Logan whispered, glancing down at the ground. He wiped the sweat off his brow as he turned back to Virgil. “I'm focused.”

    Virgil hesitated, heart dropping at the detached look in Logan's eyes. He relaxed his posture, feeling guilt twist in his stomach as he watched his friend step forward despondently. “I’m sorry. If I didn’t think this was necessary, I wouldn’t—"

    “No. You’re right, Vee. You’re doing me a favor teaching me the skills and I owe you my full attention.” Logan muttered as he bowed his head apologetically. “Let's go again.”

    Virgil watched Logan cautiously as he stepped forward. He eyed his fried closely before relenting and giving Logan a quick nod as he dropped into a balanced stance. “Remember, roll your wrist towards my thumb. A person’s grip is only as strong as its weakest point so use that to your advantage.”

    Logan took a slow breath and nodded as he raised his hands up into a defensive position. Carefully, he tracked Virgil’s movements as his friend circled around his far side. He flinched instinctively as Virgil lunged for his wrist, heart pounding in his chest as Virgil’s hand curled tightly around his arm. Suddenly focused, Logan twisted his forearm toward himself, breaking Virgil’s grip. With careful precision, he used Virgil’s brief moment of shock to leverage his friend’s own momentum to send him flying forward.

    “Damn, L.” Virgil smirked proudly as he stopped himself from stumbling . “It almost seems like you were actually listening when I was lecturing you.”

    A tired smile spread across Logan's face as pride fluttered in his chest at Virgil’s praise. “It would appear that I am retaining at least part of your lessons.”

    Virgil tipped his head to Logan with an earnest smile. “You learn quickly, L. I can’t take all the credit.”

    “Thank you, Vee.” Warmth flooded Logan’s chest at the simple compliment and he felt himself relax slightly. “I’m not sure how effective I would be against an actual enemy, but I'm grateful to know I'm improving.”

    “Don’t sell yourself short, L.” Virgil  clapped a hand around Logan’s shoulder, jostling him playfully. “Most of the goons who Remus associates with aren’t well-trained. They’re all brawn with not much going on up top.”

    Logan chuckled as Virgil squeezed his shoulder as gestured absurdly. Despite his mind's attempts at self-sabotage, he could feel himself easing into Virgil’s familiarity.

    Virgil paused, smiling as his friend’s rigid posture eased. “Besides, the point is not for you to actually fight anyone. These tricks I'm showing you are purely self-defense. Your only goal in a fight should be to break loose and get away.”

    “Right,” Logan paused thoughtfully, leaning against the wall as he cautiously tilted his head up to meet Virgil’s gaze. He tapped his fingers anxiously on his arm. “Would you ever consider teaching me more?”

    “What do you mean?” Virgil tilted his head curiously as he watched Logan dipped his head nervously.

    “Basic combat. Beyond simple self-defense, I mean.” Logan lifted his gaze timidly at Virgil. “I know I'm already asking a lot, but I —"

    “I'll teach you whatever you’re willing to learn, Logan.” Virgil replied without hesitation. “I don't mind. All you have to do is ask. Okay?”

    Logan blinked in surprise and his chest suddenly warmed with gratitude at Virgil’s willingness to guide him. “Thank you.”

��   “Of course, L.” Virgil smirked. “Though, if you’re serious about learning to fight, we should probably get permission for me to teach you. My place is alright for teaching you how to break someone’s grip, but if I start tossing you around the place, someone will eventually get suspicious.”

    Logan smiled faintly as he stepped up to Virgil once more. “Do you think the king would allow you teach me?”

    “Almost certainly. The only reason I didn’t ask for these lessons is the process is pretty extensive and time consuming,” Virgil rolled his eyes at the bureaucracy as he leaned back into a balanced stance. “but as long as I'm not teaching you how to assassinate your choice of political figures, I'm sure that Thomas won't mind if I teach you some basic combat.”

    Logan's smile faltered as the king’s name now sounded heavy in his mind. He stared absently at the ground for a moment, lost in thought for a moment, before he realized Virgil was waiting for him to speak. His eyes flicked to Virgil, suddenly feeling guilty as his friend seemed concerned about his change in demeanor.

    “What is it, L?” Virgil straightened up, abandoning their training as he stepped forward to reassure Logan.

    “I just realized—the king must know about what Roman told me—” Logan paused, watching nervously as Virgil’s expression dropped. “He has to kn—”

    “I know.” Virgil interrupted shortly.

    Logan's heart dropped as Virgil’s shoulders dropped. His stomach twisted with guilt as he resisted the urge to apologize. “I didn’t mean to bring it up—”

   “It's okay.” Virgil tipped his head up and Logan couldn’t help, but stare. Despite the kindness Virgil directed towards him, a sense of bitter disappointment hung in the air around Virgil. “I know I'm the only one around for you to bounce your thoughts off and I don’t mind being that for you.

    “Still,” Logan smiled weakly. “I know—I know it's hard for you to be here with me,  instead of—”

    “L, that’s not true—”

    “Of course it is, Vee. You’re his best friend, and everything you heard has come through me.” Logan shrugged nonchalantly, smiling in understanding as Virgil glanced up at him guiltily. “I don't want you to misunderstand. I’m endlessly appreciative of what you’ve given up to be here, but I'm certain that you wish that you had at least gotten to talk to Roman before ending up here with me.”

     “I'll get my chance to talk to him, Logan. Roman's not going anywhere.” Virgil muttered, rolling his shoulders forward as he leaned back on the wall behind him. “After everything you had to hear about your kin, you deserve your space until you’re ready. I promise my questions can wait.”

    “Perhaps,” Logan breathed a quiet sigh as Virgil turned his head up to him. He smiled patiently at Virgil. “ but I am willing to listen if it would benefit you to process your thoughts out loud.”

    Virgil shifted his weight uncomfortably, looking out the window. “I don't want to speak ill of them, L. Thomas and Roman have given me so much. I can't repay that gift by doubting them.”

    “I haven’t known Roman for as long as you, but I think I've seen enough to know he doesn’t value blind loyalty,” Logan whispered patiently. “and given what I've seen of Thomas’ encouragement of your boldness, I can only assume he is much the same as Roman.”

     “I know, but I don't want to make a judgment before I hear their side of the story.” Virgil let loose a disappointed sigh before looking up at Logan seriously. “He knows. I know there’s no way he doesn’t know everything that Roman knows and more, but it’s Thomas, Logan. There has to be an explanation. There just has to be.”

    A smile quirked on Logan’s lips as he listened to Virgil earnestly defend the king. His friends’ loyalty was admirable, and Logan could only hope they were founded in truth. Unfortunately, it would seem his doubt of the king’s true intentions was resistant to leave his own mind. “I wish I could share your confidence, Virgil.”

    “You've barely even been introduced to the king, L. No one will blame you for being cautious with him,” Virgil let out a long drawn out sigh before looking up at Logan. “especially since I'm sure you haven’t forgotten that Thomas was responsible for your extended stay in the dungeons—”

    Logan flushed with guilt as Virgil picked out the thought lingering in the back of his mind he hadn’t dared bring up. Immediately, he dropped his gaze to the ground. “He was only trying to make sure Roman recovered—”

    “Roman was well enough to order your release.” Virgil muttered bitterly. “It doesn’t matter how you spin the situation. There’s no getting around the fact that you lost days of your freedom to Thomas’ decision. Days spent with Remus who was tort—”

    “He didn't know what was happening to me, Virgil.” Logan whispered quietly, suddenly overwhelmed by the amount of emotion radiating off of Virgil.

    Virgil paused, taken aback by Logan's soft response. He took a moment to pull himself back and soften his voice. “Look, I trust Thomas with my life. He has always gone out of his well to treat me well, but it was his responsibility to make sure you were safe in the dungeons. You don't have to make excuses for him.”

    Logan smiled faintly, touched by Virgil’s validation of his doubts. He glanced up at his friend appreciatively.

    “It makes sense you need a little more convincing to believe that Thomas will pull through for you.” Virgil smiled, stepping forward to rest his hands on Logan’s shoulders.

    A sad smile curled on Logan’s lips as he took a deep breath. “I want to believe he's a good person, Virgil.”

    “Just give him the chance to prove it to you, Logan.” Virgil whispered. “Listen, let's just get back to your training for now. We don’t have to do this now.”

    Logan nodded as he hesitantly stepped out into the open space of the room. He let his arms drop to his side, forcing himself to relax as he tried to shift his attention back to Virgil’s lesson. Much to his dismay, Virgil didn't seem content with his reluctance to leave the topic.

    “Seriously, L.” Virgil gestured for him to step out further into the room as he ducked down behind his sofa, kneeling down as he reached underneath. “What's going put this to rest in your head so you can focus?”

    Logan bit his lip, trying to keep his voice neutral. “Why is it that my questions keep circling back to whether Roman is a good person, Vee?”

    “Because you’re involved with him.” Virgil grunted simply. “You spent a night in his bed and now you’re questioning if that was the right move.”

    Logan's heart jumped in his chest at Virgil’s implication and he held his hand up in protest. “Wait, Vee. We didn't—”

    “It doesn’t really matter what you did or didn't do, Logan.” Virgil cut him off abruptly with a smirk. “It's obvious enough that you care for him in a different way than you do Patton or myself. Perhaps you even think you love him.”

     “I—” Logan swallowed nervously and watched as Virgil’s head appeared over the edge of the cushions, followed shortly by the familiar black case of practice locks. He paused as Virgil’s gaze locked onto him. “Perhaps, there is a shred of truth to your statement.”

     Virgil stared at him for a brief moment before turning down to pop open the case. “He's my best friend and you’re the only guy I'm going to give a pass on the lecture about what will happen if you hurt him.”

   Logan tipped his head up nervously at the end of Virgil’s statement, surprised by the easy-going smile on Virgil’s face. A subtle wave of relief washed over him at Virgil’s approval.

    “I think you’re good for him, and I have to admit I’m hoping you find it in you to forgive him—” Virgil sighed and Logan heard the light sounds of jangling metal as he snapped the box closed. He paused, looking at Logan before he dropping his gaze apologetically as he gently set the case back on the ground. “I’m sorry, L. I shouldn’t try to influence your decision. Whatever you decide, I’m on your side.”

    “There are no sides, Virgil." Logan whispered watching Virgil’s hands as he approached. “Roman and I are at a point of mutual understanding.”

     “Is that why you haven’t talked to him in two days?” A small smirk twitched at the corner of Virgil’s lips as he shyly tipped his head up at Logan.

    Logan stared at shackles in Virgil’s hand as he let out a slow exhale. He rolled his eyes at Virgil. “My reasons for lack of contact with Roman are purely a matter of processing the new information he’s presented to me. I know—” Logan smiled fondly as his gaze drifted to the ground. “I know he cares for me in particular, and I obviously feel strongly about him—” Logan leaned against the wall behind him. “—but this has to about more than his feelings for me.”

    “He just needed the chance to really see the damage that the Fair Folk have endured.” Virgil said softly. “He's not the type to abide seeing anyone get hurt.”

    “I know, Vee.”  Logan whispered with a faint smile.

    “You'll at least give him a chance to make things right.” Virgil muttered, fiddling with the metal shackles in his hands as he approached Logan. “Won't you?”

     He crossed his arms, staring down at the ground as he considered Virgil’s words. After a long moment, he let out a breath and nodded his head. “I've only known him for a few short weeks, but in that time, I've come to care a lot for him, Virgil. It was never in the cards for me to simply walk out on him.”

    Virgil smirked as he tipped his eyes up to Logan. “I'm glad to hear it, L.”

    Logan smiled fondly for a moment, before nodding down at the cuffs in Virgil’s hands. “Now, will you tell me why you have those?”

    “Don't worry, L. They’re not going on you,” Virgil smirked as he unlatched the metal shackles, allowing Logan to change the subject. “but I definitely shouldn’t be teaching you this, so maybe there is a bright side that you can't accidentally let this slip to princey.”

    Logan let his arms drop to his side as he stepped forward cautiously. “What is this skill you intend teach me?”

    “I'm going to teach you how to restrain someone,” Virgil whispered. His voice suddenly held an edge as he switched into his training headspace. “but I need you to take this seriously, L. This isn't a skill I take lightly. I'm teaching this because I want you to be able to defend yourself, but if you use this in any other situation, I'll arrest you myself. Got it?”

    Logan bit his lip as he nodded back at Virgil. “I wouldn’t hurt an innocent person, Virgil.”

    “That's not your call to make, Logan.” Virgil stared at him without blinking. “You don't get to play judge and jury on someone else’s life. You either believe you’re in danger or you don't.”

    Logan blinked, thinking for a moment before giving another solemn nod. “You are only teaching me to restrain someone. Correct?”

    “Yes, but things go wrong.” Virgil eyes darkened. “You need to be observant and pay attention to everything, because if you don't have control of the situation, someone could get hurt. You could get hurt.”

     “I understand—”

     “No, you don't.” Virgil scolded him gently. “If you miss that your enemy has a knife, you could die.”

     “I—”

     “If you miss that they have a spare key on their person, you could die.”

     “Virgil—"

      “Which is why you can never do this if Remus is the one holding you.” Virgil finished sharply. He stared down at Logan, waiting for a response.

    Logan looked up at him with a tired look in his eyes. “Because I wouldn’t be in control?”

    “Remus has been training for combat as long as Roman. He's at least as competent as I am, L. You can’t surprise him. You'll only end up getting hurt,” Virgil dropped his gaze, continuing his lecture as he stepped away from Logan toward his desk. “but Remus has a number of people under his control for which this would be an effective defense. Not to mention, if that bastard in the dungeons ever gets free, this would especially useful for dealing with him.”

    “Why?” Logan watched Virgil closely as he set the key aside on the desk and stepped back to Logan.

    “Almost every set of shackles you’ll find in this area is going to be made primarily of iron, which negates fae's abilities. No doubt that's why your powers never triggered while Remus held you,” Virgil held out his hand, gesturing for Logan to give reach his hand out to him. “and that's also why Thomas has that bastard in the dungeons chained on every limb. He doesn’t have access to his power and that makes him nearly harmless.

    “Dee.” Logan tensed at the memory of how Dee had been treated in the dungeons. The memory sent disgust creeping down his spine as considered how his own treatment had differed when he'd been considered human.

    “What?”

    “His name is Dee.” Logan muttered as he reluctantly extended his hand out to Virgil.

     “Listen, L. I get you’re feeling guilty for where this guy ended up, but you can't blame me for not warming up to the guy that kidnapped and hurt three of my friends. Good intentions don’t change that fact.”

    “I don’t think he's a bad person, Virgil.” Logan whispered quietly.

    “Good people don’t hurt people—”

    “Did you not just spend a considerable amount of time convincing me that I should forgive Roman?” Logan stared up at Virgil, ignoring the edge that crept into his tone.

