#i rushed this at 2 AM and it’s so bad why are y’all reblogging?!?!

[a-edgar-allan-hoe]

Wild Horses

Part 3

Simon “Ghost” Riley x Doctor!Reader, other characters x reader

Part 1 , Part 2 , Part 4

A/N: Part 3 is finally here y’all! Sorry it took such a while to finally upload, I have been extremely burnt out and needed some time to recharge after completing my semester. Therefore I have made this chapter extra long! Also sorry if it in any way feels rushed, I tried to get this posted as soon as possible since it has long been due. Let me know if you would like some more dynamics between the reader and the other characters. As always, comments and reblogs are much appreciated, I love hearing y'alls thoughts and things that you enjoyed! (Also this chapter contains a surprise guest!) 💜💜💜

Summary: Imagine being the new physician assigned to the team and a certain masked individual takes a new keen concealed interest in you. The two of you are too awkward to function.

Warnings and notes: language, violence, blood and gore, fluff, angst, slow-burn, slight implication of past abuse.

(Quick Disclaimer: I am not a doctor nor have any professional knowledge or experience involving surgical procedures. I am just a student studying in the medical field who has just started taking courses that are more degree-related. So I apologize if some of the stuff may be inaccurate.)

🍂That night, the same night Ghost saw you on that roof, your face illuminated by the stars and the moon that seemed to pale in comparison to you, he had returned to his own quarters as stealthily as he had came. His presence had always gone unnoticed both to you and the others at this time of night, a time of night when even the nightingales had laid down to rest, exhausted from their song. When he settled himself in bed that night, his torso covered by his blanket and his arm propped up on the pillow to rest under his head, he could not sleep, staring at the ceiling just as he did the night before. His body begged for a moment’s rest, anything to let his consciousness slip away in order to escape the reality of this world in which only sleep could provide. But in spite of the efforts of his nervous system, his mind contested for a few more minutes of wakefulness, moments that would only turn into hours.

🍂There was always this unspoken battle within Simon Riley, a battle of peace and conflict, a constant struggle between giving in to the comforts of life and leaving everything behind, or preoccupying himself with his current line of work that seemed to be the only thing that kept his thoughts at bay. But starting a new life? That was something that was not cut out for him. His past was and will always be his present and his future. Society had no place for people like Simon Riley, and he it. I’m telling you, this man needs therapy, bad. And one hell of a vacation.

Never in a day of his miserable life did he know you would be thrown into the mix. You, a woman of better upbringing, a woman so delicate and blinded with hope, a woman who shared the warmth of her spirit with all whom she knew. And yet, here she was, wasting her time away in a place with the likes of them, where war consumed every living soul that ever crossed its path. God were you naïve, and completely fucking daft, he had thought to himself many times, a doctor like you leaving the hospital in the city for a place like this. Jesus. Either you were a complete fool or the military offered you a shit ton of money. Or perhaps it was your youth. After all, you were younger than the rest of them. He believed a woman of your degree should not be here amongst men like them. You were soft, tried too hard to see the good in people, and one day, one day, that might be your downfall.

Sometimes he’d find himself hoping you would transfer somewhere else. And the more he thought on the subject, the more he came to despise you being here, part of the reason why he avoided you in the first place. And yet, as the days went by, the man had developed a bit of a soft spot for you as they might say. But don’t tell him that or else he might just loose another one of his knives. Truth of the matter was, he had seen what war had done, even to the best of people. And with no disrespect, a young woman like you would get eaten up alive in a place like this.

And as much as he hated to admit it, he did not want to see you wound up in this chaos. So what would he do? He'd often times monitor your activity, and by that I mean he would on some occasions check up on you, in his own avoidant way of course, whether it be making sure you woke up by standing around the corner to see you trudge along to the coffee maker in your white coat, or catching you finish your shift when you left your office in the evening. By this time, you'd be surprised to know that he has grown familiar with part of your schedule, from when you leave your room and make yourself a cup of coffee in the morning before heading into your office, to what time you have your little lunch, down to the hour of the evening when you leave your office after your shift has ended. He calls it "running a constructive operation", but you and I both know what it is. Despite his cold, masked exterior, he's not completely heartless and does want to make sure you're safe, as with the rest of his teammates.

At the same time, your safety also depends on your environment, and there is only so much a few men can do. Perhaps it would be best if you were somehow convinced to go back to the states and leave, lest this place will end up devouring every last bit of vibrancy that radiated in you. And if that meant being callous towards you and making your time here a living hell, as if you did not belong, so be it. I know it sounds like he absolutely loathes you but I promise it only seems that way.

The man obviously has trouble sleeping, which was nothing new to him, a good nights rest was something of a rarity in his case. But now it was you he found inhabiting the walls of his mind, and frankly, he found it to be quite a nuisance. And as if to make matters worse, tonight it was your voice that haunted his thoughts, that siren-like voice that rung out softly underneath the pale moonlight as if he were a sailor awaiting to plummet to his death down into the abyss of the deep indigo waters below.

He needed sleep, desperately, and if he did not get it soon he might just go insane. That’s to say he isn’t already. And despite finding you to be the cause of the whole ordeal behind it, behind him not being able to shut his eyes and fall into a short-lived coma, you were still the only doctor here and just how was he supposed to go about that. Usually people go to doctors if they have trouble sleeping, but how the fuck was he supposed to go to you. He couldn’t just walk in your office and ask if you had anything strong enough to knock him out. Sure there was always alcohol but that meant dealing with a hangover and you most likely sending him a pamphlet about the dangers of alcoholism without even knowing like some kind of psychic. On the other hand, knowing how you were, if he were to mention his symptoms you would just ask him a bunch of questions. And then what was he supposed to say? That he couldn’t sleep because you tormented and occupied his thoughts??? Never. He decides it’s better to just deal with it.

And boy oh boy your singing did not help. You reminded him of the nightingales that used to nest in the tree outside his bedroom window in his childhood home. You and your guitar, singing your song out into the night for someone out there, whomever and wherever they were. The song and your voice an empty promise, a false hope for the things that never were and never might come. And yet, despite his slight demurral towards you, in the days to come, he came to find comfort in your voice, his feet finding their way to the rooftop to see if you would be there.

On the nights that you were there, he would sit against the wall away from your line of sight, hidden in the shadows and listening to your voice, the only thing that kept him sane and dare say, even bring him an ounce of peace. He would say it was to make sure you don’t pull anything stupid or draw unnecessary attention towards yourself. But truth was, though he could not see it within himself, maybe he was watching over you, making sure no harm came your way. Little would he know, that your voice and the serenity of your aura would soon come to remind him of home, of the days where it was just him and his mother and the nightingales perched on the tree outside his bedroom window, the sound of your voice lulling him to a much needed sleep that his body craved.

Now back to the current.

That next morning you had woken up from the sun shining down on your face, its rays hot against your cheeks as you squinted against the bright light, pulling your blanket over your head with a groan before bolting upright, eyes widened with alarm. Oh shit, what time was it? You look at the watch on your wrist, eyes widening even more to see that it was NOON????? It's fucking noon?

"Fucking shit." You let out a string of curses between your teeth, grabbing your things off the floor only to get up with a gasped groan from the sharp needle-like sensations that shot up your spine, your back hunched over like a shrimp with kyphosis. You wince, hissing as you attempt to straighten yourself out, letting out a couple ows from the cracking sound that came out from between your vertebrae. Boy were you an idiot. Never sleep on cement, now your hips and back feel like they were broken in by the Hulk and you're willing to bet there would be bruises.

You could have sworn you looked like one of those grandmas depicted in the cartoons, wincing almost each time you took a step. A frown pulled on your lips as you headed towards the door that led back to the building, opening it up and nearly whining at the sight of the stairs spanning out below you. "Fuck my life."

You make sure to take your time going down, not wanting to tumble down the steps and risk a broken limb or concussion only to have one of the men patch you up and risk getting an infection. It's not that you don't trust their handiwork......but you don’t. And the thought of having your prefrontal cortex accidentally removed shakes you to your core. Don't tell them that though, you'd probably hurt their feelings.

"Y/n." You hear someone calling your name in the distance, turning your head to see Price heading in your direction.

God damn it, out of all the people to see you in this state. Don't tell anyone but Price is your workplace crush. I mean if we're being honest the whole team is fine as hell. But you loved his snarky sense of humor, his kind eyes and smile, and the way his eyes seemed to disappear into these curved crescent-shaped lines whenever he smiled or laughed. And now as he stood in front of you, his bulky frame towering over yours. You're praying there aren’t any spots of snot on your face from the way you bawled your eyes out last night.

"Oh fuck me." You inaudibly curse under your breath, knowing damn well that to hope he doesn't notice how you literally look a sleep-deprived Quasimodo would be damn near impossible.

"Where've you been? I was beginning to get worried." Price asks, looking over your hunched state that oddly paired with your puffy eyes and face. "Jesus Mary Joseph. Are you alright?"

"Yup, it's just allergies." You nod your head with a strained smile. "Perfectly peachy."

"Do you need any help?"

"Nope! I'm fine." You hurry past him. "I'm going to take a shower so whoever is in there right now tell them to hurry up."

Price watches you go with furrowed brows, wondering whatever the hell happened to you before shaking his head with a shrug and heading towards the showers to make sure it was empty for you. During your time there, the team had sorted out to give you a designated time slot for when you preferred to bathe, wanting to ensure that you received your privacy because of there only being shared showers, something which was common with being in the military. They had even given your own designated shower head. But even then, you always went in and came out fully dressed with both your towels and your clothes, terrified with the idea of the men seeing you in nothing but a towel once you stepped out. Luckily for you, no one was in there when you had arrived. When you hurried in there with your fresh pair of clothes and towels bundled in your arms, that had to be the quickest shower you had ever taken, other than the times you almost slept through your alarms and missed your exams back in med school.

So by the time you step out of your room with your white coat, empty coffee mug in hand and your hair barely brushed through looking like Dr. Emmet Brown, you don't even bother to put on any makeup or concealer to hide the fact that you had been crying last night, you already had a late start to the day as it was.

Going over to the kitchen, you groggily place your mug on the counter, staring at the pasty tiles for a good minute to gather your thoughts and remember just what it was your were doing in the first place before turning on the coffee maker only to see that it isn't working. "You have got to be kidding me." Honest to god if I don't have coffee in the morning I will commit a felony.

"There's no use meddling with that." Price comes up beside you, watching the way you moved the small machine around and smacked the sides with your palms. "I'm afraid it's broken."

"Broken?" You turn to the older gentleman, trying your best to mask your annoyance at yet another misfortune to add to your list of shit that happened today so you don't get written up for having an attitude or whatever it is they do here for uncompliant personnel. "What do you mean it's broken?" What you mean to say is, how the hell are you going to get through the day without your daily dose of caffeine? You were not in the mood for a caffeine withdrawal, not now.

"You'll have to blame MacTavish for that." Damn this man just threw him under the bus no hesitation.

"Soap? How?”

"Bloke put the coffee grounds where the water is supposed to go."

"He put the.......what?" You squint with a scrunch of your nose, trying to picture the young Scotsman mixing up the steps for the coffee grounds and water before pinching the bridge of your nose with a shake of your head. It's too damn early for this. Bitch it's literally the afternoon.

“You look like shite.” Price teases you of your completely disheveled appearance. Honestly he thinks you look pretty cute in a I just had 15 shots of espresso and forgone a whole week’s worth of sleep kind of way. Price is the type of man to see you at your worst looking like a corpse from the grave and dig it, with some concern for your overall health and well-being of course.

“Gee thanks.”

“You sure you’re all right?”

“Happier than a kid at Disneyland.” You roll your eyes before slipping out a small groan, burying your head in your arms upon the counter and muttering something along the lines of how you’re going to euthanize yourself.

“Oi. There’ll be none of that, you hear?”

“Wait and see.” You mumble to yourself but Price hears it anyway.

“Cheer up. I got you something.” You hear Price say to you before hearing something being placed on the counter.

"Is it benzoylmethylecgonine?" You mumble out.

"What?"

"Benzoylmethylecgonine." Your voice is louder this time but still muffled from your arms.

"The fuck is that?"

".................cocaine."

"Jesus Mary Joseph." Price rolls his eyes. “You’re a character, you. Why don’t you give it a look eh?”

You slightly lift your head from your arms, peering over to see a cup next to you.

"For ya." Price smiles as he pushes the cup towards you, watching you stare at the thing with skepticism.

"Well. Go on."

"Is that-?"

"Coffee.”

"Yeah I know that but-“ you lift yourself up to stare at the thing with a tilt of your head. “where the hell did you get it?”

"From a small coffee shop down a couple blocks."

Right. "What kind is it?”

"Iced caramel macchiato. Heard you mentioning it the other day."

"Oh. You did?” You blink. "You didn't have to do all that."

"Eh it's nothin, my treat. The men and I needed our caffeine too, and well, since Soap broke the machine, we needed to get it one way or another.” All but Simon of course. Dude hates coffee.

“What, did you tell him he's buying?"

“No.” Price leans back against the counter, crossing his arms over his chest as he stares off into the distance in thought. “Now that I think about it I should’ve, aye?”

"Poor Soap." You shake your head with a chuckle, grabbing the cup to take a sip. “Oh......oh that hit the spot.”

Okay remember when the boys were competing with giving you little gifts and I said that Price showed his appreciation for you in other ways? This is what I mean. He makes sure you’re taken care of and that your little needs and requests are met. Though rare as composed to Soap's little visits, he likes to stop in your office at times, peeking his head through your cracked door and asking if there is anything you need. This man’s love language is acts of service, I’m sure of it.

“Proper innit.” Price chuckles at your blissed expression.

“Hm. Chef’s kiss.” You take another sip of your coffee as you lean back against the counter, savoring in the cold, smokey, buttery liquid as it went down your throat.

“The hell is on your feet.” Price nods towards your shoes.

“They’re my crocs.” You give a hurt look, the ends of your lips pulled into a frown.

“They’re downright hideous.”

“They’re comfortable!!!” You defend. “I even put little buttons on it.” You lift one of your feet up to show him.

“Doesn’t make it any less hideous.”

"You should try looking in a mirror first before you come talking to me about what's hideous and what's not." You snark, a teasing tone in your voice that catches the older man off guard.

Price is stunned, mouth slightly agape as he is surprised to see such a statement come from a person as demure as you, and dare say even aroused, at being affronted by someone smaller than him. "You cheeky girl." Price shifts his weight, pressing his tongue against his molars before tightening his jaw. "You've got a sharp tongue on you."

"Don't insult my crocs." You lift your chin with a raised brow, a smug expression on your face as you lift your coffee cup to your lips.

As Price and you talked, Ghost had appeared in the far corner, his eyes lowered to the ground and not a single thought behind them before hearing the sound of Price's voice. Stopping in his tracks, he peers around the corner, not wanting to look conspicuous but also curious to see who it was the captain was speaking to, looking over to see the two of you together engaged in a conversation looking a bit too comfy.

The soldier froze, tensing at the sound of you laughing and Price……flirting? Was the man flirting with you? Ghost watched the way Price leaned in ever so slightly in your direction, a slight yet noticeable shift in his demeanor as he told you a joke, the way your cheeks swelled as you snorted, your smile hidden behind the cup held in your hands in an attempt to hold back a laugh, and the way he reached a hand out to adjust the collar of your white coat. He is not jealous he is not jealous he his not jealous. Once again, HE IS NOT JEALOUS. Looking away from the scene, he turned back around and headed back to where he came. He had no reason to feel threatened by the situation, it’s not like he felt anything towards you or if you meant anything to him. And yet, why did it irk him to see you laughing with Price like that.

That was the first he had heard you laugh, though as light and brief as it was. He could tell it wasn’t your true full-hearted laugh, the ones that left you gasping for air as tears welled up at the corner of your eyes. He had seen those laughs many times at the pub from the groups of friends that gathered together after a long day of work or when they had just left from a futbol match, times when he craved a glass of whisky. The laugh you had let out right now wasn’t one of those full chested laughs, this one was different, more timid, like fresh rain in the middle of spring, where fog blanketed and seeped through the meadows and trees, where dewdrops patterned themselves like mosaics upon the blades of grass and the petals of roses. This laugh was light and airy, crisp to his ears, and it had sent a slight shiver down the stone-hearted soldier that he had never once felt before.

He convinces himself that what he saw between the two of you was none of his concern and that who you fancy is none of his business, and yet why did he find your little interaction with Price to bother him? Better yet, why does he find himself wishing he had made you laugh instead?

It should also be mentioned that Ghost did not fulfill the task he had promised himself when he said he would throw away the Dum Dum lollipops you had given him last night, thinking your little form of bribery to be quite inane. What did you take him for, a child? Regardless of the many times he stared at those two pieces of candy with your little note next to them, your graceful and sophisticated handwriting a strange polarity to the bright and colorful wrapped candy often meant for children, curiosity had gotten the best of him, as well as midnight cravings.

And alas, with numerous stealing glances toward the lollipops and his mouth watering for just a quick sample, the man had given in. And let’s just say, he’s addicted. I mean, I was not lying when I said this man has the sweet tooth of Augustus Gloop. Also, he may or may not have snuck into your office the next morning to steal a lollipop or two, or three, before rushing out the door. So you should probably hide the those things before you walk in on an empty tray one day.

"Also, I wanted to let you know that Alejandro, Ghost, and Soap and I will be heading out on a mission later today. Gaz will be staying behind just to make sure nothing happens here while we're away." Price informs you.

"What time will you be back?"

"Not till late. If everything runs smoothly, there's no need to wait up for us."

“Geez. Will it be dangerous?” Your brows furrow at the center. You knew what their job entailed, but that didn’t stop you from worrying.

“Well that’s part of our job now innit.” Price smirks.

"Just………make sure to come back in one piece alright. I'm not trying to perform any amputations today." You scrunch your nose in a teasing manner, though your words mean more than what your voice gives away.

"Don't you worry that pretty little head of yours. We'll be back like before aye.” Price gives you a comforting smile, bringing his hand up to brush his thumb and forefinger against the bottom of your chin before dropping it back down at his side. Though the action was small and brief, an informal unveiling of the captain’s fondness towards you, that didn’t stop your face from heating up faster than a hot pocket in the microwave. You were sure one would burn their hands if they grazed your cheek.

The others had soon cluttered into the area where you were, chatting amongst themselves before turning towards you and price, the sudden group of movement causing you to clear your throat and step just the slightest inch away.

"Hey doc." The men greeted you, their faces brightening upon seeing you before glancing down at your bright crocs.

"The fuck are those?"

"Oh my god. Don't tell me you guys have never seen crocs before." You exhale, your voice coming out in a scoff.

"Why are they called crocs?" Soap questions, brows furrowed with confusion. You and me both Soap, I don't have a clue either.

"Looks like something my abuela would wear." Alejandro comments, a mischievous glint in his eyes at teasing you.

“Que te folle un pez (get fucked by a fish).”

Alejandra is stunned from the words that just came out from your lips, cocking his head back and tilting it as he looked at you with surprised amusement. He never knew you spoke Spanish. Maybe it came with being a doctor and being around people all the time. On top of that, was this the first time he had heard you curse? Was that a stroke of confidence he heard from your mouth? Was he offended? Was he turned on? He couldn’t tell.

But as Alejandro still stood there, silent against your remark, the others begin to wonder just what it was that you said that had him like this.

“Uh what’d she say?” Soap leans over to whisper to Alejandro, his eyes darting between the two of you as did the other men.

“Ahora, ¿dónde aprendiste una cosa así, eh? (Now where did you learn such a thing, huh?)” Alejandro nods his head towards you, a smirk playing on his lips.

“Conoces gente de todo tipo cuando eres médico. Y además, el idioma era parte de mi plan de estudios de todos modos. (You meet all kinds of people when you're a doctor. And besides, language was part of my curriculum anyway.)” You shrug your shoulders, taking a sip of your coffee as your eyes meet Alejandro’s dark ones over the lid of your cup.

Alejandro chuckles, pointing at you with a smirk. “Bueno, será mejor que tengas cuidado cariño. Palabras como esa pueden meterte en problemas. (Well, you'd better be careful, sweetheart. Words like that can get you in trouble.)”

“No te preocupes por mí. Soy una niña grande Me licencié y todo. (Do not worry about me. I'm a big girl. I’ve got a degree and all.)”

“What are they saying?” Soap asks again, this time to Gaz.

“How would I know?” Gaz hisses, obviously annoyed with not knowing what the two of you were conversing about. Were the two of you planning a date? Were you plotting a scheme? Were you making fun of the rest of the team? The boys definitely didn't like being left out from a conversation, especially from you.

“I didn’t know you can speak Spanish.” Soap turns to you.

“Well it seems here that our little doctora is full of surprises.” Alejandro comments, making you roll your eyes with a shake of your head.

“Right.” Gaz squints at you in a jest, adding on to the men poking fun at you. “Now really doc, what the fuck is on your feet?”

