#his driver notices the similarities before James can even open his mouth

[putuponpercy]

Random AU fact of the day, James' driver made it out before the engine plummeted into the sea. The two do reunite after James becomes human and the two end up working together on James' old engine body after it's recovered and repaired, with James arguing that, 'Who else would be best to drive him than himself!'

[thekisforkeats]

Ooh jm + shy kiss for the prompts?

Ohhh good one! I had to think about this a little and actually wrote up a bunch that didn't quite work at first. But! Here it is!

Set somewhere in the first few minutes of 160, in those weeks between arriving at the safehouse and Hazel Rutter. Featuring autistic Martin trying to navigate social situations because that is evidently what I write now.

(Incidentally the term "weak ties" was coined by a Stanford researcher in 1973. Link to the relevant paper. Credit where due, and all.)

(No beta no edits we die like archive assistants.)

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It takes Martin a week to convince Jon to come down into the village with him.

If he's being honest with himself--and he's trying very hard to be honest with himself these days, so he can identify any Lonely-type thoughts--he really just wants to show off his boyfriend to the nice lady at the little shop in the village where he's been picking up essentials.

Martin is a naturally friendly person, or maybe a naturally personable person. This was not always the case; he had to practice a great deal to memorize all the scripts to smooth social interactions that other people seem to navigate without thinking about it at all. It can be horribly exhausting, just going to the shops. It's one of the reasons the Lonely appealed to him; how much easier to just move through life without having to recite all those canned lines?

Now that he's out of its grip, he's come to realize how much those interactions matter. He's been reading a lot on the internet about depression and social interaction, about social circles, and one thing that caught his eye is the idea of "weak ties," those people we're not exactly friends with, but who we see on a regular basis and who help us feel connected to a larger community. People who don't really know us and yet know something about us that helps us feel seen. The bus driver who gives you a familiar nod every morning. the barista who's prepping your order as soon as he notices you in line, the shop lady who tries to keep your favorite tea in stock.

So Martin is trying to cultivate those relationships, to feel part of a wider community, rather than just relying on Jon. He thinks that maybe if he'd had more of that, before, if he'd tried harder to go through the world being seen, he might have handled Jon's coma and his mother's death in some kind of healthier manner.

Maybe not, of course, but he's going to use any tool he can to keep the Lonely at bay.

At any rate, even beyond being very good at social scripts, Martin does genuinely like people, he's a good listener, for an autistic guy he's practically a social butterfly. And Elspeth is a nice lady, maybe mid-40's, the kind of person who runs a shop because she actually likes interacting with a stream of customers on a regular basis. So she's just the sort of person for Martin to practice his "weak tie" skills.

Because, naturally, one of the key benefits of "weak ties" is that they are the sort of people you get to be public about your relationship with when none of your closer friends are around.

Yeah, no, all of the above is just flimsy justification, if Martin's being really honest with himself. He's just madly in love and wants literally everyone within a 500-mile radius to know.

That morning, Martin makes a big show of how badly he wants to spend time with Jon, no really, but he really does have to go down into the village.

"We're out of tea!"

"I don't think we have anything for dinner!"

"But I really want to keep listening to you talk about Scottish history!"

And so on.

Jon gives him a tolerantly amused look, and Martin flushes. Is he that transparent, or is Jon just that good at reading him?

"I suppose I can go into the village with you, Martin," he says, eyes glittering. "Since you're so terribly interested in the House of Stuart. I'd hate to leave you wondering what happened to James II."

Martin would feel guilty, but he can tell Jon is pleased to be "indulging" him, and it's not like Martin hasn't been listening to Jon infodump about whatever random facts Beholding's been given him all week.

They hold hands all the way down into the village, and it's nice, to walk through the place and be seen, together. It's comfortable. They'd held hands on walks before, long ago in London, before the Unknowing, but back then they hadn't been sure what they were, hadn't managed to broach the delicate barrier between "friends" and "something else." Now, they're "boyfriends," and Martin keeps finding himself wanting to go up to each person he sees on the street and shout, "This is my boyfriend, Jonathan Sims!!"

By the time they reach Elspeth's shop, he's feeling a little giddy.

He pushes open the door and the little bell rings, and Elspeth looks up from behind the counter and smiles. "Martin!" she says, and Martin's whole body warms in a very pleasant manner, that this woman he's only known a week remembers him. "Oh, and this must be the elusive Jon." She gives them one of those teasing smiles people give to new couples, glittering eyes and amusement at the silly things people do when they're in limerence.

"Yes," Martin says, and suddenly the words stick in his throat. "Yes, this is... is... umm..." Oh, why has he suddenly frozen like a deer in headlights? Why can't he remember the right words?

"Jonathan Sims," Jon says smoothly, stepping forward to offer the woman his hand. "And yes, I'm Martin's boyfriend."

It occurs to Martin, all at once, that neither of them have said that out loud to anyone else. No wonder he's frozen up.

Elspeth glances at the burn scars on Jon's hand only briefly, then smiles--and it's a genuine smile, not one of those pitying ones people sometimes put on when they see scars like that--and shakes said hand. "Pleased to meet you," she replies. "Elspeth Douglas." She has the Highland accent, but softened; she spent her 20's and 30's in London, she's said, and came back to take over the family store when her father fell ill. The similarity might be part of why Martin likes her--that and the fact that it seems that helping her sickened parent improved her life.

"Ahh, yes. The not-so-elusive Elspeth." Jon actually flashes a grin, which Martin finds remarkable. Since when is Jon... friendly? Well, maybe he's trying for Martin's sake. If so, Martin very much appreciates the effort.

The woman behind the counter laughs, and says, "How can I help you?"

"Oh," Martin manages, his brain catching up and letting his mouth work again, "we're just here for tea and things."

"Of course," Elspeth says. "I'll be here when you're ready."

They turn away, to go deeper into the aisles.

"She seems nice," Jon says almost absently. "Shame about her fa--" He pauses, and frowns. Shakes his head, looking irritated. "You didn't tell me about that," he grumbles.

"No, I didn't. But thank you for trying to keep it in," Martin says.

Jon sighs, lowering his voice. "It's becoming harder and harder to separate what I've learned on my own from what Beholding gives me. How much of my thoughts are mine anymore? Did I actually memorize all those facts about the House of Stuart, or am I getting the... mental Wikipedia page, as it were?"

"Seems like a thing you'd know," Martin comments offhandedly. He's focused on figuring out what kind of rice to buy. He wants to try his hand at sticky rice, which really should have calrose, but Jon likes jasmine rice. Do they get both?

He doesn't want to think about Beholding, and how much of it is Jon anymore. He prefers just thinking about it as something like a smartphone app Jon can use without having to actually have a phone in front of him. He does not want to think about how much of his boyfriend has been potentially consumed by some kind of eldritch thing that feeds on fear.

He really doesn't want to think about the idea that maybe soon, Jon won't even need rice anymore, and will just live off statements, no matter how much he jokes about his partner's "eating habits."

Jon has been talking as Martin's been staring at the rice, but Martin hasn't heard any of it. He's brought back to himself by a squeeze of Jon's hand in his.

"Hey," Jon says softly. "You okay?"

In Jon's voice, Martin hears all the concern that Martin himself has been feeling. He forces himself to look at Jon, and sees bright green eyes staring out of a deep brown face. He realizes he's gotten used to the color of Jon's eyes; before the coma, Jon's eyes were brown, like a deep carnelian, and so large and dark sometimes Martin thought he could fall right into them and be happy drowning there. Now they're green, bright and disarming, and Martin's pretty sure this is why Jon still wears glasses he no longer needs, to hide those strange eyes behind plastic lenses.

Those eyes are looking up at him intensely now, and Jon's brow is furrowed, and his mouth is pulled into a frown in a way that highlights one of the worm scars near his lip, and all of it is adorable, but it's also disconcerting for the contrast between the softness of his voice and the intensity of his expression.

Is Jon as afraid of losing Martin to Forsaken as Martin is of losing Jon to Beholding?

Martin frowns at him for a moment, then sighs. "I just..." He has to look away, back to the bags of rice. "I just... don't like thinking about that. Beholding, and... all of it. I just... I just wish..."

"You wish we could be normal." Jon's tone is still soft, and filled only with love and no sort of guilt or self-recrimination.

"Yeah," Martin says, still staring at the rice.

There's a hesitation, and then Jon says, softly and slowly, "You know... normal people deal with these sort of difficult things, too. There's so much out there that can hurt people... the things we deal with, they're weirder than most of the rest of it, but..."

"Yeah, I know, Jon, I just..." Martin hunches his shoulders. "Don't want to lose you again," he finally mumbles.

Jon hesitates a moment, and then he leans in to give Martin a soft kiss on the cheek.

Martin flushes bright red--Elspeth's right there!--and turns to stare at Jon. "W-what... what was... that for?!"

Jon, too, is blushing. "I just... ah... I just... wanted you to know that... that I'm... here. You haven't... lost me. Or anything."

"Oh," Martin says. "Well. Thank you."

There's a moment where they just look at each other, and then Jon blurts, "...Can I kiss you again? It's just, I haven't all morning, and I really sort of wanted to spend the morning cuddling, but you wanted to come down to the shops..."

"Here?!" Martin stares at him.

"We can go behind the shelves if you like," Jon says, blushing furiously.

For some reason, this makes Martin giggle, and then he leans down to brush his lips to Jon's. Softly, shyly, as if they haven't been kissing each other all week, because he really is terribly aware of the fact that there are other people around.

"Tell you what," Martin says as he pulls back, surprisingly breathless despite how short the contact of their lips was, "let's finish up the shopping and then we can cuddle all afternoon."

Jon smiles up at him. "Promise?" The smile widens. "You're not going to drag me around to introduce me to every villager individually?"

"I was not--!" Martin glares at him, but now Jon's smile has become one of those shit-eating grins he gets sometimes, and Martin can't stay mad at him at all.

"You knew," he accuses, but there's no heat in it.

"I had a hunch," Jon says, humming. "I didn't want to spoil your fun, though."

Martin rolls his eyes, and then reaches out to take Jon's hand again. "Well, then, we'd better get to it. Jasmine or calrose? Rice, I mean."

"Both, I think," Jon says. "I find myself very much desiring normality of late, and rice is a terribly normal sort of thing."

[floresdeldoza]

when someone says “i love you,” i want to feel it.

Guero’s love had been loud. It had put a target on her back. Brenda’s love had been constant. It smelled like her perfume and followed after her like a trail of dust. She can no longer recall her parent’s love feeling like anything other than a warning. Brief and full of blood. It must have been more than that—she prays it was more than that. But it’s becoming harder and harder for her to remember.

James’ love never fully arrives. It proceeds slowly and silently; so much so that she fails to notice it’s happening. Remarkably, it doesn’t seem as if it will ever settle in or take its shoes off. Growing and changing all the while right under her nose.

The reality is, she’d more or less deluded herself into thinking that he’d actually said it already. It was only after she heard it that she realized no, not in so many audible, vowel-laden words.

Which is absurd of course—he absolutely had (an innumerable amount). With every bullet and broken bone. Every utterance of, You okay? Every glance from the driver’s seat, the desert rushing behind him in a blur of stars and sand. And really, what does it matter whether he speaks the words or not? She had felt it—had been feeling it all this time, and while it might be important for some, it was less so for her. The woman with the tail of a snake in her mouth, wondering what love is supposed to even taste like anymore. 

And what would they even be if not for their silences? His love for her had taken up shop in their silence; it thrived on her careful slowness to speak. Lived in his hands tangled up in her hair. She had barely spared a thought for what it would sound like coming from his mouth until it did. Until he was leaving one morning on some routine errand and her heart had stuttered and stopped and it was like she was just a drug-dealer’s girlfriend again—in love and powerless at the whims of some other man’s violence.

“Love you,” he hummed into her ear with a swift, thoughtless kiss—as if his body had done it without his brain’s permission. Habitual. Maybe, she thought, maybe he was suffering under a similar delusion. “I’ve said it hundreds of times,” she imagines he might have thought, “what’s one more?”

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he says with a smile and a wink, his shoulders loose and relaxed. He slides into the driver’s seat like he has so many times before, and there’s no betrayal in his gait or his gaze of a feeling of panic, as if he has no awareness of what he’s just said.

She doesn’t think for one moment to correct him—to draw attention to what some might consider to be a momentous, cosmic shift in the universe of their relationship. He’s said it before, of course. And love is in the returning.

When she leans into the open window, her forearms burn some from the heat, but she savors it. She wants nothing so much as to remember this; all of it. The way the heat rose from the blacktop beneath her feet; how his hair curled over the top of his ears. How ordinary and infinite.

“I love you, too,” she grins, and seals their silence with a kiss.

[kumkaniudaku]

Understanding

1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9. 10. 11. 12. 13. 14. 15. 16. 17

Recommended Listening: Understanding x Xscape, Purple Emoji (ft. J. Cole) x Ty Dolla $ign, My World x Asian

Word Count: 2,137 

If you were going to win an award that afternoon, it’d be for attire, not confidence. Your expertly crafted golf outfit was the only thing willing your feet forward once you parked your car in front of Senior’s golf course.

Black women and men dressed like modern Jet magazine ads waltzed in and out of the clubhouse while you scanned the area for your party. You’d been to your fair share of golf courses, but none as exquisite as The National. Marble accents complemented modern brass finishes and unbeatable views of the city. The desire to take photos for your father was almost too much to shake, but you managed to play it cool. Acting out of place was surely some type of faux pas for the wealthy.

Across the way, Senior sat at the bar sipping a glass of water while thumbing through a newspaper. His furrowed brow was identical to Yahya’s whenever he was knee-deep in work or a good book. The mental comparison made you smile before ushering in a tinge of sadness. For two people so undeniably similar, they were miles apart physically and mentally.

You navigated through groups of young and old alike on the way to the bar.

“You made it on time,” Senior spoke without looking up from a story on education budget cuts.

“I made it with time to spare.”

“You don’t get praise for doing what’s right.”

“Think of how much better things would be if we did.”

Senior paused his reading to take a deep breath and shake his head. You mentally berated yourself for overstepping so soon. Not even five minutes into the outing and you had already committed an avoidable infraction

Yahya I prolonged the unbearable silence as he continued to read through another article, reading each line painstakingly slow while you watched in agony.

“I apologize. That was unnecessary.”

“I’ll ask you again,” he spoke, finally looking away from the newspaper to study your face. “Let’s leave the character right here. We’re here for a purpose, so grab your clubs and follow me to the first hole. I hope your game is as good as you are at running your mouth.” Taking his retort in stride, you quickly grabbed your set of clubs and followed with no objections. “After you.”

Senior found himself immediately impressed though he wouldn’t verbalize his feelings. He watched you breeze through each hole with near expert precision, opening a series of questions at hole 5 during casual small talk.

“Where’d you say you were from again?”

“A tiny town in South Carolina that you probably wouldn’t know.”

“Try me,” he answered while taking stock of his position on the fairway.

“Anderson, South Carolina. Home of Larry Nance and the great Chadwick Boseman.”

“Can’t forget James Kennedy, Young Lady.”

You cocked your head back in surprise. “What you know about Radio? I mean outside of what the movie says?”

Senior remained quiet long enough to take a hard swing. The loud “whiff” of his driver slicing through crisp, clean air didn’t match the stroke’s output. Both of you watch the golf ball sail high into the air before making a landing well short of the intended destination. Senior shook his head at the miscalculation before turning to answer your question.

“Black folks from all over are connected, even without all that Snapgram and Facebook foolishness.”

“I could argue it’s helped, right? How else would you be able to share your granddaughter’s first steps with the whole family?”

“In photo albums. You might not remember those, but they did us just fine.”

“Yeah, but it’s instantaneous conversation and information. Who wouldn’t want that?”

“Maybe instantaneous conversation is the problem. We aren’t making enough time to stop and really think about what we’re saying to each other.”

“Mm.” You let the conversation naturally taper before following Senior to his golf cart. The rolling hills provided enough scenery to keep you interested while you sorted the words in your head.

“I think we may have started off on the wrong foot.” You spoke once the cart came to a full stop. Senior trailed behind in silence, gathering a new club while watching you examine the other golfers in the area.

“You’re rather observant.”

You chuckled and plucked a club from your bag. “I’ve been told. Yahya calls me Eagle Eye when I catch something he’s already talked about ten minutes ago.”

“It’s what his Big Mama used to call his Pop-Pop for the same thing. That man was notoriously late to the punchline.” The nostalgia in Yahya I’s voice caught you off guard though he didn’t see your minor fumble. Something in his retelling appealed to your sense of compassion in a way that you considered long gone when it came to him.

“Let’s not beat around the bush. You have an issue with my presence that we should discuss. Because I can assure you, I’m not going anywhere.”

“Bold,” Senior responded with a sarcastic laugh. He gestured to nothing in particular as you squared up to take a swing and nodded. “And direct. Continue.”

You took a moment to hit a line drive toward the green in the distance, using the movement as an outlet for the unexpected nerves churning your stomach. Both of you quietly watch the golf ball for its final resting place before you turned to speak.

“You are extremely hard to please, and it is literally ruining your family. Yahya does everything in his power, and, excuse my French, you don’t seem to give a fuck. Why is that?”

“What makes you think that my love isn’t what makes me push him to be the best that he can? It may not be the fluff and frills you’re used to in your home, but it’s what he needs to get him to his potential.”

“Did it help you?”

Senior mistakenly allowed a quick moment of confusion to take over his features. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

“You tell me. When’s the last time you enjoyed a laugh with your family or felt like you could just...be? You’re carrying a weight that is crushing the people around you, and you don’t even see it.”

“You don’t…” Senior caught his words and bottled them behind his lips. He took a deep breath as he approached his golf ball and took a half-hearted swing. Noticing his misstep, he shook his head. “I’m from Baton Rouge, Louisiana. My father, Yahya’s Pop-Pop, moved my mother and me to a shotgun shack to find work when things weren’t quite shaking out back home. He was in and out of trouble and such. Couldn’t get right, but he had a natural knack for building and design.”

A nearby group of golfers erupted into laughter, helping to break up some tension.

“So architecture’s been in the family for a while,” you asked. Yahya I curled the corner of his lips into a far-off smile.

“A long, long time. It got us out of that shack when my siblings came along and into a house with our own rooms and a backyard. But, my father was a hard man. Hard to please, you know,” he laughed, making a reference to your earlier words. “He wanted the best from me, and he made damn sure he got it. I needed that to get my head out of the clouds.”

“You also needed some reassurance.”

“Perhaps. But, what’s done is done. I look at what I’ve built with no complaints, especially when it comes to my boys. I couldn’t be more proud of the men they’ve become.”

Senior’s proud smile almost looked foreign on his face. You’d never seen more than an indifferent expression or the slight twinge of anger smoldering behind his eyes.

Leaning on your club, you kept your eyes forward to gaze out over the course.

“Yahya would love to hear that. I don’t know if you know this, but he is desperately searching for your approval. There is not enough praise from me or anyone else that could replace knowing that you’re proud of him. Yet, as much as he would like to tell you these things himself, he’s afraid that you’ll think less of him for being vulnerable.”

“I could never think less of the boy. Tough love is still love.”

“Maybe for you,” you added, shrugging. “But, what good is continuing this cycle if it’s hurting the children you claim to love and the grandchildren after them?”

Senior dropped his head in thought before looking up with an unreadable expression. “Deuce will be fine. He’s all the best parts of his mother. I...I’m confident he’ll figure out fatherhood on his own despite my shortcomings. We raised him well.”

“Forgive me if I’m overstepping -”

“That has never stopped you before, young lady.” His light-hearted chuckle invited you to follow suit.

“Fair point,” you laughed. “So, let me cut to the chase. Allowing Yahya to just ‘figure things out’ is a passive existence. Yahya says you’re constantly reminding him to take things into his own hands. Sounds like you should take your own advice. Be the parts of your father that you needed at 33.”

Instead of acknowledging your advice, Senior twirled his club in his hand on the way to the golf cart. He maintained an impenetrable poker face that even the most skilled readers couldn’t interpret. You silently hoped that at least some of your words had made it through his thick skull, but you chose to let the discussion meet a natural end.

As he started the cart, Senior turned to you and smiled. “How the hell you learn to swing like that? I know it wasn’t in Anderson.”

“Hey, we play a little golf here and there!”

“Where? Out in the woods?”

“No, out in the Bayou like you did.”

A small smirk crept across your face as Yahya I chuckled at your joke. He sounded identical to Yahya, full of mirth and beautiful melodies.

“The ole Bayou,” he repeated in a thick accent. “You ain’t seen a place more beautiful in your life.”

“Maybe Yahya and I could visit one day.”

He quickly looked over and shrugged. “Maybe. For now, you focus on defending this lead. I think I’m getting back into my rhythm.”