     “Roman never intended to hurt anyone—”

     “And yet, arguably, his actions hurt more people.”

     There was a small pause before Virgil rolled his eyes and gently took Logan's wrist into his hand. He took a breath and seemed to calm as he met Logan’s gaze. “First things first, L. Patience is key. Your greatest advantage is the element of surprise. No one expects you to fight, so unless you’re worried about getting hurt immediately, you should take your time to plan your escape since you might not get a second chance.”

     Logan nodded solemnly, skin prickling with anticipation as Virgil’s fingers curled around his wrist.

    “Before you ever attempt to escape, you should know the location of any keys to your binds.” Virgil spoke quietly as he watched to make sure Logan was listening. “Always assume there is a spare. No one really thinks about it, but it's rare for there to be only one key.”

    Logan nodded, watching Virgil stiffly.

    “Don’t act if you’re outnumbered and make sure you know where you’re escaping. It doesn't do a lot of good to get away, if you end up dying of exposure.” Virgil waited for Logan to nod his affirmation before turning his eyes down to Logan’s wrist in his hand. “The wrist is a weak point in the body. The range of motion of the joint makes it particularly easy to break, which means our body will react instinctively to protect it with only the slightest application of pressure.”

    Logan gasped as Virgil twisted his wrist around his back. He stumbled but quickly righted himself. He froze, suddenly aware of how each movement seemed to cause the pressure on his wrist to increase.

     “Once you’re in control, you need to leverage your opponent’s weak points.” Virgil whispered patiently. “You’re not particularly strong—”

    “Thanks for the observat—” Logan’s voice was reduced to a wispy breath as Virgil twisted his wrist up further.

     “—but you don't need to be stronger when you only need the slightest movements to maintain control.” Virgil raised his leg and brought it down gently on the back of Logan’s knee. Logan’s legs immediately buckled underneath him and he grumbled his discontent as he found himself kneeling in front of Virgil. His friend put a hand on his shoulder, gently pushing him forward. “On the ground, L.”

    “I think you've proven your point—” Logan’s statement turned to a groan as Virgil pushed his wrist further up his back.

   “Now.” Virgil commanded gently.

    Virgil chuckled as Logan let out a dramatic sigh and allowed Virgil to lower him to the ground. Logan groaned as Virgil shifted his shin onto Logan’s back, pinning Logan to the ground. He felt Virgil reach for his other wrist, curling it around his back. Logan let his face rest on the ground, growling as he realized Virgil had pinned him to the ground with his hands between his back in only a few short movements.

    “Any system has it's weak points where it bends, L. I know it feels hopeless right now, but we can make some real change for the Fair Folk,” Virgil stated plainly. “but we can't do that if we give up on our allies.”

    “I haven’t given up on Roman, Virgil.” Logan muttered bitterly into the ground.

    “I'm not talking about Roman, L.” Virgil whispered as he released Logan’s wrists and allowed him to roll onto his back. He waited patiently for Logan to right himself before offering him a hand up. “The Fair Folk need a voice in the changes that need to happen, and despite my reservations about this guy, he at least has the support of fae courts which would be a good place to start negotiations."

    “What do you mean?” Logan asked curiously as Virgil pulled him to his feet.

    “The courts of the Fair Folk are not like ours. There’s no trial. The court simply makes a decision and issues a punishment. Their decisions are swift and indisputable.” Virgil shrugged nonchalantly as he brushed the dirt off of Logan’s back. “Quite honestly, I was surprised when the fae hadn't plucked him from his cell that first night. The fact that he survived the night means one thing. He must have the support either the Seelie or Unseelie courts. If he didn't, he’d be dead for risking war with the human kingdom.”

   “I think he has support of both courts.”

    “What?!”

    Logan looked up abruptly at Virgil’s sudden change in tone. He blinked, suddenly concerned by the distraught look on Virgil’s face as he leaned away. “He said that my existence had united the Seelie and Unseelie courts into action—”

    “Are you sure that’s what he said?” Virgil let out a long sigh, closing his eyes as he ran his fingers through his hair.

    “That is what Dee claimed but I don’t understand, Virgil.” Logan stepped forward. “What does that even mean?”

     “Hopefully, it means he's a lying piece of—” Virgil snarled. Nervousness seemed to be creeping into his voice until Logan cut him off with a hand on his shoulder.

     “Vee—"

     “L, if that's true—” Virgil tugged on the end of his hair anxiously. “—this just got a lot more serious. I'd heard rumors, but Rem—I would have thought he'd have told me.”

    “Virgil, please.”

    Virgil looked up in surprise as Logan took a step closer, resting a hand on his shoulder.

    “Please, tell me why this is relevant to what is happening.” Logan held his friend’s shoulder tightly. “What are the Seelie and Unseelie courts?”

    Virgil hesitated briefly before forcing his shoulders to relax as he turned his head to Logan. “They’re the groups of Fair Folk that govern the others, L. Like our monarchy, but they have two families that rule over the rest of the fae. The Seelie court governs what we would think of as light fae. Sunshine, flowers, unicorns—anything you’d consider light and good is governed by the Seelie—”

     “Unicorns aren’t real—” Logan’s plain statement was abruptly stopped as Virgil glared at him.

     “I was embellishing, Logan.”

     Logan smiled shyly as he recognized his missed social cue. “Your exaggeration is noted. Please, continue your explanation.”

     Virgil stared at him for a moment before sighing and continuing. “The Unseelie court is the opposite. They are everything that's dark in this world. They govern the shadows, the fog and everything in between that goes bump in the night."

    “That distinction seems entirely arbitrary. ” Logan started cautiously. “Why are they even separate?”

    “For balance, L. They both have immeasurable power, but the power is never absolute.” Virgil tossed the shackles to Logan as he stepped back, pausing as Logan fumbled to catch them. “Each court has different values that play on their own strengths and keep the other side in check.”

    “Fascinating.” Logan murmured as he looked down. “So, the fact that they've united is—”

     “—is very bad for us.” Virgil finished sharply before gesturing to the shackles in Logan’s hands. “Alright, enough talking. We can't do anything about that now. It’s your turn to take me down.”

    “What?” Logan paused uncertainly. “What do I do?”

    “Exactly what I did to you, L.” Virgil held out his wrist encouragingly as he smirked at Logan. “Go through the motions slowly the first time. The last thing we need is to have to explain to princey how you broke my wrist.”

    “Okay.” Logan murmured quietly as he took Virgil’s wrist.

    “It's fine, L. I was joking.” Virgil reassured him. “You won't actually hurt me.”

    Logan nodded stiffly as he adjusted his grip on Virgil’s wrist. Slowly, he twisted Virgil’s hand behind back, grateful that Virgil willingly flowed with the motion.

     “Good, L. Take a breath.” Virgil mumbled quiet. “Keep your grip tight on my wrist. If I were to struggle, you press up on—”

    “Sorry—” Logan whispered breathlessly as Virgil gasped. He immediately released the pressure.

     “Don't let go.” Virgil commanded gently. He smiled as Logan continued to hold him gently. “It didn’t hurt. You just surprised me. You did good. It’s actually important for you to get used to what kind of force you can use without actually hurting me.”

     Logan nodded and was quiet for a moment as he stared at Virgil’s back nervously. He could almost feel his hands shaking with guilt at causing his friend pain.

    “L?”

    “Yes, Virgil?” Logan looked up out of his daze.

    “Next step is to get me to the ground.”

    “Okay.” Logan shifted his stance carefully, looking down at Virgil’s legs.

    “Just tap the back of my knee.” Virgil spoke gently. “You don't need much force to knock me to the ground.”

     Logan nodded, kicking his foot up to Virgil’s knee to push him to the ground. He slowly kneeled behind Virgil as he dropped to his knees. Focused, Logan reached his free hand to Virgil’s shoulder as he kept pressure on Virgil’s wrist.

     “That’s it, L. The most important thing is to keep control of the situation.” Virgil smiled as Logan’s movements became more confident. “Alright, get me on the ground and make sure I’m secure then you can cuff the first hand.”

     “What?” Logan’s voice cracked as he looked down at Virgil.

    “Relax, Logan. We have the key.” Virgil rushed to reassure him. He leaned his head to the side, catching a glance at Logan. “I didn't cuff you because I know it freaks you out, but you need the practice.”

     “Right,” Logan’s gaze drifted down to Virgil’s wrist which was now a bright red from the increased blood flow. He felt a twinge of guilt as he lowered Virgil to the ground. He let out a long breath as he rested a knee on Virgil’s back and reached for the cuffs. “It’s just practice.”

    “This is the most difficult part, Logan.” Virgil smiled reassuringly as he tried to watch Logan out of the corner of his eye. “You’re going to be distracted by getting the cuff on, but if you lose your grip now, the game's over. This isn’t the kind of trick you can pull twice.”

    Logan nodded, grateful as the cuff snapped into place. He quickly reached for Virgil’s other wrist. With a quick twist, the hand was behind his friend’s back and he's snapped the other bind into place. A sudden calm swept over him as he realized he'd finished.

    “Not so bad, right?” Virgil smirked up at him, head tipped to the side as he lay prone on the ground.

    “No,” Logan smiled back as he stepped off Virgil. “Not nearly as difficult as I was anticipating.”

    “Grab the key and we'll go again.” Virgil  muttered as he pushed himself upright. He watched quietly as Logan slipped the key off the table and came back towards him. As Logan dropped behind him, he leaned forward, giving his friend a better angle to disengage his binds.

   “Just to be sure, you would have informed me if I'd caused you injury. Right, Virgil?” Logan asked timidly.

   “Of course. I'm not much good to anyone if I let you snap my wrist.” Virgil grinned as Logan snapped off the second cuff. He quickly popped himself off the ground. “Alright, let’s go again. This time, no pauses.”

     Logan smiled at Virgil’s relaxed demeanor, glad to see that the restraints didn’t seem to cause the same emotional reaction that it would have for himself. His smile slowly turned to a smirk as he noticed the challenge in Virgil’s eyes. He couldn’t help but chuckle at his friend’s excitement and muster his best challenging smirk. “If you insist, Virgil. I would be happy to put you in your proper place.”

    “Bring it on, L. You might find the process to be a little more challenging once I give you a bit of resistance.” Virgil pushed up the sleeves on his cloak as his eyes glimmered chaotically.

    Logan turned the last corner silently. Never in his wildest daydreams did he think he would willingly return to the dungeons at night, let alone come back alone.

     “I guess we'll soon see.” Logan chuckled as he took the shackles back from Virgil. He turned to face Virgil, crouching as he prepared to start again.

---

    Slipping past Virgil had been easy. Even with his limited control on his powers, becoming undetectable was almost as natural as breathing. He moved as quietly as the wind dancing between shadows as he evaded the roaming guards.

    Even nature seemed on his side as the waning moon was a thin crescent in the sky. The darkness of the near moonless night only made it easier for him to avoid the gaze of the few straggling bystanders he’d passed.

    Logan sucked in a breath, hesitating in the last archway. It wasn't too late to turn around. He could still return to the relative safety of Virgil’s chamber. None of this was strictly necessary. He wouldn’t die from not knowing.

     The problem was the question had been eating at him all of his life and he finally had the opportunity to get a real answer. He needed to know what had happened to his mother and there was only one person who had offered to settle the question in his mind.

     “What are you waiting for, Logan?”

     Dee's smooth voice sent chills up his spine. Logan tilted his head to the entrance, hesitating guiltily as he weighed his options. Logan knew he should go back. Nothing good could come from entering the dungeons alone with Dee, but he couldn’t force himself to walk away. Shame brimmed in his eyes as he turned, hesitating reluctantly following Dee’s voice into the dimly lit cell.

-

General Taglist:

@somehow-i-got-an-account @justanotherhumanstuff @im-an-anxious-wreck

You Belong With Me Taglist:

@cas-is-a-hunter @insert-cool-blogname @ironwoman359 @i-know-im-smart @imbadatnames8d @croftersphoenix @optimistic-violinist @chronicallynervouschild @croftersjam15 @actitus-hypoleucos @unbefuckinglieveable @justthatamount @eeveeeclair246 @taxicabinmemphis @theoddkidnextdoor @dwbh888

[ao3bronte]

To Live Without Loving (is not really to live)

Also on AO3

Et vivre sans aimer n'est pas proprement vivre. - Molière

“Marinette!”

With a start, Marinette shoves her mobile phone beneath her pillow and grabs the novel beside her, opening it at random, “Oui, Maman?”

“It’s nearly 23:00,” Sabine announces, hoisting the apartment's trapdoor open and peeking inside, “Why are your lights still on?”

Marinette grimaces, “I have to finish this book by tomorrow and I’m still not done!”

Raising an eyebrow, Sabine climbs up the steps and gently pads towards Marinette’s bedside, “You’ve been at it for hours and you’re telling me that you’re still not finished?”

Marinette knows a lost cause when she sees one, “I may have gotten…distracted.”

“Hmm,” Sabine crosses her arms across her chest, “You have ten minutes, then it’s lights out.”

“But Maman…”

“Hush. Your brevet is coming up soon and I expect you to excel, as you always do. You need your sleep.”

Marinette groans, “Oui, Maman.”

“Doux rêves, mon coeur.”

Marinette returns the sentiment and watches as Sabine closes the trapdoor behind her. She listens, holding her breath as her mother’s footsteps carry down the stairs, leading into the bedroom. After a moment or two of quiet chatter, her parent’s bedroom door opens and squeaks shut with a click.

“Finally.” Exhaling, Marinette snatches her vibrating phone out from under her pillow and slides her thumb against it, illuminating the screen. An image of the infamous cabaret Le Chat Noir casts a shadow across her bedroom, “Allo?”

“M’Lady! I thought you had fallen asleep on me.”

Marinette rolls her eyes, “I got distracted.”

“Not distracted enough to leave me hanging, are you?”

“I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

“Until then, mon amour.”

Quickly, Marinette taps the end call button against her fingertips and slips from beneath her covers, eager to sneak out before it gets too late in the evening. She tugs on a pair of pyjama pants and crawls outside, crossing over to the potted plants hanging from the wrought iron railings enclosing her balcony.

“Ready to go?” Tikki asks, rising from the fronds. Marinette nods and fastens the zip of her sweater before allowing Tikki to merge with her Miraculous, bathing the balcony in scarlet light. Mask safely affixed to her skin, she slips out into the evening breeze and leaps across the rooftops, eventually plopping down onto their favourite meeting spot along the city-spanning river, the Seine.

“Bonsoir, ma chérie!”

Ladybug turns towards the source of the racket as Chat Noir drops onto the quai from above, landing in a crouch beside her. The lattice of the bench she’s sitting on trembles as he digs his claws into the metal, steadying his balance, “Hey Chat. How’s my favourite stray?”