"Oh screw y'all, they're comfy for my feet alright." You roll your eyes at the way they tease you about your choice of footwear, though in all honesty, you're not able to hide the smile that tugs at the ends of your lips, that is until a certain someone appears.

Ghost is the last one to show up, hoping to have avoided your presence. But when he sees you still there leaning against the counter, his eyes lock with yours before looking away as if you had never even existed in the first place.

You're almost sure he hates you, chewing on the inside of your cheek from the way he looked you over like a speck of dirt on his boot before completely ignoring your being. You have no clue why he is the way he is around you, wondering if he had seen the note you left on his door. He has to have seen it right? He’s got to. And then it hits you, at least you think. Maybe your little detail of adding the lollipops had offended him, and you’re almost terrified to think what he thought of them. On top of that, he still had never bothered to show up for his blood results. So he truly was avoiding you on purpose, wasn’t he. You wish you knew the reason behind his avoidant behavior. Did he find you disgusting? Was that a possible reason? Had you somehow at some point offended him? Were you going to end up on his hit list? Maybe. Were you going to die some mysterious death by his hands tonight? Sounds likely.

“Alright you lot. Let’s get moving.” Price gestures the men to follow him before turning back to you. “We won’t be long. Gaz, you know the rules.”

“Yessir.” Gaz nods his head before stepping over to you, looking down at you drinking your coffee with a soft smile on his face. “I’m sure this day will go by smoothly.”

“Oof. Don’t jinx it.”

You wish he had not said those last words.

You had spent most of the day relaxing as Price had suggested when the men left, their gear strapped to their forms and their guns locked and loaded. A strange scene I might add, if one were to walk into the area of the building and see a group of bulky hardened soldiers and then you, a young woman in a white coat and scrubs and her special decorated crocs along with her vintage Donald Duck watch. You almost looked out of place with the war-ridden atmosphere.

When you had stepped into your office the first time that day, you were surprised to see a slight change in your usual environment, the lack of an apple at your desk. This absence, though small and what one might call insignificant, had saddened you to a certain degree. Though at first you found the little act to be annoying, of finding the red fruit there every morning placed upon your desk, as time went by, you had grown accustomed to it a bit. So when you noticed the absence of the apple after expecting to see it just like the days before, it had lowered your spirits. Though you did not know the meaning or intention behind the gesture or the person directly involved behind it, it had come to bring you a sense of security, a slight token of someone’s watchful eye over you. Or at least that’s what you believed it to be. Little did you it was just a simple act involving the confusion of idioms.

But imagine your confusion when in place of the lack of an apple, you instead find your tray of lollipops looking a little less full than it was yesterday. Had someone broken into your office or were you just loosing your mind. And as you inspect the little tray, you're even more surprised to find a distinct black, powdery substance smeared against the side of it, right on the edge. Using your thumb, you wipe it off the side of the tray, raising your hand to further inspect the foreign substance to see that it looks a lot like eyeshadow.

"Huh. That's strange."

Ooooooo someone just got caught.

With the men gone, all except Gaz of course, you went about reading more chapters of your book, lounging about on the couch in the common area before your nerves got the better of you and you decided to do some cleaning around the area, to which Gaz had offered some help, with much eagerness in his end. Gaz of course had kept watch, letting you lead the conversations as the two of you made small talk every once in a while before going back to your little tasks, you with your paperwork and inventory of medical supplies and Gaz with his patrol.

During the moments where the two of you did talk, you began to unravel little details about each other, details mostly involving Gaz since you still preferred to keep your walls up. You called it being professional, but those who were close to you would call it a fear to let others in. Perhaps they were right. After your father’s death, you had rarely let anyone in, sometimes not even your own self. And Gaz, being the sweet soul that he was, never pressured you to reveal anything you did not want to. He wouldn’t ask about your personal life or your past unless you offered to.

The more the two of you talked, the more you learned little things about the soldier that you never knew, like his love of the ocean and how he had wanted to become a marine biologist when he was a little boy, as well as how his favorite sea creatures were, and still are, sea otters and sea turtles. He had even mentioned how his favorite movie was Nemo growing up, with Crush being his favorite character. In fact, the movie was what inspired him to study in that field in the first place. He was extremely almost embarrassed to release that bit of info to you, scared that you might pass it on to the team and that he’d never hear the end of it. When that little bit of information slipped from his tongue, he practically begged you not to tell the others. So imagine his relief when you stick your pinky out in an offer to make a pinky promise on it. You honestly find it kind of cute.

As time dragged on and when the day had become night, when the sun had long passed the horizon to lay to rest, you had grown quite weary waiting for the men to return, and oh was there a sight waiting for them to behold once they did. Your little act of cleaning around the house had drained a good amount of your energy, eventually causing you to crash out on the couch with your head resting against Gaz’s shoulder. Your legs were curled up on the cushion of the sofa, your book placed open on your lap after Gaz had asked if you could read to him, curious about the story within the binding. But the late hour combined with the cleaning around had pulled a yawn from your chest as you read the pages out loud, your voice low and muzzy and your words drawling out as your eyes scanned the printed letters before another yawn escaped your lips, and another, then another, before everything became blurry and you slowly drifted off to a deep sleep.

Even Gaz, who was supposed to stay watch, had fallen asleep beside you, his head thrown back on the back of the couch and his mouth slightly parted as soft little snores escaped it. He was never one to fall asleep on duty, known for his control over his mental fortitude. But the poor soldier had soon followed suit, infected by by your fatigue as he too yawned after each time you did. In that time, he smiled down softly as he watched you grow tired next to him, resting your head unconsciously on his shoulder and chuckling at the sight of the thin line of drool that slipped from the corner of your mouth.

He almost felt relieved, and comforted to see this side of you, after having seen you do nothing but shove your nose into paperwork and files on top of staying on guard to take care of them and make sure no serious injury happens on your watch. And as he watched you, making sure to stay as still as possible as to not wake you, your soft breathing and the warmth radiating off your body had finally pulled him in, until eventually, his state of alertness fell limp, his head rolling back as he too drifted off shortly after you.

You don’t know long you had been asleep, nor did you know you had your face smushed up against Gaz’s shoulder, your lips parted slightly and your drool pooling into a wet spot on the fabric of his jacket. If you did, you don’t think you’d be able to look him in the eye from how embarrassed you’d be. Not only did you most likely cause his arm to cramp up and fall asleep under your weight, but you had also marked his shoulder with your saliva. And if the others were to see this, they would have a kick out of it, with Soap taking multiple pictures at unflattering angles and teasing the two of you for the days to follow. And in a short matter of time, they would have seen it, stumbling upon the scene if they had not burst through the front door like a team of SWAT.

The sound of the door slamming open and their shouts had startled you awake, their voices echoing through the front of the building and making you sit up in your seat.

“What the-“ you mutter out groggily, squinting against the dryness of your eyes and not even paying mind to how you had completely crashed out. Where they back?

“Sounds like trouble.” Gaz had also woken up next to you, quickly getting up from the sofa and rushing towards the commotion as you followed closely behind.

You almost froze at the scene, watching the men come into the area with their faces worn out and beaded with sweat and spots of blood. You knew what they were getting into, what their job required of them, yet seeing them return from the mission first hand had in some way unsettled you. Sure, you had worked in the ER during your residency. You had seen conditions far worse than this, patients suffering from injuries ranging of a varying degree as they were wheeled around, gruesome wounds that still at times scarred your memories till this day. And yet, why did this seem to daunt you far worse than anything you had seen in the emergency department. It's almost as if you forgot these men were killers, and you didn't quite know how to feel about that.

Alejandro had been the first to step into the area, carrying an injured Soap under his arm and helping the Scot walk next to him as he muttered some words of encouragement in Spanish.

“What-what happened?”

“Nada serio querida. No te preocupes. (Nothing serious love. Don't worry.)” Alejandro answers simply, groaning under Soap's weight and from his own injuries.

“Nada serio querida.” Soap copies what Alejandro had said with a limp in each of his steps, his face pale from the loss of blood from his wound as he gives you a smile to assure you that everything was in fact fine, though we all know this isn’t the case.

“Well it sure as damn well looks serious to me Alejandro.” You remark as you hurry over to help the man set Soap down carefully on a chair, your voice slipping the hint of your father’s accent, a small habit that revealed itself whenever you got upset over something. "I'd appreciate it if you didn't try to tread carefully around me, I'm not made of glass you know."

Alejandro fell quiet as he watched you try to examine Soap, taken aback by this more....authoritative side of you, not that he had any reason to be surprised, you were a physician after all and this sort of conduct was necessary especially since people's lives were in your hands. He had not intended to alarm or offend you, the reason why he said those words in the first place, but the situation itself had managed to speak much louder than his words could ever manage. And in this moment, maybe it's best to let you be in charge.

Your eyes scattered about the area as the others soon came through, focusing on each and every one of them to try to gauge both their mental and physical state. Ghost was the next to enter right after Price, his blackened eyes from behind his mask meeting your concerned ones for a brief and fleeting moment before looking away. The skull-masked soldier was supporting another man, another masked soldier you had not seen before, one whose stature towered over everyone around him, even Simon Riley himself, whom you have thought to be tall enough already. Y'all already know who it is.

“Sir-“ you spoke up to the troubled-looking captain as he walked up to you, your eyes studying the wounded and bloodied scene behind him. You don't know what the hell happened back there, but you didn't need to hear the details to know it wasn't good. “Is everything alright? The hell happened?”

“Y/n.” Price finally stood in front of you, his hand placed on your shoulder as means of reassurance, or even a way to steady his exhausted body as he turned back to his men, running his fingers through his beard before looking you in the eye. “We were ambushed. Suffered a few injuries but we got the most of em.”

“You sure? Y’all look like you took quite the beating.” You state lightheartedly but more so from a place of worry and sympathy. “Listen Captain, if you don't mind, I need to take a look at these men."

“Right. Right.” Price nods his head, breathless from the mission. His countenance was masked behind an aura of composure as he looked over his injured soldiers, but one look at his eyes told you otherwise. He was tense, nonetheless, and you could clearly see the restlessness behind them from the way he held responsibility over the lives of his men, believing himself to be accountable if any harm should come to them.

“Do you have any wounds I need to take a look at sir? Any trauma to the head? Any lacerations or punctures?"

“No. No, I’m fine.”

"It'll be alright." You give the man a comforting smile, placing a hand on his arm to provide the only means of consolation you can give him in a moment like this.

“Thank you.” Price returns your smile, placing his hand over yours and giving it a soft squeeze. Though he felt contrite for throwing such a burden on your shoulders, he knew that you were the only person qualified enough around here given the circumstances, and he could not be more grateful for your presence. "Just....let me know if you need any help."

"Of course."

The men were badly beaten from what you observed as you examined them. A few fresh bruises marked their bodies, nothing terribly serious, but Soap, Alejandro, and the new guy were the only ones who had sustained more serious injuries. MacTavish had taken a bullet to the thigh, but luckily for him, the bullet had missed his femoral artery as well as any major nerves in the area. The poor Scotsman had felt bad for disturbing you at such a late hour such as this. But you had reassured him time and time again that this was part of your job, and that you had read over the part of the contract that said you would mostly be on-call when you signed your name at the bottom.

Soap doesn't know why he was so on edge as you operated on him. He’s nervous, extremely nervous. And what does Soap do when he’s nervous? He talks, like a lot, like a lot a lot and I don’t mean that lightly. I mean this man just talks your ear off while you’re wiping away any excess blood on his thigh and practically knuckles deep into his bullet wound. This man had been shot before so why should this be any different. Was it the local anesthetic you had injected into him? Or was it because you were a practicing physician and therefore would be able to pinpoint the finer details and eventually break some kind of devastating news to him like "I hate to break this to you Soap but I'm afraid I'm going to need to perform an amputation." Also I genuinely believe this man is afraid of needles. Don't ask me how I know. I just know.

"Y/n." Soap speaks up, gulping from the question that is about to spill from his lips as he watches you disinfect his wound.

"Hm?" You hum, focused on cleaning the area where the bullet had lodged itself.

"Am I gonna loose my leg?"

"What?" You stop, raising your head to give him a weird look. "Where'd you get that idea?"

"Don' know. Ye look pretty serious..........................ya sure I'm not gonna loose my leg?" He asks again, the panic in his voice more evident this time as an image is generated in his mind of him having a wooden pegleg like some kind of pirate.

"No. No you're not going to loose your leg Soap. You're just fine.” You go back to mending his bullet wound. “If anything, you're just going to get a few stitches. I am going to have to leave the bullet in place though, so don’t fret.”

"Yer leavin the bullet in there?" Soap's face pales after hearing your statement, eyes wide as he stares at you like you’re some kind of lunatic.

“Don’t look at me like that. I can feel you staring at me like I’m crazy. The reason I’m leaving the bullet in your leg is because it’s not in a fatal area that needs removal, and it's going to do more damage than good if I take it out. And besides, your body will build a sort of......wall of scar tissue around it so you'll be fine.” You try to explain to him in a way he can understand.

“I will?”

"I promise. Now once I’m done here I'm going to prescribe you some antibiotics and pain relievers as well as an ointment to help with the healing process and keeping away infections. Just make sure to get some rest and go easy on that leg of yours and you'll be up and running in no time."

"Oh.....okay."

Poor Soap is still nervous, despite your words of consolation. So in order to ease the tension he decides to crack a few jokes, a trait that has become familiar with his teammates, much to their annoyance, whenever he's out on the field. Whether it's for his own welfare or yours, we may never know. Perhaps it’s for both, but let's just say it’s more so for his own sanity. And the way he jumps from one joke to another only makes you question how the previous medics ever sat through it.

"Did you hear about the restaurant on the moon?"

"No."

"Great food. No atmosphere."

"Jesus."

"..............Hey y/n."

"Yes Soap?" You’re pretty sure this is the 45th joke he’s told you so far and now you’re just concerned for his mental well-being. But you also want to know where the hell he got all of these jokes in the first place.

"Why do seagulls fly over the ocean?"

Oh god. "Why?" You ask, bracing yourself for whatever was about to come next.

"Because if they flew over the bay, we'd call them bagels."

Jesus fucking christ. At this point you're positive your eyes are going to pop out from your sockets from how hard you are trying to stop yourself from rolling them. "Soap-"

"Yeah?"

"Please hold still."

Alejandro on the other hand was especially quiet while you tended to his wound, a gash on the proximal part of his arm on the lateral end, just below the acromial region, left from the bullet that grazed it. If he did speak, it would be small little words of motivation, sprinkled with terms of endearment in Spanish as he told you how good of a job you were doing, which you thought to be a risky thing to do considering you were sticking a needle in his flesh to sew his wound shut. He'd even tell you short little stories about his life before here, some of which may have elicited a soft chuckle from your frowning lips, a stern look that always unconsciously formed on your face whenever you were focused on something. He finds your little look of concentration quite cute honestly, the way you'd sometimes pout and squint your eyes. But most of all, he admired how calm and collected you were at such a task, as if you were doing something as simple as stitching the seams of fabric together.

He tried his best to soothe you, seeing the strained look on your face and imagining the stress you must be under, knowing when it would be best to offer you silence so that you may focus on the work at hand. And when you were done suturing his wound and wrapping fresh gauze around his arm, he pulls you in to give you a warm hug, which catches you off guard since you’re still wearing nitrile surgical gloves spotted with his blood and practically reek of alcohol-based solutions and the bleach-like scent of antiseptics. Regardless of how you look and smell like chemicals, the man only pulls you in tighter, wrapping his uninjured arm around the top of your back with his hand squeezing the back of your shoulder as he thanks you in his native tongue.

The two of you stand there for a moment in this sort of half-embrace, Alejandro with just a single arm around you and you with your hands held out behind him with your face pressed up against his chest. Next thing you know he presses a kiss to the side of your head, which takes you even more by surprise. This man really does not care how you look or smell. You could be covered in saline solution and antibiotic ointment and he’d still think you were the most stunning woman to walk the earth.

Also, speaking of smell, Alejandro smells really good, despite the hint of gunpowder from the mission he just returned from. But to say you are obsessed with his cologne is an understatement. This man smells AMAZING. His scent is woodsy, and spicy, like tequila mixed in with cardamom and bergamot, with sharp hints of clove and peppers balancing over velvety floral notes. He smells like something out one of those cheesy racy romance novels where the romantic interest climbs up your balcony during a hot summer night to hand you a single rose before whisking you away under the stars for a night of passionate-cough cough-you know what I mean. It's almost sinful, erotic, luring you in to perform acts that would make Satan and the Pope seek counsel with each other. This sudden emotion causes this stir in the pit of your stomach, lighting your whole body in flames and you almost feel ashamed for wanting him to stay a while longer just so you can get another and longer whiff of him.

“You know chica, it’s been a long time since I’ve had a really good machaca." Alejandro pulls away from the embrace, looking down at you with a slight smirk.

“Why don’t you go get one?”

“Only if you agree to come along.”

You’re stunned, caught off guard, and you better come quick with a witty response or else you’re just going to look like a fool standing there blinking at him. "Are you asking me out on a date Vargas?" Wow. I haven’t heard that one before.

"Mm, maybe. There'll be good food."

Speak no more. I am bringing the church and a marriage license. “You know, now that you've mentioned it, I suppose I have been craving some spicy food for a while."

The new guy, who’s name you found to be König, was surprisingly polite, despite his intimidating size and aura. He was a bit reserved around you at first, the blues of his eyes from behind the loose fabric of his mask studying your features to try to get a sense of your character as a person. He had heard quite a lot about you from the others, mostly the way you were gentle and kind in nature. Yet he had trouble understanding how a person could be capable of providing peace, as the others explained it, but one word from your lips and a benevolent smile in his direction was enough to convince him.

Telling from his body language, you made sure to inform him about every measure you were going to perform for the procedure, wanting to ensure he was as relaxed as possible with what you were doing, something you took seriously with every one of the patients you ever had. And the more you spoke, asking him simple questions like beginning with his name and asking where he was from and what his hometown was like and how he was currently feeling, he eventually warmed up to you, partly because he thought you were really pretty, but also because you made him feel comfortable in a place he usually did not find comfort in. I mean this man is still a killing machine despite his social anxiety. Not to mention, this was the first time he had met you. So the fact that you look out for his own wellness first really puts him at ease.

The tall Austrian had suffered a gunshot wound to his abdomen, an area that would usually require more serious care. But thanks to his bulletproof vest, the bullet was prevented from puncturing any organs or cavities or any major blood vessels or nerves, passing through his layers of skin and reaching the adipose tissue and barely imbedding into the muscle of his abdomen. You of course were able to extract the piece of metal, injecting some anesthetic for the pain and disinfecting the area beforehand before using a pair of forceps to carefully pull the bullet out.

Though the man was slightly anxious around you, he didn’t want to pry to much on your behalf and end up offending you in any manner, especially with how quiet you were, minus the little questions you’d ask him of course. Instead, he is fascinated by your steady hands and your precision, wondering how hands as small and delicate as yours were capable of performing such complex labor as he asks questions about every step that you take into the procedure and every tool that you have laid out on your table. By the end, he is completely starstruck by just how much you know. He even may have slipped a little compliment on how wise and pretty your eyes were. You’ve never heard anyone compliment your eyes as being wise, but you like it, not being able to hold back the small smile that pulls at the corner of your lips.

“Thank you for your help……..liebling.”

“It’s no problem.” You smile. You had heard that German term once before, a word once exchanged between an elderly couple that were once under your care. And the fact of knowing the meaning behind it warms your heart.

“Du hast sehr schöne kluge augen. (You have very beautiful, intelligent eyes)." The soldier mutters under his breath, nearly catching himself at the end of the sentence and praying you had not heard nor understood what he said.

“Sorry?”

“Oh um…….." König gulps, thinking of how to respond and deciding whether he should just lie or tell the truth to behind the meaning of his words. "It means you have really pretty wise eyes.”

“Oh……..why thank you. That's really sweet."

After handing König a bag containing his antibiotics, pain killers, and a tube of ointment, you also hand him a couple Dum-Dum lollipops to go with it. The Austrian doesn’t know how to react at first. Did you just give him a candy? Was this a common practice of doctors in your country? When he finally realizes this was just your way of showing kindness, he is more than delighted and thanks you for them in German, grasping both of your hands as he does so. Don’t ask me why or how but I just feel like he likes to hold both of your hands whenever he thanks you for something. Also the more eager he is, the more he shakes your hands in his.

This man’s crush on you has just went to the next level. König likes to collect whatever catches his attention, something he had done since he was a child from time mostly spent by himself. And it’s almost as if he has an eye for these things, picking out whatever has unique colors or patterns. So when you find some wildflowers or interesting looking leaves or a variety of colorful bird feathers or butterfly wings that had fallen to the dirt on your desk one day, just know he picked them out for you whenever he goes on a mission.