Senior couldn’t make a convincing comeback, but he did show glimpses of a softer, more personable disposition. He cracked jokes on occasion and asked questions that turned the conversation from a therapy session to banter between associates. Your mind traveled to the possibility of civil family dinners or vacations during the ride home. Though it seemed silly to create imaginary scenarios after one conversation, you couldn’t help the urge to see a better future.

Your happiness helped you float into your shared apartment, making Yahya smile when he caught a glimpse of your wide grin and short skirt.

“Damn, girl,” he hollered from the couch with Leche cradled in his arms. “If Tiger was out there cheeked up like that, I might’ve paid a little more attention to the golf network.”

“Oh, really?”

Your raised eyebrow made Yahya kiss his teeth once he caught on to the joke. “You know what I meant. Where you been anyway?”

“Oh, I was just out doing a little golfing...with your dad.”

“Right. That was today, huh?”

Even Yahya’s best attempt at feigning interest, his question came out in a flat drone typically used on annoying coworkers. You dropped your purse and keys against a nearby barstool on the way to his spot on the couch.

“It was today. I think we had a good time,” you answered as you slid your arms around his neck from behind, placing a gentle kiss behind his ear. “He didn’t yell at me.”

“You must’ve kissed his ass the entire time.”

“No. We talked about how great I am at golf. I mean, I kicked his ass.”

“Good on you, baby girl. Bring honor to our house.” In a surprise maneuver, Yahya pulled you over the couch and into the space beside him. “Is that all?”

Silence blanketed the room, allowing the college basketball game in the background to have center stage. You considered your options carefully, weighing the pros of a potential argument against a peaceful Saturday indoors. Yahya turned his attention back to the television as he waited for a response.

“Did you hear me, baby? He didn’t say anything rude to you, did he?”

“No!” You blurted. Taking a deep breath, you slowly slid the remote off the coffee table and pressed the power button. Yahya blinked twice at his reflection on the black television screen before turning to you for answers. Your fingers danced across his thighs to interlock with his long digits.

“I think...I think we need to have a real talk about your dad.”

----

A/N: I hope this is better late than never. Only two more chapters left! Really striving to have those to y’all by the end of the month.

Let me know if you want to be tagged or untagged!

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[perhapsthanatos]

10:32 pm with yuta ♡

nct’s yuta x fem!reader (got inspired by a dream of mine & found the idea really cute)

alternate title: be the james dean to my audrey hepburn

genre: fluff. a pinch of angst. non idol au. badboy!yuta au.

word count: 1400~

playlist: chinatown by wild nothing, lover’s rock by tv girl & work this time by king gizzard and the lizard wizard.

warnings: featuring johnny (not a warning though). smoking cigarettes. cursing. lowercase intended. not proofread.

a/n: hi i was supposed to post a vampire!haechan fic but i really wasnt happy w it in general :( the plot or overall idea of the fic was really good, but i just felt as if i didnt do it justice so here we are :( but ngl, i kind of like this concept more? maybe bc i can see it more vividly? idk, i feel like my writings r getting repetitive & its getting on my nerves lmaoo this is getting long im sorry do u guys even read this part anyway? i would also like to apologize abt the amount of projecting im doing lmao ive been having some rough days & i love my sister but hate being compared to her so often so this is a way for me to rant abt it ig? also so sorry its coming out a little later bc i woke up late today (& procrastinated for the rest of it so here i am posting really late at night) & decided to go to the convenience store to get ice cream (& a ton of other bad shit pls dont do this its rlly unhealthy) for breakfast bc i can :) any who, enjoy lovelies <3

“oh my, y/n! you’ve grown up so well! just like your sister!”

“oh! i’m sorry i’ve almost mistaken you for your sister! y/n is your name, correct?”

“y/n, darling, you are looking so dashing! you really do resemble your sister, don’t you?”

“ah, you must be y/n! i’ve heard all about you and your sister from your father!”

you swear that your reddening cheeks are threatening to fall off any moment now from all the fake smiling. the hundreds of superficial compliments, the insincere flattery and the need for these people to constantly compare you to your godforsaken sister makes you feel even weaker than you are. it gets harder and harder to keep up with a big persona that isn’t at all you. as lucky as you are to live such a lavish lifestyle, you can’t help but hate how your family has to be so perfect. you hate how you have never fit in with them, even if you are so good at faking it. you hate how you have always been stuck in your sister’s shadow, constantly haunted with the reminder that you yourself aren’t good enough. you hate how you now have to entertain the rich and brainless guests at your parent’s gala because she’s gone for some stupid prodigy competition and everyone is only talking about her in front of your face. so what if she’s better the better sister? you still have the right to earn respect, right?

you’re exhausted from all the small talk. your facade gets more brittle by the second under all the pressure. your body feels as if it's gonna give out due to your brain shutting down after all that interacting. you try to keep on going with the night as it unravels itself by being the perfectly poised poster child, trying to make your parents proud. but alive yet almost completely devoid, you decide enough was enough. what if you left right now? no one would notice, would they?

after pulling up your phone discreetly to send a few text messages, you pass through lots of people dressed in gold and finery in a way that wouldn’t have you noticed right away. keep your head down and don’t you dare make eye contact with anyone. nearing the end of the room, grabbing the first glass of whatever alcohol you see and downing it in one gulp, you start walking away as quickly as possible from the ballroom. “ignorant privileged fucks,” you angrily whisper to no one in particular, setting the now empty glass on whatever surface and begin to head to the main exit where no one could spot you running away.

“and what do you think you’re doing here, miss?”

a voice interrupts you, looking up you see that it is your father’s head butler; johnny. he is dressed in a simple black suit that makes him appear taller than he is. his long brown hair is slicked back and his bowtie seems brand new. you have known the man since he started working in your household less than ten years back. you were a reckless child, often trying to find ways to sneak out, finding a way to escape from this life and he sympathized with you. after all, he could barely imagine living your life, never catching a break for yourself and always pretending to be someone you weren’t. he often helped planning when you would sneak out into the night, scheduling things like what time you should leave and what time you should be back, more specifically a time when no one would notice. he would take care of your form of transportation and have your location on at all times, just to be extra safe. as much as he wants you to have fun and have a bit of freedom, he still worries that something might happen to you. because of all this, you two have grown to have a very strong bond. you could confidently say that he is most definitely a parental figure in your life since your parents (and even your sister) are often overseas for work.

“what do you think i’m doing? you think i wanna be in a room with those half-baked bipeds? fuck no!”

“i know, i was just joking. you looked like you were about to explode in there, i wish i could help.” he laughs, pulling out his phone preparing what you might need. “so what will it be for today? the driver? we just need to pay him to keep his mouth shut. a taxi? it’s cheaper than paying the driver, but you still need to pay… not like that’s a problem for you though. maybe an uber would be good enough—“

“actually, i got myself covered. thanks.”

his jaw slightly drops and his eyebrows furrow. he looks straight at you in shock. “what do you mean you got yourself covered?”

you look down at your feet, a nervous habit. “i got myself a ride, you don’t need to help me. i’ll be back as soon as dawn comes.”

he raises his eyebrow. “who’s your ride?”

“doesn’t matter,” you glance down at your phone seeing a notification and wave a goodbye, leaving rather suddenly. “i gotta go, i’ll text you when you need to open the gates!”

“y/n! wait! who’s your ride— and she’s gone.” johnny sighs, watching as you run towards the front gates, tossing your stiletto heels away on the grass while you’re at it. he heads back inside, silently hoping you’ll be fine.

knocking the window of the old black mustang parked outside behind the big bushes, the driver rolls down his window and sends the most charming smile.

yuta in his black beanie, long blonde hair, worn out doc martens, signature leather jacket and black skinny jeans. it almost makes you laugh on how he wears the same thing almost everyday but still manages to look so good.

he is most notable for having a big bad boy reputation and you knew that he was the breath of fresh air you needed in your life. a person who can understand having the pressure of having to be or to fulfill your persona. a person you can completely be yourself around. a person who is full of warmth no matter how cold he may seem on the outside.

“get in, princess.”

and that was all you needed. you tiredly walked to the other door and sat yourself in the car. rolling his window back up, he looks at you. you are wearing a simple yet stunning black dress along with silver jewelry adorned on your neck and wrists. your makeup is perfectly done but still struggles to hide the fog in your eyes. he has the sudden urge to clear them away. he softens at the sight of you. no one is perfect, but he finds you being perfect enough without ever having to dress up.

“where to?” he asks as gently as he could. he knows that you are most vulnerable during these moments and that it is hard to finally break down your walls after a day full of stress, so he doesn’t pry immediately. all he wants to do is to keep you here, safe and away from your burdens and for you to stay comfortable with him, even if it couldn't be for long. but is that too selfish of him to ask? he hates how you hate your life and it is taking every bone in his body to not run away with you. but who is he to tell you what to do or what to change anyway? all he can do for now is try to find a way to make you genuinely smile.

“take me anywhere,” you whisper to the latter. “i just want to be as far from myself and my life as possible. miles away or the nearest convenience store, just take the long way home before dawn.”

you look down at the cup holders, spotting an open cigarette box. you tug one out of the nineteen and light it with the lighter you kept in your pocket. you lean back and close your eyes. he only admires as you bring the cigarette to your lips, exhaling a cloud of smoke afterwards. letting the radio play quietly, he starts the car and begins to drive away from the mansion. he can’t help but wonder how you (an elegant daughter) and him (a bad boy) are millions of worlds apart, but more similar than you think.

© perhapsthanatos (efa)

[fullmarvelheart]

Crossing Lines (1/?)

Pairing: mob!Bucky x fbi!mob!Reader

Word Count: 3,322

Series summary: A sudden and unsettling event rocks the underworld, and Y/N is immediately called in to prepare for what’s to come. What she isn’t prepared for is James Buchanan “Bucky” Barnes, also known as the new head of the Brooklyn mafia clan. When these two get shoved into a world of danger and deceit, will they ever learn to trust each other? Or will they be doomed from the start?

Warnings: Blood, gore, violence, little bit of angst, slight swearing, slow burn (more to be added as the series progresses)

A/N: I’m finally able to post this today! I’ve been counting down until I could get this out😂 This is the first story that I have written and posted on my Tumblr account. I’m a bit nervous but very excited. I have not entirely proofread this story. Though, I would like to thank my beta reader, Lauren, for all the help and motivation she gave me. The GIF is not mine, credit to the original creator! And a big thank you to the @the-ss-horniest-book-club​ for hosting Mob!Bucky Appreciation Day and inspiring me to post this story.

Series Masterlist

The sharp clicking noise of my heels, followed by the dull thud of several boots, echo on the wooden stairs leading to the basement of my childhood home. I follow the along the long stretch of the twisting hallways until we reach a door that's muffling the slaps and punches behind it. 

One of the men that had met me in the foyer, and had followed me down, knocks twice on the door as I tuck my hand into the back pocket of the curve-hugging black jeans I wore for the day. Moments later, the steel door swings open with a low whine from the give of the rusted hinges. The scent of blood and sweat is the first thing I notice followed by the image of the room. 

Five men stand beyond the doorway. The man who opened the door stands near the edge of steel, gun hanging loosely at his side. Two bodyguards stand in adjacent corners of the room, making sure it’s possible to guard the others with in. Two others, the two most trusted of the household, including the right hand to the leader of the Manhattan Mafia Empire, stand imposingly in front of a man bound to a chair in the center. By the amount of fresh blood dripping onto the floor, this wasn't just some petty offense against the leader. Which draws my attention to the final man, leaning carelessly on a table filled with painful weapons. Nicholas J. Fury, the leader of this mafia clan, and my adopted father. 

"You summoned me from my apartment, Boss?" I say with a smirk while jutting out my hip. 

Phil Coulson, father's righthand, gives me a smirk in return while Maria Hill, his enforcer, just sends a half-hearted glare my way. However, father's face remains neutral.

"I did." He spares me a one-eyed glance. "Tell me what you see?"

I hum in thought to myself as I stalk my way around to see the captive's face. The top half of his once light-colored shirt is now hanging open from being cut by a knife or something similarly sharp. But it's cut open enough to view a tattoo resting on his right breast. 

A red skull surrounded by a halo of octopus tentacles. 

I grunt in distaste. "HYDRA scum."

The man lifts up his bloodied and beaten head to snarl at me. He twists his mouth before lobbing a spit ball at my feet. The glob of mixed spit and blood lands inches from my black, closed-toe heels. 

I scoff at the action and brush my hand into the waistline of my jeans. When I feel the slim metal hilt, I maneuver the object into my palm. With the push of a small button the knife of the switchblade extends before I quickly drive it into his thigh. He screams out in pain as I keep the blade firmly in place. When his screams turn into tired wails of agony, I turn towards my father. 

"Who is he?" I ask, motioning my head towards the man.

"We believe he's behind the hit on George Barnes. Or at least, is attempting to put the blame on us." He explains in his no-nonsense tone. 

My eyes widen in shock, my lips parting slightly. 

"George Barnes was shot at? Is this why I've been called in?" The prisoner painfully chuckles, quietly enough for only me to hear him. 

"He's dead, sweet cheeks." He whispers with a smirk of victory.

I growl at him before twisting my knife and yanking it out while I stand.

"So, why am I here? I assume it's not to attend the funeral because you know I can't. It was just a risk just to even come here." My father gives me a pointed look.  

"I need you to go with them to the warehouse with the prisoner while your siblings and I attend the funeral that's being held in a couple of hours. After the funeral, George's son and I will discuss some business about our alliance with the Brooklyn clan. I'll call you with the details." I nod at his instructions. 

"You know the FBI is going to have me all over this case once they receive word of Barnes’ death, right?" He nods. 

"I'm counting on it." 

"I'll be waiting by the van." I tell him before wiping my knife on the man’s already dirty shirt and tucking the now closed switchblade into the band of my jeans.  

I'm escorted back up the stairs towards the side of the house where the cars sit waiting in father's massive garage. Though the reason for the escort is now clear. My safety. My personal bodyguards, some of my father's most trusted men, meet back up with me to continue through the house. The sounds of nearing footsteps draw my attention to another hallway. My siblings, the twins, round the corner with their own group of bodyguards. 

Wanda, the youngest, according to her brother, is dressed in all black. Appropriate for a funeral. Her brown hair is in casual waves while her makeup is mostly minimally visible. Her natural eyeshadow pairs well with the red lip tint she chose. Her normal red leather jacket is replaced by a similar black one that's draped over a black dress which is cinched at the waist. Her normal array of colorful and seemingly mismatched jewelry has been changed into a long silver chain necklace and a simple dark color bracelet. And to top off the outfit, she put on a pair of high heeled ankle boots. A surprised gasp leaves her lips when she spots me and soon, she's running to me as fast as she can in those heels. Her brother, Pietro, follows not too far behind her. 

Pietro is dressed in a similar fashion. His silver dyed hair is brushed into gentle waves. A black leather jackets lays over a black dress shirt while matching pants and shoes. He also wears a small silver chain with a blue pendant on it. A gift from his twin.

Wanda pulls me into a tight hug with an excited squeal and I laugh, returning her hug with equal excitement.

"Y/N/N what are you doing here?!" She giggles as she pulls back. I laugh while Pietro pulls me into a similar hug. 

"What? Can't an older sister stop by and see her two favorite siblings?" I gasp in mock offense once I'm released from the hug.

"We're your only siblings." Pietro reminds with a roll of his eyes. 

"Besides, being undercover doesn't really allow time for social visits." Wanda points out. I only sigh. Sometimes she's too perceptive. 

"It has to do with Brooklyn doesn't it?" Pietro asks while crossing his arms. As the only male heir of our father, Pietro is often included or informed of current affairs. Again, I sigh in defeat, though I shouldn’t be surprised he knows.  

"Yeah, father called me in. This is a real shit show and I have a feeling this is just the beginning of it." I mutter distastefully.

They both nod in understanding, but Wanda looks equal parts sad and disappointed. But this is our life, we're used to it by now. Even though it's not always what we wish to have.

I gently smile before pulling them both into a big hug. 

"Promise me you two will be careful out there?" Wanda tightens her grip on me. 

"It's not us," She begins slowly. "Who you should be worried about." I chuckle dryly, knowing she's right, as I squeeze her back before pulling away from both of them.

"I suppose not. Still, I do. Now, I need to be going soon. I will see you both later." Pietro nods in acceptance, but Wanda let's her head droop slightly. I give her hand a tight squeeze before me and my bodyguards resume our way to where the cars are. 

I climb back into the car that I came here in, and wait patiently for the driver and everyone to clamber in. The car is started but we remain idling sitting. As a way to occupy myself, I reach into the side door and feel for what I hid in there before I went in. When my fingers brush over the leather holster, I grab it and attach it, and the gun it holds, to a pocket on the inside of my leather jacket. When it's secure, I fold the jacket back over my chest, concealing the firearm in the process. 

A muffled struggle echoes through the once silent garage.

"You want me to take care of that?" I ask the men who sit with me in the car, my fingers brushing over the spot in my jacket where my gun rests. 

"Nah, I'll go check it out." One of my bodyguards, Mackenzie, or Mack as he's called, replies from the passenger seat. 

"Of bloody course you'd be the first one of us lot to check it out." The driver, a Brit, by the name of Hunter scoffs.  

Mack just shakes his head before he opens the door and leaves. When there's a few moments of silence after the car door is shut, that’s when Hunter speaks again. 

"What are the odds of him bringing up something about needing that shotgun-axe again once he gets back in here?"

I chuckle and I see the shoulders of the person next to me move slightly. 

"High." May, the bodyguard next to me and the one that I trust with mostly everything, responds with a slight edge of humor in her voice. Then she turns to me. "Boss, I was going to wait until we cleared the property,-"

"A good idea, May. I don't know much as of now, I can tell you that, but I'll tell the rest once we’re on the move."

She nods and the front passenger door opens at the same time. 

"You'd think the men would know how to handle prisoners, like that one, by now." He grumbles as he settles into his seat. "I swear, one look at a shotgun-axe would scare the life out of those boys. Maybe they'd actually listen to simple instructions at that point."

We all the chuckle as the caravan of cars begins its trip out of the garage and to the warehouse. As we pull down the driveway, I reach into the pocket behind the passenger seat and pull out the object I stashed there and clip it inside my jacket, not too far from my gun. The gold of the badge reflects the light onto the side door while I begin to put on the mask that's essential for my survival out there in this scary world. The letters of F, B, and I revolve in my mind as I stare out the window at my former home. My life is a dangerous one and every aspect has a devastating risk with it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The warehouse is a dark place. Even if there is daylight present, streaming through the dirty frosted windows, a dark and dangerous feeling surrounds the place. It clings to it like the smell of a cigarette on clothes. For newcomers, like the prisoner that followed us in another van just a few behind our own, it's daunting. It's certain death. To me and my bodyguards, only our hairs stand on end in anticipation of what is to come.

I informed my guards of what I knew about the situation on the way here. A reverent silence filled the air at the mention of the late George Barnes' death. He treated his men well, was honest and loyal to his allies, and was a good man. Brooklyn and all of New York will miss him.

I stand in the empty warehouse floor, several paces in front of the unconscious prisoner, who's slumped against his restraints. Turns out the men are really in an impatient mood today. I cross my arms while I zone out observing him. Why did HYDRA do this? What did they gain? What's the bigger picture that I'm missing?  

The faint sound of gravel crunching under tires drags me from my head and has me turning towards the opened garage-looking doors. Three black vans drive in and come to a stop not too far from the entrance. Father and Coulson are the first to step out from the center van. My siblings then file out from the one on the right. The rest of the men who were in the cars climb out and seem to form a barrier between the front entrance and the four people headed straight for me.

"I thought I would be receiving a phone call first." I give father a weary glance, noticing his seriousness about something.

"Change of plans." He answers swiftly, and rather seriously. I begin to grow uncomfortable.

The sound of more approaching vehicles has my eyes widening as I turn my curious and nervous expression on my father who gives me a reassuring nod. 

"Fury." I hiss under my breath, not liking the idea of going into a situation blindly. He simply ignores me.

My focus is drawn back to the entrance as car doors closing harshly sound in my ears, though my gaze never wavers from my father's profile. A cadence of footsteps march across the unpaved driveway and into the warehouse, only pausing in front of the line of father's men. It's only when the footsteps draw nearer that I finally look at the party joining us.

My eyes widen, ever so slightly, at the sight of three imposing men nearing closer to where I stand. The man on my left is tall and broad-chested. His shiny blond hair reflects the dim light of the warehouse. His jawline is clean and sharp like a knife, adding to the dangerous air around him. The man in the center is just slightly shorter than the one on his left. A few strands of his long brown hair frame his face while, I assume, the rest is pulled back. However, the stubble on his face and those piercing blue eyes that I can see, even in the dim warehouse lighting, gives me an idea of who I’m dealing with. James “Bucky” Barnes. A man whose reputation for being a cold-blooded killer and a ladies’ man is very well known. However, any idea of seriousness is completely forgotten when I notice the man on my right, James’ left, who’s giving me a hard scowl. The familiar sight of the deep chocolate brown skin, hard eyes, and black hair puts me at ease. I could almost laugh at the situation.