Chat spreads his arms dramatically, “La vie est belle!”

“You seem like you’re in a good mood,” Ladybug smiles, relaxing against the backrest.

“My day improves exponentially each time I get to see you.”

“Really?” Ladybug is pretty sure that if she rolled her eyes any harder, they might just get stuck there, “It’s been, what, two days since we last crossed paths?”

“An eternity,” Chat replies, holding his hand over his chest, “It wounds me to be so close, and yet so far.”

Ladybug can’t help but snort, “I can’t say that I’ve missed your melodrama.”

“Forgive me M’Lady, but I’ve been forced into reading Molière for the past week and I feel it may be rubbing off on me.”

Ladybug hesitates before responding, having just left L'École des femmes sitting on her duvet not twenty minutes ago, “Let’s just get down to business, shall we?”

Chat smiles and opens his palm to the horizon, “Après vous.”

~

“Chat!”

Ladybug screeches to a halt and uses her momentum to launch herself against the buildings lining the boulevard, pulling a hard 180° turn. She flings her yoyo and it wraps around the base of a satellite dish, sending her flying back to Chat’s location, “Are you okay?!”

He’s lying in the base of a crater, the akuma having body slammed him into the concrete, “Never better!”

Ladybug drags her eyes from Chat’s prone body and focuses on the akuma instead. Its body is huge, not unlike the rock monster they encountered on their very first adventure together. However, this particular akuma is far more calculating and intelligent that she had initially assumed.

“Hey! Bonehead!” Ladybug hollers to distract the monster from squashing Chat again. She can tell from his wheezing that whatever the akuma did to him while she wasn’t looking, he would need a minute or two to recuperate, “Look over here!”

Using her yoyo, Ladybug swings back and forth, drawing the hulking mass of a monster towards her. She reaches the other side of the boulevard and runs down the length of it, leaping off of a bench and vaulting back up into the sky. The akuma lumbers towards her, its hands flailing wildly in her general direction, and Ladybug does all that she can to keep one eye on potential tools for a plan and the other on Chat.

“Alright akuma,” she mutters, “Let’s get this over with.”

Ladybug raises her hand above her head with a flourish, summoning her Lucky Charm. It’s a sledge and it doesn’t take long for her to figure out what to do with it. With the help of her yoyo, a cement truck parked up the way, a tandem bicycle and a clothesline, Ladybug effectively smashes the monster to bits and releases the black akuma hiding inside its abdomen. Ladybug reaches up to capture it, purifying its soul, and releases it to the mercy of the winds.

“Bravo!”

Ladybug is already halfway over when Chat starts pulling himself out of his Chat sized crater. He droops over the chunks of concrete, wincing when the hole corrects itself under Ladybug’s restorative magic, and rolls over onto his back instead.

“Are you alright?”

Chat blinks up at Ladybug, “My Lady, il le faut avouer, l'amour est un grand Maître.”

“Ugh,” she groans, running her gloved hand over her face as her Miraculous begins to beep at her, “If you’re well enough to recite love poems to me, then you’re well enough to get up.”

She offers him her hand and he takes it, brushing himself off as she hauls him up easily, “Excuse me for being well versed in the classics, M’Lady. I am a cultured cat.”

“You have a test tomorrow on Molière, don’t you?”

Caught, Chat glares at her sidelong, “It’s an in-class essay, I’ll have you know.”

“Well, don’t let me Horace you any longer.”

Chat gapes at her suddenly, his eyes wide, “Did you…did you just…?”

“Make a pun? Maybe, maybe not,” she smirks, batting him on the nose, “Now, it’s time to get going. You need your beauty sleep.”

“But—”

“Off with you,” she grins, gesturing at him to leave with a flick of her wrist, “À plus!”

~

It isn’t a particularly long walk to school the next morning, but Marinette spends most of it thinking about her in-class essay. It’s one of the very last assignments that will count towards her brevet at the end of the year; it’s also the third time since the beginning of the semester that Chat has mentioned having to work on a school assignment.

The same school assignment as her.

It’s been niggling at her thoughts for some time now, the fact that Chat may very well be a student in her grade. First, it was the same unit test in maths that had come up in their conversation and between the binomials and trinomials clogging her brain, Marinette hadn’t thought anything of it. But a few months later, it happened again and Chat was waxing poetic about a particular stream of science and the experiment he was completing in class…

...which was the exact same experiment that had blown up in her face that afternoon.

Armed with the sheer determination to ignore any and all comparisons between her life and his, Marinette stuck her head in the proverbial sand and promptly tuned him out whenever school came up in their conversations. That is, until last night.

Marinette tugs at her ponytails and racks her brain for clues. There are only two 3ème classes in Collège Françoise Dupont and she shares her age with only five other blond boys, one of which is shorter than her. There’s the twins in Mlle Mendeleiev’s class, but they both have much bigger noses than Chat. Then there’s Christien, and that would be impossible given his fairly distinctive Belgian accent which leaves the only other option as…

...Adrien Agreste.

She watches him duck into his locker from the other side of the room and wince as he holds his ribs gingerly, grimacing at another one of Nino’s terrible dad jokes. He’s quoting Molière again, favouring his left arm as he waves it around theatrically, making Nino roll his eyes in response.

Oh.

When she sits down, lined paper in hand and essay prompt at the top, she’s never been so sure of something in her life.

She’s going to fail this essay spectacularly.

And, Adrien Agreste is Chat Noir.

[hyrule-kingdom-updates]

“Astor!” Zelda yelled at the hooded figure. She saw his head flinch.

“Listen, I want...” She paused to assess her words. “We can help each other, alright? We don’t have to be enemies in this, no matter what anyone else may say. So—”

The man suddenly dashed towards her, and Mallory attempted to hold her shard in front of her body. But the figure was too fast.

He unsheathed a brilliant, shining rapier, concealed by his cloak on his waist. He shoved her against one of the houses, and held the tip against her neck, pinning his forearm to her chest.

His hood fell down, revealing dark skin, black dreadlocks fading at the ends to a basil green, and a sea green eye, the left one covered by a leather patch.

Zelda looked him up and down, as she squirmed a bit against his arm. “You’re not Astor...”

“Not quite” The boy replied. Boy? Young man? His exact age was hard to tell. He looked older than her at least, maybe Purah’s age.

“My...apologies, I’m—” Mallory was cut off by the rapier moving closer to her neck.

“I accept your apology, Your Majesty. Mistakes happen. Would be unchivalrous to hold such little things against you. We all make mistakes and should be free to learn from them.” His studied her up and down. “But I can’t but feel concerned by the fact that the newly self made Queen wishes to side with a dangerous, dark magical seer. If you would be so kind as to drop that piece of pottery in your hand to answer a question or two, that would be wonderful.”

Zelda glared at him, but followed and dropped sharp beside her. “It’s not like that.”

She paused, expecting him to cut in with some retort. But he just looked at her, patient and waiting for her explanation. He raised his eyebrows.

“Oh! Of course. How rude of me. You’ve complied, so you’re not a threat. No need for all this.” He unpinned her from the wall, and twirled his rapier with practiced showmanship, and sheathed it once more by his waist. The scabbard was a polished silver color, laced with luminescent greens and thin blue lines. A stark contrast to his dirtied tan tunic and dark pants and boots. As his deep purple cloak fluttered with the motions of the blade, Zelda caught a glimpse several large, ovular objects stacked on his tattered leather belt. But the cloak settled back on his back before she could identify them.

The boy put an arm behind his back, and fluttered his other arm in a circle as he gestured for Zelda to continue. “Please, go on, Your Majesty. I’m sure you wouldn’t want to leave a bad impression upon a humble subject such as I.”

Mallory was unsure of how to handle this situation. She could probably run, but she didn’t trust how abnormally fast the boy was, and he certainly was skilled with that rapier. He seemed genuinely polite, but it was still...odd, given the circumstances.

“I...don’t want to hurt anyone.”

“Something we have in common!”

“But if I don’t hurt these people, other people might get hurt, or worse.”

“Ah...yes, that does seem to be a common dilemma for royalty...”

“And Astor is...He’s pretty much the last person I have who knows—” She shook her head. “And even my own allies are accusing ME of being no better than them! Me! It’s preposterous, all of this, isn’t it?!”

He tilted his head to the side and just stared at her, raising an eyebrow. He considered her words for a moment, before shrugging. “I’m afraid I cannot quite understand your circumstances, Queen Mallory.”

She clicked her tongue and crossed her arms. “That’s right, nobody does. Nobody truly understands what pain I’ve been through my whole life, and now that I’ve actually started to care about myself, I’m being made the villain for it.” She rapper her fingers on her arm. “I mean, it’s really only Impa so far, but she’s the most blunt and hard headed out of everyone! Perhaps the others think little of me too! I bet they’re just waiting for the opportunity to tell me how much I suck, just waiting for my next slip up. I’m the only one in this kingdom with her head on straight and Mr. Astor—”

“I will say, in my humble opinion, killing the Prophet of Doom and his accomplices would be generally beneficial for the public. The populous that you now directly oversee, that is.”

Zelda snapped her head towards him, only to find him grinning a toothy grin with brandished confidence. She scoffed, starting to march off.

“Sorry again,” she muttered.

“Well now hold on, Your Majesty, I only wanted—”

A sudden burst of air blew into the alley way, and Zelda hugged the wall and closed her eyes. The boy beside her gripping the pommel of his blade, while blocking both of their faces by holding up the end his purple cloak, dirt and dust sweeping up past their heads.

The winds died as quick as it came. Zelda blinked away dust and moved out from behind his cloak, peering up past the alleyway.

On the roof of the house by the waterfalls was Lady Jou battling a half maliced Revali. She watched him strike an arrow of malice into her stomach, and the impact sent her crumpling towards the ground.

As Revali flew alone above the rooftop, another figure suddenly descended from the towering waterfall, an astrolabe floating in his palm. She couldn’t tell what was happening from this distance, but she watched him say something to Revali, before he flew down somewhere below.

Astor followed after him.

“Oh gods—!” She started running.

“It was pleasant talking with you, Your Majesty!” The boy behind her called out. “I wish you the best of luck! I do not envy the position of the rich and royal one bit!”

As she left, the boy hummed to himself as he continued scouring the empty houses.

“What an interesting character, she is...”

Zelda could feel the adrenaline pumping through her blood. She charged through the courtyard in front of the wooden steps, to find Hylian soldiers running about. They must have been Jou’s escort.

One of the soldiers turn and caught Zelda’s eye.

“Look!” He shouted. “It’s the princess! Grab her!”

As Mallory ran, the other soldiers suddenly became aware of her presence and started chasing after her. She dove under the arms of one guard, and sped past two others who comically ran into each other. However, their numbers continued to surround her.

She felt an sharp pain on her scalp and yelped as someone pulled her ponytail.

“I got her!” A soldier yelled, trying to wrangle her arms back. “I got the kid! Let’s—GAHHHH!”

The grip around her ponytail suddenly loosened, and Mallory toppled to her knees on the ground. She scrambled away as she spotted another soldier going to grab her. But suddenly, he was thrust through a window with a shot of malice.

Mallory snapped her head towards the attack’s source, and locked eyes with him.

Astor lowered himself to the ground.

He wasn’t looking at her, instead his eyes were narrowed with a quiet anger. He was staring somewhere beyond Zelda as he lifted his arm up.

A geyser of malice suddenly erupted beside Mallory, and she looked to find a soldier has crept beside her, sword raised as he attempted to stab at the loose flap of her blouse to pin her. His momentum would never strike the ground as he was thrown upwards by the geyser, screaming all the way, before collapsing into a pile of wooden crates.

“Princess.” Astor said, simply. “Your escorts are doing their jobs wonderfully, it seems.”

The Queen stared him, unsure whether to respond with gratitude or anger.

As the geyser behind he dwindled away, Zelda felt some specks fly onto her wrist. She held up her hand to her face as she observed it. It glistened like onyx, bits of magenta speckled in it like stars.

Mipha had described the feeling of malice to be toxically sweet, like a sugar rush that gave you an eroding stomachache. Revali has agreed with Mipha’s description, but had added on that it was less a feeling of sweet sugar, and more like a warm fire, slowly caressing your body and building in temperature until it boiled you.

But to her, the malice’s sensation...

It felt no different than what she had already been feeling.

“Don’t play with that.” Astor suddenly snapped. “You know better than to meddle with the same substance that—”

“Yes! I do know better, thank you very much!” Mallory stood on her feet. “Don’t play with malice. Says the one with the damn mobile toy!” She angrily gestured to the astrolabe floating above his palm.

The seer frowned. “This is a complex device crafted by Calamity Ganon.”

“Well tell his concept designer to make something that looks a bit more evil, rather than a play thing I could see hanging above my crib.” She tapped her foot angrily and she tried to think of where to steer the conversation.

But there was just silence as they observed each other.

Mallory sighed. “We don’t have to be—”

“I want to make something very clear, Princess.” Astor cut in. “You and I know that I am not going to kill you...”

He narrowed his eyes. “But that doesn’t mean I won’t harm your friends. If you, or anyone else, stands in my way, I will not hesitate.”

The way he was staring at her, Zelda got the strange sensation that he was trying to convince someone else beyond her.

“I won’t pretend I’m being selfless about this. This is mostly for my sake, I will admit.” He adjusted his sleeves as his astrolabe pulsed with a new soft glow.

“But if you don’t like my methods, you’re going to have to stop me by force, Zelda. That’s the only way you’re going to stop me.”

A blur of black and blue shot above in the sky above Astor. He looked up, and started to float once more. He looked at Mallory, before heading after Revali.

“A part of me hope you do.”

Zelda clenched her hands into fists.

Idiot. Damn stupid, stubborn idiots. Everyone...

A drop of malice on her wrist fell to the grass.

[miraculouscontent]

Ivanette first kiss? Preferably with Ivan carrying Marinette because she's so small

Marinette had a problem.

Well, not a “problem” in the strictest sense. In fact, she was sure that most people would be thrilled at getting a free ride away from any oncoming akuma, and if said ride happened to come from one of the nicer guys they knew, wouldn’t that be all the better?

The problem, however, was that Marinette wasn’t “most people,” and Tikki had been reminding her of that for the past couple blocks now. Ivan had her over his shoulder, meaning that Tikki was free to pantomime the shout of, “Marinette! Akuma!” as much as she wanted.

That’s what Marinette thought she was pantomiming, anyway. It was hard to tell when Tikki didn’t have fingers to do extra gesturing with, not that Marinette would tell her that and potentially hurt her feelings.

Point being, unlike most people, Marinette actually had to be close to the akuma. Going too far meant having to backtrack longer once she transformed., and while it was actually convenient to get taken a small distance away, Ivan carried her much further than that.

