#is someone crushing or killing it and it isn’t just like a little speck you can see it writhing in pain all crumpled up i HATE that shit

[blzzrdstryr]

Reveries of turmoil

Yandere!Childe x fatui!reader

[Previous chapter]

Just as you predicted that short and stifled conversation was a portent of future changes. Childe stopped trying to talk to you outside the business, he even avoided your eyes in those rare moments when you looked at him first. Normally obnoxious and persistent Harbinger seemed to deflate in your presence, as his swaggering and blustering attitude disappeared within mere moments.

You would be overjoyed for this turn of events, if you didn’t have any experience of dealing with and tolerating Tartaglia. Childe, as you already established, is a chaos personified, an erratic whirlwind that twists and ruins everything in its way wrapped in human skin and caged by human bones. It wouldn’t be a surprise if some nasty complications arose out of this faux armistice and sneaked upon your unsuspecting self.

Ajax wont do anything drastic, you reassure yourself - the Rite of Descension gets closer and closer with each passing day, he just can't afford to fail this, meaning that he will have to keep you on-field. It would be logical to do so, let you work, but logical sometimes means predictable and nothing about Ajax is predictable.

Fortunately he continued to keep this strange distance as days passed. Was your little episode and words you said to him enough to stop him in his pursuit? Maybe it truly hurt him, maybe it made him see how miserable he was making you, maybe his obsession with you ceased to exist, it’s flames fizzling and going out just as fast as they ignited. You doubt all of it, yet continue to hope for the better, despite the evidence of the opposite shoved in your face.

Ajax will never let go of you, not in the way you want. He killed and tortured people right before your eyes, sometimes had you assist him in doing so. Most of the time this was done in Tsaritsa’s name, for the future of Snezhnaya and her people, just another working assignment regardless of the blood curdling screams and alien agony.

However, in some rare cases the torment of others isn’t something that is totally impersonal to you, sometimes you’re the main cause. Childe is possessive, terribly so. He watches over you like a dragon guarding his gold, scaring away other possible admirers. And if his title and reputation wasn’t enough to keep away whatever poor sod who decided to tempt the dragon, well, other way more grim methods were used.

You never personally witnessed these kinds of torture, but you heard rumours and sometimes saw the bodies after, images that keep reappearing in your nightmares. Maybe this lull is nothing but a quiet before the storm, a short breather after he commits some unforgettable atrocity again.

He personally summons you the day before the Descension. You brace yourself for incoming nonsense, except nothing comes. “Agent [Last]”, he says, his voice tense and restrained.”I need you to attend the Rite of Descension with me. You will be disguised as a civilian", and then he dismisses you, no hint of mind games he likes to play in sight.

You want to hope that he changed, you succeed and fail at the same time - this new Ajax is pleasant, he’s cold and disinterested, just like any boss should be, yet you just can’t relax and focus wholly on doing the job - it’s a privilege only those who haven’t met Tartaglia can afford.

He’s a sea, treacherous and ever changing, calm and serene in one moment, yet violent and crushing in the other.

You spend the day torn between the anxious thoughts of Tartaglia and what he might do and the preparation for upcoming ceremony - it's a once in a lifetime event, it's Tsaritsa’s will and hope, it's Ajax’s eyes focused on you. You can’t afford to fail, you have no right to do so.

Wearing a simple Snezhnayan overcoat with nothing hiding your face is surely strange after years of donning a fatui uniform. Tourists and Liyuens alike pass by, not paying you any attention. Both vision and delusion glow under the thick fabric, asking you to use them.

You walk faster.

The top of the Yujing Terrace is lit with sunlight and full of human sounds, as merchants and other workers haste to finish their tasks and join the people at the top. You look around, quickly noticing the familiar ginger - he stays half-turned to you, his eyes focused on the figure of Tianquan. You quickly avert your gaze, as if not recognizing him, and shift it towards other people - you spot two vision holders among the crowd too - an electro and geo one, and a strange person cladded in the exotic clothes with some sort of flying fairy(?) floating around.

You walk to the altar placing Liyuen flowers nearby the multiple offerings of food, wine and gold, their simple white petals contrasting against the gaudy luxury of the rest.

"Qingxin flowers?", someone suddenly says, a speck of genuine surprise evident in the phrase. Their voice is too close for your comfort - you quickly turn on the heels, alarmed by a person somehow sneaking up on you only to be met with a pair of the golden eyes.

It’s a nicely dressed Liyuen gentleman, with the air of wisdom and elegance surrounding him, an inner dignity shining from beneath, and most importantly the one you saw wearing a vision at the back of the coat. You try to look as calm as possible, despite the senses telling you otherwise - after years of service any vision holder unadorned by the Fatui colors is perceived as a threat.

“Yes, it is”, you quip back, not wanting to look suspicious: “Is this improper? Qingxin as an offering?”, you mimic a light concern - something that would be appropriate for the foreign merchant who might have offended the god of commerce.

“No, not at all”, Liyuen laughs: “just in all of my years, I have never seen anyone offer these flowers”.

“Huh”, you smile, looking at the man before you. Is he a simple liyuen you thought of him at first? He has Geo vision - the symbol of Archaic Lord’s recognition - and the way he said “all of my years” carry more weight than usual, a mark of something hidden beneath the mundane phrase.

“Something tells me, you must have attended every rite of Descension”, you continue, the starter vague and innocent enough - a perfect way to fish out more information. For some reason, his golden eyes widen a bit, it’s subtle and quick enough to go unnoticed by most people, but you’re not the most people - all Fatui agents are trained to catch even the smallest changes and educated in multiple fields, physiognomy included.

What could have caused such a reaction and why did he react the way he did? The Rite of Descension is a prominent event in the life of every Liyuen, even if it’s annual, as thousands of thousands of people traverse great distances to see their god fly down from the heavens and grace his subjects with the wisdom of countless years. You remember seeing Liyuens living in Snezhnaya consistently take a leave every year for a week, when the prominent date showed on the horizon, missing working days and no doubt a lot of nerves, only to see the archon of their homeland.

So why did that man looks so surprised?

“You’re quite perceptive, aren’t you?”, he responds, voice calm and pleasant, despite the masterfully hidden surprise: “And yes, I have always tried my best to be at every Rite to this day. Rex Lapis shares his experience with his people, so it’s an incredibly important day. And what about you? What brings a foreigner here?”, he makes a gesture at your obviously snezhnayan clothes.

“Well, I am a travelling merchant as you can see”, you raise your hands, showing him more of the coat: “Having blessing from the God of Commerce won't hurt, right?". He, again, reacts in the way you haven't anticipated, a handsome face adopting a contemplating expression for a short second.

"Rex Lapis rewards diligent people, work hard and he shall bless you too", he says with an air of wisdom around him, like an old enlightened monk passing his knowledge to the disciples surrounding him: "And you shouldn't keep your vision beneath the layers of cloth. I feel its chill just standing here, who knows what it will do to your body?".

Then he simply turns away and goes to the exit of Yujing terrace, and it’s your turn to suppress the rising agitation - how did he know, where’s he heading now?

“Wait”, you say: “why are you leaving?”

“I dedicated my whole life to my job, which consists of a collection of small and incredibly repetitive tasks, they took up most of my attention and I slowly, but surely became a creature of habit, deaf and blind outside its limited field of experience and comfort zone. Time never stops, so I decided to leave the work I’ve been entrusted with, and I want to start it by breaking my strongest habit - religiously attending every Rite of Descension”.

“Ah”, you reply, equally impressed by his speech, and feeling that you are talking about two completely different and unrelated topics: “well, good luck on that”.

More and more people flood the terrace as one of the main threats to your plans finally arrives - stern and ambitious, Ningguang looks as elegant and intimidating as ever, geo vision and the tassel attached to it, shaking with every graceful step. She throws a short glance at Tartaglia - he stands surrounded by the rest of the agents - yet her face doesn’t change even a bit, whatever hostility she may hold for your faction masterfully suppressed.

You quickly look around - tourists and citizens arrive at the last minutes and milleliths come with them. Soon, all of the exits are heavily guarded by at least four soldiers, all carrying spears and clad in armour - surely a necessary precaution, given the presence of Fatui and their Harbinger.

There are no milleliths among the crowd though, not in the on-duty uniform at least. You study the group again, this time looking for anyone with weapons, as someone lightly pushes you away - it’s that foreigner again. “I am sorry, we need to go closer”, the pixie-like creature apologizes, as it flies after the stranger, and you conclude that there are no armed people, except you, Tartaglia, milleliths, Ningguang and that strange person.

“The hour is upon us”, Tianquan starts, after looking at the bright sun above, two women around her slightly bowing down, as she invokes the power of geo. The gold glow surrounds and illuminates her whole figure, before condensing into hard rocks of the same shade. They shine and fly around her for a bit, leaving the yellow trails behind before starting to spin around the shrine in the middle of the rock table.

Soon the golden inscriptions on the shrine start to glow too, before it sends a bright orange beam into the blue sky. The crowd "Oh!"s and "Ah!"s as the clouds deform around the pillar of light.

Tension, so thick it can be tasted, descends in the waves upon the Terrace as some - carefree and ignorant - hold their breaths in excitement and anticipation, whilst the rest focus in caution - Fatui and Qingxin alike. You shift, taking out both vision and delusion out of your coat, as your eyes frantically shift between Tianquan, Tartaglia and the spiraling clouds above, your whole being ready to aid Childe in his mission.

And then something unexpected happens: a majestic dragon does descend to his people. By falling straight to the ground. Serpentine body slumps around the crushed offerings, elongated tongue escaping the confines of the maw.

A long second of absolute silence passes before Ningguang collects herself, checks the body and orders milleliths to close off all the exits, as the crowd erupts into turmoil and chaos realizing what exactly has happened. You disguise amongst the panicking masses, hiding two glowing orbs in the deep pockets of your coat,before looking at Tartaglia again - he in turn intently stares at the blonde foreigner, who quite clumsily tries to sneak past the soldiers.

Milleliths catch onto that running after the stranger and you use this opportunity, turning invisible in the same second. People around you are too panicked to question your sudden disappearance or the unnaturally cold breeze swaying past them, as you make your way - Childe has already departed, chasing after the group of soldiers, and Ningguang is seen leaving too, giving the last orders, before turning to the Yuehai pavillion.

You contemplate for a second, unsure what to do - Tartaglia has ordered you to aid him in case of Qixing intervention, there was nothing about the death of your target and the glimpse into Tianquan’s actions might be a key to solving the mystery of said departure. The thing that you plan to do is opportunistic, reckless even - who would have known that Ajax will rub off onto you? You chase after Ningguang, careful to keep yourself invisible.

Who is Rex Lapis’ murderer?

She goes up to the aged man standing at the stairs of the pavilion, they exchange a couple of words before Ningguang steps up on the little floating island and it starts to levitate! You run after her, still unsure what to do - the platform is too small, Tianquan will no doubt feel the chill coming from you, but the opportunity to learn what Qixing are planning is too good to miss.

In the end, you come to compromise, jumping after the rising platform, as your hands clutch into its rough protrusions and you grit your teeth, enduring the pain and cold from the vision overuse. The little island rises higher and higher, as people and buildings underneath turn into small dots. Your fingers start to slide off a couple of times, yet you grab onto the island with a renewed strength everytime that happens, asking Tsaritsa to let fortune favour you.

The platform finally stops moving, and you pull up, once you hear her heels clicking away.

Jade chamber, as it turns out, exceeds all rumours, luxurious and opulent, shining above the prosperous city, it glows under the sunlight with a golden radiance. You would have stopped to admire it if it wasn’t for your goal. You sneak after Ningguang, following her to the office as she takes out papers and folders from the shelves. She focuses on them, as you carefully step near her, glancing at what she’s reading - it’s reports of fatui activity throughout the months, leading to this day, thankfully vague and very far from reality.

Does it mean that she also has no idea of what or who caused Rex Lapis’ death and tries to find his killer? Or does it mean that she looks for a way to deduct Fatui's next actions?

You don’t have time to contemplate, as the frost worsens and you feel cryo energy exhausting from the overuse - one more minute and you’ll become visible. You quickly walk away - you don’t have enough time to reach that platform, so you do the most logical thing - fling yourself out of the window, opening the wings of the glider halfway the jump.

You push the most of your invisibility, letting go of the cryo powers once you're only a couple of meters above the ground. In the end you find yourself tired and frozen to the very bones, slowly coming back to the Northland bank.

***

You approach the building as the Sun begins to set - its pink-orange rays dying everything in the warm glow. The bank looks glorious like that, sinking in the reddish tones, it looks like an illustration out of children’s books - a place of something miraculous, a place of something hopeful.

“Hi”, you throw to the tired Vlad and he nods, after suppressing an escaping yawn: “Is boss here?”

“Yeah”, he croaks, drowsiness evident in his speech: “came back like an hour or two ago. Can’t really remember”.

“Huh.. Well, thanks”, and with these words you enter the bank, pushing the doors and preparing yourself for the confrontation to come.

After chatting with Ekaterina and confirming that yes, he is in his office, you head for the staircase, all of the information you learned today buzzing inside your head.

Childe sits, hunched over the papers, as you enter, not paying you even the sliver of attention. For some reason he’s in a different clothes.

“Eleventh Harbinger”, you start the standard greeting, all formal and stiff: “this subordinate has finished the task”.

This finally prompts him to raise his head, cold blue eyes look at you, no hint of the usual obsessiveness in sight: "you may speak, agent" he succinctly says, putting the writing feather aside. You quickly report to him all you have seen today, without your own thoughts involved - they’re just baseless theories, after all.

“So you say, Tianquan was reading the reports about Fatui activity. Haven’t you destroyed those reports earlier?”

“Those papers contained nothing about the current situation, they were actually far from reality, I doubt that any of those reports survived the fire”.

“Seems, I’ll have to take your word for it”, a sigh, he leans closer in his seat, propping left cheek on the palm: “Why did Tianquan look at them? What was she trying to do? Pin her crime on us?”, he glances at you again, gesturing that you can speak your mind and you do.

“Highly unlikely, sir. From the short time I spent watching her and her reputation, I have an impression that Qixing Tianquan is a person who prefers to plan her every action. If she or any other Qixing higher up, were the one who murdered our target, then every needed preparation would be done months, if not even years in advance. She would somehow cast us as the killers right at the ceremony, in front of thousands of Liyuens, making us a scapegoat for public outrage and creating alibi for herself”.

“So, that’s how you think”, he hums, blue eyes deep in thought: “Your entire conclusion is based on the mere impression. With Tianquan’s ambition I wouldn’t be surprised if she was the one behind this...”, a vague hand gesture: “catastrophic situation”.

“When I sneaked inside the Jade chamber, she looked very frantic, it didn’t show on her face, but her movements were harsh and quick, lacking any of her elegance. She looked like she tried to keep herself together”.

“Anyone would try to do that, especially after killing a god”, he looks somewhere to the left, no doubt imagining battling the dead archon: “Well, my conclusion isn’t based on anything solid either. We don’t know who killed Rex Lapis, but we still need to somehow obtain his gnosis”, the last part isn’t addressed directly to you, it seems that Ajax just decided to voice out his worries.

“You can go”, he says, standing up from the table. You are touching the door handle, when you hear him asking:”what’s with your hand?”. The tone is nothing like that time, yet shivers still go up your spine when you remember what happened that day.

"Frostbite, from my vision", he comes closer to you, hand outstretched to yours: “Can I?”, he asks and waits for your faint nod, before gently pulling it closer to his face.

“It’s a second degree”, he mumbles, inspecting the white-blue discolorations and small angry blisters - the skin throbs and aches at his touch, yet most of it remains numb, muffled, like sounds underwater: “You should get it treated”.

“I should”, you agree, eager to leave this room and situation: “I will ask medics for some..”

“I already discharged them”, his hand suddenly shifts, now resting atop of the door handle, his frame suddenly looming over you: “I have a medkit here, with the ointments and balms. Maybe you should stay here and let me patch you up?”

Why did you even think that Childe could change?

***

Ajax has you sitting on his chair, with sleeves rolled up to the very elbows, as he frets around you - checking the temperature, pulling the warm water closer to you and taking out needed medicine out of the kit. It’s mostly silent, except the tune he quietly hums - Childe looks peaceful and content like this, maybe he likes caring for you.

“Does it hurt?”, he takes a discolored finger, probing around the blister, as the warm hydro energy engulfs your damaged hand. The burst of sensation explodes at this action - pain, tingling, throbbing, even relief.

“Bearable”.

“Understood”, Childe gets back to his task, continuing to rewarm your hands, still humming that tune as he does so. He takes out the healing ointment, when the healthy color and warmth returns to your limbs and spreads it on the skin, bitter herbal scent filling the room in an instant.

“[First]”, he says, as he rubs the place between the index and middle fingers: “I think we need to talk. About that day and your reaction”.

“And what about it?”, you respond, too quickly and snappy for the calm-facade - the memories of that day, of what you thought he will do to you, of how he witnessed you falling apart - all of these are too much, a maelstrom of conflicted feelings rising every time your thoughts stray to this topic. He finishes applying the balm and now switches to the bandanges, wrapping treated hands in them.

“Don’t you think you treat me too harshly, [First]? I understand I may have been… unpleasant in the Past, but I thought we moved past that. What have I done to warrant such ire?”, he says it with his usual smile, but there's a tense, heavy tinge in his words. It’s subtle enough to miss, but you knew Ajax since you both were fourteen, so the strain doesn’t go unnoticed.

Everything, you want to coldly respond, but you stop yourself again - Ajax is still a Harbinger, even if he trailed your steps at the training camp like an overeager and highly murderous puppy not even a decade ago, no matter your own feelings or sentiments or even experiences he still holds that power over you, whether he realizes it or not.

“There were.. things”, broken bones, coppery scent of blood, someone else screams: “training with you wasn’t pleasant for sure”. Childe laughs at the last part, yet the tension clouding in the air doesn’t dissipate, turning more tangible instead.

“I see”, a long pause: “I want to prove you're wrong, I want to prove you that I will never do something against your will”.

You already did. You stay silent at that, anger and fury and frustration boiling underneath, burning and scorching your insides like a magma moments before the eruption. His hands finally wrap the last layer of bandage, tying the ends into a neat little bow, yet he doesn’t let your palm out of your hold, as his lips hover over it, breath burning the skin even through the fabric. And then he releases it, not doing anything.

“Good luck with that”, you finally suppress the inner storm, and stand up from the chair, quickly heading to the door. The place where he almost kissed your tingles and throbs with a renewed strength. Your cheeks burn for some reason.

[clarrissanewt]

Hello, I'm ashamed to say this is my 3rd time asking someone to do this request so pls put me out of my misery! If possible could you please do harryxfemreader where nobody knows the reader is really good with a broom? like a gymnast on a beam type of? You know how they do flips and stuff? One day harry comes across her doing tricks on the broom and keeps pestering to join the quidditch team for weeks after? Finally she agrees and In her first game she does a flip to avoid a bludger? Thankyou xx

Backflip

Pairing: Harry Potter x fem!reader

House: Gryffindor

Warnings: None

A/n: here I'm to actually end your misery *laughs nervously*

I'm no good at gymnastics and well, it's just a maiden attempt. Hope you like it!

Thanks for the request xx

September could never be bad. With a tattered, old book in hand, a thin, warm sweater over the shoulders, and a dancing fire in front of eyes- told you, it never could have been bad. At least for Potter.

And so, he didn't even notice when the portrait hole opened and when a highly exhausted Gryffindor plonked beside him. All thanks to the Prince.

It was only when Merlin knows what fell on his feet, he was yanked out of Prince and his little secrets.

"Oh- so sorry, Harry!"

The girl beside him plunged from her armchair to the rugged floor, hastily picking up the books that now sprawled within half a metre (his mind often exaggerates, and he admits it).

It took a minute for reality to hit him before he jumped to his feet. He had been lying in the common room for almost all day with Ron, who decided to ditch him and move to the Great Hall for some food. Not like he complained, though.

But her friend, who was currently plucking her scattered books, didn't look as fresh as he did. The reason, of course, was that she agreed with Hermione to waste her only holiday in the library (he is more than greatful that Hermione isn't an Occlumen, otherwise, she would have killed him before Voldemort did).

"Are you alright?" He asked her carefully as she fell back beside him, not minding that the rim of her feet brushed against the protuding stack of books.

"Yeah, just sneaked out of the library," she rubbed her eyes furiously as she avoided direct contact with the clicking flames. "If I'd gave opened another book, I'd have scorched my eyes for sure."

A smile crept into his face as he nodded in her direction. And definitely, she wasn't exaggerating (unlike him). Hermione had dragged her soon after their breakfast, and, by now, the sun was almost out of sight from the demarcations of the castle.

She did have a hectic day.

"Why don't you, maybe rest?" He advised, silently hoping she would decline it.

She did, but it wasn't what he even thought of.

"I think, I'm heading out. No, you aren't coming-" she was quick to halt his actions and gave out a small laugh. "Your nose still looks a bit displaced."

He silently rolled his eyes at the antics of his friend. She was almost completely out of sight before she appeared in front of him again.

"Erm- I was just thinking if you can lend me your Firebolt? Won't sabotage it, I swear."

And he was bumfuzzled. She was never interested in Quidditch, let alone be flying. He always saw her completely ignorant whenever a certain match was hotly discussed.

And now, it was of course impossible for him to stay put in the common room.

No surprises, he was always indulged in out of bounds.

At least four, he counted.

At least four times he had to clean his glasses to believe what was unfolding before his eyes.

The girl he had known for six years was nothing what he ever imagined.

The way her slender fingers left and gripped the broom in perfect intervals as she somersaulted within the deadly narrow range of the Firebolt almost made his heart do a backflip.

Wicked.

And again.

This was nothing he ever saw a wizard performing. The flips, the jumps, the movement of her limbs...they were magical.

He didn't even realize he had been gawking at her perfect dives and skills with his mouth ajar until he heard a low growl from the periphery of the Forbidden Forest.

Making a mental note to self to not keep his curiosity at bay, he decided to slip out undetected; hah, only if he could.

He stumbled upon few stray brooms and clenched his eyes shut as a gruff harsh cough reached the edge of his ears.

Sheepishly, he smiled at his friend (who seemed betrayed by her looks) and stroked a light-hearted conversation.

Thank, Merlin, she was nothing like Hermione.

And being the captain of Gryffindor Quidditch team, he had plans for tomorrow.

△▽△▽△

"I swear upon Merlin's whatever is left," she groaned as he followed her uncomplainingly (since he was no one to complain at this position), "repeat that again, and I'm hexing you."

"All fine with me if you join the trials."

"I'm not. Be scared of me!" She turned dramatically at him. "I can H-E-X you!"

"Trials-"

Pity him. She was gone.

By now he had almost lost the track of his pleadings. Now this was do or die- either she agrees, or he gets hexed.

No looking back.

He huffed out a deep breath before jogging towards her. And if Hermione and Ron had failed to pursue her, his last try had very little to do.

"Umm...hey- no! Wand down!"

She grinned at the terrified boy, and blew nothing but air over her wand, before latching it back into her pocket.

"If you are here for pestering again, come and help me with these," she pointed at the pots that perched on the floor which belonged to Neville, who had accidentally splashed some potion all over his hands, and now was in the hospital wing.

Harry nodded silently, the last hope also withering in front of his sight. As both of them hunched their backs and hugged the pots in their warm embrace, he tugged on her wrist (in his mind, he had planned his funeral in his mind already).

For a second, they both stood there, shivering under the evening wind.

"Please."

And her beautiful orbs twinkled as she smiled. "Just for this time. Watch it, Potter."

△▽△▽△

He couldn't have been more proud. His team was perfect. But only if the looks on the faces of Rona and Y/n told him so.

He and Hermione had been bugging them to eat something.

Easy to say on their part, of course.

And as she reluctantly tossed a single grape into her mouth, she wanted to double back her decision for agreeing with Potter that very second.

No looking back, of course.

Her fingers were malfunctioning so much by the next minute, she was sure she would screw up this match. Slytherins would be tough for sure.

For once in all her life, she wanted to get badly injured and run back to Madam Pomfrey. But instead, she was being dragged to the pitch by none other than the Chosen One himself.