“Samuel T. Wilson.” I chuckle when I see his eye twitch at the sound of his full name.

The trio stops not too far away from my father’s group and me. The sight of those two chocolate brown eyes, that look like they want to murder me, have me smirking.

“Special Agent Y/L/N of the FBI.” He growls, and I feel the tension in the room immediately spike. “I thought I saw the last of ya when I was let go.”

“You’re welcome for that, by the way.” Wilson scoffs and folds his arms across his chest. I also notice Barnes shifting in my periphery and sigh to myself as I think of how to reword things. “If it wasn’t for me, you wouldn’t have been let go so easily. There wasn’t any substantial evidence against you, but the other agents were going to keep you locked up to send a message. I let it slip to our boss, and he had a big problem with what they were doing. You were let free not too long after. So quit looking like you want to kill me, and maybe offer a ‘thank you’ instead.”

He goes to speak, but that’s when father decides to step in.

“Gentlemen, we came here to discuss a business transaction, not hash out the past. If you three would, follow me. Agent, you too. Son, keep the rest of our guests some company.” There are a series of soft grumbles and complaints, but ultimately, everyone listens.

When the three Brooklyn boys pass the now awake prisoner, his face turns a scary shade of white. And that’s considering the fact that he was already pale due to blood loss. I feel a shiver begin to creep down my spine, but I suppress it. I tell myself it’s because of the type of fear these men can instill, but deep down, I know that it was a low growl I heard somewhere over my shoulder.

Father takes us to one of the few offices in the warehouse and has me shut the door. Barnes sits in the chair across from Fury with both his men flanking either side of him. The only person at my father’s side is Coulson on the right, until I walk up to the vacant spot on my father’s left.

“I think proper introductions should be made before we begin talks.”

“I agree.” Barnes cuts in. “I didn’t realize this meeting would include a dirty Fed.”

I scoff but am interrupted before I can make any smart remark.

“This, gentlemen, is my eldest child. Y/N was the first I adopted and raised in this life. The only reason she is in the FBI is to help us deal with HYDRA.”

“HYDRA is everywhere.” I start explaining. “Like cockroaches in an old building. The only way to make sure every loose end has been tied up is to have all the information. There’s no better way to do it.”

“Hold up. I thought your last name was ‘Y/L/N’.” This time, Wilson interrupts.

“A cover, obviously. If the FBI learned of my ties to the Underworld or to my father, it would be worse than if they thought I was just corrupt.”

“The point is that Y/N will be passing on any information she learns about HYDRA and their plot.”

“I’ll also be keeping a very close eye on anything that may have to do with what happened to your father.” At the mention of him, I see James’ lips twitch slightly while the furrow of his brow deepens. “I am sorry for what happened to him. Your father was a great and very well-respected man.”

The only sign of acknowledgement I get from the new leader of the Brooklyn clan is a slight nod of his head, and I begin to grow uncomfortable in the silence that follows. Luckily, a phone ringing stops the awkwardness from becoming worse. However, it’s not just any phone. It’s my phone. I quickly snatch it from one of the pockets of my leather jacket and glance at the screen.

“It’s my boss.” I inform before answering. “This is Y/L/N. Yes, sir. I’ll be there as quickly as I can.” He hangs up. “I’m being called in. Send me the rest of the details later.” My father nods as he motions for me to leave. Before I do, I look over the three new faces and say in the most professional tone I can gather, “It was nice to properly meet you, gentlemen. I look forward to working with you.”

Without waiting for a reply from one of my father’s, hopefully, new allies to say anything, I hurry around the desk and out of the office. Once Hunter receives the word to get the car ready, I tuck my phone away again.

As I leave the warehouse, goosebumps prickle my skin. Not because it’s cold, or because I’m scared, but because of the pressure that’s suddenly fallen around my shoulders. This attack, this changes everything. HYDRA has always threatened the clans, carried out small or petty attacks, but they have never directly attacked the families. The death of George Barnes is only the catalyst. 

A war is coming, and blood will be spilled. But how prepared am I for what I expect to come?

Part 2

[criticizing-blogger]

Fudge

Pairing: Dean x reader

Warning: cursing, gore

Word count: 3423

In a small, snowy town of Minnesota, a black Chevy impala drives into a motel parking lot and settles into an empty spot up front. Two men, brothers, stepped out. The driver was a shorter man with a crew cut style;  his hair a straight, dark blond, matching his smooth forehead to his strong cheekbones and chiseled jawline. His eyes were hues of a forest, an earthy green that revives grass from the harsh winter. His stature is short, a brown shirt covered with a black and red flannel and that covered by a brown, leather jacket as his pants were blue going over his brown boots.

The passenger was tall, taller than his brother. His hair was shaggy brown and long, shoulder length to be exact but brought wonders to his features. The man’s eyes were the softest of brown, infused with a deep green as if he held a forest inside them. He wore a blue and white flannel with a grey, denim jacket. Pants were a light blue and like the other man, they, too, covered his dark brown boots.

The two looked at each other before walking into the motel. The bell on the entrance door jingled signaling the employees that customers were walking in. A plump, ederly woman who stood behind the check-in counter smiled and greeted them. “Welcome. Bed for one?”

“N-no...we’re not….we’re not together.” The taller man of the two stuttered.

“It’s okay sweetie. No need to be ashamed. We don’t judge here.” .

“Yeah, no need to be ashamed, honey.” The short man spoke as he spanked the taller man, grinning in amusement.

He gave his brother a look of annoyance. She gave them 2 sets of keys and he grabbed one before walking off.

“He's something, isn't he?” He winked and walked away with his key. 

The brothers walk out of the building and towards their shared room. Walking in, the walls are a dark, plain green with brown wood trims and the flooring white carpet. By the door to the room was a mahogany desk with a small, black desk lamp on top, a painting of a forest hung above. A dresser, the same color as the desk, stood against the wall with a small green dining table and matching chairs beside it. Across the table on the other side of the room were two separate beds with an end table in between and a large lamp on top. On the far side of the room across the entryway stood a door to the small bathroom. 

The bathroom, on the other hand, consists of a small, white sink on a grained counter top, the sink cabinet matching the dresser. A white toilet sat on the black and white tile floor, towels neatly folded on a silver rack above.  And next to the toilet was an off colored white bathtub with a few unknowable light brown stains on the sides; white tiles stuck to the walls and a silver showerhead attached above.  The bathroom walls are beige.

Dean slams the door shut and drops his bag onto the bed closest to the entry. He rummages through the bag grabbing out a black and white suit and a gun. Sam does the same before walking into the bathroom to change as his brother changes in the main room.

 “Witnesses first?” Sam shouts.

“You can question witnesses,” Dean spoke, fully decked out in his suit as Sam was when he walked out of the bathroom. “I’ll check out the crime scene.” 

Both men tuck their guns into the back of their pants and the fake FBI badges in their front suit jacket pockets. The same routine they do in almost every case. With their feet covered by white socks with black dress shoes, guns and badges ready, they headed out the door and to the first crime scene.

The small parking lot of the only hardware store in town, had attracted plenty of locals who stood behind yellow tape and two police officers at each end keeping them in line. Police cars and ambulances swarmed the outside, officers questioning witnesses all the while the EMTs checked for injuries. Despite the lot being small, Sam and Dean were able to maneuver around everyone. They found the sheriff talking to the owner of the store. 

“Excuse us, sheriff.” Dean spoke causing the man to look up from his phone.

“Can I help you gentlemen?” he asked, putting his device away.

They pulled out their badges from their front pockets flipping them open. “I’m Agent Page and my partner here is Agent Young. Can we ask what happened here?”

The sheriff squints his eyes at the fake I.D.s and sighs. “According to crazy Doreen-” pointing a finger at an elderly lady with an annoyed officer watching her- “there were small men walking out of the store wearing bloody clothes and holding tools stolen from inside.”

“Mind if I check it out?” Dean asked. The sheriff gestured towards the store.

Sam stayed to talk to the man while Dean went inside to check out the scene. The first thing he noticed was splatters of blood over the walls and counter where the checkout counter is. He carefully leaned over the counter so as to not get blood on his suit or mess up evidence, his eyes roamed over the area to see a man dead, multiple stab wounds to the chest. He leaned back away from the counter to look over it. Smack dead in the middle of the blood splatter was a tiny handprint; as small as a child almost. Dean took out his cell and shot a picture and sent it to Sam.

Turning away he looked down at the floor for any further evidence. The blood hadn’t gone too far as most of it laid where the man is. Less clean up he supposed even though he knew it wasn’t the time to make jokes but does it anyways. Dean kept walking throughout the store. Nothing could be spotted on the floor. Even the shelves didn’t show signs of anything supernatural. They just looked ransacked. 

But something shiny caught the man’s attention from the corner of his eye. A bell. A small, gold bell. He walks towards then bends down to pick the object up. As it sat between his thumb and index finger, he slowly inspected the object. What the hell, he thought. Unfortunately he couldn't think further as his ears picked up the sound of footsteps coming up from behind. Dean quickly stood and turned only to let out a sigh of relief. It was just his brother.

“What did you find?” Sam asked, noticing Dean a little tense.

Dean opened his palm and showed him the bell. Sam’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion. He picked it up to inspect it. As it is just a bell, nothing more. He pockets it and starts to tell Dean what the elderly lady had said. “According to Doreen, when she was walking past the store, she saw little men walking out with sets of tools covered in blood, the same for their clothes. Apparently they were wearing red and green striped pointed hats that contained bells on top, the shirt and pants matched and the shoes were pointed upwards on the end of them, also with bells on top.”

Dean looked at him like he didn’t believe any of the words that just came out of his mouth. And he doesn’t believe Sam. “So dwarves? You’re saying dwarves. Like Santa’s little elves.”

“I-uh, I mean, I guess,” he shrugs as he rubs the back of his neck realizing the elderly woman might actually be crazy just as the sheriff said.

Dean rolled his eyes. “Does any other witness say anything actually useful?”

Sam shook his head. 

“So no one else saw elves? Not even Rudolph?” Dean sarcastically spoke, making it Sam’s turn to roll his eyes. “Come on, let's go.”

Dean sat in his car parked in front of a small house with the window rolled down talking, no, flirting to a woman while Sam sat inside a house talking to the family of the dead employee from the hardware store. The woman, Dean learned whose name is (y/n), was trying her hardest not to laugh at his failed attempt of flirting with her. Which, he was epically failing and miserably. 

“Okay dude. Look, you’re cute and all but you are literally the walking cliche of James Dean. I’m not interested.” she spoke before walking off just as Sam was coming out of the house having heard everything and chuckling. 

“That was awesome.” he states getting into the impala.

“Oh shut up,” spoke  Dean, annoyed, as he started the car and drove off. “What did they say?”

“According to the mother, nobody told her and her husband that their son is dead. The sheriff said that the guy, whose name was Greg, died sometime around six this morning. And despite it being several hours later, they never got a call.”

“Anything useful?”

“She said that Greg had been seeing little men for about three days and shrugged it off as drinking too much. It seriously sounds like elves.”

“Yeah, no. There is no such thing as elves.” Dean spoke, obviously still not believing Sam.

“Do you remember the case with the girl that was in a coma and her dad was reading her fairy tales?” Sam asked.

“Yeah, so?”

“What if this is something similar except the whole disney sugar coating? Like how the mice were turning into servants and how Cinderella was being abused by her stepmother except this time it's elves.” Sam explains.

“Unless they’re dwarves from Lord of the Rings, I’m not buying it.”

.    .    .    .

Seven in the morning rolled around when a bedside alarm goes off. A hand reaches out and slams the top of it shutting it off. Yawning, (y/n) pulls back the covers and swings her legs over the side of the bed and stretches. She gets up and walks out of the bedroom and into the bathroom to do her business. When finished, she walked back into her room changing into some black leggings with a red sweater and white socks. After changing she walked downstairs putting on her black boots lined with white fur and a dark red double lapel jacket. She grabbed her purse and keys and headed out the door.

The weather outside was freezing causing her to slightly shiver. The ground is covered with pure white snow. Her boots leave small prints in the snow from the front door to her vehicle. She quickly gets into her car and lets it run for a few minutes before turning the heat on and leaving. She was used to the cold weather as she has lived in Minnesota for most of her life so the snow didn’t bother her.

The first place she headed for was the small cafe in town where she had breakfast almost every morning. The owner, Mrs. Smith has lived here for all her life and the cafe was passed down generation to generation. (Y/n) has known her since she moved here with her parents when she was younger. Mrs. Smith used to babysit her when her parents had to work. They were close and still are to this very day. The cafe has changed interior multiple times over the years as to keep up with modern times. But the outside has never changed. 

By the time (y/n) has arrived and walked into the building, her usual breakfast consists of fried egg, bacon and cheese on a toasted bagel, a bowl of maple and brown sugar oatmeal with sliced bananas and black coffee, in her spot she claims as hers in the far corner of the building in the booth. It was her favorite spot as she could watch customers for inspiration for her writings.

While she ate and watched people come and go, two men in black suits came in, taking a seat a couple booths away from her. One of them, the same one she talked to, well, technically watched him fail at flirting with her yesterday, caught her eye. He puts on a charming smile fixing his jacket while he says something to the other guy, who seemed amused to see him fail again, and made his way over to the woman. 

He sits across from her. “Morning.”

“Morning, Agent.” she smiles, leaning back into her seat, waiting to watch him fail for the second time.

“I think there’s something wrong with my eyes. I just can’t seem to take them off of you.” 

She couldn’t help but snort while she took a sip of her hot coffee.

“Boy, that coffee looks hot. Just like,” Dean started before sheepishly saying, “hi.”

That caused her to raise her eyebrows. “Okay, now that was kind of adorable.”

Dean perked up. “So, did it work?”

She stood up, her breakfast finished. “Nope.” And with that, she walked out of the cafe with an amusing grin on her face. Dean’s mouth was open with shock. He’s never been rejected by a woman in years. Especially twice. He lets out a groan before closing his mouth and sitting at the same table Sam currently sat at. Sam was grinning letting out chuckles at his older brother’s failure.

“Oh shut up.” Dean told him as he grabbed a menu covering his red face of embarrassment while he looked for food. “So, what did you find from research last night?”

Sam who already knew what he wanted to eat pulled out his laptop from his computer bag and placed it in front of him. “According to Wikipedia, in Germanic mythology, a dwarf is a human-shaped, usually bearde, entity that dwells in mountains and in the earth and is variously associated with wisdom, smithing, mining, and crafting. But in this case, it's around Christmas time so instead of it being dwarves, we could be dealing with elves.”

Dean deadpanned and looked at the man across from him. “Please for the love of Chuck, you’re joking.”

Sam shook his head.

“I thought elves were supposed to be nice. Not all murdery.”

Sam shrugs. “I think at this point from all the shit we thought wasn’t possible, this goes along with it.”

“But why would elves start killing people and taking hammers and shovels and whatever else?” Dean spoke confused as hell. 

The only thing Sam could come up with is, well, he couldn’t come up with anything as they never went through something even remotely close to this. They didn’t have much to go on since they only talked to very few people and saw one crime scene. He already knew this odd case was gonna take more than a few days unlike most of the ones they have been on. 

“Sam sighed. “I don’t know. We need to look at the other scenes and see what happened there. Like the one lumber yard.” 

Before Dean could say anything, a waitress came up and asked them if they were ready to eat. Dean ordered a large, meaty breakfast, something likely to give you a heart attack if you ate enough of it while Sam got something small and healthy so he could keep his physique up. She wrote it all down, eyes widening when Dean spoke what he wanted and giving Sam a flirty smile as she took the meus from his hand, letting their fingers touch before letting them know she’ll be back with coffee and walks away with an extra sway of her hips. Dean watched her backside as she walked away till he couldn’t no more. He looked at his brother eyebrows raising up and down and smirking at him. “She’s hot.”

He just ignored Dean’s behavior as he was used to it. 

“Dude! You should go for her.” Dean states.

“No thanks.”

“Oh come on, you need to get laid. That’s probably why you’re so tense all the time.”

Sam looked at his brother with annoyance and rolled his eyes. “Last I checked, saving lives is more important than getting some.”

“If you won’t have her, I will,” Dean grins. “What happened at the lumber yard?”

Sam pulled up the local newspaper, called Morning News written on top in huge black letters, on his laptop. Everything that had happened over the last several days here covered a good part of the first page. On the left column showed rebuilding the bridge that connects the two surrounding towns as it was falling apart and unsafe to drive on. It didn’t give an estimate of how much it would cost to demolish it, which Sam knew was gonna be expensive, but to build another was gonna be much, much more. 

On the right column was a ten-year-old boy being awarded for selling the most chocolate in time for the holidays. He won a two hundred and fifty dollar gift card and got to leave school to go to any restaurant for lunch. He remembers middle school used to do that but he was never able to because of his father, John Winchester. He would’ve liked to do normal activities growing up, and still does, but with the line of work they do, he can only do so many normal things every other human gets to do. Otherwise, nothing of importance.

And on the bottom of the page showed the weather for the next seven, cold and snowy. No sun or warmth which of course is normal with it being winter. Before Sam could get off topic in his thoughts, he read the column of the murders until it told him to turn to page nine. The whole entire page, he notices, was covered about the murders of two men but three crime scenes. Sam didn’t bother reading the few paragraphs of the scene at the hardware store. Next, it showed what may have happened at the lumber yard which apparently happened first before the hardware store as the man who chopped wood there was found with an axe in the back of his head.

“So it says here a man, Finn Huckle, was found at three am two days hunched over the tree stump. His legs hacked and an axe stuck in the back of his head as his body laid over the tree stump he was using to shop wood. It looked like a regular murder accoring to the police until they saw Finn holding a pointy hat in his hand. It looked like he tried fighting back because he had skin under his nails. But when the lab tested it, the skin didn’t belong to anybody. Like whoever, or whatever, did this, doesn’t exist. However, at the last scene, at a children's park, in the sand box was a large, gaping hole with what they know is snow, surrounding the area.”

Dean took everything his brother said in. This was definitely something they haven’t dealt with, even heard of. But Sam says he thinks its elves seem to be making more sense, oddly to him, the more they learn what's happening in town. But why elves? Weren’t they supposed to be nice and make presents for good boys and girls? This case seems to be getting odder and odder. 

“Say it is elves, did they lose their mojo or something? Maybe they ran out of alcohol. I’d be all grumpy if I ran out of alcohol and had to deal with shit ton of kids.” Dean spoke gruffly.

Sam suddenly perked up, an idea as to why, if it is elves, acting dangerous. “What if they were hit with some potion making them angry?”

Dean furrowed his eyebrows as he thought. Okay, maybe it is Santa’s little helpers, or logically, it's not. This is definitely something new. Before they can confirm what they think, they would need to see the hole at the park. His thoughts were interrupted with the pretty waitress bringing their food. She gave Sam his first, again, giving him a flirty smile then gave the other man his food, looking at him. Dean winked at her as he gave her his world famous smile he uses on all the ladies causing her to scoff and roll her eyes before walking off. Sam laughed at Dean’s flabbergasted look on his face. “Rejected by two women in one day. Got to be a new record.”

Dean rolled his eyes and flipped Sam off before digging into his food, annoyed.

___________________________________________________

DEAN X READER TAGS:

@akshi8278

[imjustthemechanic]

The Price of a Soul

Part 1/? - Agent Russel Part 2/? - The Letter Part 3/? - Miss Lake Part 4/? - The Stewardess Part 5/? - An Assassination Part 6/? - Fallout Part 7/? - Face to Face Part 8/? - Deals, Details, and Other Devils Part 9/? - Baggage Part 10/? - Private Funding Part 11/? - Just Passing Through Part 12/? - Party of Four Part 13/? - Resolute Part 14/? - The Wreck Part 15/? - Body Snatchers Part 16/? - Out of the Frying Pan Part 17/? - A Miracle Part 18/? - A Matter of Circumstance Part 19/? - Nome Part 20/? - The Future Part 21/? - A Hero’s Welcome Part 22/? - Up to Speed Part 23/? - Expect Further Delays Part 24/? - The Welcome Wagon Part 25/? - Fugitives

Alone and on the run from the law, Peggy and Kay have to decide what to do next.

-

ince Kay’s bunker was a no-go, they ended up spending the night in an abandoned farmhouse on the edge of the Pine Barrens.  This was exactly as creepy as it sounded, with no electricity, and rats and raccoons nesting in it.  It started to rain around midnight, drumming on the roof and coming in through the long-broken windows.  Peggy and Kay broke up some pieces of the stair bannister and used them to light a fire in the fireplace, and by that flickering light, they tried to figure out what to do next.

“I don’t suppose you can go back in time again and start over,” Peggy said.