Believe it or not, the Austrian also has a secret talent of wood carving and is actually very skilled at it. During the days where his anxiety seems to overwhelm and suffocate him, he likes to sit outside in the grass surrounded by nature, covered in wood shavings with a knife in hand as he makes little wooden figurines of animals that he sees, whether it be birds, deer, foxes, bunnies, squirrels or skunks. It’s the only thing that he can fixate on that brings him total serenity and nirvana, sitting amongst the grass with his back up against the trunk of a tree, where there isn’t a single soul in sight except for himself and the ones that belong in the woods, where the only things that can judge him are the tall ancient trees and the creatures that walk it. But I won’t get further into this till later. Just know that he’s working on one especially for you.

Now, moving on.

By the time you were finished patching the three men up, you cleaned up the area and your tools, taking off your bloody gloves and throwing them into the biohazard container until you see Ghost stumble by in the corner of your eye. Little did you know he had been watching you from afar, not in a creepy way but in a ‘just want to make sure my teammates are alright’ kind of way. Not that he doubts your expertise of course. The lieutenant had not expected the mission to go sideways as it did, even though it was somewhat accomplished in the end. And seeing his team get wounded had unlocked this new fear in him that, to some degree, had always been there.

So when he stood there in the corner, leaning against the wall and hidden in the shadows like typical old Ghost, he found a sense of relief in watching how quickly and proficiently you moved about and just how composed you were, especially under the pace and pressure. Maybe it’s how quiet you are when you get really focused on something, maybe it’s how calm you are throughout it, or maybe it’s the amount of caution and supervision you take towards making sure the others are treated with the utmost care. Truth be told, you are like a remedy to Ghost, to the Simon Riley underneath, to the troubles and trauma that mold the broken man beneath the mask. If only the big dummy were to realize this instead of treating you like as if you were the plague itself.

When you lift your head towards the sound of slight shuffling in the corner, you catch him moving out of the shadows and sneaking away from the area. Usually you wouldn’t think anything of it, thinking he was just overseeing your work like a supervisor. But as you watch him walk off, you notice that something is off about him, something not quite right, and this intuition only builds this deep and heavy bubbling in the pit of your stomach.

“Ghost?”

Ghost stops abruptly at the sound of your voice, his head ever so slightly tilted to the side as he was not expecting you to have seen him, much less even say something.

“Is everything alright?”

Goddamn you and your manners. The masked soldier moves away with the slightest huff, not wanting to answer your question but you call out once more.

“You’re not hurt are you?”

“Negative.” He begins to walk off, not even looking in your direction to acknowledge you.

“Lieutenant, could I please see you for a minute?”

“Another time.”

“I insist.” Your voice is more firm this time and it catches him by surprise.

He had not heard this tone from you before, and yet, he can sense the shakiness behind it, the uncertainty. The more there is silence on his end, the more you are sure that you have reached the expiration date of your life, terrified that you had officially provoked the stone-cold soldier and that he is about to march over here and stab you in the neck with your own scalpel any second now. And as he stands there, debating on whether he should just leave, he hears your voice once again, a faint ‘please’. Heaving out a heavy sigh, the man shuts his eyes for a brief moment before turning back around and heading in your direction.

You’re not sure if you should freeze up like the fresh-caught fish on a bed of ice at the supermarket or run in the opposite direction as this man walks towards you, his mask not helping in making him look any less more pissed off than usual. When he finally stands in front of you, his bulky form towering over yours, you can only do the first thing that comes to mind, freeze up. At first the masked soldier glares down at you, the irises of his eyes only darkened by the grooves of his mask as he waits for you to speak, wishing you were the first to say something, anything, but instead you’re staring at him like a deer caught in front of headlights. Don’t worry babes, I would too.

“Well? Whadya want?”

“I just want to check to make sure you’re not injured-“

“I feel fine.” Ghost narrows his eyes at you, slowly becoming irked by your constant need to monitor his well-being and wishing you would just take his word and leave. But he knows better than to argue with someone that was literally tasked by the government to manage the sanity and wellness of task force 141. Was your etiquette a part of the job requirements as well?

“You don’t look fine.” You snark.

“Yeh?” Ghost sneers. “And who the hell are you to say that?”

“I’m a doctor.” You blink. “Or if you wanna be more specific, I'm technically your doctor. It’s my job. And telling from the dampness of the blood on your mask there that still has not dried since the moment you stepped trough the doors and god knows how long since before,” you point to the area near the bottom of the left side of his neck, more so near his shoulder. “I’m guessing it’s yours and not someone else’s.”

“The fuck are you on about? Listen here princess, there’s no-“ Ghost pulls his hand up to his neck only to feel the exact same dampness you had just mentioned. Fuck. He had been so caught up with everything around him that he had not even been aware that he had been injured. When he finally pressed his fingers to the area there, tensing from the pain, that was when he was finally able to register through that thick and stubborn skull of his that he had in fact been injured this whole time. This man probably takes the phrase ‘mind over matter’ quite literally.

“Now can I please take a look at you?” You quirk a brow up at him, waiting for a response and knowing better than to expect a quick answer. But if there’s one thing you know, if you just slightly annoy and pester him enough, he might just eventually cave in, that is if he doesn't add you to his hit list. “Look, if you wait any longer you might pass out and go into hemorrhagic shock. And depending on the class, you can suffer from organ damage and even death. So unless you want that to happen-“

Well when you put it like that- “Fine. Get on with it.” Ghost growls as he sits himself down on the chair. Bloody fucking hell you talk way more than he had ever expected from you. But you sure can keep your ground, he'll give you that. He’s just glad that none of the others are here to see him being bossed around by someone almost half his size and about a foot shorter than him.

"Thank you for cooperating." You give a short and quick smile. You may or may not have exaggerated about the last part to get him to comply. Well…….that is.........depending on the exact location of injury and the amount of blood loss of course.

Thank you for cooperating. Ghost scoffs at your statement.

“You know……I wish you wouldn’t avoid me like I were a crackhead outside your local 7-eleven.”

A what? Ghost gives you a weird look, wondering if he had heard you correctly as you go over to the sink, rolling the white sleeves of your lab coat up and turning on the faucet. The shit that comes out of your mouth, he swears makes him question your license. Then again, he’s not sure how to respond to what you had just said. It's no lie that he has indeed been going out of his way to avoid you at all costs. But the idea of you even noticing his absence had never even crossed his mind, much so that you would come to be offended by it. Noticing your lack of pressing further on the matter, he shifts in his seat, watching you wash your hands in a methodical series of steps until he notices a small marking on your inner right wrist, a small and delicate tattoo of a heartagram. It can't be.......can it? He had never listened to much of their music but.......were you a HIM fan? If so, this is certainly a detail he had never expected from you and he almost doesn't know what to think of it. What other tattoos do you have?

Once he sees you turn off the faucet, he quickly returns to his original position on the chair, not wanting to make it seem like he was watching you.

"Now I’m just going to take a quick look here." You head over to where he sat, pulling the nitrile gloves over your hands as you look down at him, reaching out towards the bottom of his balaclava before feeling him swat your hand away.

“Hey!” You yelp, more so from being startled than the actual impact. “The hell was that for?” No way in hell he just did that.

“…………….”

"I promise I won't sneak a peak at your face if that's what you're afraid of."

“……………………..”

“Listen lieutenant. I can’t check to see if you’re okay if you won’t let me.” You sigh, reaching out once more, but this time you feel his hand grab yours, his gloved fingers wrapping around the bare skin of your wrist as he eyes the ground at his feet. The loud beating in your chest reaches your ears, deafening you as you stare at the soldier who could practically fracture your wrist if he tightened his grip. At this point most would be petrified, bracing themselves for the number of possibilities that can take place just from under his control. Most would either try not to glance over at the scalpel that lays out on the table just beside within arms reach, not wanting to instigate anything further in fear of the soldier catching the movement of their eyes, or some would dare to do so anyways as part of their fight or flight response.

Maybe you should be scared of him, of this soldier who has more blood on his hands than you can count. And yet, somehow, as you finally regain control of your thoughts after being startled from the sudden motion, you can’t seem to find yourself to. If he wanted to kill you, you’d already have been dead, you tell yourself, because here you are, well and unharmed. Despite the calloused disposition of the man notorious for his ruthlessness and merciless on the field and just the sheer size of his hand around your wrist, you’re surprised at the gentleness he handles you with, the carefulness of his hold a stark contrast to the rough fabric of his gloves that rub against the sensitive skin there.

Ghost can feel you tremble ever so slightly under his grasp, feeling your racing pulse through his gloves from under his palm, not to mention the peculiar coldness of your limb, but he can also feel the severity behind your eyes as you stare him down, as if you were just waiting for him to meet them. For a flicker of a moment, you have him wondering just how much more there is to you than the Dr. Y/n y/l/n that you put on stage only for others to see. Just what else lies beyond the pristine white lab coat, those neatly pressed scrubs and your observant orbs.

“Ghost-“ Your voice is firm but heedful. “Please let go of my wri-“

"I'll do it."

“What-“

“I said I’ll do it. You’re not touching the mask.”

“Alrigh-”

“I mean it.” He lets go of your wrist as quickly as he grabbed it.

"Okay." You throw your hands up in defeat, taking a step back to give him some room. "Fine by me."

Ghost can't help but huff at your behavior, hesitating for a moment before finally lifting the bottom of his balaclava, peeling away the fabric that had become sticky with blood to expose his neck. Damn you.

"Let's see here." You lean in closer to inspect the area before cursing under your breath. “Jesus fucking christ.”

Ghost side-eyes you with a raised brow at the words that came out of your mouth. Did he just hear you cuss? Better yet, just what the hell did you see to make you say those words. You almost don’t even have to hear him say anything to know what he is thinking.

“See this is why it’s important you come to me.” There’s that same strictness in your voice, and yet, this one is different. Is that a slight hint of genuine concern he hears? Realizing how you might have sounded to a man who has probably dealt with far worse, you straighten up, clearing your throat as you did so and fluttering your eyes away from his forbidding gaze. Pushing away whatever emotions that managed to rile you up like that, you clear your throat once more. “So, looks like there’s a laceration, along the inferior portion of your neck here, proximal to your acromial region. But lucky for you, your brachial plexus is still intact. The bullet, or whatever the hell you've been hit by, narrowly missed your suprascapular artery and nerve. Though I will have to perform some sutures to reconstruct your trapezius muscle."

"English, for fucks sake." Ghost grumbles at your rapid speech involving words he finds incoherent. But you and I both know it’s only because he finds it to be a turn on. That's why he let you ramble on in the first place.

"What I meant was, good news is, your nerves and blood vessels are okay. Bad news is, your trapezius muscle, which is the muscle that runs along the curve of your neck here and a portion of your back has a slight gash here at the top. So you are going to need stitches. And a lot of rest afterwards of course, to make sure it's properly healed."

"Fuckin hell." Ghost mutters under his breath.

"Now if you'll let me-"

"Yeh yeh. Just make it quick."

What had been a short amount of time had instead felt like hours for the masked soldier, for Ghost, for the wounded Simon Riley beneath all those layers as he remained in his seat like a statue, ensuring that he stayed as still as possible while you worked on him. He had not uttered a single word during the whole duration, not even the slightest grunt. And if it hadn't been for his steady breathing, you would have presumed him to be dead. He had to be the quietest patient you have ever dealt with, not to mention the most stubborn, and you found yourself wishing he would say something, anything. But to expect such from a man such as him would be a fool's errand, a fruitless endeavor.

And even if he chose to speak, what the hell would he even talk about? His fucking trauma?The man wouldn't even look at you, his eyes wandering everywhere but your face. In spite of his grievances towards you, his reluctance to ever establish any form of association with you, he'd find himself slowly stealing glances in your direction from time to time when you weren't looking directly at him. He'd find himself studying your features as he once did the first time he met you. You were wearing that same perfume, that deep woodsy and floral perfume that reminded him of an old bookstore, of one of those metaphysical shops scattered with different fragrances of the smokey incense, the unmistakable scent of you that had been ingrained in his mind ever since.

"So, what kind of a name is Ghost anyways?"

".................."

"Right. I forget you don't speak."

Ghost gives you a quick and sharp glare before staring straight ahead. Damn that sharp tongue of yours.

"You seem tired." You remark, picking on him just a tad bit to make a reference to when he commented on your dark circles, but also because he actually did genuinely seem tired.

"............."

A cock-up, no thanks to you, Ghost thinks to himself, knowing damn well the only reason he could not sleep was because of you, though he senses the only reason you said that was because he had mentioned to you how you looked tired.

More minutes pass, and he has yet to even snide at you. You'd almost prefer a huff of irritation directed at you over nothing.

"You know," you utter, "I went to medical school with an incredibly ambitious guy who was obsessed with collecting skulls. He'd do anything to get a head."

You what? Ghost looks at you just the slightest with a single blink. What the bloody fuck are you talking about? Oh wait.

“What is a sleeping brain’s favorite rock band?”

“……………….”

Oh no. It looks like Soap’s habit has taken hold of you.

“REM.”

“……………….”

Okay maybe that was a bad idea. The look that Ghost just gave you makes you want to never say another joke again. He actually thinks the first one wasn't too bad.

“You know, you’re lucky the bullet grazed you where it did.” You lean in a bit closer as you suture his wound. “Any more to the left and you would’ve have been in some serious shit.”

Your little movement manages to catch Ghost’s attention, and if you weren’t shoving a needle through his flesh he would have moved away. Instead he glances just the slightest over in your direction, his breath hitching in his throat at the close proximity between you both. His eyes trace over the details of your face as if he were studying a map, going over every one of the little characteristics that make you you. If only you could see the way he looked at you, you would have been able to see the subtlest change, the tiniest, sliver of a crack in the hardened shell that surrounded Simon Riley, of that shell that is Ghost.

There is a moment when your thigh brushes against the side of his as you turn away to move on to the next step after stitching his wound, a moment that goes by unnoticed to you, but not to him. The small contact, though brief, had managed to send a jolt of warmth through the soldier’s body, a feeling that is completely foreign to him, prompting him to tense up and bury whatever it is that has him reacting this way. It isn’t until you sense him shift beside you that you turn back to him, gauze and ointment in hand just as you catch him transfer his line of focus somewhere else. The faint alter of movement had you raising your brow, knowing well what you saw but unsure of the motive behind it.

While you went over to him, studying whatever you could gather from his body language and just his eyes due to the obstruction of his face, you noticed that his eyes were quite expressive for a man known for lacking any basic human emotion. While dressing his wound, you picked out the way his blonde lashes fluttered against his deep mahogany irises as they focused on anything but you, the black color smeared around the exposed area of his balaclava accentuating the blondes of his hairs. This had to be the first time you had actually taken a good look at him.

You would have complimented him on his eyes and lashes, but you thought against it, not wanting to embarrass yourself, or more importantly, the last thing you needed was to dig yourself deeper on his bad side and end up as a dusty file to be brushed under the rug. Speaking of. Now that you mention it, the stuff he wore around his eyes looked awfully similar to the stuff you found on your candy tray. Couldn’t be him could it? No, it can’t possibly be. The man avoids you way too much to even think about taking something that is even associated with you. Maybe you’re just overthinking like you always do and what you found was just from your own eyeshadow palette. After all, this wouldn’t be the first time you’ve accidentally smeared remnants of eyeshadow from your fingers to other things. If only you could ask him, but this man hates you enough as it is. You could casually bring it up one day, although now definitely isn’t the time.

When you were finally finished tending to him, getting up to gather some pain relievers, antibiotics, and some ointment for him to take with him, Ghost had noticed something that he had not spotted before, a small pitted and circular mark that sat at the left side of your neck. As he stared at it, trying to decipher just what it could be, it looked to be a scar of some sort, though a bit faded with time, it’s shade slightly darker than your skin tone. Where had he seen a mark like that before? And then it hit him.

“There you go.” You came back around to hand him his treatments in a brown paper bag, your voice causing him to quickly avert his gaze. “You’re all set.”

Taking the brown paper bag from your hands, Ghost couldn’t stop thinking about what it is that he saw marking the skin of your neck. Something in the back of his mind knew just exactly what that scar belonged to, what it meant. But Ghost, or Simon Riley, knew better than to delve into something that wasn’t his business, knowing well the cost. He could just be over-analyzing it all, mistaking it for something completely different. But why was he even bothering to do so in the first place. He had better things to do, duties that were assigned specifically to him, and trying to figure out that mark on your neck wasn’t one of them.

Ghost is quick to get up from his seat as he ushers you a quick thanks, the hardened wall once again building up to the masked soldier who had dared to even let it down just the slightest around you.

“Ghost wait.” You call out to him as he walks away, watching him stop in his tracks. “……before you go………next time you’re injured………promise you’ll at least come to me.”

“….I wouldn’t count on it.”

“Look,” you sigh, “I get it if you think I’m annoying……..or if you hate my guts, whatever, I don’t care. Just….at least let me help you.”

“Don' bother.” Ghost tightens his jaw as he tilts his head towards you, the brusque in his deep voice evident before he regains his steps, disappearing from your line of sight.

“What an asshole.” You breathe out with a shake of your head. You swear this man has you testing your Hippocratic Oath. You don’t know what it is that makes him despise you. Maybe it’s just him and that’s just the way he is, something you might have to ask the others about. Usually words like that would have you lying in bed awake thinking what you did wrong, but you are much too tired for that.

As Ghost went back to his room, shutting the door behind him, he opened up the paper bag you had given him, spilling out the pill bottles and ointment tube onto the table until he heard something roll off the edge of the table and fall onto the floor. Furrowing his brows, the soldier looked at the ground at his feet to where the mysterious item had fallen only to see a single Dum-Dum lollipop, sour apple flavor. Bloody fuckin hell.

Part 4

Tag List: @swissy23 @sualocin @kristalhi @deakyspuff @sometimes-i-write-good @hamilfanyu @princessranch @ig-you-idiot @obitoshotaf @cavern-creature @at0mschutzbunker @eddiesbixch696 @souls-rain @euovennia @i-wish-we-could-stay @depressedacidtest @gh0stm3g @thequeenofbigmacs @k1llerch4n @abbiesxox @feraltiddies @wand-erer5 @1redheaded3dragon @anisa269 @jocecymoo @mango-corner @classickook @trueee33 @sockertop @lupskelly @chxbits @kuwizo @sluxm3ozt @tobybestupid @anarchygoose @lez-zuha @thatoneautor0123 @aloudplace @ella-error505 @awkward-0 @ariessux @kermitdefroghere @urloverx @alldaysdreamers @rat-elbows @watersquirtpewpewboomm @izzyisstuff @notabotiswear @thecraziestcrayon @lilwingedwolfy @sprkthere @shyyxzi @bookmark-anon @simplecole18 @itsourkisses-blog @here4thespice @sunndust @josephquinnswhore @spooniscute @xghostyx666 @nikolai-m-s @he4rtbloss0m @classifiedtoe @killergoddessmm @sm8th0p @lunarayx @iwannabeazoldyck @butterflypillows @lobeliaaaaaa @mxtokko

[possumdrawsstuff]

THAT SCAR REF SHEET I WAS TALKING ABT FOR JIM!

all of these r based off stuff that happened in canon, if you think I’ve missed any cool opportunities then feel free to point them out! I add them because I believe that while they probably couldn’t have been included in the show for the pg rating and some of the ways he would’ve gained them being somewhat violent (even for trollhunters). I feel they add to his character and in how they would grow over time show how he would gain more and more experience as a trollhunter, yet also gaining more and more pressure and experiences that are probably not the best on jim mentally.

(Ps. I have no lightning scars In my design because lichtenberg scars, while cool looking, don’t usually last)

(Ps ps, the model I used to plan them out is from sketch fab somewhere but as I had originally not made this to post I didn’t save it, if anybody knows the creator, or is the creator, feel free to hit me up and I’ll credit you in the post.

ANYWAY MOVING ON TO THE SCARS AND MY SILLY LITTLE REASONS FOR THEM BEING THEREEE!

This is prolly gonna be angsty but I have an angsty ao3 background (to whoever read my Peter Parker nwh fic yall know ,and I am sorry I haven’t updated lol)

face/ eyebrow scar: I love that they gave him a scar in the movie, however, I didn’t like how it looked very much, especially with how he got it. I mean ARRRGHHH! Literally punched him so hard (love him Frfr but bro was not messing around even w Jim) that stone on stone had enough force to scratch some off of his face, this is why I usually make it look messier and more like scratchy scars rather than the clean cut from wizards/the unspeakable movie

2. GOBLIN/GENERAL SCARS: ok y’all I haven’t seen many other people do these but they are ver important to me 😌. Just scars from sparring could be all of these, the heroes forge has literal flying axes like ?? and in earlier seasons he didn’t always have his armor on or have a helmet at his disposal so I think he would to have had to have been nicked pretty good at least once or twice. Then there’s the goblin scars, In my version they told Barbara that it was racoons that got him , but the idea is that for Jim to have landed in the hospital he must have been hurt pretty badly that night, so, I would imagine that even while facing nomura Jim was fighting against the effects of blood loss also.

