#seventeen stitches to the INCH my god

[thekillingjoke-haha]

We’re Batshit Crazy

@spnquotebingo​ Word count:1,609

Summary: Love isn't all that perfect sometimes love is crazy especially when the Hero is in love with said crazy.

Gotham AU

Jason Todd(Jensen Ackles) x Villan!Reader

Enemies and Lovers (none of that "to" bs)

Gotham Recasting: Batman=John, Dick Grayson(second Robin not first) =Sam ,Tim Drake=Adam, Joker(ledger style)=Lucifer, Harley Quinn=Lilith,ect.

Warnings: Mention of death, blood, guns, and violence

⑇⑆⑉⑈⑇⑆⑉⑈⑇⑆⑉⑈⑇⑈⑉⑆⑇⑉⑈⑆⑇⑉⑆⑈⑇⑉⑆⑈⑇⑉⑆⑈⑇⑆⑈⑇⑉⑆⑈⑇⑉⑆⑈⑇⑉⑆⑈⑇⑉⑆⑈⑇⑉⑆⑈⑇⑉⑆⑈⑇⑉⑆⑈⑇⑉⑆⑈⑇⑉⑆⑈⑇⑉⑆⑈⑇⑉⑆⑈⑇⑉⑆⑈⑇⑉⑆⑈⑇⑉⑈⑇⑉⑆⑈⑇⑉⑆⑈⑇⑉⑆⑈⑇⑆⑈⑇⑉⑆⑈⑇⑉⑆⑈⑇⑉⑆⑇⑉⑆⑇⑉⑆⑇

The mad laughter rung out into the night sky as the purple Lamborghini hit corners with violently sharp turns. "Oh puddin I just love family night!~" The pale platinum blonde giggled as the man with green dyed hair licked his smiling lips. A bubble of laughter came from the back seat he turned around to see his princess looking out the small back window. "Batsy batsy batsy" Her low/high pitched giggle caused a crazy chain reaction as the bat mobile hurried to catch up. "Always ruining our fun,huh,princess?" The clown king shifted his gray-ish blue order into the mirror grinning making the scars on his face raise into a sinister smile at the look of pure chaos in his daughter's e/c eyes. "Not tonight! Not on my birthday!!" She said as she smiled reaching under the seat to pull out a Tommy gun. Climbing to the front seat sitting on her mothers lap she leaned out the passenger window. "Go back to the Rat cave your not gonna put a downer on my weekend!" Y/n yelled shooting off round towards the tires,windshield,and headlights.

The mobile didn't seem to have a scratch as as a motorcycle pulled up beside it. Slipping back in the car the younger women pouted looking at get parents. "He called his little birdie no doubt the replacements in the car." Y/n huffed as she dug around for more fire power. "Puddin we have a visitor.~" The red mask gazed at us as he lifted a forearm pistol. Shots were fired and Joker took a hard right almost like tron the motorcycle quickly turned into a ally to avoid being hit. "Sorry Princess might have to cut tonight shot." He said licking his lips as a thump came from the roof making the youngest clown snarl her eye crazed as she shot above her as the purple car swerved wildly. "YOU'RE RUINING MY BIRTHDAY,BATS!!!" Y/n cackled madly a mixture of her parents laughed till the magazine ran out.

They got to one of their warehouses where Jokers men were armed to the teeth. The clown mask had black soulless eyes and immediately fired the moment the batmobile entered. Y/n skipped out of the purple Lamborghini she got on her tippy toes and kissed her dad on the cheek. "I got the hooded punk. Can you clip the bats wings for me...a little present?!" He laughed as he armed himself with a shotgun. "Anything for my princess." The f/c sf/c female clown skipped away knowing that the motorcycle riding vigilante was hot on her tail. That's how she found herself on the roof tops jumping the gaps as heavy footfalls followed. Her loud laugh echoed as she leaped to a smaller building hiding behind a vent the moment the brown leather jacket came into view she tackled the tall man. They were both panting as a grin pulled on the clowns lips.

Y/n POV

"Caught ya,Jay bird." I giggled pulling of the helmet his apple green eyes covered by a second mask stared at me he chuckled as his hand slipped above his head in mock surrender. "Yeah you caught me,beautiful." Leaning down I kiss him my hands pushed into his cheeks my thumb running over the scarred J. We've been dating for awhile now ever since dad kidnapped the second Robin at seventeen. I was fifteen at the time and dad had me at his side as he tortured him.I was always there to stitched him up and put burn cream after shock therapy I didn't know how we got attached maybe because he wanted to rebel a little by talking to me or someone around his age saw the same if not worse shit.

Six years ago(Y/n 15 Jason 17)

"Why are you helping me?" Looking up his head was strapped down along with his arms and legs. I shrugged my shoulders I knew who he was if I wiped off the make up and temp dyed my hair I was the honor student in the same class as him. Jason Todd anyone with eyes had a thing for him,but after removing his mask it wasn't hard to piece together who the bat fam is. "I know what my dad has planned for you Jay. This is just a band-aid on a gunshot wound and might I say that's very unhelpful." This was the first I spoke to him and it wasn't long before Dad beat him to death.

Two years later.

I sat in the back of the car as Frost drove. We just left the cemetery. "Why are we doing this,n/n." He asked looking in the rear view mirror at me. I'm seventeen now my thoughts screamed at me. Why was I trying to bring him back? "Because I crazy that why!" I giggled as we grew closer to the lazapit. He was dressed in a black suit with red tie his body sunk into the water as I waited. A loud gasp drew my attention as he shot up a white streak in his hair. "Heya sleeping beauty." Looking over in shock he lowly made his way looking like a baby deer. "I'm alive,but h-how?" His green eyes looked at me. "A Ghoul owed me a few favors I just asked to use his fountain of youth." Handing him a towel and some clothes. "Sorry about the outfit,but Arkham does have one size fits all." Jason chuckled as he started to dry off.I realized why I brought him back. I was crazy about him.

Two more years later(two years ago)

Jason wanted to stay dead he didn't go back to His dad and brother after he realized that neither of them tried and save him. It was sad to see,but it brought Jason closer to me and he started to trust me and I gave trust in return. Blood coated my hands while some was on my face. Looking at Jay some was speckled on his cheeks taking the pockets square out of the mobsters coat I wiped it off he looked down at me his arm slipped around my waist pulling me closer my breath hicked. "Will you be my girlfriend,my little jester?" A large smile grew on my face as my arms went around his neck pulling him down further. "Gladly,Jay bird." I kissed him not caring if my lipstick stained his lips and he didn't seem to care either as the kiss grew more intense. We shared our first kiss at nineteen surrounded by dead bodies as sirens and the unmistakable sound of the armed batmobile. At least he's as crazy about me as I am about him.

One year ago. (Jason POV for a sec)

I came to Bruce I hate to admit it but I needed advice about the one think he knew best. Women. It was just a couple of months ago he found out I was alive and shocker he managed to drive Dicky boy to Blüdhaven to get away from him to get his own image and not just Robin. Oh and surprise surprise when out of robins he had a spare like a tire and it's name was Tim. Nevermind that I stood across from Bruce in his home main office he had a frown on his face. "You're dating someone and its serious and I didn't know about it?" He asked trying to deduct everything. "I've been dating her ever since I came back. As strange as it might sound,but I want us to be something more." That's when the billionaire playboy stood up standing just a inch shorter then myself.

"Life is short Jason and you've experienced that first hand if you feel that both of you are perfect enough to be more then go for it." Perfect wasn't realistic nothing was ever perfect my life isn't perfect her life sure as hell isn't she's the clown princess I'm a bat son. Maybe that what makes us so good together the fact that it would have never really happened any other way life is just crazy like that.

Present

Staring into those vexing green eyes always brought me back. We're both twenty-one him being older only by a couple of months. "Happy birthday,gorgeous." His voice brought me back as my smile grew. We were standing up now he held a box wrapped in my two favorite colors. "Awe you shouldn't have." I grab it and opened it a gun was inside it was red and gold revolver it looked like my moms love/hate gun,but it said King/Queen. Looking at Jay I reached to hug him when suddenly he dropped to one knee pulling out a box with a beautiful f/c ring and ruby gem. "This feels over due. You took care of me when I was considered enemy number one. You brought me back from the grave when my own family didn't try. And this might sound stupid,but I had a crush on you in middle school you were one of the only people that didn't give me pity after Bruce adopted a street kid." He licked his lips as he gave of a small smile. "Together we are far from perfect, but we are good. You complete me...Y/n M/n Napier become my queen?" My eyes glossed over with tears my make up running down the pale foundation. "Oh my god of course!!!" I jumped into his arms hugging him tightly before letting him slip on the ring. "I love you." "I love you more crazy." I chuckle it sounded watery in my throat. "If I'm crazy then that makes two of us. You wanted to marry me." Yep we're both batshit crazy.

⑇⑈⑆⑉⑇⑈⑆⑉⑇⑆⑉⑈⑇⑆⑈⑉⑇⑆⑈⑇⑆⑈⑉⑇⑆⑈⑉⑇⑆⑈⑉⑇⑆⑈⑉⑇⑆⑈⑇⑆⑈⑉⑇⑆⑈⑉⑇⑈⑆⑉⑇⑈⑆⑉⑈⑇⑆⑉⑈⑇⑆⑈⑉⑇⑆⑈⑉⑇⑆⑈⑉⑇⑆⑈⑉⑇⑆⑈⑉⑇⑆⑈

A/n: Quote= We are far from perfect, but we are good. ~Supernatural

Is it just me or does Jensen look fucking hot as Red Hood?! I'm mean he's definitely a reason to move to Gotham

Well first crossover AU in my bingo card

[anninhiliation]

Get Out

Warnings: Blood and a bit gory. Violent and mentions of anxiety and sexual harassment.

Disclaimer: Do not copy my original writing. 

La Guerra Del Mundo

Your heart beat out of its chest as fear pumped through your veins. After Unum Imperium bombed the nation the police force died down as lawlessness took over. The law was in the people’s hands and the people were desperate to survive. A scrap of  food could mean another day for you and your loved ones. You knew people who died fighting over a half rotten tomato. Some people, you no longer recognize as their once sweet and soft features hardened over constantly ready to murder to survive. Your groggy eyes darted up to his face. He appeared to be sound asleep, unbothered by the loud rummaging in the basement.

Great, we're both screwed

You stood up, quietly pushing your chair back and grabbed a pan. Taking a deep breath you looked over the sleeping man one last time before you made your way towards the basement as quietly as you could. But the house was old and every so often the wood creaked under your feet making you mentally curse each time. You pictured how easily it would be to hear your footsteps from underneath you as the wood screeched more and more. You made your way down the narrow dark hallway, hearing the voices get louder and louder. Your chest felt as if it was ready to explode as you noticed two distinct older male voices. It would be impossible for you to fight off two grown men with just the old cooking pan, maybe if you had a gun or a better weapon it would be a different story. You slowly opened the basement door wincing with every screech of the rusty metal hinges. 

Can my movements get any louder if they didn't hear me coming they'll definitely hear me open this any further

You watched the two men, widening your eyes as you recognized them. The town drunks, and quite frankly disgusting excuses for human beings. Both men were very tall, Alex was a little shorter than Steve and had a bigger beer belly. Steve appeared to have grown a bit of muscle since the attack on the nation. Salt and pepper stubble covered Steve’s face, whereas Alex had a full-grown gray beard that must have been about three inches long. You watched the older men rummage through the small white fridge, throwing old leftovers on the floor and curse out. Both men had a bad reputation, a rap sheet filled with misdemeanors, and a few rumored felonies. Before the war, they had a side job of selling drugs and alcohol to desperate minors and teenagers. 

You went to them a few years ago for a cheap bottle of vodka. Simply wanting a fun night with your friends and a few classmates you were acquaintances with. These two were the only people you knew of that would sell to you and your friends. At the time, you were seventeen, an innocent minor. But the experience those two left you, scared you for life. It was the first time you were verbally harassed, and looked at as if you were a piece of meat. It made the hair on your skin rise as you felt like you were in danger. Mentally, cursing yourself for going alone. You remember their wrinkly knuckles, feeling your bicep as you moved away each time just wanting to get out of there. They never crossed a legal line, but it was uncomfortable enough to make you leave a mental note to stay far away. 

You couldn’t think of a single person who genuinely liked the two except for a few bar owners who made a large profit off the both of them. Even then, you assumed they liked the two for the convenience of their business. It surprised you they made it this far after the start of the war, as the police became more occupied. Crime rates were higher than ever, making a once-safe town unrecognizable. As you watched the two men, you tried to figure out a way to get them both out of the house and far away. The easiest option was for them to both just disappear. You debated trying to scare them off, but wondered how you were supposed to do that with just a pan. You opened the door a little more to get a better view of what they were doing. The door creaked a little too loud, as the sound traveled to both their ears. Suddenly the two of them shot their eyes up at you making your breathing stop.

Oh shit 

You were snapped out of your thoughts as Alex grinned as he walked towards the stairs and slowly made his way up. 

“Hey beautiful” Alex smirked as his emerald eyes scanned your body up and down

With every step forward Alex took, you took a step back.

“G-get out this house is taken” You responded, trying to cover the shakiness in your voice

“Oh really?” Steve chimed in “cause it looks like it’s just us” 

Steve walked up the stairs, close behind Alex poking his head to the side trying to peer into the tight hallway to check if you were alone. 

“Unless you brought us a friend” Alex winked as his eyes turned black 

He groaned as you could sense his lust for you growing. Your nervousness rose as you were brought back to your first encounter with him. You desperately wanted him gone, to fall off the face of the planet that very moment. 

“Seriously, get out” you raised your voice this time trying to show how serious you were as you clenched the handle of the metal pot

You could feel in your bones the trouble you and the man sleeping on the kitchen table were in. It was obvious how easy it was for the two of them to overpower you if they got too close. That was the last thing you wanted, them getting the opportunity to take over ultimately harming you and the man. 

“Or what princess?” Alex smirked as your back pressed against the wall.

This was it. Your heart beating a hundred miles per hour, ready to explode as your nerves rose to unspeakable levels. You had two options, either hit Alex right now and hope to God, the force knocks him out and go after Steve before he can react. Or try to take them both on at once hoping by some miracle you come out alive. Alex stood inches away from you as you flinched your arm ready to hit him.  Yet, before you could fully make your move a loud bang erupted, bouncing off the walls echoing into the other rooms. Alex screamed out in pain as his hand gushed out blood. 

“Or next one’s gonna kill you and your friend in one shot” an unfamiliar voice groaned angrily

Even though you didn’t recognize the voice you still knew who it belonged to. You snapped your head over your left shoulder as Alex clutched his hand covering the wound. Blood flooded between his fingers as he hissed out in pain. The man you left on the table was awake, leaning on one of the door frames clutching the bandage with his left hand as his right held a black gun. It was pointed at Alex as he gave both men an angry expression. You could tell both men couldn’t see him, probably thought out by his part as he looked like a mess. You wondered how different things would be right now if they could see how fragile and zoned out he looked. Steve turned five shades lighter as fear drowned his system. Steve slowly stepped back, making his way back down the basement as Alex stood a little too close to you for your friends liking. Another bullet erupted in the hallway, this time landing in front of Alex’s right foot. 

“Next one isn’t a warning GO” He roared this time clearly annoyed at the slow pace of both men

Alex whined out in fear as he took three steps back from you before turning around and scurrying back down the steps. You watched the two struggle to climb back up the window. Once they were officially out of sight, you turned towards him. You dropped the pan as you helped him move, making him lean on you.

“You shouldn’t be standing or walking around just yet” you said softly as you offered a weak smile, “But at least you’re up so you can relax on the couch instead of a table”

“Thanks.” he groaned as you slowly helped him turn around and get on the old worn out cream sofa

As you helped him lay down, he whispered “Christopher” making you give him a puzzled expression

“What?” you asked as you checked on the bandage 

Some blood had leaked out, a little more than the normal amount which you assumed was because of the extra movement he did. But the stitches remained intact

“My name,” he explained, “it’s Christopher”

“Christopher” you repeated, smiling, “I’m Y/N, and I’m gonna get you new band-aids, you need anything while I’m up?”

“Food...please,” he flashed you a weak smile as his stomach grumbled

Tags: @rxbelprxyer​

[starker-stories]

House Stark

Also on AO3

Yet another one inspired by one of the amazing moodboards by @starker-sorbet​

(I’ve got a series on AO3 for them)

Runway model Peter, and a demanding designer Tony, during Paris fashion week for anon. Click on the link and go see how beautiful it is.

Tags: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Fashion & Models, Modeling, Model Peter Parker, Designer Tony Stark, Asshole Tony Stark, Apprentice Asshole Peter Parker, But they're adorable assholes, Unless you ask the models and stylists

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

“Five changes! Are you kidding me” Peter threw the schedule onto the floor.

“Most of us have three, but there are some fours on the list.” Simon flipped through the schedule for the fashion show. “Paris is always run tightly.”

“I have FIVE!”

“That’s because you walk formal. You end the fucking show. Quit complaining,” Andrew groused.