Kay shook her head.  “This was a one-shot thing.”

“I see.”  Peggy thought for a moment.  “When we’re caught, I’m going to tell them you kidnapped me.”

“Cool,” said Kay.  She sighed heavily, hugging her knees to her chest she stared into the flames.  Peggy noticed that her root were growing out, coming in darker than the blonde, although by the firelight it was impossible to say quite what colour they were.

“Everything was supposed to be better,” Kay said.  “Steve was supposed to get the happy ending he wanted, with you and James.  HYDRA would be rooted out once and for all before they could really get their claws into the government.”  She reached up to scrub at her eyes with her fingers.  “The Red Room would be destroyed.  I don’t know if I’d be able to force Howard to hug his son once in a while but I was going to try.  I don’t know if I’d be able to do anything for Clint or for Bruce… I’m not going to live that long.”  She shrugged.  “And after that… I don’t know if we can destroy the Infinity Stones with the technology of this decade, but if anybody could figure it out, it’s Howard Stark.”

She hadn’t been joking when she said she had an extensive to-do list, Peggy thought.  Most of the items on it meant absolutely nothing to Peggy, but she could tell they were things Kay cared about very much.

Which made for one odd omission.  “What about you?”

“The Red Room,” said Kay.  “That’s the code name for the place where they raise girls into spies.  If that doesn’t exist, then I won’t be drafted into it when my parents abandon me.  I don’t know what will happen to me, but even starving on the streets of Volgograd would be better than that.”

Peggy thought of some of the things she’d seen at that facility in Siberia, and shuddered.

“The thing is,” Kay added, “I know I can’t do it alone.  I need you guys.  If you’re in prison and Ste… and Captain America’s off shaking hands with his fans, then I can’t do it.  I might be able to do it myself in the twenty-first century, but not now, I don’t know enough.  Even if I did, it would be so much easier with help.  I had one shot, and I ruined it.”

She fell silent then, and Peggy wondered what it was she wanted.  Reassurance that everything would be okay?  Peggy couldn’t give her that.  “Well, you certainly didn’t improve things by taking us both on the run,” she said.

“Probably not,” Kay agreed.

Peggy wrapped her coat around herself to use as a blanket, and lay down with her own elbow for a pillow.  “In the morning,” she said, “we should head to the nearest town and turn ourselves in.”

“Then what happens to Steve?” asked Kay.  “And to James?”

“At the moment I’m primarily worried about what happens to me,” said Peggy.  Steve was doubtless worried about her, and about Sergeant Barnes, and if Kay said was true, Barnes did need help, but Peggy was not in a position to do anything about that right now.  Her focus had to be on her own survival, both physical and political.  “If I wasn’t going to end up in prison before I certainly am now.”

“I know,” said Kay.  “I’m sorry.”

“Apologies don’t do a lot of good at this point,” Peggy told her.

“Apologies never do a lot of good for me,” said Kay.  “I’ve always been the one who throws the other guy over a cliff.  Looks like nothing’s changed.”

- 

Peggy woke up early, stiff and cold from sleeping on the floor.  The fire had burned itself down to a smolder, and Kay was gone.  For a moment Peggy was furious, thinking the other woman had abandoned her, but then she rolled over and discovered Kay’s red purse, still sitting there on the floor.  Had she simply left that behind, or was it intended to tell Peggy she was coming back?

She got up, stretched the kinks out of her neck as best she could, and went to look out front.  The car was still there, and Kay was sitting in the driver’s seat.  When Peggy came closer, picking her way between the puddles and the rotten boards of the front steps, she found that the radio was on.

“They haven’t said anything about us yet,” said Kay, “but I’ve only been here about ten minutes.  Weather’s supposed to be nice today.”

Peggy climbed in the passenger seat to listen for herself.  There was a weather report, and then it began talking about Captain America.

New York Senator Elect Vernon Masters brought the Captain home to Brooklyn last night to tremendous fanfare, the announcer said.  Captain America will be embarking on a tour of the state capitals, along with the Senator Elect and industrialist Howard Stark, who was instrumental in locating the wreck of the German bomber.

“Of course they don’t mention Jason,” grumbled Peggy.  If anything, he had more trouble getting recognition for his achievements than she did.

“They don’t mention us, either,” Kay mused.  “That means they don’t want people knowing we’ve escaped.”

“Specifically, Thompson doesn’t want people knowing,” said Peggy.  “He must be dreadfully tired of people escaping from him.”

“He ought to take better care of them, then,” snorted Kay.  “You still want to turn yourself in?”

Peggy had to think about it.  “I think we’d better,” she said.  “But not to Thompson.  We need to find a pay telephone, and I’ll speak to Daniel.”

They drove into the nearest town, where they found a little diner to order breakfast.  Kay clearly had no appetite, nibbling at her toast and forcing herself to eat her scrambled eggs.  Peggy didn’t feel very hungry, either, despite some grumbling from her stomach.  She got through about half of it, and then pushed her plate away and checked her watch, which was still on Los Angeles time.

The moment it reached eight-thirty AM, she went outside and picked up the pay telephone.  “Hello,” she said, “I’d like to make a long-distance call.”

She gave the number for the storefront in Los Angeles, and waited while switchboard operators across the country made connections.  Finally, the line picked up, and Rose’s somewhat staticky but familiar voice said, “good morning, Auerbach Theatrical Agency.”

“Good morning,” said Peggy.  “May I speak to Mr. Auerbach, please?”

“Peggy?” Rose asked.  “Where are you?”

“I can’t say,” Peggy replied.  “I just need to speak with Daniel right away.”

Rose lowered her voice.  “You can’t,” she said.  “He was arrested yesterday, just after you left!  What’s going on?”

Peggy’s insides turned to ice.  Daniel had been arrested… because of course, Dottie had told Thompson that Daniel had colluded with Peggy in letting her out of jail.  She’d probably implicated Mr. Jarvis, too.  This wasn’t just about what would happen to Peggy anymore, not at all.  This was about what was going to happen to all of them.

“I… can’t say,” Peggy repeated.  “Listen, please don’t tell anybody I spoke to you.  We’re all in a lot of trouble.”

“All right,” said Rose.  “What are you going to do?”

“I’m not sure yet,” said Peggy.  She hung up the phone and stood there a moment, digesting what she’d just heard.  ‘Borrowing’ Dottie to get the sample of Zero Matter had been Peggy’s idea.  Daniel and Mr. Jarvis had helped, but none of it would have happened without Peggy, and now they were possibly all going to hang for it.  Would pleading that they’d done it to save the world do any good?  Not likely.  Masters’ lawyers would argue that there must have been other options.  It was just that in the hurry of the moment, Peggy hadn’t been able to think of any.

Kay was waiting for her outside the phone booth.  When Peggy opened the door, her eyes went wide.

“Sit down,” she ordered.  “Put your head between your knees.”

“I am not going to faint!” Peggy snapped.  “Daniel has been arrested as well, and Mr. Jarvis.  I don’t know if she’s implicated Howard and Jason or not.”

“Oh.”  Kay covered her mouth.  “This is… this is all my fault…”

“No, it isn’t,” Peggy said.  “It’s mine.”

“If I hadn’t been here…”

“Even with you here, we wouldn’t be in trouble if I hadn’t had the blindingly stupid idea to break Dottie out of jail to begin with!” Peggy informed her.  This sensation of crushing weight on her chest, as her bad decisions rained down like bricks to bruise and bury her… this must be what Kay had felt last night when Thompson had tried to arrest them for treason.  If so, Peggy found herself reacting to it in what had to be a very similar way.

“Bugger it,” she said.  “You are a bad influence.”

“I know,” said Kay.

“Do you have any more change?”

Kay dug into her purse for some coins, and Peggy lifted the receiver again.  “Hello, operator.  I would like to make a long-distance call.  Can you get me the California FBI office in Sacramento?”

She didn’t actually know if the FBI opened as early as the SSR, though it seemed likely, so it was a relief when she heard a receptionist pick up and greet her.  “FBI, can I help you?”

“Good morning,” said Peggy, affecting an American accent.  “May I please speak to Agent Ned Russel?  This is his wife, Alice.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” the woman replied.  “He’s still in New York, working on a case.”

“I thought he’d been taken off that case,” Peggy said.

“I don’t know the details,” said the receptionist.  “I think he was reinstated as a favour for somebody from another agency.  Would you like to speak to the chief?”

“No, no thank you,” Peggy said.  “I’ll see if I can call him there.  Goodbye.”

She hung up, and turned to Kay again.  “I have an idea.”

The black SSR vehicle they’d been driving so far was far too recognizable to take back into the city, so the women left it behind and stole a green Ford coupe they found parked beside the diner.  Peggy drove this time, as they headed north back towards the city.

“What’s your plan?” asked Kay.

Peggy took a deep breath.  “The easiest, although perhaps not the most legal, way to get everybody I know and love out of trouble is to make sure Dottie cannot testify,” she said.  “Masters and Thompson didn’t make their move until they had her, so she must be the cornerstone of their case.  We remove Dottie again, and they have nothing.”

“Makes sense,” said Kay in a deadpan.  It was impossible to tell what she thought.

“Unfortunately, we cannot get in to see her,” Peggy went on.  “Last time I got her out by wearing a disguise, but that’s not going to work again.  The police guarding her know me now, because I was in there to see you, and there’s the possibility that Dottie herself will raise the alarm.  And you certainly can’t go in because they know you as well.  However, we know somebody who probably has every right to be there, we know that he is slightly terrified of both of us, and we possibly know where he eats lunch.”

It was with that in mind that they parked their stolen car behind the Automat up the street from the telephone company building.  The lunch rush had just ended, and Peggy could see Pearl standing by the back door on a cigarette break.  She approached.

“Hi, Peggy,” said Pearl.  “What are you doing back here?”

“I need to see Angie right away, privately,” said Peggy.  “It’s very important.  Don’t tell anybody else I’m here… and tell her it’s Phone Company Business.”

“Ah… all right,” said Pearl.  She dropped the remains of her cigarette on the pavement and went inside to get her co-worker.  Angie appeared a few minutes later, looking concerned – she knew very well what Peggy meant by Phone Company Business.

“What’s wrong, English?” she asked.

“Angela Martinelli!” Kay exclaimed.

Angie blinked.  “Do we know each other?”

“You’re going to be in Stark Pictures’ Captain America movies,” said Kay, “opposite Burt Lancaster!”

“Ignore her, she thinks she can see the future,” said Peggy.  “Listen to me, Angie… did we frighten Agent Russel away permanently?”

“No, he had his lunch here today,” Angie said.  “He didn’t sit in my section.”

Peggy smiled.  “Excellent,” she said.  “Here’s what we need you to do.”

[amethystpath-writes]

Leader x Hero Part 3

Part 2 here as requested by @silverwhisperer1

Small disclaimer: I said if I continued this series then I would name the characters. And so that's what I did.

Hero: Aldea

Aldea's Captor: Baron

Leader: Michael

Teammate (made bacon): Missy

Teammate 2 (thin blood): James

Teammate 3 (speed-reader): Thomason

******

Aldea's breath was knocked from her as she met the ground nearly face first. Her capability failed her without a moment's notice, causing her to crash. Going from more than several miles per hour to barely six was no easy task without plummeting. Aldea even slid. It tore the stitches in her arm.

Cursing, she rose and tried to speed away again, towards the building being destroyed on television. She could see the smoke in the sky, even being so far away from it. Aldea couldn't run though. Her capability was entirely failing.

A certain amount of panic was rising in her. There was only one time she could recall her capability not working and that was when she was captured that one and only time. Surely that wasn't it, right? It wasn't Baron. He hadn't returned to take her back. He couldn't have.

But then why else weren't her capabilities working?

Aldea considered turning back to the heroes' base. She wasn't much help without her power, without her speed. Michael had told her to use them because people were dying beneath the weight of crumbled building pieces. Aldea was supposed to be saving people, as many as she could, pulling them all quickly away from falling pieces of construction.

It made her think. She couldn't turn back. Even if she had no capability, Aldea could at least still be there and help. She would be much more at risk of dying herself, but she couldn't leave everyone. She had to try.

Conveniently, perhaps luckily, a taxi was nearing Aldea. She called it over and hopped in, asking to be taken near the chaos of the great city.

The driver was a hot mess, literally. Aldea could clearly see the sweat glistening on his brows and forehead, sliding down while he panted with a wheeze. His knuckles were white on the wheel. "I can't," he told her. "Not there, no way." He wiped his brow.

"Okay, that's fine." He must have come from the tumbling building. "Can't you at least take me closer? Any amount closer would suffice. Please."

"Yeah. Yeah, I can get you closer." Aldea watched him swallow. She hoped he didn't witness any...accidents.

***

The car stopped in a big city not much farther from the source of chaos. Aldea tipped the taxi driver before hurriedly hopping out and running to the corner, which was only steps away. She pretended to be lost, looking around absently until the driver was far enough out of sight not to report her somewhere.

As she looked around, she noticed something extremely odd. The streets were silent. She believed people were still present because there were cars on every road. The one she stood closest to now had less cars, but still had them nonetheless.

Nearing the first car, a black SUV with tinted windows, Aldea held a hand just above her eyes so she could peek in. From what she could barely see, there was only a lumpy blanket laid across the back seat. She supposed there was something beneath the cover; valuables like purses or bookbags, something similar that citizens wouldn't want criminals to feel tempted by. It was a good thing Aldea planned on returning the car after she hijacked it.

As she made the move to walk around the front end of the car, so that she could reach the driver's side, a hand smacked the window. Aldea screamed and jumped back, holding a hand to her mouth, but she didn't need to; there was already another hand there, and a chest against her back. She considered throwing an elbow into the chest, and even pulled her arm forward to do so, but that was before her captor spoke.

"Now, now," he said. It was Baron. "Let's not make this harder than it needs to be."

All breath left Aldea as despair fell upon her. She froze, mind flipping through cold bars and floors, little food and water, knives, tasers, and batons.

The car door popped open and an unfamiliar man stepped out. "Alright, I'll admit that was worth it." Aldea figured he was saying it to Baron.

She knew she should fight. Her arms were free. Why was she just standing here? She was scared. Scared was a polite term; Aldea was terrified, frozen, paralyzed. Was she even breathing?

How did she get here? How did this happen? Clearly it was a trap. The unfamiliar man had been beneath the blanket in the car, not a bunch of kids' bookbags. But how did they know she would come here? It was such a random place, no unique land marker. She was on a mission to get to the crumbling building.

Realization dawned on her faster than a sunset. The taxi driver. He was nervous beyond anything, and Aldea had naively thought it was the trauma of seeing the victims of the building crash. It wasn't that at all. It was Baron. Baron set him up to bring her to this location. That was why he couldn't take her to the crash site; he was being forced to work with the villain.

"This is turning out easier than you described the first time being." The man from the car floor stepped closer to Aldea. She lifted her chin as much she could against Baron's chest in a defiant way.

As if to prove she wasn't 'easy', Aldea kneed the man in the groin when he came close enough.

Pulling her tightly back, and finally locking her arms down, Baron said, "There she blows. Still not as persistent as before, but I guess that's what breaking someone down does. Pretty magical, huh?"

Aldea cursed beneath her breath. Baron must have heard it because he chuckled, but she didn't care. Now that she knew Baron was here, she concluded he was the reason her capabilities had been...deactivated. What would happen when the rest of her team would arrive?

A fight resounded in Aldea's bones. She couldn't let anything happen to them. This was her situation. This wasn't her team's. They didn't belong in circumstances like this. Aldea had been through Baron's tortures before. She thought she could do it again.

Not having her arms to fight anymore made things difficult, but she had legs. She did the most surprising, and perhaps stupid, thing she could think of. Aldea picked both legs up off the ground, allowing herself to fall out of her captor's grasp. Surprising to her, Baron actually released her. Quickly, but not quickly enough, she used her hands to try and stand. The man she didn't know stopped her with a harsh swing of his foot to her gut. The wind was knocked out of her and she clutched where he kicked, flipping onto her back, and staring up at the sky.

Her fingers felt wet. As she looked down, she realized the kick had split her other stitches. She was bleeding again. Aldea groaned, squeezed her eyes shut.

"There's a taste of your own medicine," the unknown man spat.

Baron asked cruelly, "You're letting other people pick on you? No wonder you haven't been fighting so much. It's not just your last visit with me. It's that you're visiting others." He hummed, putting a hand beneath both of Aldea's arms and pulling her back up to her feet. "No matter. You'll be coming home with me again."

If it weren't for the blood now streaming down her stomach and staining her clothes, Aldea would have twisted around and thrown a punch at her captor. It wouldn't have done much, she knew. She was nowhere near matched with Baron. Aldea was rather petite. If it weren't for her speed, her fists would never do damage. And right now, she didn't have her speed. She was useless, even to herself.

"How fast do you suppose she moves?"

Baron hummed, peered at Aldea from the side as he still held her in front of him. "Did we ever test that, dear?"

She bit her lip. No, they hadn't. Did he know that or was he teasing her? If she said no, then that would mean he would design a test for her this time. If she said yes, assuming he truly couldn't remember, Aldea could come up with a false number and there was no fear. But if he did know and she lied...what then?

"Aldea." His tone was a warning.

With a sigh, she admitted, "No. You didn't." Aldea hated when he said 'we' did things. It made it sound as if she was okay with any of it. She wasn't.

Baron smiled against the top of her head, then leaned down to her ear, and whispered, "Let's go, darling."

She jerked her shoulders in his grip, but it did her nothing. So she tried to use her feet as brakes. He only lifted her by her arms roughly. One of his hands pushed into the bleeding wound on her arm. Aldea cried out and her captor asked, "Are you going cooperate?" She hated herself for nodding.

******

Part 4 here

[crystalwillow]

Against All Odds, Part One

Pairing: James Whitmore x Lillie Jones 

From: The Vampire Ball series on the Love Sick mobile interactive game app

Characters Backgrounds: James Whitmore is a magic professor at the prestigious Karnsein University, a school for the upper caste members of society. But they aren’t just ordinary upper caste members, they are vampires and witchers. Lillie Jones is an ordinary human, a lower caste member of society and works a normal mundane 9-5 job to help the man she believes to be her biological father pay the bills to keep the lights on, and her mothers medical bills to help her get the best care that can be given. When her mother sadly passes away she receives an invitation to Karnstein and as much as she tries to ignore it, she has no choice but to enroll. There she becomes the main target of a host of attacks from a mysterious Masked Man. Very soon after meeting James Whitmore she feels some kind of attraction to him. When the two venture away from the university to a town full of werewolves to fix their totem which helps them with their transitioning, James and Lillie discover they feel so connected because of a magical bond put on some ancestors many years ago, but Lillie’s ancestor wished not to marry James’ ancestor so now the magical bond sits in their bloodlines, waiting to be acted upon. 

What this is: This is an AU of the story where I’ve taken out the magic that James has in being a witcher, and put the two characters in a more modern and accepting setting. James is not a professor, but an influencer, just like Lillie is in this AU. I know it’s not Choices, but I need to take  a break from writing so full on for Choices characters until I’m ready to continue on with my AU’s (3 out of 4 of which are Ethan Ramsey), and just write for other pairing I like from similar apps to Choices. I will make a separate subsection for them in my masterlist so if you enjoy them you can find them at any time 

Word count: 5.5K

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It had been two years since Lillie Jones had taken the dive into the deep end of life and brought the camera she had been saving for during the entirety of her teenage years hit record, then edited that video and posted it on social media. She hadn’t expected her first ever video to go anywhere far, so when it went semi-viral and she was getting calls from radio stations and offers to appear on national TV daytime shows, it was a lot for her to process. But now, it was as if it were second nature for her, she had a wedge of experience under her belt and was happy she had taken the dive. She was currently in the back of a taxi making her way into the heart of New York for an interview with a well esteemed magazine. But it wasn’t a solo interview this time, there was going to be another social media influencer there. After many minutes of car horns honking, and being jolted about like a salad being tossed in vinaigrette, Lillie paid her taxi driver and collected her things, heading inside the building with a pep in her step. Once she was inside she was greeted cheerfully by the staff upon arrival and escorted to her dressing room backstage to get ready. After about an hour of being there she was called onto set but stopped in her tracks behind the cameras as she stared at a gorgeous man with free flowing short brown locks of hair and a smile so white, she could have sworn it was visible from space. 

“Miss Jones?” A voice said next to her bringing her back to the present moment. 

“Who’s that?” she asked the lady standing next to her in a hushed tone.

“That’s James Whitmore. Our other interviewee for this take.”

“You mean… I’m being interviewed, alongside… him.”

Lillie started to internally panic and turned on her heel running out of the room and into the nearest bathroom, locking the door behind her. She had never been good around men she found attractive. She always managed to put her foot in her mouth, stutter too much and just make a complete fool of herself. It was the main reason she’s single, not that she could complain, she had her 2 pomeranians, Jasper and Rose to keep her company. And in the bedroom she had become such an expert at pleasing herself, she was convinced nobody else could learn so she just shrugged it off and didn’t even bother looking for love. 