3.Angor rot: if you couldn’t tell by the photo it doesn’t show up in this! HOWEVER in my silly little side project (I’m sure some of you can probably guess what it is and if you can’t, idk look at some of my reblogs and you’ll probably find it, BUT! because it takes place after canon (yes including the movie) but also has some crunchy plot twisting In the background, the angry rot man face thing (I cant remember the name of it right now for the life of me please) will show up whenever he comes near to Jim, even if time is messed up, angor rot is back and technically hasn’t died yet so yes Jim gets the spoopy glowy thing.

4.amulet scar: idk if anybody remembers but when the arcane order took Jim’s amulet, he got scars from it right? It can be seen on his beast design is all of the tendrils leeching out from the indent of the amulet, my thinking is if his human form also got scarred by ARRGHHH! Why didn’t this scar translate too? Then again it could’ve but Jim is obviously a big fan of blue jacket*tm* so we will never know, I think he did but idk 🤷‍♀️

5.Bellroc- HEY SO ANYBODY REMEMBER WHEN BELLROC LITERALLY IMPALES JIM ON HER FLAMING STAFF!?! AND HE JUST KEPT GOING AFTER GETTING THE ARMOR!?! LIKE HE DIDNT JUST GET IMPALED? (This is partly why I think he gets like an adrenaline rush magic thingy as seen in some fic i read at some point PLEASE TELL ME IF ITS YOUR FIC I LOST IT PLEASE) YA that’s gonna leave a mark! the wound I’m guessing instantly cauterized so while yes it would hurt really bad I take that as why he was just running around after the armor.

6.burnt hand, another thing that happened in the movie but didn’t really get wrapped up in the end, Jim burnt his left hand on the gaggletac (idk how to spell it) and it just stayed bandaged for the rest of the movie, so it is also included on this list

7.back scars from bular: this one is probably the stretchiest one in this list but I think that it would have been an AMAZING addition to the plot character development wise. In one scene we see bular literally crushing and sliding Jim up the bridges interior wall and Jim is literally like silently screaming in this scene (thank you Guillermo /im sad for my son) and I like to think that after rushing over and doing Romeo and Juliet, Jim got off stage, practically ran over some people trying to get home because he can feel it, the whole play. This gives him some insight on the dangers of troll hunting. Yes I know this was a lesson beforehand but this is in the arc along with the goblins where Jim is learning he’s going to have to make personal sacrifices to keep up this troll hunting thing, including his mental health probably , it will serve as a very physical reminder of the constant danger he is now and will probably forever be in (in case y’all couldn’t tell that I’ve watched Spider-Man nwh like 8 times I’m out for blood on this one)

8.face scar from morgana: slinging the mood back around and also calling back to the “scars gained while Jim is a troll also get applied to his human form”, in like one of the last episodes maybe 2nd to last or the very last one in the final battle with morgana, she scratches Jim’s cheek with a throwing dagger and from what I can remember I thought it actually stayed on his face throughout the end of the series, I could be deluxe but I still like to add it for some reminder of the OG final battle.

not mentioned here- little pit in the amulet indention from the dark shard, and various scars from the dark lands.

if you read that entire rant I’m sorry , enjoy!

[therealvalkyrie]

Painter’s Hands and Guatemalan Coffee: Part 2

insomniac

Pairing/setting: Levi Ackerman x Female!Reader, modern!college!AU

Summary: When you catch your idiot boyfriend cheating, your grumpy roommate is there to pick up the pieces and watch your back as you toe a carefully drawn line in the metaphorical sand.  

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings: insomnia, nightmares, (remembering) death, panic attack, cuddling, fluff

AN: Here she is!! I’ve decided to give oc a little ~tragic backstory~ and I really hope it comes across like I’ve intended. I wouldn’t go so far as to call in angst, necessarily, but there’ll definitely be some in the future. Also, I know I’ve painted Annie and Reiner in a really bad light so far in this particular fic, but please know that’s not how I view them in canon at all - it’s simply because someone had to be the bad guy:( Anyways, I hope y’all enjoy and as always don’t hesitate to reach out via reblog/ask with any suggestions/feedback/questions!! ~valkyrie

(read Part 1.5 here)

Bodies jostle against you in the darkness to the beat of music you can’t hear.  The buzzing gets louder, drowning out even your own screams for them to stop.

Stop. Stop. STOPSTOPSTOPSTOPSTOPSTOP!

“STOP IT!” You can hear yourself this time, your voice embarrassingly loud in the cramped room. You slap hands over your mouth but everyone’s already turned to look at you, disgusted at the display of emotion. Even they peel their faces apart to sneer down their noses.

“Why should we?” Annie’s voice rings with superiority, swirling around the space and nestling in the crook of your neck. You shudder away, but the faceless bodies shove you back.

“Don’t you know this is your fault, anyway? You weren’t enough for me.” Reiner jeers with a satisfied smirk. The whole room laughs, cackling and giggling spitefully. You can’t move, muscles frozen, as they turn back to each other and continue making out. His hand in her hair, her thigh hooked over his hip, obscenely wet noises from their joined mouths.

You scream and scream and scream, jaw wide and aching, and all of a sudden the scene shifts and you’re at your mother’s bedside. Your breath hitches and you’re screaming in a child’s voice this time.

“Mommy, Mommy, no, please, no, MOMMY, PLEASE--”

Your hand twitches towards her and its movement against soft sheets brings you back to consciousness.

You’re spread-eagled in bed, comforter kicked almost completely off, chest heaving.

“One. Two. Three. Four…” you count in a hoarse whisper to yourself, staring out the window at gently falling snow illuminated in yellow streetlights. It takes you to one hundred and twenty-seven before you’re calm enough to do anything productive. 

You reach out a blind hand to find your phone on the nightstand and raise it up to check the time. 4:47 am. Nearly three hours of sleep.

Eh, good enough for jazz.

You heave a sigh, then push up to sit on the edge of your bed and flick on the lamp. The sudden bright light makes you squint against sharp pain behind your eyes and turn away in search of a sweatshirt. Some sifting through the ever-growing pile of laundry later, you settle on a green university hoodie and pull it on over your ratty tank top. Your toes and fingers always feel like icicles after waking up from a nightmare, so you find faux fur-lined slippers as well.

As you push past your bedroom door and into the living room, a figure in the comfy armchair catches the corner of your eye.

You nearly jump out of your skin before recognizing who it is. “Christ on a cracker, Levi! Nearly scared me half to death.”

“Sorry.” He doesn’t sound sorry as he marks the page in his book and sets it on the coffee table.

“What are you doing up?”

“I could ask you the same.”

“Well that’s not ominous or anything,” you mutter with an eye roll as you cross to the kitchen and set the kettle to boil for coffee.

Levi sighs and pinches the bridge of his elegant nose.

“Sorry. That’s not what I meant. It’s just… I noticed you haven’t been sleeping much lately and I’m worried.” He crosses to sit at the kitchen table and speaks to your back as you shuffle around the kitchen.

“What do you mean? Of course I’ve been sleeping. Whaddaya think I was just doing?”

“It’s five am, and you were still up when I went to sleep at twelve. Optimistically, that’s four hours of sleep. And yesterday you went to bed after one, but Hange said you were texting her at five-thirty, and--”

“Jeez, what, have you been stalking me or something?” you ask with an incredulous glance over your shoulder.

“We live together. It’s kind of hard not to notice.” Levi’s tone is the usual dry you’ve come to expect, but there’s an undercurrent that you’re too exhausted to pinpoint. “And Hange also told me she’s been worried.”

“What is this, an intervention? Just because I break up with someone I’m suddenly incapable of functioning?” Your voice (and headache) rises with each phrase, cracking on the morning dryness in the air, and you spin to face him.

“I didn’t say that, I--”

“Am I just supposed to wallow in misery for the rest of my life? No. I’m not doing that, Levi, I’m moving on. I-- I’m a busy woman, I’ve got finals and, and internship applications, and I happen to enjoy waking up early. I like watching the sunrise.” Though your words are rushed and you’re gesturing animatedly, uncertainty seeps through the stuttered phrases in your argument.

Levi lets you finish, then returns in a measured voice: “Why are you so defensive about this? I know you’re busy. So am I. But I manage to get more than four hours of sleep at night. I just want to help.”

His statement hangs in the air like dust mites, swirling around you and clinging to the sticky after-effects of the nightmare in your mind. You frown and drop your eyes to the linoleum, guilt settling into the stickiness.

“I know. I’m sorry.” Your voice is much softer. “I just--” A deep sigh. “I can’t sleep.”

“Why?”

The simple question makes your breath stutter and you scrub a hand down your face in an effort to ground your skin into reality.

“It’s so stupid.” It’s practically a whisper. “I have these nightmares. About my mom. I got them when I was younger, too, but eventually they just sort of… stopped. But now they’re back. And I can’t ever get back to sleep after, so I just stopped bothering to try.”

“You know, sometimes I get nightmares, too.”

The admission catches you off guard, your eyes widening. Levi always seems so… steady and sure, you wouldn’t have expected it.

“Really?”

He nods. “About my mom and the foster homes.”

“Oh, I didn’t know you…” Your heart sinks, and you don’t know how to say you’re sorry for the heartbreak he must’ve lived through with any semblance of tact.

“Yeah. It’s not something I talk about much.”

“Right.” You pause and chew on your tongue thoughtfully for a moment. “Do you have...strategies for when you can’t sleep because of them?”

“I have sleeping pills from my psychiatrist and some meditation practices that work for me. I can send you some resources, if you’d like.”

“Yeah, I’d really appreciate that if it’s not a bother.” You feel kind of sheepish now, for raising your voice, and so try to sound extra thankful for his help.

“It’s not.” He stands up and stretches both arms over his head, tipping his face up to the sky, lean body arching and twisting with the effort of it.  “I’ll send them to you later today. I’m gonna go back to bed.”

“Okay. Thank you, Levi.”

He nods and yawns, nose scrunching adorably. “Night, kid.”

“Good night.”

As his bedroom door clicks shut, you sigh yet again and turn off the stove. The first thing to avoid is probably coffee.

--

Your fingers flick off last rivulets of water as you step out of the shower. A shiver rattles its way up your spine before you can grab a towel to dry off. Bless Levi, he had done laundry today and the towel is still dryer-warm, smelling of his favorite fabric softener.

As you go through your evening routine (tooth brushing, face washing, hair drying), you can feel a quiet tension set into your shoulders despite the humidity of the bathroom.

The day had gone okay. You managed to resist coffee until 8 am and cut yourself off at 3. A lecture and a studio in the morning left the afternoon for library studying and a trip to the grocery store. 

You had actually seen Bertholdt there, in the cereal aisle. You hadn’t been too keen on having that particular conversation, but luckily he hadn’t seemed to be either. The pair of you exchanged sympathetically awkward smiles before turning back to the Cheerios. 

The evening consisted of ordering chinese takeout while obsessing over your latest architecture design project, followed by convincing Hange over the phone not to sleep in the mouse lab for extra credit.

“But Bean will be lonely!” she insisted hysterically. “And Sonny wasn’t looking too hot in lab today, what if he needs his mommy and I’m not there?”

“You’re not their mommy,” you reminded her. “They have each other to keep them company, and if Sonny dies, won’t it support your hypothesis anyway?”

She had eventually acquiesced when you promised to help her plan a memorial should they pass in the night.

So now here you are, skin slowly drying, as you psych yourself up in the mirror to go to sleep.

“It won’t be bad. Just use the meditations Levi sent you.” You try to inject confidence into your voice, but you only end up grimacing at yourself in the mirror. “Ah, fuck it.”

You tuck your towel in firmly around your chest and double check to see your things are put away before going back to your room.

As you pass, you hesitate by Levi’s door for a moment. His normal studying music, Chopin, is on and light creeps out from underneath. Another moment of uncertainty, then you gently knock and poke your head in.

“Levi?” He raises his head from where he’s hunched over an easel, paint brush in hand. Brow furrowed and body tensed like a strung bow, he doesn’t look happy to be interrupted.

Fuck.

“I, uhm, just wanted to say good night.”

He grunts and turns back to the painting.

You take that as your cue to leave.

Back in the sanctuary of your own room, you curse again and kick your desk chair, sending it rolling a couple inches.

Why had you bothered him? To say good night?

“Stupid, stupid, UGH.” Your dramatic outburst ends in flopping face-first into bed. Just because he felt concerned enough to stage a fucking intervention doesn’t mean he’s your fucking nanny. Idiot.

Eventually, you roll over and get up to change into pajamas. 

Settling into bed, you open your newly downloaded meditation app and start an audio.

“As you prepare for your meditation practice today, find a comfortable position sitting or lying down where you can fully relax….”

The cool female voice wraps your mind in a hazy blanket of fog and eventually coaxes your body into an achingly needed sleep.

--

This time the dream wakes you up whimpering into your pillow, arms flung above your head as though you’re skydiving. With a sucking breath, you lift your head to prevent imminent suffocation and instead settle on your side, staring unblinkingly into the darkness. Breath ragged in your chest, your mind can’t seem to move past the last image of your nightmare.

It’s burned into your retinas when you close your eyes and etched onto the moonlight-pale wall when they’re open: your mom’s pallid face staring up at the ceiling, hands resting on top of  her blue embroidered duvet cover, chest still.

A sob escapes your unwilling throat and you’re scrambling to sit up and reach for the lamp. The lamplight suddenly reminds you of your own existence in the physical plane, thrusting all your senses into sharp contrast.

Her greying, thinning hair, the frailty in her fingers, the cracks in her lips, the cloying scent of death.

“Nonononononononono,” you moan, hunched over your knees, fingers tangled in your hair. Your stomach is hollow, chest tight, tears now flowing in earnest. It hasn’t been this bad in a long time, not since 7th grade at least.

Do something, do something, you stupid bitch, your mind is yelling at you, and so you force your body to move. Somewhere, anywhere other than here.

You practically fall out of bed and then lean heavily on your desk to compensate for shaking knees as you move to the door. Feet shuffle in the darkness and all of a sudden you’re sniffling outside Levi’s door, fingers in a deathgrip on your shirt. One, two breaths and you knock three hesitant raps.

Fuck. Shit. Instant regret bubbles up in your throat and you pivot away. Before you can get far, the door opens and you hear Levi’s sleep-ragged voice utter your name like a question. Damn.

You turn back sheepishly.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t’ve woken you up. Go back to bed.” Your voice is unnaturally breathy as Levi tries to make you out in the dim light of the moon filtering in through the living room window. 

He reaches for your shoulder to gently pull you out of the shadows, and realization crosses his face as he registers the tear tracks and haunting terror in your eyes.

“It happened again,” he states.

You nod hesitantly and wipe at your cheeks with the back of one hand. You try again to tell him that no, really, you’re fine and he should go back to bed, but the words get lost in the tangle of truths between your brain and mouth.

Instead, what comes out is: “Can… can I sleep with you?” Your eyes finally flick to his before you quickly follow up. “It’s okay if you don’t want to, I just- it helps to have someone close….”

Levi watches you for a moment before sliding his hand from your shoulder to your hand and tugging gently.

“Come on.”

You follow him inside and fidget awkwardly at the side of his bed as he climbs in. His room is impeccably neat, not that you would expect anything different from the man who once gave you a five minute lecture about leaving dishes in the sink to soak. It was the most words you’d heard him string together at the time, and he only stopped when he realized you were laughing.

“You sound like my Great Aunt Cheryl,” you said between hiccups of mirth. “Insufferable woman.”

He had looked at you scathingly, then made you promise never to leave the dishes for later again on pain of changing the wifi password.

Once he’s settled, Levi turns back the covers on your side and looks at you expectantly. You falter a split second before climbing in next to him, the familiar smell of his laundry detergent clouding around you as you fall back into soft pillows. He throws the comforter over you, then settles down and opens his arms.

“C’mere, kid,” he says with a tenderness that makes a sniffle catch in the back of your throat.

You roll into his arms, resting your head in the curve of his shoulder and breathe the first easy breath since you woke up. An arm flung around his middle means your whole body is against his, warming you up like a midafternoon nap in August.

Levi settles his arm around your back after tucking in the blankets and holds you like you’ve always belonged there. He gradually, gradually feels you relax into him as your breathing begins to match his own.

After a while, your eyes droop closed and Levi allows himself the indulgence of tucking his nose into your hair. A bouquet of lavender shampoo and you accompanies him softly into his dreams.

--

(read part 3 here)

[monoxidecahedron]

a slip of the tongue- jamilmads

@who-knew-what I wrote a part 2 to Home Is Where The Heart Is! expect more to come, too. I’m already working on two more installments in this universe. I’ll tag all of them with “#home ‘verse” so you can find them. enjoy, y’all!

“Alex?” John asks, peering into Alex’s office. The man is barely keeping himself awake, empty mugs of coffee all around him and papers on the floor. It’s nearly midnight. “Are you alright? Do you need me to take you home?” 

“I’m alright,” Alex mutters. “They’ll take me home.” John furrows his brow. People taking care of Alexander Hamilton isn’t unheard of, exactly, but usually it’s one of his friends, and he isn’t aware of any new people in the friend group. Everyone else is sleeping at home already. 

“Who?” he asks. “You got a boyfriend or something?” He meant it as a joke, because Alex would have told him. Right? But then Alex looks up at him, his tired expression twisting into something happier. 

“I got boyfriend,” he slurs, obviously exhausted. John sighs. Whatever that means, he’ll parse it later. For now, he just wants to make sure Alex gets back to his house. 

“Yeah, well, is ‘boyfriend’ gonna pick you up in a few? The office is closing soon,” he says. 

“Thomas’ll drag me out anyways,” Alex responds, though he looks distinctly annoyed at the thought. 

The revelation hits John like a freight train. There’s only one Thomas in the office (not counting Thomas Paine, who’s a level above them when it comes to management and is also very old), and that Thomas is the guy Alex screams at and then complains about to John. What? He considers asking Alex for more details, but looks again at Alex’s figure hunched over the desk, typing furiously, and decides against it.

Alex, in his sleep-deprived state, has no idea why he said “I got boyfriend” or if he even said it. He has a vague memory of John’s gears turning as he stares at him from the doorway, but that’s all, and he promptly forgets about it. 

Thomas and James are entirely unaware of the incident. Thomas did end up storming in after receiving an email from Alex about the project he was working on and dragging him out, scolding him like a child (“I have no idea what you’re trying to accomplish with this, Alexander, but so far I only see death by loss of sleep”), but only several minutes after John had left. 

So a week later he finds himself dragging James into his office. He just wants a quick kiss, initially, and then it turns into something more and James is straddling him in his chair, making out like there’s no tomorrow, and then John Laurens barges in, stops short, glares at Thomas, and turns on his heel and runs. Thomas exchanges a bemused look at James, but John’s been sending him those glares (albeit more of an “I’m watching you” sort) all week, and he thinks nothing of it, chasing James’ mouth with his own again. 

Alex barely looks up as John barges into his office, glancing once at his friend and then returning to the screen. The click of the keyboard resumes, John’s heavy breathing filling the office. “What is it?” Alex asks when John continues to simply stand there, out of breath from his run. It takes a few more moments before he can gather enough breath to speak. 

“Thomas- is- cheating,” he pants. 

Alex’s head snaps up. “What?” he says sharply. He isn’t worried for himself- he can deal with the fucker- but it’s James he’s worried about. And then there’s also a slight disbelief. He knows John would never lie to him, not with something like this, but he also knows that Thomas wouldn’t cheat. Right?

“He- was- hang on,” John says. Now in a better state, he continues, “he was making out with Madison in his office, I’m really sorry, Ham- what is it?” Alexander had slumped over his desk, cackling with laughter.

“Oh my god,” he says after a moment in which he feels hysterical and John is plain confused. “I cannot believe- I thought- if you knew about Thomas-” 

“Get to the point, will you?” John asks, beginning to feel annoyed. 

“Okay- okay so,” Alex begins, then dissolves into laughter again. “Sorry. So. Thomas is my boyfriend.” John nods, well aware. “James is also my boyfriend.” At this, John tilts his head. Wouldn’t that be worse, then? Double betrayal? “Thomas is also James’ boyfriend.” John is lost, as is evident in his expression. “Look- it’s- it’s basically like, like, I like both of them and they like me and them- like a- it’s a- triangle of love, of sorts,” he says. Having never really considered the unconventionality of his relationship, he finds himself at a loss to describe it. John is even more lost, having not followed half of what he was saying. “Like a couple, except with three people! I’m with James and Thomas and Thomas is with James and me and James is with Thomas and me. Like a big puddle of love,” he says, acutely aware that he’s not doing a very good job of explaining. John, however, seems to get it, nodding slowly as he processes the words. 

“OH!” he nearly shouts. “Ohhhh. Goddamn, I feel like an idiot.” 

Alex laughs. “You are!” 