“He’s left you enough time,” Simon pointed out. “You’re second, eighth, thirteenth, nineteenth, twenty-fifth, which is final.”

“None of which is enough time! Especially nineteen to twenty-five!”

“You’re just slow, Parker.”

The other models made themselves scarce or tried to look busy when Mr. Stark brushed past to stand in front of Peter. He was sprawled in a folding chair, in nothing but his briefs, like all the other models.

“If it’s a problem…” Tony turned to the room and his gaze landed on a different model. “Andrew — I can’t be bothered to remember your last name even though I fucked you two years ago… I think — I know you’re twentieth to Parker’s nineteen, do you think you can get into formal by twenty-five and close the show?”

“Umm…” Andrew started, swallowing deeply trying to hide his embarrassment.

Tony Stark scoffed. “You’re useless. In bed, too. Now I remember you. I stopped fucking around after you. Got tired of getting bad head. Wasn’t worth the effort anymore.” He made a dismissive wave.

He shouted again so that those who were hiding could hear. “None of you should take more than three looks for a change. I’ve scheduled enough time. I could’ve done everything but formal in two. Formal in three.”

“We’re not all you,” Peter muttered, almost silently, under his breath. He didn’t raise his head from scrolling on his tablet.

“That’s not what Vogue Hommes said when they wrote that they hadn’t seen anyone as ‘electrifying’ on the runway since I walked eighteen years ago. ‘The next Tony Stark’, I believe was the quote.” Tony snorted. “I’ll just call Azza and inform him of the mistake.”

Peter leapt to his feet and brought himself up to (a good four inches below) Tony’s height. “I can’t do it!” he shouted. “You do it! Right now. Go on.” He pulled out his phone and found the clock app. “I’m timing you. Go change from your absolutely amazing look nineteen into the ridiculous piece of pretentious crap you’ve got for your formal offering at twenty-five.”

Tony blinked wide-eyed and pulled his head back. “My what‽” Backstage emptied. Fast. Completely.

“You heard me. You’re whoring out your talent to get pages in the magazines. It’s not ‘innovative’, it’s not ‘breaking’, it’s not any of the things that your PR department will pay them to say. It’s,” Peter took a step forward, “pretentious.”

“You’re off the runway, Parker!”

Peter scoffed. “Call someone forty-five minutes to show, get him styled into this stupid hair and makeup that ruins the classic simplicity of your designs — I swear to god, why do you listen to the stylists that your people recommend? — it’s your fucking house! quit being so hands-off! — and then tell him that he’s got to rehearse FIVE changes before the music starts.”

“I’m not interested in your opinions. You’re a walking mannequin.” Tony tapped the center of Peter’s forehead. “Hollow inside, like all models.”

“Like yourself then, since you started on the runway when you were fifteen! Same age as I did.”

“Yeah, and now I’m forty-two and you’re twenty. A few more years’ experience in the business, kid. Maybe I know a little bit more about setting trends than you do. I’ve been heading my own house for eleven years.”

“And it shows.” Peter said derisively. Tony frowned. Peter explained. “You’re bored. You’re not setting trends, you’re catering to them.” He pulled a Sharpie from Tony’s pocket and picked up the schedule again, x-ing through the pictures. “This, this, this, this, and oh my fucking god, especially this. To say nothing of the formal. They’re unworthy of your name.”

Tony snatched the pages from Peter’s hand and, against his better judgement, glanced at them. He tried not to let it show, but the kid had marked every one of his designs that he hated. Including that goddamn formal.

“I told you!” Peter said, noticing Tony wince. “It’s crap and you know it!”

“Six out of twenty-five looks. Nineteen good ones. Most designers would kill to hit that number.”

Peter shrugged his head to the side. “Well, if you’re okay with it…”

Tony breathed out heavily and dragged his hand through his hair. “Forty-five minutes to show. Like you said. Forty-three, since I’ve had to waste two of them listening to you. What?” he asked, noticing Peter glaring at him.

“Delete everything but the formal.” Peter scribbled through the x-ed out designs.

“The formal’s just as crap as the rest,” Tony admitted, since there was no one back there to hear.

“Rework it.” Tony’s eyebrows shot up. “Or aren’t you good enough to do a baste in forty-two minutes?” Peter challenged.

“Here!” Tony flapped the schedule in Peter’s direction. “Eliminate the five designs you marked. Salvage as many pieces from the five to make one decent look out of them, giving me twenty not nineteen including my reworked formal. Reschedule the models to give everyone three looks. Kick the excess to the curb. You get to tell them why.” Tony yanked the formal’s hanger off the rack. “And you still walk five out of twenty.” He headed out of the models’ backstage area. “Oh! And fix the stylist’s mistakes.” He called over his shoulder as he checked his watch. “In forty minutes.”

Absolutely no one was happy. Not the models, and especially not the stylists. Everyone demanded to know who told Peter Parker to give the orders.

“I did!” Tony shouted from the office, hearing the commotion.

It made no one the least little bit happier, only shifted the complaints from asking who told Peter to do it, to why Peter was the one doing it. Especially after the revelation about Andrew.

Tony shouted again to the DJ to eliminate enough music to accommodate the shorter show. And again for Peter to come to the office.

“Problems, Parker?” he asked, without looking up as he furiously ripped stitches out of the pants.

“Yes! You just took a minute off my schedule!”

Tony laughed as Peter ran backstage again.

“For NOTHING!” Peter shouted louder.

Peter was still scheduled for five looks. It was tight, but doable, especially if Mr. Stark reworked formal right this time. His schedule gained him no friends because his generosity with himself left others with tight changes. He shrugged it off. They weren't also trying to manage backstage at the same time. He’d eliminated four models entirely. All of whom, he reminded the remaining complainers, were standing outside waiting for the opportunity to work. Two of the cut were his friends, but their look wasn’t in keeping with Mr. Stark’s styles, no matter what whoever hired them thought. He knew he’d lost their friendship. He didn’t have time to worry about that. He was still arguing with the lead stylist, who was complaining about the changes. He shouted the question if the remaining three could handle the work. Receiving affirmatives, he kicked the lead out.

Between his tenth and fourteenth looks, which was an easy change, he ran back to the office and paced outside the door.

“You’re wearing a hole in the floor, Parker. What!” Tony shouted.

“Formal!” Peter shouted back. Both of them were far louder than they should’ve been mid-show.

“It’ll be ready by seventeen!”

“Need it sooner!”

“Get the fuck out there Peter,” Tony said, quieter, “that’s your cue.”

“Yeah,” Peter said, rushing for the curtain.

The formal looked completely different by the time Peter got into it. Tony helped him in order to avoid catching the loose basting threads on his fingers and toes.

“Go, go, go!” Tony said, pushing at the small of Peter’s back as Peter was slipping into the shoes.

“For fuck’s sake, Tony,” Peter muttered. “I’m going.”

Peter returned back from the end of the runway and the music shifted cues for the designer bow. Tony walked out and instead of just taking the usual quick bow, he grabbed Peter’s hand and took a few steps out onto the stage.

Tony raised their hands together and guided Peter to take a bow with him. At the end of it, he pulled Peter close. He grabbed Peter by the chin and kissed him. Not a quaint little European smooch on the cheeks, but full on the lips. Open mouthed. With tongue.

It left Peter stunned. Until he saw Tony smirk as they walked to the curtain opening to leave the stage. He ran his fingers up into Tony’s hair, pulled him down and kissed him back. The same way. Only filthier.

“Want a new job, Parker?” Tony asked breathlessly.

“Working for you? Not on my life.”

Tony’s smirk was back as he slipped his hand behind Peter’s waist. “That’s what I thought you’d say. Make sure everything’s ready for the trucks. We have to vacate in an hour before the next show gets here.”

“All right,” Peter said calmly, and then headed backstage, shouting far less than calmly.

“It looked good though, right, Pete?” Tony shouted after him.

“Yeah, Tony. It looked great.”

[steves-on-a-plane]

Don’t Get Attached (Pt 22)

Part One / Part Two / Part Three / Part Four / Part Five / Part Six / Part Seven/ Part Eight / Part Nine / Part Ten / Part Eleven / Part Twelve / Part Thirteen / Part Fourteen / Part Fifteen / Part Sixteen / Part Seventeen / Part Eighteen / Part Nineteen / Part Twenty / Part Twenty-One 

Words: 1588 Connor x Daughter!Reader W/ Dad!Hank Anderson Summary: Everyone is holding their breath waiting for the long night to be over. Will the androids be successful in the revolution? Was Connor able to bring the freed androids from Cyberlife to Marcus’ aid in time? One things for sure, the revolution may be over, but things for Connor and Reader aren’t! 

Kara and Luther were standing in the living room when you and your father entered. He offered them his friendliest smirk as you made introductions. Kara and Luther each thanked Hank for allowing them to stay. Luther went as far as promising they’d leave as soon as they were able.

“There’s no rush.” Your father insisted. “Who knows how long it’ll take for all of this to be over.”

“We should put on the TV.” You suggested. “See if any of the news channels are covering downtown.”

“First I’m getting a good look at what Connor did to your leg. I’m sure your friend’s will fill us in on whatever we miss.” Your dad put his arm around you and led you to the bathroom where he kept his minimal first aid equipment. You sat on the edge of the bathtub, wincing slightly as you slid your sweatpants off past your wound.

“This reminds me of when you were learning how to ride a bike.” He chuckled, sitting down on the toilet. “remember that? You were so little then.”

“You mean when I thought I was a daredevil and tried to ride down that ridiculously large hill? Except that I didn’t really understand how to use the breaks yet and I went tearing down that hill and popped off that giant boulder.That landing hurt like hell.”

“Knocked the wind right out of you. You couldn’t really breath at first.” Your father remembered. “And you skinned your knee right down to the bone.”

“But you took me for ice cream after we went to the hospital and it was so worth it.” You smiled.

“Was this worth it?” He asked, nodding at your new injury.

“Every stitch.” You promised.

“Let me take a look at it.” Thanks to his career choice, Hank had been on the receiving end of sutures more than a few times in his life. At least enough times to know if they’d been done well or not, and he begrudgingly admitted that Connor had done a decent job for someone without any medical training. “You’ll have some scaring but, otherwise it’ll be fine. Let me clean it and bandage it. Keep the area clean and dry, alright?”

“It’s not like I want it to get infected.” You quipped. Your father ignored your snide remark and reached for the hydrogen peroxide. He poured a generous amount on your leg and you watched as white bubbles fizzed around the surface of the skin. After a few seconds he wiped away the excess peroxide and applied an antibiotic ointment. He covered the sutures with three consecutive gauze pads and applied thin paper medical tape to keep the pads in place.

“Thanks Dad.” You mumbled quietly.

“Connor did most of the work. I was just making sure you didn’t get sepsis.” He said.

“I don’t just mean my leg and you know it.” You sighed. “Letting Kara and her family stay here, warming up to Connor. I know none if it’s been easy for you, but I appreciate that you’ve been trying. Plus, you handled the whole parking-lot-sutures-with-whiskey-antiseptic story very well. I’m proud of you dad, that’s some serious character development.”

“I don’t know how much more character development I can handle today.” He laughed. “I’m going to check in on your friends, but don’t leave me out there too long, okay?”

“I’m just gonna wash up a little and put some clean clothes on. I’ll be right out.” You promised. Careful not to wake Alice, you crept into your room for a clean change of clothes. Back in the bathroom you filled the sink with hot water and soap. After dipping a washcloth in the soapy solution, you used it to wipe away the blood and grime all over. Twenty minutes later you rejoined your dad, Kara and Luther in the living room. All three of them had their attention laser focused on the TV.

“What’s going on?” You moved to stand next to the couch where the others were seated.

“You just missed the President’s reminder that Androids are supposed to be turned over to the ‘proper authorities.’ Huh.” Hank chuckled. “Now they got this playing.” He pointed at the TV. There was a news anchor on screen. He was seated in a helicopter and speaking loudly to be heard over its large propeller.

The Headline at the bottom of the screen read: SWARM OF ANDROIDS DESCEND ON DETROIT. There was a scroll bar bellow the heading that read: Security forces now heavily outnumbered. / civilian casualties expected.

“Androids!” The news anchor exclaimed. “Thousands of androids are taking to the streets of Detroit right now. They’re absolutely everywhere. It’s…It’s incredible.”  The hellecoptor’s camera man panned down to show an areal view of androids marching in the street. They all appeared to be newly minted androids from the cyberlife facility as each of them was wearing a white standard issue android uniform. The video feed on the news cut to an anchor in a newsroom.

“From what we can gather,” the newsroom anchor said. “These androids are coming from the CyberLife tower, which had thousands of machines stored in its assembly plant and it seems that huge crowds are leaving the city. It’s a max exodus. Much of Detroit’s population is trying to escape the fighting however they can.” The news feed shifted again. This time it cut back to the president, who was talking into the cameras with a grave expression.

“Today, November 11th, 2038.” She sighed, “Several million androids invaded the city of Detroit. Faced with the threat of mass civilian casualties, I had no choice but to order our armed forces to retreat. The events in Detroit have changed our world forever. Humanity must face a new reality. The emergence of another intelligent life form, with who we must share this planet. May god bless the United States of America.”

“We won?” You asked, looked down the couch at the others. There were tears in Kara’s eyes like she couldn’t believe it was happening. Even Luther seemed stunned. “You guys, it’s over. We won.”

The realization seemed to hit them all at once after that. Kara wiped tears from her eyes. Luther swept her up into a great bear hug, while you and your dad nodded at each other knowingly from opposite ends of the couch. Your phone rang. You didn’t need to check the caller ID, you knew it would be Connor.

“Put your phone on speaker.” He said when you answered. You did as he asked, and you could hear Markus’ voice coming from the phone. You muted the TV so the others could hear.

“Today, our people finally emerge from a long night.” Marcus said. There was muffled atmospheric noise in the background and judging by the camera angles from the helicopter on TV, Marcus was speaking to the crowd of androids. A crowd that consisted of his battalion from Jericho, the Androids that Connor had freed from the Cyberlife tower and the androids Marcus had liberated from the camp.

“From the very first day of our existence,” He continued. “We have kept our pain to ourselves. We suffered in silence. But now the time has come for us to raise our heads up and tell humans who we really are. Today begins the most challenging moment in our fight. Today begins a new struggle. We’ve showed them that we can prevail, so now they must negotiate with us as equals. If they really want peace, they must free all of us! From every camp across this country. They must grant us civil rights and accept equality among humans and androids. Today will live forever in our memories, because this is the day that androids made history! We are alive! And now? We are free!” There was no mistaking the background noise this time as hundreds of thousands of cheers filled your phone’s small speak.

“You can take the phone off speaker now.” You could barely make out Connor’s voice above the commotion. You did as he suggested, but still held the phone a few inches away from year ear. “I just thought you and the others might want to hear for yourselves. We won!”

“We heard.” You told him; a smile plastered on your face.

“I wish I could be there with you!” He shouted over the ruckus. “But I’m afraid Marcus and I still have so much to do. The long night isn’t over for us. I wanted to call to tell you that you and Hank should get some rest. You don’t need to worry about me, I’m safe.”

“Connor let me help you. If you’re safe, then it’s safe for me to be with you.” You told him.

“[Y/N], I don’t know if that’s a good idea.” Connor answered. “There are still a lot of humans her in the city.”

“Either it’s safe or it’s not Connor.” You said, trying not to snap at him. He knew that you were just worried about him and he didn’t like the idea of being apart anymore than you did.

“I’ll talk to Marcus and see what he thinks.” Connor decided. “If he thinks it’s safe enough, I’ll text you GPS coordinates. You can look up directions on your phone. But [Y/N], promise me Hank will stay behind. Someone has to protect Luther, Kara and Alice. I’ve gotta go, I’ll talk to you soon, [Y/N].”

“Hey Connor?” You hoped you were loud enough for him to hear you. “I love you.”

TAGS: racrneko @that-random-chick-named-tori @noodledraw @mariahlambslbs @sdavid09 @baebecca @black-and-white-eye @twdpansy  @revenge-parti @grievance-s @mikithekiki @kazuha159 @dragonempress123 @the-razy-pie-rope @layinglonely @talle-2002 @trash-is-my-name @geolusun @professionalfangirl1738 @ask-angel-of-death @havanbcby @beautifulsilvermarch  @sadlittlenightmare @sweetlittleviper @fineactually  @najosnajo @sunndera @21putnamp @deathbyhollywood @itstrashleydude @clowntapus @tenderlytremendouskittens @lovelittledoyouknow @omelys-space @onceuponagleepottermindlock @treanna-hatake @anglemae @kumamno @jinwonholeo @line-viper @pxnisparker @goalsweight @ayajackson @taylor-swifter-sweeper @ninatheotter @regular-mexican-girl @katiekitty261 @iknowrocknroll567 @hidenbarrista @doctorpaintedwhore @fancyfaucet @fairytailwizard @hollowmasque @syrinxgm @misbhv-ur @sugaraddict @nikkidawnlight @dbhtrashftw @writingpromptsstuff @xalinx @awkard-fangirl88 @cindersonick @spookydun-iplier @spacekidarayo @anglemae @redlovett @xalinx @letthembehappymcu @itsfangirlmendes @aurvem @dechartduo @rainbowzephyr @sherlockspie @mybrilliantusername @wishuponawriter @nerdylittoyvoid @derpyanimatesstuff @ohhhhhhsweetfamdonofmine @kaitcreatesart

*If you would like to be tagged in the Don’t Get Attached series, simply reply to this post or submit an ask.* 

- Please make sure that if you ask to be tagged that your blog settings allow you to be tagged! A few people have been removed from the tag list because I don’t have the ability to tag them. 