"Harry, I- I think I'll mess up badly."

"Nonsense," he remarked nonchalantly and locked the Gryffindor lockers before asking for her numb hand again.

Except this time, she looked even more nervous.

"You want me to drug you like Ron?"

"Don't be stupid," she crushed him into a tight hug, which slightly loosened her own wild nerves. "I know you never dropped your liquid luck."

"Good. Now, come on."

And how exactly was she expected to guard three hoops when she couldn't stay still on a broom? She was repeatedly praying under her breath that Potter catches the snitch the next minute and they win.

But for another hour they continued scoring side kicking points while he skimmed the clouds for that tiny speck of gold.

He did, at last, sped towards it, soaring higher and higher, while her eyes distracted themselves from her own task. There was a second of gap where the snitch was within his reach, and bludger from her- oh, she had to defend.

She dived into the air with a graceful bent of her body and landed back effortlessly.

The cheers were loud, and yes, Harry had caught the snitch.

He couldn't help but smile goofily in her direction.

This was all he needed.

A backflip.

[morporkian-cryptid]

1, 12, and 18 for Lupin, 7, 14, and 17 for Goemon, 2, 10, and 13 for Jigen, 6, 15 and 21 for Fujiko and 4, 11, and 16 for Zenigata!

(for the headcanon list. Also if that's too many you can just pick and choose which ones you want to do ^^ )

Dude. There's NEVER too many :D

Long post ahead.

Lupin:

1) Their physical weak spots

His limbs are so thin and noodly, there's no way they wouldn't snap in two if you simply blow on them.

His chest, actually. The sword blow(s) from Goemon left him quite weak, it took him months to fully recover, and it still hurts sometimes.

12) Grudges and vendettas

Lupin tends to not give much thoughts to the past or to the future, he lives in the present. However, there are certain cases where he'll hold a grudge - against himself, sort of: if he's failed to steal a thing, you can be certain he'll come back, because he hates the idea of failing to reach a goal he set for himself. As for grudges against others: if you've hurt his partners, always sleep with one eye open. Because he will be coming for you, no matter where you hide.

18) Things they’ll never admit

His weaknesses. His fears, his insecurities, when he thinks he might not measure up to a certain heist or villain. When a plan is crumbling down in front of his eyes and he doesn't have a backup. Anything pertaining to his relationship with his father and grandfather.

Depending on the situation, also his feelings for his partners. They know he loves them, he shows it in the most dramatic and romantic way possible; but openly expressing how much they truly mean to him, how he's afraid of losing them, or of them turning against him, or just them not loving him anymore, or talking about everything they've done for him without realizing, how much they've helped him heal... You'll have to pry that out of him with a crowbar.

Goemon:

7) Their tickle spots

He isn't ticklish at all. He'll just stand there like a brick wall, looking very puzzled as Lupin's squeezing his fingers on his stomach for some obscure reason.

14) Ingrained habits/forces of habit

Someone else asked me this one, so I'll answer it in a separate ask!

17) Regrets

Murasaki.

Jigen:

2) Their emotional/moral weak spots

I think he's too nice for his line of work. He's soft for women in distress, he spares people too easily, and he's too attached to a moral code that might get him killed. Mind you, the first two probably developed after he met Lupin, but they've always been traits that he's had, even if he stifled them in order to survive.

10) Fears/phobias

What if... hear me out... what if Jigen was claustrophobic (I might expand on that later if I figure out some more details)

Also I think it would be funny if he's arachnophobic, and his response to seeing a spider is shooting it.

Jigen's afraid he'll be outmatched someday. Not because he's scared of dying, but because there's still a small part of him, despite everything, that believes Lupin might cast him aside if he stops being useful.

Actually, nowadays he might be afraid of dying - a little. More specifically, of being killed. Because it's not just his life anymore, it would hurt the people he loves, leave a bleeding hole in their lives, and the idea of doing that to them hurts him (but he still gets into needlessly dangerous situations regardless, 1) to protect them and 2) because of the aforementioned moral code pushing him to accept duels to the death with his crazy exes)

losing Lupin

Overall, I think Jigen has more fears now that he knows Lupin than he did before. Because now he has something to lose, and he is something to lose.

13) What gets them flustered

I think Jigen would get flustered by genuine affection. He's used to Lupin flirting with him (and with anything that moves, really) so he kind of got numbed to it. But if Lup or Goe express tenderness with him, show him little attentions, genuinely tell him how much he means to them, how much they love him... That's gonna get him blushing. Lupin playfully telling him he's hot will not have much of an effect on him, but if Lup were to gently cup his chin and stare at him in wonder trying to memorize every little detail, speck and reflections in his eyes, Jigen would turn beet red.

It happens mostly with Goemon, because Goe might not talk much, but when he does, it's always very serious and genuine. Lupin notices it happen a few times, and the idea of making Jigen blush might actually be the push he needed to let down his mask in front of his partner and open up about his feelings (because "It's not 'making myself vulnerable' if I'm just trying to make my boyfriend blush, right?")

Also Lupin wearing his hat.

Fujiko:

6) Their vices (physical or emotional)

Fujiko has a secret stash of yaoi manga. It's not a vice, she just doesn't want anyone to know.

She smokes and she drinks. She doesn't smoke as much as the boys because nicotine would ruin her teeth and her voice, and that's bad for business; but she could drink Jigen under a table. She has some bad habits with alcohol, that rear their heads up after a particularly rough job, when she's tired of men and the world in general. She usually ends up pulling herself out of these bad passes, she just needs time to put her armor back on again; but sometimes her partners have to come check on her and help her before she sinks completely.

(wow. was not expecting this to get dark)

15) What it takes to make them cry

Anything that might make her money if she looks vulnerable. That's it. She can cry on command.

She never cries otherwise. Ever.

Maybe once, in Goemon's arms, after the pressure of a job coupled with her messy relationships with him and with Lupin got too much for her, and she couldn't untangle her feelings from her masks anymore

21) Turning points in their life

The obvious one would be meeting Lupin. Other than that, we know nothing of her backstory in canon, and I kinda like it like that.

Zenigata:

4) Best places to kiss on their body

E V E R Y W H E R E !!!

His chub. It must be SO SOFT.

...I did start writing a list but it was just a detailed version of "everywhere", so...

I SWEAR I don't even have a crush on him! I just like him so much and I think he deserves all the hugs and kisses. Mostly from Lupin. And from Jigen too. Please let Zenigata be loved

11) Bad or petty habits

His whole life is a mess of bad habits. The man lives off cup ramen, black coffee and three non-consecutive hours of sleep. Not to mention the cigarettes.

I don't think Zeni is petty at all. He's too honest and straight for that. If he's angry with you, he'll tell you upfront. (or punch you in the face, depending whether you're a criminal or not)

16) Dark secrets/’skeletons in the closet’

Oscar

I honestly have no idea, but if I find some, I'll get back to you!

[coldcocoamilk]

happy leggyhan week everyone! give it up for day two :)

this work is available on Archive Of Our Own

for the full list of prompts, click here

title: I Love You.

summary: After years of companionship, it's only natural. / nonbinary hange zoe, alcohol mention, bittersweet, 1,349 words.

story after the cut!

From the moment Levi joins the Survey Corps, Hange has their eyes on him. It’s not necessarily a crush, nor is it any particular concern – they just keep an eye on him. Erwin, in his everlasting wisdom, also kept an eye on him, tasking Hange to do exactly what they had been doing anyways. Watch Levi, make sure nothing stupid happens.

Okay, so a little bit of it was concern. Hange remembered the first time they’d seen their comrades die, mostly the shock and horror and copious amounts of blood staining the wood of the wagon and they weren’t particularly attached to their team either. It was best put as jarring. They could hardly imagine watching their closest friends die, let alone the people they called family. Oh, and being responsible for it? Hange hoped he could sleep at night but knew damn well he couldn’t.

Levi was often up in the barracks late at night, reading something by the light of a candle. If he wasn’t reading, he simply tossed and turned or stared up at the top of the bunk, eyes never wavering, but always open.

After a while, Hange stopped watching him for anything in particular. They had worried he would have some type of trauma and lash out at the rest of the squad or even Erwin again, but he was mostly quiet, only speaking up to defend his combat style or remind someone that a stupid action could get them killed. After a while, they were still being paired up.

Erwin was kind and fair, but wise and stern. Being placed on the same squad, then being separated when the 104threcruit team joined the ranks and finally having squads of their own, they still managed to always deploy out together. Hange remembered the shining faces of the 104th when they embarked on yet another scouting mission, but they remembered Levi yanking their hair and chiding them for wanting to meet an abnormal titan better. Oh, how the days had passed. Oh, how the times have changed.

Now, their lives weren’t full of missions and scouting sprees and battles with titans, but rather filled with meetings, speeches, publicity matters, and private parties between the elite and the military. It wasn’t nearly as exciting as when things had first started. Still, the two remained steadfast even after Erwin’s passing, never in one place without the other. If Hange was speaking to the public as commander, Levi was leaned against a building just barely in their eyesight, always keeping an eye out for them. If Levi was tied up in an uncomfortable conversation at yet another dinner party, Hange was the first one to start busting out random facts about titans that nobody wanted to hear with food in their mouth. They made a great team, really.

They make such a great team that Hange’s dresser now had a drawer full of Levi’s things, too.

Hange’s apartment was small, but cozy. It boasted a single bedroom and bathroom, a kitchen just big enough for two, and a sizeable main room – just large enough for a table, chairs, coffee table and fluffy couch. The laundry was done in the bathtub and hung out across the clotheslines on the balcony, and thanks to Levi being around so often, everything except for the kitchen table was without a speck of dust at all times. Their apartment had become some sort of home base for the two veterans, weary from the day’s work with respectful decline to Historia’s invitation for them to live at court. No, the apartment, with its running hot water and airy windows, just ten minutes’ walk from court, did just fine.

There was no court today. No meetings, no public speaking, no debating or signing or copying or approving. It was Christmas Eve. Court was quiet for Christmas Eve.

They tried to sleep in, they really did. Levi almost always slept on the couch, and when Hange finally dragged themselves out of bed to brew a cup of something hot, Levi already had it ready. When Levi tried to get paperwork done, his pen ran out of ink and tore through the paper. When Hange tried to get some laundry done, they discovered the laundry detergent had been forgotten the last time they went to the market. When Levi tried to brew himself a cup of tea, he found ants in the sugar.

It was all a game, everything. Pretending to work, pretending to do housework, pretending to do simple enjoyable tasks – it was all a game of distraction. Distraction from the day.

You see, Christmas Eve had stopped being enjoyable to the pair. After watching almost every single one of their friends, comrades, and family die for what they had learned was an almost useless fight, there was nobody left to celebrate with. What was the point of celebrating, anyway, if there was nothing to celebrate? Oh, boo, the titans were gone, congratulations! They were humans anyways, and the two had unknowingly become mass murderers. There was a sea, and civilization too? It would be helpful if that civilization didn’t hate their very existence.

As time had gone on, their closeness was something that the younger comrades had noted, but was quickly shot down by nothing but a stern glance. It was bound to happen over time anyways – two people can only experience so much together before they begin to bond over their traumas and experiences.

And so, it was Christmas Eve that left the two sat on the couch together, a couple candles lit, two glasses of whiskey being sipped from as the night drew on. They were cuddled together under a thick pile of blankets, watching the snow stick to the window as it fell fast outside. There wasn’t much to say – there was nothing to say at all, actually. Nothing felt appropriate – everything felt too inappropriate. It was the kind of silence that was heavy, but comfortable at the same time, like a thick weighted blanket over the world.

Of course, weighted blankets are conducive to sleep. So is whisky.

When Hange wakes, they’re laying down on their side against a warm body. A thin stream of sunlight is just barely visible through their closed lids, weak, but still irritating. They stir, burrowing deeper into the body and the cover of blankets.

It’s Levi who really moves first. His fingers, gentle, stroking Hange’s hair that has come down from its usual ponytail.

It is so very nice to be held, Hange thinks to themselves, savoring the methodic stroking of their hair. It’s Levi, of course. It’s always Levi. Always has been.

They open their eyes, peering up to meet his. His are softer than usual, and the furrow of his brow isn’t present right now. He looks peaceful, genuinely peaceful. It’s a look that will change when the moment is over, but it’s burnt into Hange’s memory for as long as they’re alive.

“You know, I have a confession to make,” they start. The stroking pauses. “I love you, you know.”

The stroking continues, and he says nothing. Defeated, Hange burrows back into his chest, feeling the shame well up in their chest. Ah, they’ve gone and fucked it all up now.

“Hange,” Levi’s hand snakes under their chin to pull it up, forcing them to look at him again. “You know, it’s been a long time since I’ve loved someone.”

Oh.

He’s quiet for another moment, and closes his eyes, taking a deep breath and letting his head fall back. He takes another deep breath in and out before continuing.

“Or, at least I’ve been stuck thinking that. To be honest, I love you too. I love this so much.”

The statement brings an uncontrollable grin to Hange’s face. “I love this too.”

And so the two sit there, drifting in and out of sleep, always watching each other in between naps. They only really woke up when the children started playing outside, and even so –

It was the first bearable Christmas in a long time for the duo.

[miraculouswolf99]

I Put A Spell On You (Song Fic)

My first miraculous salt fic. Doubles as a song fic and a Halloween fic. Features the best song from the best Halloween movie of all time. Hocus Pocus.

*****

Adrien was happy. No one else in class knew why he had been smiling all day. Chloe was probably the only one in the room that knew why he was so happy today. But she was not going to tell anyone and ruin his day when Liar Rossi would would just use it to make up some more lies and ruin his happiness.

Things had not gotten better since the lying Italian had joined the class. Even though now that Marinette had transferred to Mendeleiev’s class, things had not gotten better. If anything, things had gotten worse since now Lila thought that she could not freely lie and manipulate almost non-stop with no one there to attempt to expose her.

The class was now half and half with who believed the liar and who doesn’t. The ones that don’t believe her being Adrien, Chloe, Nathaniel, Kim, and Juleka. Sabrina was decided to be a neutral part and not take a side. She listened to Lila’s tales, but normally stayed by Chloe’s side. Alya, Nino, Alix, Max, Ivan, Mylene, and Rose were all firmly on Lila’s side and nothing could ever change their minds.

Adrien had finally been starting to stand his ground against the liar since he had seen her chase Marinette away. He was reaching his wits end with her constantly hanging on his arm and never letting go when he asks or even demands her to. Adrien had managed to convince Bustier that he was too bust with his schedule to tutor Lila and that he would be better off sitting in the back with Nathaniel since it was more quiet than being next to Lila “never shuts up” Rossi.

“What are you so happy about today, Sunshine,” Nathaniel asked his friend.

“I have some friends coming today,” Adrien answered. “They were visiting their grandparents in the United States and decided to stop in France on their way back to their home in Greece. Their names are Lyon and Vallia Garden.”

“You know Greeks, cool,” Nathaniel said. “When did you meet them? Obviously it wasn’t a time close to now since you have not left the country and no Greeks have showed up here either, to my knowledge.”

“I met them about a year before my mom disappeared,” Adrien says. “Their family owns and operates an incredible animal and nature sanctuary that almost takes up the entire island they live on. They host a lot of charities there. Concerts, celebrity birthdays, auctions, art shows, even cooking contests. I was there with my parents for a charity fashion show.”

“Do you speak Greek or did they speak French,” Nathaniel was curious since he did know that Adrien already also spoke Mandarin and English.

“They speak French,” Adrien says. “They were the only ones there that were my age, so I was glad to have someone to talk to. We’ve kept in contact ever since.”

“Sounds great,” Nathaniel smiled at his friend. “Do they know about... everything going on?”

“Dear god, no,” Adrien stated. “Lyon is fiercely protective of his friends. He is a master archer and when he caught poachers trying to break into the sanctuary, he actually shot them all before calling the police.”

“I am not sure whether to be terrified of him when they come or in awe of him,” Nathaniel admitted.

“Nothing wrong with both, as Vallia would probably say,” Adrien chuckled. “I do admit that they can be pretty scary. Especially since when they help out at their family sanctuary, Lyon seems to have a way with their wolves and Vallia seems to be a lion whisperer.”

“I am both terrified and looking forward to meeting them,” Nathaniel nervously laughed. “I just hope Marc doesn’t faint when he learns this stuff about them. I love him, but we all know he is naturally timid.”

“I know,” Adrien chuckled. “Remember when he first met Kagami?”

“I will never let him live that down,” Nathaniel smirked, loving it when he is able to tease his boyfriend.

Before the two could continue their conversation, there was sudden yelling from outside the classroom and coming from the courtyard. It sounded like four people arguing, two of them not sounding like they were French.

“What is that,” Nathaniel wondered as they stood up.

“I’m a little worried to find out,” Adrien stated.

The two had stayed behind to chat after the bell rang and everyone else left for the day. They immediately left the classroom and looked over the railing and into the courtyard. They were soon joined by Marinette, Marc, Kagami, Aurore, and Mireille from Mendeleiev’s class, who had also heard the yelling.

“What’s going on,” Marinette immediately asked.

They all look over the rail. They see two people arguing quite loudly with Alya and Lila. They certainly were both unique-looking teens.

The first was a girl that was quite beautiful and had a grace and elegance to her style. She had long blond hair braided with roses and butterflies and had pink streaks. Her eyes were a stunning silver that you could see, if you were close enough, had specks of blue in them. Her style was a red, pink, and purple dawn colored dress with gold flats. On her wrists were diamond rose cuff bracelets, a butterfly on the one on her right wrist. 

The boy next to her gave off a very icy exterior that also screamed honor and loyalty that only a knight would have. A tall boy with hair that was actually black with streaks of white and blue in it, coming to the length of Adrien's. His eyes were the opposite of the girl's, blue with silver specks. His outfit of choice was a sky blue t-shirt under a white jean vest, matching the blue pants with white boots. On his hands were white fingerless gloves. Around his neck was a sword and shield pendant as well as a white cloak only going down to his knees. 

“Lyon, Vallia,” Adrien gasped.

“Those are your two friends from Greece, Adrien,” Kagami asked, Adrien having told her during their last fencing practice.

“Yeah,” Adrien said. “Their plane must have landed earlier than expected and they decided to come here.”

“Why are they arguing with Alya and Lila,” Mireille wondered.

“If it has something to do with that liar, it’s probably her fault,” Marc, of all people, stated.

It was a pretty open secret in the school that literally everyone but most of Bustier’s class, plus Bustier herself and Damocles, were all aware that Lila was nothing but a manipulative liar. In fact, most of them were shocked that the class, teacher, and principal believed her outlandish lies in the first place.

“Maybe Lila tried to cozy up to them and they caught her in a lie,” Marinette guessed.

“Lyon and Vallia do come from a rich family,” Adrien said. “Not only is their family known for their sanctuary, but they also have the largest jewel collection in the world. Like the medallions on their foreheads.”

They all looked and saw that the two did indeed have crystal medallions on their foreheads. Vallia’s was a rose quartz butterfly and Lyon’s was a sapphire wolf.

“What is up with that book that Lyon has,” Kagami noticed.

They all looked and saw that Lyon was holding a pretty large book that looked very old. It was bound with brown leather that had Frankenstein-like stitches all over it along with old silver metal on the cover as well. It also had a very large buckle.

“They did say they wanted to show me something,” Adrien said. “They went to the US to celebrate Halloween with their grandparents so maybe they got some type of prop and wanted to show it to me.”

They all quickly started to get into the courtyard and make their way over to the four. In a city plagued by a terrorist that uses negative emotions, arguments usually lead to someone getting akumatized.

“My brother does not worship the devil,” Vallia shouted at Alya and Lila.

“That book is a Book of Shadows,” Lila pointed at the book in Lyon’s hands. “It’s a tool of witchcraft, which is all about worshiping the devil. I should know. My great uncle is a world renown priest back in Italy.” 

“Not all witchcraft is devil worship, you pathetic liar,” Lyon sneered. “And there is no world famous priest in Italy since the last well-known one was arrested five years ago for killing people using fake exorsisms.”

(Reference to an episode of Criminal Minds.)

“Lila is not a liar,” Alya yelled. “You are, you devil witches.”

“This isn’t even a real spellbook,” Vallia screamed at them. “It’s a movie prop out grandparents won in an auction. They knew we loved Halloween, so they got us a prop from out favorite Halloween movie.”

“See, that proves you worship the devil,” Lila accused. “Halloween is a devil cult holiday, my great uncle proved that years ago but America rejected his facts and still celebrates it.”

“It is not,” Lyon yelled. “You are the worst liar I have ever come across. You should be ashamed to insult an entire holiday just because you don’t like it. Pathetic, just like all you other mythology copying Italians.”

(Reference to the Roman and Greek rivalry from Percy Jackson.)

“How dare you,” Lila screamed.

“Lyon, Vallia,” Adrien called. “Calm down.”

But it was too late. A black and purple butterfly already came flying down. It went inside of the book Lyon was holding. The butterfly outline appeared over his eyes.

“Your favorite holiday and your culture insulted all at once,” Hawkmoth says to him. “Hocus Pocus, I am giving you the power to right this wrong. All I ask is for the miraculous of the ladybug and black cat in return.” 

“I will show this liar some real magic,” Lyon said, transforming.

“What the hell,” Vallia gasped, backing away.

Lyon had changed into an almost male version of Winifred Sanderson. He was in a mostly green outfit with a green leather vest and pants with black leather boots that matched the black silk shirt under the vest. He also wore a long and shiny green cloak with a hood. He was still holding the book.

“Is it wrong that he actually looks hot in that outfit,” Adrien let slip, then instantly covered his mouth.

“Okay, we will come back to Adrien’s crush later,” Marinette stated. “For now, let’s run.”

Adrien immediately rushed forward and grabbed Vallia.

“Adrien,” Vallia was confused and worried. “What’s going on? What happened to Lyon?”

“Hawmoth is a terrorist here in Paris,” Adrien gave a quick explaination. “He takes advantage of negative emotions to turn normal people into his mind controlled villains.”

“Someone is mind controlling my brother,” Vallia was pissed. “When I get my hands on him, Hades will look like a puppy in comparison.”

“Maybe later, but we all need to hide so that Ladybug and Cat Noir can save your brother,” Adrien said.

Hocus Pocus then opened his book. He smirked as it glowed.

“Wicked ways beneath the skin, let all who taste it now join in,” he cast.

(Reference to Descendants 2.)

Out of the book came magical glowing chocolates. They all shot around the school and into the mouths of multiple people. It forced them to eat the magical treats, including Vallia, Nathaniel, Marc, and Kagami. Music then started playing out of nowhere as Hocus Pocus smirked again.

“Oh crud,” Adrien swore, running away along with the few students and staff that managed to avoid the chocolates. 

He transformed and was soon on the roof of the school. Ladybug soon joined him. But they were shocked that the school was now in a full-blown musical moment. Hocus Pocus took “center stage” with Vallia and Kagami as his main back-up singers.

“I put a spell on you And now you're mine You can't stop the things I do I ain't lyin'.”

“It's been three hundred years Right down to the day Now the witch is back And there's hell to pay.”

“I put a spell on you And now you're mine!”

Hocus Pocus seemed to have used the chocolates like mind control treats. Everyone that eaten one had was now dancing around the courtyard in very Halloween-like manors. Some even seemed to be doing Micheal Jackson’s Thriller moves.

Alya and Lila, who had not gotten chocolates, were not allowed to leave as the dancers forced them to stay in the courtyard.

“What the heck in going on,” Ladybug was so confused.

“I guess whatever movie his akuma form is based off of had a musical number in it,” Cat Noir guessed.

“I put a spell on you And now you're gone (Gone, gone, gone, so long!) My whammy fell on you And it was strong (So strong, so strong, so strong!)”

“Your wretched little lives Have all been cursed 'Cause of all the witches working I'm the worst.”

“I put a spell on you And now you're mine.”

Hocus Pocus walked around the courtyard as he sung, Vallia and Kagami making amazing back-up singers. Alya and Lila still looked terrified even with the catchy song playing around them.

“Even as a back-up singer, who would have thought that Kagami could sing,” Ladybug said.

“Yeah, no kidding,” Cat Noir agreed.