“Um, Ivan?” she attempted, pushing herself up just enough to try and look at him.

She’d been too quiet apparently. He didn’t seem to hear her. Understandable, given the fearful rush most people deal with when they know that an akuma’s on the loose, but Marinette didn’t have time for this.

“Ivan,” she repeated, raising her voice to its normal volume.

Still nothing. If anything, he picked up the pace.

Marinette looked forward, not at Tikki, but at how far the akuma was by this point. As said akuma flew into the air and seemed to fire at something (someone?), Marinette noted that she couldn’t even make out any of the akuma’s colors.

Then, a building fell, and Marinette inhaled sharply at the sight. So that’s what they’d fired at.

“I-ivan!”

Ivan grunted in surprise, but obeyed and came to a stop. She had no idea if he’d put her down or if the momentum had thrown her when he’d stopped so quickly, but she was at least on the ground now.

“S-sorry!” he apologized hurriedly. He rubbed the back of his neck, not making eye contact with her. “I should've found a place to hide by now instead--”

“No! I mean, yes, but--” She sighed. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

He looked at her, confused.

“Thanks for keeping me safe,” she said genuinely, “but... we should--um--split up for now, okay? I’ll go this way, and you--”

She went to turn, but he gently grabbed her arm to stop her.

“Why?” he asked, a mixture of concerned and hurt. “That’s not safe at all!”

She frowned, meeting his sad gaze with her own. Because I’m Ladybug? Because you’re not supposed to know that I am and I have to go transform?

It was hard to come up with a reasonable answer that didn’t immediately out her identity. 

She glanced over his shoulder to look apologetically at Tikki. Ivan was so sweet to her, ever since she’d comforted him and helped with his former crush on Mylene. It made it all the harder to inevitably run off and worry him.

“The...the akuma will have a harder time shooting us if we’re separated?” she tried. “You know, if the whole class just stayed bunched together, it’d be easy for them, but when we split up, they have to pick us off one by one!”

“Oh.” He seemed to struggle at first to comprehend the idea, but then she realized that he was merely troubled. “I guess so...”

“Ivan?”

“You don’t want me to carry you?” he asked, eyes unwavering from hers.

“Ah--” She struggled to answer. If she were blunt and honest, she’d say ‘no’, because she’d be lying if she said that him being so protective over her specifically didn’t make her feel special. At the same time though, there was the inconvenience of having to get away from him afterward.

“Not... exactly?” she managed.

Tikki was gesturing more now. Marinette couldn’t make out what she was trying to say, but she was sure she’d get an earful later anyway.

Ivan slumped. “Sorry. I thought I’d be a better target. That’s all.”

“T-target?” Marinette blinked, trying to process that. “You--what? Like a shield?“

He didn’t answer, but the message was clear.

“Gosh, no! Ivan, you don’t have to protect me!”

“I want to!” he argued frantically. ”I gotta! I--”

His mouth shut abruptly, gaze dropping to the ground. ”...I don’t wanna hurt you again.”

Marinette paused, trying to figure out what he meant. She wracked her brain, certain that there must’ve been some point where Ivan had hurt her, either emotionally or physically, but she couldn’t think of anything. “What are you talking about?”

“I must’ve,” he replied. “When I went after Kim. Maybe the other time? Everyone said I went nuts.”

It took her a few seconds to remember. “...You mean Stoneheart? That wasn’t your fault! You didn’t even hurt me, and even if you did, you were under Hawk Moth’s control!”

He let out a noncommittal noise in response, unconvinced of his innocence. Marinette had honestly never considered what it must’ve been like to be the first-ever akuma. Once more came along for people to start getting used, then sure, it probably got easier, but she couldn’t blame Ivan if his memories of the reactions he got after that first time remained as vivid as ever.

"Ivan, look. No one’s responsible for what they do when they’re an akuma, especially not you. You didn’t even know any of that was possible the first time! You--” She groaned, finding it hard to speak at a time like this. “--You’re really nice? You’ve been looking out for me ever since we became friends and it’s been great! You actually care about trying to make things better and it’s been so much fun hanging out with you and I don’t hate you carrying me at all and--ugh!”

Frustrated by a lack of words, her body opted to take control. She reached up, pulling Ivan down to her level as she gave him a quick yet meaningful kiss. It lasted a few seconds, but she somehow didn’t realize what she was doing until she pulled away and got a glimpse of his very red and unblinking face.

She gaped, her eyes darting over to look at Tikki - who had at least stopping pantomiming - before going right back to Ivan. He still hadn’t seemed to process the moment, his hand moving to cover the lower half of his face.

“Um...” Marinette blushed herself, now dealing with an array of feelings that were wholly improper for what she was supposed to be focusing on right now. She stared down at the sidewalk, debating with herself before looking at Ivan again.

Awkwardly, she raised her arms, giving him a double pat on his chest as if to say ‘thank you, good job,’  then turned on her heel and began sprinting away from him.

She vaguely heard Tikki fly into her purse, but didn’t hear Ivan’s footsteps following behind her. All she knew was that they’d probably need to have a long talk about their relationship once the akuma was dealt with.

[katehuntington]

Title: Ride With Me (part eighteen) Fandom: Supernatural Timeline: 2008 Pairing: Dean x Reader Word count: ±7450 words Summary series: Y/N is a talented horse rider who is on her way to become a professional. In order to convince her father that she deserves the loan needed to start her own farm, she goes to Arizona for six months, to intern at a ranch owned by Bobby and Ellen Singer. Her future is set out, but then she meets a handsome horseman, who goes by the name of Dean Winchester. A heartwarming series about a cowboy who falls for the girl, letting go of the past and the importance of family.  Summary part eighteen: A week later Dean and Y/N are training for the Flagstaff Horse Show, a last repetition for Congress. They are enjoying the honeymoon phase of their relationship, until Bobby calls Dean into his office. Warnings series: NSFW, 18+ only! Fluff, angst, eventually smut. Swearing, smoking, alcohol intoxication, alcohol abuse. Mutual pining, heartbreak. Crying, nightmares, childhood trauma. Description of animal abuse, domestic violence, mentions of addiction. Financial problems, stress, mental breakdown. Description of blood and injury, hospital scenes, character death, grief. Music:  ‘Little Boy’ - Barns Courtney (scene Singer house), ‘The Farm’ - Thomas Newman.  Follow ‘Kate Huntington’s Ride With Me playlist’ on Spotify! Author’s note: I’m excited for this one, y’all! Thank you @kittenofdoomage​, @girl-with-a-fandom-fettish​ and @winchest09​ for helping me. You girls are awesome betas and friends. 

Ride With Me Masterlist

     “More leg, Y/N. Keep rhythm in that circle!”      Dean has climbed up on the fence of the large arena. His hands are folded together and his elbows rest on his knees, the heels of his cowboy boots hooked behind the lower bar. He watches a horse and rider in front of him from under his hat, picking up even the tiniest flaw and highlighting what’s done well.      As her trainer gives directions, Y/N pushes her calves a little tighter against Meadow’s flank, her right hand outstretched towards the mare’s ears as they finish their circle at speed. Elevated in her stirrups slightly, she makes sure the circle stays perfectly round while maintaining the constant one-two-three beat of hooves drumming against the earth. She can hear Dean’s strong and clear voice above the noise of the wind.      “There ya go. Nice one!”  

     It’s 6.45 AM and the sun has just risen, its early rays of daybreak warming the headwrangler’s back. The nights are getting colder, even in the valley, so the warmth is pleasantly welcome. Summer has come to an end, which means the ranchers are following a different work schedule now. Downside; their midday siestas are no longer a thing, at least not until spring. Upside, they start an hour and a half later in the morning. When he says ‘they’, he means ‘everyone but him and Y/N’, because they have been training for Congress every day. 

     The perfect final repetition for the big event in Columbus is a local horse show in Flagstaff, coming up this weekend. Gold Canyon ranch is going there with a truckload of horses and both Jo and Dean are competing. The head wrangler  convinced Y/N to sign up as well. They can test the new freestyle and see how Meadow does in competition, since it’s been a while since she last showed. 

     Pleased, he observes the woman who was born to ride. They are ready, no doubt about that. He knows it; the only person who needs to believe it now is Y/N.      “Wanna practise a few stops and call it a day? Wouldn’t wanna overwork her,” he suggests when her horse comes past in a slow canter, or a lope.      “No spins?” she checks, not confident with leaving such an essential element out of her training.      Dean smiles at her eagerness; ever the perfectionist.      “I’ve never seen you two screw up a spin. Don’t worry, they are solid,” he reassures.

     She nods while looking over her shoulder, then straightens her back, following the movements of her horse. When she reaches the short end of the arena, she steers away from the fence, bringing Meadow onto the straight line out of another perfect circle. Y/N doesn’t get the chance to give aid to pick up momentum, because before they are fully straightened out, her partner speeds up already.       “Circle her back. Let her wait,” Dean instructs.      The cowgirl tilts her pelvis slightly and sinks deeper in the saddle, before swerving away from the line. She shakes her head disapproving. Come on, Y/N, you can do better than that.  

     “She keeps taking over,” Y/N ponders, slowing down when approaching her trainer.      “She’s a smart horse. Most of the time that works in your favor, sometimes it doesn't. She wants to anticipate instead of letting you do the thinkin’. You don’t wanna discourage her enthusiasm, so what you gotta do is keep her busy. Give her something to do, vary your patterns. Throw her off her game a lil’ bit,” Dean explains to his pupil, who listens intently.      “Ride down the line again, but don’t do the usual sliding stop at the end. Don’t speed up, don’t even think about the stop, okay? All you’re gonna do is let her wait for your call.”      Y/N nods, feeling a little bit more confident after being given directions. “Okay.” 

     She moves her reins over Meadow’s mane, turning her around, gently aiding her to hustle forward in an easy canter. When she’s back at the short end of the large pen, the rider lets her horse roll away from the fence and onto the line again. She can feel the power under her, so much energy waiting for a release and ready to bolt.      “Steady... Just sit and relax. Let her figure it out,” Dean calls out, loud enough to reach his student’s ears several yards away.      A little confused Meadow pulls at the bit slightly, but Y/N does exactly what she’s supposed to do. Instead of punishing the behavior, she ignores it and lopes down the line, repeating the exercise. The second time around, the American Quarter mare already has her ears perked at her rider, waiting for a cue.      “Change leads. Try the same thing on the right hand.”       Trying to sit loose in the saddle, moving with the thousand pound animal under her, Y/N guides her horse onto the diagonal line and crosses the arena. Normally she would do a flying change in the center, a transition from left to right canter during the brief moment of suspension, almost like the horse is skipping. However, this time the rider decides against it, making Meadow wait until she reaches the other end, where Dean is watching his pupil closely from the fence.      “Smart, well done! That’s riding, Yankee,” the head wrangler compliments.

     With a smile on her face she continues the exercize, working on her horse’s assertiveness and patience instead of the actual pattern. Dean has a point; she can ride the test blindfolded. Hell, blindfold Meadow too and they would still be able to nail it, but only if the mare is willing to wait and follow her lead.      The third time Y/N canters up the simple straight line, the bay mare relaxes, lowering her head a little more and calmly keeping a slow and steady rhythm. It’s exactly the response Dean was hoping for.      “Next straight you do the sliding stop,” he says, just loud enough for the rider to hear, as if he’s worried the intelligent horse might pick up on it and understand what he’s saying. 

     Calm, Meadow turns the corner to the straight line, her breaths even, loose muscles rolling under her damp skin. This time Y/N can give the Quarterhorse an aid before she increases speed, which she does with powerful strides. When the mare is going down the line full throttle, Y/N counts down. Three… two… one…

     The rider sinks deep into the leather of her saddle, pushing her stirrups forward and braces for the sudden stop. She can feel Meadow’s hindquarters lower when she plants her hocks into the soil of the arena. They slide several yards, leaving skid marks in the sand, and when the combination has come to a complete halt, Y/N moves her weight slightly to one side and takes the reins with her as well. The eager horse performs a rollback, a movement right after a stop during which the horse turns on her hind quarters and canters forward in the direction they came from.      “That was awesome!” Dean exclaims. “Cool her down; she’s done for today.” 

     Pleased, Y/N lets her precious four legged friend transition to an easy jog, patting her on the shoulder. She feels beyond relieved that her training went so well. With her former trainer Marcel, the final repetition before a show usually meant bootcamp, pushing Meadow to her limits. But Dean treats her differently. He thinks things through, looks beyond the pattern itself and can really pinpoint what they need to work on, and often it’s not the routine itself, but the preparation and the foundation of horse riding.

     “She felt really good, huh?” Dean looks up at the rider, seemingly content, as they exit the arena and walk back to the tack up area.      “She did. I’m excited for tomorrow,” Y/N returns, halting under the Joshua tree. “Have you seen the starting order?”      Dean nods as he glances up at her, narrowing his eyes when the sun peeks under his hat and blinds him. “I have.”      “I’m fifth on the list,” the cowgirl mutters, not happy about her draw. “Any good riders in my class?”      The head wrangler reads his student carefully, who is clearly fishing for answers. He’s very much aware where this is coming from. It’s a trait of hers, one that used to be much more evident, yet still surfaces every so often, especially in a new situation or uncertain times; she’s insecure.

     “Does it matter?” her trainer reminds her. “Eyes on the ball, Yankee. Flagstaff is just a practice run for Congress.”      “Sure, but I still want to win,” Y/N counters, matter of factly. “Oh, talking about Congress…”       She looks down on Dean, a mischievous grin playing on her lips. “I booked our room.”      His brow perks up, staring at his girlfriend for a second. That seductive look in her eyes is giving him all sorts of ideas. “Our room?”       “Yeah, most hotels were fully booked, and this room is one of the few I could find,” she adds, teasingly, swinging her leg over the front of her horse, making sure her spur doesn’t hurt Meadow’s neck. “And you know what? There’s only one bed.”      “You don’t say,” Dean smirks, stepping closer and running his hand up her denim clad legs slowly.      She nods, not dismounting her horse just yet, but taking off her western hat and hanging it on the horn of the saddle. Instead, she seductively keeps her eyes locked on his green ones, the sunlight bringing out a hint of amber in them. “We don’t have to worry about squeaky bunk beds, or waking half the ranch…”      “Or Garth taking a piss,” Dean recalls.      She laughs, leaning forward now and slipping from the saddle smoothly, but Dean catches her, holding her up.

     The cowgirl folds her arms around his neck. “You know, I read this research paper on how sex actually increases dopamines, which results in the athlete performing better.”       “Interesting,” Dean is barely able to stop his trademark grin from showing, the effort creating dimples in his cheeks. “Would you like to test that theory?”      “I booked us a suite with a queen size bed. What do you think?” she chuckles, so comfortable in his arms.       “Well, in that case I’m more than willing to go the extra mile for my favorite student,” he grins, lowering her to the ground, after which he kisses her sweetly.