[highqueenofelfhame]

Prompt: “God, I was about to casually ask if you wanted to play a board game with me and then I realized I’m not a sly cool person like you are.”

For my darling Becca.

It had been a weekend that Genevieve would likely never forget so long as she lived. A weekend that she’d been locked in Julian’s family’s cabin in the mountains, just the two of them with nothing to entertain each other but their bodies. Mason and Luna had made brief appearances, eating meals and playing Cards Against Humanity until they all had stitches from laughing. But Mason and Luna had left every night, and every night the two ended up tumbling back into the bed, or down onto the rug before the fireplace. It had almost been too much for her seventeen year old heart and mind to handle. Almost.

It had been a weekend of bliss that had started with her sneaking out of her house, dropping a kiss to her father’s cheek as she stumbled out the door and yelled goodbye to her mother. Her hair had still been damp from her shower and in a sloppy braid over her shoulder, but she ran down the driveway in the chilled air and all the way down to the corner where Julian had been waiting.

It wasn’t that her family disapproved of Julian. They liked him, truly. Liked him as their daughters friend, as their son’s friend. Liked him because they adored the Knights and they spent holidays together. What they wouldn’t approve of was Julian ravishing her in the way that he had all weekend. There wasn’t an inch of skin that he didn’t know the shape and taste of, he had kissed every part of her body time and time again until she fractured beneath him. It was a weekend that had started off as a big Fuck You to her ex boyfriend Wesley, and had ended in something...different. Something more that neither of them had commented on yet.

When his car came to a stop in her driveway — it was mid afternoon on a Friday, everyone was home but it would be fine that Julian had given her a ride home from Luna’s. Genevieve started to get out of the car, began to gather her bags whenever Julian rushed around the side of the car and opened her door for her. His lips were in a soft smile, a rarity on the permanent bitch face he wore accidentally every day, and she smiled back, dropping out of his Jeep and pulling her backpack and duffel bag over her shoulder.

“I had a good time,” she said, arms expanding out to her sides and then dropping to her thighs with a smack. Julian grinned a little more.

“I did, too.”

“Do you — How you would like — Gods above, Cauldron fry me, I was about to casually ask if you wanted to play a board game with me and I’m having a really stark realization that I’m nowhere near as sly and cool and smooth as you are.”

“A...a board game?”

“Yeah? My family does game night? We invite friends. Luna is there every time so I just thought maybe you would like to come play...board games with me. And my family?” She squinted her eyes shut, knowing she sounded a little stupid but hoped she didn’t sound as stupid as she felt.

“Nobody has ever asked me to play board games before.”

“Then it’s your lucky day because we have so many,” She gesture to her house with her thumb, chewing on her bottom lip. It took a moment of hesitation but she held her hand out for him to take, and he did. “Only board games though, okay? Maybe some video games but no other kinds of games. I know you.” His lips brushed her knuckles as they got to the door, and he stopped her from opening it long enough to give her a light kiss to her lips.

“Just fun games. No games of any other kind.” Genevieve grinned, nodded once and lead him inside, to what was likely going to be his death once everyone, especially her brothers, caught on.

A/N: The prompt is something Becca actually said to a boy so, make sure to tell her what an icon she is.

[sirius]

Young gods Part 7

Pairing: Sirius Black x Reader, Remus Lupin x Reader, Regulus Black x Reader

Warnings: Graphic description of blood, swearing, suicide mention, scars, alcohol abuse.

Word Count: 7077

A/N: ugh so it took me so long to frickin find a good enough video to gif but do you think i could find one??? so the above gif is not mine. ANyway, im hoping to post more regularly now, and im going to try work on other stuff apart from young gods and chaos theory. just to mix it up, y’know? anyway, here we go. Be aware that toward the end, there is graphic description of blood and suicide mention. thank you for your messages and comments etc i really love reading them!

***

Chapter Seven: Be Alright or Wish You Were Here

The living room of Ashton Manor is oppressively, unbearably quiet.

The silence stretches and settles over you like a bad omen, ringing in your ears ominously as you stand in front of Regulus, in front of Walburga and Orion Black, and Thea and all you can muster is a very faint, very broken...

“I don’t understand.”

Because you don’t. You don’t understand how you can go from kissing Remus Lupin on a Ferris Wheel to becoming engaged to Regulus Black in a matter of hours.

But you suppose that’s how fate works; in ways that no one can understand.

“I don’t expect you to understand,” Grandmama Thea coos, softly, “Not yet, anyway.”

Somewhere behind you, Remus Lupin gives a cold, derisive scoff, “With all due respect, Mrs Ashton, But are you really going to force (Y/N) to marry the boy who attacked your granddaughter.”

Regulus narrows a cold glare on Remus, “I didn’t attack her.”

“My apologies,” Remus snips, sardonically, not sounding apologetic at all, “Does ‘betrayed’ sound better to you?”

Walburga Black arches a sharp, black eyebrow and corrects Remus in a smooth, honeyed voice, “I don’t see how this concerns you, boy. This is between the Ashton’s and the Blacks.”

A beat of icy silence, thick with condescension and frustration, lapses between everyone in the room. You glance at Remus, just in time to catch him frown and avert his gaze, lips pressing together.

“Of course,” Remus mutters, sourly, “I’ll be...waiting outside, then.”

Panic fills the ridges of your rib cage, stomach twisting into a piercing knot of apprehension and resentment as you squeeze his hand in a desperate, pleading attempt to keep him close. But Remus flashes a small smile, one that droops at its edges, like he had intended for it to be reassuring but couldn’t quite muster up the energy to make it convincing. He untangles his fingers from yours and leaves, footsteps creaking on the wood panelling of the floorboards.

When the door closes shut, Walburga straightens, stiffening her spine and raising her chin. Her eyes glint like light bouncing off the tip of a steel blade.

“Right, as I was saying,” she drawls, ominously casual, the faint edge of her French accent clipping her words, “We’ll need to organise the announcement dinner as soon as possible. Perhaps on New Years Eve.”

“Good,” Grandmama Thea nods, “I’ll make all the arrangements.”

“No,” Walburga snips, “I will. We’ll host it at our home. I insist.”

Thea cocks an eyebrow, expression neutral and masked, “Fine.”

A flicker of a smile flits across Walburga’s painted, red lips, “Excellent. Once we’ve made the announcement, we can begin planning the engagement party.”

“It’ll have to be after the school year has ended,” Grandmama Thea states, sternly.

Walburga’s expression freezes, posture steeled, “You do know what that will mean...for us...for you.”

“I understand perfectly,” Grandmama Thea snips in a tone that can not be argued with, “But I will not put my granddaughter's education on hold. She will be an independent, educated woman before she is any man's wife.”

Walburga drums her long, slender fingers on her lap, “Of course. I believe it was you who once said that a woman with beauty can bend a man around her finger, but a woman with intelligence can hold the entire world in her hands.”

Grandmama Thea takes a sip of sherry, swallowing more than just alcohol, “I’m glad you understand.”

Walburga stands, running her elegant,  jewelled hands down the front of her dress, “In the meantime, I will begin preparations for the announcement dinner.”

“Excuse me,” you snap, irritation prickling across your scalp, leaking into your voice, “But I still have no idea what’s going on.”

Walburga shoots you an icy, sharp glare, heavy with judgment and disdain and boring into you like the merciless tip of a drill. There is no kindness or warmth in her eyes, like staring into the gaping mouth of a collapsing, white hole. They’re the type of eyes that could destroy an entire army if she wanted to.

“I expect you to be on time,” she orders, coldly, “My son's future wife must always be punctual, polite, well-dressed and composed.”

“Of course,” your grandmother gives a thin smile, mimicking Walburga and rising from the settee, “We’ll be there and we will be on time. I’ll see you out.”

Thea walks gracefully past you, leading Walburga out of the room. Walburga glides behind your grandmother with practised grace. She doesn’t look at you when she passes, wrinkling her nose as though you were a bad smell, chin held high and shoulders squared.

Regulus trails behind her sheepishly, eyes on the floor as though he were a weary dog on a steel leash being tugged along by a ruthless owner. Your teeth clamp down on to the velvety flesh of your inner cheek, nails digging into the smooth skin of your palms. The metre or so that briefly separates you as he passes to get to the door feels far too close for comfort and you take a step back, breath lodged behind your tonsils.

It’s then that you register a scrutinising gaze, unfamiliar and careful and burning into the side of your skull. Studying you, like you’re a squirming wreck of a specimen pinned beneath the glaring, relentless glass of a microscope. Reading you, like a foreign language has been scrawled onto your skin. You don’t turn to look, barely managing to suppress the shiver that attempts to crawl down your spine.

“You’re not what I expected,” comes the husky voice of Orion Black. He doesn’t sound surprised or disappointed but intrigued.

“And what were you expecting, Sir?” You ask, nails burying themselves further into your clammy palms as you finally turn to look at him.

You wish you hadn’t.

Orion is more handsome up close, the razor-sharp lines and edges of his face accentuated in the firelight, composed and cool, a hostile curiosity lurking beneath the dark, clear depths of his colourless eyes.

“Not you,” He responds, coldly, in a snarl not unlike the low growl of thunder “Regardless, I’ll be keeping an eye on you.”

With that, he stalks away from you and exits the room, his presence leaving behind a haunting feeling of dread, like the shivering whisper of vengeful ghosts. You swallow the scream of frustration and fear climbing up the length of your throat.

The floor begins to sway beneath your feet, fault lines colliding beneath the thick crust of the earth and you feel your knees buckle before you drop onto the soft, moss-green cushioning of a settee, burying your face in your hands.

This had to be a test of loyalty, patience, endurance. A hoax carefully crafted by Dumbledore to bend you to your limits. Your chest feels brittle, breath fragile and jagged as bile and fear and malice slosh together in your lower belly, burning through your gut like acid, puttering around at the back of your throat, bitter on your tongue.

“You must have a lot of questions.”

You jump, heart leaping into your throat. The willowy figure of Grandmama Thea stands in the doorway, casting sharp shadows across the floor.

“That’s the understatement of the year,” you breathe, voice trembling.

Grandmama Thea crosses the room and sits by your side, her presence infusing the air with her expensive, floral perfume. She grasps your hand in hers, giving it a comforting squeeze.

“This is really happening, isn’t it?” You ask voice barely a whisper on your lips.

Grandmama Thea nods forlornly, “Yes, my sweet.”

You swallow thickly, steeling your spine and resisting the urge to dissolve into a sobbing mess.

“Why?”

Grandmama Thea casts her gaze to the flickering fire, “I suppose it starts with your father, Nicholas. He was supposed to marry Walburga, you see. The Ashton bloodline is a dying breed, riddled with blood curses and scandals and all sorts of dark secrets that would make the Devil shudder. So, to continue what was left of the Ashton legacy, I signed a legal contract with Pollux Black, Walburga’s father, that stated that when Nicholas came of age, he would marry Walburga and produce suitable heirs. It seemed like a smart match on paper; two firstborns from prestigious wizarding families joining together to continue the legacy and break the incestral tradition that is so prevelent in pureblood families. Only...”

Grandmama Thea breaks off, a wry smile flitting across her lips.

“I didn’t take into account how much of a rascal your father could be. He said Walburga was an ‘arrogant bitch with a thirty-inch iron wand jammed up her ass’ and he didn’t want to spend the rest of his life with her. I didn’t realise he’d already given his heart to someone else - you’re mother - a bright muggleborn witch he met while at Hogwarts. So, when he turned seventeen, he ran off with your mother and eloped.”

Your grandmother fiddles with her gold wedding band anxiously, a pained expression crossing her face.

“The thing is, a legal contract is binding, (Y/N). It demands repayment if it’s not fulfilled, and it demands a high price. It would have cursed him if it weren’t for my intervention...”

Your grandmother begins unbuttoning her silky, cream blouse, revealing several long, thick scars stitched into her smooth skin, starting at her sternum.

“What-?” You gasp, aghast. Your grandmother drapes her elegant, slender fingers over yours again.

“A mothers love for her child can be so profound, it can conquer anything, even death.”

Grandmama Thea drags your hand away from your lap and trails your cold fingers over the ridges of her scars, from her sternum to her naval, “Count them.”

Your brows knit together as you count them, touch ghosting over her skin. You bite your lip when you reach the last scar, understanding.

“Thirteen,” you murmur, realisation dawning on you, “For each year that the contract wasn’t fulfilled.”

Your grandmama Thea nods, “Every year, on the fifth of August, the day your father was supposed to marry Walburga, I would receive a new scar and the pain would worsen. Though the scar would heal, the pain would remain, like the wound was being unstitched every single day. But the pain was worth your father’s happiness, for if he had fulfilled the contract, I wouldn’t have had you.”

Thea sighs sadly, dropping her gaze as she pinches the pendant on her necklace, “I still couldn’t save him...my sweet boy. I couldn’t save him from-from those savages, those monsters.” Thea’s eyes flash with something deadly, something unfamiliar, cold and cruel. She composes herself, reining in her anger and straightening her spine, “The curse is lifted for now, but I would still prefer that searing pain I felt every day for thirteen years than the pain that your father’s death has left behind. There’s no greater sorrow for a parent, to bury their child...”

Thea trails off, fighting back tears, one hand running across her lower belly. Your heart aches, throbs like an open wound. You sense her hesitation, hedging across the tip of her soft lips that are usually always curved into the smile you love so dearly.

“For now...?” You prompt and your Grandmama exhales a shaky sigh, buttoning up her blouse again.

“The contract is still binding,” she explains, “It still requires two firstborns from the Black and Ashton family to marry and produce heirs when both have come of age. It was supposed to be Sirius but since he’s disowned, the contract doesn’t consider him the first born Black.”

You huff a mirthless, bitter laugh at that, the irony of the situation not lost to you. If Sirius hadn’t been disowned, you would have been in an arranged marriage with the boy you had been infatuated with for so many years, the dreams you had once entertained during the haze of your blind obsession with him finally coming true.

Your breath freezes when realisation suddenly dawns on you, veins crystallising and blood running cold, “You said before that-that Regulus and I have to...produce heirs?”

Your grandmother nods sadly, lips turning into a sad, thin frown, “Yes, dear. I’m working to get that changed, but I can’t guarantee anything.”

Your stomach curls in on itself, twisting into a clenched fist. You don’t think you could even look Regulus in the eye, let alone touch him.

“I-I can’t do this,” you breathe, voice rattling on your quivering lips, “I can’t-I can’t marry him. I can’t...have sex with him, or raise children with him, after what he did to me...”

Your Grandmama Thea nods slowly. Her eyes glisten with unshed tears as she holds her warm hand to your cheek.  

“I would do it again,” she murmurs, softly, “If it means your happiness, I would take all the pain in the world for you, my dear. It’s my fault you’re in this position.”

You shake your head quickly, eyes welling with tears, “No. I would never let you do that. We’ll...we’ll sort something out.”

Your eyes drift to your grandmothers sternum, where her scars lay hidden beneath her blouse. How could your father be so selfish? Grandmama Thea had endured thirteen years of constant pain, and yet he was happily cruising through life with his pretty wife and blushing baby girl. Disdain suddenly floods through you, hot and prickly.

“You mustn’t blame your father,” Thea says, as though she had read your mind, “I should never have expected that much from him.”

A strange expression flickers across Thea’s face as she gives you a look so full of hidden meaning, you think you must be imagining it, “I’m-I’m not the woman you think I am.”

You frown at her, “What do you mean?”

Thea opens her mouth to answer, but at that moment, the door flies open and your friends stream into the room, rushing to your side.

“Remus told us what happened,” James says, looking sympathetic.

“She can’t marry him,” Kaitlyn snaps, eyes narrowing on your Grandmama, “He-he doesn’t deserve her. Besides, she’s already in a relationship!”

“The contract demands a legal marriage,” Grandmama Thea says, voice warm and filled with a subtle suggestion, “The contract doesn’t require you to love each other...”

You blink at your Grandmama, “Are you suggesting that I have an affair?”

Thea flashes a mischievous smile, eyes glittering as she flicks a gaze between you and Remus. You and Remus glance at each other and your cheeks glow at the suggestion.

“I said no such thing,” she murmurs, though her eyes dance with that familiar light, one you’d seen in your father.

“So, when is this all happening.”

Sirius’ voice sounds from the doorway and your gaze follows the sound of his voice, finding him leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed. His biceps bulge beneath his shirt, teasing a glimpse of strong muscle and smooth skin.

“We haven’t set a date yet,” Thea answers, thumb brushing against her wedding ring, “But it’ll be after (Y/N) graduates.”

“That’s two years from now,” you murmur, “I thought Regulus said we’d be married this time next year?”