“Miss Jones, we need to start this interview to stay on schedule.” the same voice from before filtered through the door. 

“Uh, it’s okay. Go ahead and interview James without me. I’m feeling a little queasy.” Lillie called back as she turned the cold tap on, wetting her hand before splashing the little droplets from the end of her fingers onto her face.  

“What’s going on?” a muffled male voice sounded from the other side of the door.

“Mr. Whitmore! Ah, n-nothing major. Miss Jones is just feeling a little sick. We’ll commence the interview in just a moment.” 

“Miss… Lillie Jones. Correct.”

“Yes sir. I’m sorry, just give me two mi-”

“Not necessary. Let me speak to her.”

Lillie swallowed harshly as there was shuffling outside the door, not only was she hiding from this man to avoid making a fool of herself. The hiding had turned into the very thing that was making her a fool. She jumped as a sharp knock rapped at the door. 

“Miss Jones. Or Lillie. Can I call you that.” James asked and waited for an answer.

“L-Lillie is f-fine.” she stuttered back.

“Are you going to open the door so we can speak face to face?”

“No.” she squeaked out quicker than she probably should have done.

James gave a low, rich chuckle from the other side of the door. “It’s the looks right?” 

Fuck. How did he know? Did he clock her staring but she just didn’t notice?

“Look it’s okay. I’d be nervous around me too. In fact, I am… nervous around myself.” he admitted openly. 

Lillie stared at her reflection for a few more seconds before unlocking the door and opening it a crack. James sighed and asked to be excused and not followed for a moment before slipping inside the bathroom and shutting the door. Inside her found Lillie looking at herself in the mirror as she played with her hair, trying to position it right. 

James stopped in his tracks as and watched her. 

“Wow.” he gasped quietly. 

Lillie froze. “What?” 

“You- You’re even more beautiful in person. I-” James blushed furious at the realisation of what he had said as Lillie made eye contact with him in the mirror and cocked a brow at him. “I um… follow you.” he said, clearing his throat. 

A small amused smile graced Lillie’s features and she suddenly didn’t feel so awkward anymore. “You. follow me?” she asked.

“I do.” James admitted.

“Wow. and here I am not even knowing who you are.” she chuckled as James faked being offended.

“I know my looks are… intimidating.” 

“Understatement of the century.”

“But. Don’t let them turn you into every other girl I’ve met. Because at heart. I’m a nice guy.”

“Every other girl?”

“Running from me because I come across as a self centered jerk.”

“That’s not why I ran.”

“Then why did you? … Run that is.”

“Because… Because I got a feeling I haven’t felt in a long time and it’s terrifying.”

“Is running from that feeling and hiding because you’re scared the best thing to do?”

“Yes. No. Maybe… I… No. No, it’s… it’s not.”

James chuckled that low, rich chuckle again and it sounded so much better not filtered by a door that Lillie found herself squeezing her thighs together as she softly bit her lip, looking at him. James caught her looking and she looked away with a furious blush. 

“Now. if you’ve finished hiding. I believe we have an interview to do?” 

“I…. guess we do.” Lillie smiled. “Sorry for freaking out and making you run late.” 

“It’s fine. I only have leisure time planned after this until The Met Gala tonight.”

“You’re going to that?!”

“I am. Don’t tell me that a pretty face like you wasn’t invited.”

“Of course I was. If you watch me, you’d know. Now unless that was a lie…”

The two laughed as they walked back on set and had microphones attached to them. The next hour passed smoothly with the energy between James and Lillie, light and playful as they did an interview for the magazine and filmed a Q&A video for the magazine’s YouTube channel. After returning the mics and gathering their belongings, The two headed outside, closely followed by their managers and waited on the sidewalk for their cars to collect them. 

“So uh… Lillie?”

“Yeah?” 

“Could I… get your number?” James asked as he shyly held his phone between them.

Lillie gave a smile and took his phone entering her number. “Let me guess. You’re going to get a picture of me off line and add it through edit later.”

“Actually… I was going to ask if we could take one together.”

“Now?”

“If you’re not opposed to it, that is.”

“Of course not. We can take a picture.” 

“Awesome! Could you take it?!”

Lillie laughed “Tell me when you’re ready.”

James eagerly positioned himself behind Lillie. “Is it cool if I kiss your cheek?”

“I… sure!”

James lightly pressed his lips to Lillie’s cheek and she smiled as she took the photo. 

“There.” she smiled, handing James his phone back. 

“Thanks. You’re awesome.” James grinned as their hands grazed against each other. 

It was clear there was a spark between these two, the energy on the part of the street they were on was so strong they hadn’t realised their cars had arrived. Until they heard their names being shouted. They pulled apart and shook their heads as if breaking a spell and both flushed bright pink.

“So I’ll um.. Hear from you soon?” Lillie asked as she stopped at the door of her car. 

“Yeah. Real soon hopefully.” James smiled back, then the two headed off in opposite directions to get ready for The Met Gala later that night. 

Around 8pm that evening Lillie’s phone rang with an unknown number and she answered putting it on speaker as she got her hair and makeup done.

“Hello?” she said

“Lillie! It’s James.”

“James, hey! You’re on speaker phone by the way. I’m having my hair and makeup done.”

“Ha, no sweat. You are too. I’m having last minute alterations made to my suit.”

The two spoke up until the moment they had to leave and make their way to the event and when she arrived, Lillie smiled brightly as she waved to the camera’s and people gathered around the event. She made her way along the red carpet and stopped for interviews and for the press to take their pictures. She was in the middle of posing for pictures when she heard her name being called from her left, but she remained professional and focused until she was let go and turned to find the source of her name being called when she spotted James waving at her. 

“Hi!”

“James, hey!”

“Twice in one day huh?”

“Small world.”

They looked at each other before bursting out in a fit of laughter. James took in Lillie’s appearance once they had stopped laughing and whistled lowly. 

“You look absolutely gorgeous.” He complemented 

“Thank you! You’re looking quite dapper yourself.” Lillie smiled. 

Once they had finished outside and were in the building where they had a little more privacy, the two wandered around together in deep conversation until James was called away to talk with some very powerful looking people and she was left to her own devices. She mingled throughout the night by herself but at some point snuck outside for some fresh air as she started to feel faint from how hot it was inside. James excused himself from his conversation and quietly followed her, concern filling his chest. Lillie found a bench nearby and sat on it, heaving in a deep breath and exhaling it slowly. James sat next to her and stared ahead, waiting to see if she would speak, but when she didn’t he took it upon himself to do so.

“Are you okay?” He asked, turning to her with a concerned brow raised.

“Yeah. Just… getting a bit stuffy in there. I needed some air.” Lillie explained with a small smile.

“You sure?” James asked

“Yeah.” 

The two sat in companionable silence before James spoke up again.

“Lillie?”

“James.”

He chuckled a little at her beaming face. “What’s it like to kiss you?”

“What?” 

“Nothing. Don’t worry it was… a stupid question. I should-”

“James, wait.” Lillie grabbed his arm spinning him back around and closer to her so their chests almost touched. “Why don’t you find out? I mean… I’m right here aren’t I?” 

“Are you giving me permission to..?”

“Yes. James, I am.” She whispered with a smile. 

Suddenly, nerves were all James could feel alongside his heart hammering in his chest. This was it, he was finally in a moment where he could kiss his year and a half long internet crush. He couldn’t fuck it up. His eyes felt heavy as they closed slowly whilst his lips connected to Lillie’s. His mind and stomach simultaneously bursting with joy and doing metaphorical backflips. Her lips were even softer than he imagined and dreamt of, they tasted of his favourite snack, salted caramel popcorn and it mixed perfectly with the small traces of wine left on her tongue. He was so absorbed into the moment he hadn’t noticed a few cameras flashing around them until he pulled away and softly opened his eyes, his gaze locking onto Lillie’s bright emerald orbs gazing up at him and the smile on her face. He felt giddy and like he was back in school again, sneaking off from a party to kiss the pretty girl he had a crush on. Except this time, he knew it was a serious crush because if this woman walked away and he never saw her in person again his heart would shatter. 

“Wow.” He sighed and a small smile, his hand naturally connecting to Lillie’s cheek and brushing a stray strand of hair away. 

“Did I meet your expectations?”

“You surpassed them by a long shot.” 

Lillie giggled and the voices of the shouting press and other media outlets filtered through. 

“James how long has this romance been going on?!”

“When did you two meet!”

“Does this mean you’re no longer single Mr. Whitmore!?”

“Lillie Jones. Are you only going after him because of money!” 

Lillie stopped in her tracks, the look in her eyes scared James so much he took a step back as Lillie turn towards the reporter.

“Excuse. Me.” She asked through gritted teeth.

“Well James Whitmore has been in this game longer and has more money at this point. Is this a money motive love?”

“One. I don’t think it’s any of your business or your right to ask such insensitive questions. Two. If you’re even having to ask that question you clearly haven’t researched me well enough to know that I don’t need to chase romance for money motives because I’m sitting on a healthy 6 figure bank balance from all that I do from modelling to YouTube to 8 days a month I work at my local animal shelter! So… Maria. I suggest if you want to keep your job, you think before asking such insensitive things. Because next time you might not ask someone who is as nice as I am and willing to let you go with only a warning to NEVER ask me something like that ever again.” 

The rest of the press diverted their attention away from the situation as Lillie stepped back from Maria and back over to James. 

“Remind me never to get on your bad side.” James said and Lillie giggled as they headed back inside the gala. 

The rest of the night went by smoothly and Lillie and James once again bid each other farewell outside and headed in separate directions.

The next morning greeted Lillie in the afternoon as she awoke with a hangover and a bunch of missed calls and texts from people. Groaning she trudged to her kitchen and took out a ginger juice shot and backed it in one, wincing at the spiciness, before turning around and heading to the bathroom to freshen up. Once she had taken care of that, she grabbed her phone and placed an order for food and watched the TV as she waited for her order. She stared at the screen and zoned out the the point where when her doorbell rang it scared the living daylights out of her. She rushed to answer it, however when she opened the door, it wasn’t her food delivery that greeted her, but a concerned looking James. 

“Oh James! How did you-”

“Get your address?”

“Yeah.”

“I bugged your manager until he gave in.”

Lillie groaned. “Now he’s gonna hate me and keep going on about it at our meeting across town tomorrow.”

“Sorry. But you weren’t answering your phone. I thought maybe it was off because of the tabloids.”

“The tabloids?” 

“Have you not seen yet?”

“I’ve literally just turned my TV on and put it straight onto netflix.”

James winced. 

“What?” Lillie asked curiously.

“Can I come in?”

“Uh, yeah. Sure.” 

Lillie moved aside letting James in and closed the door behind him. “The living room is this way.” she said walking forwards and James followed her. 

Together they sat on the couch and James turned on one of the channels that reports on “hollywood drama” just as a segment about them came on. Lillie zoned in on their every word.

“Next on The HollyTrend, is she Pennsylvania’s Princess or just an uncouth, foul mouthed demon from hell. Last night at The Met Gala, Lillie Jones and James Whitmore were spotted by some paparazzi, sharing what seemed to be a very intimate and steamy moment together. But just seconds later, Lillie Jones snapped at a member of the press at a seemingly innocent question. When asked if the kiss they just shared was a PR stunt, Lillie turned on the paparzo and snapped at her in a very undermining tone. I can say one thing for sure here. And that is, James if you are dating her, get out. And get out now!” 

Lillie couldn’t believe what she was hearing, and even though he was holding her hand. It wasn’t enough to comfort her from the lie and harsh words she had just been called. She ripped her hnd from James’ and rushed into her bedroom, locking the door behind her, climbing into her bed and letting the tears fall. 

“Lillie, wait!” James called just as the doorbell rang. He sighed and answered it, taking in the food order and finding Lillie’s kitchen, placing the bags on the side, then going to the door which he heard slam shut and knocking gently. But the only thing he heard in response were muffled sobs. 

“I just hate this job sometimes!” she yelled. “No mom, you don’t understand, I put myself out there. They see me as knowing what I was doing and inviting this kind of thing into my life!” the pain in her voice ripped at James’s heart as well as he mom’s on the other end of the line. 

“He’s here. He came by to show me so I wouldn’t be alone when I read a paper or something I think. … He is. He’s a great guy. I only met him yesterday mom, I wouldn’t be able to tell if I’m in love yet! … Yeah, he’s a great kisser. MOM NO! DAD DON’T LISTEN TO HER! MOM! MOM!” 

James knocked again as Lillie placed her phone on the bedside table as she realised her mom had hung up the call. She sighed heavily and got up to unbolt it. James entered with a small smile.

“Your food came. I’ve put it in your kitchen.”

“Oh. Thanks. You didn’t have to do that.”

James sat on the edge of her bed. “So you like locking doors huh?”

They both chuckled at his attempt at a joke. “Shut up.” Lillie giggled lightly kicking his leg. 

“What? Are you gonna say it’s not true?” 

“...No.” Lillie replied as she playfully rolled her eyes. 

“What have you got planned for today?”

“I’m filming a vlog and a batch of about 7 videos for my channel.” 

“Can I help?”

“Don’t you have a schedule of your own?”

“Trying to get rid of me now? Miss Jones?” James smiled mischievously, before launching himself at Lillie and attacking her with tickles. 

“Ahh! James!” She laughed trying to push him off, but it was no use, he knew what he was doing and tickled her until she tapped out to catch her breath, lying next to her on the bed.

“That was fun.” He breathed heavily.

“Yeah.” Lillie responded in the same way.

As they laid catching their breath, in the middle of them, their hands brushed. They turned their heads and Lillie smiled at James whilst he blushed furiously from the slight contact.

“James?” Lillie asked, curiosity in her eyes.

“Yeah?”

“Be honest. Do you… have a crush on me?”

“What?! Nooooo. I just think you’re very.. pretty. A lovely woman. Uh…” he said, blushing bright red and truing his face away. Was he seriously being that obvious that she could tell he had a crush.

“James. I’m not stupid. Last night you wanted to know how it felt to kiss me. Today you came to warn me about the tabloids and held my hand as I watched and listened, then just a few moments ago you attacked me with tickles just to get me smiling again. There’s only one conclusion here.” She said and James sighed defeatedly.

“Okay. I’ll admit it. I do. … have a crush on you. I have for a while.”

“How long?” 

“Hm?”

“The crush. How long?” 

“A little over a year.” 

“A little over… wow.” 

“I’m not a stalker! I promise!”

Lillie laughed loudly at his outburst. “I never said you were.”

“No. But I just want to make it clear that I just think you’re extremely beautiful, caring, funny and down to earth. I love watching your videos where you give back to your community by helping all those charities. The looks on the kids faces, or the gratefulness from the people working the food banks when you donate ready made hampers…”

Lillie zoned out and listened to him, looking in his eyes and realised that he didn’t just have a crush, he was deeply in love with her and she didn’t even know him. 

“... but my favourite thing that you’ve done by far, would have to be delivered care packages to the homeless. It just truly shows what a lovely human you are. And the tabloids don’t know shit about you if they want to call you an uncouth, foul mouthed demon. Because you aren’t. You aren’t Pennsylvania’s princess either. You’re Lillie Jones and if that’s not enough for them, they can go fuck themselves.” 

Lillie sniffled and reached for a tissue to dab away the tears in her eyes, gaining James’ attention. 

“Did I make you cry?”

“Don’t worry. These are good tears!” Lillie chuckled as she wiped the fallen tears from her cheeks and blew her nose. “It’s just… you’re… you’re amazing.” 

“I know. But thank you.” James grinned.

“You’re also way past a crush and deeply in love with me and haven’t even taken me on a date yet. I call that quite rude.” She joked.

“When are you free?”

“What?”

“When are you free? I’ll arrange a date. You and me, no cameras that aren’t our own, unless they belong to fans.” 

“Are you being serious?”

“Deadly so.”

“Um… give me a second.” Lillie said, grabbing her planner from her desk and flicking through the pages. “I’m free on a Thursday 2 weeks from now.” 

“Awesome. Keep that day clear. I’m going to make it the best day of your life.” 

“I’m holding you to that, Mr. Whitmore.”

They chuckled and headed back downstairs, into the kitchen where Lillie ruffled through her bags and pulled out her food. 

“It’s almost cold.” She sighed, turning around to get a plate from the cupboard, whilst James sat on a bar stool across from her. 

She put the food on the plate and set it in the microwave to heat up and heard her phone ringing from in the living room, where she discarded it on her way through to the kitchen.

“Can you watch my food? I should get that.” She said running off and James chuckled as he rose to his feet and stood by the microwave. 

As James looked through her drawers for the cutlery, Lillie raised her voice in anger making him worry about what the phone call was about.

“...NO MARK BECAUSE IF YOU KNOW ME AT ALL! AND I MEAN AT ALL! YOU- NO I WILL NOT CALM DOWN WHEN YOU’RE TELL ME TO STAY AWAY FROM HIM UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE! UGH! THIS IS ONE TIME TOO MANY MARK, YOU ARE FIRED! EFFECTIVE IMMEDIATELY!” Lillie shouted then hung up angrily throwing her phone on the sofa and letting out a scream before heading back to the kitchen. 

James was drinking a glass of water as she walked in “you… don’t mind do you?” He asked.

Lillie looked at him, somewhat dazed “huh? Oh! No. You’re fine.” She waved and plopped down onto a stool.

“You wanna talk about it? Things sounded pretty intense.” 

“They tend to be that way when your now, ex-manager, tries to break any new friendship or relationship you try to make work over and over again.” 

“Let me guess. That was about the tabloids and me?” 

“Got it in one.” 

Lillie sighed as James placed her plate in front of her. “I’m not that hungry anymore, do you wanna share this with me?” 

James was about to protest when his stomach grumbled loudly. “Oh I… yeah.. okay.” He smiled and grabbed another fork from the drawer and sat next to her. 

Later in the afternoon, Lillie was wide awake and ready to start filming sit down videos and the end to her vlog. 

“So what’s the first sit down video?”

“A get ready with me. I haven’t done one in a while, so I need to bring my makeup down from my room, set up on the coffee table and film away.”

“I’ll sort your ring lights for you.”

“Thanks James. You’re amazing.” She smiled and found herself naturally pecking his cheek before skipping off upstairs, whilst James stood frozen in his spot. 

“She kissed my face.” He whispered to himself before shaking from his daze and getting the work on sorting Lillie’s ring lights. 

Lillie came back carrying a decent sized box with all of her makeup and tools in it and started setting out the basics on the coffee table. 

“That’s a lot of makeup.” 

“It takes a lot to go from textured to flawless.”

“I prefer you textured.” 

They looked at each other before bursting out in laughter again. It had only been a little over 24 hours since Lillie had met James but she felt so comfortable around him, and she hadn’t put her foot in her mouth once. She could be 100% herself and he didn’t judge a bit.

“Do you want to be a guest in this video? Or would you prefer to sit and watch?”

“I’d like to watch. I find it calming watching you do your makeup.” 

“Aw. You do?” 

“Yeah.”

“Okay. I’m ready, could you hit record for me?” 

“Of course. In 3… 2…” James motioned one with his finger then nodded as the camera started recording.

“Hello my little Lilypads, welcome back to another video! And today, we’re going to be getting ready together. Now the look I want to show you this time is one you can use for date night. You know how I do it here, I will be showing you a dressed up and dressed down version of this look so… let’s get it!” 

James watched as Lillie spoke to the camera as if he wasn’t even there. He was transfixed with how she seemed to work so quickly whilst talking to her audience. He silenced his phone as texts started coming through, and mouthed a quick sorry to Lillie. She smiled at him subtly and carried on with her makeup.

“You’ve all probably seen the tabloids by now about me and a certain someone, and are wondering if I’ll address it. Which I will, it just won’t be in this video. Because this is a get ready with me, not Lillie's bitching sesh.” 

Off camera James suppressed a giggle and shook his head as he smiled whilst Lillie put the finishing touches to the dressed down version of the look.

“Now this is, ladies and gents, the dressed down version. It’s soft, a little playful, subtle with the glitter.” She stood up and got closer to the camera to show her eye shadow. “Now if it’s a night out with the girls. You’re going out for a meal, then hitting the club for a little bit, to dress this delicate little golden number up, all you need to add is some navy blue or black eyeshadow and white eyeliner, which I will show you how to do, right now.” 

A couple of hours later Lillie had finished 3 sit down videos and her vlog, and was not getting ready to film a last minute video with James. They had both taken to their social media pages to ask for questions and were having dinner, allowing enough to roll in. 

“How many questions are we answering?” James asked.

“As many as our hearts desire.” 

After dinner, James and Lillie watched some TV whilst they let their food settle then they set up the camera in front of the sofa and worked through the questions, some were funny, some were rude and addressed so, whilst other were just normal questions any curious person would ask.