     Meadow turns her ear towards the pair when Y/N’s back brushes against the saddle. She doesn’t take advantage of her owner being distracted and waits patiently, even though she’s not tied up to the pole yet. If the cowgirl didn’t know any better, she’d claim her horse has been their matchmaker all along, casually walking a little closer to Dean’s horse whenever they rode side by side, even taking a liking to the wrangler, despite that she has never been a huge fan of men. 

     Dean reels the cowgirl in, letting his hand roam over her hips as he deepens the kiss. He can’t get enough of her, especially now that he has surrendered in the battle he was fighting with himself. Ever since he let his guard down and submitted to the feelings that lay deep, the weight he was carrying seems a little less. To have someone to share his life and his passion with, knowing that she’s his and no one else’s, it’s something he never expected to find. It’s certainly not something he feels like he deserves, but he has managed to push that denigrating voice to the back of his mind. They are in love with each other, that’s all he needs right now.

     Dean watches Y/N after he parts from her, in awe by the joy that radiates from the girl who has such a hold on him. He has seen her beam before, when she’s amongst the crew, when he makes her laugh. But he hasn’t witnessed this level of bliss and fulfillment yet. She’s glowing, and damn, it looks good on her.      Y/N blushes when she notices his captivated stare. “What?”      “You look happy,” he comments, leaving a short kiss on her lips again.      She smiles, her gaze drifting away as she lets her hands slip from behind his neck down his chest, analysing this contentment that she’s experiencing. She’s somewhat stunned by the conclusion; Dean is right.

     “I feel like - like I’m finally at a point in my life where things are coming together,” she realizes. “I spent years of my life in books, riding as much as I could aside from classes, just to get better. I tried to find that ‘click’ with so many horses, fell off, failed...”      She huffs, thinking of all the times she almost gave up. Overwhelmed, overworked. School, ride, sleep, repeat. All while Granddad tried to find her the perfect horse.      “Then Meadow crossed my path.”       She rubs the mare’s withers, earning an appreciative purr as the horse glances over her shoulder. The head wrangler watches the two, the unbreakable bond, the friendship that will last a lifetime. It’s an indescribable feeling to have such a strong connection with an animal, one he knows well. 

     Turning her attention to her horse, Y/N undoes the leather strap under Meadow’s chin and removes the bridle, replacing it with a halter. Meanwhile, Dean takes her hat off the horn and places it back on her head, earning a chuckle. He then continues to loosen the sinch and removes the saddle, humid clouds of warm air coming from Meadow’s back.       “I couldn’t believe it when Grandpa bought her. You should’ve seen me; I went out of my mind,” she says, reminiscing while taking off Meadow’s leg protection.      Dean chuckles at that, able to picture it perfectly. Her reaction to qualifying for Congress offers a good indication. Before he turns the faucet on, he hands the hose to Y/N, noticing the smile fading from her face.      “But then he died. It took me a while to get back from that,” she admits, glad to have something to do to keep her mind occupied. Often the tears still prick in her eyes when she talks about her grandfather, but today she manages to keep them at bay.      Mesmerized, Dean listens. He had guessed before that her granddad had passed away, since she used the past tense whenever she mentioned him. He never pushed her to talk about it, though, knowing that if the roles were reversed, he would appreciate the space too.      “You got back up, though,” he says, hoping she can recognize the willpower it took.       She nods, smiling faintly as she puts the hose aside. “I figured that after everything that he’s done for me, the least I could do was make him proud. I won State, I graduated a year early and cum laude.”      “And then you ended up in this dump,” Dean fills in, trying to lighten the mood.      She chuckles at his joke and shakes her head, untying Meadow.

     “Actually, ending up in this ‘dump’ is probably the best thing that could’ve happened to me,” she states, leading her horse to her box, Dean in tow. “I’m learning a lot here, and not just about ranch work. It has grounded me. Plus, I met this very handsome cowboy, too.”      Dean smirks. “Did ya?”      Y/N hums, turning after she shuts the stable door. “Why do you think I can’t stop smiling?”

     His eyes bounce between hers, only now realizing that he has a big part in her happiness. It humbles him, knowing that he makes her feel this way. Never before has he stood where he is standing now, in a relationship, let alone in a relationship with this one hell of a woman. Most of the time he has no idea what he’s doing, his gut feeling his only guidance, but apparently he’s doing something right. She has a spring in her step when she walks, her eyes shine when she laughs, and he is the reason. 

Wanting to tell her she is his reason too, but not knowing the words to that song, he takes off his western hat to fit under hers and wields his lips to hers. The kiss is less playful than the ones earlier, but all the more meaningful. Her lashes brush against his freckled skin, her hands cup his face, fingertips tracing the stubble on his jaw. The cowboy’s heart grows warm, rising in his chest, the sensation having him light headed. She is everything he never knew he needed, and he’s never going to let her go. 

     They hear footsteps coming around the corner, but both the wranglers are too occupied to pay attention, until a familiar voice puts an end to their private moment.      “Really? Could you not? I haven’t even had breakfast yet,” Jo puts her hands on her small waist and halts when she notices the couple. “This is a lot to muster on an empty stomach, y’know?”      Y/N chuckles after breaking away from her boyfriend, Dean rolls his eyes dramatically at his cousin.      “Get lost, Jo,” he scolds, ignoring her request.      “I’d advise you to get lost, because my dad is hot on my heels,” she returns smartly, before opening the door to the cafeteria, which is situated next to Meadow’s box.

     The cowboy’s eyes grow wide as he quickly distances himself from the woman he held in his arms just a mere second ago, before Bobby turns the corner. Awkwardly, Dean fidgets with the brim of his hat as Y/N straightens out her shirt and wipes her hands on her jeans, hoping her tan will hide the blush that heats her cheeks.       “Mornin’, Bobby,” Dean greets, trying not to act suspicious.      His uncle looks at them now as if he only just noticed them, his weary eyes lingering on the intern for a short second before they focus on Dean.       “Can I talk to you in my office?” he asks the head wrangler, even though it sounds more like an order.      “S-sure,” Dean stammers, gulping nervously.      “I’m getting my coffee first,” the ranch owner announces, before he disappears into the cafeteria. “Meet me there. You can let yourself in.”

     Dean takes an apprehensive breath when the door closes, the tight feeling in his chest not so pleasant now. Y/N’s observing him; he can feel her eyes burning in the side of his head.      “Why don’t you just tell him?” she sighs. “It’s been over a week.”      “I think he might be on to us already,” he says, clearly not at ease with that presumption. “I just wanted to ease him in when he’s not… you know, cranky.”       She frowns at that. “It’s Bobby; he’s always cranky. I thought Ellen--”      “- Ellen said he was gonna be fine with us being together - yes - but Bobby specifically told me not to mess around with you,” Dean recalls, returning his gaze from the door to Y/N.      “Well, I hope what we have going on here is a little bit more than you ‘messing around’ with me,” she returns with a tone.      “Of course it is. Hey...” He lifts her chin up with a curled index finger, pleading to look him in the eye. “This, us… It means a hell of a lot to me. Please tell me you know that.”      Her expression softens. She couldn’t be mad at him if she tried.      “I know. I just wish we wouldn’t have to sneak around anymore,” she admits.       “I’ll tell him.” He presses his lips to hers quickly, glancing at the door before he does, making sure they will not get caught. “Save some bacon for me, will ya?”      “Will do,” she promises, pushing him off gingerly before she opens the door to join the rest of the crew for breakfast.

     He watches her leave, holding on to the sight of her as long as he can. She’s right; he needs to come clean. It doesn’t feel right to go behind Bobby’s back. Plus, with them leaving for Flagstaff this afternoon, he wants to be able to say out loud that he’s spoken for, aware there’s gonna be a few girls who might want to make a move on him. Not by any means is he worried he will not be able to resist the temptation, because as far as he’s concerned, there is none. But he doesn’t want to have to hide their relationship just because his uncle isn’t aware yet. 

     Dean puts his hat back on as he steps outside into the sun, which is steadily rising in the morning sky. Going over different versions of his announcement, he jogs up the stairs of the house, pulling back the screen door before he steps inside. Out of habit, he kicks his boots off and hangs his Stetson on the coat hanger, like he was taught when he moved in with his aunt and uncle at the age of fourteen. 

     The house is quiet, Ellen cooking up breakfast for the crew in the cafeteria at the stables. He crosses the living room and strolls into the kitchen, taking a glass from the cabinet and pouring himself some milk from the fridge. This place still has the same homey feel to it, it even smells the same as he remembered. He still knows his way around, even though he hasn’t slept under this roof since he was twenty. At a certain age, he wanted to be amongst the crew, hang with Benny and the other guys, and have a little more freedom. Jo joined them in the bunkhouse a couple of years later when she got rebellious and never really left, even though she still has a room upstairs. 

     Dean leans against the counter, taking a few gulps of milk. A smile forms on his lips when he notices some of the old photos on the fridge. Ellen always mixes them up, taking them out of albums and putting them in frames, some ending up on the refrigerator or pinned to the board in the office, others are on display in the saloon and in the cafeteria. One of the pictures portrays him on one of the first mustangs he trained, and next to him Jo on her pony, a little fellow called Ghost. He must have been fifteen or sixteen at the time, his cousin not older than ten. There’s another one of him and both Ellen and Bobby at his uncle’s fiftieth birthday; Dean was twenty-one then. The first birthday besides his own where he was allowed to drink, but he has never been a saint. God knows how many times he and Benny and Gabe started the Saturday shift hung over, before he reached the legal age. He grins at the memory.

     His eyes glide over the photos, all seemingly normal snapshots, freeze frames of a country boy’s upbringing. But that’s it, isn’t it? It wasn’t normal to Dean. His life made a complete one-eighty when his aunt and uncle took their nephew in. They did it without question, never once asking for anything in return. They reminded him what it’s like to feel safe, loved, what it’s like to be a kid again. 

     It took him awhile before he could get past the years of worry, fear, and guilt, but eventually he found his way again. Has he forgotten about his childhood, the time he spent with his father and his little brother? Hell, no. He’ll never forget what happened, how the situation escalated and how everyone gave up on family except him, until there was nothing more the loyal son could do to stop the Winchesters from falling apart. But after all the trauma, the lesions on his soul, the nightmares, and endless regret, he found a place he calls home and is surrounded by people who, by blood or by heart, are his family. 

     The hinges of the screen door squeak and rattle when Bobby enters the house. Just like Dean did moments ago, the old man steps out of his boots, knowing very well that his wife will scold him if she finds dirty footprints on the wooden floors when she returns. He hobbles into the house, noticing his nephew in the kitchen.      “Comin’?” he says, nodding at the office, further down the hall.

     Dean empties his glass and leaves it in the sink, following his uncle. When he enters the room, he notices the stack of papers on the desk, open folders littering the flat surface. There’s an open filebox on the floor, numbers and letters scribbled in a notebook. Bobby has never been the person to keep his office tidy, especially with all the extra paperwork that comes with not owning a computer, but right now it looks like a bomb went off in here.       “Take a seat.” Bobby circles the desk and puts down his coffee mug, closing the blinders to prevent curious eyes from peeking inside. 

     Dean does as told, a frown edging lines between his brows. The vibe he is picking up isn’t a pleasant one and he’s sensing this talk will not be about his relationship with the intern. Carefully, he reads the ranch owner, who sits down, rests his elbows on the oak desk and forks his calloused hands together. Bobby doesn’t look up at him, and it’s only now that his nephew notices how the circles under his eyes seem a little darker, his head hanging low between his shoulders, which carry so much weight.       “We’re taking two of the youngsters to Flagstaff,” Bobby announces. “I need you to decide which ones, so I can send in the information to the auction committee.”      “Whoa, what?” Dean says, confused. “I’ve barely haltered a handful. I thought you wanted them under saddle before we sold them?”      “There’s no time for that.”

     His uncle adjusts the worn baseball cap on his head, still not looking at the young man on the other side of his desk.       “What do you mean, there’s no--” Dean stops when Bobby glares at him from under the hat, silencing his nephew with just a look.       “Pick the two who you reckon would go for a good price. And I need you to compete two extra horses as well. The palomino stallion, you think you can show him in the four year old class?”      “Yeah, I - I guess,” Dean says, realizing that riding five horses in competition is going to be a challenge, especially when it comes to time management, but he doesn’t have the courage to contradict the ranch owner.       “Good. I don’t expect them to come home with us,” Bobby acknowledges, picking a folder from the file case next to his desk, flipping through ownership certificates and taking out a file. “I contacted some buyers.”      “Which one’s the fifth you want me to bring?” Dean asks, carefully.      “Joplin,” Bobby states. 

     Dean closes his eyes briefly, cursing internally. He knows Y/N has grown fond of the feisty mare; it’s gonna hurt her to see the little dark horse leave.      “Joplin ain’t the easiest to ride and I can’t use her for the tourists; she’s the obvious choice. She’s good for ranch work and with the cattle, so I’ll sign her up for the cutting competition.” The ranch owner takes out Joplin’s file as well, adding it to the small stack in front of him. “The intern did some cattle work with her, right?”      Dean nods. “Yeah, rode her on the trail too.”      “Y/N can ride her then, they seem like a good fit. Discuss it with her, let me know if she wants to,” the old man decides, looking up at his right hand when he stays quiet. “I contacted Jody Mills; she might have some clients for Joplin.”      “Bobby, what the hell is going on?”

     Dean’s worried eyes study his uncle, an unraveling stare boring through the rancher’s tough armor, who is unable to hold his gaze. The weariness seeps through the cracks when Bobby rubs his forehead, leaning back with a sigh, the old desk chair creaking.      “We’re in bad waters, ain’t we?” the wrangler realizes.      Bobby still doesn’t look up, but nods quietly, admitting to the painful truth. He seems ashamed, as if he - the head of this family - is failing. The man opposite of him can feel the pressure his uncle is experiencing; he knows it well. Just the sheer thought of the ranch being in much more trouble than he originally anticipated has him anxious, his heart rate picking up. These lands, the company, the horses… could they all be at risk?

     “How bad?” he asks firmly, even though he’s not sure if he wants to hear the answer.      “I just ordered stable bedding, hay and pellets without havin’ paid for the last bulk. I can’t pay you or the boys by the end of the month, unless we make a profit in Flagstaff,” Bobby admits. “Then there’s the mortgage, bank loans, taxes...”      Dean leans his elbow on the armrest of his chair, rubs his temple. “What happened to the money we earned on the livestock you sold Rufus?”      “Used it on the electrical bill I was behind on and paid the city and the bank. I owed Caleb a lot of money too.”      The wrangler’s eyes flick up at his uncle again. “So it’s all gone?”       Bobby nods again. “Yeah, ‘fraid so.”