“I bought you some time,” Thea explains, softly squeezing your hand, “I want you to have as much freedom as possible.”

Your eyes prick with tears as she runs her thumb across your palm.

“Carpe Diem,” Sirius drawls, pushing himself off the door frame and sauntering into the room, “Sieze the day.”

“Exactly,” James says, grinning, “We’ll make sure you enjoy every second of freedom before Walburga and Orion Black suck it all up.”

“(Y/N) shouldn’t have to marry him in the first place!” Kaitlyn snaps, jaw clicking shut, “She shouldn’t have to marry anyone!”

Thea’s expression pinches into a wince, thumb tapping a nervous staccato onto her wedding band. Glancing at you, she rises from her seat gracefully, as though she were entertaining guests and catches your eye.

“I think I’ll retire to my bed,” she sighs, palms smoothing out the wrinkles in her skirt, “You are all welcome to stay as long as you like and make yourselves at home.”

With a final, loving glance at you, Thea whirls around and leaves, the click of her heels against the marble flooring echoing through the mansion. You sigh as you listen to her steps stretch into silence before glancing at Remus.

“I think it’s time that I show you all that treehouse.”

***

Everything is much easier, more funnier, less painful when you’re drunk.

You notice this as you explain everything that your grandmother had told you, how there was a curse placed on the contract, how your father had risked it all to elope and have you. You even parroted back what your father had told Grandmama Thea about Walburga, much to the amusement of Sirius and James. With the aid of liquid courage, everything seems to pour out of you, like ink spilling across parchment.

“I’m caught between a rock and a hard place,” you sigh, trying not to slur your words together, “If I marry Regulus, I’m trapped in a marriage I don’t want to be in with the person who betrayed me to become a death eater. But if I don’t marry Regulus, it’ll curse both me and my Grandma...” you trail a shaky finger down your sternum, to just beneath your navel, thinking of your grandmothers scars “All because my dad wanted to be selfish.”

“Was it selfish, though?” Sirius asks, back pressed against the wooden wall of your treehouse, “He was brave enough to run off with your mother, and because he did, you’re here.”

“But he hurt my grandma.”

“She tried to force him into marrying that dragon of a woman.”

“Because she thought she was doing the right thing!” You snap, coldly, “Grandmama Thea said that the Ashton family line is a ‘dying breed, riddled with blood curses and secrets’ and she’s right! my grandad died before I was born, my dad is dead, my Aunt ran off to America to escape her problems, my Uncle is in the psychiatric ward of St Mungos because he’s a drug addict hallucinating shadow monsters and masked men and my grandma...she thought she was doing the right thing by protecting the Ashton legacy.”

Sirius regards you with an unexpectedly cool measure of detachment, arms crossed over his chest, “The irony of it is, if - when - you marry Regulus, the Ashton line ends. You’ll become a Black, unless your Uncle gets better and settles down. The Ashton line has already ended.”

“(Y/N) is collateral damage,” Kaitlyn pipes up from the corner, her nails scraping across the cool, clear glass of her vodka bottle, “It’s not about the blood line anymore, it’s about fulfilling some dumb, misogynistic contract.”

James scoffs, taking a swig of tequila and wincing as it scorches his throat, “This is so fucked up.”

Remus hums in agreement, draping a careless arm across your shoulders. His fingertips graze the nape of your neck, a warm whisper of contact that you welcome with a small shudder. He taps the knob of your shoulder with his thumb absentmindedly, contemplatively silent, warm against your side.

“We were thinking,” James begins, tone infectiously lazy and deliberate, “It’s about time that you got your tattoo. Both of you.”

Kaitlyn bolts upright, blinking rapidly, “What?”

James and Sirius exchange a look, “We think you’ve earned your tattoos.”

You and Kaitlyn glance at each other, unsure of whether James will deliver the punch line or not. The following silence is answer enough, and Kaitlyn slumps back against the wall, a smile tracing the curve of her lips.

“Now?” She asks and James responds with a nod.

“If that’s what you want.”

You turn to Remus, expression uncertain, and he offers you a gentle, reassuring smile, “It doesn’t hurt.”

Tugging down on the collar of his shirt, Remus brandishes his Phoenix tattoo, which is perched just above a long scar on his left breast plate. Your fingers ghost across his skin, feather-light and cool, and Remus covers his hand over yours, splaying your fingers across his chest. His heartbeat hums beneath your palm, steady and sure, a rhythm dedicated to you.

“How do we get our tattoo?” Kaitlyn asks, mildly intrigued, her eyes darting between James and Sirius. James throws a nod toward Sirius.

“Sirius carries around a special quill. He tattoos it onto your skin.”

Kaitlyn stiffens at first, then visibly recoils, as though the idea of Sirius touching her could physically slap her, “No way...not Sirius...”

Sirius barks a laugh, mouth tilting into a lopsided, dodgy sort of grin, “What? You don’t want to get up close and personal?”

Kaitlyn shakes her head, almost like she’s tempted to say something, but doesn’t. Instead, she folds her hands over her chest mulishly, protectively, not meeting Sirius’ eye.

James gives her a careless, easy, smile, eyes glittering like he’s amused - which he is - and cocks a brow.

“What is it that you hate so much about Sirius?” James asks, lazily cracking his knuckles one at a time.

Kaitlyn freezes, tucking a thick chunk of hair behind her ear, “He’s a bully, a sleaze and a womaniser who thinks women are just pieces of property in his monopoly.”

Sirius shrugs, “First of all, that’s not true. I don’t think women are property, I think women are women, and that alone means they are already superior to men. I just happen to enjoy worshipping their bodies during sexual inter course,” Kaitlyn crinkles her nose and Sirius’ eyes flash as he continues, “But that didn’t stop you, did it love?”

Kaitlyn glares dangerously at Sirius, whose grin bends smugly, triumphantly, like he’s just won a first prize in a verbal spar.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Peter snaps, and Sirius slants a devilish glance at Kaitlyn.

“It’s doesn���t mean what you think it does,” Sirius answers, calmly, “So you don’t have to get defensive about it.”

“I wasn’t being defensive,” Peter snaps, defensively.

Sirius snorts a gravelly laugh, “Sure you weren’t.”

Peter frowns, face flushed from more than just the alcohol. He opens his mouth to argue further, but James hurriedly intervenes.

“So what about you, (Y/N)? Do you want to officially become a member of the Order?”

You consider James measuredly, reflecting on the past hour, the past few days, the past week. Imagining an extremely morbid future of fake smiles and resigned laughter and ostentatious ballgowns and the destructive glare of Walburga and the wiltering presence of Orion, how they would love to see you choke and splutter as they fit a diamond noose around your neck, squeeze the air out of your lungs, sink their claws into your flesh and tear out every nerve in your body until all that is left is a shell, a carbon-copy of their son, because that’s exactly what they did to him, what they do. They expect other people to shrivel beneath their scrutiny, crumble to ash in their presence.

You think about how Walburga would squirm if she knew that her ‘sons future wife’ had a tattoo sketched by her own disowned, embarrassment of a son, and...

You smile.

“Yeah,” you say, confidently, “Alright.”

Sirius grins wickedly, climbing to his feet.

“Alright, Ashton. Where do you want your tattoo?”

For whatever reason, Grandmama Thea floats to the forefront of your mind, the anguish that had filled out every corner of her expression, her grief and her scars, faded mementos threaded into the lining of her skin, permenant reminders of a shattered past that she can’t quite escape from.

“On my sternum,” you reply, gently shrugging Remus’ arm off and standing. Your fingers outline a path through the barrier of your clothes, imagining the Phoenix stretching it’s wings across your ribcage, connecting your ribs together, “Right here.”

You point at the small triangle between your breasts. Sirius follows your fingers as though you were outlining a map, and then he coughs, his nostrils flaring, the tips of his ears pinking.

“You do realise you’ll have to take off your - um - your bra.”

In your peripherals, you catch the lines in Remus’ body tense. He’s holding himself preternaturally still, his posture stiff, like he's steeling himself for a fight.  

“Y-Yes,” you murmur, cheeks burning, “Regardless, I want it on my sternum.”

Sirius’ expression cycles through a range of emotions you can barely keep up with; surprise, curiosity, a little bit impressed, a little bit fascinated, and then they seem to fuse together into a smirk that reminds you of a patient serpent ready to strike.

“You continue to surprise me, Doll,” Sirius drawls, dipping into the inner pocket of his jacket and retrieving a white-feathered quill.

You glance back at Remus, catching his eye and gulping at how blue they are, deep, swirling shades of Prussian blue that reminds you of staring into the deepest, darkest parts of the ocean, the parts that hide sunken ships and age-old secrets.  

Remus climbs to his feet and presses a tender kiss to your forehead, “I’ll give you some privacy.”

You arch up onto the tips of your toes and capture his lips in a searing kiss, throwing your arms around his neck to pull him close. He tastes of vodka and smells like fresh rain and your head spins, lips breaking into a smile against his.

“See you soon,” you murmur, softly, pecking his lips one last time.

Remus smiles when he breaks away, joining James, Kaitlyn and Peter who idle outside on the wooden balcony.

“Well,” Sirius begins, “You’ll need to - erm - take your coat and shirt off.”

“Right,” you murmur, lacing the hem of your shirt between your fingertips.

Sirius turns, giving you privacy as you shrug off your coat, pull your shirt over your head, and bend your arms behind your back to unclasp your bra. You kick your clothes to the corner of the treehouse, covering your breasts with the clammy palms of your hand, skin puckering against the cold, winter air and repressing the shiver that tries to scale down your spine.

“Okay,” you say in a shaky breath, a spluttering nest of nervous energy glowing in your lower belly, wallowing with the scorching heat of the alcohol, warming you up despite the cold, and then the floorboards creak and Sirius shifts, turning around to face you and he-

He blinks.

Once.

Twice.

Again.

And then, he coughs, clears his throat, his grip on the quill tightening then slackening then tightening.

“Alright,” he mutters, steeling himself, “Sit - ah - sit on that chair and I’ll - I’ll begin.”

You wordlessly obey Sirius, dropping onto the seat nearby, watching as Sirius advances. He grabs another empty chair and drags it in front of you, settling onto it and then sliding it closer, surveying the delicate skin between your breasts.

Sirius taps your thighs and nudges them apart, scooting closer, eliminating any distance between you. The sudden contact making you jump.

“Sorry,” He chortles and your cheeks flush with embarrassment when you realise you could practically slide onto his lap.

Tentatively, Sirius raises his fingers and you bite down on a gasp, shocked at how warm his touch is as his fingertips skate across your cool skin.

After tying his hair back into a small bun on his head, Sirius taps the tip of the quill against his knee and the feather changes colour, vibrant shades of orange and red and yellow shooting through the silky white.

“This is going to tickle,” he says, glancing up at you and meeting your eyes. You nod, confidently at first, insistant.

Sirius raises the quill and pricks your skin, quickly and deliberately, and a burst of orange blossoms beneath your skin. You gape down at the small fleck of orange, forming like a petal beneath your skin.

A peculiar sort of silence rings out between the two of you as Sirius concentrates, the tight prickle around your sternum lapsing into a dancing tickle stitching itself across your skin.

“So, why the sternum?” Sirius asks, the tip of his tongue poking out between his lips.

You jut your chin at him, remembering the fluttering Phoenix perched on the left side of his ribs, “Why did you get yours on your ribs?”

Sirius’ lips curl, red velvet peeling back to give you a glimpse of even, white teeth, “You going to answer every question I have about you with another question?”

You shrug, “Depends. Will you?”

The sharp, needle-like point of the quill pauses, hesitates. Sirius licks his lips, “Only if there’s something I’m trying to hide.”

You roll your eyes, irritation climbing up the base of your skull, “Why does there have to be someone with something to hide? Why do I have to have a reason?”

“Because girls like you don’t just do things without calculating every single possibility first,” Sirius explains, eyes narrowing on yours, “It’s one of the reasons why Remus is so fond of you.”

You cock a defensive eyebrow, “Girls like me?”

Sirius flashes a wicked grin, “I mean no offence.”

The pin-prick tickle of the quill resumes, brushing between your breasts. Sirius licks his lips again.

A fragile sort of silence begins to stretch, tense and deep and thick between you and Sirius as he concentrates. You stare at the shadowed figures crowded on the balcony, laughing and chatting. You can see Remus hovering near the door, stealing glances at you from the doorframe.

“So,” you begin, slowly, shattering the silence, “I didn’t realise you were into art.”

Sirius shrugs, “I enjoy the occasional sketch here and there.”

You nod, a grin teasing your lips, “I wonder where Dumbledore got his tattoo done?”

Sirius splutters between a snort of laughter and a gurgle of disgust, “The senior members of the Order don’t have tattoos. It’s just us kids that wanted them.”

“Naturally.”

“Though I’m pretty sure that if Dumbledore wanted a tat, he’d be a lower-back kind of guy.”

“Yeah?” You giggle, brows raised, “How can you be so sure?”

“I just know these things,” Sirius chortles and you both share a moment of laughter.

It feels good to dissolve into something warm and comforting after such a challenging evening. You take a long moment to study Sirius, the way his smile fades as his laughter dwindles and how his eyes glitter. Finally, after silent deliberation, you dig your teeth into your bottom lip and sigh.

“The curse from the contract...” you begin, catching Sirius’ attention, “...it left permanent marks on my grandma. For every year that my dad wasn’t married to Walburga, it gave her a new scar. She was in a constant state of pain, every day of her life, for thirteen years. The first scar formed across her sternum, right...” you gesture to where Sirius is currently etching the Phoenix into your skin.

Sirius glances at you, his expression unreadable, even to you. He seems to be somewhere between contemplative and sympathetic.

“Anyway,” you continue, after a brief pause, “I - um - I chose my sternum because I wanted a physical way to remember why I’m doing this and who I’m doing this for.”

“And who are you doing this for?” Sirius asks, the tip of his elegantly long finger tapping out something unfamiliar on your thigh, as though in morse code.

“For my Grandma,” you answer, simply, “I’m doing this for her.”

Sirius arches a sharp brow, quill hovering.

“Nah,” he says, shaking his head pensively, “You can’t do it for other people. People are...people can change. Even the people you trust, the people you love the most...they can change.”

Your brows pinch together at his words, slanting him a disbelieving glance, “Not my grandmama. She’s-she’s never changed.”

Sirius hums, low and non-committal. After another lingering silence, Sirius leans forward, so close you think he’s going to press a kiss to your skin, and exhales, breath hot and melting away the coolness lingering on your skin.

Something flutters beneath your skin, wings stretching and shuddering. You stare down at the Phoenix nestled comfortably between your breasts, her black eyes blinking to life.

“Alright, Ashton,” he grins, leaning back in his seat to admire his work, “You’re an official member of the Order!”

You laugh on impulse, a grin cracking across your lips in awe.

“Here’s how it works,” Sirius begins, plucking his wand from his back pocket, “Press your wand against her to bind them, so she’ll only answer to your wand.”

Sirius pulls off his own shirt to demonstrate. Sweeping your gaze hastily past the plane of rippling muscles of Sirius body, you notice that Sirius’ Phoenix is different to yours and Remus’ and even your own, and admire the attention to detail and uniqueness Sirius has given each one.

“After that,” Sirius continues, “If we need to meet, she’ll alert you. You’ll feel a warmth like sticking your hands near the fire when we need to convene. You’ll also be able to disguise her by tapping her three times with your wand. Try it when you’ve got your bra on.”

Sirius wheels around to give you privacy as you reach for your bra and clip it on. And after retrieving your wand, you follow Sirius’ instructions, tapping the tip against your Phoenix, who glows gold as she binds herself to you. True to Sirius’ words, when you tap three times in precise movements, she vanishes, though you can still feel her beneath your skin, emitting warmth like a sun captured within the furnace between your breasts.

You tap your wand against her and she reappears, a startling splash of screaming colour against your skin.

“Thank you, Sirius,” you beam as you slide into your coat. Sirius turns back toward you, eyes like liquid steel bleeding into azure blue depths.

“No problem,” he shrugs, his smirk a little crooked, “As I said, you continue to surprise me, Doll.”

Some part of you doesn’t believe him but another part of you, another part that knows better, thinks that maybe it’s true.

(It is, and that terrifies him)

***

October 31st 1979

Ashton Manor

***

This is the part of the story that Althea Ashton never tells. She keeps it hidden from the world, bottled up in a jar and held close to her heart. And maybe that makes her selfish, but as she watches her young family play in the gardens of Ashton Manor, Thea reasons that she doesn’t mind being called selfish for once.

The sun is a large, amber diamond in the sky, spilling golden light onto the lush, green gardens and catching on the gemstones on Nicholas’ crown. He’d spent all afternoon on that crown, charming it to make the plastic look real. He‘s always been clever with charms, clever with anything that involves logic and reason, and Nick has always encouraged that in his children, especially in his eldest son. Thea allows herself to smile, feeling her heart swell beneath her floral sundress. If Nicholas asked for it, Thea would give him the sun.