“... OOO! This is a good one. It’s from Lillies_Angels. Does James have any pets of his own? He seems like a cat kind of guy but I could be wrong. From Charlotte.”

“I don’t have any pets, but I have adopted a baby elephant, who I try to go and see once every two months. I named him Winfred, after my father. It’s also my middle name, so he is technically named after both of us.”

“Really? Wow. Thanks for that question Charlotte. I hope you and the girls are doing okay, it’s been a while since we spoke, let’s talk soon! … Okay, one more question from your side James and then we’ll wrap this video up.”

James scrolled through the thousands of questions he had in response to his post until he found one that made him chuckle. “Okay. I’ve put you under pressure in this video so I think it’s only fair I answer a similar question.” taking a deep breath he read out the question. “Do you ever think Lillie will like you back as much as you like her? You’ve been pretty vocal about wanting to meet her over the last few months.” He blushed as he locked his phone and placed it aside on the table. “I.. don’t know. Is the honest answer to your question Sam. I am just thankful for being blessed enough to have this moment come. She knows that I have a crush on her now, but I’m not trying to rush a love story. Love stories take time to craft and make. If anything more were to happen between us, I’d want it to be natural and unforced.”

“Plus, he is taking me on a date Sam. so you needn’t worry. But sticking to what James is trying to say. We won’t be a couple to continuously post every couple thing we do on social media, if we become more than friends. I think we’d share milestones and highlights from vacations maybe, but anything else, I’d like to think we’d keep that private.”

James smiled and answered Lillie’s statement and Lillie wrapped up the video before James got up and pressed the button to stop recording. 

“Okay 4 sit down videos complete, 3 to go and then I can hit the hay before waking up tomorrow and looking for a new manager.” Lillie said as she took a deep breath to center herself. 

“I admire you even more now you know. You work so much harder than I thought. I thought you filmed one video a day every day for a week, but you film in batches like this?” 

“What and you don’t?”

“I don’t. Actually. I film 2 videos a day, 3 days a week. And vlog whenever I feel like it. On top of that I model for Hugo Boss, Dior and BooHoo Man. But you do so much more.”

“It’s not a competition James. We each have our own limits and boundaries.” Lillie smiled. 

“Yeah. I guess you’re right.” James sighed checking the time. “Woah is it really that late?”

Lillie yawned as she looked at the clock on the wall and saw it read 11:48pm. “It must be.”

“Are you going to be okay to record on your own now? I’ve got a flight to catch in two hours. I’m going to Italy for a photoshoot.” 

“Yeah. I’ll be fine. I’ve only got a bake with me, a clean with me and a wine and chill to film. So I’ll be fine. You head home and grab your things then head to the airport. I wouldn’t want you to miss your gig.”

They stopped at Lillie’s front door and shared a hug before James pulled his coat on. “You’re sure you’re going to be okay?”

“I’ll be fine. Don’t worry.”

James smiled and gave her another hug before walking out of the door and descending the steps. 

“Oh and James?!” Lillie called out.

He spun on his heel and looked up at her “Yeah?”

“Thanks for checking on me and … spending the afternoon helping me out. I… Thank you.” she smiled

“It’s no problem. Anytime I’m free, if you need me just call.” James replied.

And with a small smile and wave to each other he headed off towards the taxi rank not far from Lillie’s house, Lillie closing her front door, locking it and turning on her security system before heading back to filming more videos. 

[effortlessly-bored]

The Bucket List - Michael Gray

Chapter 1 l Chapter 2 l Chapter 3

After her meeting with Thomas, Emma had felt particularly triumphant; so, she decided to buy herself a new pair of shoes. They were black leather with a small heel and laces. The woman at the shop had promised her that they would last in Birmingham. Emma begged her neighbour to let her use the phone to call her dad, her nerves amplifying her homesickness. It was a short but sweet conversation, mostly it was just her dad telling her how proud he was. Emma worried about her father a lot, he was different since her mother passed. Emma’s father sounded slightly rushed on the phone like he had somewhere important to be; which was unusual for him.

The rest of her evening consisted of two hours at the Garrison before Harry told her to go home and have a good night's rest before her first day. Emma made herself stew for dinner. It took her thirty minutes to pick and iron her outfit for the next day. Emma made sure everything was ready to go the next morning before she went to bed that night. She didn’t actually fall asleep till the early morning, to unsure and nervous about what the next day would hold for her with both school and Michael.

Meanwhile, Michael was a frantic mess trying to get everything ready to impress Emma the next day. As soon as she left his office he ran into Tommy’s, begging to let him borrow his cousin’s brand new Rolls Royce. After Tommy agreed, Michael ran home to try and find the perfect outfit. He knew she didn’t like his super flashy suits and he wanted to try and play it cool so he chose a more casual choice. Mickey dug through his drawers until he found his favourite tie (it was a colour that Emma had said, and he quotes, “looks super” on him). He took a quick bath and set his alarm for six the next morning, wanting to be ready for everything. Michael didn’t fall asleep till the early morning; to excited to do right by Emma and anxious to see if they could go back to what they once were to relax.

Michael was outside of Emma’s flat fifteen minutes early. He had run to the bakery before arriving, picking up some pastries for her. Emma never ate breakfast. Mickey made sure he looked okay in the side mirror of the car and checked his watch.

He only waited a few minutes before Emma came out. She had a bright smile on her face as did Michael. He recognized the dress she was wearing, it was a blue button-up on top and a navy skirt. She had a beautiful pair of brand new shoes on and half her hair was pinned up.

The first thing Emma noticed was his tie, it was a dark red and brought out his eyes. His suit was more casual and relaxed, making Emma slightly less anxious.

“I like your tie, brings out your eyes,” Emma spoke.

“Thanks, your shoes look nice,” Michael said stuffing his hands in his pockets.

“Really? You don’t think they’re too manly?” They were rather masculine.

Michael scoffed, “No! They’re nice, strong, and they’ll last you. Perfect for you.”

There was a short pause. “Is this really your car?”

“Yeah, um, well… no.” Michael finally admits. “I have a car, an Aston actually, but when you said you’d never been in one before, I asked Tommy to borrow this one. He only bought it a month ago.”

Emma walked around the vehicle in pure astonishment, Michael following close behind. Michael opened the door for Emma to get in. He quickly jogged around the front of the car, hopping into the driver’s seat. “Those are for you,” Michael said, pointing to the pastries.

“You didn’t have to do that, Michael.” Emma sighed. She had a sneaking suspicion he was trying very hard to impress her; he even wore his hair her favourite way. The pastries did smell fantastic.

“Please, I know you never eat breakfast; and you need to keep your strength up for today,” Michael explained, starting the engine.

Emma begrudgingly took one, surprised he remembered so many little details about her. It was delicious.

“So, how much does your mother hate me?” Emma asked, after she finished chewing in an attempt to avoid silence.

“Michael let out a slight laugh. “I wouldn’t know, she left to visit my cousin, Ada, in London after she saw me yesterday.”

“Jesus, how many cousins do you have?”

“Ada’s the last one. You’d like her though, she’s a bit of a suffragette like you. She’s got a son, Carl; cute kid.” Michael took his eyes off the road for a second to look at Emma. She looked like joy; smiling wide, eyes bright and sparkly. Her cheeks were flushed and there was a small piece of pastry by the side of her mouth. Nevertheless, she was unabashed and visibly excited.

“Did you end up writing your mum… your adoptive one?”

“No, I haven’t been able to yet. But I looked at the photo, framed it even. The boys look great; tall and buff. They look so grown up.”

“Yeah, James grew a full foot one summer. He’s planning to on going to uni, you know? Wants to be an animal doctor.”

“What about Paul?”

“Last time I saw him he was alright. Got into some trouble at school after you left, but he’s alright now.”

Mikey gave a short grunt before the conversation went into a slough.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Anything, always,” Michael replied, turning a corner.

“Why do you hate George Palmroy so much? I just, I’ve been thinking about it and for the life of me I can’t remember a time when you two were civil to each other.”

“Oh, you don’t wanna know about that…”

“Yeah, I really do, Michael.”

“You sure? It was really nothing I swear.”

“Michael, if it was just nothing you wouldn’t be this defensive. Just tell me for God sakes.”

Michael sighed before he said, “Ok fine, but don’t say I didn’t warn you. Do you remember when we were young and your grandparents came to visit and they gave you a dreidel?”

Emma almost never talked about her mother’s heritage. It wasn’t that she was ashamed, she just knew that her mother didn’t like to talk about it. Both of Emma’s grandparents on her mum’s side were Jewish, technically making Emma half. Her mother was never very devout, and when she married Emma’s father she found it was easier to just go to church instead of dealing with the judgment of people in the countryside. Emma’s Bubbe and Zayde still tried to teach her a few things before they passed away.

“Yeah, they were there for Hanukkah.”

“When you brought that dreidel into class, I remember how proud and excited you were about it. And you taught me how to play during break in the courtyard.”

“Yeah, I beat you every time.” Emma teased, smiling fondly at the memory.

“I still think you were cheating.”

“I was not! But, what does this have to do with George?”

“Well, when you went to the washroom George fucking Palmroy came over and started mouthing off to me about you being Jewish.” Michael’s knuckles turned white around the steering wheel as he spoke. “God, I’m so happy you never heard any of it, some of the things he said were just so vile, Em. I kicked the shit out of him for that, wanted to do it every time I saw him since them.” Emma had heard Michael like this before, tense, violent and angry. It usually didn’t last long.

"Thank you,” she squeaked out as Michael composed himself.

Less than a minute later, the Rolls Royce was parked outside ivy-covered gate. It was the first bit of greenery Emma had seen since she moved. Dozens of students were making their way in through the gates, all with a similar air of anxiousness.

It was a weird moment for Michael because he could remember wanting nothing more than being one of those students with Emma. He had imagined them walking through those gates together a million times, and now she was going alone.

Emma was almost wishing he could come with her. The university was feeling more and more daunting by the minute.

“I brought my camera,” Michael said. “ I thought I could take a photo for you to send to your dad.”

“Really? That’s so thoughtful, thank you, Michael.”

“S’no problem.” He mumbled, grabbing the camera from the back seat.

Emma got out of the car, praying that her legs would stop shaking. Michael took a snapshot of her smiling in front of the main gate. He was absolutely sure it would be a beautiful photo.

“What time is your last class?”

“Um, it ends at half-past two.”

“I’ll meet you here then, yeah?”

“Oh, Michael I couldn’t trouble you like that.”

“It’s really no problem, I’ll just take you to the Garrison after.”

“Ok, but promise to figure out how to get here on my own tomorrow. I feel like such a burden.”

“Emma, you have never been and will never be a burden; trust me on that.” Michael answered. “Alright, well I better get going. You’re going to do great today.”

Emma quickly enveloped Michael in a hug, hanging on for dear life. It was the same as every hug they had before, Michael putting his arms around her and Emma resting her head on his shoulder. He rubbed her back gently, trying to calm down the nerves he knew she was having. A small tear went down her cheek.

“Just remember, if anyone tries to fuck with you just tell them you’re part of the Peaky Blinders, yeah?” He whispered in her ear.

Emma let out a small laugh, wiping her tears. “I don’t think telling people I’m part of a gang will get me a lot of friends.”

“Fuck these posh pricks, you have all the friends you need in Small Heath. You’re going to do great, Em, I’m so proud of you.”

“Thank you, Michael,” Emma said, waving goodbye as she walked into the school.

[helpinghanikan]

Powers that be

Avengers (and Matt Murdock) x Reader

Sum: power can come as many forms. And mostly they are terrifying.

AN: Thor one happened before Ragnarok 

Steve Rogers: Strength

         “Don’t move!” He uses a softer version of his “Captain” voice.

           You never made it to the sink to get that drink of water. Still in that half-awake, slightly drugged, state where you weren’t one hundred percent sure what was going on. Whatever it was that the medic gave you, it was very strong.

           It helped, though. Being in a coma was preferable over sitting double over in pain.

           Steve kneeled next to you with a broom and dustpan. Sweeping up the pieces of glass that weren’t currently stuck in your hand. You completely missed him kneeling in front of you, staring at the red coming from the glass. Add a necklace to your hand and you could have been a jewelry. Instead you’re just a very high individual without pants.

           In your drugged state a lot of stuff was missed. You didn’t notice being carried through the hall like a bride. The bare minimum being done for you to sleep comfortably by your man (pants, bra). When he slipped out of your grip and replaced himself with your biggest pillow, or when he looked over his arms. Touching over hand shaped bruises that weren’t there before the aggressive cuddle session.

           It’s a wonder whether you’ll remember the glass shattering like absolutely nothing.

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

Tony Stark: Extremis virus

           This was supposed to be a safe house. After one of the Stark’s vaults was raided, with many dangerous thing gone, it seemed best to cut the loose strands. Pepper went for an extended visit with her parents on some distant trip. Happy got his well-deserved vacation and you took the long route to the summer house.

           A burner cell was settled, like a weight, in your purse. Your hand clutched it while walking to the front step.

           To your attackers credit, at least he was smart enough to wait outside the house. The moment your driver side door was shut the hand slapped over your mouth. It was so fast, so violent, it’s amazing that your nose didn’t break.

           What did break was your skin from the needle. In the dark dreams the needle was so long it cut through your neck and burst through the other side. In those same nightmares to come your attacker was a foot taller and a lot meaner. Your nose would be broken in those same dreams.

           He’s gone before the entire thing is pumped into your throat. It wasn’t a typical syringe you had been stabbed with. This thing was thick and heavy, like a .22 was pressed against your neck. When he let go the needle dragged down, your future nightmare coming true before it was ripped out by your own free-will.

           Everything happened too fast. Starting on your feet and then your knees. Looking at a teeny-tiny red puddle creating under your neck. The wound felt to already be festering and it was getting hot. It was getting way too fucking hot.

           The burner was a flip phone that shaky fingers made it hard to open. With only one number in it, all you had to do was press the green button.

           “Hi, Sweetie, miss me already-.”

           “It’s fucking hot, Tony. Tony, please, it’s hot.” It’s boiling from your neck and racing through veins.

           “Hey, hey, what’s up? Where are you? What’s wrong?” Tony was a man who liked to be in the know. Likely, where ever he was, he had pulled up your flight plan and car destination.

           “Stabbed, someone stabbed me. Tony, they’re here. They stabbed me with it.” Miraculously you hadn’t gone into shock yet, giving every small detail you could in the few seconds it took to be attacked.

           Your hand grabs the needle/gun from the ground next to you. More to be sure it isn’t lost or doesn’t roll away then to make any sense of it. While holding it in your hand the chemical had broken through the veins. Your skin starting hazy orange, by the time you stop staring it had already gone into spray tan on the inside level.

           “Help is heading your way. Calm thoughts, power calm thoughts.” Tony says on the other end.

           “Anthony, not now…it hurts.” Arms by your head, talking into the phone on the ground.

           “Not a joke this time, They’re almost there. I’m almost there.”

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

Thor: Prophecy

         Possession is a danger that very few think about. Guns and magic, that which are visible, will turn the stomach more then a simple possibility. It was why no one blinked at the supper table.

           Asgardian meals varied from one degree to the other. Either it was an official affair; somber talking and serious topics. Or it was a mini celebration with loud stories and the servants drinking near as much as the guests. In the heart of that sea of warriors was you. Arm around your man, lifting a mug for him to drink from.

           Around the ankles of the guests, below the music and talking, an invisible arm slides through the air. It billows skirts and climbs the table legs to find it’s target.

           With all the movement no one blames you for not noticing your shifting pant leg. There was nothing to feel as it traveled up your leg. Because of this the room is entirely silent when your back over arches.

           “Brother to traitor to brother,” It’s not your voice but it’s coming out of your mouth. “warrior with poisoned mouth. Monster and man in one. Man of power, king to none. Four heroes to win but must fail to be done.”

           Any expected glowing there was stayed entirely to your mouth and eyes. White in color like a star trapped inside your head.

           There was never any doubt that Thor would catch you when you fall. You won’t remember most of it, though. The thick arm that goes around your back, Thor yelling for a healer. And you certainly won’t remember the not-your-words being in haste on a napkin with grease.

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

Bucky Barnes: Flight

         The accident left the tops of your feet and calves a dark shade of yellow. No matter how hard you scrubbed the color remained. It didn’t hurt, the splash of chemicals only tingled for a few minutes. Tony had grabbed you before it would go any farther.

           Bedtime comes, and that color is still there. “It doesn’t hurt, does it?” Bucky asks for what has to be the hundredths time before falling asleep.

           Bucky Boy is a military man, he can sleep anywhere. He snores, to start with, a heavy natural sound he could never make in the years before. It was annoying at first, then it was a lullaby. One that changed the deeper you fell into sleep.

           For the briefest of seconds his chest was your pillow and strong arms your blankets. They started to slip away in the same moment. In that same place of sleeping where you know you’re sleeping but not fully awake enough to do waking things. Your blanket and pillow are gone before you’re half-way to the ceiling.

           It wasn’t fast, it was slow, like sinking into water. Baggy shirt and pants weighted toward the floor around your face. To anyone who might have been looking on this was something straight out of science fiction. Poor, perfectly normal, woman taken from her bed and lovers arms by an evil force from outside this world.

           You don’t completely wake until your back hits the ceiling.

           “Fuck fuck fucking-James!” He’s below you, sleeping on his back and still snoring.

           Both hands press the ceiling around your head. Toes scrapping the tiles to find some kind of hold instead of this foreign force.

           Bucky wakes up, but a more appropriate way to say is that he shot up. The word “James” is a potent one. Last time it was used by you was when you slipped from the shower. The tear went through your leg, running from ankle to knee, blood everywhere like an animal had been slaughtered. A few stitches and a small scar later and everything is good now.

           Every night before bed Bucky’s hair would be bound back in a bun. An agreement in exchange for you to take the position of big spoon. After a long sleep the bun had started to get free. Thick strands of hair he brushes out of his face, running down the back of his neck and over his shoulders.

           “James!” You have to scream for the third time for him to look up.

           “What are you doing?” He says towards the ceiling.

           “Please get me down.” In another situation you’d make a snide comment. “Taking a nap, wanna come up and join me?” Instead it was just terrifying. Close to tears at being so high up without any sort of safety.

           He quickly hops onto the bed, arms reaching upward. Even on his tip toes he wouldn’t reach the ceiling. “You have to grab my hands, just reach out for them.” He says.

           It’s hard to let your arms hang down. As though your arms pressed against the ceiling were the one thing keeping you from hitting the floor. Your dominate arm shoots forward, like a test. When you didn’t fall your other arm joined the first. A few inches gap remained that Bucky was still reaching towards.

           “Babes, lean forward. I won’t let you fall. I have you.” He says.

           Leaning forward seemed to be the straw that broke the camels back. Before your fingers even touched gravity came back on. Falling too fast to even scream. Landing on Bucky was the equivalent of landing on a pile of bricks.  

           His stance on the bed was already unsteady with the mattress. Your sudden weight on him took both of you down.

           “We need to talk to Bruce about this. Those chemicals did something to you.” He grabs one of your calves. Good at strategies but not smart enough to avoid touching possible infected skin.  

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

Natasha Romanoff: Telepathy

         It started with a whisper in the middle of the night. One spoke just behind your head. At first you would shoot up, search the voice out. Then you’d bury your face into red hair and hope the perfect locks would drown it away.

           Eventually the whispers weren’t contained to your dreams, didn’t stay below your ears, and got louder during the day.

           Now what’s she doing?

           You know that voice, you’ve heard that voice so many times. Sam, Sam who is staring at you from over a bowl of cereal. Milk dripping from his spoon as your hands press firmly against your temples.

           It’s a similar situation now, months later. The outdoor seating of a coffee house with the whispering words building on top of each other. Your tower of babble was building just above your hairline. Pressing down on thoughts of overpriced coffee and whether or not the date across the table really cared about the story or was just pretending to so they’d get free shit.

           In that mess was a speaking voice. One that was real and louder then others. One that had a hand attached to it. Reaching through the words and taking hold of your own hand. That voice is silent long enough for a kiss on the palm.

           “Is it okay here?” She asks.

           “Yeah,” You say, smiling through the crowded room. “Everyone here is just so boring.”

           Nat rests her chin on the palm of her other arm, elbow down on the table. “Are my thoughts boring?” She asks with a smile.

           It was harder then it seemed to focus on a single thought in the see. Finding that familiar voice and making it clear-.

           Her teeth show as though she could tell when you pinned her thoughts down. Based on the face you made it was likely she could.

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

T’challa: Influence

           “Please, stop!” You scream.

           Okoye’s hand slaps over your face so hard your nose almost broke.

           Men and women shouting in English and their mother language suddenly silent. Mouths hanging open, bodies a quarter of the way out of their seats. In the center was your king, arm outstretched, almost out of his own seat. He had probably seen you’re mouth open but was too far away to stop you.