     Troubled, he reaches for his coffee, taking a sip of the hot brew, wishing it was whiskey. From under his cap he watches Dean process the information, the knowledge doing a number on him, even though he acts tough. Bobby knows his nephew. Hell, he’s been living on his land for so long, he considers him a son. He knows how he values this place and the people and animals living here. He knows how much he craved shelter when he stood on the doorstep fifteen years ago. That’s exactly what this place is for him: his safe haven. And now that a storm is coming, now that his world threatens to cave, he’s losing his footing as well.

     Dean leaves his chair, paces up and down the small room twice, his arms crossed and pondering on a solution.      “You can keep my salary,” Dean says, “I know it’s a drop in the ocean, but I’ve got a roof over my head, that’s all I need. I have some savings too--”      “Dean, I don’t want your money,” Bobby makes clear, his voice less stern. “This ain’t your cross to bear.”      “Hell, it ain’t!” he exclaims, raising his arms up in despair. “This is my home too, and I’m not about to lose it!”      “Do you really believe I’m givin’ it up that easy? It’s my life’s work, damn it!” his uncle raises his voice to level with Dean’s, but tones it down when he continues. “No one is losing their home. We’re just gonna have to save and make money before this spins out of control, stay afloat until business picks up again. That’s why we’re gonna bring more horses to Flagstaff, see if we can make some deals.”

     Dean calms down slightly after his outburst, but is nowhere near at ease. He places his hands on his sides now, focusing on the floorboards. After a deep breath he collects himself.      “We can take the large Pinto and the red dun Mustang for the auction,” he determines.       “Alright,” Bobby writes it down, picking up the phone to make the call. “We’re still leaving at three?”      His head wrangler nods, burdened, taking the que and turns towards the door.      “Son?”       Dean halts in the doorway, glancing over his shoulder at the man who has been more like a dad to him than his own father ever was. A few strands of light squeeze through the blinds, illuminating the mess they are in, the rest of the room dark, shadows looming over his uncle.       “We’ll figure it out, okay? Ain’t the first recession this ranch survived,” Bobby reminds him, before he dials the number he wrote down earlier. 

     With a forced smile Dean watches him for a few more seconds before he leaves the office, the mask dropping from his face the moment he’s out of sight. With the unsettling information still mulling over, he puts on his boots again and takes his hat from the hall stand, walking onto the porch. He needs a moment to collect himself and let’s a heavy sigh escape his lungs, his eyes wandering over the scenery before him. Gold Canyon Ranch: sacred ground, their harbor, his church. The barn with the high doors through which he walked countless times, the Joshua tree that has watched over the horses for centuries. The saloon where on a good night laughs roar and beer flows. The bunkhouse, the crooked little prairie shed where he has a room and a bed of his own. And the Singer’s residence, where he knocked on the front door in search of refuge when he was fourteen years of age, standing in the exact same spot where he’s standing now.

     The sun hits him when he descends from the steps, the source of light warming the earth rapidly, despite autumn approaching. A faint headache is throbbing behind his eyes already, the conversation getting to him much more than he wants it to. Bobby tried to lessen the blow and reassure his nephew, but he knows very well it’s ten minutes to midnight. He dismisses the possibility of losing everything all over again; he can’t think like that, it will only slow him down. What he can do is think of a way to prevent this train from derailing. 

     He attempts to leave the worry behind, because he can’t let the rest of the crew know just how grim the situation is. Thankfully, the guys have already started their workday. He can hear the tractor pulling up behind the barn and there’s a wheelbarrow in the stable alley. Garth whistles to a country song on the radio as he empties a box with large scoops, while Jo leads a saddled horse to the arena. A quick glance through the window of the cafeteria tells him Ellen already went to the saloon, probably to start on lunch for the group of eight tourists that are currently accommodating the guest houses, but he does spot Y/N, who’s wiping down the table. When he pushes open the door, a bright smile comes his way, her light burning away the dark clouds hanging over him.

     “Hey! I risked my life defending your bacon, but I managed to save you some. Scrambled eggs and two buns too. Want me to heat it up real quick?” she asks, busy putting away the cutlery and dishes she washed.      “Nah, that’s alright,” he says, slumping down in the chair where Bobby usually sits.       “Here.”       She puts the plate down in front of him, the smell of crispy meat filling his nose. He’s not all that hungry anymore, but he starts cutting the bread either way, knowing she made an effort to make sure he had something to eat.

     “How did he respond?” she wonders after a moment of silence, drying off the frying pan.      Dean was about to take a bite when he freezes, only now realizing what she’s talking about. Shit, with everything going on, it completely slipped his mind why he wanted to talk to Bobby in the first place.      Y/N notices the hesitation, followed by a pair of shameful eyes coming her way. She sighs, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. “Dean…”      “I know. I’m sorry.” He squeezes the bridge of his nose while he shuts his eyes, feeling like an idiot. “Something came up. He didn’t call me in because of us.”

     The cowboy glances up warely, noticing her disappointment. If anything, he doesn’t want her to think he just forgot, or worse - that he chickened out. But business is blending with personal life here; he’s not sure if he should share with her what his boss just told him.       “Why did he call you in then?” she wonders, unable to hide the discontent in her voice.      “He, uh - he wants me to take more horses to Flagstaff,” he says. “To sell them.”      “Oh…” Y/N puts away the pan in one of the lower cabinets. “Which ones?”      “Two of the youngsters we brought in earlier this month. Bon Jovi - the four year old - and...” Dean hesitates, hating to be the bearer of bad news. “And Joplin.”

     In shock the cowgirl turns to him, staring at the head wrangler. “Bobby is going to sell Joplin?”      “I wish it could’ve been different,” he half apologizes, feeling sorry for Y/N. “I know you like her a lot.”      She hangs the dish towel to dry and turns to lean on the back of the chair. Her airway is closing, but she swallows down the lump that builds. Dean is right; she grew fond of the little dark Quarter. Not everyone can handle her fiery spirit, but the cowgirl could, forging a strong bond between them within a short period of time. Somehow, she never expected Joplin to leave the premises.       “It’s not your fault,” she says after clearing her throat. “I’m the one who gets attached to horses who aren’t my own.”      The wrangler observes her, well aware she’s trying to be professional about this.      “Bobby hoped you could show her at the competition,” he continues.      “I can do that,” she agrees, keeping her voice steady.

     Dean absently eats his bacon and egg sandwich while Y/N tidies up, giving her hands something to do while she processes what he just told her. He watches her rinse a cloth and clean the kitchen counter, rubbing over a spot to make a stain go away. Not sure if he should say anything, he focuses on finishing his plate, but it doesn’t take long before he can’t stand the silence.      “You okay?” he checks, concerned.      “I guess,” she turns to him, finally taking a second to sit down. “How about you?”      Dean wipes his hands down his jeans to get rid of the crumbs sticking to his fingers and looks at her, shrugging his shoulders. “I’m used to horses being sold.”      “That’s not what I mean,” Y/N returns, not at all surprised that he acts like there’s nothing going on. “What’s bothering you?”

     She reads her boyfriend carefully when he looks at her, dropping his gaze the moment her eyes reach too deep into his soul. For a few short seconds he seems to consider telling her what’s going on, but then he shakes his head. Worry swims in circles in her stomach, his inability to open up once again having her question herself.       “It’s not us, I promise,” he says sincerely, reaching for her hand across the table when he notices her doubt. “And I wanna tell you, but I can’t discuss this with anyone other than Bobby or Ellen.”      “Business related?” she guesses.       When Dean nods, it clicks in her head.       “The ranch isn’t doing so well, is it?”

     As if he got caught committing a crime, his eyes shoot up to meet hers. Shit, has he said too much? She might be his girlfriend, but she’s also the intern. She works for Bobby, for God’s sake! This isn’t information he’s supposed to share with anyone.       Unsure of how to respond, he averts his gaze, but she squeezes his hand to call him back.      “Dean, this is kind of my field, remember? I can see the tell-tale signs,” she reminds him. 

     The head wrangler holds his breath, catching his bottom lip with his teeth, but then exhales burdened, accepting she has figured it out. Self-conscious about his own vulnerability, he runs his thumb over the back of her hand as he stares at nothing in particular, focusing on the motion. Bit by bit, the curtain is pulled back, revealing just how much this newfound knowledge worries him.      “Bobby says we’ll figure it out, but things are bad,” he admits after a long silence. 

     She nods slightly, acknowledging his statement. Honestly, she’s not surprised. She wondered how the ranch was able to run on a handful of tourists and trail rides. With only three horses in paid training, it’s impossible to generate an income that covers the dozen others owned by the family, which can’t be sold for a fair price now that the market is at an all time low. She cannot imagine the mortgage on this enormous place. There’s employees who depend on a salary, animals which need to be fed and cared for, machinery that needs maintenance. Selling stock and letting go workers; they seem like desperate measures to her, measures which will not cut it during the economic crisis this country is currently suffering from, one that might drag on for years. It’s a postponement of execution.

     Dean swallows thickly, allowing her to have a glimpse of his crippling concern. He feels weak to admit it, to admit to her that the walls around him are crumbling. But a joke and a laugh cannot save him this time, there is no way he can dance around the fact that he has zero control over the financial situation, and it scares the living hell out of him.      “If we lose the ranch, I wouldn’t know what to do,” he confesses. “This place is all I have.”      Hell, this place is all that I am, he thinks to himself. Because, let’s face it, when you take away the horses and strip him from the opportunities he’s offered here, he’s nothing but a highschool dropout with an old pick up truck. 

     “That’s not true,” Y/N dismisses. “You’ve got family, ranch or not. And you have me now.”      He carefully glances up at her, taken aback by the comfort in her voice. A pair of soft eyes wait for him, strengthening her words. He mirrors the small smile she’s carrying, eased by her promise.      “What if I take a look at the books?” she offers. “If Bobby is okay with that, of course.”      “You - You’d do that?” Dean returns, stunned, his eyebrows raised.      “Yeah, of course. I mean, don’t expect miracles by any means, but I can shed some light on it. Maybe get an overview of the assets and liabilities, set up a balance sheet if there isn’t one, etcetera,” she states, making it sound like it’s no big deal. “I analyzed several large companies for my thesis.”

     Impressed, the head wrangler takes in the young woman who is so wise for her age. He only now realises the intern might be the one who could steer this ship away from the massive iceberg they are heading towards. Of course she can’t magically make money appear out of thin air, but he doubts Bobby has the skill set of someone with a master’s degree in business.      “You’re awesome, know that?” he huffs.      “Don’t you forget it.” She grins at him, getting up from her seat and taking his plate.      Before she can rinse it and reach for the dish brush, Dean’s arms snake around her waist and pull her against his chest, hooking his chin over her shoulder. He kisses her on the cheek, leaning his head against hers and ignoring his western hat when it tilts to the side.      “Thank you.”      She smiles. “You’re welcome.”

     Y/N turns in his arms, trapped between him and the kitchen counter. She looks up to meet his admiring gaze, adjusting the Stetson on the cowboy’s head and letting her hands linger, wrists crossed behind his neck.      “I’m beginning to understand just how much the ranch means to you. And frankly, this place is starting to mean a lot to me too,” she admits.

     The morning light sheds diagonal beams through the set of four square windows, highlighting her hair and her beautiful smile. Dean drinks her in for a couple of solid seconds, before he dips down and kisses her.       How she is able to vanquish his inner panic, just by offering her full support, doesn’t cease to amaze the wrangler. He’s not getting his hopes up, he knows the financial problems are bigger than she can fix with a run-through and a few budget cuts. But she’s trying. She’s doing her part. She’s here to help, not only the ranch, but him as well. And just like that, the future seems a lot less grim than it did a moment ago. They will figure it out and things will be okay, as long as he has her by his side.

Thank you for reading. I appreciate every single one of you, but if you do want to give me some extra love, you are free to like or reblog my work, shoot me a message or buy me coffee (Link to Kofi in bio at the top of the page).

Read part nineteen here

[wickedsingularity]

Come Back to Me [One-shot]

Fandom: MCU Pairings/characters: Steve Rogers x reader (but not really), Thor, Thanos and everyone from Endgame Words: 2077 Warnings: Violence, language

Note: Inspired by this. Given the idiocy that rages through this hellsite from time to time, I feel it's necessary to do this: This is basically part of the final battle in Endgame, so naturally I have used dialogue from that, and you will recognize most of what happens. That said, I do not own Marvel, The Avengers or characters or anything else you recognize. I have simply taken part of the movie and written it in my own words, to make it fit with the idea I came up with. The definition of fanfiction, basically. And I hope I haven't made it too boring... Writing your own spin on something in this way that I have done, can be pretty boring, and out of all the stories I've read like this, I can count on one hand how many of them were done in an interesting way. I hope I have managed that.

Summary: It's the final battle against Thanos and Steve is about to give up. But then he hears her voice in his head...

This was not going well. Steve was sure everyone had been crushed under concrete and wood and glass and dirt. It had been only him, Thor and Tony. But now Tony was thrown somewhere, unconscious or... dead. Thor was still fighting, and Steve would too. He'd keep fighting until his dying breath, but he had to admit it was hard to keep the hope up.

There was the sound of something whooshing past his head as Stormbreaker flew through the air towards Thor's raised and shaking hand. Steve was about to charge forward to help him, but then Thanos grabbed the axe. There was a struggle and then, to Steve's horror, Thanos gained the upper hand. The sharper side of the axe pressed into Thor's chest, the god of thunder crying out in agony and Steve's heart jumped out of his chest in fear for his friend. He had to do something.

He looked around, his mind quickly forming a plan involving his shield, but then, in the corner of his eye, he saw Mjølnir. It seemed like a million thoughts ran through his mind in one second. A flash of a memory, a party all those years ago, when Thor challenged them all to lift the hammer. Steve had wrapped his hand around the shaft and felt something budge, but he'd been so surprised he loosened his grip. And when he tried again, the hammer had been stuck as if welded into place. He wasn't sure he could do it now, and he's not sure what made him try, or even how it was done, but Steve raised his hand and willed Mjølnir to come to him. Heart beating hard in his chest, he watched the hammer almost shiver on the ground, until it lifted and flew towards him as if it had been waiting for him.

He didn't even give himself a split second to marvel at what he had just done, as he threw it with all his might right towards Thanos, hitting the purple bastard square in the shoulder and knocking him away from Thor. The hammer came flying back and settled into Steve's hand, and now he could feel the strength and the power of the weapon surging through his arm. It was like his blood had become electrified, it was buzzing and crackling inside his veins. It was an amazing sensation.

"I knew it!" Thor's croaking voice brought Steve back from his split-second pause, just in time to see Thanos stomp down on Thor's face with a sickening crunching sound before storming towards Steve.