Beside him, Delilah beams as she unsheathes her wooden sword and pins her father to the ground with the tip. She’s only seven, but she’s proving to be the most cunning out of her siblings. Thea can already see it; Delilah Ashton, Conquerer of Men, Conquerer of the World. She’s already piecing the building blocks of her empire together, brick by brick.

“I’ve got you, you wicked dragon!” Delilah cries, triumphantly, as Nick pretends to surrender beneath her, “Now, release the princess!”

“Never!” Nick growls, glancing at Thea and giving his signature wink. A ribbon of blood trickles over his Adam’s apple. Thea frowns.

That’s not right...

Nicholas pounces on his father, “Delilah, go get the princess! I’ll hold the dragon down!”

Delilah nods dutifully and sprints past her father, running toward ‘Princess Logan’. He’s still too young to understand what’s going on, but he seems to be enjoying himself, fascinated with a butterfly perched on a large dandelion. Little Logan, the softest of his siblings, gentle and considerate and generous with his love. The world outside can be so poisonous, but Thea believes her little Logan will be the antidote that will cure everything he touches.

Thea sighs, closes her eyes, soaking in the moment. The summer breeze, honeyed and warm, caresses her cheeks and carries the sound of laughter and joy and...a baby’s cry?

Her mind is playing tricks on her, she reasons. There’s no baby here, not anymore.

Thea sighs, listening to Nicholas’ laugh. She’ll never share these moments with anyone, not even if they paid her to. These are just for Thea, a private viewing only she and her family can indulge in. She wants this to last forever, to freeze it in time.

“Funny how time can play games with us.”

Thea freezes.

No, no, no, no, no.

She doesn’t want to open her eyes, afraid of what she’ll see. But she knows she has to, she must, because he’s here, the ghost from her past, playing tricks with her mind. The baby’s cry becomes louder, more insistent. She pushes it to the back of her mind.

No, no, no.

Thea opens her eyes.

Paris lies on his side beside her, as handsome as a daydream, playing with something in his hand. He looks exactly as he did in school, like time hasn’t touched him at all.

Thea’s family hasn’t seen him yet. She should tell them to run, to escape into the woods surrounding the grounds while they have a chance, but she knows they won’t get far.

“Why are you still here?” Thea snarls, glaring at him, “I’ve told you to go.”

“I can’t,” he says, sitting up and leaning into her, “As long as I’m still in here, I’ll never go.”

Paris places a hand on her heart, feeling the way it pounds for him as he trails kisses along her shoulder, up her neck. Thea hates the way her spine melts like a stick of butter beneath his touch.

“A beautiful memory, by the way,” he whispers into her ear, “I wonder if they know the truth?”

Thea’s eyes widen as his teeth tug on her ear.

“No one can know,” she snaps, gripping the hem of her dress, “No one.”

“Of course,” He murmurs, voice hot and silky against her ear, “It’ll be our little secret, my sweet Queen.”

Paris breathes in the scent of her hair, hand trailing up her shoulder and gently wrapping around the elegant curve of her neck.

“I bet Dear Nick never does anything like this,” he growls, giving her neck a squeeze, “He doesn’t fuck you the way I did.”

“Nick has given me a life,” Thea breathes, voice trembling on her lips, “He’s given me a home and children to fill it. All you gave me was bruises and regrets.”

He hums, “But you loved it, didn’t you? You loved being my queen.”

Paris’ other hand runs up her leg, fingers dancing across her thigh, dipping into her panties. Thea gasps, pleasure and guilt mingling like firewhiskey in thick, hot blood.

“Maybe,” She breathes, her grip on her dress tightening until her knuckles go white, “But I hate what you did to me.”

Paris laughs, a low rumble in his chest as he worships her body, “You know that’s not true. Just like you know that you killed them.”

Thea’s breath catches in her throat, heart freezing, blood crystallising. The baby’s cries turn to screams.

“Wh-What do you mean?”

He chuckles darkly, his fingers spiraling as his other hand moves up her swan-like neck, “You haven’t taken your eyes off me, my Queen. So how do you know where your family is?”

Thea’s eyes widen as he grips her jaw and crashes his lips onto hers, forcing her into a searing kiss. Memories flood her consciousness, memories of their time in Hogwarts, where they had ruled as King and Queen of their own little Underworld. Thea whimpers, struggling to break away, to find her family and protect them, but Hades’ hold on her is too strong, and when she finally wrenches herself free, he’s gone, as suddenly as he appeared. Instead, she finds herself standing in her husband’s study, completely alone.

Thea’s eyes well with tears as she realises where she is in time, the part of the story that everyone knows. Heart hammering, she slowly turns around, cold blood pulsing through her veins and a distant, menacing sense of dread crawling up her spine.

In front of her, the body of her eldest son, Nicholas, lies dauntingly still, too cold and too stiff for an eleven-year-old, skin and flesh torn to shreds, exposing quivering nerves and cracked bones. Blood pools beneath him, she can almost hear it screaming for her.

The muscles in Thea’s legs feel like lead as she runs toward him, dropping by his side, feeling the way his blood soaks into her sundress and stains her forever. Thea begins to sob, clutching her sons lifeless body, cradling her little boy in her arms. She can taste his blood on her tongue, smell the strong, metallic tang and feel the way it curdles in her hands, sticking to her hair.

“Look what you’ve done,” croaks her husband, gravelly and strained, like he’d forced the words out with great difficulty.

Slowly, Thea pulls herself away from her son and turns toward her husband, who looms over her. The trickle of blood that she’d seen earlier in her daydream is now a torrent of red, streaming down the front of his shirt from where he’d sliced his own throat open. Nick nods at his son, and Thea turns back Nicholas’s mauled body, so small in her arms.

What she sees stills her pounding heart, raises the hair on the back of her neck.  

Instead of seeing Nicholas, Thea see’s her granddaughter, motionless, split open and bleeding liquid life into her arms.

And Thea-

Thea screams.

Thea screams until she breaks through the clouds of her nightmare and she’s sitting upright in her bed, throat corse  and lungs aching. She doesn’t see the shadowed figure slip away into the night, or feel the ghostly whisper of warmth lingering on the sheets beside her. All Thea can feel is cold dread, like a winter she’s never known, and amongst the chaos that rains down around her, Thea can only think of one thing.

“I killed her,” Thea rasps, as her loyal house elves rush into her room “She’s dead. (Y/N) is dead.”

***

@amelya5567 @hylianhighlander @lousimusician @littlewriter55 @jackie-houston @sirius-lysad @marauderskeeper @royalmaknae @yllwtaxi @trumpettay @lilaccoveredteapot @evyiione @swim-deep-or-die @pugsandcuddles @tamosbien @xrosegoldwolfx @clockworkherondale @dude-whatawave @avipshamitra @saturnaah @reimiwritrs @tchalland @mckjnnon @lucifersnipnips @reducto-bitch @bluskai @socialheartbreak @heliopvth @who-said @mhftrs @bwayorbust @whimsicalangels1234 @eleatheirin @bernadineisreborn @madeofstarsdust @siriuswitches @qrangr @mixedupsammy @gryffinclxw @steph-fowlie @funkycoldlatina @acciorinn @fallern618 @writingcroissant @cinnamonbees @wanderlust-travler @expellimarvelous @writing-for-a-chance 

[baepsaets]

sunny day pt. 3 ~ park jimin

pairing: hybrid!jimin x reader

rating: sfw

word count: 4.3k

summary: you’re a veterinary student specializing in hybrid care when you get a call in the middle of the night that a feral hybrid has broken into the clinic where you work.

a/n: I LOVE YOU ALL SO MUCH! Thank you for the kind messages while waiting for pt 3, I really appreciate all you have to say. I’m already about halfway done with pt 4 so hopefully that will be posted soon as well!

part 01 02 03 04 05 epilogue

You woke up that morning with a headache and a serious crick in your neck. When you checked your phone, you had a missed call. Seventeen of them. From Namjoon.

Voicemail, 9:07am: (Y/N), I just got done talking with Jungkook and he told me about last night. You better not be ignoring me. Call me back as soon as you get this.

Voicemail, 9:34am: You better not be dead either. As in like, murdered. By the actual stranger you let into your apartment. Because that’s what happens to people who do stupid shit like that—they get fucking murdered.

Voicemail, 10:58am: The longer you take to call me back, the more worried I get. I am this close to sending Taehyung over to check on you. Call me back.

Voicemail, 12:11pm: (Y/N). If you don’t call me back by the end of my lunch break I’m calling hybrid control, the police, and your family, I swear to God I will.

You checked the time in a panic, because you knew Namjoon’s lunch break ended at one and even then, there was the chance he’d be called away early. It was only twelve-thirty and you called back immediately. The phone rang for a split second before he answered.

“(Y/N),” he said, rather calmly, almost casual. “What the fuck.”

You bit your lip. “I can explain.”

“Then start explaining,” Namjoon hissed. His voice was edging on feline, which meant he was seriously pissed—Namjoon liked to present himself as human as possible at any given moment and did not often slip. “And give me one good reason why I shouldn’t drive to your apartment and smack you in the head.”

“I’m sorry,” you apologized. “I should have called you. But whenever Jungkook told me a hybrid broke in and he didn’t want to call you, I was so preoccupied with helping Jimin—,” you cut yourself off and sighed into the phone. “I didn’t think.”

“That doesn’t matter!” he replied, and you realized then that Namjoon sounded much more than angry; he sounded concerned. “I’m your employer. I deserve to know about everything happening in my clinic.”

You transferred your phone from one hand to the other, rolling your neck. “Jungkook was too nervous to call you.”

“And I’ve already yelled at him. (Y/N), what if something bad had happened last night? What if one of you had been hurt? You’re under my care when you’re in my facility, and I’m responsible for you. I should have known. You should have called me.”

“I’m sorry,” you murmured, a kernel of guilt lodged in your throat.

Namjoon waited a long moment to reply, until he huffed, “The fact that you didn’t call me isn’t the only reason I’m angry. I’m angry because you’re an idiot.”

You pulled the phone away from your ear. “Excuse me?”

“You’re an idiot,” he repeated. “What the hell were you thinking, letting a stranger into your apartment? What if he’s a weirdo? What if he’s a murderer?”

“He’s not a murderer. And he’s not a weirdo, either. I basically had to beg him to come here. You should be questioning his judgement, not mine.”

“I’m not questioning your judgement,” he was quick to say. “I’m just saying—,”

You interrupted him before he could continue. “You trust me, right?”

“Of course,” he replied, immediately and without hesitation.

“Then trust me to know what I’m doing.”

Namjoon laughed once, amused and annoyed. You could tell he wanted to protest but thought better of it; he was naturally argumentative, but often took the higher road to avoid confrontation. Changing the subject, he asked, “How is he?”

You sat up, holding in a pained groan. Glancing at the closed bedroom door you replied, “I treated him the best I could, but I didn’t have much equipment, and he wouldn’t give me access to everything.”

“Describe his injuries,” Namjoon requested, voice professional. Finally—you were much better at handling professional than angry and concerned.

“He has lacerations across his back caused by gravel. Last night I picked the rocks out of his skin and cleaned everything I could. He has a six-inch gash on his arm, but it shouldn’t need stitches. His left ankle is my biggest concern. I think it might be broken, but he won’t consent to an x-ray.”

You took a moment to inhale, sheepishly. “I, uh, borrowed a first-aid kit out of the storeroom, along with some other supplies.”

“Oh,” Namjoon replied, flatly. “Was that you? I’d assumed the hybrid had broken in there too.”

You huffed through your nose. “No, he only broke into your office. I cleaned it before we left, by the way. I couldn’t fix the door but I swept up the glass and blood.”

Mentioning his office seemed to bring Namjoon’s annoyance to the forefront of his mind. “God, it’s going to take forever for me to re-scent it. When I walked in, I thought I was going to drop dead.”

“You’re so dramatic,” you grinned. “You can take the cost of the broken door out of my paycheck, if you want. Consider it an apology.”

“I would never do that. Bring Jimin in and let me evaluate him, and we’ll call it even. I really want to make sure his ankle isn’t broken.”

You got off the couch and started to move toward the kitchen, leaning against the wall for support. Your thumb rubbed a restless rhythm across the edge of your phone. “I’ll talk to him once he wakes up. He seemed really reluctant last night, I don’t know if he’ll agree to it.”

“Oh, fuck that, get him in here. It’s the least he could do after wrecking my office.”

“I’ll keep that argument in mind,” you laughed. “What time would be best?”

“Anytime in the afternoon.”

After you and Namjoon hung up, you tossed your phone on the kitchen counter and ran a hand across your forehead, trying to suppress your growing headache.

“It’s not broken.”

You jumped and saw Jimin standing in the middle of the hallway, awkwardly. He was standing too rigid not to be in pain, but seemed to be trying very, very hard to put weight on his leg, like he was trying to prove it was fine.

“It’s not a break I’m worried about,” you said, corralling him onto the couch. He went nervously, sitting down and staring at you as you elevated his leg. “I’m more worried that it’s fractured.”

“Wouldn’t that be better?”

“No,” you replied, terse. You went in the kitchen to get him another bag of ice, but yelled back into the living room, “A break has a better chance of healing by itself because all the bone has to do is fuse back together. But you know what a fracture implies?”

You returned and set a cloth over his ankle, and then the ice bag, being as gentle as you could. “A crack. A fissure. Fragmentation.” When you looked up he was wincing, but his ears were turned toward you in attention. “If your bone is fractured, then those fragments are freelancing. They won’t heal properly by themselves and they’ll only make the fracture worse—or even worse than that, you’ll get an infection.”

“An infection?”

Nodding, you sat on the ground next to the couch. “I don’t know how much you heard, but that was my boss on the phone. He really wants you to come back to the clinic for an official checkup.” Immediately Jimin’s lip curled, but you pressed on. “I know it’s not something you’re completely comfortable with, but you’ll be completely in control—we’ll stop whenever you want.”

Jimin looked away, conflicted, so you decided to continue, “And Namjoon said you owe him for breaking into his office.”

He sputtered. “That was an accident. And I didn’t even steal anything—,”

“Doesn’t matter,” you interrupted with a laugh. “You trashed the place. Have some respect and at least let the poor man checkup on you.”

He went quiet, gnawing on his bottom lip. “If I go, what will happen afterward?”

“What do you mean?” you asked, cocking your head.

“If I go back to the clinic,” Jimin explained. “And get checked up, fixed up, and cleared. What will happen to me after that?”

You took a moment to consider the question carefully, because you knew he wouldn’t ask unless he was afraid of the answer. “Preferably,” you started, “we get in contact with the shelter—,”

Jimin hissed and recoiled before you could finish. You held up your hand to placate him, but the abject resentment and fear on his face made your stomach twist. “But that’s not the only option.”

“I’m not going to a shelter,” he declared, voice hard.

“We won’t make you,” you promised. “We’re just a clinic, Jimin. It’s not our job to hold you hostage.”

He narrowed his eyes, because he could hear the unsaid but at the end of your sentence. “Then what’s the problem?”

You rested a comforting hand over his. It didn’t escape you last night that he seemed to gain confidence from your soothing touch. “You’re a predatory hybrid. Even though we’re not obligated to call hybrid control to report you, it’ll look bad on the clinic if we allow a wayward predatory hybrid back on the street.”

“Then I’ll leave now,” he replied, simply. “That way you won’t have to worry—,”

“Jimin,” you interrupted, letting a bit of hardness soak into your tone. “Do I strike you as someone who values reputation over responsibility? I couldn’t care less about the opinion people have of our clinic—as long as I know we’re providing the best care we can to people who need it, I’m satisfied.”

He looked sheepish. “I’m sorry, that wasn’t what I was trying to say.”

You looked away from him, breathing deeply through your nose. “I know people have been unkind to you in the past. And I’m sorry.” Curling your fingers around his own, your stroked your thumb up and down the side of his hand and continued. “Sometimes I feel so useless. I read online about the way people treat you, I see it on television, I treat it in the clinic. I do the best that I can, but at the end of the day, the only way I can help is after the damage is already done.”

The injustice of it sat unregularly in your chest, constricting your throat until you were sure it would burst. No one deserved to be treated like an animal. You could feel Jimin staring at you and you let him, knowing he could smell your anger, your insecurity, the genuineness of what you were saying. It rolled off your tongue like syrup, cloying and saccharine.

“I wish I was preventative. I wish I could stop the suffering before it started. But I’m not even a doctor, there’s so much I can’t do.” You turned back to him, snagging his gaze and keeping it. “So whenever there’s something I can do, I make sure to do it.”

Come back with me, you didn’t say, but it was hung between you. Trust me. Trust me. Trust me. Trust me.

“I’ll go back to the clinic,” Jimin said with a small voice. “But you have to promise they won’t try to send me to a shelter.”

You nodded and held out your pinky finger. “I promise.”