           The only ones to still be moving was one quarter of Dora Milaje. The few members who volunteered to wear ear plugs. One being Okoye herself, trusting her women to watch over the delegates while she focused entirely on you.

            “Fix it,” she says, her love for you only going so far.

           “Move, go ahead and move.” Her hand moves and you speak. Hand going back to its position over your mouth.

           The delegates were much calmer after that. No more shouting at each other about the state of your new ‘gift’. Words like, ‘outsider’ and ‘serious danger’ were still thrown around. They just didn’t look straight in your direction as much.

           T’challa, on the other hand, stared right at you. No hatred, like the others, but with concern. Hand over his mouth, a reflection of Okoye’s over yours. A twin vow of silence.

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

Pietro Maximoff: Spike

         It’s best described as a Charley-horse that hits you in the middle of the night. Still stuck in the arms of sleep when the underside of your forearms started to hurt.

           From Pietro’s perspective you had started having a nightmare. Waking slowly to your little groans, kicking feet and scrapping against the sheets to get some sort of leverage against whatever you were trying to fight against.

           For a few seconds you were actually pretty cute. Until the extra bones burst out and into the bed.

           It was like a muscle you just recently learned how to use. Like a baby kicking the hell out of their mother after their legs developed. The spikes, sharper then a knife, were probably growing your entire life. Fit snugly between the bones in your arm. There wasn’t even any blood.

           Just a thick slash Where Pietro used to be.

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

Peter Parker: Force field

         He won’t stop singing, he won’t stop fucking singing.

           You’ve asked, you were polite, you glared, and the motherfucker is still singing off key. A slowed down rap song Satan himself wrote. Starting a few minutes into the class, singing louder when the teacher asked him to stop, and kept going after it was revealed your teacher was a coward.

           There wasn’t a student in the class that wasn’t annoyed by this kid. From MJ flipping off the back of his head a seat to your right, to Flash staring to the ceiling looking for an answer from God.

           Peter sat in a seat a row behind you. Sometimes pressing a pen into your back to look at him. He’d then pretend to mimic the singing. But much better. The joy he’d bring you only lasted a few seconds before that kid would hit a high note or get louder.

           You were in the prime spot for his little performance. Staring at the back of his head, staring at that greasy and watching his head move with the music.

           There was a lot of space between his ears. His teeny-tiny brain was probably bouncing around in that head space.

           In one of those massive gaps you could practically see something building. A bubble of death starting tinier then a grain of sand. Becoming larger and larger, growing into a bean and then into a grape.

           Hand to his forehead and the singing stops. But it was too late.

           His jaw moves, whether to sing or talk, and the entire room was red.

           You were in the frontline of the splash zone. Hair pressed to your forehead, copper in the mouth.

           With your vision obscured it was impossible to say who screamed first. It was a male who had started it. Desks scrapping and dragging against the floor as the students all try to run at the same time.

           Hair and blood moved from your eyes with a shaky hand. The grain of salt had grown to be bigger then a bowling ball. Where the singer’s head had once been was now a see-through orb with red and matter sliding down the sides.

           Peter was pulled from the room with the rest of the classmates. Sitting with MJ throwing up against the lockers with several other students leaning forward.

           Peter running back in to get you would have been more heroic had he not slipped flat on his back.

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

Stephen Strange: Out of body

           Stare too long into the rock’s eye and it will give you a gift.

           A simple rock behind thick glass, so ordinary you could find one in your backyard. Only thing that made it look even mildly special was the white gem in it’s center. Even then a kid could have glued a fake diamond it.

           For a brief second the diamond turned purple.

           Then you hit the floor.

           Very few in the world will have the privilege of watching themselves pass out. Cringing at the sound your head made when hitting the floor. Later you’d wonder why literally no one in twelve-foot radius around you even tried to save you.

           Your gift given was something others took actual years to learn. Watching Steven lay in bed while actually somewhere in the air was one thing. The man was at least kind enough to lay in a position like he was sleeping at night, instead of sitting crossed legged at the end of the bed. Watching him ‘sleep’ was different then actual sleep; there was no twitching or change in breath like a normal person would going through their dreams. He was just laying there, the only thing moving was his chest for hours at a time.

           Your body laid like that on the floor of the Sanctum. If it weren’t for your rising chest, you might as well be death.

           Instead of looking to your breathing chest your hands gripped your head. Starting to scream, without ever making a noise.

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

Matt Murdock: Blood

         It’s important to look at thing from the other perspectives:

           In your own eyes there had never been anything more natural. The same way your fingers move in the smallest ways, the man was doing the same. His arms and legs jerked in several directions, he was your doll on a string. Being ripped apart by your vague gestures.

           Matt, on the other hand, was going into overdrive. The man, the attacker, was screaming. Heart going faster then it shoulder, and it sounded like a river was rushing through his arms and legs.

           Your attacker had come at you both with one mission on his mind. A mission that was cut short by the twitching of your fingers. The attack happened in a few shots: the first, your arm in Matt’s, focused on the walk. Second and your attacker stepped out, before he was the attacker. Third, Matt’s grabbed the front of your shirt, pulling you behind him. Fourth, and your attacker starts screaming.

           “What-What’s happening?!” He’s sobbing now.

           It had started with rats. Those little fuckers on the subway that you learned to play with on the rides back and forth. Making your own little ballet with them. Now, all that seemed to be practice. The real dance came from this man. His feet going to pointe, arms in the air, begging to stop.

           Matt says your name again. Coming back into the picture by grabbing your wrists. Your attacker drops to the ground somewhere behind Matt. Your focus on your man, whose grip had started to hurt.

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

Carol Danvers

          It’s hard to pinpoint what exactly caused this. Looking down to hands that are not there, grabbing your forearms and feeling solid but seeing nothing. Even looking at your reflection in the toaster and seeing nothing but a floating T-shirt and pants.

           “Goose? Babe?” Carol calls walking towards the kitchen.

           Your shattered mug still lay in shambles over the kitchen floor. Goose, who couldn’t be bothered with this, stares on from the living room chair. Merely stretching his paws when Carol comes in. Ready to receive pets and praise for being himself.

           “Hey,” She says, delivering on those pets. “You knock that over?”

           “Carol,” You say, her head whipping towards your voice from the broken mug.

           “Whose there?” She asks the empty air.

           “Carol, I’m right here,” You reach out and hold her shoulder.

           More mugs are shaken but only one more is cracked when she slams you against the pantry. In her defense, anyone who is touched by what they assume to be a ghost would react in the same way.

           “For fuck’s sake, it’s me!” You yell.

           Blood from the broken decorative cover and splintered wood covered your finger prints. Infecting over everything you touch. Including Carol’s arm that pins you to the broken materials.

           “Oh, shit, I’m sorry.” She stops pressing on your neck. But doesn’t let you go, holding your arms instead. Making sure you don’t vanish into the open air.

[jordanlahey]

King With No Crown (2)

Pairing: Mobster!Bucky x Reader

Summary: Y/n is just another girl in Brooklyn nothing special, she went to school, got good grade and has a well paying job in an office. She is aware that the streets of Brooklyn aren’t as safe as they use to be especially when the “King” has eyes everywhere. On a works night out she stumbles into a situation and now she can’t get out of it, she’d be signing her own death certificate if she tried.

Chapter Warnings: Language, I think that's it?

Word count: 2017

A/N:Tag List is still open. 

Series Masterlist

KWNC - @tuyetnhivo , @sgtjaamesbaarnes @theonelittleone , @sparkling-gayyyy , @dragoste-lunes , @chims-kookies , @hey-nonny-nonny @jsmith509, @dudeodin, @megaannottiz02, @animeflower26, @boxofteenageideas, @dreamer821, @mamaraptor, @xrosegoldwolfx, @spaghettirogers, @chaoticbiace

Permanent - @doowneey , @m-a-t-91 , @fuckthatfeeling , @jitterbuck , @ria132love @pvnk-bivch , @etherealmandi, @pri00r @5aftermidnight , @thisismysecrethappyplace @dtftheavengers, @straycuties9, @typicaltrashbag, @lanijoy, @fourtyninekirbygamzeegirl

Bucky Barnes - @release-the-cathyrchkn

After the weekend at work things got strange, Steve and Sam were at the office again. You met them in the elevator going up to your desk that morning then they left to go find your boss. Being in the elevator with those two after seeing how violent they were on Friday night made you feel uneasy about them now and what made you feel more uneasy was the flowers on your desk.

“Y/n, who’s the lucky guy?” Michelle, the girl from the desk across from you asked. She wasn’t a the night out somehow she gets a free pass.

“Honestly, your guess is as good as mine.” You shrugged, she picked up the card that came with the flowers and handed it to you.

‘We’ll see each other again sooner than you think.’

“Creepy.” You mutter and you throw the card into the trash can under your desk. You look at the flowers, they were indeed beautiful and colorful. Roses in red, Lilies, yellow  and red Tulips indeed were perfect and you just couldn’t throw them out.

Sitting at your desk your mind started to wonder. Was it James that sent you those flowers? Or Steve? Maybe Sam? Though they’re all quite intimidating. Your thinking came to a stop when Steve turned up at your desk.

“Hey Y/n, are you busy?” he asked, smiling. You looked at him wide eyed and shook your head. “Good, follow me.” he didn’t wait for you, you scrambled to your feet and quickly walked after him.

“Where are we going?” You ask slightly out of breath. Steve didn’t answer till you both got to the cafeteria.

“Did you have breakfast Y/n? It’s the most important meal of the day you shouldn’t skip it.” He was up to something but what? He put two cups of coffee on the tray along with two pancakes and walked to a table.

“Right listen here Rogers! I don’t know what you’re playing at but I have work to be getting on with so if you please get to the point.” You almost screamed but Steve found it amusing watching how frustrated you were getting.

“You and Buck seemed quite comfortable Friday night.” Your face dropped and more questions swam through your head.

“What’s it to you? And how do you know James?” You defended.

“I work for him and he never goes anywhere without backup.” This was getting on your nerves, you were desperate for answers.

“What do you mean without backup? What is it that you do?”

“He was right. You do ask a lot of questions.” You roll your eyes and left him sitting at the table alone.

“Fine. I’ll just find out for myself.”

It was the end of the day and you headed out to your car but stopped when you received a text message from an unknown number.

Unknown: Hey Y/n, don’t be alarmed it’s me Bucky.

You sighed in relief, you have watched too many horror movies to know that unknown numbers are bad news.

Y/n: Oh hello, how did you get my number?

Bucky: I figured that if you were walking home on your own I’d have a way on knowing you are alright.

Y/n: That’s thoughtful of you. Is there anything I can do for you?

Bucky: Nope, just checking in.

Y/n: Okay, I just finished work. I’m about to start driving.

Bucky: Drive safely :)

You put your phone down, started your car and drove down the busy streets. Tea time traffic is always a bitch especially when you were dying for your bed. Having nothing better to do you stare out your window and just people watch in the meantime then you noticed a familiar face well not just one but three and another one you don’t recognise. You saw James in a suit with Sam and Steve behind him along with the other guy, You attention is drawn back to James he looked angry and it sent shivers down your spine and everything seemed to be going in slow motion. You wondered what got him so pissed and if he knows what Steve and Sam did on Friday night.

Your face dropped more when you met eyes with Steve who smirked darkly at you making you feel more uncomfortable, You tore your eyes away from the group and back on to the road hoping that the traffic will start moving.

You arrived home later than you expected and your phone had been going off while you were driving, it was mostly from your boss and there was one from James asking if you wanted to meet tonight. You weren’t going to lie to yourself but you did want to go but something was stopping you. You hardly know James and all of a sudden he has some sort of fascination with you? Something just wasn’t adding up. However you did say you were going to find out the answers to your own questions since no one was going to answer them for you. You replied with a yes and he told you he will pick you up and to wear something similar to your last meeting.

2 hours were passing slowly and you wear ready nearly 30 minutes after James sent his last message. You were nervously pacing around your home, you met this guy before but now you were pretty much going undercover to find out who is really is. A ping came from your phone and James’ name came up on your phone saying he was outside. Grabbing your bad and coat you left the apartment but James wasn’t there, there was a black car with a guy in a black suit standing in front of the car door. He must have been waiting for you cause he opened the door for you, you asked where James was but he blanked you out and you got in the car. 

The car journey was awkward and silent. You fiddled with your fingers and stared out the window trying to figure out where you were going. You found yourself in front of a high end building and your driver opened the door then left you in front of the building.

“Y/n, I see you’ve taken up on Bucky’s offer.” You rolled your eyes at Steve, you’ve had enough of him today but what offer is he talking about.

“Offer?” You raised an eyebrow at him and he shook his head and chuckled.

“He hasn’t asked it yet. Shit. Never mind Little Y/n.” You were about to scream at Steve when James appeared between the two of you.

“Y/n, Glad you got here safely. Shall we?” He ushered you to the elevator and you followed willingly, anything to get away from the Blond. You waited in the elevator with him, feeling slightly uncomfortable now. The elevator dinged and you were at the top of the building, James walked to a huge white door and opened it allowing you to go in first.

What you saw made your jaw hit the floor. This man had enough money to live in a penthouse, it was a beautiful place. The walls were white along with the sofa and carpet, a huge flat screen TV mounted on the wall and a kitchen that connects to the living room which was white marble to match.

“I had a feeling you would like it. Would you like a drink?” You turned to James with a smile and allowed him to pour you a glass of white wine and thanked him as you continued to stare out the window. “Now let’s get down to the real reason I brought you here.” You turned to look at him with a confused expression, James was amused by your expression and told you to sit down. “Tell me, after you left me at the club where did you go?” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

“H-home.” You stuttered, you knew where this was going and you were afraid.

“Hmm. anywhere else? Now I must remind you that lying will get you into much more trouble.” the look in his eyes spoke the truth. You opened your mouth to speak but nothing came out. “Y/n, do you know who I am? What I do for a living?” You shook your head. “You better off knowing me as the King of Brooklyn, the mob boss.” You are far more scared than you have ever been before, this man can have you killed in seconds. “Tell me where you went on Friday after you left me.”

“I-I was on my way home then I heard yelling so I went to check it out and saw…” You paused, you have no idea what’s happening and it’s getting hard to breathe.

“What did you see? Who did you see?”

‘I saw Steve and Sam kill a man.” You stared blankly outside the window, refusing to look at James.

“That’s a good girl, Do you know why they killed him?” You shook your head and he got up behind you, he moved your hair to one side, his touch sends shivers down your spine. “Because I told them to,” He whispered in your ear and you gulped loudly then he moved and crouched in front of you. “You see Y/n, I know everything that happens in Brooklyn I have eyes everywhere.”

“Are you going to kill me?” You whispered which caused him to laugh.

“Even if I wanted to I couldn’t. You see, I wanted you since the moment I laid eyes on you and you work for me anyway so I can’t get rid of you quietly, So I have a little offer to make you.” He stood up and looked down at you with a sinister smile. “You can either live here with me and be with me or you can leave and I’ll make your life a living hell.” You had an idea that both those options were dangerous but could you really live with him now you know who he really is? Clearly not cause you agreed but it’s for the best as you told him. James seemed satisfied with your answer and took out his phone and started talking on it, you weren’t listening really.

James was back at crouching in front of you and he wiped his thumb under your eye as a tear escaped then Steve barged in the room.

“Buck, your regular is here.” Behind him was a girl with platinum blonde hair and revealing clothes. ‘Hooker’ You thought.

“Send her away I won’t be needing her any longer.” Your heart stopped beating and panic started to rise inside you. Steve took his leave with the hooker and it was just you and James. “You don’t need to worry about her. He took your hands and pulled you up on your feet then walked you to the window. “You will learn to love it up here and you will learn to love me and want me as I do you.” James wrapped his arms around you from behind and started kissing up and down your neck then along your shoulder. At this point you have no idea how to react, you’re slowly piecing together what the hell has just happened.

“I’m tired...May I go to sleep?” You whispered again, he stopped kissing your neck and turned you to face him.

“Of course.” He kissed your forehead then you walked to the couch. “The bed is that way. I will not let you sleep on the couch.”

“But I don’t..” James took your hand and lead you to his room then walked to the dresser and pulled out a plain white t-shirt and handed it to you.

“I shouldn’t be long I have to go take care of things.” Your face dropped. “Don’t worry it’s nothing to do with you, You’ll be safe.” You didn’t fully trust his words but there you are left in his room alone. You crawled into his bed and tried to get some sleep.

[fandom-smut-shots]

James Griffin - Fire

Fire – James Griffin

Redandgoldgirl

Words: 1,893.

The trunk of James’ SUV closed with a thump, securing your belongings alongside everyone else’s. Your senior year of high school began in just one week, which meant that it was time for the yearly end-of-summer camping trip that you and your friends always took.

For the second year in a row, James had been nominated for transportation due to the car he’d received for his sixteenth birthday. Before anyone was of legal driving age, Lance’s mother had happily offered her chauffeur services. Having as many children as she did required an SUV similar to the one James now drove, which made her the perfect transportation while the teenagers were working towards their licenses.

“Shotgun!” Kinkade shouted, reaching for the door handle of the passenger seat.

Lance elbowed him in the side, earning a grunt of vague pain. Kinkade turned to the brunet, poised to protest, but the Cuban teen placed a hand over his mouth and tilted his head in your direction. Kinkade took the hint and glanced around Lance, catching you leaning against the trunk of the car, chatting about something inaudible with James. A soft blush dusted your cheeks, and James grinned in the way he only did when you were in sight.

Kinkade smirked knowingly, sharing a glance with the Cuban whose hand was still plastered to his face. The dark-haired boy stuck out his tongue, pressing it to Lance’s palm, and the brunet yelped in disgust, retracting his hand and wiping his friend’s saliva on his jacket.

Lance opened the back door, crawling into the middle seat beside Keith. Pidge, Hunk, and Nadia were stationed in the third row, and Kinkade slid in next to Lance. James rounded the car, opening the passenger door and allowing you inside. You smiled shyly at him as you stepped up, accepting his empty hand to keep your balance. He closed the door as you tugged the seatbelt across your chest, watching as he took his place in the driver’s seat.

“Everyone ready to go camping?” James called as he turned the key and the ignition roared to life.

Cheers and yells sounded from the other passengers, and you giggled at their enthusiasm.

When you reached the campsite, another chorus of cheering erupted through the car. James put it in park and killed the engine, and everyone scrambled to the closest door. James shuffled to your side and opened the door for you, offering you a hand of assistance. You accepted it with a grin, stepping down.

“You know I’m capable of getting in and out of cars on my own, right?” you teased.

He chuckled. “Of course. I just thought you might like the help.”

“Well, thank you,” you murmured, your grin fading to a shy smile.

“Alright!” Nadia chirped loud enough to catch everyone’s attention as she shuffled out of the third row of seats. “Everyone remember the tent pairs?”

It had been decided at the beginning of summer how the four tents would be divided – Pidge and Hunk, Lance and Keith, James and Kinkade, and you and Nadia. This was the simplest solution that left nobody feeling uncomfortable – however, as Nadia eyed the expressions of her friends, she wondered if the tents would be reassigned. Kinkade and Keith were stationed evenly on either side of Lance, both enthralled in every word that left the Cuban’s mouth. You stood as close to James as physically possible, and from Nadia’s point of view, the brunet was just a second away from brushing your (h/c) locks behind your ear.

“I think your pairs are being ignored,” Pidge chuckled, standing beside Nadia.

“Maybe James will finally tell (y/n) how he feels,” Hunk mused with a soft chuckle.

Nadia shook her head doubtfully, slinging the strap of her duffle bag onto her shoulder. She padded away from her classmates, headed towards the smoothest ground in order to begin pitching her tent. Pidge and Hunk followed, though Pidge did majority of the work once Hunk opened the tent bag.

“Let’s go,” Lance suggested, nodding for Keith and Kinkade to follow. He  grasped his backpack in one hand and his tent in the other, shuffling over to where Nadia and Pidge were pitching their tents. He tossed down the bags and followed suit, laying the fabric of the tent on the ground and pulling the stakes from the bag.

Time ceased to exist as you gazed into the eyes of the brunet you so desperately had a crush on. They seemed to sparkle every time he laughed, and the soothing tone of his voice made your knees wobble like they were made of Jell-O.

“Hey, Shirogane!” shouted Nadia’s impatient voice.

You cut yourself off mid-reply to something James had said to turn and glare at your friend. Everyone in the group knew you despised being called by your last name. You were your own person, thank you very much – not just the younger sister of Garrison High’s legendary athlete.

“Yes, Razavi?” you spat back.

She only grinned. “The tents are all set up, and I don’t know if you lovebirds noticed, but it’s getting dark.”

Pidge cackled somewhere behind her, and heat splattered across your cheeks. You turned your gaze to the sky to find that it was indeed a much deeper shade of blue than it had been when you’d arrived, and ribbons of pink and orange were beginning to swirl around as the sun settled down for the evening.