Later that night, Alex finishes recounting the story to his boyfriends, lying across Thomas and James’ laps on the couch. James laughs, fingers entangled in Alex’s hair. “Wait- so how many of your friends besides John know about us?” Thomas asks. Alex pauses, considers. 

“Actually I think only John knows,” he says. “Wow. I just completely forgot to tell them.” 

“Are you going to tell them?” James says. “I mean, I could understand if you didn’t want to, considering-” he waves his hand around, the gesture invoking memories of shouting competitions in meetings and furious disagreements and, especially, Alex breaking off his friendship with James and coming to them crying afterwards. 

“It… should be fine,” Alex says, though he sounds uncertain. “In any case, they’re my friends, they’re legally obligated to support me even if my boyfriends are assholes.” Thomas smacks his thigh. 

“I’m gonna call them right now,” Alex announces. “I’m probably going to forget later if I don’t.” Saying this, he picks his phone up from where he’d discarded it on the floor and proceeds to call Eliza. She picks up on the first ring. 

But it isn’t her who answers. “This better be a good excuse for why you’re not at game night,” Angelica snaps. Alex’s face is blank for a moment, and then he remembers. 

“Shit!” he hisses. “I’m so sorry, Angie, I just-” he looks up at James and Thomas, who are giving him disapproving looks- “forgot. I’m so sorry.” 

“I’m putting you on speaker. Apologize to all of us.”

“Sorry!” Alex says into the phone, and he hears a chorus of voices rushing to reprimand him.. 

“This is the second time in a row you’ve forgotten,” Hercules says. “What happened, man? I thought you had a reminder or something!” 

“I thought I did!” Alex says desperately. “I’m so sorry, you guys. I was just, uh…” He trails off, searching his mind for a plausible excuse. 

“Well?” Peggy asks. 

“Actually, I called you guys to tell you something because I forgot to, so uh…” James nudges him. “I have boyfriends,” he says. Their reactions are immediate: five different voices start talking at once, raising their voices to be heard over the others and creating a cacophony of both pleased and annoyed tones. He can’t hear John saying anything, and he imagines him sitting smug on his bean bag (Hercules has bean bags in his apartment for whatever reason) while the others crowd the phone. 

“Who?” Lafayette demands. “Tell us at once, mon ami! Why did we not know sooner?” 

“Uh. So,” he starts, hearing his friends fall silent at once. “James?” It comes out more of a question than an answer, but they get it immediately. 

“Madison?” Eliza says. “Didn’t you-” 

“Yes, well, we’ve worked it out,” James interjects. It’s still a bit of a sore subject. There’s immediate squeals on the other end. 

“James!” Angelica says in surprise. “You’re there?” 

“Evidently,” he says, though he’s smiling. “Hello, Angelica.”

“Mon amiiiiii, you cannot leave us hanging like this,” Lafayette interrupts. “Tell us who the other person is! Do we know him? Is he handsome? Oh! Are they a girl?” 

“You do know him,” Alex concedes, “and his handsomeness… mmm, not quite there,” he continues, earning another smack on the thigh from Thomas. 

“I am very handsome, thank you very much,” Thomas cuts in smoothly. His friends fall silent at once. 

“Is that… is that Jefferson?” Peggy whispers. 

“It IS!” Lafayette shouts. “I knew it! I knew it! See, I told you, Alex, mon cousin is not that bad once you get used to him-” 

“Is it Attack Thomas Day or something?” Thomas grumbles. James pats him condescendingly on the head. 

“Hush now, the grownups are talking,” he says. 

“Hold up,” comes Hercules’ voice from the phone, which is now balanced on Alex’s chest. “You’re dating  Jefferson? The guy you used to whine about whenever you came over?” Thomas raises an eyebrow at him.

“Oh? You whined about me? Do I truly affect you that much?” he teases. 

Alex makes a hmph noise. “I did not!” he protests. “Stop lying, Hercules!” And that’s the end of any questions about his relationship, thank god. They spend a couple more minutes just messing around with each other before they disconnect abruptly upon discovering that John knew before them. 

There’s silence for a bit afterwards. Thomas shifts, nestling closer to James and slinging his arm around him, the other hand resting on Alex’s thigh. “Your friends are… something,” James says eventually, threading his fingers once again through Alex’s hair. 

Alex laughs. “They sure are.”

I very much hope “I got boyfriend” made you laugh as much as I did. Please, please reblog! Likes don’t do anything! If you comment I’ll love you forever.

[petersquips]

Stark Contrast [CHAPTER TWO]

Masterlist | Introduction | Chapter One || Chapter Three | Chapter Four (pt 1) | Chapter Four (pt 2)

Pairing: Peter Parker x Stark!Reader

Word count: 8340

Warnings: Swearing, Threat of NC (but no NC)

Chapter Summary: Y/N goes to the Back-To-School party with Peter to meet up with Ned and MJ and ends up meeting the members of Pai’s club, MISA when things turn for the worst.

A/N: So I’ve been working diligently and am getting Chapter Two out early!!! I’m so excited for Chapter 3 y’all have no idea! So as I was writing this I saw several of y’all comment about how wholesome it was and I was like —am I gonna ruin it? But this has been the story from the start and I’m so glad to see it taking to life.

If you want to be added to the tag list for this fic, Inbox me and I‘ll add your username. Members of the tag list MUST reblog. I look forward to your feedback, friends!

The one condition Tony insisted on was that Peter Parker would go to the party with Y/N. It was embarrassing, to say the least, when Tony called Peter’s Aunt May to make sure of that. He chalked it up to safety, but Y/N couldn’t see how she’d be better off with or without the boy. Still, Tony insisted, and it was no hardship for Y/N, so here she was, sitting in her running Audi as the rain came down and made the empty street gleam a haunting navy hue. She leaned over the gear shift to try and peak out of the passenger window for any sign of the boy coming out of the apartment complex. She was anxious to go and growing self-conscious in her new party outfit and how much of her body it exposed. That had been Tony’s compromise. Y/N could miss their “bonding time” and go to the party instead, but Tony would help her get ready for the party, and the man knew parties.

After school Thursday he took Y/N to a fancy store she’d never heard of where the price tags didn’t dip below $500, which was probably why she’d never heard of it. The moment they walked in two women, who looked like they’d probably been supermodels in their younger days, hurried to assist. One led Tony away and sat him down on a chaise lounge by the fitting room with a cold glass of sparkling water. The other whisked Y/N away toward the clothing in the boutique, speaking about what they were looking for as if she were going to a red carpet event. It was all very overwhelming at first. The woman kept going on about designer names that meant nothing to the teen, but as the woman went on Y/N caught a glance at a black mesh shirt she liked. It was simple and more importantly it looked like her style, which made her grow comfortable in the high-end boutique. Y/N took the hanger into her hand and pulled it out to admire the piece. It was soft and silky, which was a thing she didn’t know mesh could be. The woman made a kind compliment on the girls choice and ran off to “style” Y/N. She brought back a black lace bralette and classic pair of black skinny jeans, as well as a silver chained purse and matching belt to accessorize. It was nice to know that she was willing to let Y/N make decisions for herself and still it was strange when the shop assistant knew how to make that decision better. The whole “accessorizing” thing wasn’t anything Y/N had entertained much before, and she never thought of a belt as anything more than a tool and a purse a pocket-extender. She was excited as the woman spill out encouraging words and whisked the teen away to the changing room.

Y/N passed by Tony on her way, who was pressed up against the back of the chaise lounge, uncomfortably trying to avoid the advances of the other shop assistant. She couldn’t help but giggle at the scene. People who thought Tony Stark was still the same party animal he had been 17 years ago, they were horribly mistaken. Y/N pulled the lavender curtain shut on the somewhat depressing show the woman was putting on and took a deep breath. She stripped away her comfortable thrift store outfit, and began puling on the stiff designer jeans. They were rough, but she figured some of that could be blamed on quality of denim. If she was lucky, these jeans wouldn’t wear out in the thigh the same way every other pair of pants did. It felt wrong to put on a belt in the changing room, especially because she didn’t want to so much as bend the firm new leather. She had to insist to herself that they wouldn’t have handed it to the girl if they didn’t want her to put it on.She slid straight into the silky mesh shirt, and was thrilled by how comfortable it was physically. It seemed perhaps too bold for Y/N’s confidence, but she slung the purse over her shoulder and looked into the mirror. The girl she saw staring back was everything she wanted to be. She felt bold, and it made her want to walk around like the bitch who owns the place. It was the kind of courage she wanted to have at this party. The girl paced back and forth for a moment, preparing herself, before she slid away the suede curtain and stepped out into the light to reveal it for Tony to approve or disapprove.

He choked on his water and sputtered, “Absolutely not,” the moment he caught a glimpse. The shop assistant who’d been flirting with the man rushed toward Tony as he coughed, but he held up a hand to hold her off and stood up. “That is too risqué and I can’t allow you to go out in public in that.”

Y/N had a feeling he’d say something like that. He’d definitely seen women at parties in much less, but this was his own daughter. The fact that she was standing there in front of him was enough to show why he might be concerned. Regardless of his reasons, the girl didn’t want the outfit to be sexy, but to be powerful, and she wasn’t going to take no for an answer. She began digging for any argument under the sun, rambling “I mean, when you think about it, you saying that is like saying that I, a minor, should be sexualized, and if I wear revealing clothing it’s my fault if a man sexualizes me, and is that really the message you want to send to your only daughter?” She may not have known Tony well, but she knew him well enough to know he’d see right through the speech.

The man rolled his eyes and mocked, “My only daughter exists for a reason.” Y/N crossed her arms over her stomach, trying to maintain a confident stance while hiding exactly how much of her body was exposed.

The woman who had styled Y/N returned with a smile. “You look absolutely amazing!” she mentioned excitedly, causing the teen to smile and pull her arms away, stretching them out like wings and spinning around so the woman could see her fine work. “Hot stuff!” the woman whooped in encouragement, words that were met by Tony’s horrified eyes. It was clear he wasn’t exactly sure where the line of supportive parent and responsible parent stood in this case. The woman stepped forward to check on her handy work, asking, “How is everything feeling? Is the fit alright?”

“Its amazing,” Y/N gushed. “I feel like me, but bitchier.” The woman seemed pleasantly confused by this comparison, and the teen elaborated, “I feel like I could walk into any room and act like I own it. I feel…” the girl paused, trying to figure out the right word, “confident."

“Why don’t you go ahead and run that,” Tony muttered passively to the woman beside him, not so much as glancing in her direction as he handed her his gold card. Wordlessly, the man stood up and slowly stepped toward his satisfied daughter.

“I thought you said it was too risqué?” Y/N teased, unable to hide her thankful grin.

Tony shrugged and quipped, “I thought you stayed in the condom,” earning a strong shove from his daughter as he humorously laughed at his own joke. Y/N smiled to herself, knowing how much she appreciated this version of parental interaction. He was adult enough to take responsibility and care, but he was childish enough to be satisfied dissing the teen and then giving her the benefit of the doubt.

As he handed the teen the fancy paper bag of expensive clothing, Y/N sincerely said, “Thank you.” It may have been weird shopping at such a distinguished boutique with such high price tags, but she appreciated the bonding time, and she was glad Tony wanted to be part of her life in this way. He was an Avenger who flew around in red armor, and yet he still seemed to find excitement in hanging out with his daughter.

Y/N was uncomfortably adjusting the mesh top over her stomach when Peter hurriedly opened the passenger door and climbed in. He began to apologize as he buckled in, “Sorry I’m lat-Holy fuck.” The boy hadn’t really changed in demeanor but lost his thoughts when he looked at Y/N clad in all black. “You look hot— good. You look good.” Y/N giggled at Peter’s innocent rambling. “Does that bag say Coach? Don’t those cost like a thousand dollars?” He seemed more shocked by the branding than the serious skin Y/N was sporting, and it was relieving.

“Tony wanted to take me to this one fancy boutique,” Y/N explained with fond smile as she shifted into drive.

“Okay yeah, okay, that makes sense, yeah,” Peter mumbled to himself as they drove off into the neighborhood.

The girl couldn’t help but notice the tense posture and conscious breathing of the boy beside her. “Are you nervous, Peter?” Y/N inquired, glancing away from the street to peek at the panicked boy. “I mean, I’m no party expert or anything, but what’s the worst case scenario, someone double dips in the guac?”

“It’s not that, it’s just…” Peter trailed off. He clearly didn’t really want to share too much. “The last time I was at a school party, something bad happened and I had to leave very suddenly, and I was already worried about something like that happening again, and now its like, I get in the car and you look super hot, and I mean, I’m not into you like that or anything, like we just met, but—”

Y/N laughed and exclaimed, “Peter!” ready to try anything to get the boy to stop spiraling off into infinity. She took a moment to process all the fears he had just listed off and slowly began, “I’m flattered that as my friend you think I look bitchin’ and if anything happens at the party, it’s okay. You can find me and I can drive you home right away.” She glanced at the boy kindly, hoping giving him the option of escaping would calm his nerves.

“That’s not what I mean—” For the first time, Peter paused to close his eyes and take a breath, when they opened again he rephrased, “Thank you, Y/N.”

The girl turned back to the road satisfied before sighing. “You know you don’t have to be so jittery around me,” Y/N insisted. “Clearly you’re good at communicating or you wouldn’t be Tony’s intern, or have such good friends. Don’t be a rambling mess around me. I want a friend, too.” As they turned the corner, Y/N saw a large amount of cars parked on the street and heard the loud bass of the music pumping down the street. It was crowded and they only place she could see room to park was right where she was, at the end of the block. She pulled over to the curb, moved the gear shift into park and looked at the seemingly calmer boy beside her.

“I’m sorry” Peter explained calmly, finally holding his composure. “I have a lot of responsibilities and I try very hard to have a personal life and you make me nervous because you're kind of really close to both those realms. Like, you’re the center of the Venn-diagram, and it makes me worry that the space between is getting smaller, and I’m not ready for that yet.”

“Thank you,” Y/N sighed, still not entirely sure what he meant. “I’m glad you told me that and we still barely know each other. Everything you’re afraid of hasn’t happened yet. Can we please cross that bridge when it actually starts experiencing loss of structural integrity and really needs the maintenance?” It sounded strange coming out of her mouth, but it was the metaphor she had established, and the teen girl decided to own it as she looked at her friend expectantly.

“That was a very specific metaphor,” Peter commented with a cheeky grin turning up the corner of his mouth. Y/N smiled back and pushed her way out of the car into the barely-there rain. As expected, Peter followed suit, and the two walked in the front door with their renewed dignity fully stocked.

The moment they opened to door it was absolute fucking chaos. The music was booming, the voices were blaring, heat rushed out to be released into the night for only a moment before the door closed behind Peter and Y/N. The two teens felt lost for a moment looking at all the sweaty high schoolers crammed into one house, albeit very large. Peter spotted Ned and MJ leaning against a wall in the corner and began navigating Y/N through the crowd toward them. Of course, this entailed him getting cut off by someone and consequentially Y/N stumbling into Peter’s back. Miraculously, however, they managed to cross to the corner Ned and MJ were taking cover in.

“It’s very loud,” Y/N yelled, unsure how she was supposed to make friends over the sound. She glanced around nervously, wondering what she’d gotten herself into.

“You look hot,” MJ shouted back, nonchalantly as she gave a cool backwards nod. Y/N was thrilled to have MJ’s approval, and still, she smiled at her shuffling feet insecurely.

Finally, Ned mentioned, “It’s quieter out by the pool,” before leading the group away to the back yard. This, of course, involved travelling through the dense crowd around the DJ stand, which all but blasted their ears off, but it was worth it. They travelled to the far side of the strangely shaped swimming pool. It was lit up for the night, making the entire backyard light up with an aqua glow. It was clear why there were so few people outside. It had just rained, everything was damp, the pool had some stray leaves floating in it. It wasn’t exactly party central, and that felt just perfect to the group of misfits.

“I can’t believe they’re letting Flash DJ again,” MJ complained, kicking a nearby branch into the pool for no apparent reason outside of impulse.

“Because of what he did to Peter last year,” Ned agreed solemnly with a sad nod, only to be immediately contradicted by the tiny girl beside him.

“No, because he’s a crappy DJ,” MJ groaned inconsiderately. She was a confusing person who never quite did what you expected of her. Before the conversation could continue, she’d plopped down on the cement and was wading her feet in the pool, converse and all.

One thing stuck in Y/N’s mind that she really wanted the answer to. “What did Flash do to you, Peter?” the teen inquired concernedly. As far as she knew, Flash was just some smart guy in a couple of her classes. She didn’t have the social context to think anything ill of him, and the hint made her apprehensive for a number of reasons.

Before Peter could respond, Pai was running up exclaiming, “You’re here!” before wrapping her arms around a very stunned and rigid Y/N. It was weird how silky the girl's hair was falling off of Y/N’s shoulders, and she wasn’t quite sure how to engage in this fake-y femme behavior. She’d seen girls do this with each other—the high pitched squeak, the hug, the small talk, and then they would finally admit what they wanted—It wasn’t anything she’d ever encountered herself. Awkwardly, Y/N tried to hug back but wasn’t sure how to do it without tearing out that impossibly slick and long hair. “I’m so glad you could make it. You know, Liz used to throw this bash, but she had to move last year because her dad went to jail. So sad,” Pai put forth a small pouty face, clearly not stopping to think about the fact that Y/N didn’t have the first clue who Liz was. “Hey, Peter. Ned,” the bubbly girl greeted, looking across the group to find MJ on the ground. “Michelle, you’re gonna get your shoes wet!” Pai warned with a wave of a hand and a smile, causing MJ to shake her head and look up confusedly, then turn to look at the oblivious girl with a face that begged how she even missed that point. “Anyway, Y/N, there’s someone I wanted to introduce you to,” the skinny girl explained as she slid a boney arm under Y/N’s and began dragging the girl away. Y/N looked back at the group, trying to make an apologetic face as Pai continued, “His name is Amadeus Cho and he’s the president of MISA. Korean guy. Super smart and super hot. He’s the host of the party this year. Anyway, he wanted to meet you and so I told him I’d introduce you two.”

Y/N sighed. While she wasn’t used to the girl-y social behavior, she could tell Pai’s heart was in the right place. She was just trying to help Y/N make a new friend, and that was sweet, even if it did entail dragging the helpless girl back toward the daunting house. Pai led Y/N through the large crowd of the party and around the corner where she’d previously been with Peter, Ned, and MJ to a flight of carpeted stairs, briefly mentioning, “Some of us are hanging out upstairs to get away from everything,” before pulling Y/N all the way up and into what appeared to be a second living space. There was a kitchenette on the back wall, and in the center of the room was a floor pit with some modern art-looking furniture. A white couch and chair of oblong shape cornered around a purple rug on a black tile floor. The whole place looked so rich, and Y/N worried when she caught the judgmental eyes of the 5 teens scattered across it. There was a girl sitting on the purple rug going through magazines, one guy bringing a bowl of chips over from the kitchenette, which seemed strange at a party where there was literally a kitchen full of food set out downstairs, there were two teens laying on the couch together, cuddly enough for Y/N to assume they were a couple, and finally, there was the only person who could have been Cho, sitting on the artistic white chair like it was a goddamn throne. Y/N felt so far out of her element all she could do was follow Pai’s lead.

“Y/N. Nice to finally meet you. I’m Amadeus Cho,” the composed boy offered a hand.

“Oh really? So people actually call you by your first and last name, that is to say you go by your full name,” Y/N could hear Peter’s rambling coming out her mouth as she shook the kid’s hand, and quickly pulled away, stopping herself while trying to recover with a string of, “Cool, cool, cool. Very cool. That’s very cool that you do that.” She wanted to facepalm her head back into the womb at the way she was acting.

Amadeus looked at Y/N strangely, and with the subtly of a K-Pop star, and elected to ignore her stance behavior in favor of introducing his friends. “This is Mercedes,” he gestured to the girl sitting on the rug. The girl who waved was fashionably dressed in a bright cyan that complimented her dark, pigmented skin tone. Her hair was bleached blonde and clearly had spent a couple of hours in the flat iron. Her outfit was gaudy, but modest, which made Y/N miss the likes of Peter and MJ who, although very awkwardly, made her feel killer to wear it. “On the couch is Sam and Noah. They’ll probably be too infatuated with each other all night to notice you’re here, so you can pretty much ignore them,” While this sounded like a jab the boys would be offended by, they didn’t so much as wince, which was odd, but Y/N shrugged and took a seat next to Pai on the raised floor, dangling her feet into the floor pit. “I’m Aleksi, by the way,” the last boy in the studious glasses introduced himself bitterly as he returned with the bowl of chips and joined Mercedes on the floor.

“So word on the street is that you’re Tony Stark’s daughter,” Cho implied as he leaned forward in his chair to his half-open hands like he was Sherlock Holmes. The motion pulled down his sleeve just enough to reveal a very expensive looking silver watch.