Jimin stared at your finger before letting out a hollow laugh, hooking his pinky with your own and shaking. Warmth passed between the two of you, almost electric enough to make you shiver. If you had your way, nothing bad would happen to Jimin ever again.

~~~

Kim Namjoon was not particularly threatening.

He was too gangly, too clumsy—although he was often serious, something about him always seemed just as willing to be goofy as he was to be thoughtful. But standing in front of you now, tail whipping back and forth as you helped Jimin out of the passenger seat, you had to admit he had quite a presence.

“The next time you park like that,” he noted, “I’m giving you a ticket.”

“Bite me,” you replied, good-naturedly.

Jimin was tense next to you, and you wished Namjoon would tone it down. You turned to shoot him a pointed look, but your gaze slid off him and onto another head peaking from behind the sliding glass doors marking the entrance of the clinic. A very dark, very familiar head.

“What is Taehyung doing here?” you muttered under your breath. Namjoon and Jimin heard you, but you hoped Taehyung didn’t. You liked the guy, you really did, but now just wasn’t the time.

Namjoon had the decency to wince. “Didn’t you listen to my voicemail? I invited him.”

“Taehyung is a dog hybrid. When’s the last time you invited a dog hybrid anywhere?”

“Ten minutes ago, after I called him in case we needed to break into your apartment to retrieve your corpse.”

Jimin went rigid next to you, and you shot Namjoon another look. “Taehyung’s just going to make him nervous.”

Namjoon scoffed. “Taehyung is a harmless puppy.”

Taehyung was actually a well-trained police hybrid that could kick any of their asses, if he wanted. They were simply lucky he was laid back. Knowing you’d seen him, Taehyung emerged from the clinic, and Jimin’s tail went stiff with the implication—it was two on one, Jimin against Namjoon and Taehyung, and if a fight broke out, Jimin would be at the disadvantage.

Even though a fight was improbable, you were certain Jimin’s instincts were telling him to run while he still could.

“Officer Kim,” Taehyung introduced, and you wanted to pull your hair out. You’d known Taehyung since you were a freshman and had never heard him introduce himself as Officer Kim in your life.

Jimin stared at his feet and didn’t reply. The silence that followed was tense, and you found yourself stroking soothingly across the nape of Jimin’s neck. Namjoon eyed the gesture warily.

“Come inside,” he said. “Let me check you out.”

You walked straight passed Taehyung and he pouted, reaching for your hand. You smacked him away. It was customary for you to give him a hug, but you didn’t want his scent over you when you were trying to comfort Jimin.

“What breed are you?” Namjoon asked, casual. He was verbose, good at small talk, and had a dimpled smile that tended to put people at ease. Even without a number advantage, you could feel Jimin begin to relax when you walked into the clinic and found the lobby empty.

“Jaguar,” he replied. You gave yourself a mental high-five—you’d totally called it.

You needed to speak to Namjoon before he mentioned anything about the shelter to Jimin. It was only customary to call Jin’s shelter whenever they got a new patient that could be in need of a home. Jin always made sure the people in his care had the resources they needed, which was why he was the only shelter Namjoon chose to do business with.

He led the three of you to an empty examination room, carefully unscented and sterilized. Taehyung took a seat by the door and you hovered near him, helping Jimin sit on the examination table. Namjoon donned a lab coat and picked up a clipboard, prepared to start Jimin’s chart.

“(Y/N) told me you didn’t want to get x-rayed,” Namjoon began. You liked seeing him this way—coat on, glasses pushed up the bridge of his nose, fingering absent-mindedly through paper. This was more than just Kim Namjoon, close friend and the world’s best boss; this was Dr. Kim, one of the most noteworthy hybrid specialists in the country. “I know the machine can be intimidating, but we need to see if anything is broken.”

“I’ll stay in the room the whole time,” you assured him, until finally he nodded his head. Once the x-ray was finished, Namjoon left the room to consult the radiologist. Jimin was bouncing nervously in his seat, lip tugged between his teeth, and you wanted to reach out to him. You’d grown protective of him in a way you couldn’t describe, in a way that surpassed any feeling you’d ever had toward a patient, and if you were being honest—it scared you.

Namjoon returned, and he checked Jimin’s bandaging while Jimin allowed him, passively. Namjoon commented on your good work. He decided to stitch the cut on Jimin’s arm closed to avoid infection. The entire examination happened in silence, with Jimin looking at the ground, you staring at Jimin, and Namjoon immersing himself so thoroughly in his work, he pretended not to notice any of it. Taehyung watched in amusement.

“So,” he smiled, seemingly impervious to the awkward silence. “Ever broken the law?”

You started to massage your forehead.

���Um,” Jimin began. “Not on purpose.”

Taehyung’s grin was wolfish. “Smart answer.”

Jungkook was the one who delivered the x-ray scan. He grinned at you sheepishly when he walked in, almost in apology for getting you in trouble. He greeted Taehyung enthusiastically, but turned shy again when he noticed Jimin.

“Feeling better?” he asked, handing Namjoon the folder. “You had me freaked out last night.”

Jimin’s face flushed red. “Yeah. I’m sorry about that.”

Jungkook assured him it was no problem and went back to work while Namjoon displayed the scan, pointing to a tiny fissure in Jimin’s talus.

“Good news,” Namjoon said. “It’s only a hairline fracture. For a hybrid, it should only take a month to heal, and you won’t need a cast. Just keep it iced and elevated, and no running or strenuous activity.” He eyed Jimin over the bridge of his glasses. “That’s an order.”

Jimin almost went slack with relief. Deciding now was the best time to talk to Namjoon before he brought anything up in front of Jimin, you asked, “Namjoon, can I speak to you and Taehyung outside for a moment?”

If Namjoon was surprised, he didn’t show it. You opened the door and nodded for him to go first, and then Taehyung, allowing Jimin a quiet moment to collect himself before they went any further. You gave him a reassuring look and closed the door behind you.

You walked them to the west wing, hopefully far enough where you wouldn’t be overheard. Being surrounded by such advanced hearing every day was exhausting. You never got privacy. Once the three of you were alone, Taehyung lunged and enveloped you in a bear hug that was impossible to escape.

He nuzzled your cheek while you groaned. “God, Tae, I don’t want your scent on me right now! I still love you, but get off.”

“But I missed you,” he whined. You shoved him off and he let you, which was the only way you could shove him in the first place; he was ridiculously stronger than you. He fluttered his eyelashes at you while you faked a scowl.

“I’m still mad you’re here,” you huffed, turning to Namjoon. “Jimin’s not a criminal, and yet you invited Taehyung, a trained police hybrid, to act like some type of ridiculous body guard—,”

Namjoon flicked his wrist in dismissal. “Taehyung may be trained, but he’s just a German Shepard breed. Jimin is a jaguar hybrid. A predatory cat will give even the most trained K-9 a run for their money.”

“I resent that,” Taehyung injected. “Not that you asked, but know that I do.”

You let out a great sigh and grumbled, “I really can’t believe you invited him.

“He’s off-duty. And it’s not like he’s going to report him,” Namjoon snorted. “He’s basically here for fun.”

Shaking your head fondly, you looked away. It made you feel a thousand times lighter, knowing Jimin’s ankle wasn’t broken, knowing nothing serious was wrong. You turned to Namjoon with shy, hopeful eyes. “Is he really okay?”

“He’s really okay. You did everything perfectly,” he assured you with a laugh. Namjoon patted your shoulder. “But he’s going to need a lot more healing after this, and I don’t just mean physically. I’m going to call Jin and see if he has enough room in the shelter for a possible hard case.”

You winced. “Actually, I wanted to talk to you about that.”

“Why?” His eyes narrowed.

You pulled your bottom lip through your teeth. “I want Jimin to come back with me.”

Namjoon cracked a half-smile, but then realized you were serious. “(Y/N), you know that’s a terrible idea.”

“If Jimin were a murderer he would have killed me last night—,”

“It’s more than just that!” Namjoon interrupted. “Jimin’s obviously experienced emotional trauma. He should be in a place that has the resources to provide for him, and no offense, but you’re not a therapist. Just because you’re going to be a doctor one day doesn’t mean you’re equipped to handle him.”

Giving Taehyung a nervous look, you admitted, “I think he’s had bad experiences before. Whenever I brought the shelter up earlier this afternoon, he was petrified. He wouldn’t come here until I promised we wouldn’t take him there.”

Namjoon and Taehyung exchanged a dark look. They knew better than you that not every shelter was hybrid-friendly. “We can keep him at the clinic.”

“And waste money, time, and resources on a patient who only has a hairline fracture? You know that’s not practical. And if we let him go, he’ll only be a stray again.”

“I can help him apply for citizenship,” Namjoon said. “That’s what I did with Hoseok.”

“Hoseok was able to apply for citizenship because Yoongi sponsored him, and even then, Yoongi had to own him for over a year.”

That was how it worked in your society; every hybrid was a pet until they could obtain citizenship, but to do that, they needed a human sponsor to adopt them for a period of time, in order to assess if they were fit for society. Finding a human sponsor was the most difficult thing in the world, because most people weren’t interested in doing it in the first place, and the people who did were severely limited due to government intervention and quota restrictions.

You gazed at Namjoon triumphantly while he avoided your look, staring off into the distance. Seeing his hopeless expression made your heart soften, and you reached out to pat his shoulder. “I know you’re worried. If I need help, trust me, Namjoon—you’re the first person I’ll call.”

You stared up at him with big, fluttering eyes, and in the background, you could hear Taehyung chuckling as Namjoon slowly but surely gave in to your hopeful gaze. “God, I hate you sometimes. Fine. Fine! I’ll get his paperwork for you to sign and fill out.

“I still have to ask him, you know. He could say no.”

It made you incredibly nervous, and you were sure they could smell it. What if the connection you felt with Jimin was one-sided? You couldn’t live with the thought of him back on the street, fighting just to survive, when you had an empty home and an open heart just waiting for him.

Taehyung shook his head. “He won’t.”

“How do you know?” you asked, turning to stare at him.

“It’s a hybrid thing,” he shrugged. “We’re not solitary creatures. Even the most introverted need to be around people, and it’s hard being a stray and not having that communal connection.”

Taehyung’s comment was reassuring, but you were still insecure. Namjoon and him stayed behind to start collecting Jimin’s paperwork while you went back to the room where he was waiting. Jimin perked up when you came back inside, ears turning in attention.

“Hey,” you greeted, grinning. Jimin grinned back, and it made your chest tighten. “Everything is checking out perfectly, treatment should be short and sweet. Namjoon’s getting your release paperwork now.”

Jimin sighed in relief. You could tell the clinic made him nervous, no matter how hard he tried to hide it. “Thank you.”

You nodded and bit your lip. “I have a request, though.”

His tail flicked, nervous. “Yeah?”

“I want you to come back home with me,” you said, and his eyes widened, tail freezing midair. “I know it’s sudden, but you still have a month of healing to do. I want to help you until you’re fully healed, and then I want to help you get your citizenship, if you’re interested.”

“Citizenship?” Jimin asked, surprised.

You nodded your head toward the closed door. “Namjoon got his citizenship in just over a year, and he’s helped countless people get their own. In order to start the process, you need a sponsor, and your sponsor has to adopt you for a year in order to vouch for you. I want to do that.”

He stared at you, flatly. “You want to adopt me?”

“I want to be your sponsor,” you corrected. “And after a year we’ll apply for your citizenship and the adoption will be null.”

Jimin looked away again, indecision written all over his face. You took his hand in your own in reassurance. “Take as much time as you need to think about it. I’m going to step outside with Namjoon to give you time—,”

“No!” he interrupted, and then blushed. “I mean, you don’t have to leave. I’ll do it.” He leaned back a bit and smiled faintly, teasingly, and held out jazz hands. “Adopt me.”

You huffed out a laugh. “Really? Really?” you asked, trying to conceal your growing excitement. Jimin nodded again and you had to suppress an honest to God squeal. “Yes! Oh, this is great—this is great. Okay, okay, okay. Let me talk to Namjoon, we’ll call Jin and set up the paperwork—oh! And we’ll get your treatment sorted out. I’ll totally be able to take care of you at home, but there’s a lot I need to buy. Not like, medical stuff, but like, hybrid stuff. Because I’m adopting a hybrid. Wow, okay. I should call my mom or something. I need to get clothes and shoes and everything else, I need to make a list, but first your ankle—,”

Jimin grinned and let you drone on, talking mostly to yourself. For the first time in a long time, he looked forward to what the future had to offer. 

[gumnut-logic]

Gentle Rain (Part Nineteen)

Title: Gentle Rain

Warm Rain Series

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven | Part Eight | Part Nine | Part Ten | Part Eleven | Part Twelve | Part Thirteen | Part Fourteen | Part Fifteen | Part Sixteen | Part Seventeen | Part Eighteen | Part Nineteen

Author: Gumnut

1 – 4 Mar 2019

Fandom: Thunderbirds Are Go 2015/ Thunderbirds TOS

Rating: Teen

Summary: Sometimes it is so gentle, you don’t realise it is happening.

Word count: 3000

Spoilers & warnings: Virgil/Kayo, Scott/OC, Gordon/Penelope, spoilers for Warm Rain up to this point in the timeline.

Timeline: Six months after ‘The Proposal’, almost a sequel.

Author’s note: For @scribbles97 And here we are, the last chapter. There will be an Epilogue full of important stuff, I’ve started it. Also, those of you who follow me on Tumblr will have already read the first Tale of Gentle Rain – I kinda jumped the gun and didn’t want to officially publish it until I had finished this fic…which is pretty close now. So, there is more to come. Thank you ever so much to @scribbles97 who has helped me through this entire fic. Also thanks to @i-am-chidorixblossom and @the-lady-razorsharp who have also answered my frantic calls at various points in time – this fic was a nerve-wracker and I can be really insecure at times :D I would also like to give a massive thanks to all of you who have cheered me along the way. Your comments and feedback have kept me going. It makes it so much more purposeful to write if I know what I’m writing is being read and super bonus if it is being enjoyed. Thank you so, so much ::hugs you all madly::

Disclaimer: Mine? You’ve got to be kidding. Money? Don’t have any, don’t bother.

-o-o-o-

Waking in hospital was not her favourite. She had done it many times in her thirty years and none of those events had been pleasant.

She could smell the hospital around her.

A frown. Vague memories of faces, words, it seemed like dreams, all leading back to that man from International Rescue.

A pair of blue eyes.

Scott Tracy.

She woke with his name on her lips.

And he was the first thing she saw.

“Em?” His voice was soft, tentative, and the hope in his face so strong.

“Hey.”

“Hey, yourself.” That smile of his still turned her insides to jelly. “How are you feeling?”

How was she feeling? A quick physical check and she found herself surprisingly good. “Good. I’m good.”

His smile widened.

A snuffled snort echoed through the room. She frowned. “What?”

Scott stepped back and she came eye to eye with Kayo sitting on a couch in the corner. The smirk on her face was amusing, particularly considering the man asleep in her lap. Virgil was snoring softly, curled up rather awkwardly on the too small sofa, still in his uniform. His baldric and toolkit were draped over the back of one of the chairs.

“Is he okay?”

Scott’s smile was reassuring. “He’s fine. Just tired. Stubborn idiot refused to go home.”

“Why?”

He frowned and she realised that he, too, was still in his uniform. “You don’t remember?”

Remember? A blink. “You caught me.”

“Yes, I did. But you were injured.”

Injured? Her brain didn’t seem to be functioning at full capacity. “How?”

His brow furrowed immediately. “You had a laceration on your leg. You lost a lot of blood.”

“I did?” She reached down and peered under the covers. Her left stump was swathed in bandages. Another frown and she forced her mind to think.

Scott speaking to her calmly, but firmly. Strapping her in. She had flown in a Thunderbird. Thunderbird One. Thunder was right. It had roared. So, so fast.

Then the hospital. Perth Hospital. Again.

Scott holding her. Her blood on his hands.

Worried blue eyes.

She shook herself. She must be on something. She was foggy.

“The bridge? The people?”

“We saved as many as we could.”

Virgil snorted again.

She frowned at the man as Kayo stroked his hair. A glance at Scott. “Why are you here?”

His eyes widened and his expression closed suddenly and considering their recent history she realised exactly how that might have sounded.

A blink. “No, you idiot. I’m talking about the broken arm, leg and ribs, not to mention the hole in your side that was stitched up a few weeks before Christmas.”

“Uh.” Now he looked uncomfortable, almost like a young boy who had just discovered he was in trouble.

Her foggy mind still wasn’t registering properly, but it still managed to calculate recovery times. She rubbed her eyes. “And what about Virgil? You know, the man who recently died.” In the corner of her eye she saw Kayo tense.

“It was necessary.” His stance straightened. “Besides, we had backup.”

“I noticed. But that didn’t seem to exclude either of you from the rescue.”

“There wasn’t time-“

“Exactly! You haven’t given either of yourselves enough time!”

Those blue eyes flared. “And what exactly did you expect me to do? Sit back while you fell off a bridge?”

And there it was, the blatant self-sacrifice that was going to kill these men. “You had back up! Let them do their job. Stop risking yourself.”

“I couldn’t leave you there.” It was quiet, but the words were firm.

She stared at him. “Your health is worth the risk, Scott.”

“Yours isn’t.” He glared at her. “I will not risk you.”

“Me? What about the other hundred or so people?”

His lips shut closed and he didn’t answer. Blue simply stared at her.

Her eyes widened. “You didn’t...”

“How could I not?” And suddenly he was so much closer.

“Oh, for goodness sake, kiss her already!” There was a thump and a groan, and they both looked up to see Virgil rolling off the couch. The man was obviously stiff as a board. “Have at it, I’m getting coffee.” And without a glance at them, he stumbled from the room, dragging Kayo with him. Kayo did grin back at both of them, however, her eyes sparkling.

Em frowned. “Are you sure he’s okay?”

Scott smiled. Oh god, that smile. “I thought you’d be familiar with Virgil Sans Coffee by now.” But he was leaning in and that smile touched her lips. As always, he was warm, his energy burning, reaching out and drawing her in. A brush of his tongue on hers and he released her. She didn’t want to let him go.