“I guess we should get to the camp, get dinner going,” James commented awkwardly, a hand rubbing at the back of his neck.

You nodded. “Yeah, let’s go.”

You pointedly ignored Nadia as you retrieved a blanket from your duffle. Wrapping it around your shoulders, you returned to the fire pit, where James and Kinkade were laying logs and twigs and attempting to ignite them.

Kinkade’s lighter conveniently ran out of fluid, and before he could curse under his breath, Keith scoffed. Rolling his eyes, the raven-haired boy extended a gloved hand, offering his own lighter to the cause.

Kinkade accepted it sheepishly, lighting a crumpled up ball of newspaper in order to set the fire pit ablaze. You sat down on the ground, watching the growing embers, only half aware of a presence beside you. Turning your head, you found Hunk sitting there, with Pidge on his other side.

“Hey,” you greeted.

“Hey, (y/n),” Hunk smiled.

“You in charge of food again?” you grinned. The large brunet had been dubbed the camp cook for the last couple of years.

He laughed, but before he could reply, Pidge cut in.

“You need to tell James how you feel.”

For the second time that day, you sputtered, and your face heated up in a way that was definitely not caused by the fire.

“Excuse me?” You nervously glanced around, ensuring that no one else had heard her.

“Tell James that you like him,” Pidge repeated in a no-nonsense tone, a sharpened stick in one hand while the other held a marshmallow preparing to be impaled.

“I don’t know what you-“

“Everyone can see it, Shirogane,” Nadia added, dropping down on the other side of Pidge. “Everyone but James. And we can all tell that he’s super into you.”

You chewed your lip, shyly gazing up at the brunet who was skewering hot dogs with sticks and passing them around. You exhaled a soft sigh, dropping your glance back down to your lap.

“Are you sure he’s interested?”

Your voice was so soft that your three accomplices almost didn’t hear it.

“Absolutely,” Nadia replied, at the same time that Hunk chirped, “Totally!” and Pidge grunted, “Duh.”

Before you could fathom how to confess, James dropped down beside you. He offered you a smile and a speared hot dog before holding his own over the open flame.

“Mind if I intrude?” he grinned.

“You’re not intruding,” you murmured, accepting the stick and holding it parallel to his. When you turned your head to try and distract yourself from how close the brunet was and how good he smelled, you found that your friends had abandoned you, finding new seats on the other side of the fire pit. There was a good three feet of space on your side as well as James’, leaving you rather secluded.

Nadia, Hunk, and Pidge sent you encouraging grins and obnoxious hand gestures, to which you responded with the deepest glare you could muster.

The night continued rather smoothly, everyone eating and sharing stories and discussing their plans for the upcoming year. A cold wind settled in, causing you to wrap your blanket tighter around your torso. The soft fabric did little to protect you from the chill, and you shivered visibly as you gazed into the slowly dying fire.

“Cold?” James questioned softly.

“I-I’m f-fine,” you stuttered, teeth beginning to chatter.

The brunet chuckled. “Sure you are, (y/n).”

He opened an arm, fist closed around the corner of his own blanket. He wrapped it around you, tugging you into his warm torso and soothing your shivers. You sighed in contentment, relaxing in his hold. A glance around the fire told you that everyone had already gone to bed – the tents were dark, and the spaces on the ground where your friends had previously been sitting were now empty.

“We’ve been abandoned,” you murmured softly, tilting your head to look up at James.

“So we have,” he smiled. “I was kinda hoping we would be.”

A soft smirk played on your lips. “And why would you hope for that?”

He ducked his head, leaning in until his nose brushed softly against yours. “Do you want me to tell you, or can I show you?”

Your breath hitched in your throat as his breath ghosted over your lips. “Show me,” you decided breathlessly.

He closed the gap, gingerly pressing his lips to yours. The arm around your shoulders tightened, and his other hand softly caressed your cheek. You melted into the kiss, heart pounding inhumanly fast in your chest – you briefly wondered if he could hear it. Every nerve in your body tingled, warmed by his presence and his touch.

He broke the kiss with a soft inhale, smiling softly at you. You gazed up at him, eyed half-lidded as you struggled to grasp that the moment was actually happening, not just another daydream.

“What does this make us?” he inquired softly, the hand on your cheek lifting to slide through your hair.

“We can figure that out tomorrow,” you grinned.

He chuckled, nudging your nose with his before kissing you again. You responded eagerly, lifting a hand to hold the side of his neck. He hummed against your lips, tilting his head to deepen the kiss. You soon lost track of time, much more interested in chasing James’ lips in the moonlight.

When you finally decided to head to bed, you reluctantly parted ways... Until James unzipped his tent to find it empty, and discovered that Kinkade had squeezed in with Lance and Keith, the two dark-haired teens in a constant battle over the Cuban. That left an empty space for you, and you giggled softly when James offered it.

Eternal teasing followed the morning after when you emerged from James’ tent instead of your own, but you ceased caring as the brunet wrapped his arms around your waist and everything settled down.

[somethingjustsouthofbrilliance]

I Got You (Tony/Rhodey secret service AU) Chapter 7

Thank you all so much for all the encouragements on this story! Thanks to you I finally got over my writer’s block with it  :)

Links to chapter 1, chapter 6

Tagging  @jamesrhodey  @supernaturalyloki @chanderefk @aimeeroot21 @markedplaces @mostly-marvel-stuffs @matre-dee @le-ephemere @lo-anlurui @savedbyholmes @kimmycup @typicalcampbell @natty-ts70 @damnhiatus @pubzie @giulisetta @goose-danvers @donttellanyoneitsmebabe @bookwermthings @tonystark5ever

Chapter 7

 “Easy, hey… hey, take it easy,” he calls out, hands raised in surrender as he warily eyes the barrels of two pump-action shotguns pointed with deadly precision at his chest.  

 This wasn’t quite the welcome he was expecting, but then again he can’t really say he had time to think about what it was he was hoping to find at the end of the gravel driveway he somehow managed to swerve onto without hitting any of the trees that framed it. Between the adrenaline-fogged turmoil of their flight, Stark’s shocking confession and the man’s abrupt loss of consciousness that had James lunging for the steering wheel to avoid ramming the car into the nearest tree, he didn’t have time to think about anything. So maybe finding himself facing two gun-wielding teenagers (and, yes, they are just kids, goddamit, and what the hell kind of place is this anyway?) shouldn’t have come as such great of a shock.

 “You’re trespassing.” One of the kids raises his weapon higher, finger tightening on the trigger, and James has to fight the urge to duck, because he’s really not looking forward to getting shot at again.  He’s had enough of that for one day, thank you very much.

 “Look, I don’t want any trouble,” he begins, placating.  “I just…”

 “You just what?”

 A woman steps out of a large stucco farmhouse that stands at the edge of the driveway.  Tall and blue-eyed with a long beautiful mane of strawberry blond hair pulled into a messy bun above her head, she somehow manages to look intimidatingly regal in a plain white button down tucked carelessly into a pair of threadbare jeans.

 “The only people who come here are either running from trouble or looking for it,” she muses, taking a few slow, measured steps toward him, and even though she carries no weapon that James can see, there’s something about her that makes her look even more dangerous than the two gun-wielding teens.  “So which of that applies to you?”

 “I…”  He looks back over his shoulder at their car, parked crookedly in the middle of the driveway (he did the best he could under the circumstances, forced to maneuver his way around Stark’s dead weight to get to the pedals and the wheel).  Looks at Stark’s unconscious form, barely visible from where it’s slumped sideways between the steering wheel and the door.  “I was told to come here,” he says, turning back to his “welcoming committee”.  Thinks back to the name Stark mentioned before passing out and scaring the fuck out of him.  “I’m looking for someone named… Pepper?”  

 He feels ridiculous saying it.  Pepper doesn’t even sound like a name.  Not a person’s name anyhow.  And maybe that wasn’t even what Stark was saying at all – the man was barely putting words together.  What if James misheard? What if it wasn’t “Pepper” at all?  But he can’t very well ask Stark for clarification now, and it’s not like he’s got much of a choice, does he.

 The woman, however, stiffens visibly at the odd moniker, blue eyes narrowing in open suspicion. “Where did you hear that name?”

 He swallows nervously as the older of the two teens shifts threateningly toward him.  Stumbles back a step, feeling the back of his knee hit the bumper of the car.

 “Please,” he tries again, daring to wave his hand in the direction of the driver’s seat.  “My friend’s been shot, he needs help.”

 The teen glances back at the woman as if asking permission, walks carefully around James to the driver’s seat, his weapon still at the ready as he peers inside through the shot-out driver’s window.  In the next instant his dark eyes widen in alarm, mouth falling open with a shocked gasp.

 “Miss Potts!” the kid yells over his shoulder even as he’s wrenching the door open, the shotgun tossed aside without a second thought. “Come here, quick! It’s Mr. Stark!”  

 ***

The next few minutes fly by in a frantic bustle of activity, where James stands to the side, forgotten, as he watches the two teens pull Stark out of the car with almost reverent care, settling him briefly down on the older one’s lap.  The woman, Potts, crouches down next to him, her face scrunched up in worry as she presses trembling fingers to the pulse point on Stark’s neck.  

 James doesn’t begrudge her that worry.  Because Stark looks bad – a few heartbeats away from a corpse kind of bad.  The man’s skin is ashen, his face slack, the left side of his shirt is soaked with blood.  Not for the first time James berates himself for not noticing that something was amiss sooner.  Perhaps he could have done something.  Could have insisted they stop the car.  Could have applied pressure to the wound, wrapped it up, slowed the bleeding down. Could have prevented this from getting so far out of hand.

 Potts stands up abruptly, motioning for the boys to pick Stark up.  “Put him in my room,” she instructs, voice tense – a far cry from her cool, composed timbre from before.  “I’ll need boiled water, towels and my medical kit.  Get everything ready.  And then the two of you go take care of the car – I don’t want either of you witnessing this, you understand?”  

 The older teen opens his mouth as if to argue, then relents with a nod and the two of them take off toward the house, Stark’s limp body cradled carefully between them.

 Potts closes her eyes for a moment, takes a breath, her shoulders trembling slightly before she visibly pulls herself together.  Casts a brief assessing look back at James.  “Come along,” she tells him in a tone that makes it sound more like an order than a suggestion.  “You can help.”

 ***

 In the end James doesn’t end up doing much past crouching by Stark’s head, hands resting lightly on the man’s biceps to help keep him still should he awaken while Potts works on cleaning and wrapping the wound with the help of another woman, who seems familiar somehow, though James, for the life of him, can’t figure out why.

 Potts cleans out the wound with copious amounts of boiled water, her hands sure now, in control, exhibiting none of the earlier quiver.  But James is all too aware of how skin-deep that control is.  Can see it in the almost frantic urgency of her movements, in the lines of tension around her eyes, in the pallor of her cheeks that almost rivals Stark’s…

 Stark’s body jolts violently when she pours some rubbing alcohol onto the wound, and she jerks her hand away with a startled gasp, cuts a worried glance at Stark’s face.  

 “Tony?” she calls out, and there it is – that same naked vulnerability in her expression, the undisguised fear in the wide blue-eyed gaze that James had observed outside earlier. “Tony?”

 She reaches for him, hesitant, trembling fingertips skittering over the ashen skin.  Stark’s eyelashes flutter briefly in response, his forehead scrunching up.  But he doesn’t wake fully, and James can feel the pain-strained muscles under his palms relax as the man slips back under mere moments later.

 “He’s alright,” James gives Potts, what he hopes is, a reassuring nod, loosening his grip on Stark’s arms. “He’s still out of it.  Just… just keep going.”

 She doesn’t acknowledge him, but her jaw clenches sharply, lips pressing together in a grim, worried line. Tears her gaze away from Stark’s face, reaches for the dressing that the other woman holds out for her.

 “May,” she calls out as she finishes applying the dressing and moves to cover Stark with a blanket that lies folded at the foot of the bed, “could you go check on the boys, please?” There’s something in her voice, a kind of dark tension that puts James on edge once again.

 The other woman frowns at that, casts a wary glance at James.  “Are you sure it’s a good idea, Pep?” she hedges, concern written into every line of her expressive face.  “I–”

 “We’ll be fine,” Potts insists, her voice soft but with an undercurrent of cold, unyielding steel.  She gives James a smile that’s all teeth and sharp edges.  “I’ll be out in a bit.”

 The other woman purses her lips unhappily – an expression eerily similar to what James saw on the face of the older teen not too long ago.  Acquiesces with a soft sigh of defeat.  “Call me if you need me,” she says and walks out, throwing James one last almost apologetic look.

 It’s only when the door clicks shut behind her that James’s brain finally catches up to him long enough for him to remember a pretty brown-eyed woman that used to sit behind Justin Hammer during meetings, writing things down on a thick notepad. Parker, May Parker. The senator’s goddamn secretary. The one James strongly suspects was the reason behind Stark’s abrupt firing 10 years ago.  The one who disappeared without a trace.    

 And he really has to wonder about the coincidental strangeness of it all, has questions he wants to ask.  But Potts (Pepper, James knows that, too, now) is looking at him with murder in her eyes, and all those questions are momentarily forgotten as James wonders if the woman might possibly turn out to be more dangerous for his health than the hired killers.

[shawnstilinski]

Fall For You - (S.M)

MASTERLIST

WATTPAD

Word count: 1,544 (incl. lyrics)

Author: Cam

Inspired by this request: I don’t know if you’re still doing this but can you make one where this girl is singing in an empty auditorium because that’s her escape(like the one from Glee) and she is playing the piano and singing a sad song and Shawn is in one of the seats all the way in the back watching her and admiring her? Please thank you

A/N: College!Shawn, my boo (vaguely, but it’s a start)! Thank you for your request, I’m sorry I’ve been so inactive, but I appreciate the inspiration that came from this request! I’ve added a bit more of a backstory to the two. I hope you’ll enjoy!❤️

The song mentioned is Fall For You by Leela James, and I highly recommend listening to it whilst reading.

(Credit)

She delicately placed her index finger on the key and pressed it, causing the note to fill the empty auditorium. She hummed a soft melody that sounded like something out of a fairy tale movie. Her eyes were closed shut, but her mind was fully awake, as she readied a breath, to introduce the first bit of lyrics.

Here we are, together

And everything between us is good

I’m right here in this cloud, baby

Ready to fly but before I take

Another step

Her voice echoed off the wall as she hit each note as if it hung in the air in front of her and all she needed to do was reach out and grasp it. With each word that passed her drying lips, her body followed suit to the lyrics, swaying and moving to the melody. Her right hand still rested on the piano, but as of that moment, the song was in her head and her body – her soul, and she let it unfold like a blooming flower.

Would you catch me if I fall for you?

‘Cause I’m falling

I’m falling, I’m falling

He knew that he wasn’t privy to the secrets she was speaking to the empty seats in the rows between them, but he couldn’t bring himself to leave. So, he sat silently with his books and papers and amazement scattered across the floor and seats surrounding him.

He proudly considered his friend, seated on the little black stool, singing with a desperation and soulfulness that made him feel like they were the only two people on the planet – and he had to admit that he quite liked the feeling that flooded his body, leaving a trail of goose bumps in its wake.

She opened her eyes and pressed down on a key, breathing new life into the song. She left her left hand to remain resting on her jean-covered lab, and as she raised her shoulders tenderly, her hoodie bunched up her hair around her concentrated face for a brief moment before she let her body ease again.

I’m so used to standing

So used to being on my own

But this thing is new, baby

It feels like I’m losing control

I’ll take another step

He was absolutely consumed, and in spite of his mind telling him, ‘leave, Shawn,’ his lanky body stayed in the seat, mesmerised. He had spent the last few weeks in her regular company, and yet he’d never heard the faintest hint of singing escape from her mouth. Now, here he was, getting more than any music he had ever presented at that very stage if he should say so himself. He was getting what he considered music to be all about; honesty. Blank and bared accompanied only by the sound of a piano.

Just an hour ago he had sat across from her with a cup of coffee as she had rubbed the sleep from her eyes and told him firmly to not let her drink, ever again. After laughing kindly at her, he had told her that he had some studying to do, but when he asked her to join him, she had declined and told him quietly that she was going to take a walk and think a little. He had immediately teased her and suggested that she was surely just hung over, at which he had gained a punch in the arm (and a wince when her headache promptly returned, so he’d considered that battle won).

If you catch me when I fall for you

'Cause I’m falling

I’m falling, I’m falling

Will you promise to be there?

Stay by my side always?

Whenever I need you

Don’t let me down, no, no

She smiled as the lyrics surfaced from her heart and Shawn could feel the huff of a joyous laugh at the tip of his tongue, but he shut himself up to stay hidden from her. Her singing breathed a life and feeling into the song that he didn’t think was possible. He did consider himself talented, but she was something else. She never fell short of reminding him of his talent, though, and had complimented him many times on his singing, the most recent time being last night, when he had picked her up from the party that she’d gone to.

That had been their deal since she picked Shawn up from a party a few days after they had started talking. They had gone to the same university and had shared a few classes since they had started there three semesters ago, but had never taken each other into much consideration until they had to do a project together two-months-time ago. He had called her in an attempt to reach someone else, but by her account, “I’m already awake and on my way to get McDonald’s, so I might as well come and get you. Yes, I was gonna get McDs in the middle of the night. On my own. Shut up. No. Stop laughing. Okay, you can walk home, ass hat. Idiot.”

She had picked him up, of course, and he’d stopped mocking her when she had gotten him an order of cheeseburger and fries too. He had been quite drunk, and with a soft tune playing on the radio, she had noted that the music-major had an angelic voice, as he had slowly lulled himself into a near-sleep. She knew he wasn’t fully asleep, when she had admired him at a red light, and he, with a cocky smile, had told her to keep her eyes on the road. She had chosen to roll them instead, and had told him, “I’m just wondering how it’s possible to get a guy of your size thisdrunk.”  He’d huffed out a laugh, and sighed something that sounded like “tequila.” Understandable, she had thought.

She had called him the following weekend at crap-o’clock and insisted that he owed her one, so on their way home, they decided to make it a thing to pick each other up after parties, if they weren’t both attending. Shawn had pointed out that they’d hardly ever go to the same parties. She had made an annoyed breathy sound and told him to join her at the next party she was invited to. He barely agreed, but she had said that that could be another ‘thing’ of theirs, and so he had given in (and whether he’d admit it or not, he had fun at the party).

When they rounded McDonald’s, they had decided that that should go on the ‘thing’ list as well.

They had been tossing jokes between them on the way home, and even though the laughter died out, the smiles on their faces became a semi-permanent instalment, when she had in a drunken daze wondered aloud about why she hadn’t spoken to him much earlier. If you were to ask Shawn, he would tell you with a strained nonchalance that the following sentence contained words such as ‘sweet, caring and hilarious as all hell. Totally Boyfriend Goals, as the kids would say.” If you were to ask her, she would most likely tell you that she doesn’t remember anything.

However, when she woke up to a glass of water and a couple of aspirins on her nightstand, she too had to start practising her nonchalant attitude.

If I give you my all, don’t let me fall

Would you do that for me, hold me?

Will you love, will you love me?

Her voice and heart decorated the heavy air in the dark hall like Christmas lights on a late December night, similar to the ones that had been adorning the campus for the past few weeks. The woman contained an unbelievable amount of emotions and never before had he heard nor seen them articulated as well as right in that moment.  

Last night, on the way home, she had found herself staring at him as the street lights flickered on his skin. He sang along to a slow song and looked like he had been plucked right out of a RomCom and had been placed in the driver seat of the car that she just so happened to also be in. He had been clad in a pair of sweats and a knitted jumper, and he was visibly tired, as he rubbed his eye and dragged a hand through the messy hair on top of his head.

She had found herself suddenly crying when she had realised that he had come to pick her up rather than sleep. He had naturally called her an idiot and a sap, but he didn’t hesitate to lay a hand on her leg and tell her, that he’d choose her rather than sleep any time. When her face had broken once more, he asked her why she always cries when she’s drunk, which made her cry even more and he’d only laughed as he caressed her leg. If she hadn’t been crying, he might not have missed the tinted red colour that rose on her cheeks at the action, but she cried and he laughed; and she was really drunk, which may have been why her blurry eyes didn’t catch the crimson that blossomed gingerly from his chest either.

My heart is ready

For love and to be loved

And I chose you, baby

That’s the one thing I’m sure of

So I will take this one last step

So catch me, I’m falling for you

I’m falling

I’m falling, I’m falling

I’m falling

I’m falling, I’m falling

I’m falling

I’m falling, I’m falling

I’m falling

I’m falling, I’m falling

A/N: Thank you so much for reading! If you have any thoughts or feedback about this piece, please send me a message. I’m very unsure about the tense (regarding the grammar) so if you noticed anything that was off, please help a girl out!! Thank you again, and have a great day 💕