Steve moved his grip to the leather strap and starting swinging Mjølnir just like he had seen Thor do so many times. It gathered momentum, and he too charged towards Thanos, pure anger fuelling Steve's exhausted legs. There was a bang as he swung the hammer right up into the titan's jaw, sending him flying several feet back. Without losing his stride, Steve jumped and spun in the air, throwing his shield with all the strength he could muster. Shield and Mjølnir and fists and feet, Steve bombarded Thanos, pushed him back, never giving him the chance to get a single shot in. Pulling on the power he felt surging through his veins, he drew energy from the air, pushing Thanos over with a jolt of electricity, lighting him up like an ugly Christmas tree. If the situation hadn't been so desperate, Steve would have laughed out loud from feeling mightier than he had done in his entire life, even mightier than when he realised he was no longer sickly or too small for war. Instead, he grit his teeth and shot his hand into the air, pulling thunder and lightning from the heavens right down into his enemy. While Thanos was writhing and convulsing on the ground, Steve jumped to give the final blow, but Thanos rolled to the side, scrambled to his feet, and before Steve knew it, he was thrown to the ground.

Shock surged through Steve's back, but he ignored the pain and got to his feet. But now Thanos advanced on Steve. Blade swinging, Thanos grunting. Steve ducking, dodging. More pain to ignore as Thanos stabbed Steve in the thigh. Mjølnir was knocked from his hand and he just managed to get his shield in front of him as the blade came swinging down. In disbelief and fright, Steve saw it cut through the vibranium as if it was butter. Again and again, hacking off piece by piece by piece, until Thanos finally swung hard and Steve flew through the air like a ragdoll.

The air was knocked out of him. Hope went with it. He closed his eyes and finally felt how tired he was. How exhausted every fibre of his being was. The shield was half broken. There was burning rubble all around him. Nothing left of the compound. Tony was out, Thor was out. They were not going to win this. This was it, the end.

And Steve welcomed it.

He had fought for so long. He wanted it all to be over, so he could finally rest. Be with his love and his friends again, at peace.

Come back to me, Steve.

His heart skipped a beat. Now he was hallucinating. Hearing her voice in his head, a voice he never thought he'd hear again. It wasn't real. She had been dusted. He wasn't even sure they had managed to bring everyone back. Before he'd had a chance to check, the building had come down on them. And he didn't know if anyone had survived that. Bruce, Scott, Clint, Nebula, Rocket, Rhodey... And where was Carol... As far as Steve knew, it was only himself left, and he couldn't do it anymore.

You can do this, Steve. Walk it off. Fight. I believe in you, my captain. My love.

He opened his eyes and took a deep breath. It's not real. You’re not real. But he turned over. Everything hurt as he pulled himself up to his knees and stopped to catch his breath.

"In all my years of conquest... violence... slaughter... I was never personal." Thanos was talking. Steve glanced at him. A cocky look on that purple face as he was looking around at the destruction he had caused. The rubble, the dark smoky skies, the little fires burning everywhere. It looked almost like he was admiring paradise.

That's it, Steve. Up. The voice in his head was still there, making his heart beat so fast it scared him. Not real. But I am getting up.

"But I'll tell you now..." Thanos turned his gaze on Steve, looking him straight in the eyes. "What I'm about to do to your stubborn, annoying little planet... I'm gonna enjoy it. Very, very much."

Steve hated Thanos. So much. His mother had taught him not to hate, and he never had. Didn't like it, didn't want it. Hate poisoned people, broke them. Ruined their lives. But right now, it surged through him like the lightning from Mjølnir. It boiled his blood and burned in his lungs. Steve hated Thanos for everything he had done, everything he would do, everything he was.

At the very back of his mind, there was some part of him that thought they really should have done what Rhodey had joked about, gone back in time just to kill baby-Thanos.

A bright light suddenly erupted in the sky and shot down to the ground. Figures emerged from the brightness, and Steve recognized Thanos' henchmen from Wakanda. But they were not alone. Behind them came hundreds, thousands of soldiers. He recognized Chitauri and Outriders and god knows what else. Leviathans slithered down from the sky. Battle machines powering up. Giant creatures roaring to fight, the ground shaking with every step they took.

Steve stared at the ground. He stood no chance against all of them. In his state, he’d take out maybe twenty of the Chitauris. There were still thousands. Thousands who would have free reign over the planet, causing death and destruction everywhere. He couldn't do it. But he'd be damned if –

Up, Steve. On your feet. We're coming.

No, you're not. But I will fight. Until my dying breath. And take as many of these things down with me as I can.

Grunting, Steve pushed away from the ground and staggered to his feet. He could taste metal in his mouth and his knees were just about to give up on him, but he grit his teeth and straightened up. He gripped what was left of his shield and pulled the strap tight. Pain shot through his arm and he looked down. Blood was dripping from a nasty looking cut, full of dirt. He didn't even realise he had it until now, it was just one more pain among everything else. But that didn't matter. More would come.

I can do this all day. I can do this all day. I can do this all day. Every step forward was an effort. The stiffness in the stab wound on his thigh felt awkward, and there was something in his lower back that would seriously worry him had it been any other day.

"Hey, Cap, you read me?"

Steve stopped short. It wasn't funny, the tricks his mind played on him. First her and now Sam.

"Cap, it's Sam. Can you hear me?"

It sounded so real. There was some static, as if he was just out of reach. Steve touched his earpiece, to check if it still worked, he hadn't heard anyone speak in it since before the attack.

"On your left."

Steve felt tears sting in his eyes, hope swelling up in him. Had they come back? Were they really coming? In the corner of his eye he saw something light up, and he turned around. A golden circle had appeared, growing and crackling like a sparkler. It was as blinding as the sun, only broken when the silhouette of three figures appeared. Steve recognised them as they came closer. But how was it possible...

Last he knew, Okoye was in Wakanda. And T'challa and Shuri were gone. But here they were. Bruce had managed to bring them back? Somehow, they were here, the brilliant sunlight of Wakanda shining through to the darkness where he was.

Relief flooded Steve's entire being and he bit down on a sob.

And then, Sam came flying out of the sun, circling them and Steve had to blink away tears. More sparkling circles began to appear all over the sky and ground, growing and growing, revealing sceneries he recognized and some he didn’t. One by one, the people they had lost came back. And so many more. There was Wanda. And Bucky... And... He felt lightheaded and his knees almost gave up on him. There she was, walking right next to Bucky. Fire in her eyes as she met his gaze, hair crackling with the power she possessed. She smiled and winked, and there was something in her eyes that made him wonder if her voice in his head had actually been real. He could ask her later, because now... He knew there would be a later.

There were Asgardians and Dora Milaje, Valkyries and Wakandan warriors, mutants and old Shield agents. There was a whole army of what looked like the magic people Bruce had talked about. There were so many, not as many as Thanos' army, but many enough to win.

Then Steve almost jumped out of his skin at the sound of rumbling, thinking the battle had begun already, but out of the rubble that was left of headquarters came Scott, big as a skyscraper, bringing with him Bruce, Rocket and Rhodey.

Steve breathed. They were here. They were all here. He felt the presence of everyone he loved and cared for behind him. Everyone he had been fighting for, for five years. He turned around and let their presence him fill him with confidence and strength. Then he lifted his hand and summoned Mjølnir. The gasp he heard, followed by the way the hairs on the back of his head suddenly stood on end, told him she was standing right behind him. He wanted to turn around and hold her and reassure himself that she was really back, whole and undamaged. But there was no time right now.

Instead, he looked straight into Thanos' unbelieving eyes.

Let's get that son of a bitch.

[pl-panda]

Of Heaven and Hell

Credits: Miraculous Ladybug team for the elements I take from MLB show. DC for their characters, @ozmav for the AU, @maribat-archive for giving me access to so many different stories to have take inspirations from, @ethelphantom for the cover I use at Wattpad and FF.Net and Me for the plot.

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Of Heaven and Hell: Part 1

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Of Heaven and Hell

From Encyclopedia Demonica

[...] and while many people consider angels epitomes of good, they are mistaken. Indeed, this regal beings are more closely connected to order than to goodness. They perceive divine law as imperative and hold little regard to human lives, as long as they serve their goals. And yet, most of the times they chose to not involve themselves in mortal affairs.

Typical angel have two forms. First look very similar to human, but they retain most of their powers. Such form is also much more durable and their physical capabilities exceed everything you could expect from a mortal. Second is close to the first one in appearance, but differs in terms of power and abilities. In this form Angel spreads his wings and feature specific to his sub-species appear. 

Angel’s powers differ on subspecies, but universally include flight, enhanced senses, enhanced agility, strength and durability, large magical potential, access to magic unique to their species and high resistant to other types of magic. Specific subspecies have different additional powers. Each Angel also possess an ability that is unique to him. Usually, it reflects his personality and present itself when it reaches maturity. [...]

--------------------------------

Six years ago

Damian cursed under his breath. The temple was under attack. His mother told him to get inside. And he did. He ran to his room to grab his sword. A beautifully ornate weapon with guard in shape of two intertwined pairs of angel wings pointing toward the blade. Great for complicated maneuvers. The pommel held a teal pearl also protected by a pair of angel wings. It was a gift from his grandfather for his eighth birthday. The weapon was perfectly balanced and suited Damian’s style perfectly. 

With the sword in hand, Damian unfolded his wings. His tunic had a special holed cut in the back to accomodate for them and he didn’t destroy every shirt he wore. A pair of large white feathered wings appeared and he dashed forward to battle. He couldn’t let his mother die. A small orb of white energy appeared in his hand before he launched it at the wall in front of him. The explosion created enough of a hole for him to pass. 

In front of him opened a large yard. Usually, a new acolytes trained here under careful watch of angelic masters. Now it was simply a blood bath. Bodies were lying everywhere. But what shocked him the most was that angels were fighting one another. Some wore League’s armors, but overwhelming force was dressed in black-and-orange suits. He wanted to dash forward and into the battle, but someone grabbed him and pulled him into the shadows. A slender figure of his mother looked at him sternly.

“I told you to go inside.”

“Mother! I came to fight with you. I must fight with you. By your side. Together. It’s my destiny!”

“Your destiny is to live Damian.” She scolded him. “Now quickly. Let’s move. Some battles can’t be won.”

“But… what about the mission?” He asked confused.

“Mission will live in you and me. Now let’s go join your grandfather in the tunnels.” She started leading him away.

--------------------

Damian woke up from the dream. He instantly grabbed his sword and swung it around. Only then he realized that is was just a memory. He looked around his room, assessing any dangers. Once he was sure that nothing lurked in the darkness he got up. It was still night and quick glance at the electronic clock told him that it was 3:30 AM. Long time before others wake up. But Damian did not want to go to sleep anymore. He never did after this kind of nightmares. 

He got down to the holo-training room and activated the highest setting. A series of ninja shimmered into existence. Without as much as a second of hesitation, Damian dashed forward. His silver sword cut through them as he zoomed through the arena. With each move, he took two of the enemies. A slight golden aura around him intensified as he burned through his anger. Finally, he collapsed, panting heavily from exhaustion. The “kill counter” showed that he was halfway to a thousand vanquished enemies. He was weak. He was useless. He ran away. He was no warrior but a mere coward.

But it was not true. He did the right thing. Because he ran away he met his father. He actually started to protect people instead to only try to control them. He was a nephilim, half angel, half human. He had all the powers of his angelic brethren and yet freedom to choose. He didn’t need to follow orders of higher beings. He could make his own decisions. And he chose to be a hero, not a warrior. Now, each day he reinforced this decision. First as Robin, fighting side by side with his father, now as… still Robin, but as a part of Teen Titans. 

“You okay Demon Spawn?” A voice of Dick Grayson, better known as Nightwing, came from behind. Damian instantly spun around and stopped his blade less than an inch from his neck. 

“Don’t do that if you want your head to remain where it is.” he scowled at the sight of his adopted brother’s patronizing gaze. “And don’t look like that.”

“Like what?” Dick asked confused. 

“Like I am a baby in need of your care. I am sixteen-years-old Nephilim. I am more than capable of taking care of myself.”

“So that’s why you are awake at five in the morning? Taking care of yourself?”

“Get lost.” Damian barked and started to practice katas with his sword. He had his back turned to dick when suddenly he spun around just in time to block a projectile that was tossed at him. 

“Come on bro. You and me. One on one. First to score three hits.” Dick taunted. 

“I am stronger, faster and more agile. You stand no chance.” Damian said in emotionless expression. He looked at Dick for a moment before taking off his tank-top. “And I can fly.” He grinned at the surprised Nightwing. A pair of white-feathered wings appeared on his back. 

“And yet I kick your rear every time we fight.” Dick smirked and drew his staff. Both ends started to crackle with electricity. 

Damian boosted himself forward with a single flap of his wings. His silver sword met with the staff, but before he could cut it, Nightwing sidestepped and allowed blade to slide down. He used the Angel’s momentum to his disadvantage. Damian’s blade stumbled upon crackling electricity, sending a powerful shock through his arm. Normal humans would be paralyzed by this, but Damian only growled. It hurt, but he could fight. Damian tried several more times, but Dick always reflected or sidestepped before the blade could do any real damage. Finally, the Angel changed tactic. Flapping his wings, Damian rose into air. His off-hand glowed with golden light which next formed a runic circle around his fist before several projectiles flew at various arcs toward Nightwing. The hero had to dodge it quickly, but got caught by the last one and got sent into the wall. Damian didn’t bother to check on him. Instead, he dashed forward. Before Dick managed to get rid of flying stars around his head a silver blade was less than an inch from his neck. 

“I win.” Damian proclaimed, looking smug.

“Nope.” Dick said, popping the ‘p’. He then used his staff to jab Damian’s stomach, then jump on his fit and separate his weapon into two escrima sticks. He then started to barrage the teenager with series of swift hits. While they would not usually hurt given angelic durability, the crackling electricity made it a bit painful. Damian shielded himself with his wings, but Dick found an opening and landed third and final hit that ended the fight.

“That is cheating! I had you!” The teen argued.

“So? You lost me. But good fight D. Maybe next time.”

“tt. That’s unfair! I want rematch!” 

“Boys!” Kori joined the discussion. “As much as watching you fight is… entertaining, I made breakfast.” She said cheerfully while walking to nightwing. “And something special for you later.” She said seductively.

“Bleh.” Damian faked vomiting. “I will never understand humans.”

“You are part-human.” Dick pointed out

“And so is neandertales. Yet he doesn’t understand humans.” The teen deadpanned. 

“I heard someone say breakfast!” Beast Boy barged into training room.

“I made pancakes.” Kori cheered.

“With maple syrup?” Gar asked 

“And ‘love’.” Damian gave a sarcastic remark.