“(Watch out! Watch out! Watch out! Watch out! She ain’t lyin’)”

“If you don't believe, You better get superstitious.”

“I put a spell on you... I put a spell on you...”

“Ah say into pi, alpha maybe upendi!”

“Ah say into pi, alpha maybe upendi!”

“In comma-coriyama"

“In comma-coriyama”

"Hey hi, say bye-bye-i-i-i-i-i-i-i"

"Bye, bye"

The song ended with a pose from Hocus Pocus and his two back-up singers. He still had his menacing smirk on his face.

“I think it’s time our little liar had her own spell placed ob her,” Hocus Pocus stated. “Like... a truth spell, perhaps.”

Let’s just say that the heroes were petty and decided to let the liar’s kingdom fall before defeating the akuma. And Adrien was certainly glad to have his friend back and a really cool book from their favorite Halloween movie. He just wished that the name of the movie would stop slipping his mind. Oh well, gives him an excuse to talk with Lyon more.

[theblackbutterfly02]

FluffyNightKiller pt 2

Something fluffy (heh) after I broke all of your hearts yesterday!

@zu-is-here I.. finally did it!! xD Took me long enough, heh

As always, story under the cut or on my AO3

As they entered Ccino's apartment they were immediately greeted by two over-eager cats jumping around them. Ccino lifted one of them up, lovingly cuddling it and whispering: “Hey love, I'm home.”

Once Ccino was done getting greeted by his cats they both got out of their shoes and jackets and Ccino showed Nightmare to the living room.

“You can sit down on the sofa if you want, I'll feed the cats real quick and.. uuhm, is there anything you're allergic against? Asking for dinner!”

“Hmm? No, I'm fine”, Nightmare answered, and watched as Ccino left for the kitchen. He chuckled slightly as he saw the cats following him, then heard Ccino talk to them while he prepared their food.

Meanwhile Nightmare took the time to look around the living room a little. It was really tidy, sure a few cat hairs flew around, one or two specks of littler close to the boxes, but.. no dust to be seen on the cabinet he just stopped in front of. Pictures of cats were lined on it and Nightmare took some time to look at them in detail. Something about them made him feel warm inside and he smiled slightly.

Walking around a little more he noted how small the apartment really was, a lot of furniture put closely together. Humming, he sat down on the sofa. It felt nice, the pillows in the back really soft. He closed his eyes and thought about how he should approach the situation with Ccino.

<i>Just talk to him</i>, Killer had said. Nightmare huffed. If only it was that easy. Killer was the outgoing one out of the two of them. Nightmare.. didn't really know how to deal with people outside of work.

Nightmare was ripped out of his thoughts as he heard something clatter to the floor in the kitchen and stood up, walking over to Ccino.

As Ccino saw him he sputtered: “Ah, Nightmare, I told you you could-”

“Yeah, I know”, Nightmare shrugged. “But it sounded like like you might need some help. So, what did you drop?”

Ccino blushed and awkwardly held up a knife. “I was.. cutting vegetables”, he said.

“I see”, Nightmare chuckled and stepped closer, looking over Ccino's shoulder as the other continued preparing for dinner. He wasn't exactly skilled with a knife and Nightmare sighed before he walked to stand directly behind Ccino and put both his hands over the other's. Ccino jumped out of surprise, then almost stopped breathing as he realised what just happened. A blush crept up on his face.

“Here”, Nightmare rasped. “Try it a little more like this”, he moved their intertwined hands a few times. “Can't watch you almost cut yourself. And now, try it on your own.”

Ccino nodded and tried to copy what Nightmare had done with his hands. “Is this.. better?”, he asked.

Nightmare looked over his shoulder for a moment, then said: “Yes, definitely. You're doing good.” Ccino just blushed even deeper and tried his best to concentrate on the work at hand. “You got like.. another knife so I can help you?”, Nightmare asked. “If you're already cooking for me, I might as well..”

Ccino put down his knife again and rummaged around in his drawers. “You don't have to”, he said, “But if you really want to-”

“I want to”, Nightmare interrupted him, taking on of the tomatoes and cutting them into pieces.

Ccino watched him for a minute before he said: “Wow, you're really good at this..”

Nightmare had to laugh at that. “What did you expect? Were you really thinking I'd be a complete wimp in the kitchen? Someone has to make food and I'm not letting Killer use anything other than the microwave.”

“You're.. cooking for the both of you?”, Ccino asked a little surprised.

“Honestly, even though we have the money, going out for dinner every day would be way too much work, we want to spend some quality time at home as well.”

“You're an amazing actor <i>and</i> a good cook!”, Ccino exclaimed. “What else can you do? Speak five languages and ride a horse or something?”

“Not.. exactly”, Nightmare laughed. He shook his head. “I'm not here to talk about myself anyway. I.. wanted to get to know you, so tell me a little.. while we let this cook.” Nightmare put the last view ingredients in the pot and turned on the stovetop.

“There's not much to say”, Ccino admitted. “I have cats and I can cook coffee. And I really look up to you..”

“And, is there anything else you do in your free-time?”, Nightmare asked. “Like on the weekends when you don't have to cook coffee for all of us?”

“I.. like to read, sometimes. I.. actually have a library card and sometimes, if I find a good book I take it home and read with a cat in my lap.”

Nightmare's whole face lit up as he heard that. “So you like to read?”, he asked. “I should really invit you over to my place once, see if you want any of my books!”

“You enjoy reading too?”, Ccino asked, eyes wide.

Nightmare chuckled slightly and nodded. “I have a lot of books in my room, actually. So many that Killer started calling it the library instead. He keeps joking if reading the script isn't enough already.”

Ccino laughed at that. “I was just gonna ask the same, really.”

“Sometimes I just really want to read something that has nothing to do with the role I'm playing. Immerse in a completely different world, you know?”, Nightmare sighed exasperated.

“I see”, Ccino nodded. “So, what's your favorite type of story? Romance, action..?”

Nightmare blushed. “Y-you'll probably figure it if you visit me.”

“Ah!”, Ccino's whole face took colour again. Was that an invitation??

He looked behind himself confused as Nightmare jumped up all of a sudden, pulling the pot oof the stove to save it from spilling everywhere. “That was close”, he sighed. “We shouldn't have lost focus of it. Well, guess we can eat now.”

Ccino looked at him, still blushing before he turned to gather plates. “Right, right!”, he called and ran to the living room. “Let's eat over here! It's a lot more comfortable!”

Nightmare just hummed and brought the pot over, placing it on the table.

“Uuh, coffee or tea?”, Ccino asked, running back to the kitchen. “The food is still hot so I thought I could make something to drink for us.”

“Tea”, Nightmare said and walked back to the kitchen as well. “Can't have coffee in the evening.”

“Oh, yeah, that seems fair”, Ccino said, picking a tea bag instead and heating the water. Once it was done he handed Nightmare a cup and took one of his own, walking back to the living room. They sat down on the sofa and Ccino got both of them some of the food on their plates.

Nightmare barely picked his spoon up before a cat jumped into his lap.

“Aah, no, hey you can't, he's wearing black pants!”, Ccino called out, trying to get the cat away from Nightmare.

“It's okay”, Nightmare smiled. “They needed a wash anyway. Though, if Killer sees this.. well, he would be so envious of me right now”, he chuckled.

“Huh? Why?”, Ccino asked.

“He really loves cats”, Nightmare said. “He'd probably kill for them if I think about it. Bet he'd give anything to get to your home if I told him you own two of these fluffy guys.”

“Killer.. seems like a nice person”, Ccino blushed, slowly starting to eat his food.

“He.. can be an idiot at times”, Nightmare sighed, trying to somehow eat over the cat. “But.. he's a kind, loving and honest idiot.”

“The way you talk about him..”, <i>do I even have a chance?</i>

“You know..”, Nightmare smiled. “Recently, he started talking about you almost the same. Actually.. he asked me to see if we would get along.”

“So.. he's the only reason you aske-”

“No”, Nightmare interrupted Ccino. “I'm not only doing this for him. He told me you.. got a little crush on me and faintly.. I'm interested.”

Nightmare chuckled again as he watched Ccino's whole face light up in a blush that almost reached his neck. “Y-you.. wha- you what?”, he stammered. “N-no way..”

“Killer already fell for you and I know he's got a good taste”, Nightmare smiled. “You're really kind and I'm willing to give this a try.. If! And only if you will give Killer a try. Maybe show him your cats some day.”

“I never thought you were that close with Killer”, Ccino mumbled. “But you seem to have a really lovely relationship and put a lot of trust into each other.”

Nightmare smiled and picked up his cup, removing the teabag after he checked if it was done. "Even if it doesn't look like it, Killer means a lot to me", Nightmare hummed. "And.. I never considered having a relationship with more than one person, but now that he suggested it.. I can already see you joining us. We might need someone like you, soft and kind and all the things we aren't."

"Don't talk like that about yourself! I.. I'm sure you're both absolutely amazing people!"

"Thanks", Nightmare hummed. "You know.. I always thought you only wanted to be with me because I was a famous actor. But it seems you have seen other things that drew you to me."

"I... It wasn't your job that made me fall for you!", Ccino nodded. "Though.. I always considered you unapproachable because of it. Plus the fact that you already had someone."

"We're normal people just like you", Nightmare noted. "Our jobs don't define us." He leaned back after he finished his meal and looked at the clock on the wall. "Stars", he sighed. "Is it really that late already?"

“Hmm, it is”, Ccino nodded. “Do you have to leave?”

Nightmare pet the cat in his lap and closed his eyes. “I'll stay until I finished my tea”, he hummed. “I really enjoyed this evening with you.”

“I.. I did too!”, Ccino agreed, sipping his own tea.

More in the future (hopefully)

[angelsunflowers-fanfics]

Jack Frost x Male!reader (Forgetting)

FANDOM: Rise of the Guardians

TW: Someone getting run over by a train? But it’s not graphic

Request: Jack Frost x male reader, present tense, the reader is starting the get older and slowly forget about the guardians and Jack tries to stop it? If that’s okay of course. Thanks if you do this or not.