In her discomfort, Y/N’s sarcastic side immediately responded, “Oh really? Because I thought it was pretty well hidden…”

“Hey, hey,” Amadeus slowly held his hands up in surrender, “if you don’t want to talk about it you’re in the right place. Unlike the party animals downstairs, most of us up here are the members of MISA. That is to say, we understand sharing only what of your background you’re comfortable with revealing.” He smiled like a fucking romantic interest in a K-Drama, and Y/N couldn’t tell if she found it charming or it made her want to punch him in his perfect teeth. Clearly, he thought of himself as elite, and she could see why, but being oblivious didn’t make him a bad person. He could be a charmer and still be a super nice considerate person, and she wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt.

“No, no,” Y/N began. “It’s just-” she caught a glimpse of how hopeful Pai looked introducing Y/N to her friends and felt her soften her resolve for the sake of the kind girl who’d been so nice to her since her first day. “I mean, it’s alright, I guess. There’s just not much to tell. I’m more interested in what you all are getting up to up here, anyway,” Y/N said in an attempt to change the subject.

“Mostly just hanging,” Mercedes responded casually, setting aside another magazine from the stack. Y/N was impressed by how easily she could handle the paper with the bejewelled stiletto nails the girl was sporting.

“What’s with the magazines?” Y/N asked. Her interest was peaked because even Steve Rogers didn’t mess around with paper magazines these days.

“Planning out a ransom note,” Mercedes mentioned nonchalantly as she flipped through another magazine. “On a completely unrelated note, do you spell Stark with one ‘R’ or two?” IT was such dead delivery Y/N wasn’t sure if she was really supposed to laugh at that joke until the stylish girl on the carpet glanced up with a playful smile. Y/N grinned back and let out what was more a huff of air than a laugh.

“Mercedes is trying to find an issue that features more than two races. She’s trying to make a point about whitewashing and how damaging it is when magazines will make sure to have their one ‘token black model’ and call it diversity,” Amadeus Cho explained, the cheeky smile still plastered to his face.

“I’m writing an opinion piece about the appalling lack of racial diversity because it’s always a line up of white people and then one person of a different race so it's 'not racist’,” Mercedes elaborated passionately. “Look around this room,” she gestured, “We’ve got at least 5 ethnicities at the same party. That not what the world looks like and they need to acknowledge that, and if they don’t my letter to the editor, I’m going to take that rejection letter and send it to their competitors to publish.”

This felt huge. This girl was proudly doing loud work of her own volition for a cause that would make it seem like a whisper. Mercedes was doing it anyway just to have a voice in her cause. Y/N couldn’t help but feel a mix of intimidation and inspiration. “That is honestly so cool,” Y/N admitted, earning a wink of Mercedes’s deep brown eye. The girl turned to the group excitedly and opened it up to the floor. “Anyone else have an obscenely awesome social project they’d like to tell me about?” 

“Amadeus Cho has one!” Pai piped up immediately. It was honestly sweet how much she wanted to be involved in the group, but it was also slightly hard to watch her trying to get approval from such intense people. The first day Y/N met Pavitra she had mentioned MISA and how much it felt good to have people of untraditional backgrounds to share the experience with, but she never seemed the type to chain herself to a pole for the sake of racism in America and that was okay. She was entitled to try to live her life as normalized as possible. It was so clear that Pai was working twice as hard, as a result, to feel included. It was sad because Y/N liked Pai. She thought Pavitra was a kind girl with a grounding in where she came from and ambitions that would fly her into another galaxy. So to see her trying to be involved by boasting her friends' success was conflicting.

“I’m working on a drone with reflective panelling that I can send into North Korea airspace to expose the absolute horrors that reside there,” Amadeus mentioned like it was yesterday’s math assignment, causing Y/N to drop her jaw. So he was a science guy with a social justice cause all packaged into the body of a member of BTS. She now understood why Pai was so infatuated with the guy. “I’m not done just yet, but I have it in my room along with some pictures from the test run if you’d like to see,” Cho offered.

“Oh my god, absolutely,” Y/N responded. She took Amadeus Cho’s hand and allowed him to lead her further away into the large house. By the time they reached to door frame, she felt miles away from the party going on downstairs. Cho led her into the dark and tidy bedroom, over to his desk, which was littered with parts, but right in the center was the shining glory of a genius mind. Y/N noticed a stack of photos printed out and stacked up on the left side of the drone and mindlessly picked them up and glanced through. They were all pictures of building that she couldn’t quite understand, but she was too intimidated to say that she didn’t know what they meant, so she set them back down and sat down on the nearby bed as Cho picked up the drone.

“She took a hit during the test run and needs some repairs, but the reflective panelling should still work if I just-” Amadeus forced way for a switch that was stuck and the thing disappeared, peaking Y/N’s interest. “Wanna see something cool?” Cho asked, earning a shy nod from Y/N. He flipped the drone so that the panels were facing away from him, and Y/N watched his torso visually disappear.

She furrowed her brows as she said, “The panels broadcast the signal of the room behind you as if you weren’t there. How do they do that?”

“Memory,” Amadeus explained as he placed the drone back on the desk and began walking toward where Y/N sat on the bed, “Think of it like Google Maps, but good. There are audio sensors that help it locate itself and it can tell where things are in a space as it correlates to a 3D rendering of the space. Every second it’s piecing together that map. It knows the wall is behind me, but I’m not supposed to be there, it knows that from its maps and the sensors, it can still tell that wall is behind me, so that’s what it projects.” The bed sank beside Y/N as the attractive teen took a seek so close she could feel the seam of his jeans brush her leg.

Y/N could feel her heart beating louder and faster, wondering if she was really okay with what this was leading to. “You seem very proud of yourself,” Y/N managed to tease nervously. She knew she wanted to maybe kiss him some, just some good old fashion dumb teenager acting out kind of thing.

Amadeus Cho leaned in close to Y/N’s ear and near-whispered, “Maybe I am.” His warm breath made her ear tingle as the boy pulled away with that sly smile.

Y/N looked up to Cho curiously. She wasn’t sure his endgame, but she had come to the conclusion that she wanted to play. Amadeus took a steady hand and brushed back Y/N’s hair. The cold of his watch roused her flesh as it brushed across the back of her neck. Their foreheads touched and Amadeus moved his face so that Y/N felt the tickle of their noses just barely touching. The next thing she knew, those beautiful lips were against hers. Before she knew it, Amadeus was leaning back onto the bed, and Y/N’s thirsty lips stayed attached to Cho as she leaned forward over him, desperate for the hydration. He began to massage her sides through the mesh shirt, grasping tighter and tighter as they continued. Y/N placed her fingers in his perfectly thick black hair as the boy beneath her trailed a hand up her back and onto her head. She felt a slight pressure at first, but then she felt a shove that left her looking at the boy's stomach. She knew she didn’t want to do that, and she wasn’t about to submit.

“Let’s just keep doing this,” Y/N suggested, placing a sensual kiss below the boy’s ear. He pulled her face right back in, smashing a violent kiss onto her lips. Cho carefully slid his hands up the back of Y/N’s Mesh shirt, tickling the exposed skin. His hands began fiddling with the bralette and Y/N immediately reached back to gently push his arms away, only to be ignored as he continued to play with the band of the bra. Her heart was beginning to flutter, and not in a good way. Y/N pulled away and embarrassedly but firmly told him, “Please don’t.” Amadeus nodded and smiled, pulling his hands out of the girl's shirt and showing them like he was trying to prove he wasn’t holding a weapon. Y/N took a deep breath to remind herself that he listened to what she said and didn’t push it any further before leaning her face back down to the beautiful boy laying below her. She was about to lean in for another kiss when she felt a powerful shove to the top of her head and found herself face to face with the budge in his jeans. “Okay, I thought I made it pretty clear I didn’t want to do that,” Y/N said, anger heating up quick, struggling to gain her ground as she continually sank into the marshmallowy mattress.

“Where are you going?” Cho investigated frantically as he pulled himself into a seated position once again.

Y/N finally managed to stand and trying to keep it together she stated curtly, “I’m going back to my friends-“

“Bitch!” The next thing Y/N new her forearm was burning with how tightly it had been gripped. 

“What the fuck?” Y/N screamed. Tugging at her arm was a mistake. It was a million pins and needles, like when kids used to give each other ‘snake bites’ on the playground. “Let go of me,” she mustered the lowest her voice could go.

“Why the fuck would you lead me on like that, huh?” Cho argued back, tightening his grip. “After all that you say you’re leaving, like hell you are.” Y/N struggled more, beginning to really panic, knowing that no one could hear the encounter over the party, that Amadeus was just getting more aggressive. An involuntary tear left her eye at the pain of a particularly hard tug on both their ends and suddenly at that moment he just let go. Y/N knew that should have been the moment she booked it out the door, but she was so confused by the behavior should couldn’t help freezing and looking at Cho, who was quite horrified and starring at the doorway.

“Y/N,” the scared girl spun her head around to see Peter Parker standing in the doorway with a hand held out. Peter took a hard swallow, and she could see he was uncomfortable with the situation, but still trying to help. “We’re going,” Peter told her seriously.

Y/N took a deep breath to compose herself and then casually strolled toward Peter as if nothing had happened, taking his hand and allowing him to lead her quickly down the stairs. When they got to the main floor, Flash at the DJ stand shouted, “Where are you going, Penis Parker? The party’s not over yet.” Peter didn’t so much as wince as he rushed Y/N out of the house and straight into the middle of the street, suddenly lit up by headlights. The car laid on the horn as Peter pushed Y/N out of the way, the two now huddling between two parked cars across the street from the party. The two hadn’t realized they were panting until it had already started slowing down.

“How did you even know I was up there?” Y/N asked. Peter huffed, out of air from rushing out of the place, and simply tapped on his Stark Wrist Communicator as he continued to catch his breath. “I don’t understand,” Y/N admitted. She still didn’t know what the damn thing did and had no idea why he’d be using it to figure out she was up there in the first place.

“Mr Stark called me. He said he’d gotten a notification that your vitals spiked and asked me to make sure you were okay. The moment I hung up with him I got a distress signal-“

“I didn’t send a distress signal,” Y/N mentioned in her confusion.

“No, of course not. Jarvis did,” Peter explained, beginning to walk down the street toward where they’d parked. Y/N looked at him blankly and shook her head, still not understanding this strange world she’d been thrown into. “My guess is the yelling and the grabbing set him off, so the distress signal got sent to the nearest com-link wearer, me, and I pulled up the building schematic to trace the signal,” the small boy explained like it were elementary quantum physics.

Y/N shook her head hopelessly, “but it all happened so fast.” It terrified her that things could fall apart so quickly. That she could feel so unsafe in a situation she chose to put herself in. 

“Wanna talk about it?” Peter offered as they reached the Audi.

She really didn’t want to bring it up ever again, but she wanted to clarify something with this boy. “I don’t think he would have ever done it.” Peter cocked his head. “I mean, yeah he was angry and aggressive, but I don’t think he’d go that far. Fight a little sure, get a little too angry yeah. I just… he’s the kind of person who, about a month ago, would have been afraid I was gonna mug him because I was living in a poor, crappy city. The fact that now he thinks I’m a prize to be one because of my background I’m worth pushing around… It just seems so backwards and confusing, Peter! And that’s my whole world right now. I don’t understand any of it.” Quickly Y/N climbed into the car, trying to leave her embarrassment at the door. That was more than she had intended on sharing. So as Peter climbed into the passenger seat, Y/N apologized, “I’m sorry, Peter, I’ll just take you home. Don’t you worry about little old me. I just need the night to regroup.” 

“No. After everything, I’m making sure you get home safe. If that means I need to drive then, hand over the keys. I’ll do it.” Peter’s voice raised in nervous pitch, but he maintained his composure. 

“Peter, even if I wanted you to drive me home, I live at the Avengers Facility. Security is impossible and I’ve basically accepted that I will never be able to have friends over,” Y/N explained hopelessly.

“Except…” the boy encouraged, turning over his hand for her to go on. It was actually the glimpse of the comlink on his own wrist that actually allowed Y/N to process why Peter was special.

“Except you have security clearance because you're Tony’s intern.” Y/N disappointedly threw her head around in a circle as she put together the rather obvious information. “Fuck it,” Y/N responded, aggressively opened the driver’s door she’d only just entered, standing to look at Peter over the roof of the car. “You licensed?” She asked casually.

“I just passed my test last weekend,” Peter responded proudly.

The doors hadn't even closed when Y/N abandoned ship. “Yeah, no. Get back in the car,” the girl commanded, ducking back in head first.  She simply said, “Jarvis?” as she climbed back into the seat and buckled up. She knew his perception and memory protocols were intuitive enough that he’d know what she was asking.

“Routing you to the Avengers Facility, Miss Y/N,” the car responded as it roared to life. The interior began to glow blue from all the lights throughout the dash. Rapidly, the car backed up and pulled out of the parking spot, startling Peter enough that he grabbed the ceiling for stability.

“You can do that?!” the frantic teen wheezed. Y/N decided that was a rhetorical question, and simply smiled at the funny kid. He was so unpredictable—or maybe she just didn’t know him that well yet. 

Y/N reached down the left side of her seat and held the button back until her seat was as far back as it could go. She wasn’t exactly mindful of why she did it. Just to relax Y/N supposed. She just felt really closed off, and as thankful as she was for Peter, she wanted to be alone for a bit to sort her thoughts. The best she could do to indulge that was to rotate her body some to face away from the boy. She didn’t want to talk, she wasn’t sure what to talk about, she hadn’t really put together her whole feelings on the matter. The first couple minutes she felt guilty like she was ignoring Peter, but after several, it seemed normal. She could hear was the quiet engine and the wind on the windows lulling her.

“This is so sad. Jarvis, play Desposito.”

Peter had delivered the line absolutely deadpan, and in the silence, both teens immediately froze to anticipate what Jarvis’s response would be. Y/N’s interests were perked enough that she peeked over her shoulder at the boy. She wasn’t even sure if Jarvis was programmed to respond to him. Peter, as a favor, had shown Y/N a bit more about how the com-link works over lunch during the week and his AI was named Karen, so the J.A.R.V.I.S. system was clearly anchored on the Stark name. It had been silent too long, like Jarvis was deciding. Y/N rotated in her seat back toward Peter so she could get a good look at the console. A flamenco-style guitar flourish resonated through the speakers. Shocked, Y/N turned toward Peter who’s jaw drop said he was screaming on the inside. A slower guitar riff continued as Y/N moved to sit her seat up in pure shock. The notes descended into the song, the meme, the legend and Y/N lost it. She felt laughter bubble up from her throat as she looked at the kid who instigated it. His jaw slowly closed, but the wide surprised eyes stayed. Y/N was loving the reactivity Peter had and wanted to keep it going, so she began dancing with her arms and her torso as the verse built close to the chorus. She was surprised at how easy it was to do a body roll in a car seat. It felt sexy in the suggestive outfit she was wearing, and in this situation, she felt safe to wield that power. It was just Peter, and he was her friend.

“Come on, Peter,” Y/N urged, grabbing the hands of the boy who’d been too thrilled watching her to join in himself. She made their hands dance together, turning Peter’s hands over and pulsing waves through them, before letting go for him to dance on his own whims. She wasn’t a dancer, but the pulsing waves she sent through her body in the car seat felt amazing. She looked over at Peter who was more tentatively head bobbing and swaying side to side, but she was satisfied. It was the kind of song you participated in, and she wanted to share this experience with him until the last line.

The car returned to silence. Putting her arms down, Y/N could feel the beginnings of sweat forming on her back where it was stuck against the leather interior, but it was refreshing. She felt a renewed energy by building a positive experience, and it didn’t make the other one okay, but it made her feel like she was refocused and could better sort out her feelings about what happened, without the depression of them being that last impact. “Thanks, Peter. I needed that,” Y/N admitted in the silence that had returned as the car pulled up out front the Avengers Facility.

“Don’t get me wrong, I was just making a joke to tease you—as a friend of course. Jarvis did the rest,” Peter defended with his hands up in innocence.

Y/N smiled and shook her head as she got out of the car. Peter behind her. The moment both doors were closed the car drove off to perform its parking protocol. Y/N had gotten used to that one small perk of her new life. Never having to park in the garage when she got home was a lifesaver. She turned around to look at Peter, now standing alone on the driveway. “We’ll ask Tony if Happy is still around for the night and see if we can get you a ride home that way,” Y/N suggested, otherwise inviting the boy to follow her in.

She found Tony sitting at the bar in the room she had waited in for so long that first night. He had a drink in his hand, but it was full and the ice inside was but slivers, so Y/N could tell he’d been sitting there for a while not drinking it. She figured maybe even just the action of pouring a drink felt better than doing nothing. He hurried over from the bar at the sight of the kids, worried expression. “What happened?” the man begged.

Y/N thought about what she’d be saying and licked her lips, knowing what she needed to have this conversation. “Peter?”

“Yeah,” the diligent boy stepped forward ready to care for her, and this was the kind of coddling she didn’t need.

“Do you know where the mess hall is?” She turned to face the boy.

Peter Parker assessed her for a moment with those deep chocolate brown eyes and understood, “Yeah, I do,” he answered before quickly walking out of the room.

As soon as the boy stepped out of the room, Y/N began, “Now don’t freak out.”

“What do you mean don’t freak out?!” Tony responded all high strung. “All I know is you sent out a distress signal, of course I’m going to freak out!”

“Well don’t freak out because then I’m gonna freak out!” Y/N rigidly explained, “And I’m not freaking out about it, are you?!”

“No! Are you?” Tony asked tentatively.

After a pause, Y/N insisted, “No.” It was a strange rollercoaster of 4 sentences, but Tony and Y/N were still trying to get used to this whole ‘Parent-Child’ dynamic. They didn’t know how to gauge these situations and it made sense that this would be a little bumpy. They were both scared. Both began waiting for the other to make the next move, and they ended up staring at each other for an uncomfortably long time. “Why’d you call Peter at the first sign of trouble?” Y/N asked finally, careful to start with something relatively explicable.

“I wanted to make sure everything was okay. I wanted you to go with him because I asked him to keep an eye on you,” Tony explained, making Y/N start to heat up.

“Okay, you realize that’s not his job, right? I’m not exactly sure what he does around here, but I know watching me isn’t in the job description.” Y/N felt offended that Tony would waste Peter’s time with tasks like that. Peter was her friend, if he was going to look out for her, he was going to do it because he wanted to, not because he was told to.

“And where would you be if I hadn’t called him, hm?” Tony quizzed, his lips beginning to disappear in reciprocated frustration.

“Right here!” Y/N yelled, throwing her hands up in the air. “There’s clearly something you’re not getting here, so here’s what happened,” the livid teen started listing off on her fingers, “Party. Guy. Bedroom. I said no. He got angry.” She had run out of fingers and decided to continue on anyway. “He wasn’t trying to force anything on me, he just grabbed my arm in a hissy fit. He wouldn’t have hurt me. He wasn’t going to rape me. So if you hadn’t called Peter, the guys hissy fit would have fizzled out on its own, I’d have left, and I would be RIGHT—FUCKING—HERE!” The girl gasped for air and dropped to the ground. She had run herself out of air in her aggression, and she was scared at the high-level emotions she was having. It was making her wheeze.

“Oh, kid,” Tony spoke softly, stepping forward and kneeling down on the floor next to her.

“I just…” she mustered herself. “I don’t know how to feel right now. It was nothing. I know that, but then everything around it makes me feel angry one moment, and fine the next, and I’m sad, but it’s not because of what happened. I don’t know how to feel.” Without another word, Tony sat down on the floor next to the girl and hesitantly wrapped his arms around her. Over his shoulder she continued to mumble, “It’s just so confusing because he’s not a bad guy and he didn’t really do a bad thing. Like he was responsive when I asked him to stop. But it made him angry, and I guess that makes me angry.” Tony pulled away, and lead Y/N to the couch so she could continue. “I think what bugs me the most is that a month ago that kid wouldn’t have looked my way, and now because you’ve slapped a name on me I’m desirable enough that he wants to fight for it. Like a possession.” Y/N stopped speaking and began chewing on her lip as she thought further.

Tony tapped her knee and stood up. He began working his way toward the bar and asked, “You want anything, kid?” as he swiped the watered-down drink off the counter and dumped it out.

“You realize that sounds wrong because you’re not supposed to be asking me that, right?” Y/N quipped back without missing a beat. She knew he never meant it in the first place, but it felt good and made the girl smile to herself. This was their relationship. He wasn’t her dad, and she wasn’t going to call him that. That didn’t describe their relationship. He was her senior, and she respected that, but that didn’t mean she had to conform her behavior around the associated social rules of Father-Daughter. So Tony and Y/N made quips at each other all the time. It felt nice to have that one note of stability. “Could you bring me a glass of water?” Y/N called over to Tony. Thinking nothing of the man’s lack of response as she heard the clinking of glasses and the sloshing of liquid being poured.