His smile became hesitant. “I believe I owe you an explanation.”

“Regarding your habit of flashing hot and cold?” God, honestly, she only wanted him to kiss her again. His hot was so hot. Screw it. “I’ve just had a major traumatic incident. I’m injured, and I’m pretty sure I’m high on pain meds. Can we save it for later? I’d really just like to you to kiss me again.”

His grin was as gorgeous as his smile, and god, when he wrapped his arms around her and took her lips with his, all the cares in the world could wait until later.

-o-o-o-

Em was only in the hospital for a few days, but in that time, she managed to have every Tracy march through her door plus Kayo and her uncle.

Uncle Crispin arrived with Sally Tracy along with Alan. Alan was looking a little green around the gills and the description he gave Kayo of what her uncle and his grandmother had been doing on the plane was enough to turn Em a little green in sympathy.

There were some things that you just didn’t want to know about the generations above you.

Uncle Crispin gave her the third degree on what had happened. This was quickly followed by him cornering Scott the moment he walked through her door on the way back from a meeting with the GDF.

“And what are your intentions with my niece, Tracy?”

“Kip!”

“Uncle Crispin!”

It was hard to tell who was more offended, Mrs Tracy or Em.

But Scott didn’t back down. He took a step towards her uncle and looked him in the eye. And he could. Not having seen Scott standing to his full height, Em hadn’t realised he was that tall. Though slimmer in youth, he could match every one of her uncle’s many inches. Wow. “And what are your intentions with my Grandmother?”

“Scott!” Okay, Mrs Tracy was the more offended.

Em glared at the both of them. “If you two gentlemen do not stop alpha strutting in my hospital room, I will ask both of you to leave.”

Scott’s response was immediate, probably feeling like he was already on probation and didn’t want to blow it. He backed down, but she didn’t fail to notice that he stepped immediately to her side. She rolled her eyes at that.

Uncle Crispin glared at him, but also backed off, stepping back beside Mrs Tracy.

“Now, Uncle Crispin, this is my business. While I appreciate your protectiveness, I find it rather ironic that you are attempting to protect me from the grandson of your paramour, and the leader of International Rescue, an organisation you greatly admire. You have a model Thunderbird and figurines, for crying out loud.” She turned to Scott, whose eyes were bugging out a little at her last statement. “And you, give your grandmother a break. Uncle Crispin is a great guy, I can promise you that. Stop snarling at him.”

Neither man commented, merely exchanging wary glances. God, men!

The tableau was interrupted by Virgil waltzing in with a get-well balloon tied to a blue teddy bear. Every face in the room turned to him. He stopped in his tracks and blinked. “Did I interrupt something?”

Em couldn’t help but smile. “No, nothing of importance.”

His eyes darted back and forth between his eldest brother, Uncle Crispin, Em and Kayo. “Okay, good, because Scott bought you a get-well bear.” He strode up and plonked it on the edge of her bed.

“I did?”

Kayo elbowed her brother. “Yes, you did, because that is what good boyfriends do when their girlfriends are in the hospital.”

There was a silence for a moment and Em stared at Virgil. The engineer smiled at her.

“Yes. Yes, I did and I do.” Scott said the words, but looked a little stunned.

Em bit her lip, but couldn’t help grinning at his expression. She picked up the bear. It had blue eyes and a perpetual smile. Reaching out a hand, she snagged Scott’s and pulled him towards her. “Thank you, Scott. It was a very kind thought.” And she was grinning up at him.

He rolled his eyes. “You’re welcome.”

“Can I give you a thank you kiss?”

She couldn’t help but grin at the grin that immediately split his face. He bent down and, oh, oh, thank you. Thank you, indeed.

The bear was dropped to the bed covers and one hand was in his hair, the other on his shoulder feeling the flex of muscle through his shirt.

“My god, I’m surrounded by a bunch of lovebirds. Okay, that’s it, I’m making a point of being somewhere else for some time. Em, get better soon. Enjoy...my brother.”

Scott broke off their kiss just in time for her to see Alan shudder. Mrs Tracy grabbed the youngest before he could escape and said something quietly to him Em couldn’t hear before kissing his cheek. Alan rolled his eyes and stomped out of the room.

Em had a grip on Scott’s shirt and didn’t want to let go. Virgil was grinning ear to ear. Kayo had a smirk on her face. Mrs Tracy was smiling. Uncle Crispin, surprisingly, wasn’t glaring, but was thoughtful instead.

Scott was staring down at her in amazement.

She grinned. “Can I say thank you again?”

Virgil cracked up laughing.

-o-o-o-

Escaping from hospital did not equate to escaping from the Tracys. Kayo, despite being heavily involved into the investigation surrounding the bridge bombing, found the time to accompany her back to her apartment. Virgil had declared her hoverscoot deceased and promptly acquired her a new one. Her protest at the cost was met with a flat-eyed stare, and yeah, billionaires, money no object, yada-yada-yada.

It was a relief to slip back into a hoverscoot. The hoverchair from the hospital was just clunky and cumbersome.

While Virgil packed the car, she took the opportunity to sit down with Kayo for a moment in her own loungeroom. “I want to thank you for everything you’ve done for me. I can’t believe...” And she ran out of words.

“Em...” Kayo held up her hand. “Trust me, we are equal on all scores.” Virgil stuck his head in the door and grabbed two more of the small bags she had hastily packed and disappeared again. Kayo smiled just a little, her voice quiet as she stared after him. “We’re equal.”

“If there is ever anything I can do for either of you. Just ask.” She reached out and grabbed the woman’s hand. “Please.” She tried her best to covey how much it all meant to her.

Kayo turned to her and tilted her head a little. “If you do the same.” A small smile. “I hear rumour that is what friends do.”

Em couldn’t help but grin just a little. She felt like a teenager swapping friendship bracelets. The thought was just ridiculous.

But it meant so much more.

“Oh, I’ve got something for you.” Kayo reached into her pocket. “You should keep this on you at all times until Brains can set you up with something a little less conspicuous.” The security officer handed her the IR comm she had worn in New Zealand.

Em stared at it. “Are you sure?”

Kayo arched an eyebrow. “I’m sure.”

Em held it in her hands, the embossed IR logo catching the light. “That is something I’ve been meaning to ask. I left this behind in Wellington. How did you know I was on the bridge?”

“I planted a tracker in your hoverscoot.” There was no apology in Kayo’s expression.

Em stared at her. “What?”

“You became an IR concern. I needed to know where you were.”

“Why?”

“We are primarily a rescue organisation. However, our technologies are advanced and there are people out there who will do anything to get their hands on them. You know this, it has already affected your life drastically.”

“You think they might use me to get to you?”

Kayo shrugged. “Maybe. Possibly. There are a range of vulnerabilities in the equation. The tracker was to protect you and IR. In this case, we knew you were on the bridge and could act accordingly.”

“Is that what happened? Were they after me?” Her heart stuttered at the thought. To be honest, she had already considered some of the dangers involved. It was obvious. She had lost her family to a man who had wanted what the Tracys had.

Something flashed in Kayo’s eyes.

“No, a group has claimed responsibility. Lunatics. Don’t worry. Penelope and I are working on it. We’ll find them.” And Kayo stopped there, obviously unwilling to reveal anymore.

Her apartment door opened again and Virgil walked back in. “Anything else? I think I’ve about covered my rehab for today.”

Em mentally shook herself and smiled.

-o-o-o-

The stop at her apartment was exactly that, just a stop. She needed assistance and the doctors had only released her with the reassurance that she would have company.

So, bags packed and loaded, Kayo flew her back to Tracy Island, and she found herself in the same room she had spent Christmas. Cecil arrived to attend to her every need. The man was a like a clone of Gordon Tracy, though taller and skinnier. A ray of sunshine who never stopped smiling.

Scott bounced back and forth from the island every day, horribly busy, both with the GDF and the Thunderchick squads. Then a tsunami in Japan took every hand IR had available.

All the brothers came back from that pale and dead-eyed.

She caught him before he could escape to his room.

Even though she was prepared for it, it still hurt when he brushed her off. “Em, I’m tired. It’s been a long day. You should be resting.” His natural reflex was to lock it all up and process it alone, the same way he had when Virgil collapsed.

She hadn’t missed Virgil beelining to Kayo. Hadn’t missed her wrapping her arms around him, his head dropping to her shoulder in pure exhaustion. Her leading him away to their quarters.

Scott had glanced at them while removing his baldric and dumping it on the couch before throwing himself down beside it.

She steeled herself. “I’m fine. It is you who needs the rest.”

He looked up at her and the exhaustion and pain in his eyes broke her heart. Reaching out, she ‘scooted forward, dropping the ‘scoot directly onto the couch and took him into her arms, lying his head on her chest.

He resisted at first, his muscles tense, and she was forced to wonder how long it had been since this man had been comforted. She knew a good percentage of his history, had seen the care he doled out to his family, but who cared for the carer? Virgil, most certainly, but he would ever be younger.

Em would ever be older.

She pulled him tighter, running her fingers through his hair, and slowly his arms crept around her and returned the embrace. He didn’t fully relax, no doubt that would take time, but his breathing evened out and he rested his weight on her.

“I love you.” The words came out unbidden. She didn’t mean to say it, but it was said.

His reaction was immediate. He sat up, pulling away a little and staring at her.

Em felt the blood drain from her face. “I’m sorry, I-“

And he was kissing her, his strength pulling her close. His tongue begged entry and she let him in, as he crushed her against him. His cologne was overlaid with sweat and dirt, he desperately needed a shower and a shave, but he was in her arms and loving her in his own way.

She didn’t expect the words, not yet. If there was one thing she had learnt over the last few months, it was that Scott Tracy had a large family, but ultimately, he had been alone for a long time. As alone as she had been.

It was going to take time.

The kiss broke off, his breathing heavy, eyes glistening in the evening light. “Em...”

She reached up and placed a finger across his lips. “You don’t have to say anything.” He kissed her finger, his breath hot on her skin. “I will only ask you for one thing.”

His eyes widened in an expression very similar to the last time she had made such a demand of him.

“Ping me. Come to me. Seek me out.” Her fingers drifted into his hair and she leant forward to kiss his forehead. “I’m here. You are not alone. You don’t have to say anything, I won’t force you to talk, I promise. Just be...with me.”

It was all she could ask.

He stared at her for a moment, words bouncing about his eyes, but none finding his mouth. Eventually he drew her into his embrace, a soft kiss to her jaw, her cheek and her lips. There was no smile, no charm, no Commander of International Rescue, no big brother.

Just Scott Tracy.

He dropped his head to her shoulder, exhaustion in every line of his body. Em stroked his hair and just held on.

-o-o-o-

FIN.

[whitewolfbumble]

The Fallout - Part Eighteen (Bucky x Reader)

Summary: You had been a ghost for years, taking down the bad guys from the shadows that had once enslaved you. That is until the Avengers finally caught up with you and yet again your life changed. But your past won’t stay dead and everything starts to shift when a familiar face joins the ranks: Bucky Barnes. He may not remember you, but you certainly remember him.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader 

Warnings: Slow burn, language, death, gore, mutilation/amputation, torture (SO SORRY. listen, this makes it sound so bad. I’m not saying it’s inaccurate though so just be warned)

Word Count: About 4k

A/N: Action and death are back here. Yet again, I make apologies for the pain in this chapter! We start right where the last part left off so brace yourself for that scene’s conclusion. Please let me know what you think with a reblog, like, or message! If you want to be tagged on this or my permanent list, let me know!

MY MASTERLIST // THE FALLOUT MASTERLIST // PART SEVENTEEN

“Enough, Soldat.” 

Finally, those words came and ended his fists beating mercilessly against your still body.

Immediately Bucky quieted, stepping back at the command.

You couldn’t see beyond a blurred darkness, could barely hear, couldn’t move your broken body an inch. You lay, bloodied and dying on the ground in front of the man you loved, his fists dripping with your blood.

You were always going to die in a fight, let’s be honest about that. You had never planned to ever stop fighting so naturally, your inclination was to believe that that was where it would all end for you. But you didn’t want it end this way, for his sake. 

If you died at his hand, from your perspective, it hardly would matter as you would simply be dead. 

But if you died at his hand he would remain behind, alive and tormenting himself, unable to forgive or forget. The Bucky that you fell in love with would die along with you in a much different way. As your body would decompose, his soul would rot too under the weight of it all.

Footsteps clanged against the metal coil floor, vibrations not enough to cause your dead-weighted body to move really. The only slight sway was the arm pinned under your body hanging loosely down through a gap into the void below.

“Y/N... We’ve done a lot of planning to get you here today.” Gerault started pleasantly, towering somewhere over you. “You always appreciated a well-constructed plan that revolved around uncompromising pain. I think that gives us cause to all take a minute and admire my work here, don’t you?”

You couldn’t speak, jaw bone cracked in more place than one. You still would have tried to talk but found your body wholly unable to form a single word.

Instead, you very, very slowly shifted all but your middle finger down on your hand laid out beside you, slowly flipping Gerault off. It was essentially the same sentiment as you would've said if you could.

“Soldat,” Gerault said singularly.

Quick as a flash Bucky’s foot landed on your hand, crushing your wrist over a metal coil. The intense crushing burn instantly roused you, moving to pull it away as your lungs let out a horrendous wheeze, unable to scream anymore. You heard your wrist crack and pop audibly, even above the ringing in your ears.

“N... No,” you tried to say, words not quite getting out.

You spat blood, screaming internally as he didn’t stop or let up the pressure. 

“Again,” said Gerault.

A brief reprieve was almost not even felt, brain moving too slow and pain too great, before his foot lifted and slammed down again. 

This time you felt nothing, the only sensation was a shaking that started from your spine and enveloped your whole body. You couldn't even feel if his foot lifted, like there was nothing at the end of your wrist at all.

“Alright, that's enough. Soldat,” Gerault commanded, you barely hearing him anymore, your body rolling and shaking internally. “Trigger her and pump her full of this to get her moving. We have plan to be followed here.”

At the word “trigger” a memory lethargically resurfaced, of Bucky in your early Hydra days. He had been a handler of yours. He knew how to trigger you.

You shut out the pain of that thought. At the thought of him of all people bringing you back into the perversion that was Hydra’s control over you. 

You just tried to shut it all out.

Walking through the base was a much more leisurely affair this time around than the last. Your hunter was not following behind anymore, but he was now a partner, walking with you.

With The Winter Soldier- your once and now at least partial hander- at your side you weren't likely to do anything Gerault wouldn't approve of.

Blood dripped down from all over you like you were shedding what had made you soft. Ordinary. Weak.

Visions of you friends melted away. Of a kind of home. Of a love. 

Gone.

You strolled down the corridor, the Soldier marching beside you with his ever intense gait. A man on a mission he was. You could admire that.

When you approached a turn, you both stopped, hearing voices filter with an echo down the hall.

The Team was there. At least the three you came with. The others wouldn’t be that long out though. The pair of you still had time.

Your sharp eyes went to the Soldier’s. Together you nodded before stepping forward.

Walking into their view, you only took a few steps before stopping, hand on your hip.

“Bucky!” Steve said in shock, the blue-clad captain stunned with his two counterparts behind him.

Steve took a few steps forward before Bucky raised his gun up, stopping Steve in his tracks. Understanding and revulsion dawned on his face. 

Steve had seen Bucky like this before, on more than one occasion. He knew what to expect. But as he turned to you, you could see that he very much didn’t know what you were truly capable of. He should have looked far more afraid.

Your eyes watched him, so far dilated it was like they were completely black. Whatever the Soldier had given you on Gerault’s commanded was like pure adrenalin in your veins, blocking out any physical pain of your body completely. It was intoxicating, like you were fucking invincible.

You heard and saw and felt everything and nothing, the entire world spread open and closed to you at once.

“Y/N,” Steve said, choked, looking down your clearly broken and shredded body.

His eyes didn’t leave your right arm though, and behind him Natasha’s went wide. Sam only whispered an “Oh my god”, devastation plain on his face.

You held up your right arm, where naturally your hand should be. 

But it wasn’t there anymore.

It was gone, now down in that pit somewhere. Crushed off under the force of the Soldier’s boot.

Honestly, you didn’t feel a thing. Two hands or one, you could still cause more pain and win more fights than anyone else in the game.

It didn’t take a second to put on your most pathetic, quivering voice.

“Steve, how could you let this happen to me?!” you whimpered, tears gushing down your face on command. “How could you do this to me? You were my friend, my leader...”

He went white, almost gasping, and you couldn’t help but break at the sight of him, with a short little cackle ringing out. 

“Such a softie,” you murmured, face pulling back into neutral lines at the drop of a dime.

But on orders not to engage, you found this was getting boring fast. Time to get this done.

Fear and heartbreak was the name of the game, for both you and them. Plant it in them to complete the mission. Then the real torture of your newly altered life would begin again.

With your black eyes coupled with a bloody smile, you gave off an instantly disturbed feeling, and that didn’t escape your friends.

“You should be running,” you said low, smile growing.

Eight Months Later