Linktree

~~~~

Jack slowly flipped through the few pages of photos of (y/n), the only friend he had around his physical age. Their friendship was closer than it should be, Jack knew that he did things and felt things that friends didn’t. But one thing kept plaguing his mind.

“He’s aging,” Jack said, swallowing the lump in his throat before placing down the photos, a sick feeling quickly piled into the pit of his stomach as an eerie feeling filled the air. “What if he forgets me?” 

Jack took a deep breath before he took off toward (y/n)’s, maybe talking to him would clear his head.

~

A child’s dream. That was all it was. Or at least that was what (y/n) was telling himself. There was no tooth fairy that gave him nice chats, No Easter Bunny that would help calm down his siblings, no North that would give him fatherly advice, definitely no Jack Frost that would hold his hand when he--

“Nothing. There’s no nothing.” 

(y/n) shivered as a cold breeze flow into his bedroom. Jack slipped into his bedroom before draping himself over the bed. (y/n) stared at the window curiously before shutting it.

“Hey~ How am I supposed to get out now?” (y/n) didn’t answer Jack, not hearing a single word that comes from his mouth. “Are you ignoring me now? I know I haven’t been able to talk all week, but… I’m here now.” (y/n) breathed a sigh of relief before digging through his backpack to grab his notes that he needed for an upcoming test. Jack nervously laughed, the sick feeling returning with a vengeance. “Come on, dude. This isn’t funny. You know how scared I am about you--” Jack cut himself short as (y/n) walked right through him like there wasn’t anybody else in his room.

“Fuck, it’s freezing,” (y/n) said. 

Jack stared at (y/n), gobsmacked. This was the last thing he thought would happen, the last thing he wanted to happen.

“G-gotta get North,” Jack said as he stumbled from the bed, falling off of it and landing on the floor instead of standing up. (y/n) whipped his head around, trying to locate the noise. Jack bit his bottom lip, tears quickly welling in his eyes. “Fast.”

Jack went through the window, not even having to open it, and used the wind to go to North. This couldn’t happen.

Jack dropped onto the floor of North’s workshop, luckily right in front of him. Jack slowly stood to his feet, shakily using the staff as support.

“What happened!? Are you hurt? Where’s (y/n)? I thought you were… Oh no…” North trailed off.

Jack didn’t have to tell North a thing, not even a single syllable.

“What do I do? I can’t have him forget me. Not him. I need him,” Jack said, desperate. 

North looked off to the side for a moment before bringing Jack to his office and away from the little elves staring at them.

“We’ll try to make him remember, okay? There has to be a little speck of memory still left.”

.

..

…

(y/n) slowly blinked, waiting for the subway train coming to his stop. He had been seeing things recently, things he thought weren’t real. People he thought weren’t real.

Jack stood in front of him, waving a hand in front of his face to get some kind of reaction out of him, but… Nothing worked.

“It’s not working… North was wrong, maybe there’s no bringing him back. You can’t even see me, but I want you to know that I’ve always-” A piercing screech interrupted Jack’s monologue, he spun around and stared at the platform to see a mother screaming. A child fell to the tracks. Before anyone could say anything, (y/n) dropped his bag and bolted to the tracks. “Oh my god… What is he doing? He’ll get himself killed!” Everyone in the subway stared in anticipation as (y/n) jumped onto the subway tracks, quickly picking up the child and placing him on the platform near his mother.

His eyes widened as he realized that his foot was stuck in the middle of the tracks, trapping him.

The mother bent down, lending out a hand to (y/n) and said, “Come on, take my hand and get up here before the subway comes.” 

(y/n) glanced down at his trapped foot, then again at the mother and the boy he just saved.

“I can’t. It’s too late.” Everyone’s hearts dropped to their stomachs as they heard the subway quickly barreling through the station. “Look away. I don’t want anyone to see this.” Jack gulped harshly as his own eyes witnessed (y/n) getting smashed with a train.

“Oh, god.” Jack slowly stared at the train just in time to see a spirit of (y/n) rise from his body.

“Oh, shit. Is that my body? Okay…” He mumbled, staring at his own mangled body.

Jack’s eyes widened even more as (y/n) locked eyes with him.

“Can--can you see me?” 

(y/n) took quick steps forward and engulfed Jack in a hug.

“I thought you weren’t real. I’m so sorry,” (y/n) apologized. 

Jack was quick to wrap his arms around (y/n)’s waist, almost crushing him.

“It’s not your fault. It would’ve happened sooner or later,” Jack  said as he rested his head on (y/n)’s shoulder, not having been able to touch him in months.

“You’re real… I’m not dreaming.”

“I promise you that I’m real, come on. We should go see North about this… We might have a new guardian on our hands.”

[ninjakitty15]

Chapter 22: Deader is Better (Loki x OFC Pairing)

It was exactly one day before the greatest holiday of all time, and not just because I was the most powerful I'd ever be that year. The streets were packed with people, every parking lot was booked solid, every parking space even, residents were even renting out some of their spaces for pocket money. Loki and I helped out Zari with her little store in exchange for letting us crash at her place, Loki was both surprised and delighted by how accepting people were of him even after asking if he was who he was. I explained to him that while the country as a whole has a longass way before it can be completely progressive and welcoming, Salem, being one of the first historical places here that destroyed itself in fear and intolerance, was probably the first to turn that around. It went from burning, hanging, crushing, and torturing people that were considered different and therefore dangerous to welcoming the different and weird as one of their own. No one even cared he took over New York, what they saw was an alien army attacking the city and a god that brought a bunch of heroes together to stop them.

"If Asgard were still around, I wish it had a city like this, celebrating magic and welcoming the weird as you'd say," mused Loki.

"Isn't there a realm entirely like that? Where the Light Elves live?"

"Look at you, trying to learn my culture," he teased. "It was where my mother learned magic and passed it onto me, yes. But we didn't go there often enough for me to call it another home. Most of the time, if we went anywhere it was to beat the natives into submission thanks entirely to Thor."

"For all the advancements your people had on us, the technology, the magic, the fuckton more years in a lifespan, you're not that far off in some idealogies from us. Rarely does peaceful methods end a dispute between peoples. Oh sure, there's been tons of times we tried that, it rarely works in our favor though. Peaceful rallies or marches are usually ended with police brutality they claim is the right way even when they're throwing tear gas grenades at unarmed civilians, tazing random protesters they later claim as dangerous, or just blasting them with high pressured firemen hoses. It always ends badly, with injuries, false claims, and injustice. I'd seriously love to meet Odin just to tell him he ain't special."

Loki smiled at this and kissing the top of my head. "I shouldn't be proud of you despising him like I did, but I am anyway. I am glad you met my mother in some form though, I had a feeling she'd like you."

"She told me to trust you and that in doing so, you'd stay with me as no one else besides Thor if even that, has trusted you since you came here indefinitely. A lonely existence that is, everyone keeping you at arms length. I can understand that, outside of Salem, skin color alone is an excuse not to trust someone, people see someone that looks like they're past their expiration date like me and they go running. Hell, even hair color or skin ink can keep you from getting jobs here, we're still an extremely regressive country. Not worth saving anytime soon."

"Then why bother?"

"Because unfortunately I'm one of the idiots inhabiting it with no way to some place better."

"I asked Thor why he fought so hard to protect this speck of a planet once, don't recall him giving me a good answer but yours shall suffice, if nothing else, because you're part of it."

"Whoa, hold your eight legged horses, you really don't need to do that...at all. Just find a way out of here if we can't at least save this city, the Avengers can handle this planet and if they can't...well at least they tried right? We don't need to get involved when neither of us signed any kind of hero contract like they did."

"You sure?"

"I'm not just sure...I'm HIV positive."

"You'd have to be alive to contract that disease and I'm not quite sure it would transmit to something already dead."

I opened my mouth to retaliate but something else stayed my tongue for a moment, something felt wrong, unnatural even. "Listen...do you smell that?" I asked curiously. Loki didn't get a chance to answer as a great surge of necro-power struck me full force and I was sent flying back several feet away, breaking several trees of the park we were enjoying till then along the way before my back slammed against a particularly thick one and I stopped flying. A dull pain exploded from my chest mere inches from where the stone was protecting my important bits and cool black blood lightly dripped from my lips. I looked down at where the pain came from and blinked in surprise.

"Oh look I've been impaled," I mused before breaking off the branch sticking out of my body and stepped away from the tree behind me. I looked for the source of the power surge and glared as I spotted the culprit walking toward us.

"Are you hurt?" asked Loki warily.

"Just a flesh wound," I assured him, gathering power from behind into my arms and fists. "You might wanna sit this one out though."

"No no, let him try," the attacker taunted as he got closer to us.

"I knew I smelled something rotten in the wind," I muttered. "What is it this time? First the heart, now the brain rotting away, would make sense if it was you that sold us all out."

The man before us glowered at me then flashed rotting, blackened teeth, while for the most part he looked alive, he was essentially rotting from the inside out. "You aren't the only one with a stone organ, my head will remain just as much as your heart does till I rip that out of you."

I arched an eyebrow. "Lemme guess, one of your Hydra buddies was a brain surgeon or so he claims. They all think themselves doctors of something that organization, not one medical degree posted when I was with them though, kinda makes you wonder."

"They don't need doctors for corpses," he snapped.

"You sure you're not braindead? Cuz I'm sure coroners and morticians both require a medical degree to be licensed with the job."

"Have a few run-ins with those folks have you?" he sneered. "You know the best part about you was at the very least being a warm body at the end of the day, now you don't even have that."

I snorted at his attempt to insult me. "Oh hun, the best part of you ran down your mother's legs. You gonna bark all day, you little bitch, or are you gonna bite?"

He held his hands to his head and another ball of smoke and lightning came hurtling at us but this time it was aiming for Loki at breathtaking speed, he was essentially pulling an Azula on me thinking I'd either let Loki get hit or take it myself but I saw his Azula and raised him a Dumbledore, telling my guiding spirits to yank him away from the path of the ball as I wouldn't be fast enough to help myself. I waved my hand toward Loki and he was suddenly swept aside and away from the direct battle ahead. Loki scrambled to his feet, a dagger in each hand and returning to his battle armor swiftly, glancing at me in shock. I mouthed a sorry to him before focusing all my attention to the rotten necromancer in front of me.

"Targeting what's mine isn't your best move when you really don't need to give me more motives to decapitate you than you already have," I warned.

"I know he's your weakness though. I want to see just how weak he really makes you," he sneered. "If what doesn't kill you makes you strong, what about when you're already dead."

"You're well on your way to finding that out yourself, hun. I can help answer that for you though." I thrust out a hand and black lightning flew from my fingertips. My rival managed to shield some of it with his own magic but as he wasn't a demi god the impact of that much power still sent him flying back. I didn't wait for him to get up though as I charged at him with a ball of power around each fist.

He rolled away right before I could punch in his head and destroy the stone inside it and got to his feet as I stood up, charging at me as I straightened up so we were suddenly toe to toe trying to kill each other. For a solid few minutes it was just dodging and exchanging blows and balls of energy before he decided to get sneaky and tried to slash me with his ceremonial dagger hidden in his boot. I dodged it just enough to not actually cut me but it did do some damage to my hoodie which had me glaring at him as I loved my hoodies. From there, it was throwing either each other, balls of power, or punches at each other with him occasionally trying to throw power at Loki who quickly learned to keep an eye on his attacks as much as I was without interfering, this wasn't his fight anymore. The ground around us was starting to look barren and dead from the effects of our powers used against one another, the grass brittle and brown. We both paused for a moment, both battered and frustrated neither of us were getting the upper hand with what we were doing.

"Why won't you stay down?!" he demanded.

I scoffed. "What is dead can never die. What's your dilemma here? What did Hydra even offer you to make you switch sides?"

"A chance to be something greater than this, the other necromancer, to be a demigod."

"And how's that working out for you?" I asked in bemusement. "They aren't higher powers, they're hired powers, there's a difference. There's no cutting corners on that one, ask nicely or die trying. How did you know where to find me? On the plane?"

"I had a spook tail you, not all the spirits are on your side you know."

"The good ones are, the rest are usually locked or exorcised so kudos on finding one of the select few willing to help a brother out."

He narrowed his eyes at me, collecting powers as he did. "If I'm not given what I want, then I'll have to take it myself just like I did with the other necromancers that went against me."

"And that's why no matter where that stone is surgically implanted in you, you will never be one of us, going against your own kind for something you'll never get." I lowered one hand to the ground and reached into the earth with just death magic alone, calling for something very specific as I waited for him to make the first move this time. "Especially not from me."

"And what makes you so special?" he demanded.

"Come here and find out." He lunged forward, taking the bait and I dropped to one knee at the last second, dodging his power-fist at the same time a rotted hand burst from the ground with my own dagger I snatched up and sliced into my enemy's rotted guts. He stumbled back, his free hand going to his stomach as he was weakened but not done for, the stone keeping him barely alive inside him. "Almost seems pointless since you're already decaying inside."

He looked at the wound I gave him from my dagger and glared at me as it was already speeding up the process. "You little cunt."

"Let me guess, you're gonna kill me, right? Join the line of people with empty threats they never finish."

Black lightning danced around his head and down to his body, staving off the spreading death from reaching his neck but not healing the blade wound either. "Should I rip out your soul first or your stone?"

"You say that like you've actually gotten the upper hand in this fight but who here has the unhealed wound and who here has survived worse?" I retorted.

He sneered at me with his rotten teeth and lunged forward once more but being the slimy little bastard he was, pulled his dagger apart so there were actually two identical ones and threw one at my leg while making a bee line around me with the other dagger at Loki. I gritted my teeth as the dagger hit its mark in my thigh and not wasting time even to take it out of me, threw a power ball at him from behind so he couldn't dodge it and sent him off his course to my lover. I then took out the dagger in my leg and limped over to the bastard despite the agony burning through the entire limb. I didn't wait for him to get up and kicked him hard in the head right where I guessed the stone was before aiming for the wound I gave him with my blade. "Silly asshat, kicks are for ribs." His snapped under my leather boots. He tried to throw the other knife he still had at Loki but I caught it this time and dissolved the twin dagger like I did the one in my leg. I grabbed him by the throat, lifting him up, and slamming into another park tree while holding him in place.

"You really wanna know why you can't kill me after all this time?" I challenged.

"You don't scare me, Nell," he choked out.

I recalled what the Wiccan seer had told me and let go of everything holding me back. "I can fix that. You can't kill a Horsemen." A different kind of power rippled throughout my body, not necromancy, but something stronger, eternal and deadly and incomparable. The entire arm and hand holding him up was skeletal as was half my face and that's when fear started to leak into his. He fought and wiggled in my grasp, trying to pry my bones off his neck but my finger bones just dug in deeper while he kicked at me. I raised my free hand, also all bones, and went for his head, aiming for the stone still managing to keep him alive when his throat was slowly being punctured and torn. And then the world seemed to pause, everything went silent and still, everything was frozen even including most of me as I couldn't seem to reach the stone in his head but was poised to grab it out of his forehead. And then something else happened, something that only happened to me when something very specific was coming. I got what Peter Parker would call the "the Peter tingle" and chills ran up and down my body despite the whole lack of nerves and feelings thing I had being a skeleton.

[mysteryartisticwriter]

I Tried // Adam Milligan X Reader

A/N: I remember seeing Jake Abel in ‘Percy Jackson and the Lightning Theif’ and loving him. Then when I found out he was in Supernatural about a few years ago I flipped bro. He didn’t deserve all those years stuck in the cage, I feel so bad for him :(( bUT NOW HE’S BACKKK

TAKES PLACE DURING 15x08 (SPOILERS IF YOU HAVENT WATCHED IT YET)

REQUESTS ARE OPEN BTW

Requested: No

Warnings: Mild angst, some talk about death, cursing

Not my gif!! (Please tell me if you, the owner, would like me to take the gif down!)

-

Five years ago...

You sat at your computer in the bunker’s library. The library was dark, the only light being emitted from your screen. It was almost 6am and you weren’t getting anywhere with your research. You angrily closed a tab in your computer and rubbed your face, fighting sleep.

You took a deep breath and went back to your research. Just then, the lights of the library turned on, making you jump. You looked over to one of the entrances and saw both Winchester brothers standing in the doorway.

“(Y/n)?” Sam asked. “What are you doing up so early?”

You stammered, trying to look for an excuse or right words to say.

“I-I was looking for a case. We haven’t had one in at least a week so I-I figured I would do you guys a favor and search for one.”

Dean sighed, knowing you were lying.

“Hey,” The elder brother pulled up a chair next to yours. “What’s going on?”

“I already told you. I’m searching for a case-” You lied.

“Tell us the truth.” Sam pressured.

You sighed in defeat and pushed your laptop over to the men. They were able to see the many tabs you had pulled up about different types of spells for something.

“Do you remember what day it is?” You asked them.

Dean suddenly looked at you in panic. “Oh god, it’s not your birthday, is it? I could have sworn it wasn’t for a couple more months-”

“No, Dean. It’s not my birthday.” You interrupted him.

Sam, who was still looking through the tabs on your computers, looked back to you.

“Then what day is it?”

You gulped, forcing any upcoming tears or sobs that were trying to make its way out.

“It’s May 13th, the day that Adam was thrown into the pit with Michael.” You told them.

A harsh silence echoed throughtout the whole bunker. The three of you stared at each other while you waited for an answer from the two brothers. Sam could see memories flashing in his mind about the day that he threw himself, Lucifer, Michael and Adam into the pit. Guilt wallowed inside of him, remembering that he and Dean were forced to leave their half-brother in the cage.

They never really tried to get him back, thinking that they couldn’t bring him back or save him at all. It’s been five years now, and not a day didn’t go by when you didn’t think of the boy.

You had only known each other for a couple days before he said yes to the archangel. He was a sweet and funny guy even if he did have that Winchester attitude, the two of you got along very nicely since you were just a couple years younger than him. You weren’t together, but flirtations were exchanged, it was definitely one weird relationship.

When you were told by the brothers that they couldn’t save Adam too, you were crushed. It was strange, you barely knew Adam but your heart still ached knowing that you couldn’t save him.

A small tear slid down your cheek until you wiped it away as fast as you could, pretending as if nothing happened. You grabbed your laptop back from Sam and went through a couple tabs.

“It’s been five years now, and we haven’t brought him back yet. I’ve been up for the past few nights trying to search for another way to bring him back...”

“(Y/n)...”

“I know that I’m this close to finding the solution to getting him out of the cage, I swear it. I just need more time to find it and-”

“(Y/n)!” Dean called out to you, causing you to turn your head to him.

Dean had a guilty and bleak expression on his face, Sam looking at the floor, away from you.

“We can’t bring him back, you know that.” His words sympathic.

You shook your head. “No, no we found a way to bring Sammy back, didn’t we? If we brought Sam back then we can find another way to get Adam.”

“(Y/n), we were lucky to raise Sam out of Hell. You heard Cas, one person out and that’s it.” Dean insisted.

“We got Sam out! We can get Adam back out too! We have to get him out of there, he’s been there for five years now and...” You choked out, shielding your tears from the boys with your hands.

Sobs came from you and the two men slowly, but surely, wrapped their arms around you in a hug to comfort you. Tears cascaded down the two brother’s cheeks as well, a heavy pit in their stomachs from the constant guilt.

“He’s never coming back, is he, guys?” You whispered in between sobs.

Sam and Dean took glances between each other, sadly.

“No. No, he isn’t, sweetheart.” Sam admitted.

You felt like a failure. You were the one who was supposed to keep Adam away so he couldn’t say yes and now he was stuck in the cage for the rest of his life. He’d be totured for eternity all because you couldn’t save him.

The only sounds in the bunker were your cries.

-

Present time...

Somewhere inside a small diner, Jaci’s Red Wagon, a man sat at a booth waiting for his food. A waitree brought him his first order, a cheeseburger with fries. She sets the food onto the table and left the man to eat.

The man, Adam, grabbed his food and took a large bite into the burger, hungrily. He moaned in satifaction at the taste and happily chewed on his meal.

“You know that stuff will kill you, right?”

“Worth it.” He replied to the voice. “Michael, I haven’t seen a burger in 10 years.”

A hand from the other side of the booth grabbed a french fry from his plate and inspected it. Michael, inside of Adam’s mind, chuckled a bit and set the fry back on the plate.

“Go for it, kid.”

“You know, I know I don't need to eat. It just tastes so damn good.” Adam said as he picked up a fry and ate it.

“I wouldn’t know. I don’t know much about any of this. You'll be my guide.” Michael looked around the diner to all of the people eating and talking to people.

Adam saw the same waitress come back with a pan of pepperoni pizza, pushing his burger plate aside to make room for the pizza. The lady gently set the food onto the table in front of Adam, whose breath hitched at the sight of the delicious food.

He quickly thanked her and she responded with a smile and nod. Once she walked away, the blonde boy sniffed the amazing aroma of pizza and started to shake on some parmesan cheese and pepper.

“So, what about you? You gonna go back to heaven?” He asked the archangel.

The angel inside Adam’s head pursed his lips.

“I don't know. My brothers are dead. My father never returned. In so many ways, I'm alone.” He answered.

Adam thought about his own family. His mother and father were dead, and his half-brothers that didn’t even care about him.

“Yeah. Same here. It’s not like I have family waiting to see me.”

“You have the Winchesters, your brothers.” Michael added, a little confused on why he didn’t think of them first. “I met them once, and they let me rot in Hell.” Adam corrected him, wiping his mouth with a napkin.

“What about the girl? (Y/n) (L/n)?” The angel pondered.

Adam remembered the kind (h/c) hair colored girl who was a close family friend to the brothers. She was about his age, maybe a couple or few years younger, but he remembers liking her a lot. (Y/n) always made sure he was comfortable and occupied, and man did he feel guilty about disobeying her to say yes to the archangel inside him now.

“I...I don’t even know if she’s still them. Most likely she is since she was friends with them first but,” Adam thought carefully about his next words. “I doubt she even remembers me anymore. It’s been 10 years, anyway.”

Adam and Michael looked at each other knowingly. Both having similiar situations and because they had been left in the cage for so long, the two had become almost like friends. They’d created a sort of relationship within each other, neither completely taking over the other.

“Family.” Michael scoffed.

“Family sucks.”

A little while later after finishing all his meals and then ordering some cake for desert, Adam laid back in the comfy booth, looking around at all the people. He glanced over to some of the waitresses working, picking up plates and cleaning tables for their job.

“Maybe I should pick up some kinda little job.” He blurted out.

“A little job?” Michael asked, a little confused.

“Yeah. Yeah, I mean, these are the same clothes we went to hell in. We're gonna have expenses, right? And whatever change I had, I spent on food, so, it's not like I can go back to college,” Adam chuckled. “Not with an archangel inside of me.”

The man hadn’t noticed someone sneaking up behind him, and a hand rested onto his shoulder. Adam looked up to the person and saw a blonde haired woman smiling down at them.

“Hello, Michael.”

Adam’s eyes glowed a bright blue, signifying that he was no longer at the wheel, but instead the angel.

“Lilith.” He growled.

The woman let go of his shoulder and walked over to the other side of the booth.

“You’re dead.”

“Was. Now,” Lilith turned to him and swung her hips. “I’m back, baby.”

She sat down at the other seat, her face turning serious. “And I’ve been sent to fetch you.”

“I'm not accustomed to being fetched. Who sent you?” Michael questioned, his voice low.

“You have to ask? Your daddy. God. Yeah, he'd like a word.” Lilith answered him, Michael’s expression turning to mild shock and confusion.

“You're lying.”

“Really not.” The demon took a finger full of cake frosting into her mouth.

“Then why would he send you, a demon, a speck of infernal bile?” He spat at her.

Lilith’s face turned mockingly sad and offended. “One, ouch. Two, maybe because we worked together before. Remember? Setting off the Apocalypse?”

“To try and bring God back.” Michael corrected her.

“Right. Didn't work then, but then he came back on his own. So, win?”

Michael’s face grew closer to her but remained emotionless.

“If that's true if...he can come talk to me himself.”

The female demon just rolled her eyes.

“Yeah. Except, I'm not supposed to leave without you.” Lilith told him, staring into his eyes.

“Get out.” He threatened, voice dripping with venom.

“Michael,” Lilith reached over and grabbed his wrist firmly. “I can’t fail him.”

Michael stared hard at the hand at his wrist then turned to face Lilith, eyes glowing blue once more. The demon started to glow a bright yellow and bright light, enveloping the whole diner.

Once it had disappeared, all that was left in Lilith’s place was a piece of black clothing. Michael carefully looked around the resturaunt to see everyone staring at him in awe. People started to whisper about what had just happened and the archangel sighed.

“Remember nothing.”

With that, he snapped his fingers and all the customers and workers went back to doing what they had done before, as if nothing had even happened. Michael and Adam pushed away the plate of cake, no longer hungry.

-

Michael and Adam could hear Castiel praying to them, well mainly Michael but technically it was both since they shared a body. Michael felt himself get angry at Castiel’s words about his father. He believed that God, their father was their enemy? The archangel could only scoff at that.

Still, he sent a message to Castiel through the angel radio. He told him to meet them at a warehouse, someplace where they could talk alone and privately.

The trenchcoated angel was walking around the warehouse, waiting for his brother. He could sense that he was near, but not visible yet.

“Michael?” Castiel called out.

The sound of flapping wings came from behind him so he turned to find Michael, still inside Adam’s body, standing there.

“Thank you. Thank you for coming.” The archangel only stared at him. “Do you remember me?”

“You called me ‘ass-butt’ and set me on fire. And then you helped send me to Hell.” Michael replied, menacingly.

Castiel looked down awkwardly at the floor, remembering the moment. “I did.”

“And now what? You've come to tell me that God, my father, creator of all things, is my enemy?” Michael glared hard at the angel. “Or maybe you just came to beg for forgiveness.”

Castiel lightly smirked.

“Oh, I didn’t come to beg.”

A lighter flicking open in Cas’ hand caught the man’s attention. He dropped it onto the floor of the warehouse and a ring of fire began to burn around Michael, trapping him inside.

Michael looked around the fire in a slight panic before returning his gaze to Castiel, whose face showed slight regret. The sound of plastic curtains moving made him turn towards the entrance, three figures emerging from the dark.