Tony returned, taking a seat on the couch with a single drink in his hand. “Where’s mine?” Y/N mocked offense. She did want the drink, but she much more enjoyed the game of verbal ping pong she and Tony played.

“I’m sorry, but this bar does not serve any underage gods, superheroes, or normal people,” Tony joked with a smile, earning an eye roll from his daughter. “So what are you gonna do if you have to see this kid at school?” Tony inquired earnestly.

Y/N furrowed her brow and shook her head. “I don’t know. I don’t hate him… I just hate what he did.”

It was Monday when the girl calmly walked across the lunch room and smashed Amadeus Cho in the face with a lunch tray.

[lunawings]

King of Prism SSS Episode 9 commentary (Alexander)

FINALLY!!!!! Finally I can talk about a few big things from this series I have been dying to talk about....

...............What did I sign myself up for. 

A quick rundown of what it says here: More and more people are becoming interested in the street-style and choosing to be street-style stars since the Prism King Cup. In the graph, the gold portion is academy-style and the silver is street-style, before -> after the Prism King Cup. Below it points out that Kazuki and Hiro’s “sparking” scores from the Prism King Cup (the Prism Watch data) were equal and suggests Schwartz Rose needs to step up their game in the street category. 

Every time I laugh at this. 

Every time I feel kinda bad afterwards. 

But

So Ace was entered as an official participant. It says “reserve”, but still. I guess that may have helped to make Joji’s score possible and not break the system. 

(In between writing my episode 5 commentary post and now, I got to read the interview with the director in spoon2Di where he confirmed that Joji’s high score was only because Ace joined in what was supposed to be a solo show.)

Flashy, huh. We’re going with flashy this time for “charachara”.... Okay. (Better than gaudy I guess.)

I love this so much. Kakeru coming outside just to watch Taiga exercise and get all sweaty and all that. I wonder how long he stood there. Or rather I wonder how long he watched with binoculars after heading back inside. 

I’m such a dumbass. After episode 3 aired someone pointed out that this is Taiga’s mom vs. Alec’s mom, and my excuse for not noticing then was that it’s in the background and such. (Can’t pause the movie in the theater and didn’t think to check it afterwards.) But here the camera actually pans over them slowly, so yeah I have no excuse. 

But regardless. Amazing!! 

Another thing I didn’t catch in the theater. But I have never had a reason to know the Japanese word for asthma before. I’m glad that gave him an actual reason for being sickly instead of just.... sickly child syndrome. 

As long as you’re happy, Victoria. 

But really though, their relationship is pretty damn interesting. 

I wonder if she knows he borrowed her clothes. 

No I don’t know why these grown-ass men have nothing better to do than pick on an actual seven year old child...............

So uh. This line confused me for the longest time. The way he says it, I really thought he was giving “Daikokuno” as another last name and I thought it was some kind of DJ KOO reference I didn’t get or something. 

But thanks to Crunchyroll I finally realized.... ITS A PLACE. He’s just saying where he’s from, and that’s how Alexander is able to find him. GOOD LORD IM SUCH A DUMBASS.......... Another point for Crunchyroll. 

HE BIKED ALL THE WAY FROM YOKOSUKA TO YOKOHAMA

Okay so now that I have the luxury to pause this, as soon as I did I opened up Google Maps in another window, zoomed in and....

WELL THEN 

At least I finally know where it is

BUT DAAAAAMN

Fuck asthma am I right

It wouldn’t give me the cycling time, but yeah, you can imagine. 

They only have this one image of Rei doing a jump and gosh darn they are gonna use it to the fullest. 

So during this scene and the next people cheer for Rei in the theater, but nobody really knows what color he is. There was a whole lot of variation at the beginning before people (in Nagoya at least) finally settled on red. (For the flames maybe? I don’t know if it’s official.....)

Alexander actually had a flashback to this moment on Prism Rush during the Road to SSS 9 event. I reblogged it recently on my @prism-rush blog trying to disguise it as part of my Alexander birthday spam. (It wasn’t.)

YEAHHHHHHHHHHH BOY

So if you have no idea where the heck this egg came from and what it is..... Rainbow Live.

But anyway. 

I can finally FINALLY talk about this!!! Even though I knew it would probably be all over Twitter, I really wanted to protect this spoiler on Tumblr if I could. It was such a big deal to me when I saw it in the theater and I really wanted you guys to have the opportunity to be as blown away as I was. I could not possibly think of anything to say about it that wouldn’t be a hint, so all I could say all this time was just that Alexander’s episode has “a surprise” in it.... SURPRISE!!!

But yeah, when I saw this for the first time I thought it just came out of NOWHERE. Total shock! I thought this was not predictable at all!

But then it hit me. All of a sudden I remembered something. Something important.

Again, in Road to SSS event 9....

So, for folks who follow my @prism-rush blog, remember that one Alexander PR where he was looking into a box? And nobody knew what was in the box? But  there was something weird following him? I even mentioned it and my confusion over it in my summary of that event. WELL GUESS WHAT.

We finally know what was in the box don’t we.  

I asked a friend to see the card story to fill in the blanks and see if there were any obvious hints to what was going on at the time, and it’s just mentioned as a strange animal he picked up. Alexander struggles with what to do and not really wanting to take care of it, but then he asks himself what Rei would do..... (Whether he could see Momo at that time, I do not know ahah....)

So in the beginning after seeing Part 1 in theaters I said on Tumblr that the Road to SSS events from Prism Rush didn’t have much to do with the SSS anime, and most of them didn’t and still don’t. All of course except for Road to SSS 9, just that one, which ended up being way more important than I would have ever imagined. And this isn’t even the only reason either, there is also--

SO UH anyway Road to SSS 9 took place in June, so this flashback is taking place in June DURING Road to SSS 9. A very roundabout way to dating the episode, but really cool. I like how Road to SSS was significant after all. 

And another surprise for me. In the theatrical version he’s not glowing here. They wanted to emphasize that he’s powering up I suppose eheh. I was really freaking out about this in the stream chat. SO COOL.

To the right of his little dragon house you’ll see some “dorayaki” because.....

Although they never actually mention it in the anime, his name is Dorachi. (Confirmed on Twitter.) 

(Note: Dorayaki is also the favorite food of classic Japanese character Doraemon.) 

Even though Dorachi doesn’t talk in this episode, in the theatrical special video for Alexander he talks A LOT. An UNFAIR amount. So much I do not remember most of what he said since I only saw it once and it went by so fast. 

But his real name is very long (like the manager names from PriPara) and he talks about spreading the prism sparkle. I’m sorry, that’s honestly all I remember right now.

Will he show up again in the main anime before the end?

(Okay yes.)

And at least they gave you guys was a bit of original(??) art of him in the new ending. 

WHATEVER THEY MAKE OF THIS CHARACTER I WILL BUY IT 

Okay moving on....... 

Urrgh..... okay so.............. When I first was watching this with you guys in the stream I was like UGH because I don’t think “flashy” fits here at all. I really wished they had stuck with “playboy” since it would work better with this scene. 

But then when I watched it again, I realized they already used “flashy” once in this episode to describe Kazuki’s sweater, and it did kinda work there. 

If we go back to my episode 3 commentary, my main complaint with Crunchyroll’s  translation of “charachara” was actually less about the words they used, and more about how it just wasn’t consistent. 

This episode..... is consistent.

..................

................................

Another point for Crunchyroll. 

I officially cannot complain about the subs in this episode. 

Another little thing in SSS I have spent way too much time thinking over is how Joji got here. 

In every episode up until now, it’s always been Louis seen walking beside Jin like his pet. But in this episode. JUST THIS EPISODE.... it’s Joji instead. 

I think the reason is because Louis is performing next, so he has to rest (since he’s not exactly in the condition he once was.....) So Joji scooped up the opportunity. 

Whatever the reason, I find it really interesting. 

HERE IT IS

My all time favorite Alexander face

In a weird way I actually think he’s cuter here than in the Prism King Cup

This song.... was not quite what I was expecting for Alec, but I love it. No part of me anticipated he’d just launch into a ballad but WOW. I just love how they picked something that really shows off his beautiful voice like this. Alexander is in my top three singing voices in King of Prism (1: Hiro, 2: Taiga, 3: Alexander) so I loved hearing him belting this out. 

Now time for my like.... 4th(?) embarrassing confession in this post.... I had no idea this song was a cover until like AN HOUR before this episode aired. You guys were playing TRF songs in the stream, the original came on, and while y’all were like “what should we watch next” I was sitting there like “!!!!!!!!FFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFF”

Well, it’s a new song to me. And I think it’s perfect for him. 

Poor Joji and his inconveniently timed fruit. 

He finally gets to spend time with Jin, and he just can’t get a break. 

I love the generation gap here. Kazuki’s existence has been so big to Taiga he can only think of Kazuki. But Kazuki and Hijiri are able notice the subtle differences that make this an OG Rei move. 

I could certainly spend a whole lot of text speculating why Alexander did not change into his battle suit, but I won’t waste your time and just admit I have no idea. I’m glad he doesn’t, since it keeps the spotlight on Alexander since HE CAN’T PERFORM ONE GODDAMN SHOW WITHOUT TAIGA BARGING IN ON HIM BUT MMMRGGHGHG

TAIGA YOU SHOULD HAVE KNOWN BETTER

Yeah I was SO MAD about this when I first saw it at the midnight showing.

A lot of people change to green when Taiga comes out, but I do not. This is the only battle where I cheer for Alexander the whole time.  

Not only was I mad at Taiga for being so dumb, but just mad at the whole concept of Taiga barging into Alexander’s one show to do basically the same jumps we saw in Pride the Hero again..... 

But.....

Nowadays I forgive my idiot son. And I hope you do too. 

This wasn’t the moment I forgave him. No, that’s coming later. I was mad at him for an entire month. But yeah. 

He’s just so confident and everyone believes in him................................

So Alexander breaks the street-style curse and gets a damn good score. Higher than Taiga’s original score. 

But just like Joji’s score was due to Ace, I can’t help but think Alexander’s score was a good deal due to Taiga.........

I had a feeling this would happen. 

I knew long before Part 3. 

Even back when I had only just seen Part 1.... I just knew the tables would turn in this episode. 

Maybe it would be difficult to guess by watching week-to-week, but for me having Alexander’s episode as the last episode of the theatrical Part 3 just seemed like it would be WAAAAAY too much of a coincidence otherwise. So I had a strong feeling Schwarz would come out ahead at the end of this one. (I didn’t guess the reason would be because Taiga would get a penalty, but yeah.) And especially because the performances are kind of out of order to make this work? Up until now I thought all of the Schwarz Rose boys performed first, but Yu was up before Alec? And Louis is up next. Maybe it wasn’t a guaranteed thing that the Schwarz Boys always go first, but I noticed it.  

So up until now score has not mattered much as Edel Rose has just sailed on though. But now it does. It matters a lot. 

So this is the second surprise of this episode, and why I was saying it’s the beginning of the chain of events that lead to the end.

But about score mattering now, one of the reasons I have been questioning Taiga’s score the whole time is because I knew this was going to happen. So I just.... I just hope Taiga’s score wasn’t lower to begin with on purpose for mathematical reasons so they could get their desired progression of the overall score or something. IDK.

I don’t blame Rei for not figuring it out right away. Even though I KNOW this is Alexander, I still have trouble connecting his younger and older selves. I mean, getting muscular doesn’t make your eye shape completely change does it....?

Poor Kazuki. He doesn’t care.

So if I interpreted this episode correctly.... 

This was Alexander’s official transition from an antagonist to a protagonist. (Or just to a normal rival at least.)

During the first two movies and for a good long time of Prism Rush, he always played the part of the villain. But once Road to SSS started that began to change. We saw him reminiscing about Rei, making awkward conversation with Louis, struggling over forming a duo with Joji, etc. So I had a strong feeling they were taking his character in this direction, but this right here was the official turning point I believe. 

No more destroying stadiums. From now on he’ll be spreading the prism sparkle with Dorachi. 

And still trying to beat Kazuki but you know. 

So I don’t have a source handy (if someone challenges me to find one I’ll dig it up) but I remember I read one time that Alexander was actually originally a character that was only created for the first movie. But then they realized they had to keep him on when he was just so popular. 

So if you have ever supported Alexander, this episode was for you. Fans make King of Prism possible. 

So.... one more thing I guess. Something I learned from the Minato episode was that even if I ignore controversy and specifically state I don’t want to talk about it, it still finds its way into my inbox anyhow. So I might as well get this over with I guess. 

After Young of Prism Alexander was revealed to have light skin, someone told me a theory that mixed race children are sometimes born with lighter skin which darkens as they grow older. So up until her design was revealed, I had always imagined Alexander’s mother as a black woman. 

So yeah. I don’t know the reason for his darker skin color now. 

But I’d like to point out that in this episode being pale was associated with being weak and unhealthy, while darker skin was associated with being healthy and strong and just leave it at that. 

And thus ends Part 3. 

Next week begins.................. what I have been dreading for a long time............

So...................

So up until now I have been pretty tight-lipped about spoilers. But once episode 10 airs, the floodgates will pretty much be open. Episode 10 and episode 11 are so connected it’s really hard to talk about one without the other. I mean, once you know about episode 10, I seriously might as well. So after episode 10 airs, at the bottom of my commentary post and after a warning I plan to share some episode 11 spoilers. 

Because I have been through this......

And I know how it’s gonna make you guys feel......

And since I was lucky enough to get some answers right away, I’m going to give you guys those same answers for those who want them so you don’t have to just sit on episode 10 for a week. I am not that kind of a monster. I won’t put you guys through that. 

So after episode 10 ends, take a deep breath, cry it out if you need to, and get some tea. 

I know how you’re gonna be feeling. I know. Don’t send me a panicked anon ask right away. Give me a little time. Hold on. 

[youcantkillamutant]

A Map Made in Heaven (Epilogue)

Prologue…Chapter 1…Chapter 2…Chapter 3…Chapter 4…Chapter 5...Chapter 6

Author: youcantkillamutant

Fandom: Marvel (Black Panther)

Pairing: Erik Stevens/Killmonger x Black!OC

Summary: Erik ‘Killmonger’ Stevens is the biggest bootlegger in South Carolina, but he wants to be more than the middle man. After he receives a letter from an ‘old friend’ of his father, he embarks on a quest to find his homeland. Enter Audrey Cade, the finest mapmaker in the County.

Warnings: None!  😊😊😊Okay maybe a lil angst but other than that....

Words: 1K+

A/N: So...This happened! This is the last bit of my 1920’s AU! Thank you to everyone for reading liking and reblogging and recommending (!?!??!) this story. I love that y’all read and review. That stuff always makes my day! 😘😘😘

I only own my original characters of course. As usual Marvel don’t sue me I’m broke.

Listening to: Bitter End by the Dixie Chicks, Shine by Leon Bridges, and Redemption Song by Bob Marley

EPILOGUE

July 10, 1922: Charleston, SC

Two years, four days, and…5 hours, since Audrey Cade left Erik in Wakanda. She never heard from him again, and after that first year she stopped waiting. Well as much as she could. That first year was…a bit of a frenzy. She convinced the US government to commission her to remap that Francis Marion National Forest in Awendaw, and she spent half a year searching for that tree.

Audrey mapped over 200,000 acres of vast expansive green searching for a baobab that shouldn’t have been there. It took her six long months to find it within the maze of slender trunked trees, and when she did Audrey lost her breath. Where there was once a strong wide tree, stood only a stump. It was withered and wilted, rotting from the inside and curled in on itself.

Audrey had held out hope for a while that Erik didn’t do it, that he didn’t destroy Wakanda. But she hadn’t heard from him, or Shuri, or even Ti for that matter and seeing the entrance to Wakanda shriveled and dying… She cried for hours that day, gut wrenching sobs pulled from her aching heart. Audrey felt as though an entire part of her had been scooped out and left bare and raw.

To be fair, Junie let Audrey wallow for a while. Too long if you asked Junie, but she could hardly get Audrey to talk about it. In all honesty Junie had never been one for feelings, her husband took over when the kids were crying but this is Audrey. Her little sister, her partner in crime, the smartest person she’d ever met.

Junie will never forget what Audrey said at Oakies, that first night back.

“I found it Junie. I found home.”

Audrey did her best to tell Junie all she could stomach.

“Erik is—was a prince. Lost royalty.”

Junie lost it of course, couldn’t understand why Audrey left Erik in the first place. Audrey tried to explain, she really did, but it seemed that the difficulty of the situation was between her and Erik.

“They hurt him and I couldn’t—he wouldn’t listen Junie. I’m afraid I’ve—”

All Junie could do in the end was hold her friend. She took her home and fed her sweets, and when that didn’t work she forced her back on a schedule. The shop reopened two months after Audrey returned, and she would go running with Junie every morning before the shop doors creaked open to the public.

Mrs. Floyd from the County Clerk’s office was the first to click her heels through the door, on the third day she opened. A few of her grandchildren tumbling in alongside her. Audrey softened at the babbling children, setting them up with paper and crayons at a smaller desk she reserved for these occasions.

“You let Mr. Stevens know I am keeping his place nice and clean sweetheart. And when you get a chance, come on down to the library and read to the kids, they’ve been missing you while you were away.” Audrey jolted at the mention of Erik. Junie hadn’t said his name since she had spilled everything, and to hear about him when he wasn’t there…hurt.

“Oh—okay Mrs. Floyd.” A deep inhale. “Is there anything I can get for you now?” Mrs. Floyd went on to describe the commission she needed and Audrey did her best to focus. That’s how it’s been since she reopened.  

Audrey used some of the money she had gotten from Shuri to make some upgrades to the shop as well. She’d found the best mechanic around to rig her a lightbox like the one in Wakanda, and a carpenter to get her the smoothest table money could buy. It still didn’t compare to vibranium, but her commissions shot through the roof after.

She had three sketchbooks full of Wakanda and Jabariland. The ornate palace halls, shining solar paneled automobiles, and the vast fields of Wakanda colored the pages. When she flicked through them now…It all seemed like a dream. She still reads the letter she got from Ti all those years ago. Ran her fingers over the splotchy ink of the map and uneven pulp of the paper.

Some days, bad days, she thought about what life would have been like if she had stayed. We he have burned her with all of Wakanda. Would he have reconsidered? Would she have ever returned home if he did? Erik was so set on his ambitions, Audrey was never truly sure if he had enough time for her. Sometimes she wasn’t sure she would have time for him. After she found Wakanda, her thoughts opened up to finding other lost lands. Discovering worlds people hadn’t seen in centuries somehow seemed possible after finding Wakanda.

The door to Cade’s Atlas swung open interrupting her musings, and all Audrey heard were the pitter patter of little feet.

“Bincinke!”

“Ti?” Audrey could barely speak. Before her was a girl, skinny and sprouting and covered in furs from the mountains, hopping from foot to foot.

“You remember! I knew you would! Baba wasn’t sure but I knew it!” Audrey’s heart was full to bursting when Ti released a triumphant smile. Babbling on and on.

“Uncle said I could run ahead if I bring you this!” She waved a wooden box around, nearly dropping it before she set it down and leapt into Audrey’s arms.

“I missed you bincinke.” Audrey squeezed Ti tight. Please don’t let this be a dream.

“I missed you too princess.” Another squeeze and Ti jumped out of her arms, shoving the box into Audrey’s shaking hands.

Ti gestured for Audrey to open it, so she did. It took her a moment to find the silk pull tab on the sleek box and the tab pulled the lid off slowly. The inside of the box was laced with soft, shining fabric. Silver, like vibranium. Inside was a beer bottle. Long necked and clear, filled with glittering blue liquid, the label read: Wakandan Brews, Est. 1921. There were a few Wakandan words at the bottom, Audrey only catching the words ‘home’ and ‘family’ before it fell from her hands back into the box.

She was so busy staring at the bold lettering that she barely heard the door clink open. Soft boots squeaked on the wooden floorboards, and long denim pants covered the man up to his waist. A soft cotton shirt hugged his shoulders and Audrey stopped breathing when she got to his handsome, brown face.

“Hey babydoll.”

“E—Erik?” Audrey’s breath left her in a rush. Wakanda lives.

—o—

Translations

Bincinke: Explorer (Hausa)

A/N: So here we are! The finale! This is the scene I imagined at the end, no crazy touching reunion, just Audrey seeing that Erik is alive. That’s all I wanted, I nice soft ending 😊

I know I say this in every chapter, but I want to thank everyone for reading this little AU. This is my first fic ever, and going into it I wasn’t confident that anyone would even read it let alone like it. I am forever grateful that I started writing fic for this wonderful fandom. I know that there are sometimes petty squabbles and shit, but everyone of y’all is amazing and I’m so happy to write amongst my amazing peers 😘😘😘

Taglist: @muse-of-mbaku​ @k-michaelis​ @princessstevens​ @nemesispawn​ @queenamaniii​ @dreadedphilosphy​ @killmongurl​ @thelovelyliterary​ @elaindeereads​ @thedom223​ @bidibidibombaclaat @thatrandomfangirl98​ @panthergoddessbast​

[dorky-spider]

The Calm Within the Storm

A/N: I have no idea how to put this into a category if I’m being honest. But I gained inspiration from the book The Siren by Kiera Cass! I hope y’all like it and if you want a part 2, let me know! 