“So the best ones.” Beast Boy said with dreamy face. “I reserve the first batch!” He said while already dashing to the kitchen. 

“Scarab said he detected pancakes!” Beetle said while zooming past the room in his full armor. Damian, Dick and Kori walked in normal pace, only to find Gar and Jaime staring wide-eyed at Rachel sitting there and calmly eating her breakfast. 

“Took you long enough.” She said with a small smile. The red gem on her forehead pulsed weakly, but it was ignored in favor of consuming inhuman amounts of pancakes. Damian himself didn’t even realize that he finished three plates before Dick pointed it out to him. He turned pink for a moment before jumping away and claiming the remote for the day. 

After the morning of cartoons Titans spent rest of the day on the beach near the island. Half-way through Dick and Kori disappeared and when the sun started to set Rachel and Garfield also went somewhere. Jami, Damian and their newest addition to the team: Cyborg, were completely obvious to this as their discussion came to sport. 

“I’m just saying. Futball is the best game. Soccer is cool, but it’s for kids.” Victor argued.

“You say that, but last I checked Soccer was much more popular around the world.” Jami pointed out proudly. “Besides it requires much more skill and finesse. Futball is about pure muscle mass.”

“As if! Have you got any idea how important tactics, positioning, territorial awareness and condition are in Futball?”

“tt. The best sport is sword-fighting anyway.” Damian grinned at them. Inwardly, he loved this family. Sure, living with his father was great, but here he finally had one thing he missed so much: friends. They weren’t patronizing like Todd. They weren’t constantly trying to prove something to him like Drake and Grayson was even bearable here. That is if he didn’t act all sugar-eyes for Starfire. Is he even aware she is an alien princess and he is a peasant acrobat? 

As the sun was finally down, the titans made a giant bonfire on the beach and roasted marshmallows. As Damian was about to eat his, suddenly a large yellow balloon sailed toward him. He tried to catch it, but his enhanced strength made him accidentally squash it instead. A wave of water assaulted him and made him wet to the very bones. 

“Beast Boy!” He roared in anger. One thing he hated in the Titans were the constant prank wars that lasted for weeks. 

*gulp* “Will it help when I say that I aimed at Jaime?” Garfield asked weakly. 

“No hermano. It will only make it worse.” Blue Beetle looked practically offended, but he had a small smirk on his face. 

Damian took off his t-shirt and tossed it at Beast Boy. His hand then glowed and a runic circle materialized around it. Garfield tried to run, but a golden beam hit him in his rear and suddenly his fur turned completely gold. He looked like some some hardcore sports fan supporting his favorite team.

“That’s not fair! I only tossed a small water balloon. You could cool off a bit bro!” Garfield tried to argue weakly while massaging his rear.

“Suck it up like a man and stop whining like little girl…” Damian said, but then looked at Rachel who sent him a death glare. “Not that I have anything against little girls?” He added quickly.

After that the atmosphere were great. Garfield was still a bit sore on the subject of his new color and decided that he will appreciate his green from now on. Finally, Damian excused himself and went to the tower to go to sleep earlier. As he entered his room, he felt a breeze of air going on. He distinctly remembered that his window was closed and nobody would enter without his permission. A glyph on the doors made sure of that. His sword appeared in his and and a glowing runic circle formed above his head. A less known fact about Angels was that their Halo was in fact a spell that allowed them to sense other Angels in close proximity. It also gave enough light to serve as convenient source of light. Not that they needed it as they saw in anything but perfect darkness. Damian would never admit out loud that he used it when he wanted to draw something in the middle of the night. 

“Hello… Mother.” He said with disdain in his voice. 

“It’s good to see you too Damian.” She responded with sarcasm. 

“Why do you grace me with your presence?” If Talia’s voice was dipped in sarcasm, Damian drowned in it. 

“I need your help.” She said, ignoring the obvious disrespect. “There are several demons in Paris.”

“So?”

“The city is warded against all things celestial. And magic hides it from your precious Justice League. Had any Angel tired to go there, he would not be able to enter the city. Should anyone else hear about the situation, they would forget it as soon as the discussion ended.”

“So? From what you are saying is true, Mother, then I am twice as locked out as anyone else. I will forget about it the moment you leave.”

“That’s why I need you.” She said with almost pleading voice. “You aren’t a full angel, but your mind is protected from the spell. You should be able to enter the city and remember everything.”

Damian pondered it for a moment. It did seem like something serious. If what she said was true, the whole city was at the mercy of those vile monsters and couldn’t even hope for any external help. “Fine. I will go there.”

“Good. I already enrolled you at Collège Françoise Dupont” She said with a wicked grin. With a flap of her two pairs of wings she was gone, leaving only a thin folder on his desk. Damian cursed under his breath. 

“Looks like I’m going to school. tt. I hate teenagers.”

--------------------

Taglist: Open

[hetalihell]

@germanbrosweek

German bros week - day 7 Prompt - free day Characters - Germany, Prussia, Italy Ships - Gerita, Prucan Word count - 624

"Why did I choose to do this again?" Prussia asked, for what seemed like the millionth time in the last few minutes. Germany sighed. "Because you want to impress Canada by being able to skate, so come on." Prussia had found out the Canada loved playing hockey and ice-skating, and, in a last ditch effort to impress him, somehow convinced Germany to take him too an ice rink. Prussia was now having very different thoughts about ice. He could barely stand on stable, secure ground, let alone a slippery death trap. "Nein! I'll fall over if I go onto the ice!" He said, standing firmly on the ground. Germany stood opposite him, on the ice, holding his brothers arms. "Prussia, I won't let you fall." Germany said, sneaking backwards, forcing Prussia to take a step forwards, right onto the ice. Almost immediately, Prussia clung onto Germany, eyes flailing, legs completely still. "There! You're not falling yet!" Italy called out. Italy had insisted on coming, given that he was the one to teach Germany to skate. He was watching the two from the side, signature smile lighting his face like a the sun lighting the earth. Prussia soon straightened himself so he wasn't fully leaning on his brother, however, he was still clinging to Germany's wrist. "West! That was cruel." Prussia said, fake frown falling into his usual smirk as he adjusted to the ice. "You needed to get onto the ice. Right, see if you can glide over to the wall yourself." "What?" Prussia asked, turning to Germany as if he had just asked him to fly. "It's five feet away." Germany deadpanned. "Just push away from me and grab the wall." Closing his eyes, and uttering a quick prayer, Prussia slowly glided over to the wall. Once securely at the barrier, he turned to Germany once more, grinning. Italy skated over to Prussia, seeming to fly on the ice, with much more elegance than he had on ground. "See? We told you that you could do it!" "I mean, obviously I could, it's the awesome me that we're talking about here." Prussia replied, causing Germany to lightly chuckle, which in turn, caused Italy's eyes to widen. "Germany... Germany laughs?" Italy said, slightly panicked. "Is the world ending?" Germany glided over to where the other two were standing, and stroked Italy's head, pushing his hair back in the process. "Nein. I'm sure you've heard me laugh before." Germany said, causing Italy to look up at him. "You should've seen him when he was younger! Not so stoic then, were you?" Prussia said, smirking his iconic smirk. "Shut up. That's weak coming from someone who can't even skate." "Hey! What am I doing right now?" "Clinging to a wall in fear." Prussia decided that was a fair point, and he should leave it there. The trio skated across the rink, helping Prussia to make his way around. They were stood in the middle, Italy showing off his fancy tricks, twirling and circling with the grace of a swan, almost giving Germany a heart attack every time. Prussia had stopped holding onto Germany's wrist while stationary. He figured that he could keep his balance and clap for Italy. But that was a mistake. Germany moved away. Italy, realising what Germany was doing, joined him, making Germany throw his arm around the smaller nation. Prussia was stood, alone, in the middle of the rink. "Fuck you, West. You're supposed to be on my side." Warily, he pushed off the ice with a skate, moving slightly forward. Pushing harder, he moved faster, until- He smashed into the ice, sliding with the force of momentum on the ice. Sliding straight into Germany, who pulled Italy down with him. "Oops."

[blue-bird-kny]

Hiya! Are you willing to do a scenario with Zenitsu, where his male! crush asks him on a date? (If you don't write male inserts you can change it to whatever pronoun you'd like.) Thanks for reading my ask, I really enjoy your writing style!

Hi! Usually I wouldn't have written this since I write for female-inserts only, BUT since you kindly gave me permission to use whatever pronouns, I accepted and tried my hardest to keep it gender neutral so that you’d enjoy it. I hope you like it~Amanda

Warning: Swearing

“Heroic Acts”

(1k+ words)

You ran into the crazy trio after you’d all been assigned on a mission. It was a bigger job than you were used to so you were grateful when Tanjiro kindly suggested that you all split up in pairs. Originally, you were supposed to patrol with the rowdy pig-man, but he didn’t have any intention of working with anyone so you were stuck with the obsessive blonde boy who’d been calling “(y/n)-chan!” since you introduced yourself. “Great… just great” you glumly thought as the two of you started down the path.

It had been two days since the group split up and you were just about ready to fling Zenitsu off a cliff. Two days of someone constantly asking for your hand in marriage and ‘flirting’ with you was enough to drive anyone insane. “I just need to make it to tonight, then I can return this guy to his friends and go about my life”. Just as you were going to scold Zenitsu for being too loud, a scream ripped through the air and pierced your ears. You didn’t hesitate before running in the direction it came from, “Wait (y/n)-chan! You have to protect me! Don’t leave me alone!” Zenitsu cried as he ran behind you.

You two approached a house, the metallic smell of blood pouring from inside as a demon greedily devoured the couple who lived there. Zenitsu coward behind you, clinging to your shoulders for support and protection. “What is wrong with you! Aren’t you demon slayer?!” you questioned quietly, but Zenitsu never got the chance to respond as the demon turned towards the two of you. “Shit”, you didn’t have much time before this thing targeted you next and Zenitsu didn’t seem like the helping type, so you had to take matters into your own hand. “If you move any closer I swear I’ll slice your head off” you threatened standing in front of the blonde boy.

The demon laughed, you grimaced as he swallowed what you could only assume was the arm of one of the victims. “I’m never one to let fresh meat go to waste, you know how many of your kind I’ve eaten? You demon slayers aren’t shit, so go ahead, it will be funny to watch before I eat you and your friend” he stated confidently, slowly pacing toward you.

“Zenitsu move behind that tree and try not to get in my way” you ordered as you raised your sword, ready to fight. “But (y/n)-chan..” “Go Zenitsu!”.

You and the other demon entered a deathly battle, he was good but nothing you thought you couldn’t handle. You fought fiercely, managing to slice off the demon's arm; he’d only managed a few good licks on you.  Just as your blade was going to slice into the nape of its neck, your momentum was stolen and your body was dragged high into the air. “You fucking brat, I’m going to make sure you live long enough to watch me eat your limbs” the demon cursed, tightening the grip it held on your ankle until a cracking sound could be heard, sending your body flying as it laughed. You groaned in pain as you landed at the tree Zenitsu was supposed to be hiding behind. You desperately tried to focus your vision as you heard the demons heavy foot-steps growing closer. “Zenitsu!” your calls were met with silence as your partner was nowhere to be found.

“This is it, I’m going to die”

You closed your eyes, anticipating a blow that never came. You weren’t sure what had happened, but when you opened your eyes all you were met with was the remnants of a bright light and the smell of burning flesh. “Zenitsu?” you wearily question the figure huddled over the burning corpse of the demon. You hobbled over to the boy, reaching him just in time to catch his body as it fell to the ground. “Zenitsu!” you called again, this time your voice filled with worry.

You placed his head on your lap, applying pressure to a spot where blood was starting to trickle out. Only seconds passed before his eye lids flew open, yellow orbs meeting your. “Ah (y/n)-chan you saved me! I could have died” he cried into your stomach. You stared at him dumbfounded, “Does he not know what he just did?” you were never given the chance to voice your thoughts because Tanjiro and Inosuke had arrived, they’d heard the screams from earlier and rushed over.

Because of your ankle being broken, Zenitsu insisted he carried you to the Butterfly Estate as a way to repay you for your “heroic act” as he put it. You wanted to correct him, but you were too exhausted to even try. Instead, you buried your head into the side of his neck, lulling yourself to sleep with Zenitsu’s rhythmic foot-steps.

“I’ll tell him the moment I wake up”

                                                ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

You awoke to a soft pillow beneath your head and warm sheets wrapped around your body. You noticed how expertly your ankle had been treated and wrapped, “this should only take a week to heal” you admired. You stood up as best as you could, stretching your back as you took in the other three disheveled beds around you.

You headed outside hoping to find the others, especially Zenitsu. He amazed you; it was almost like he became a different person when he fought the demon, saving your life. You were determined to give him your thanks and to clear-up the whole ‘who-saved-who’ mix up.

You found the three idiots, fighting of course. You smiled and waved as you grew closer to the loud bunch. Tanjiro noticed you first, his demeanor changing completely as he greeted you, “(y/n)-san I’m glad…” “(y/n)-chan! I’m so glad you’re awake I thought you died!” Zenitsu interrupted as he wrapped himself around your torso. You laughed, strangely not minding his antics. “Zenitsu get off of (y/n)!” Tanjiro ordered as he pried his friend from your body. “It’s fine” you assured with a smile, “actually, Zenitsu could I borrow you for a minute?” your question threw the pair off. Your smile only grew as Zenitsu nervously made out a “sure”, his face consumed by a red glow.

The two of you walked off to the estates garden, sitting on two large stones. “What is it (y/n)-...” “Shush, I’ll do the talking thank you very much” you silenced his questions, placing your finger against his surprisingly soft lips causing the poor boy to melt.

“I never got to thank you for saving my life. And to think I thought I was going to be doing the saving” you chuckled at his puzzled expression. “I don’t know how, but you killed that demon and for that I’m indebted to you” you bowed your head at him. “As a way to repay you for your heroic act,” you mimicked his words playfully, “I’d love to treat you to this delicious ramen spot I know of, it’s not far from here!” you watched with hopeful eyes as he processed your request.

“Wait, are you asking me on a date?” he questioned, instantly forgetting your thanks and his confusion. “Well, yea I guess I am” you confessed scratching your head in embarrassment. His heart burst in content as he yelled “Of course (y/n)-chan!”, wrapping you in a bone crushing hug, which you returned enthusiastically.“I can’t believe I actually like this idiot” you teasingly thought as he released you, remembering your injury. Gently placing a soft kiss to his cheek, you whispered “Thanks again Zenitsu”  before walking off to the hospital wing.  

For the first time, Zenitsu was stunned into silence as he held his cheek. Congrats, you’ve officially broken Zenitsu.

Main Masterlist

Thank you all for reading! I hope you enjoyed, please look forward to more work and as always request are open!~Amanda