Adam and Michael could see the figures turn into Sam and Dean Winchester, but what caught Adam’s eye inside of his own mind was the (h/c) short haired female standing beside them. (Y/n) had definitely aged, but not too much, still looking as beautiful as the day he met her. Her hair much short and a little taller than before.

Your breath hitched as you saw Adam, or Michael since that’s who was in control at the time. Ten years and he hadn’t changed that much. Older, yes but he still looked like the boy you left in Hell all those years ago. Keeping a straight face, you held up a pair of angel cuffs and showed it to him.

Knowing what was about to happen, Michael turned to his brother with a sneer.

“Castiel, what have you done?”

-

After capturing Michael and taking him back to the bunker in cuffs, you all stood in one of the interrogation rooms. You could feel the tension was so thick that even an angel blade couldn’t cut it. The four of you stood on the opposite side of the room, facing a powerless archangel as he stared back at you.

“Even for you, especially for you, this is stupid.” Michael commented.

“Good to see you, too Mike.” Said Dean, sarcastically.

Michael looked at each one of you, looking at Dean then to his brother.

“Sam. You look well. Last time I saw you in the Cage...”

“Yeah, it doesn’t matter.” Sam said in an almost whisper.

You could feel Michael’s eyes on you as he came closer to you all. There was a brief silence as you felt his eyes staring down at you. All you could do was just look away, wanting to see Adam, not Michael.

“We need your help. God-” Sam began to say until he was interrupted by the archangel.

“I’ve heard. Repeatedly.” Michael glanced over to where Cas stood as he sat down in the chair.

“Well then you’re aware-”

“I’m not aware of anything. You're asking me to trust you. You, who doomed me, you, who let Lucifer walk free while your own brother sat in hell.” He barked, feeling protective of the youngest Winchester he grew close to.

You were close to crying. You had tried for years to get Adam back but failed. Eventually, the brothers had convinced you that there was no way of getting him out. Dean looked down at the floor in guilt.

“Doing what we do, we've had to get used to losing people.” Sam tried to tell him.

“Probably a little too used to it.” You added, speaking for the first time.

Cas glanced over to you in concern, but you just looked to him with your lips in a thin line then back to Michael. Adam, inside his own head, could feel himself getting a bit jumpy inside after hearing your voice after so long.

“With Adam, we said goodbye because we thought we had to. We were wrong.”

Michael stared down the man with hard eyes. He always wondered if the brothers ever tried to get Adam back, but apparently not. But if the Winchesters didn’t try, did (Y/n)?

“Well, don't tell me.” Michael said, shaking his head. “Tell him.”

You all stared at him, confused, not understanding what he meant by that. Suddenly, his eyes flashed a blue glow, his body straightening up. Adam glanced to Dean, to Sam, then finally you. He pulled his lips into a short smile.

“Hey, (Y/n),” He then looked to his brothers. “Sam, Dean.”

Your lips formed into a wide grin, happy to hear the real Adam’s voice. It was deeper than when you first met him but that didn’t matter. You just wanted to go up to him and give him the tighest hug ever then never let go.

“Adam.” You said in a small whisper.

You were just about to go run up to him when you were stopped by the arm of Castiel. His eyes telling you stand down and wait until they were done talking first. Hesitantly, you silently agreed. Adam felt a bit upset, he wanted to hold you more than anything as of right now.

“Adam?” Asked Sam, trying to confirm it was really him.

Adam jokingly raised his hands, pretending as if he was about to attack. You would have laughed if it weren’t for the current situation.

“Wait, Mic-Michael lets you talk? I mean, he lets you be?” Questioned Dean.

You were actually just as surprised as the boys, remembering when Dean said yes to Michael to kill Lucifer and he ended up being overriden by the angel for a while.

“Uh, yeah.” Adam nodded. “In the Cage, we came to an agreement. We only had each other.”

Needless to say, you were kind of impressed, actually. You’ve never seen an angel and a vessel come to an agreement or be at peace within each other. It was always the angel being the one at the wheel, never really the vessel.

But it also pained you as you heard Adam’s words. It was just the two of them for so many years, only them in the cage after Sam and Lucifer left. If you had tried harder, maybe they both could have gotten out earlier.

“Adam, look, I know we bailed on you, okay, and there is nothing that we can say to fix that.” Dean admitted to him.

The blonde just sighed.

“How about an ‘I'm sorry’?”

After being trapped in Hell for so many years, all he wanted was an apology from his family. Your heart broke, thinking of the toture he must have gone through and how much pain he felt about being abandoned. Adam was strong, a humble man for only wanting an ‘I’m sorry’.

Adam’s eyes glowed blue for a moment and he grunted, moving around in his cuffs and seat. Michael was back now.

“Enough. Why am I here?” Michael questioned.

Cas spoke up after being quiet for a while. “Michael, we needed to speak with you because God is back. You didn't think the Cage just opened on its own, did you?”

“If my father is back, he will usher in Paradise.”

“No, he won't.” Michael turned to you. “Because Paradise is boring, and your dad...he's just looking to be entertained.” You explained, recalling about when Chuck killed Jack.

“Which means we're his puppets. All of us, especially you.”

The archangel stood up furiously, his face brooding.

“I won't hear this. You're lying.” Michael pointed each and every one of you. “I don't know what your agenda is, but you're lying.” He swore, not wanting to back down on his loyalty to his father.

“Michael...” Cas began to say until Adam managed to switch back with the archangel.

“Hey. It's Adam.” He chuckled, you smiling softly at him.

“I'd give it a rest. He's not listening.”

You and the boys sighed in defeat. Michael was too loyal to his father, not wanting to believe anyone who questioned God’s orders. This was going to be tough.

-

Later, after the you and boys had left Adam and Michael, Adam, still in the angel cuffs, tried to convince the archangel about joining his brothers.

“So, I've been thinking. Maybe they're not lying.” Adam said as he sat down at the desk in the middle of the room.

Michael, standing on the side, scoffed at his words.

“H-Hear me out. Sam, Dean and...(Y/n) try to be on the right side of things. They actually do. They tried to talk me out of taking you on, for example, out of all of this.” Adam began.

“So, you forgive them?”

“Oh, hell no! No. But that's not what this is about.” Adam faced Michael. “It's...look, if they tell you something's off with God, it's because they believe it's true. And if they believe it, it probably is true.”

You were about to come into the room to talk to Adam with a couple beers, you could hear him talking to someone. But you knew no one else was in the room because no one was replying to him, it was just his voice. You paused before entering, waiting.

“You and I have been together for years. My father and I have been together for eternity. I exist because he willed it.” Michael exclaimed, though you couldn’t hear it.

“So he's having a mid-eternity crisis!” Adam turned to his friend. “Or!...Or, maybe you don't know your dad as well as you think you do.”

You snickered under your breath, now realzing he was probably talking to Michael in his mind. He made a point, Michael didn’t know his father all that well, just like how you and the Winchesters thought you knew him too.

In the room, Michael was about to go off on Adam but instead just turned to face the wall. He walked up the small pairs of steps up to the upper floor.

“The point is parents keep secrets, right? Does it hurt to ask the question?”

Gripping the railing tightly, Michael snapped.

“Yes! It would! It would mean that I doubt him. The good son, the favorite, doubts his father.”

Adam leaned in as close as he could to Michael.

“You still care about that? After he left you in the Cage?” 

Adam knew he had truly set off something inside of Michael. He could see his nose flaring from anger and his neck began turning a slight red. Hearing no more talking, you took your chance to enter the room.

“Glad to know that at least one of you believes us.”

Adam looked away from Michael to see you entering the room, two beers in hand. He straightened himself up in his seat, smiling slightly.

“I brought some beers, hoping we could maybe talk.” You asked, setting the alcohol onto the table.

“Yeah, I guess I could use a beer after not having one for 10 years.” Adam teased you.

It wasn’t very funny to you, though. Ten years without Adam, ten years he had suffered. Five years ago when you officially gave up on trying to bring him back, you remembered Sam and Dean telling you how nothing could be done. You lived those next five years thinking you would never see him again. And now, here he is.

“Adam-”

“Did you ever try?” You looked up to him, his expression more serious. “Did you at least ever try to get me out?”

“Oh Adam, if you knew the amount of times I tried to make a deal, looked up a spell- hell anything that would even have the slightest chance to get you out of the Cage...” You stopped for a moment. “I didn’t give up until Sam and Dean had to get me out of my spunk. I spent so many nights of research for you that I still have the eyebags.”

Adam laughed at your joke, you joining him as it echoed throughout the room. When it died down, a comfortable silence replaced it. You and the blonde male just took a moment to stare at one another, taking in each other’s presence.

“I tried, Adam. I really did. But...it was never really enough. I was never enough to save you. I am so, so sorry.” You cried softly.

A tear escaped down your cheek and your controlled breathing was the only sound. Adam could see it in your eyes, you really did try. His brothers, the ones who didn’t even try, were the ones who convinced you otherwise. Out of the corner of his eye, Michael stood behind you, looking at the blonde. He lightly smiled and nodded.

“Well...you did try more than I think my brothers could,” You peeked at Adam through your tears. “I forgive you.”

You stared at him in shock, he just forgave you that quick? If that were you, it would have taken probably years to accept an apology from being left in the Hell. Adam was really something.

“Now, you gonna share a beer with me or are we just gonna sit here all day?”

You giggled. “You’re still in the angel cuffs. Am I gonna have to hold the beer for you?”

“Or you could just hold my hand and I hold the beer.”

The two of you laughed together, you blushed at his words.

“Then you wouldn’t be able to drink, idiot.” You countered.

“Any excuse to hold your hand is fine to me.” He winked.

“You’re so weird.”

“You love me, anyway.”

You smirked. “Of course I do. I didn’t wait for you for 10 years to end up not loving you.”

“You love me?”

You haulted in your tracks. Fuck, you really just outed yourself didn’t you?

“Yes.”

“Well then,” His mouth formed into a grin. “I guess I love you too.”

-

A/N: Tbh, I don’t really like how this ended but it’s the best I’ve got so deal with it lol. Stay safe, loves!

TAGGED:

@shortwinchester​

@coltcas​

@urlaslongasafalloutboysongtitle​

@xsweetnsour​

@irinazatyk​

[friendlylocalwhumper]

continuation of this drabble, where tank meets remy.

“Fuck YOU!” The floor creaks as he jumps, ratty boots thumping under him, duct tape peeling away from the loose soles. Hands pat his shoulders and he grabs someone’s arm, touch flying around aimlessly as they all scatter, grabbing their supplies, shoving at each other as they flee the scene. Half-empty spray cans clatter in his arms, the empty ones left behind.

It’s beyond dangerous to vandalize a cop’s house, but it’s just as dangerous to never lash out. To keep in all the anger. Major wouldn’t dream of telling these guys to go the safe route and not raise any trouble.

He doesn’t know them, but they don’t wanna get caught any more than he does. In this moment, as they run, after making a mess together, it’s almost like they’re brothers or something.

They all split off at different roads, different parks and backyards and alleys, to throw off anyone chasing them. And the moment fades away. They don’t know each other. None of them even know Major’s name, or his magic, or anything about him. As soon as he’s running alone, he’s forgotten their faces.

Time to find a place to crash, he thinks, slowing his sprint into a jog, then a lazy walk. No one is following him. One of the others might be dead by now. He’ll never know, and he won’t care.

Blue spray paint dripped onto his grubby black boots. Major snarls at the little bright specks. The tape is coming off, and he can feel the left boot flapping as the sole peels away from the rest. Time to scrap them. Better to run barefoot than in something that’ll trip him up and send him skidding along the ground, bloodied up and easy to catch.

One boot thunks into the gutter after the other, and he keeps on walking, mismatched gray socks getting wet in seconds. There’s all kind of junk on the sidewalk, in this part of town, no use in watching his step. An aimless growl of frustration slips out into the night air as he peers around for any sign of a place he can hole up for the night.

There’s a spot. The door’s closed, of course. Looks like it has a lock on it. Place seems empty, except… from one of the windows he can catch a glimpse of something big leaned against the front door. A shelf or something. Someone’s hiding out in there.

If they’re barricaded in, they must have some good stuff they’re trying to keep to themselves. Major is fresh out of stuff. No liquor, no weapon, no change of clothes, no food.

The determination to sneak in there and take what he can find comes easily, unimpaired by anxiety or morality. If he has to fight whoever’s in there, beat the snot out of them, then that’s what he’ll do. No one’s ever in the mood to share.

It’s not easy to find a way in. The windows are mostly boarded up, same as most warlock hideouts, and the back door doesn’t even have a doorknob. There’s clutter in the back of the place that’s been stacked up against it, probably more for the sake of shoving it out of the way than barricading the entry point.

There’s a second-floor window, though, without boards on it, and there’s a chimney with spaces in between the big jagged stones. As soon as he sees it, he starts climbing, socked toes wedging into the spaces big enough, hauling himself up to that window. He doesn’t look down. He wouldn’t balk if he did. Gotta get in, gotta get in this place and take what’s for the taking. If he can’t get in, he might as well climb to the top of the chimney and fall back to the ground. He’s just as useless with a broken back as he is starving, defenseless, exposed.

It takes patience that he doesn’t like to spend, to get in the window silently, but he manages it. The aching in his fingers at hanging onto the chimney’s stonework, at shoving on the glass of the window so it’ll slide up, it’s something he can handle for the moment of slipping in, sliding to the floor, getting to catch his breath and relax his body.

It’s a dark, empty hallway. He can see the top of the stairway, weak light pouring from downstairs. Whoever’s hiding here is down there. Maybe Major’ll get lucky and they’ll be dead, or passed out drunk, their stuff lying out ready to be snatched up.

He gets to his feet and sneaks over, creeps down the stairs. Anyone who’s ever had to creep around knows to go slow, listen for creaking floorboards, all that. He forces himself to stay slow and careful. If he had a knife, a gun, something to barge in with, he’d be able to go fast, be loud. All he has going for him right now is the element of surprise.

When he gets low enough on the stairs to peek around the wall blocking his view of the main room, he sees them. A round guy, long curls and a sweater, harmless looking - and a huge guy, all muscle, built like a brick house and looking out a window from between two slats of wood nailed in place.

It would be a huge fucking mistake to try and jump that guy. He’d be able to snap Major’s neck without breaking a sweat, looks like.

But then grey eyes catch a pile on the floor. These guys have been looting places, or stealing from people, or they just found a shit ton of stuff here before barricading the place. Snacks, bandages, rubbing alcohol, booze. As much as the practical stuff sends impatience coursing through him, the little snack-sized bag of potato chips gets his mouth watering, his legs wobbling.

The step under him creaks.

Major’s heart stops pounding. His eyes lock onto the big guy’s face as he spins to find the source of the noise. He’s been spotted.

All he can think about is those chips. He might die right now but he can practically taste them.

The softer guy sees him now, too, and he’s out of sight, suddenly, backed himself into a corner where Major can’t see him. Major focuses back on the brick house dude.

“Hey there, big guy,” He mutters, holding still. No sudden moves. He doesn’t know what kind of magic the guy might have. There are lots of kinds that can kill you from across the room. “Uh. You uh… I can stay up here, leave you guys alone, just… you got anything to eat?”

~

Remy helped him out, once Tank’s ego was lifted just slightly off the floor by his awe. Once Tank felt a little more human, a little more strong, able to handle the intimate admission of need that is accepting healing magic. Remy’s hands sank cool numbing bliss into his ruined joints and Tank almost passed out from the sheer relief.

He can stand, now. He’s keeping an eye out. Remy likes to chat, he’s curious and friendly, but he’s tense if Tank isn’t by a window, making sure no one gets close enough to force their way in and snatch Remy up.

Anything that Tank can do to be the protector, to make someone else feel steady, helps him right now. Makes things easier to handle.

When he spots wild white hair, and grey eyes, peeking out at him from the shadows of the staircase, Tank is ready to fight. To get in between Remy and the new threat, even though he’s known Remy for less than a day. But the guy on the stairs doesn’t rush to attack, and doesn’t bolt back upstairs where Tank would have to follow, find him, make sure he’s not dangerous.

The guy asks for food. He must see the snacks on the floor. Tank nods despite himself. He found these supplies hidden in this place, in his efforts to provide, to make Remy feel less scared and alone. They’re not his to hoard. If the guy on the stairs is hungry, and chill enough to ask instead of killing for it, then Tank can’t find a good reason to say no.

Out into the light creeps the white-haired stranger, dirty and unsteady looking. Most warlocks look half-starved and like they just got out of a fight they were losing. He’s got no shoes on, and nothing bulky in his pockets that could be a weapon, and no long sleeves to cover up the burns on his arms. Even if he came in here meaning to kill, to come after Remy or fight Tank for the right to squat here, he seems to have been caught up in the mesmerizing allure of the snacks piled up on the floor like a pile of glittering gold coins.

“What’s your name?” Asks Tank, shifting to stay between the stranger and Remy. Major raises his hands and lowers himself to the floor to sit before getting alarmingly close to the pile of supplies.

“Major. I don’t have attack magic, or anything to fight with. Are those -” He moves one hand slowly to point at the snacks. “Those chips, green bag, those called yet?”

Tank shakes his head once, and Major’s hands are lowered. “Gonna grab it, then.” He does, leaning forward and snatching up the bag, ripping it open and grabbing a fistful of chips, then another, then squashing the bag in his hands until the chips are crushed and pouring it into his mouth.

Tank lowers himself to the floor across from him, his guard lowering slowly, inch by inch, as Major’s focus proves to be on seeing to his immediate needs, not causing harm.

“Grab a water,” Tank says, and Major leans forward again to grab a bottle of water and twist it open eagerly.

“What can I, call you?” The back of his wrist swipes over his mouth to wipe away chip crumbs and drops of water.

“Tank. And Remy.”

“Cool. You guys friends? What’re you holed up in here for?”

“No. We… just met today. Remy was being chased. I was…”

“I healed him.” Remy slips out of the corner, out from behind Tank, to sit by the snacks too. “You hurt?”

Major’s eyes flick between Tank and Remy, watching for a trick. “Uh. You just… spill that to anyone? That you can do that? No wonder you were being chased, you must get, like, hunted down for that.”

The soft guy cringes, inching closer to Tank. Big guy must give off some real comforting, I-can-and-will-protect-anyone vibes, for a random warlock to be looking to him for protection on day one, Major thinks. Somehow he found a guy that whores out his healing magic, and one that gets off on being the big strong protector, with snacks to share. He must be dreaming.

He is so going to stick with these two, use them if they wanna help so bad. He could use some dumbass helper types watching his back, giving without making him give in return. At least, they haven’t ask him for anything yet.

“Well, thanks for the chips. I’m tryna crash, been a long couple days. You guys, uh, have your own corners, or something? I can go upstairs.”

Tank tips his head to the side. “You can. Might wanna stay down here, though. I’m gonna keep watch while he sleeps, if he can. Can watch out for you too.”

Major can’t stop a grin from spreading. These guys are so stupid. But definitely useful. “Yeah. Hell yeah. Thanks, man. I’m’onna sleep over there, then.”

He doesn’t plan to sleep, obviously. Lies down facing the big guy and the little guy, eyes closed, holding the water bottle close. His mind drifts, and he thinks about the hot witch running that one safehouse, the one who bossed him around and snarked back. He doesn’t have the focus to just pretend to sleep and listen to those guys any more than he has the trust to actually let himself fall asleep. Eventually, though, he thinks about the big guy watching out for some scared kid who asked him to help, and gives a soft chuckle at the thought of someone stupid enough to just help anyone who needs it… and he drifts off, oddly comforted.

[pleom]

i. hunger

A sound awoke you. It shouldn’t have—it was much too distant and far too quiet for you to have picked up on it. But the tension in the air left you hyperaware of every move and shuffle, too high-strung to fully give yourself to sleep. You lacked the energy to open your eyes and relied on your other senses to give you a clue. The sound slowly grew in clarity—plastic crinkles and the smacks of a dry mouth.

It was Jisung, sat against a wall with an empty bag of chips dangled over his tongue. He panted desperately, and licked at the pitiful amount of crumbs that dropped into his mouth. All around him were containers of already finished food. The last meal ate was a can of green beans, and it was Minho who shoved the last bits into his mouth while everyone slept. The room never smelled of rotten food, though, as everyone made sure to pick each package and cartridge clean. No one would dare leave behind a speck in their wake. Not while the whole room starved. 

“Jisung,” Mina warned. 

“Sorry,” and the plastic bag crumpled back down to the floor. Jisung groaned with his chest, arms twitching over his stomach. “I’m just so hungry; how long do we gotta wait?”

It seemed like everyone was awake, now. More feet dragged across the concrete, and every wrinkle seemed to have its own reverb. Life sprung back into being inside this cellar bunker of yours.

You felt it, too. An emptiness none too gentle. It rocked you in violent waves that left you heaving, but even so, you had to keep a steel grip. The rest of the cabin moaned with the same predicament. And deep inside all of them, even with the knowledge they beared, they wondered the same thing.

“Long enough,” Mina said, easily irked. She kicked a can to its side and nestled deeper into the wall. “We’ll survive, I promise. But only if you guys keep it down, alright? Ever heard of meditating?”

“Meditating is supposed to be done under ideal conditions,” Jisung fired.

“Not true,”

“Very true, what—”

The screeching of metal broke the beginnings of another argument before it began, signaling either the return of someone important or the arrival of someone disastrous. Heavy boots plodded down the concrete stairs leading to your bunker, a single bated breath shared among all its dwellers.

“Guys,” a familiar, somber voice echoed through the chamber, “it’s safe.”

It’s Chan. And he came back bloodier than before. But the stains on his clothings registered later than his words—

—“Really?!” You jumped from your seat, and immediately tumbled back down to your knees. The hunger sucked the energy out of your muscles, and left you with limbs that defied your every wish. 

Chan was by your side immediately, wrapping his hand around your rail-thin arm. “Yeah, and I brought food, so you all can relax.”

The room broke down in relief, sighs and cries falling from left and right. The grumbles from their stomach sounded louder than ever. 

Chan slunk a shredded sack from over his shoulder, opening it up to reveal piles of delicate products—peaches, Hawaiian rolls, jerky. Instantaneously, the whole room charged forward on their fragile hands and feet to grab a serving.

When everyone had their piece, they laid back against the wall with renewed vigor, sated and lively. The smell of copper, sugar, and meat wafted through the air. Chan downed a bottle of water and tossed it to the side.

“Now, we just need to wait for the sun to come up, and bear till the afternoon.”

ii. dew

Exiting the bunker cellar brought forth both revelatory and crushing realizations. A new smell met your nose, rancid, and it wasn’t from the thick mush of coagulated blood and torn flesh strewn across the lawn. It was the aftermath left stuck on the grass.

“Usually, after nights like that, the smell of the morning is supposed to be, you know, pleasant,” droned Jisung. “It feels like we woke up in hell.”

“Isn’t it?” Changbin quipped. “But, yeah, this isn’t how it was last time we were out.”

“Feels like climate change gave us its worst,” Sana took large steps to maneuver out of the way of the grass. When everyone gathered to the middle of the street, away from the festering puddles, it was time to consider your odds.

“At least we picked on a pattern,” you said, eyes following the ruptured cords from power-line to power-line. They had stopped sparking with life. “But are we sure this isn’t happening elsewhere? I mean, it’s acid rain. Pretty sure that isn’t location-locked.”

“Before the electricity cut off, I searched for news from everywhere. If psychotic raindrops were falling in anywhere major, it would be an epidemic. Hell, if it even rained in the next town over we’d know. The con of living in the middle of bumfuck nowhere, besides the obvious, is that we are truly out of sight and out of mind.”

The group shivered with the truth of Chan’s words. Everyone bore a face of both hopefulness and cynicism as they toyed with the future of the town. 

“Think the cars still work?” Jisung mulled, “Or did the rain kill those, too?”

“Only one way to find out.”

iii. forewarning

“Got a little caught in the rain?” You mused. Hyunjin dashed into the restaurant, soaked down to the bone. A group dinner to celebrate your promotion at work was planned since the announcement, although now very hastily carried out due to the sudden weather. 

A waiter came moments before, and at numerous times, each to which were turned away in consideration for those who hadn’t made it yet. It started looking bleak—and understandably so, until Hyunjin finally pulled through at the door. The rest of the group chuckled lightheartedly; Chan pulled back a chair for him to seat. 

A fist smashed it to its side. 

“Hyunjin?”

“Don’t worry about it,” he muttered, just barely loud enough for you to catch. He pulled the seat back up, and threw his coat over it with abandon. Your friends’ liveliness diminished considerably, with every head turning towards the other. A cautious concernment battled the air, with Seungmin being the first to confront it. 

He rested a hand over Hyunjin’s fist, whom now sat with a face full of red and eyes casted down at his lap. 

“You alright there?” Seungmin started, pausing to look over the group, then tried again. “Did you miss the bus? Are you angry you’re late? It’s fine, you know. You can talk—”

Hyunjin erupted from his seat, staring down at Seungmin with irrational indignation. He clenched his lips, then slowly, quietly began to speak. “Don’t push me. I am not in the mood for this.”

You could tell he was holding something/himself back, but the curtness of his words startled you all the same. The rest of the group—Mina, Changbin, Jisung, Minho, Sana, and Chan—all gaped. Seungmin pulled his hands back and held up his arms, sweat building at his temple. You watched his features morph with his thoughts, and just when Hyunjin’s anger seemingly simmered, he braved his next words.

“Forgive me—”

Hyunjin swung. 

You heard it before you saw it. The sound of bone cracking against bone, the wet splats of blood upon tableware, it all made your stomach churn, and you dry heaved at the sight of Hyunjin aiming again. Your friends gasped, screamed, and scrambled away from the table as Chan raced for Hyunjin, but it was too late. Hyunjin’s fists met with Seungmin stronger than before with the buildup of his rage. Their faces almost held the same shade of red, but the color covered just as much ground. 

The entire restaurant followed your steps, spreading chaos where they looked on in shock. 

Chan stopped Hyunjin from placing another blow, but Seungmin already laid unconscious between the crimson rows of chairs. “Hey! Hey! Come on, man! What are you doing?”

“Shut up!” Hyunjin shoved Chan off and turned around to face him. This wasn’t Hyunjin, it couldn’t be. He looked and behaved all too unfamiliar, and within the depths of his eyes, he saw the same. He stared at Chan as though he were a stranger, a nobody, and in a split-second, an enemy. 

He thrusted at Chan and narrowly missed. 

“Chan!” you screamed and nearly bounded for him, tripping over the dozens of disorder limbs in your way. Hyunjin snapped his head and you saw the shift in his focus. He took a step towards you, unrestrained, before your boyfriend’s arms wrapped around his waist and threw him down to the floor. 

The restaurant’s workers decided to pull their weight—aiding Chan in confining a thrashing Hyunjin to the ground. A server grappled for Hyunjin’s waist. In that moment, Chan let go, for a second’s reprieve, to find a stronger grasp, or to spit some sense into Hyunjin’s face—you weren’t sure which; everything happened in a blur—Chan being shoved off, Hyunjin flying for the waiter, his fists connecting to his face, blood, shrieking, Chan burrowing you in his chest, tears full of fear running down your cheeks. 