Summary: You meet Tom while doing your siren duties, but they cause him to be in distress so you try to talk to him to calm him. 

Mermaid!Tom Holland x Siren!Reader 

Word Count: 1714 

Also, Italicized is the ocean speaking and bold is Tom speaking underwater. 

Update: The read more link doesn’t seem to be showing up with reblogs and I’m not sure how to fix it so just click on my blog name and it should bring you to the original post! 

//

Come, it’s time.

You hear the ocean whisper to you. You can’t decide whether you love or hate taking so many lives. On one hand you know it’s worth it taking a few lives to allow others to live, but your heart always mourns the ones it takes. You understand that she has to take them, they’re her only source of food and she doesn’t like anymore than you do.

Getting ready to sing you look to your sisters, the four of you all ready to let her song pour out of you so beautifully that the passengers cannot help, but fall in love.

Begin, my loves

The four of you sing, voices intertwining and creating a devastatingly beautiful song. It happens slowly then all at once. Some throwing themselves overboard, some getting pushed or slipping. They all end up here anyway, your voices strong and unwavering making this as easy and painless as possible for them. You try not to look at their faces, knowing that they’ll haunt your dreams if you do. It’s not hard to focus on other things, you’ve grown accustomed to the screams and pleas, but there’s one that causes you to look, to search for the source of it.

Still singing, maybe not as focused as you were before, you look for him. The owner of the calm, soothing voice that pulled you to reality during your song. It’s not something that’s happened before, someone having such a reaction to your song. It’s shocking while still being a nice change

Focus, Y/N. The voice will be gone soon and you’ll feel bad if you make life harder on your sisters or those I’m taking.

Attempting to shake the voice from your thoughts, you push yourself to sing louder, stronger hoping it’ll speed things up. Diverting your eyes, you move to a different area hoping maybe the voice won’t make it this far, but not realizing that you’ve moved closer to it.

This is wrong. You cannot hurt all these people. Please, save them. I don’t understand, why are you doing this? The voice calls out, pleading.

You continue on knowing that the questions, while valid, cannot be answered. This is taking longer than normal, you realize. Something must be wrong, Swimming back to your sisters, you try to bring them close. It’s important to keep together, to protect each other. That’s when you see him, the owner of the voice.

He’s beautiful, a mop of chestnut brown hair lays upon a pretty, youthful face with big brown eyes that you could imagine yourself getting lost in. His body is nice, smooth with defined abs, but it’s below his waist that catches your eye, it’s a tail. His entire lower body is a breathtakingly beautiful mix of blue, pink, and purple scales adorning his tail. His scales effortlessly transitioning between the soft colors making the water around him come alive with color. He’s swimming, helping people break the surface.

I cannot feed if he helps them. There can be no survivors. Distract him, Y/N, your sisters will take over.  

“What are you doing?” you ask as you swim closer to him.

They need to be helped. There’s so many of them, please don’t let that many lives be lost. How can you allow so much death? You have to help them. Please.

“I cannot. She has to eat to sustain life. We cannot allow anyone to survive, they will reveal us to the world. Please, you have to stop. If you don’t, she’ll punish you.” you can hear the desperation in your voice, but you’re not quite sure where it came from. Surely, his life cannot mean that much to you.  

I fear that if I don’t at least attempt to help, that I will have the weight of that decision on my shoulders for the rest of my life. He sounds sad and defeated, but yet still determined.

“It will be okay. Think of all the lives you would be saving. All the people you are allowing to live and thrive in the world by letting so few go. Please, she will not be kind much longer. I see your tail, I know that you need her more than them to live. She will not allow you life if you get in her way.” You hate admitting it, but it needed to be said. You look around, there are so few left now. It will be over soon. Reaching out to her you ask for permission to bring him to land, to allow him life and bring him away from the devastation.

Go. Your sisters are doing fine. They are thankful for you help with him. I will send you to an empty beach.

“Come with me. We will talk” You grab his hand, gripping tightly as she bring you to the shore. It’s dark, only the moonlight giving a soft glow to the beach as you both come ashore.

“What are you? What’s your name? Why do you help bring so much death to a world that already has so much? How did she bring us here so quickly? I can’t even swim that fast. Did you bring me here to kill me?” he rants off so many questions you fight remember all of them.

His voice. While it was beautiful underwater, it was breathtaking hearing now on this beach. It was difficult not to get lost in the sound of it. It was how our voices were to humans. Shaking yourself from your thoughts you notice he’s staring at you, waiting for answers that don’t seem to be coming anytime soon. Your mind blanking on anything other than his brown eyes that are focus solely on yours. Finally, though takes a minute, you come up with some answers that might satisfy him for now.

“I’m sure you know what I am. You’re a mermaid, aren’t you? I’m sure you can identify other sea creatures as well. No matter, I’m Y/N, a siren. I sing for her so she can feed and sustain life. It’s like how you protect sea creatures, I help her and she protects me. To answer your next question, she is the ocean, she can move things faster than anything else on this planet as long as it’s in salt water. And no, I’m not going to kill you. I begged her to help me let you live. It would have been a waste just to bring you here to kill you. What is your name, hun?” You smile. That was a lot of information, you think maybe you shouldn’t have given so much away.

There was something about the way he so willingly offered anything to save others or maybe it was the way he was able to actually hear your voice so freely or maybe the way he was looking at you so hopeful and enthusiastic that made you want to give him the full honest truth, to trust him so willingly and fully. It was a dangerous road you were starting down. If you

gave away too much information she would punish you, but you fear that if you weren’t honest with him he’d be on your mind for a long time wondering if by chance he would have understood.

“Y/N,I don’t understand,” he exclaimed desperately trying to make sense of everything you were saying, “Why does she have to do this? What do you mean she takes all of them to sustain life? How does that even …” He stops when he notices you giving him a pointed look.

“Your name, honey buns?” You want to give as much comfort as you can and you’ve noticed people like it when you use their name in the conversation.

“Tom.” It comes out barely a whisper.

“Well Tom, I cannot answer all of your question. There are simply some things I cannot talk about. With that being said, I can tell you that we will not hurt you or those you care about. It is not in our nature to bring more death than necessary.” You try to use a soothing voice to bring comfort to him.

His eyes are wide, regarding you with both caution and curiosity, but he seems a little more at ease knowing that no harm is coming to him.

“Okay, so no more death than absolutely necessary. I guess I can understand that. I mean will kill those who continuously harm other creatures. Those terrible sailors that just won’t stop. It’s basically the same, right?” he seems like he’s trying to convince himself more than you.

A comfortable silence sets over you both, you figure he’s trying to come to terms with everything and it wouldn’t be fair to rush him through the process. On the other hand, you wanted to hear his voice again. The smooth gentleness of it makes you want to sit with him and just listen to him tell stories for the rest of your days. He has an accent, which is rather normal for mermaids they can go on land whenever and live normal lives, you’d guess he lives somewhere near London. You always loved accents, they’re just so pretty to listen to. Being a siren, your voice and changes to fit wherever you are.

“Y/N? I thought all who heard your voice would die. If that’s true, why haven’t I died?” he quietly asked.

“We can allow a select few to hear our voices. It takes a lot of energy and focus, but we do it when we find someone worth the effort. Because of the effort, we can only choose one person to share it with at a time. When they die, we slowly gain the energy back and may do it again after a few years.” The words came out soft, making you feel like you’re one foot tall.

There’s silence, you want to see his face, hear his voice, find out what he’s thinking but you’re too embarrassed to look at him. It must be weird for him. To know someone he just met used their one chance to talk to someone for a lifetime on him, a total stranger.

“You chose me? Well love, let’s make that choice worthwhile yeah?”

//

I hope y’all like it! Any feedback is welcome. This is the longest thing I’ve written so far so any thing that can make it better is welcome! 

Again if you want another part let me know and I’ll write it! Thank you!!

[lily-wholockian]

introduction, prologue and chapter one

right, I don’t want to tell too much but some explaining at the start needs to happen. This is gonna be confusing, but please bear with me. I promise, it will come together by chapter 2 or 3.  That’s pretty much all I want you to know beforehand. If there is anything you would like to tell me about this, please do. If you have anything bad to say about this, please do, but don’t be unnecessarily rude - I know I’m not perfect but if you ask nicely I’ll work on it. If you like what you’re reading, please reblog and/or let me know (bc you only get more if i get the notion you might want more....) This will not update regularly but I’ll try to post new chapters before y’all have forgotten what I was going on about. There will be links. That’d be it, please enjoy 

PROLOGUE 

It had been too cold for too long. He was confused when he felt the warmth and energy rushing through his body. He looked down at his hands. They were stiff from the cold. It hurt when he tried to stretch his fingers. A calm golden light rose from them. He watched the light grow more intense. He wondered whether it meant he was going to die. Maybe he should be scared, but he wasn’t. He could see the lines on his hands fade, felt warm and alive. The golden light was gone now and she knew what it had meant. It hadn’t been death, it had been change. He had gone and now she was to take his place. She remembered this feeling. It had all happened many times before. She realised it would fade again. That now she knew what it meant to regenerate, she knew all about time and space and she could remember who she had been before and the people she had met. But for how long? It would all be gone soon and she would just be a woman, would be looking for a way to make a living, as she had done before. But just for now, she was the Doctor and she knew what she had to do.

ONE

Mr. Twelve drops his bag to the floor when he enters his flat and numbly slumps down on the sofa. “I’ve sold the guitar”, he says and hides his face in his hands. Missy sits down beside him, puts her arm around his shoulder. “No! Why did you do that?” “Earns us more than playing it, doesn’t it? It got me ninety-five quid…” “But you loved that guitar.” “What else should I do if no one wants to hear me play?”, he sighs, “And don’t tell me we don’t need the money.” “I guess you’re right. I’m going to miss you playing.” Mr. Twelve smiles at her. “Me too.”

***

The band are loud, all right, but they’re no match against heavy rain on a glass roof. Bill sits at the reception desk and watches people come and go. Well, mostly they’re popping outside for a smoke. They all come back after a couple minutes, drenched in water. She doesn’t even check their wristbands. Some of them drop a few coins in the donations box whenever they pass. Bill checks her phone for the time. 11:48, the band should be on their encore now. A woman comes through the front door and pulls off her hood revealing a head of short blond hair. “My stars, it’s pouring!”, she sighs and ruffles her moist hair. “I’m sorry, they’re almost done. I’d feel bad selling you a wristband. But you can donate, it’s for charity, we’re collecting for a—“ “It’s alright”, the woman cuts her off, “I’m not here for the band.” “Oh, but they’re good, they go to college over at—“ “I’m not here for the band”, the woman repeats, “I need your help.” “My help? Why?”, asks Bill. “Can we talk in private?” 

*

Except for the band, who are packing their equipment, everyone has left. Bill is collecting the leftover wristbands and puts them in a small box. “Now, what is it you want?” “Do you remember a man called the Doctor?”, asks the woman. “I work at a university, lots of people there end up being doctors. You’re gonna have to be a bit more specific.” “So you don’t”, she says in a matter of fact way. “Should I?” “Listen, do you trust me?” She grabs Bill by the shoulders, her golden-brown eyes staring fiercely into Bill’s. “No? I don’t even know you.” Bill dodges out of her grip. The woman sighs. “Of course not…” She pauses. “I am the Doctor” “You’re not a man”, states Bill “You said before ‘the Doctor’ was—“ “I don’t have time for that. I know what I said. Now, listen, we used to travel together, you and me, remember? I was someone else, a man, big hair, sunglasses, played guitar? Yes?” “You’re not making sense.” Bill takes the donations box under her arm and opens the front door. “No, don’t leave! I need you.” The Doctor reaches out for her hand. “Alright, then. Explain, clearly.” demands Bill, her hand still on the handle. “Just wait” she gently reaches beneath Bill’s wild afro to touch her temples with her fingertips. Bill wants to protest but before she can do anything, images start flashing in front of her eyes. Dead skulls in red hoods, an empress covered in green scales, small smiling robots,… a blue wooden box…. “Don’t forget me again”, the Doctor whispers. Bill recognises his voice.

[segadores-y-soldados]

Um hello everyone??

??????

I hit another follower milestone and like???

HI

How are there so many of you here??

Thank you to everyone for your support!  I hope ya’ll are enjoying the stuff I put on this blog!

So for new and old followers here’s some stuff about me and a mini writing showcase:

Tumblr username: Segadores-y-soldados AO3 username: clickclickBANG Twitter: https://twitter.com/SegadorYSoldado (I am very new at the bird website, please send help) Semi-personal info: transdude from California, please use he/him for me Semi-relevant skills: slowly improving my Spanish - feel free to correct my nonsense (also, 00halle, I saw your comment - I’ve been meaning to respond!  Thank you again for the offer, I super appreciate it and will be coming to you with some questions when I get a chance)

Content: All Overwatch stuff, lots of Reaper76 shippy stuff - be sure to look at my About page to find my other ships I’ll reblog 

Things I’m most well-known for: My essays (tagged as “my essays”) including references on Reaper, Soldier, and Ana; little dialogue scenarios (tagged as “dumb stuff”), usually involving Reaper/Gabriel and Soldier/Jack in some way; doing research on lore and locational stuff in Overwatch; writing fics about Gabriel and Jack being ridiculous smartasses who are in love (and oftentimes the poor people who have to witness their shenanigans).

Little writing showcase:

SEP: Sunsets (written for the amazing Vapewraith!)

They’re in one of the halls of the SEP facility - tucked away into a deep mountainside “somewhere out west,” the building is hard angles and brutal concrete and cut-steel, as soft as titanium and as gentle as the injections they get every morning and evening.  Yet even here, in “wherever’s-range,” there is still beauty: the massive windows, normally just cold, crystalline glass, are open to the sunset, bleeding colors across the land and sky, dripping into the hallway with the vibrancy of oil paints.  Reds smoke into bright, endless pinks, golds melt into bold, sunshine yellows, oranges shift into liquid amber, and at the edges of the atmosphere, velvet purples sigh into silky blues, tinting the more vivid colors and steeped clouds with the dusk of night and the emerging stars.

It’s a sight neither Gabriel nor Jack will ever get tired of -

No matter how exhausted they are.

“The doctors will see you shortly -” the SEP instructor starts to say, reappearing at the far end of the hallway, before he looks up from the papers on his clipboard and scowls at the group of crumbling supersoldiers, snapping, “Is that what you call ‘lining up?’”

“Maybe if y’all didn’t work us so damn hard,” Number: 141 growls, his voice climbing into a hoarse yell, “We’d still have the energy to fucking stand!”

There are shouts of agreement and calls of “Yeah that!” and quiet mumbles of assent.  Gabriel huffs to himself, sliding himself onto the concrete barrier and trying his hardest not to wince as his muscles settle into a sitting position.  He’s used to hard work and even harder workouts, but today had been…brutal.  3 am running through the facility and into the mountains and back, to 10 am sparring and boxing and hand-to-hand combat, to 1 pm “simulation training” where they ran teams in rubber-bullet fire-fights, to 4 pm regulated work outs of push ups and squats and curls, to now - 8 pm - where they fall to their pieces in concrete hallways, waiting for doctors to take their biodata and continue churning them into statistics for the U.S. government before jamming more needles in their arms and sending them to brutal, uncomfortable cots in the dorms.

Jack slides himself up next to Gabriel, sighing just loud enough for his best friend to hear, “Today…was pretty bad.”

“Would’ve been easier on you if you hadn’t burned yourself out on those push ups,” Gabriel grunts back, pulling a pack of cigarettes from a pant pocket.  He taps one out, muttering with some confusion, “Why were you doing all those one-armed push ups?”

Old Habits (aka “the big fic”) - Rating: T - Action/Adventure for R76:

“PULL BACK,” Reaper’s shouting at the three goons who got blasted the fuck back with a concussive rocket, “ASSHOLES, THOSE ARE HELIX MARK VI, IF THEY FIRE A REAL ROCKET YOU’RE FUCKING DEAD.”

Louis is, remarkably, the only one who stays on his feet, although now that they’re all wearing their visors it’s getting difficult to tell who’s who.  The other two roll backwards, flipping over a few times before slamming into the cliff wall behind them.  Reaper could fucking push both of them off the ledge and into the depths of the canyon with how annoyed he is at them, but that’s not important right now.

Three of the Helix fliers pop up from behind the rock ledge, hovering just a bit above the ground - low enough to get shelter again, but just high enough to give them a subtle height and maneuverability advantage over the Talon and Deadlock ground units.  He hears Widowmaker and Henri fire off a few more rounds, but distant screams are the only reward for that - they’re aiming at the U.S. military soldiers who are stupidly rappelling down from the stable parts of the train still up on the tracks and making themselves easy targets.

“Widowmaker, Helix units, on the ground, below you!” Reaper growls out over the comms before he fucking dematerializes -

- and reforms himself directly behind the three Helix fliers.

God, that hurt like a FUCK.

He punches one of them in the back to make up for it.

FUCK THAT FUCKING HURT TOO

WHY DIDN’T HE JUST FUCKING SHOOT THEM LIKE A REGULAR ASSHOLE

(More under the cut)

76 + 127: How We Were Made - Rating: E - Reaper76 SEP fic

Jack stands by one of the dull, concrete walls and bends himself over before slowly reverse-walking his legs up the side.  The rush of blood to his already throbbing head just makes it feel worse, but the weird mix of exhaustion and energy courses through him and he -

He cannot tell if he wants to fight something

Or fuck something.

...Probably both.

That was the other thing: the fucking raging mix of hormones and chemicals - both natural and artificial - had only cranked individual personalities, energies, attentions, aggressions, and desires to the fucking max.  It had been apparent from the day of orientation that all 150 of them were between 18 and 25 years old - all physically fit, largely martially-oriented people from a multitude of military programs across the country.  Jack and Gabriel had been the top two picks from West Point, but Jack had recognized a handful of the others as being from the academy - like three upperclassmen and ten lowerclassmen and two from their own group - Adrien and Sarah.

So yeah

Of course both fighting and fucking had started occurring within the first week.

Pinche mierda, there had been packets of lube and condoms in their supply chests in their bunk rooms from the very first day onwards.  The program directors had certainly known what to expect from a bunch of high-energy, high-intensity young adults.

Jack sighs again, not sure if he loves or hates the pressure in his head and neck, before pushing his arms up off his elbows and onto his hands.

Upside-down push-ups suck.

Gabriel’s wide, smug, fucking charming grin flashes into his head.

Sharpshooter: Hit Me Like A Drum - Rating: T - McHanzo meeting fic

Jesse flicks his eyes from the apparent quiver back to the man’s amazing face and his dark eyes and immediately knows two things:

1 - This man is absolutely the most handsome person Jesse has ever had the blessed fortune of meeting.

2 - He does not understand a word coming out of the man’s mouth.

“...Pardon?” Jesse asks absently, blinking awkwardly. The...archer (?) tilts his head a little and scowls a bit - oh jackrabbit turds, I pissed him right off - before saying in flawless English, “It is your turn.”

Oh. Jesse thinks lamely. English.

“Oh uh, thanks, partner,” Jesse says awkwardly, glancing back towards the counter where one of the chefs is waiting with an expression of stern politeness that is fading into increasing annoyance. Jesse makes eye contact with the chef and she gives him a small handwave of “hurry up, tourist, I don’t have all day.”

“Uh…” Jesse glances back sheepishly at the man behind me, giving him an embarrassed smile, “You wouldn’t happen to know which one is the spicy pork ramen, would you?”

The man’s scowl fades for a quick second before returning, and he says with startlingly serious focus, “Oh. You can’t read it.”

“Uh…no, sorry ‘bout that, darlin’,” Jesse apologizes without thinking and the man raises an eyebrow, asking, “‘Darling?’”

OH FUCK ME AND MY DUMB ASS

Why, yes, please do, the wiseass side of Jesse cracks in his head and he fucking flounders over the barrage of shame and embarrassment and attraction.

“Oh, damn, shit, sorry - oh cheese on a cracker, I shouldn’t be swearing, oh god you’re gonna think I was never taught manners - shoot, sugar, I’m so sorry, it’s a bad habit I got from my pa and - Shit, I just did it again - sorry, it’s been a long trip here and, oh Lord, I just swore again, this is so embarrassing -”

A startled look of wonder blossoms on the man’s face and if Jesse wasn’t so fucking flustered, he would love to try and mentally catalogue how the man looks so open and surprised. Jesse is in the middle of tripping over his words when the unthinkable happens.

A miracle occurs.

The man gives a surprisingly broad and genuinely happy grin and starts to laugh.