“What’s going on?!” you cried, “He’s beating his face in!”

Chan’s ragged breaths met your ears, and his arms squeezed you in a deathly grip. You backed both of you into a corner along with the others, the sound of rain drumming harder with a sense of mayhem. All this confusion, the uproar inside your brain, you screamed for an answer, his, God’s, anyone who knew the truth. Chan’s tears fell alongside yours, and thwarted, he conceded. 

“I don’t know!” 

His hands balled in your hair, his eyes buried over the crown of your head. And the storm raged on, thunder clapping to the beat of Hyunjin’s fists.

iv. outrage

“Run.”

Shrieks echoed between every nook and cranny of the abandoned school building as you bounded down the halls. You were forced to break with your group, lest you fall victim to one who was in the group.

The sight of the school was first a sign of hope, a shaky breath of air, as you all barely escaped the downfall of the rain. And barely, indeed, since not all of you were lucky. Jisung sludged slowly behind the group, and when the first sound of thunder rang throughout the woods, he struggled kicking his feet quicker. For when it rained, it downpoured; and when the canopy could no longer protect him, he was doused with the sparkings of rage. 

He reached for Changbin, also soaked with the sky-fallen petrol, and strangled him. 

The rest of the group safely arrived at the building and collapsed, not in exhaustion or thirst or hunger, but with a chest-aching hopelessness. This wasn’t what was supposed to happen. And you all swore that you had enough time to make it—instead, Jisung made it at the steps before anyone could react.

“Close the door!” 

Minho’s screams sounded from somewhere behind you, but you stayed put behind Chan’s back as he clearly tussled with the thought of blocking off another despair-stricken friend. His fingers clenched and unclenched around the door’s handle, and Jisung stomped closer and closer to your team. By then, you could already predict Chan’s next action, as a man with too much faith in his heart and fists too soft to land blows, he welcomed him in.

“Run!”

Fortunately, Chan’s legs were much too fast for Jisung to catch, but that just left the rest of you. 

Now, you all raced between rooms all familiar and yet alien, as the rain from the past week seemed to have already eroded its walls. It’s decrepit and menacing, and all around not a place you’d like to see Judgment Day in.

You avoided every footfall, chased every moonlight, and studied the rainstorm. You’d assume that with enough trained practice, this night should end without any more blood spilled. With enough luck and mercy on your side, you’ll all regroup, away from the terror of Jisung hunt for broken flesh. Maybe, all you guys needed was time and patience and separation. Maybe, the rain, the cursed rain, would drown out Jisung’s prowling footsteps and the shuffling of yours.

Your steps. 

His steps.

Chan’s steps.

Whose…? 

The steps—they wouldn’t stop coming in all directions. They grew louder with every step backward you took, and grew quiet when you stood still. Every now and again screams could be heard, and they repeated as the moon sailed through the night sky, blissfully unaware—a luxury that you could not be afforded. You prayed for the hiding to end, for Jisung’s rampage to quiet, for your friends and partner to escape to safety. But as each star grew brighter, as though mocking your situation, its reality settled heavy on your shoulders. 

You were never going to see your friends again.

v. new find

A male figure laid with only skin and bones. His arms crossed over his stomach as though he died hanging onto what little remained in it. You didn’t approach, too disheartened by the reality of your situation to take a closer look. Chan clearly felt differently, because he stepped closer to kneel over the body. You sighed.

“Another person starved,” you bemoaned, “That could’ve been us.”

Chan kept his silence, opting instead to rearrange the figure despite your protests. Wincing, you turn your flashlight towards something less gruesome. 

“He didn’t starve,” Chan whispered. 

“Huh?”

“He definitely did not starve,” Chan repeated, rising to full-height. He took a step back, knocking against a wall, a jittery finger pointed at the body. He struggled to spit out his words. “He ate. His lips, his clothes, his hands—full of blood.”

Confusion swirled in your mind. You flashed your light back at the body, but remained in your spot—the thought of seeing further detail made your stomach twist in knots. But the light reflected just enough for you to see; viscera were loosely wrapped around his limbs, yet you couldn’t spot a single open wound or injury on him. 

“W-what do you think this means?” you didn’t want to think deeper on this topic. You wished you could turn your brain off instead. “Surely it could have been an animal, right? Rats must be everywhere.”

“All animals had died since the very first time it rained,” Chan said grimly. You could feel him turn to look at you, but you refused to lift your gaze from the ground. “You know what this means. You’ve seen it.”

You gulped. The truth was there. 

“I have.”

vi. is it rage?

A drop of rain fell onto your hand. 

It soaked there, for just a second. The fear in your stomach almost vanquished, replaced instead with a false sense of relief, pride, and wisdom. You had almost cheered—it isn’t the rain that’s changing people! But then it absorbed.

You felt it in your chest first—thrumming violently near your heart. It made your heart feel like a muscle, a real muscle that grew tougher and stiffer with every pump. It made your blood prod against your veins, seeking exit in holes that didn’t exist. But in the end, it made its own and tinted your vision with red splotches, boiling out the skin of your face one pour at a time.

It grew maddening, terrible, and seared through your stomach in bouts of bile, venom and spite. Your lover’s face flashed inside your mind, and in the next bruised, burnt, and pummeled. Each image ticked with a new injury, a new mutilation and somehow it was the only thing that calmed the fire underneath your ribcage. You gurgled with the little space left inside your lungs.

Your limbs twitched. Your ears pulsed. 

A drop of rain fell onto your hand. 

Blood followed next.

— An All-Consuming Rage

[wonderlandmind4]

Delicate Stages of Life: 22

I can't help this awful energy God damn right, you should be scared of me Who is in control?

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x OFC

Summary: Life in Wakanda is filled with love, laughs, some tears, all emotions, lazy days, goats, hot springs, a soul connection, and something dark that looms over Bucky’s and Ana’s domestic bliss…

Warnings:  Angst. Sad. 

Words: 5.7k

A/N: Sorry it took so long fr this chapter. I took a break from writing for two/three months because 1- the year got to me and i just couldn’t write the way I wanted to, 2- the holidays. Now it’s the new year and here I am!The time frame of weeks is in weeks of pregnancy. (Also, I finally changed the title) (Do not read unless you’ve read Delicate Stages first)

Three months post snap: 21 weeks pregnant

Ana wakes in water again, fingers floating along the surface. Standing up carefully she surveys her surroundings. It’s the same; the endless horizon of a burning sun, the large looming door, the child standing in front of it. Each time she takes a step towards the door, the child disappears. Each time Ana places her hand against the wood, an invisible force stops her from opening it. Each time, her heart swells as she turns around.

This time, as Bucky stands mere feet from her reach, soft smile etched on his face, Ana lunges. She doesn’t hesitate, just immediately tries to grab hold of him, to pull him close and protect him from crumbling away. This time, his mouth moves soundlessly, but she’s seen and heard him call her by that nickname so many times, she knows what he is trying to say.

Annie

Closing the distance between them, her fingers pass right through his chest, hand stained with ashes.

Waking abruptly each time leaves her with wet cheeks, buzzing hot energy and flickering lights. With the most recent dream, Ana wakes not just to the same routine, but to a jab of discomfort to the right side of her belly. Settling one hand over the movement beneath her stomach, she rubs soothing circles over the spot. It seems as if her subconscious distress is beginning to disturb the little life growing inside her. Once more, she presses her right hand firmly to chest, effectively snuffing out the chaos the dreams always tend to kickstart. Self-preservation in trade of zero emotions.

With the night hauntingly calm once more, Ana lies back. One rapid little flutter breaks the silence of the dark, and upon realization of the faint noise, she closes her eyes, and allows the sound of her baby’s heartbeat to lull her back to sleep.

*

Crackling flames dancing over wood is the only noise disturbing the dead of the night. Despite the warmth of the weather outside, the fire is the only illusion of solace by any means. A simple, soothing sound, pairing with the smooth burn of whiskey.

Steve knocks back his third glass of the spirit, one hand braced on the mantel over the fireplace. His fingers grip the glass, tiny cracks webbing from the heavy pressure. In lieu of uselessly leaning against a door that refuses to open for his help, he has taken to staring blankly into the fire.

As the flames lick lines of blue along the burning logs and fade into an array of yellows and oranges, his mind falls into an absentminded trance. One that allows him to shut off his brain. Allows him to forget his bone crushing guilt, failure, concern. The images of the fire reflect in his eyes, instead of the fading disintegration of his friends. The cries of confusion, fear, of desperate searching. The anguished screams reverberating through his chest as he held a broken woman in his arms.

Three months have passed since that awful day. Nearly two months since Steve had watched Ana turn off her emotions. Two months of her shutting him out, refusing help from him or anyone else. Two months of walking on shattered glass around her, watching her fragile physical state become worse; paler skin, cracked lips, becoming thinner. Even the nine gold specks in her eyes are dim.

Steve closes his eyes, refusing to decipher if the burning is from staring too long into the dancing light, or something else that wetly trickles down his cheek. A quiet voice, softened by the sadness in the tone, disrupts the crackling flames.

“Drinking alone, Rogers?”

Huffing through his nose, clearly distracted to even notice someone had joined him, Steve pushes off the mantel, hastily rubbing his cheek. He grabs the bottle of whiskey off the ledge, turning and lifting it to acknowledge Natasha. He pours just a few ounces into his glass before offering it to her. She glances at it for a moment, then she reaches for the bottle instead, taking a long swig.

“Don’t know why I still bother,” Steve mumbles, following behind her as she sits on the couch. “Still doesn’t do a damn thing.”

“It’s the principle, I suppose.” Natasha responds, licking a lingering drop from her lips. She holds up the glass. “I assume this was half full earlier.”

“Half empty.” The words taste like ash on his tongue.

She snorts, shifting to rest her legs over his lap. “Almost gone now. Where’d you get this anyway? We cleaned out this place.”

“Secret stash,” He supplies, glancing at her. She’s got a knowing glint in her green eyes. He sighs. “Bought it today, liquor store shelves were nearly empty.”

She takes another long sip, not even wincing at the taste. They sit in comfortable yet heavy silence for several minutes, both staring at the fire. Steve rests one hand on Natasha’s calf, using the other to finish off the rest of the whiskey in his cup. It’s an odd sort of comfort.

“The power flickered out again,” Natasha breaks the quiet. “Been happening more often.”

“She has dreams.” He states lowly. It was never confirmed verbally, but Steve knows. They all have dreams; nightmares- night terrors.

A beat. “At least the morning sickness seems to have passed.”

“Doesn’t look like it,” He scoffs, rubbing his free hand over his growing beard in frustration.

“Have you noticed the cracks in the toilet bowl? The dents look suspiciously like the shape of her fingers.”

He has noticed, any time he sneaks in her room when Ana isn’t there. Just to make sure she’s stocked up on supplies like water bottles, and vitamins. He chooses to ignore her growing strength; one issue at time.

Steve sighs heavily. “Protective barrier, huh?”

“Steve,” Natasha warns lowly.

“Don’t, Nat. I know you have the same theory as me. Danvers and Rhodes think so too.”

“We can’t just accuse her of channeling her own life energy into that baby. Even if- even if she’s doing it-“

“To keep it healthy even if it kills her?” He cuts her off, each word growing with anger. “It’s killing her, Natasha!”

He leans forward, roughly setting the glass down on the table; it cracks on the bottom. Steve shifts to see her better- her legs moving with him- to stare into her eyes to make sure the severity of the situation is understood. Her green eyes are wide, knowing, glassy with the vulnerability she’s been showing lately. It cuts him to his core, to watch not only Ana, but Natasha as well, fall apart. They are all falling apart.

Softer, he repeats, “It’s killing her.”

Natasha swallows thickly, readjusting her legs and gently kicking his knee. “Why’d you think I’ve been sneaking that elixir Carol has into her drinks? At least this way she can keep her energy and vitals up.”

“I don’t think I can fix this,” Steve suddenly crumbles, dropping his face into his hands, his throat burning. “I don’t know what to do.”

“You think I do, Steve?” Her voice is too soft, too broken. She places a gentle hand on his back. “None of us do. But…I don’t think this is something we can fix for Ana.”

A foreign noise escape Steve’s mouth; a mix of a sob and a bitter laugh. Not another word is spoken for a long time. A heaviness falls between them as the silence grows longer. Steve does take Natasha’s hand in his, for some sort of comfort.

“Have you found Clint?” He inquires after a good half hour passes. He hears her heart rate quicken.

“No.” There’s a hint of anguish in her voice. “He’s not gone, that much we know. Rhodey and I are still trying to track him.”

Nodding, Steve decides its enough despair for the night. “Hungry? I can make us a pizza?”

Natasha raises a skeptical eyebrow. “You’re going to make a pizza?”

“It’s frozen.”

A smile cracks across her lips. “Perfect.”

*

22 weeks:

That familiar low hum wakes Ana again; for the third week in a row. Everyday. She feels the smile spreading across her lips before her eyes even open. When she does, she carefully reaches over to the nightstand, trying not to disrupt Bucky and his singing.

“I know you’re awake, Ana, nice try,” Bucky mumbles, pressing a kiss to her hipbone.

“Wasn’t trying to be sneaky,” She says, voice still heavy with sleep. “Just looking for…” She pulls open the draw, digging her and around until to feels a small ball. “This.”

She looks down at her husband, his long hair obscuring half his face as he narrows his eyes. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Nothing, dear,” Ana smiles innocently, settling back down and pretending to go back to sleep.

“Mhm. Your mother is a terrible lair, little Jellybean.”

She cracks an eye open. “We’ve upgraded to Jellybean, have we?”

Bucky ignores her, continuing to talk to her stomach. “Thinking she can just pull one over me. Thinking she can pretend to be asleep and not think I know she’s going to record my horrific singing.”

Laughing brightly, Ana sinks her fingers into his soft hair. “It’s adorable! Little off key, but adorable!”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” He pouts. He pushes himself up, leaning over to plant a good morning kiss to her lips. “You’re just lucky I love you so much.”

“Hmm, very lucky,” She mumbles against his mouth. “Very lucky,” she hooks her legs around his hips, pulling him to grind against her. “And very horny.”

Bucky cackles and the kimono bead is forgotten for the next two hours.

The next time Ana wakes to Bucky singing lullabies, she finds the bead and records the tenderness of the moment.

Staring at the ceiling above her each time Ana wakes from her dreams is becoming mundane. The ceiling is a plain off white, nothing to count on the surface, just a listless void. If she just continues to stare at it, maybe she can fall back to sleep, fall into -not dreams of memories- but the cryptic orange world with the door and the wetless water. At least there, she can begin to feel him, and maybe just maybe, she can trick her mind into thinking Bucky isn’t truly gone.

Ana blinks. The memory she just woke from makes her slowly sit up, waiting a few moments for the nausea to fade away before she gets up. She begins searching the room, opening boxes yet unpacked, and drawers alike. Finally, she remembers where she put the box filled with everything important from their life. Shifting some papers around, Ana picks up the kimono bead she was looking for.

Turning it on, a light blue hologram display pops up with a menu. She carefully swipes her finger along the screen until she finds a saved video. She hesitates for a moment, then presses the play button.

A crystal clear image of Bucky’s soft smiling face shines back at her. Hologram Bucky fondly rolls his eyes, turning his face back to Ana’s barely bump of a stomach on the screen. His gentle, but rough around the edges singing voice begins to fill the silence of her room.

Ana just stares.

She watches in a daze as the recorded Bucky sings an old lullaby to her stomach; despite him knowing the baby couldn’t hear him yet. Watches as his fingers tenderly rub circles on her skin. Watches as his hair falls over his face, watches as her own hand pushes back the dark strands behind his ear. Watches as her husband turns his face and kisses her palm.

Her real palm tingles, as if remembering the warm press of his lips against her hand. She digs her nails into her skin instead, and the phantom memory on her palm fades away. In the chaos of the horrible event that happened, Ana had forgotten she had recorded videos of Bucky.

She reaches out, fingertips brushing along his projected face. The screen ripples as her fingers go through the image. Something feels like it breaks in the back of her mind. Not for the first time, she’s glad she shut her emotions off. A sudden rapping at her door startles her enough to distort the image in front of her.

“Ana?” Steve’s voice carries through the door. He sounds extremely concerned.

Ana swipes her hand through the projection, effectively cutting off Bucky’s voice and shutting off the video. She squeezes the bead in her fist, turning to stare at the door. The faint sound of a sigh reaches her ears through the wood.

“Just want to make sure you’re…alright,” She hears Steve mumble, nearly inaudible.

Slowly, Ana shuffles off the bed, giving herself a moment as she stands up. She settles her free hand over her growing bump, wincing at the small movement inside her stomach. Blowing out a breath after the baby stops moving, she makes her way to the door. She hesitates briefly, then unlocks the handle, pulling it open.

Steve had given up, for he’s halfway down the hall, turning once he heard the door open. His steps are quick when he comes back, his brow set in a deep frown. His eyes, the ever deep blue eyes- so different from Bucky’s, Ana thinks vaguely- worriedly scan her face, shift over her shoulder, then back to her.

“I-“ Steve begins, he shakes his head minutely. “I heard voices?”

“Think I’ve gone crazy now, is that it?” Ana deadpans, crossing her arms. She rests them on the swell of her stomach.

There’s a tick at the corner of his jaw as he inhales slowly. “No. I just-“

Ana shoots her arm out before Steve can say more. She twists her arm until it’s palm up, then opens her fist to reveal the bead.

“Recording.” She states.

He seems to understand immediately. Steve raises his own hand, gently curling his fingers over hers to form a fist again. He nods, then drops his hand.

“Sorry I asked,” He says. “Do you…are you- do you need anything?”

“Nope.”

The tick jumps more. “When’s the last time you ate?”

“Not hungry.” She goes to close the door, but Steve catches it halfway.

“Dinner is- uh- if you do get hungry,” He huffs through his nose, and it sounds like he’s holding back anger. “Just…never mind.”

He releases the door. Ana doesn’t watch him leave as she closes it. She leans against the wood, clutching the bead in her hand still. Her urge to use the bathroom is abruptly strong and she grumbles her complaints to the life inside her. She carefully puts the bead in her bedside drawer, then uses the toilet.

After, she gingerly gets in bed one more, rubs her right ankle that has swelled lightly. She adjusts her pillows to get comfortable, before laying on her side. SHe closes her eyes, wondering if her mind will slip back into the dreams she keeps having, if only to see Bucky once more.

*

23 weeks and two days:

Silence. The silence wakes her. Ana opens her eyes, staring out at the burnt orange glow of the world she yearns to be her own. Every night, for weeks on end, she wishes to return to this strange empty place, just for the few moments she has to see him.

The world seems slightly different this time around, as Ana makes her way towards that small child, towards that ominous door. Her footsteps make no noise, just muted ripples through the pond of strange dark water. She stops just a few feet from the child, pausing- waiting to hear someone else call her name; it doesn’t come.

“Who are you?” Ana’s voice is subdued when she speaks.

The child, a girl with reddish brown hair held up in high pigtails, slowly turns to face her. Her skin is a beautiful complexion of green, but the expression in her young eyes makes Ana’s breath catch in her throat. Her dark irises shine with a broken innocence, makes her wonder what horrible event tormented this child. She doesn’t answer.

“What is this place?” Ana inquires instead. “Where am I?”

The girls lower lip trembles. She blinks, a sudden sheen of tears filling her eyes. “Trapped.”

Dread weighs heavily in Ana’s chest. She needs to find out more than just the ominous cryptic answer. She peers over her shoulder, still expecting to hear and see him, but no one is behind her. When she shifts her focus back to the girl, she is no longer there, just the looming wood doors.

Ana has yet to come this far in this odd dream world. She pushes forward, hand outstretched and pressing her palm to the wood. When nothing happens to her fingers, she continues, slowly pushing the doors open. All she feels is a light brush along her skin, as if a soft breeze washed over her.

Nothing has changed. She turns to look behind her, just in case the door had shut, or the world has morphed into something different; it hasn’t.

“Annie.”

That voice. That tender, loving voice that fills her lungs with oxygen and her heart with life. His voice. Facing forward once more, Bucky is standing right in front of her. Just inches away, different than all her other dreams before.

“Bucky!” Ana gasps, her chest tightens and loosens simultaneously.

She’s terrified. Terrified as she reaches out, that he will vanish like he does every time. But he’s still there, deep blue eyes shining like the moon in her darkest nights, gazing at her with love. He raises his right hand, fingertips brushing against hers, until their fingers are laced and locked. Ana knows tears are threatening to spill over. She’s never been able to touch him here.

“Is this-are you-“ She stutters as she steps closer. Bucky gentle cups her cheek with his left hand. The fact that she can’t feel the cool metal doesn’t register in her mind. “Is this real?”

His thumbs traces her cheekbone. “Turn it on, sweetheart.”

“W-what? Bucky…”

The smile on his face is one of despair, his eyes filling with sorrow. Abruptly, Ana’s grip on his hand goes through his skin. Glancing down in horror, her palm is filled with ash, immediately understanding what it is. She meets his eyes once more, his skin beginning to morph into the same gray that haunts her.

“No. No. No!” Ana cries outs, trying to pull him tight to her body, to keep him as close as possible.

But he continues to crumble, the rest of his body following his right hand. She presses the solid form of his vibranium hand harder to her cheek.

“No, please! Please don’t leave me!”

His only response is touching his forehead to hers, the light of his eyes fading away. In a desperate need, Ana wraps her arms around him, trying to use her own life energy to keep him alive. It doesn’t work. Nothing works. Her arms go through his torso as she stumbles to her knees. The last part of Bucky to turn into dust, is his hand still lingering on her cheek. His fingers brush against her lips just before he vanishes into air.

A sob rips from her throat.

*

Ana wakes with a gasping breath that seizes in her throat. She can’t breathe with ashes in her lungs, choking on the memory of Bucky. It’s filling her chest, her heart, her throat, her nose. She can’t breathe.

She sits up, frantically clawing at her chest because she needs to breathe. There’s nothing but the clouds of ash and dust ensnaring her senses, ensnaring her insides. Crawling down into her stomach.

Abruptly she halts her assault on her chest, moving her hands down to the swell of her stomach. Protect from the ash, protect from the dust, protect the life from fading away just like its father. Glancing down to make sure the bump is physically still there, Ana is able to ground herself. Just enough to realize she isn’t truly suffocating.

She’s barely aware of herself to recognize that the golden light isn’t radiating from a lamp. It’s glowing from her skin. The protective shield around her body, her energy, her powers, once again out of control. It takes another long moment for her hearing to catch up with her.

There’s rattling from somewhere in the room, but then the rushing of blood fills her ears when she has a flash of the dream again. Lights suddenly grow bright and flicker, until the popping of glass throws the room into darkness.

Ana talked to the little girl in the dream. She talked to Bucky. She was able to touch him, if just for a moment, until he disintegrated in her arms once more. Her hands clutching piles of his ashes. Ashes that she sees now, staining the imprints of her hands dark gray.

Quickly she shakes them out, trying to rid it from her skin. She blinks and her hands are clean, but the burning of her fingertips makes her skin glow brighter. Hot coils of energy swirling up her arms, around her body; winding up her limbs, curling through her stomach, and settling in her chest. A chest that has been empty for weeks; her heart and soul snapped away.

She attempts to calm herself, to control the energy, the emotions she thinks she never truly had a hold of. Inhaling deeply- the air taste of dust and tears and loss- she chokes again. She suddenly can’t stay here. She has to leave. She has to get out.

She stands quickly, a spell of dizziness washing over her. Ana catches herself on her nightstand, the wood sizzling beneath her palm. She quickly pulls her touch away, gaining her balance, and makes her way out of her room in a heated, kinetic daze. She pushes her door open, leaving behind charcoal handprints on it, and the nightstand.

Her body is overheating, waves of energy pulsing through every nerve. She thought she turned it off; her emotions, her feelings. But now, after the dream- the nightmare- it’s like a freight train slamming into her. She feels every single raw emotion. Ana inhales, the foundation of the compound shakes. She exhales, the air around her crackles and sparks; gold and blue and orange. More glass shattering vaguely registers in the back of her mind.

Muffled voices call out frantically, all faded into the background as Ana continues the path forward. Searching. She’s searching. She has to go back to that dream- no, to that world. She must find a way to keep Bucky whole, to keep her with him, even if it means to bury him deep inside her chest and never leave that world.

Because in this one, Bucky is gone. Her husband, best friend, her heart, her life, her soulmate. Gone. Snapped out of existence. Dying just before she could reach him. His ashes tattooed into her fingerprints.

Outside. Fresh air. Inhale. Breathes in the cinders ensnaring the world. She shatters.

Ana crumples to her knees, releasing a shriek she doesn’t feel tear from her throat. She’s blinded by lightning; white hot heat, electrifying the air and ground. Her fingers dig into the soft soil, hoping to taint the earth with every ounce of her feelings, every ounce of her pain. Hoping, begging to just be part of the earth like the granules that soaked into its dirt, and not come back.

She can’t feel Bucky. But she can feel what died with him.

She’s screaming. Screaming. Beams of energy releasing from her, beginning to fade up her body, darkening the light. A booming crack echoes through the air as her heart begins to fade out. Vaguely, in the back of her mind, she thinks this might be it. If she closes her eyes, maybe, just maybe, she can be with him.

A vice grip wraps around her, but she’s too weak, too blinded to struggle. She tries pulling the new form of energy with her, tries to drain it away like she’s doing to herself. Instead, a new surge of power, of hope, seeps into her veins.

It’s comfort, it’s pain, it’s understanding. It’s the loss of family, it’s the notion of support. It’s heartbreak, despair, but under all of it, is love. It’s-

“I got you.”

Family.

Three words are gently promised in her ear. Three words that cease everything. With a deafening, final crack, everything goes silent. The unbearable heat cools, the blinding lights fades back into twilight. The electric trills subside.

Ana gasps. Then comes the utter heartbreak. She breaks, sobbing into something solid. Something hard but soft, gentle and comforting. A chest. A rapid, anxious heartbeat. Strong muscular arms wrapped tightly around her; grounding her, keeping her together as she continues to sob.

“I got you.”

*

Steve hoped this day would come, he just hoped it would have happened differently than it did.

He had been in the conference room, staring at a hologram of faces, of names. Of plans he had been trying to conjure up until his eyes stung. Rocket, Nebula and Natasha all slumped around the table, still trying to rack their brains for any idea to fix what happened nearly four months ago. Carol, who comes in and out, had been peering at her own devices, a deep frown set on her face.

It was lucky that the serum gave Steve keen, advanced hearing, lucky that his mind was cleared of thoughts at the time. Absently just staring through the screens, that he was able to pick up the faintest sound of a gasp. It was different than all the other ones after the dreams she had. This one sounded like Ana was…suffocating.

Alert at once, Steve tilted his head to listen harder; ears picking up the sounds of sizzling. A dangerously rapid heart rate; shortened gasping breaths. Snapping into action, Steve sprinted away from the screens, Natasha calling out in alarm after him.

He made it into the living room just in time to see the floor to ceiling sliding doors crack and shatter around a glowing form. The tinkering pieces of sharp glass glanced off Ana’s body, and the energy in the room was thick enough to nearly bring him to the floor. He called her name with no response, just followed quickly behind her.

When he saw her fall to the ground, an agonizing shriek coming from her that he felt in his bones, he panicked. Steve had broken into a run after that, had to skid to a halt soon after so he wasn’t in the crossfire of the powerful beams of electric vigor Ana was sending into the sky. Rays of golden blue and orange.

For a moment, he was stunned. By her sheer power, by the force of finally releasing everything she had been hoarding inside of her body. She looked terrifyingly beautiful and broken. He pushed forward, knowing he had to reach her and soon. His memory thrown back years ago when she drained Eric Wood’s life…with her own.

Her color was fading, the energy weakening. He couldn’t let his fear of her killing herself become reality. Without hesitating, without thinking of the possible repercussions of getting too close, Steve slid on his knees next to her, gathered her in his arms and kept her tight against his chest. He was careful of her stomach, careful not to hurt her or the baby. Praying that Ana was still with him.

Instantly, his chest felt like it was on fire, his breath being stolen from his lungs, like his heart was about to give in. He felt weak, began to slump forward, his arms lost their grip around her. When he finally realized what she was doing, Steve somehow, in the depth of his own mind, summoned enough hopeful energy as he could. That maybe, just maybe there was a chance to bring everyone back. To bring Bucky back to her.

Once he did that, the metaphorical grip on is life released him. He took a breath and realized his fear of Ana dying was short lived, when she broke down sobbing into his shirt. Her hands had clutched at his arms, nails dug into his skin, noticing the glow of her power not pushing him away, but accepting him like it had in Wakanda. He didn’t care about the vice grip she had, or the fact that her nails were deep enough to break skin. He just held her as tight as he could- murmured into her ear.

“I got you.”

Now, two hours later sat in the medical ward, he watches as Ana continues to stare blankly at nothing, probably not hearing the words spoken to her. To be honest, Steve isn’t listening that closely either too attuned to Ana’s heartbeat, and the little fluttering one right next to it.

Immediately after her breakdown, after her heart wrenching sobs began to subside, Steve had carefully picked her up cradled to his chest and brought her back inside. Her face had pressed wetly into his neck, her breathing ragged, one arm around his shoulders, the other laid protectively over her stomach. He had held onto her in that same position on the couch, until Dr. Hammond- contacted by Natasha- had arrived.

A heavy sigh breaks Steve out of the depths of his mind. Shifting his eyes from Ana, he watches as the doctor finally puts down her pen. She gazes over Ana with sympathetic eyes. She places a gentle hand on her shoulder, and Ana’s eyes finally come back to the present.

“While I’m glad you turned your emotions back on-“ Dr. Hammond pauses and taps the paper she wrote on. “If you have another energy outburst like that, neither of you might survive it.”

This makes Steve sit rim rod straight, suddenly very interested in what she has to say. Ana, for her part, has an array of emotions flash over her face. Her eyes flutter, a single tear escaping down her left cheek. Her eyes look sunken, dark circles beneath them. Her skin pale, her cheeks almost hollow, and she hasn’t stopped trembling. She’s the epitome of exhaustion.

“Might not…survive?” Her voice cracks when she speaks.

Steve physically bites the corner of his lip, swallowing down his worry. The doctor grabs the paper Natasha had wrote on earlier.

“According to, what’s the AI’s name- FRIDAY’s readings directly after, your body temperature was a high of 105.8. Blood pressure through the roof, Tachycardia- your BPM,” She elaborates, “220- I’m shocked you didn’t go into cardiac arrest. The fetus’ heartbeat indicated early signs of Fetal Distress- which, if it continued, I would have scheduled an emergency C-section.”

Seeing shock and fear color Ana’s face has Steve feeling relieved and anxious all at once. She places her hands protectively over her stomach.

“At 23 weeks?” She whispers. She sounds horrified.

Dr. Hammond nods somberly. “Just because there’s that…for lack of a better term, shield, around the amniotic sac, doesn’t mean something inside can be prevented. Luckily, the ultrasound showed no signs of meconium in the amniotic fluid.”

Steve, having absolutely no knowledge of pregnancy and its terms, speaks up. “Which means?”

“It means, you are very lucky it wasn’t worse, Mrs. Barnes, and you seem to have a strong and lucky little baby. I am recommending you to be on strict bed rest for the next two weeks. Stay off your feet, keep them elevated, please take those vitamins I gave you. I want to see you in a week’s time, and then another week after. Captain Rogers-“

Steve pulls his eyes away from Ana, who looks like she’s about to have another sort of breakdown. “Ma’am?”

“If you wouldn’t mind having FRIDAY set up to send alerts to me regarding her health, I would appreciate that.”

He meets Ana’s gaze briefly once more, who gives him the slightest nod of consent. “Will do.”

“Thank you.” Dr. Hammond expresses. “I’m done for now, more satisfied with your vitals currently than I was an hour ago.” Suddenly her demeanor changes, placing a gentle hand on Ana’s elbow. “Ana. I do not know what you’re going through, but I know other women who are- in their own way. The hospital started a support group for expecting mothers affected by this-“

“No.” Ana interrupts her. Steve shares a look with Natasha and Carol, a common dread that she’s beginning to shut herself off again. Until- “At least, not right now, but thank you.”

“If you change your mind, just let me know.”

Steve walks the doctor to her car ten minutes later, leaving Ana in the hands of the girls and Rhodes. Rocket, who had wondered into the room and in his own way of comfort, made a quip about recharging his weapons with Ana’s energy beams, and how he would never have to tamper with batteries again. Steve swore he saw a shadow of a smirk on her lips at that.

“Thank you, Dr. Hammond, for coming out so late.” Steve expresses, opening the door open for the woman.

“Of course, Captain,” She responds, nodding her gratitude toward door. Her voice grows quiet. “More than half my patients are gone. The ones who are still here…they don’t look any better than Ana. None of them are enhanced like her though, which makes this case just slightly different. She’s a- I’m sorry, explain it to me again?”

“An empathetic healer with energy manipulation.” He answers, he crosses his arms. “Well, Energy Alchemist. She feels deeper than emotions. She reads, feels and connects with energy of all kinds.”

“And she connected her own with Sergeant Barnes?”

“Something like that.”

“Well, just because she feels it worse than anyone else, doesn’t mean she can’t have support. I care about each of my patients. Please don’t hesitate to call if you notice anything off, even if her temperature changes a degree.”

“Yes, Doctor. Thank you again.”

He watches her drive off, then heads back inside, but not before noticing the bruise marks in the perfect shape of fingers on his forearm. Or the crescent shaped broken and dried blood. A thought pokes through the back of his mind, coinciding with the lack of any permanent damage to Ana and the baby. Steve wonders, for a wild moment, if Ana’s strong grip on his arm and how quickly her vitals returned to normal…is a sign of something new. Steve is a super soldier, who does not bruise easily.

Pulling down his sleeve to cover the marks, he finally heads back in, pushing the thought to the back of his mind.

______________________________________________

Drabbles: Twenty-One     Drabbles: Twenty-Three

Tags:  @thecreatiivecorner​ @buckyland​ @stressedasalways​ @watchoutforfrostbite​ @justreadingfics​ @keldachick​ @eurynome827​ @elatedmarvel​ @shesalatesh​ @paintedgreywriting​ @boney-and-skinny​ @buckaroo-blue​

[starkerforlife6969]

Mafia Boss Tony x Sugar Baby Peter x Bodyguard Steve

This is part 1. Part 2 can be found here. And part 3 here and part 4 here and part 5 here

Steve’s first day as Tony Stark’s body guard is...eventful, to say the least. 

He’d known, obviously, that being a Mafia boss was dangerous- that’s the whole reason he’s here- but he hadn’t expected the brutality. 

They’re in Tony’s mansion, and Steve’s blown away. He’d known the man had made money, obviously, but this is...it’s a life of luxury and beauty that is just all the more jarring with the violence he’s watching. They’re in the main foyer where the floor is all marble and gleaming white and Steve watches as man bound and gagged on the floor bleeds a little more into the pool of blood he’s kneeling in. 

He’s not averse to violence, but this is getting a little tough to watch, if he’s honest. He's not sure if Tony is trying to set him an example, show him what happens if he ever betrays his new boss, which Steve won’t do ever. So, he just stands by the wall, hands folded in front of him and shoulders squared as he watches: unflinching. 

Tony is specked here and there with drops of blood- splatter that’s landed on his arms and hands. He’s in a white tank top and dark trousers and he looks completely different to the man Steve saw this morning- the man in his tailored three piece suit with dark sunglasses and big cigar. That man had looked like he could kill you with a well placed word and a sharp smile. 

This man looks like he’ll beat you to death without a second glance; muscles tight and coiled and knuckle duster shiny on his fingers. He’s sweaty from exertion, but doesn’t look anywhere near done yet (which, wow, it’s been almost two hours) when out of the blue- 

the doorbell rings. 

And not the doorbell at the gate, but the doorbell for the large, double panel oak doors a few feet away from them. Tony looks up in surprise, and Steve reaches for the gun in his waistband. The man on the floor chokes a little in what sounds like desperate hope. 

“Answer it,” Tony orders, “they must’ve been buzzed in. It’s probably nothing.” 

Steve keeps a hand on his gun anyway and wonders who the hell buzzed someone in. Is there someone else in the house? The mansion is huge, maybe there are other people here. He pulls open the door carefully, not all the way, shielding the blood and mess from view,  and stares uncomprehendingly at the pizza delivery girl. 

She’s still a teenager, and very clearly knows where she is. She looks nervous beyond belief, but she’s holding the pizza box out like an offering. “Peter Parker, extra large pepperoni pizza?” She stammers, and Steve cocks his head. 

“Yeah, that’s us,” Tony calls and Steve reaches to take the box. It’s warm and heavy like a pizza, so it probably is one. Not a secret bomb or something. He nods at her, and she turns and races away as quickly as she can. 

He closes the door and locks it, and turns to Tony with the pizza, unsure what to do. 

He doesn’t need to ask, as it turns out, because then the sound of footsteps comes and he looks up at the huge, grand staircase. 

A young man, a fucking beautiful, young man, comes skipping down the steps and Steve’s pretty sure his eyes are now glued to him forever. He’s got milky skin, and there’s so much of it on display (not that he’s complaining), he’s barefoot which is so- so vulnerable, so at home- and he’s wearing an oversized, bright pink silk short-sleeved top, so large on him that it trails down to around his hips. As he moves, the shirt does too, and Steve can see flashes of what looks like white lace panties on underneath. 

Fuck. Fuck. He tries to drag his eyes away because otherwise he’ll be the next one being beaten to death in Stark’s reception room. The boy is obviously Stark’s. Can’t not be. Not with the silk shirt and the big brown eyes and the fluffy brown hair. Not with those cupid bow lips and cheeky little smile. Not with how comfortable and happy and at home he so obviously is.

“My pizza!” He exclaims happily, his voice is so fucking young, so boyish and innocent and out of place in this violent scene. He’s clapping his hands as he reaches the final step before he pauses. He looks at the blood on the floor and frowns; upset. But not upset at the sight of it, upset that he can’t get to his pizza without getting his feet wet. At the bloody scene before him he seems- blasé. But the lack of pizza- that’s the cause for the frown and the pout. 

Steve would kill anyone and do anything to make that frown go away. 

Tony takes the box out of Steve’s hand, and Steve manages to yank his gaze away before anyone notices. 

“Here, baby,” Tony murmurs, and Steve almost has to do a double take because that voice is deep and warm and almost welcoming. Where’s the dispassionate torturer? “You hungry?” 

Peter takes the box and perches right there on the steps, his legs spreading to give the most delicious view as he pops open the box and inhales. He lets out an obscene groan. “Yeah, I didn’t have time for lunch, Professor Macleash kept us in.” He reaches for a slice that’s bigger than his head and takes a bite; eyes fluttering shut. 

Tony smiles, all soft and Steve can’t wrap his mind around it. “You should have something more nourishing than pizza, sweetheart. I can have someone run out and get you anything you want.” 

Peter shakes his head, his mouthful, and he peers at the trembling man on the floor. “Who’s that, daddy?”

Daddy. Jesus, Steve can feel himself getting hard. But there’s so much blood, there’s blood everywhere. This is all so wrong. Tony gives a noncommittal shrug. “Nobody important.”

Peter pouts. “Important enough not to say hello when you came home.” He says accusingly, taking another bite until he’s just holding the crust of the pizza slice. He must be hungry, he’s practically devoured it. “No hello kiss.” 

Tony walks right through the pool of blood and leans down, tilting his boy’s chin up to place the lightest, sweetest kiss on his lips, and then both his cheeks, and then his forehead. “I’m sorry, baby.” He says sincerely, like he- like he genuinely cares. Like he actually feels bad about hurting this pretty little thing’s feelings but doesn’t feel bad about shooting a guy in the kneecaps. “It’s been a helluva day.” 

The boy flourishes under the attention, before taking a bite of the crust. He beams. “So good,” he groans, “cheese in the crust. Here, you have to try some,” he breaks off a little piece and presses it to Tony’s mouth until the older man’s lips part, and then the boy’s fingers are moving to caress Tony’s cheeks lovingly. It feels intimate. Steve would look away except the boy’s too goddamn gorgeous. 

Tony chews thoughtfully, tipping his head in acquiescence. “Not bad.” He sighs, like this is an argument he and Peter have had often and he’s just had to concede. It’s so fucking domestic. 

“I’ll save you some,” Peter promises. 

Tony shakes his head. “You eat up, baby,” he insists, cupping Peter’s jaw in his large hand. That hand could fucking crush that boy. 

Peter hums with a shrug, before looking around Tony,  his eyes landing on Steve. “Oh,” Peter murmurs in surprise, sucking the grease off his fingertips sinfully and his eyes sparkle as they drag up and down Steve’s body. The bodyguard resists the urge to puff his chest out and preen. “Who’s that?” 

Tony looks over at Steve who doesn’t quite get his eyes away in time. Fuck. Shit. Is he gonna die now? “That’s Steve, baby. My new bodyguard.” 

Peter’s cheeks go all rosy. “I like him,” he whispers loud enough to be heard. 

Tony stands up and turns to Steve more appraisingly. “Well, Rogers, you heard him. What do you think of my boy?” 

Okay, this is...this must be some sort of test. He feels small under the weight of their stares; suddenly the centre of attention. He clears his throat. “Very beautiful, Sir.” He manages tightly. 

Tony smirks, and it’s goddamn frightening. “He is, isn’t he?” He settles his hand on the back of Peter’s neck. “Absolutely gorgeous.” Peter beams under the praise, leaning into Tony’s touch, but his eyes are still on Steve; eyeing him like he’s something to eat. “My boy’s taken a shine to you, Rogers. What do you have to say about that?” 

It’s a test. It’s a fucking test. “It’s-It’s very flattering, Sir.” 

Peter smiles; so sweet and demure and fucking tempting. “Do you like pizza, Steve? With cheese in the crust?”

His throat is dry, and he manages a small nod- eyes flickering rapidly between Peter and Tony. 

Peter gets to his feet. “Would you like to come to my room with me and eat some pizza? I can show you these new panties my daddy bought me. They’re very pretty.” 

He watches as Tony kisses Peter’s temple. “Even prettier on you.” He growls, to which Peter rolls his eyes and nuzzles into Tony’s hair. 

Steve can hear his heart pounding in his ears. The man on the floor lets out a particularly loud sob. “I...” he turns to Tony, struggling to come up with the right response. “I...”

“You better be more confident in bed, Rogers, or my boy won't be cumming at all.” 

Right. Fuck. Right. He nods, drawing in a deep breath as he looks at Peter. “I’d love to join you, Peter.” He says, as politely as he can. 

Peter beams, picking up the pizza box and holding out his hand. Feeling like a man lured in by a siren, he crosses the sea of blood to take Peter’s soft hand in his own coarser one. The boy smells like expensive perfume and strawberry body lotion and Steve wants bad. 

But- “Mr Stark,” He turns around worriedly, “will you be okay without me?” 

Tony looks amused. “I’ll manage for a few hours, Rogers.” 

Peter tugs more insistently, but looks happy. “You care about my daddy,” he purrs, “I like that. Lemmie say thank you.” 

Steve lets himself hope that maybe, maybe he’s passed the test. 

A thought occurs to him suddenly: if he doesn’t make Peter cum, is he gonna die?

[johns-prince]

I have a sort of weird McLennon AU idea: Reincarnated!John

I got the idea from reading this interview with Paul McCartney, where he claims if he had been a girl he could have maybe gone out and fought for John to keep their very close relationship and prevent Yoko from essentially “stealing,” John away. 

Then I got to thinking, well, what if, instead, John had been the girl? Which then lead to me connecting it too-- well, what if when John had been killed, on Dec. 8th, a little girl had also been born. Basically, John’s soul being reincarnated as a female. 

A little girl born a few hours after John Lennon was assassinated, December 8th, 1980, in a hospital in Liverpool England, named Joan Winifred Stanley. Jo, or JoJo for short. 

Now while this girl has John’s soul, heart, mind, and similarities feminized-- Joan is still an individual, with her own childhood and memories-- who’s growing up in the 80s, and is a lively, young, and lovely teenage girl in the beginning of the 90s. Her favorite rocker is Joan Jett, likes Blondie, Queen, Led Zeppelin, Pink Floyd, Bob Marley, Michael Jackson, and has a secret love for Elvis Presley... knows of the Beatles, but only see’s the band and their music as “alright, sort of antwacky.” though her mom fancies them. 

Joan has fiery auburn colored hair which reaches some past her shoulders, wavy and thick, can often be a big birds nest of a mess. Milk chocolate brown eyes that appear to have specks of amber when the sunlight hits them; while softened with heavy lashes, are burning and alert, a glare could possibly kill someone. Poor eyesight, hates wearing her glasses because she thinks they make her look like a total lame. 

[reference to what sort of glasswear her eyes required and the style of them]

5′5″, thiccc thighs, perky but rather small breasts, wide hips. Noticeable jawline and chin, though softened with baby fat, high cheekbones, sharp aquiline nose, bottom lip plumper than the top. Top two front teeth are crooked, slightly turned inward. It’s hard for me to describe her hairstyle during the very start of the 90s, so it’s something like this since she is an 80s child and for most of her young teens was in the crowd so;

See now, this is what I have for female John / Joan as far of what her face and hair may look like;

****[It’s still sort of rough, I know, I need to ink her in and then color her before I wanna show the full reference drawing. I honestly want to try and give her a bit more of a wider jawline, or a bit longer of a face-- but again, Joan is still her own person so she can’t look exactly like John, of course]

Sagittarius[John was a Libra], smoker of Luckies, musically inclined [perhaps sounds like a mix of Deborah Harry and Joan Jett? Though more nasally] loves to sing, learned to play acoustic guitar from her mother, and learned to play the harmonica from her grandda [the one good thing he had given to her as their relationship was generally soured since her mother’s parents saw her as nothing more than a bastard child] Could be considered a bit tomboyish but knows how to use her feminine wiles to manipulate, humiliate, and get what she wants. Tries not to be a horrible rebel as she hates to disappoint and stress out her mother, but can be a wild child and has a bit of an issue with authority and respecting rules and requests she deems unnecessarily stupid. Single child raised under a single mother as her father was never in the picture, and while her mothers’ parents were around they barely helped, so they lived in the manner of “we manage.” Coming from Liverpool, and in the poor-working class of society, her mannerisms of speaking are indeed Scouse.

Hot tempered, jealous/possessive of close friends and crush/lover, quick wit and sharp tongued, masks hurt with indifference and practically ghosting someone til she gets over it or they apologize adequately. Wants to love and own people, but does NOT want to be owned or tied down as it makes her feel caged. Freedom of self is incredibly important to her, and feeling like she’s losing it can cause her to act out and lash out. 

Now, in the early 1990s, I believe Paul is around the age of 49/50. This might be just me projecting, but that makes Paul the legit Daddy in this whole thing, if ya catch my drift. Paul is, in my humble opinion, rather attractive and handsome in his late forties/early fifties. So yeah, silver fox Paul is gonna be a thing.

I have a thing for older men, alright? Let me project just a little bit here in my own AU. 

I really haven’t thought much on how these two end up meeting, perhaps they meet during Paul’s World Tour during 1990? Again, Joan knows of the Beatles, and knows of Paul McCartney-- begrudgingly she does like a bit of his music-- but hadn’t the money, nor the greatest of utmost desire as many of her other female friends had, to get into to see him when he stopped in Liverpool. She thought it to be neat, but could live without seeing him. 

But fate would lead to the two of them meeting, in probably an unexpected sort of way. 

Anyways, right away Paul get’s this extremely strange vibe from this girl, this girl who watches him, squinting up at him, with such interest-- and despite being a well known [legendary] and talented musician, and veteran of the music industry, he suddenly feels like he’s been thrown back to the very first day he’d met the scruffy and polar opposite, John Lennon. He finds himself wanting to impress this young bird, because he feels as if despite all his credentials, they mean nothing at this very moment, and he’s stupidly nervous around some girl he had just happened to bump into [because she’s a young bird perhaps?? with burning brown eyes and a quirked, teasing mouth that reminded him of someone???], and it’s like being back to square one of having to prove himself, of his talent and passion, and in the end, the two appear to be sizing each other up, circling like predators do with prey.  It’s a painful comparison when he realizes it, realizes how far this whole interaction threw him back, back into memories and feelings he had long since tried to bury, as not cry and mourn over each day.

It’s her who tries to end the first encounter, because she also gets this awfully weird aura from this old rock n’ roller, but she has no memories to connect it too. It leaves her feeling frustrated, because she really can’t find any rhyme or reason to why she feels this way, why she feels that this isn’t their first time interacting. Despite being an older man, she can’t help but think he looks rather good, and while she can’t put her finger on it again, she thinks that if Elvis had lived to be a bit older, he’d look something like this McCartney fellow. And while she tries to hide it, act indifferent and barely moved that she’s talking to the Paul McCartney, she does feel a bit starstruck, and so she simply wants to end this and keep it as a personal, favorite memory that she may recount to her friends and mother, who’ll probably think she’s just bullshittin’.

But when she attempts to leave, again this McCartney man, who insists that she call him Paul, catches her attention with a light grasp of her arm and stops her instantly. He’s quick to drop the hand the moment she whips her head around, shooting daggers at where he had touched her, then to staring right into his eyes. Paul isn’t sure why he’s doing this, why he feels like he needs to see this girl again, but as an excuse, he claims that it’s been awhile since he’s been back in Liverpool, and so, perhaps-- perhaps she could be the one to show him about. It’s a pitiful attempt of avoiding that he simply wants to meet up with this girl again-- and Joan rolls her eyes and breathes out an amused laugh at such a poor front. 

“Aren't I a blind bit too young fe you?” Joan would say, and while the words are obviously a dig, a tease, Paul can’t help but feel as if she had slapped him, his face growing hot and red. Tries to explain, sputtering, almost insulted, that “No-- I mean, yes, I mean, I am not--” and Joan, at first with a relatively flat expression, raises an eyebrow and slowly a smirk begins to form as she watches Paul, the Paul McCartney, fluster and stutter about like the awkward teen boys she knows and have shot down. “Am jus’ skitt'n,” Joan would give in with smile and a laugh, that caused Paul goosebumps and his stomach to lurch, because while softer and higher pitched, reminded him of someone, someone once closer than close. 

“A’rite Sir Paul, I'll indulge you.” and so, while she reasons it’s to just be nice this old rocker who probably hasn’t seen a young groupie in some time, she makes it appear she’s writing down her address or phone number on his hand-- and before she makes her get away, Paul would point out she hadn’t officially given her name to him-- “No manners these kids,” Paul might tease, and the auburn haired girl, with a smile that reached her eyes and showcased her nearly straight pearlies, told him her name was Joan, Joan Winifred Stanley, to be precise. Without giving him a chance to respond to it, she bid him farewell with a playful two fingered salute-- and for a breathless moment, Paul swore he had seen John there, just for a split second.

When he finally gets himself grounded and doesn’t feel so hot anymore, he discovers that she hadn’t written her number down, nor even an address-- just simply a street name; Menlove Avenue. If he’s so interested in continuing their little encounter, he could just go up and down the street, was her reasoning. She didn’t believe he’d go through such trouble to find her again-- anyway, he’s touring, and he has a wife and kids. Weird for a man his age to want to what, make friends with a barely 18 year old bird from old dingy Liverpool? A nobody, Joan would think, almost bitterly.

I’m still putting a lot of thought into this AU, so a lot of things can change and such, especially the idea behind how Joan/John and Paul meet and begin to interact more regularly, how their relationship starts and builds and grows and changes, and of course how it might end [I’m fiddling with the idea that Joan ends up dying too, but that’s a bit too angst-y for me to really focus on so] 

Of course because I’m a fucking degenerate, I would like to have a moment where the two do end up having an intense affair-- though it’s just sensitive because, despite being not real at all, I want to give some respect to Linda and his kids around that time too, because I know Paul loves them dearly. So this AU is obviously full of fucking angst-y and complication and slow burn and miscommunication. 

I can’t even have my cake and eat it too in my OWN FUCKING AU. Typical. 

And yeah, there’s gonna be a noticeable age-gap in this AU, so if that’s not your thing, then that’s fine. There is gonna be a lot of coming of age shit attached to that, a bit of daddy kink, Joan having obvious daddy issues [John most likely had legit mommy issues let’s be real], first times, you name it. 

In the AU, Paul is slowly going to come to the outlandish idea/theory that this girl is John, or at least John’s soul reincarnated. He can’t help it-- she reminds him of John too much, it’s eerie how alike the two are that they might as well be the same person. Paul knows he must be crazy for thinking it, and hates it because it makes him feel as if he’s gone completely obsessed over John, the idea of John still being here with him. 

I will include an appearance from George and Ringo, with maybe Ringo trying to tell Paul that perhaps this is his way of handling the absence of John, and Paul, trying to justify himself, partially agrees. George ends up meeting this girl, and can’t help but agree that Paul may be right, just maybe, because even George can’t deny this girl reminds him of John too, and gives off this aura that is unmistakably John. Ringo thinks both of them are daft sods, but when Ringo meets Joan, he also finds himself seeing John in her-- though Ringo never voices it. But George is careful to not agree with Paul out loud, worried it might encourage Paul in an unhealthy and potentially dangerous way. 

That is, will Paul confront Joan about this and finally tell her that he believes she is John reincarnated? Paul wants too, he wants to tell her, but he’s not stupid, he knows it would probably freak the girl out and cause their budding relationship to instantly crumble and die. But whenever Paul talks about John to her once they’ve gotten close enough that he’s comfortable to divulge such intimate stories and memories about his best mate, Joan’s face would become pensive, almost a far-away look in her eyes, and would begin to comment on how she swears she’s heard these stories before, or that something even similar had happened to her to which had happened to John [even though many of the stories are personal, and kept rather private, so how would she know???] 

But Joan would simply shrug off those feelings of Deja Vu, laugh and shake her head, and just move on. She didn’t like getting those feelings, like she should have memory of something but just doesn’t. 

Excerpts from a fanfic I’ll never write:

It’s a mess, really. Paul falling for this young lively bird with a mean wit and soft lips and squinting eyes that desperately needed glasses, which still managed to observe and could kill someone in the heat of an argument. A girl with auburn hair that tickled his cheeks whenever they’d hug, a girl with a memorable nose, a girl who smelt of ciggies and Liverpool and vanilla and home.  “You’ve got kaleidoscope eyes,” Paul would try one afternoon, sounding like a young awkward teen again trying to impress a young but experienced girl. Joan would turn those fiery eyes to him, squinting, turning to an unimpressed glower that didn’t match the flustered smile. “Sod off, old man,” Joan would reply, snubbing him as she would do, though the smile still betrayed her. 

Paul would fall, fall and fall, like Alice, except there would be no floor to catch him. He would fall for Joan, because he fell for John. It’s a mess, really-- because as things escalated, Paul’s love for Joan and John began to blend and blur, and it was bad because who did Paul really love? Joan, the wild young thing who could tear him down just as easily as build him up in the same sentence and look, or John-- who could do the same but ten times over, and had. Joan though, Joan was putting pieces back together that he had tried to bury long ago, pieces that John had left the day of December 8th. 

“I’m not John,” Joan would say, blunt and straight, cigarette clenched between her teeth. Paul feeling as if the air had been sucked out of his lungs, sweat breaking out on the back of his neck. “I’m Joan,” she’d continue mercilessly, taking a long drag of the fag before ripping it from between her lips, smoke swirling out between the cruel words of reality.  “I’m not some catalyst for your best mate, for whatever you and him had.” Joan’s young face twisted angrily, her eyes filled with dark hurt as she glared at the old rock and roller before her. For a second, Paul saw John again, John with his sneer and his burning glare and his words of knives that dared Paul to say something back, to engage him in war.  It made Paul sick, all of it. He opened his mouth to argue, to protest what she was saying, what she was claiming has been happening all these months. But he can’t, because it’s true, it’s all true, and it burns his insides up.  “You love John, and, and I’m not John,” she’d say, voice cracking as she can’t hide the hurt that comes from finally speaking these truths, bringing them to the light. Her face looks broken, tears threatening to break just as her voice had-- cigarette forgotten between two delicate fingers.

When Paul could find his voice, all that could be said was the girl’s name, soft and almost like a plea; “Joan.”  “Don’t,” she’d bite back like a cornered animal, lip curling in disgust from just hearing her name come from those lips that had practically seared marks along her body. But Paul didn’t, he couldn’t stop, he’d still try-- tried reaching out towards her, a hand going to grasp at her free hand by her side, but all he got was grazing the tips of his fingers to the back of hers before she whipped her hand away, body following the violent motion as she stepped back, away. Those eyes, it’s like she wanted to kill him, especially as that had broken the dam and now her cheeks were wet and she was trying not to hyperventilate and finally she dropped the cigarette as her hands began to quiver.  “I don’t want to hold your hand anymore!  don’t you get it?” she might as well have slapped him, stabbed him, but Paul truly believed those things would have hurt less than what she had just said to him. 

Anyways, thanks for taking the time to read all this bullshit lol I’m really invested in this AU, and so expect more of it. I will be posting the full drawing of Joan once it’s finished, or I can’t bring myself to work on it anymore and thus claim it’s finished to the best of my abilities lol

[team-science-mega-nerds]

Fictober Prompt #18: Secrets? I love secrets.” 

Fandom: Supergirl

Pairing: AgentReign (Alex x Sam)

Warnings: None

The birthday card is sitting on her nightstand when she wakes up that morning. Sam says nightstand because it’s sitting beside her bed, but it’s more of a table and her bed is more of a cot. The DEO has been lovely and accommodating but Sam desperately misses home. She misses cooking, Ruby, and having a daily routine that doesn’t revolve around her learning how to pick up things without breaking them. Kara has been a wonderful teacher. Thoughtful and caring as Sam had always known her to be, but it’s Alex who surprises her the most. Helping out with Ruby, attempting to cook meals and bringing them for Sam to try, and - best of all - being the first and only person who has hugged her in the past month. 

The card is big and the only thing it says on the front is "Happy Birthday to My Favorite Bitch". Sam laughs, thinking it’s some kind of prank, but when she opens it, she sees that everyone in the DEO has signed it with little comments like "we love you, Danvers" and "thanks for having my back" in the field and that’s when Sam realizes that it’s a card for Alex. 

Sam stares at it for a long time. She thinks about just how much Alex means to her. How much those feelings have grown and changed into something that Sam isn’t certain she recognizes. Signing a card doesn’t seem like enough but Sam doesn’t think she knows how to explain everything to Alex’s face. Stuck at an impasse and wasting far too much time, Sam drowns in inaction as she watches Kara enter the room and pick up the card. 

“Thirty, can you believe how elderly Alex is?”

“Kara, I’m thirty-one,” Sam deadpans earning a rightful look of embarrassment on Kara’s face. “I didn’t know it was Alex’s birthday. I wish someone had told me.”

“Oh, duh.” Kara shakes her head. “Alex wouldn’t say anything. She hates celebrating them anyway.” That doesn’t make Sam feel any better about the situation. She feels left out like always. “Can I tell you a secret?’

“Sure.”

“Lena rented out Alex’s favorite restaurant for tonight. She’s going to love it! Food, family, friends…” Kara trails off, realizing the implications. “But seriously, she's very chill about all of this.” 

Kara leaves soon after, lying about needing to go to work, and Sam does what she always does on quiet mornings like this. She puts on clothes, which are basically nurses scrubs, and goes in search of coffee. She’s learned that the coffee they make in the break room is garbage and she’s much better off going to Winn or Vasquez’s desk for something better. On her way to find them, she sees that Vasquez has a box of doughnuts on her desk and immediately beelines it to her. “Heyyyy-.”

“Yes, you can have one,” Vasquez tells Sam without even looking up from her computer. “It’s Danvers’ birthday today. Did you know?” 

“Yeah.” Sam looks around as she takes a giant bite out of her doughnut. “Where is she?”

“Conference room, upstairs. I think she’s hiding away from all the birthday wishes. J’onn sang; you should’ve seen how red she got.” Sam would’ve paid to see that but for now, she walks down the long hallway that leads to the conference rooms. Alex isn’t hard to find. She’s tucked away in the corner, with her laptop sitting in her lap, and a mug sitting at a table nearby. She’s watching something intently. Sam nearly turns around and jogs away, but Alex catches her eye through the glass.

“Hey,” Alex presses a few buttons on her laptop, closes it, and waves Sam into the room. Sam immediately notices that Alex is wearing joggers, tennis shoes, and a purple hoodie with the strings unevenly dangling around her chest. Alex notices Sam noticing her and she laughs. “I get to dress down, it’s my special day.”

“Yeah, I heard.” Sam tries not to sound too disappointed, instead, she takes a few steps closer to Alex. “Your…” Sam motions for Alex to stand up. “This is bothering the hell out of me,” Sam says as she tugs at the strings on Alex’s hoodie to even them out. While Sam is busy trying to restore balance in the world, she can feel Alex’s eyes on her. “What?”

“Nothing, I…” Alex blushes and walks over to her backpack. She unzips it and pulls out a wrapped gift. “I got you something.”

“I don’t think you understand how birthdays work.”

“I do, trust me.” Alex hands the gift to Sam. “Open it.” Sam does, slowly, like it’s a bomb. She doesn’t know what it could be but it doesn’t feel right. Being trapped in the DEO, missing out on celebrating her friend's birthday, getting a gift from said friend out of the blue. 

A mug. 

Like one you’d get at an art fair. It’s richly purple with specks of turquoise on the handle. Sam looks up at Alex hoping she’ll say something. “Eliza took me to this pottery class as a pre-birthday thing. I made that. For you.” Alex rubs the back of her neck. “Well, you said your favorite color was purple and I…”

“Alex.” Sam wraps her arms around the agent to stall the rambling. “Thank you.” Those are the words Sam says but what she really wants to say is: you are the sweetest person I’ve ever met. Because that’s the truth and those are the words that Sam has been holding onto for weeks now. A mug might seem like a small gesture but it makes Sam want to cry. “Happy birthday, by the way.” Sam mumbles, pressed cheek to cheek to Alex. “You should’ve told me.” 

“It’s not a big deal,” Alex insists. She goes over to the fancy pour-over coffee set up they have in this room and begins the brewing process. 

Sam takes a seat at the large and very cold table. “It is a big deal. I would’ve gotten you something. Like...some free toilet paper. Or...Winn’s Tupperware.” Alex snorts out a laugh. Sam considers the possibility that she might be in love. “What were you doing up here all alone anyway?” 

“Oh.” Alex leaves the coffee to brew, grabs her laptop, and sits down next to Sam. “My mom sent me this.” Alex opens the laptop and clicks on a video file. What Sam sees nearly gives her a heart attack. It’s a video of Alex, no more than ten years old, surfing with a man - who Sam can only assume is her father. “This is at the beach near my house in Midvale. That’s my dad,” Alex explains. 

“You’re good,” Sam remarks honestly. 

“One of my many talents.”

“You sure you’ll still be able to surf, now that you’re certified geriatric?” 

“We’ll have to see when we go.” Sam turns to Alex. Now she’s worried. Had they talked about going surfing before? If they had, then Sam doesn’t remember, and if she doesn’t remember then she might not be fixed. “Ruby and I have been plotting.”

“I wonder what else you two have in store for me.”

“How about a new water filter in your fridge and a new ladder?” 

“What happened to the ladder?” Sam asks.

“I broke it. It’s wooden. Who gets a wooden ladder?” Sam ignores that and tries her best not to think about how much time Alex is spending with Ruby. Ruby talks about Alex a lot. Usually, if it’s just the two of them sitting in Sam’s ‘room’, Ruby perches on the end of her bed going on and on about how great Alex is. If Lena’s there, Ruby will try and sneak in some curse words and put the blame on Lena for being a bad influence. Sam always wants to ask: are you safe, are you happy? But she never can. “We’ll get you home soon.”

“I’m still learning how to turn on lights without breaking the entire wall. It’ll be a while.” 

“Sooner than you think. Though…” Alex tugs at the sleeve of Sam’s scrubs. “You look pretty cute in these.” Sam's heart warms in a way that can only be described as juvenile. “Shit. The coffee.” 

Alex grabs Sam’s new mug and fills it, putting in one creamer and two packs of sugar, which only makes Sam more enamored. She remembered what she likes in her coffee, the last person Sam dated barely remembered Ruby’s name. 

“You shouldn’t even be at work today. You should be enjoying your birthday out in the real world.”

“This is the real world too.” Alex pours herself a cup of coffee in a much less exciting white mug. “You’re here and you seem very real to me.” 

“I’m an alien.”

“You’re Sam,” Alex reminds her. “Don’t forget that.” It is easy to forget who she is sometimes. She’s been trapped in this place for so long. Not trapped. Rehabbing. The problem is that Sam doesn’t recognize herself anymore. Without her power suits and ‘normal’ routine, who is she? Barely a mother anymore. Barely even a person. The day flutters by in a blink of an eye and Sam has to watch everyone leave and pretend like she doesn’t know that they’re all going to celebrate Alex’s birthday. She finds that it’s surprisingly easy to squeal and laugh along with Kara while also staring at Alex across the room. She’s longing, genuinely, and it scares her. 

“Well…” Alex says with her bag slung over her shoulder. She’s standing at the threshold of Sam’s door. From what Sam remembers, Alex has never actually stepped foot into the room. I want you to feel like you have your own space, Alex had told her on day one at the DEO. “I should get going. I bet Kara has some kind of thing planned for tonight.” 

“Goodnight, Alex.” 

“Yeah…um…” Alex doesn’t leave the door. “Goodnight, and if...if you need anything, you can call me.”

“I should let you have your fun, birthday girl.” Alex smiles and toys with the strings of her hoodie. She starts to leave but then turns around. Her eyes find Sam’s. Alex doesn’t say anything but her nails digging into the frame make Sam think that she’s certainly laboring over something. “I’ll be fine here.” 

Alex nods and goes on her way. Sam spends the next hour racking her brain and trying to figure out if she’s ever felt like this before. Is this a crush? Is it because she’s been stuck here? If that’s the case, then surely she’d have crushes on Vasquez, Winn, and Kara too. Sam is determined to come to some kind of conclusion about her emotions and she’s also is determined to ignore it all. Alex is her friend. That’s all. 

So when she’s sweeping the floor, for the second time that day, and trying to kill time, she nearly jumps out of her skin when she spots Alex standing at her door. Alex has changed out of her casual outfit and gone for something nicer - dark jeans, a button-down, and a blue blazer. In Alex’s hand is a plate covered in foil. “I didn’t know if you’d still be up.”

“What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be at your party.”

“You knew?” Alex, finally, steps into the room. She sets the plate down on an empty table. “Why didn’t you say something?”

“It’s called a surprise party for a reason.” Sam peaks under the foil and sees that it’s cake. Red velvet, Sam’s favorite. 

“Can I tell you something?” Alex asks suddenly. “It’s kinda something that’s been on my mind a lot recently. But you can’t tell anyone.”

“Oooh, a secret? I love secrets.” Alex gently places her blazer on the back of a chair and leans against Sam’s makeshift desk. Sam is not about to sit around and wait until it’s appropriate to eat cake, she digs right in and plans on blaming her Kryptonian genes if Alex says something about it. “What’s up?”

“There’s this girl. Woman.” Alex clears her throat and starts again. “Over the past few months, I’ve started to realize that I might have a crush on someone. She’s gorgeous and so funny. But every time I try and admit my feelings to her, I...clam up.” Alex looks at her feet. “I don’t know if she’s just not interested or maybe hasn’t noticed how much I always want to be around her.”

“She sounds like a dummy. Right up your alley,” Sam jokes. Alex looks more confused than ever. 

“Yeah, well...I don’t think she’d even notice if I left an important event just to come talk to her.” Sam tries not to feel jealous. If Alex is interested in someone else then surely that’s good. Sam can let this crush die before it builds into something she can’t control. 

“You should kiss her. Honestly. Sometimes words are just...blah.” Alex looks at Sam the same way she did earlier. Instead of lingering and leaving, Alex approaches Sam, who - at this point - has red velvet crumbs on her face. 

Alex kisses her so softly that she thinks it’s a dream. Sam keeps her eyes closed, too frightened of waking up. “Did I break you?”

“No.”

“Did I scare you?”

“No.” Sam opens her eyes. “You...thank you.” 

“For?”“Trusting me not to hurt you.” Sam hands her fork to Alex. “Join me?”

“Yeah.” Alex eats a bite of cake and smiles at Sam. 

“Good birthday?” 

“Good birthday.” 

[shreddedparchment]

You’re My Mission Pt.12

How Banged Up Is She?

10/1/2018

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Word Count: 2,747

Masterpost

Warnings: angst

A/N: So...I said I was going to take a break...and then I didn’t. Either way, this chapter is a tiny one. Next one will be longer, I promise. I hope you enjoy this one. xoxo And as always, if you happen to reblog, thank you so much for helping me spread my work!

Leaving Wakanda isn’t easy. You and Steve pack quickly, taking only what you need. You leave all of your fatigues, pull on a pair of old jeans and a t-shirt. Your white dress, dirty, torn and covered in blood you leave crumpled at the foot of your bed.

Several times you have to stop and catch your breath. You’re in pain both physically and emotionally. Leaving all of your friends behind without so much as a goodbye makes you feel guilty.

Aman and Joshua might understand but you know they'll be hurt. You won’t be able to see Nat again and Sam was supposed to show you how to use his wing suit which, according to Steve, was kind of a big deal. Shuri was so nice but if there was one woman who you know will understand, it's Shuri.

“Pull it together, Y/N.” Steve mutters in hushed tones. The two of you are packing in the dark and you take a moment to lean against your desk as you pull the only photo of your parents into your old duffel bag.

“I’m fine.” You assure him, angry because he was using every opportunity of exposed weakness on your part to try and convince you to stay.

“You don’t have to do this, you know? You can still change your mind.” He moves towards you, hope flooding his tone.

It makes you so angry that your hands begin to shake as you pull the small bag closed.

“God dammit, Steve, why are you making this so hard for me?” You turn shining eyes on him, brimming with tears that you won’t allow to fall. “I have to do this for myself. Can’t you just be on my side? Just this once? I don’t have a dad to tell me that Bucky is scum for hurting me or a mom to comfort me.”

You reach up and rub at your chest where your heart breaks as it yearns for the comfort of your parents. It's this and not Bucky that finally makes you cry.

“I just don’t want to feel like this anymore, get it? So can't you just let me deal with this in a way that works for me? Please?” You stare at him, tears flowing down your cheeks.

It had been just under three months ago that you lost your parents, your only family.

Because he doesn’t answer you pat your chest and repeat your question, your voice breaking as your chin quivers when you speak.

“Please?”

“Okay.” Steve moves towards you, intending to comfort you but you take a step back and hold up a hand to stop his advance. You don’t want a hug. You wanna be as far away from Wakanda as possible. “I’ll go check to see if the coast is clear. Vision is meeting us on my building roof after dropping off Wanda. From there he'll take you to the Avengers compound.”

You nod, sniffling quietly and wiping your nose on the back of your hand.

Steve sighs but he doesn’t try and comfort you again. “Stay out of sight.”

You can hear how much he hates doing this. This sneaking around to escape into the night, hiding from Bucky and the problems that come with him. He hustles out the door and you lean against it, resting your head against the strong wood.

But Steve doesn’t know how much you wanna stay. He doesn’t know how much that kiss broke you. Even if Bucky hadn’t meant for it to happen, he did nothing to stop it. He had every opportunity to tell Karabo that he didn’t like her in that way and he did nothing, effectively giving her permission to try. And why wouldn’t she? For that you couldn’t blame her.

Only idiots like you who realize too late exactly how you feel take forever to make their feelings known.

You shut your eyes, hating Karabo and Bucky and yourself. You slam your head against the door gently, frustrated with the way your mind urges you to go look for Bucky and for the strong way your heart yearns to obey.

Perhaps it's cowardly but maybe with some distance you might find a way to be happy again?

“Steve?” Bucky's voice , muffled but his voice all the same, struggles to penetrate the thick adobe walls of your hut.

You look in the direction that his voice came from, staring straight into the solid door, and place your hand gently on the wooden surface. You feel the smooth grains of wood underneath your fingers as you gently stroke your fingers across it. Your heart battling with your head to give in and go to him.

“Buck, hey.” Steve sounds awkward at first, like he's not sure what to say.

“What are you doing here?” Bucky demands, surprised and desperately curious.

Say something, Steve! Anything.

“She's not here.” He says finally, sounding more like himself.

You bite your bottom lip and shut your eyes again with relief, your forehead still pressed against the door.

“What?” Bucky’s voice is full of disappointed shock.

“I was actually coming to find you. I uh…I don't know how to tell you this Buck, Y/N she uh…she's…”

“No, she's not." Bucky says, cutting him off as anger, disbelief, and panic all mix into a threatening cocktail of a tone. “She's not…”

You open your eyes and shake your head in exasperation. Say something Steve! He's making it sound like you're dead. You hadn’t actually meant it when you told him to tell Bucky you were dead for all you cared.

“No! Jeez, Buck, no. She's fine. A little banged up but she's actually really great. She fought off one of the Hydra agents by herself, turns out he's kinda their Lieutenant. She caught us a big fish.”

You hear Bucky sigh with relief. “Damn it, Steve, don’t do that to me. And whaddya mean? Banged up? How banged up is she?”

He cares if you live! You bite down on your lip harder, finding the pull to open that door stronger.

“Just a little banged up. A bit of a black eye. She’s okay, really.” Steve tries to assure his friend, sounding as if he’s trying to soothe him.

“Well, where is she?” Bucky demands.

“She was headed for the hangar. T’Challa was so impressed with her that he's sent her out on a mission to pursue the ones that got away. She went with a few of the GP and Nakia. If you hurry, you might still be able to catch her before they take off.”

“I fucked up, Steve, I don't know how to fix it.” Bucky admits, and you hear the pain in his voice. The urge to hug him intensifies but what he says isn’t wrong. You remind yourself of that as you listen.

“You’ll know what to say when you see her. Good luck, Buck.” You hear Steve slap Bucky's arm and then hear a soft and quiet hiss and a shift of fabric.

A moment later, your door opens. You pull away just in time.

Steve looks absolutely aghast, probably because of the huge lie he just had to tell.

“That was some quick thinking.”

He frowns and shakes his head, still disapproving.

You feel another surge of anger and move past him. “If it bothers you that much, stay here. I’ll meet Vision on my own.”

Steve grabs you by the elbow and pulls you to a stop before he pulls your hut door shut them shoves a jacket into your arms. “You’re going to need that in the air.”

He lets you go and moves past you, still frowning. “Come on, before someone else comes looking for you.”

On the way you see Steve talking to T'Challa on his comm bead. When he hangs up, he doesn't say anything. He just keeps walking.

When the two of you reach his building, he leads the way up to the roof. It's still empty. Vision isn’t here yet.

Steve pulls the coat he gave you from your hands and grabs your duffel bag, then drops it to the ground before pulling the coat onto your shoulders.

“It's gonna be a cold ride. T’Challa says he understand your need to go. He’ll try and keep up the ruse as long as he can with Bucky. Give him some time to cool off. I can’t promise that he’s not going to look for you.” He says it a little hopefully, like he wants Bucky to go after you and find you. He just doesn’t give up.

You don’t realize it until your arms are already in it that Steve has put Bucky's jean jacket on you. You panic, angry, and you move to rip it off but Steve grabs a hold of the front and with his unbreakable grip pulls it closed.

“I mean it. You're going to need it.” He chastises, and you hate him for forcing you to take this piece of Bucky with you.

“He's right. The night air will be cold and the flight we must make is long. Take the jacket.”

You turn to watch Vision slowly descend down onto the roof, his golden cape floating majestically in the wind.

“Hi, Vision.” You had only met this man…cyborg…program being—what the hell is he?—once, when he'd scared you here a while back.

“Hello again, Y/N. I wish I could say that you look well but you are injured.” He tilts his head slightly to one side as you reach up to touch your eye. You're also very careful with your bandaged hand. You'd needed stitches which luckily Steve knew how to do.

“Occupational hazard.” You reply and turn to look at Steve. “I should go.”

“Yeah.” He says, sadly and yet also angry.

“I guess, if you go on the run soon, this’ll be the last time I see you.”

Now you’re sad. Steve shakes his head and pulls you into a crushing embrace. You rest your head against his chest and wish that a hug was enough to soothe your aches.

“I’d tell you to stay out of trouble, but I don't think you can help it.” He squeezes you. “Keep your head down and listen to Tony. He's a good man. He'll take care of you. Oh, but maybe don’t mention Bucky to him?”

“Okay.” You whisper, slightly confused but then quickly pull away. You scoop your bag back up and move into Vision's waiting arms.

“Do not worry, Captain. I will take good care of her.”

“I’m holding you to that, Vision. I have a super soldier here that would kill me if anything were to happen to her.

“I understand.”

“Goodbye, Steve. I hope I see you again soon. And thank you, for everything. You’re a true friend.”

“Bye, little dove.”

Vision rises up in the air slowly and you watch Steve shrink beneath you until he's a small tiny speck in the distance below.

“Hold on, I’m going to go much faster now.” Vision warns.

He suddenly shoots forward, and you finally leave Wakanda behind you.

You cry. You’re not sure how long you cry but you do, and Vision doesn’t say anything to you. He lets you cry. You’re sad for so many reasons. But you're also tired.

And Steve was right, it was cold, but you're warm in Bucky's jacket and Vision's arms. So, you don’t mean to, but you drift off. The early morning with Nat, the stress from the club, the adrenaline from the attack. Everything piles on and you sleep to escape it.

Stunning blue-green eyes haunt your dreams. From some angles the eyes are bright blue, shining with happiness. Then they’re a deep steel blue as they stare at you with unrelenting intensity. They shift, suddenly black as they stare at you with annoyance and frustration. They suddenly dilate completely and become the cold black emptiness that attacked you in the training room.

You feel a sudden thud and you jerk awake. You struggle to shake off Bucky's biting gaze as you look around and try to focus on your new surroundings.

“I can walk.” You mumble sleepily.

Vision slowly removes his arm from behind your knees, lowering your feet to the ground. He carefully holds you steady with his other arm still around your shoulders. You push it away and he lets you stagger for a moment. You realize that you’re on a balcony that connects to a long wall of glass. A glass double door stands open and through it you can see a large dark room. Inside there are two long meeting tables like the ones they have in boardrooms. One table has red chairs and the other has steel black ones, both rolling. To the right there’s a small seating area.

“Come. I will show you to your room.” Vision moves into the atrium. You move after him and he gestures to your left. “There's a living room in there.”

He points to the right as you move around the small seating area you had first noticed. “That is the kitchen.”

The kitchen is mostly one long concrete slab island with red trim. The appliances are top of the line and there’s a small bowl full of fruit by the espresso machine.

He leads you down a hallway and points to a door on the left as you pass it. “That is Thor's room. But he's off world right now so we won’t be seeing him, probably for a while.”

You pass a steel double door to the right. “Elevator.”

You reach the end of the hallway and he points to the left. “That’s the room Colonel Rhodes uses when he decides to stay over.

As the two of you round the wall into the adjacent hallway you pass another balcony with a backless wooden bench. You follow Vision about halfway down the hallway where he finally stops.

He gestures with his hand towards the door. “The nicer bathroom. You'll like it.”

You stare at the door but then follow as Vision moves off again, without looking at the fancy toilet. You turn down another adjacent hallway and he doesn't stop until he reaches the last door on the right.

“This was Wanda's room. It will be yours as long as you are here with us.” He reaches for the handle and throws the door open.

You move inside and examine the nice sized bedroom. It's at least four times as large as your hut. Luxury, pure luxury. The room is decorated in dark neutrals. Dark beige, brown, an olive-green carpet beneath the bed with the puce comforter. There's a wooden dresser with a TV, currently off. Next to the bed two tables with lamps. There's a music stand nearby and a guitar, sitting abandoned on a guitar stand. Wanda must miss her room.

The room is not overly girly but is welcoming enough.

“Won't it be weird to have me here? In her old room?” You look back at Vision whose cape is gone now.

“Only if I forget that you’re not Wanda and come in through the wall.”

Is he making a joke?

He smiles, and you feel like you can relax a little.

“Rest. Tomorrow is a new day. And you can meet everyone at breakfast.” Vision moves to hand you your duffel bag which you hadn’t noticed he'd been carrying for you.

“Thanks.” You take your bag and Vision heads for the door. As he reaches it, you call out, afraid you'll lose your nerve. “Vision?”

“Yes?” He turns back around to look at you.

“Really, thank you.”

“We all deserve a fresh start. Good night.”

He leaves you alone and it is all consuming as you realize that you did this by choice. You left everyone behind. You’re alone.

You wrap your arms around yourself and shut your eyes. You take a deep breath and try to steady your nerves when you’re suddenly assaulted by the clean musk of Bucky's soap. You can smell the peaches and smooth earthy scent of that stupid Warka tree. All three scents mix into one unbearably pleasing scent.

With a strangled gasp you rip the jacket off of you, ignoring the way your back protests, the stitches pulling. You march over to the dresser and shove the jacket into one of the smaller drawers before you slam it closed and shut the painful memory of Bucky away with it.

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