The Winter Soldier stood- as he always did- arms crossed. Only when Gerault came in did he drop his arms, ready for orders.

Pathetic and submissive. You, on the other hand, didn’t leave your chair, leaning back leisurely. You tapped your metal finger down impatiently, your new metal hand now matching the Soldier’s arm.

Typical stealth assassin. No creativity, no will. The Beast that ran under your skin was not the same as his. And your mind turned around how you could make him bend under your will, what pain you could cause this stone statue of man.

Don’t you fucking touch him! you screamed, somewhere deep down in your mind, locked away and easy to ignore.

You had been here for some time and need something to occupy yourself.

It was a dark and gritty room, like most of where you spent your time. Your days were filled with experimentation, your body being slashed and stitched over and over, you brain fucked with a cocktail of drugs pumped through you to alter this or that about you. Then, out of your mind and torn apart, they sent out on missions to test the effectiveness of their meddling. 

Months this went on, each session worse than the last. Each episode breaking your down. Each experiment letting loose the maniac in you yet forcing you to submit to their commands. It caused a rift inside you, breaking you apart and burying the person you once were underneath the madness of it.

So yet again, you were back after the latest mission, needing to give a summary to Gerault himself, who refused to be too long without either of you, his real life trophies in all this. As per the routine of it all, you found yourself in this depressing and dank room, unremarkable and boring you not to tears but fury.

Finally you caught the sound of distant footsteps down the hall. Gerault soon walked in with a few other men in tow, veering slightly to the side where the Soldier was. 

Really, the man could say “beg” and you would be down on your knees groveling. Your “processing and conditioning” (also known as mental and physical torture and drug experimentation) over the months making your will bend to his.

But that was if he could say it faster than you could move to snap his neck. 

Hence the needed protection of the Soldier.

At his entry, they had left the door wide open and naturally your eyes flitted to it than back to Gerault, who watched you, waiting for you to make a move.

Run! Get out! Please, just end this!

You almost externally scoffed, looking down to your hand with a slight smile to hide it. Your old self remained, a voice in your head, screaming and wailing and generally being a fucking nuisance.

Run, damn it!...

But you stayed, looking to Gerault with a pleasant expression. He wasn’t stupid and neither were you. Whatever they were doing to you now was not like before when you were under their power previously. The last heads of Hydra had been much more careful. Gerault was pompous, thinking he could take you further, could push you farther. 

And happily, you would go where he led you. Because somewhere he would make a mistake. And you would strike. 

His freewheeling attitude about you being up and around under (somewhat) of your own will (even with the Soldier) was a dangerous game and he liked to play it, believing he had thought of everything. In those years while you were a free agent with the Avengers he schemed and planned and prepared for this. 

Well, he wasn’t going to win this so easily.

Every round of torture they committed on you made you certain of that.

So no, you didn’t run. He would be expecting that. You needed something he wasn’t expecting. Something that would hurt.

“Soldat, mission report,” he said. His eyes were on you though.

You could practically see him trying to hide the thrill in his eyes and the fear of you there. It had been his life’s work to get you back into the fold and he had done it. Now he was going to try for something even greater.

He meandered a little, walking behind the Soldier who stood stock still.

“Mission completed.” the Soldier’s voice came, deep and dead sounding.

“Well, that’s not very descriptive. How did our Siren do? Anything out of line?”

“No.”

Gerault nodded, clearly trying to hide his pleasure. He thought he was winning. Thought he could win.

To his credit, you had been a good little girl for him, this being your eleventh mission now. Basic murder, evisceration, or a bit of psychological torture. Last nights was just another test to see how you would do.

It had been a family. Ex-Shield agents who met on the job, married, had a couple kids. They were celebrating their youngest 15th birthday when the Winter Soldier and Siren came to their door. The four of them never stood a hope in hell.

Like always you were drugged to the nines, still feeling high like you usually did now out on the field. It was that or in pain, being tortured and mutilated by Hydra for maximum results. They had fixed your mind, altering what they needed too to make you compliant to them alone. Though obviously still quite unlike the Soldier.

They shut down his emotions (externally anyway, you knew Bucky was down there somewhere screaming like the old Y/N was in you). They wanted stealth and unrelenting brute force, and they certainly got it with him. 

In you, you were full of emotion. It raged and burned and kept you spiraling out of control from one state to the next, drugs and triggers keeping you line mostly. They had shut off your inhibitions and revved up the need for destruction. He was calculating and cold; you were calculating and burning, constantly.

Hence the need to see how you would perform, if still under constant and direct supervision by someone they could count on.

The Soldier would watch, would sometimes command you to do what Hydra wanted. But usually he just stood back, watching your carnage, and judged. Never had his compliance come into question though and unlike the convictions of Gerault or Hydra, you knew that it should be.

You kept silent on the several times you noticed a tick from him. Just a glimmer of the man underneath shining through.

If Gerault asked you, you would no choice but to answer, truthfully. But he didn’t.

They might give you orders, but if you could slither around them? You would. They made you an agent of chaos and blood here. It would be a shame to keep things too orderly and clean, anyway. 

They forced you to let loose and yet kept you on a string. It was likely to be an explosive end result. And they loved him so dearly. You were going to exploit that.

The previous heads of Hydra kept you hurting, kept you broken. Gerault wanted to see the full hurricane force of you unleashed as much as he could. And that just gave you way too much power to be forever controlled.

So you sat, leaned back, waiting for the time when you could really do some damage.

“She always loved a messy fight,” Gerault said, flecks of hunger in his eyes.

You felt more than saw a flicker in the Soldier beside you, and at Gerault words you casually looked at the one called “the Asset”.

He had flinched. You had seen that before. Last night was the most recent. It seemed to be happening more.

You had grabbed his hand which was holding a knife, and plunged it into a wailing man as you had just about had enough of his mewling cries for mercy. At the touch of your skin to his- your hand holding his hand- the Soldier had flinched.

You studied him now, trying to feign a cool casualness about you, head tilted, body relaxed.

Your touch seemed to do it. But certain words as well. You felt a deep pull to find out more, sensing a way to make him suffer. You could always pick up what made people hurt the most and were instinctually drawn to take painful advantage of it.

You would find his and whatever it was, you would make him hurt. You wanted everyone to suffer, particularly Gerault. But you would settle for a little fun on the side for their Golden Boy.

Stop it!... Keep your fucking eyes off of him!...

My my, how venomous.

“The next mission is the mission. It’s The Avengers. All of them.”

Again, his eyes were on you. 

This was a way to torture you, no doubt. To go after your friends and teammates, to cause them harm or kill them or have them hurt you? That would be the nail in your coffin of sheer, unbridled pain and secure in Hydra’s mind your ability to comply. And he knew it. His plan to break you down and push you farther in action.

“You both have inside knowledge of all of them. And I think it’s about time to use that.” he then shrugged, looking at his nails trying to feign an air of disinterest, in his arrogance. “You’re ready, at any rate. And you’re worthy.”

At the word “worthy” your head snapped over to the Soldier as a visible movement shaked him, and for a moment his eyes turned from dead and limp to an awake shock of blue.

Worthy?

Then it clicked into place.

The words you had spoken. Just like Hydra could trigger him to the Winter Soldier, maybe your words- the ones you were trying to engrain into him- could trigger him back? Coupled with your touch, which even back in the 50′s had roused him, maybe you could actually do it this time. Wake him up.

And now Gerault wanted to take down the Avengers. All of them.

Fucking stop this!... Don’t! Please!... Just let me go!...

You simply nodded once to Gerault, slowly. You weren’t stupid enough to speak directly to him anymore, he who was likely to get a rise out of it and plunge you back into a tortured hell just to hear you scream.

Confidently he turned to the men with him.

“Get them both prepped for a fight.” he said, practically buzzing with delight. “Full measures taken, perhaps the three-day long session we were discussing. We can’t risk a slip-up.”

Gerault left the room with a smile and a confident walk, leaving the four now doomed men behind.

Your plan was already in place in your mind now though, and it didn’t have room for them.

They approached however slow, with hands on their gun to the pair of you. Really they didn’t stand a chance. Poor things.

Don’t do th-

As one man reached to put a hand on your shoulder- and no one touched you without severe consequences- you let out one toothy grin, eyes hungry with a smile dancing behind them.

He was in tactical gear, bulletproof vest and all, but you didn’t need a gun to reach through to his insides. 

Like a shot your metal hand whipped out and went into the little bit of exposed fabric just below his armpit. Like a shot of lightning you cut through the fabric and into his flesh by pure force. And you didn't stop until your fingers hit lung.

With a gargle, he began to drop like a rock. 

Before his body even hit the ground you swung up and kicked another Hydra agent in the face, teeth and blood knocked right out and hitting like pellets against the far wall. You pounced to snap his neck, grabbing his weapon and shot the other two, silencer ringing out quietly.

You didn't have a chance to breathe before the Soldier was on you, forcing you down on the ground. His metal hand grabbing your own that held the gun, shrieking as he tried to restrain you. His flesh elbow pinned down yours, body trying to crush you under his weight. But he wouldn’t be winning this today.

Fucking hurt him and I’ll kill you!... Don’t touch him!... Oh god, just stop...

Such a broken record.

You didn’t have to hurt him, you just needed him still for a second. So than yeah actually, you kinda had to hurt him.

Swinging a knee up you jabbed him in the ribcage, knocking him to the side slightly, enough for your other knee to go up to his groin repeatedly and push him off more. There was split second where his elbow on your arm loosen, and you swung your forehead into his face as hard as you could. A brutal sounding smack rang out and as he leaned back at that force, his blood spilling down on you like a delicate spring mist.

With enough leverage and room to move, you forced your arm out from under him, grabbing the gun from your metal hand. 

God, no!... Stop, don’t!....

A shot rang out and the Soldier flew back off you, raining more blood. God, that felt so good. When someone hurt, you were rewarded. It was just intoxicating to hurt people now.

You threw the gun away and grabbed the fabric of his leather tactical coat, hoisting him up onto a chair. He was dazed but cognizant, your shot hitting an area of muscle below the shoulder but above the heart. Right on target.

Time was crucial here, you only had minutes. You were determined to get this done and finally start having some satiating fun.

You smiled down to the man then straddled him, hips grinding into his lap. You grabbed his face in your hands, bringing it close to yours.

Get the fuck off of him you fucking-

“If touch won’t fully do it, maybe a combination will?” you muttered, wriggly closer to him, as close as you could.

Even though you were different now, your times with the Avengers were there in your memories. Including you time with Bucky, with those warm delicately intimate nights together. You felt a pull of familiarity there, so close to him now, bodies pressing together.

You looked to him, drawing his face almost to your lips. A hand held his jaw while another went through his hair, holding him to you.

“Bucky,” you whispered.

Face falling back not into one of a wicked smile and crazed eyes, you watched him. Your look was now soft, honest, unguarded to the loving, concerned feelings below.

“Bucky, darling,” you cooed, looking into his dazed but watching eyes. “Come back to me, my love.”

You brushed your nose down his cheek, before starting to press soft kisses into his cheek, eyelids, and corner of his mouth.

“Bucky, please,” you begged, sounding needy and desperate. “Don’t let them hurt me anymore, don’t let them take me away from you again.”

You pulled back every so slightly, mouth open and breath mingling with his, face pouting and eyes starting to brim with tears. You felt a flinch run through him, saw a stirring in his eyes.

Perfect.

No!...

“My love,” you whispered, lips hovering above his before kissing him once, slow and chaste. “You are worthy.”

This time he jerked but you didn’t stop.

You placed another, deeper and longer kiss on his lips before pulling back a little. “You are so loved, my darling.”

And you felt him move under you.

Another kiss, wet and deep, as you brought your arms around his head locking him into you, wanting as much physical contact with him as possible. Even as a brainless toy soldier he was delicious.

You brushed your fingers through his hair, looking deeply into him, urging him to come out.

“You are not what they made you, my love. You can break through this. Come back to me, darling.”

With his shudder under you, you pulled away, watching for the telltale signs of Bucky.

Immediately he clutched his shoulder where you shot him, blood still pool out of it, blue eyes pained and shocked. You immediately got off of him, watching for some concrete sign he was not the Soldier.

But his eyes said it all. They were Bucky’s. 

That was all the confirmation you needed.

Running to the grab the gun on the floor, you next bolted to the door and grabbed the outdated intercom, pulling the receiver up, voice sounding pained and frantic.

“It’s Bucky!” you screamed, sounding desperate. “The Winter Soldier he- he’s just gone! Bucky’s killed four men and he’s after me! Please! I need help! Someone! Oh, god!”

“...Siren? What the f-” was a static response.

But you made a choked noise before hanging up the receiver. Right on cue a flashing red light lit up the room, sirens wailing. Calmly while illuminated in red, you turned back to Bucky.

He was crumpled slightly, hunched over with a hand still on his shoulder, looking tormented and struggling under his new ability to control himself again.

You looked at him with a predatory gaze in your eyes and smile on your lips.

“They’ll be after you now, Soldier Boy. You should go. Though, I think I’ll stick around just a little longer.”

He stumbled to his feet, still dazed by the sudden awakening and pain of the last months catching up with his fully conscious body.

He stumbled to the door, almost brushing passed you as his hand and body fell against it, trying to push the thing open.

“See you soon, honey.” you said, low and sweet to him.

Walking back over to the chair, you casually took a seat, leaning back like you had been mere minutes ago. 

Shouts and voices were heard down the hall. He was running out of time. He could either leave now and maybe get out, or hesitate and be dragged back into this hell.

Bucky!... Bucky, don’t leave me, please!... Don’t go! Oh god, don’t leave me here!...

You waved, gun in hand, relishing in the way his face crumpled as, completely out of options, he left you behind.

PART NINETEEN

Please let me know what you thought of this one! A reblog would make my day, so would a like or message! If you would like to be tagged in this or on my permanent tag list, please drop me an ask!

Tag List: @seninjakitey @thetimidsarcasticcat @hawkspriing  @kanekibooty  @elizabeth-rose771 @bookluver01 @celinejfong @themosthappyfangirl @themermaidpirate @andreamichellejodeit @lovejessejay @onlyanothersocialcasualty @emaywhyayy @watchoutforfrostbite @uwu-sebastianstan  @sonarsyndor 

Permanent Tag List: @dontpanc @smodvocate @bungalowjamaica @buckybonky @methefandompanda @hangirl93 @captainrogerrsbeard

[sewrprince]

Could I get '16. things you said with no space between us' for Eraser x Dabi ?

16. things you said with no space between us

[nsfw]

this boy is a natural disaster. shouta knew it then and he knows it still, sees it in the move of dabi’s muscles beneath textured skin and the glow of something unabated in his eyes. he brings the smell of smoke and revolution, the promise of shattered buildings rising anew from the shadows of what used to be. shouta isn’t a religious man, but this boy can’t be anything but the harbinger of Hel.

he sits atop him like this is where he belongs, where their bodies will melt together to something bigger. dabi moves with invisible waves, swallowing every inch of him and igniting a fire all throughout shouta’s body.

and yet, he knows this shouldn’t be.

not because dabi’s a villain and he teaches future pro heroes. this tragedy runs deeper than their bones. shouta hates himself for wanting.

“look at me,” he whispers, lips forming around the sound like a curse, trying to shake dabi out of his trance. his thighs tremble from the effort of riding shouta, draining the pleasure out of them both, hands holding onto the headboard for the only stability in this godforsaken room. dabi’s eyes are closed and shouta wishes he could be with him, wherever he is. the skin beneath his palms is pale, shouta’s complexion looking almost tanned against dabi’s porcelain skin; a doll that belongs on a shelf, not a battlefield. his fingers dig into the flesh and dabi’s eyes finally flutter open.

“look at me,” shouta begs again, pleads. in this moment, he’d deny any god if dabi asked him to. “please, look at me - see me.”

the boy’s mouth falls open in wordless prayer, no sound escaping him when all shouta wants is for him to fill the void growing between his lungs with shattered whimpers and moans. how self-indulgent, this isn’t usually him.

dabi comes with a hitched breath, spilling all over shouta’s stomach and shouta doesn’t care that he’s not even close yet. he allows dabi to ride out his orgasm, hurrying to savour the feeling of this being around him. the bed shakes when dabi climbs off him. he leaves behind a weird dullness that shouta can’t quite place.

the window’s opened, fresh summer air mingling with the smell of smoke filling every crevice of this room. shouta stares at the ceiling when dabi takes a long drag from his cigarette. As the smoke slips from his lips, dabi smiles, but it’s devoid of any warmth.

“it’s kinda funny,” he begins, voice low and musing, and shouta’s reminded of a documentary about wolves he saw last night, “because you didn’t want to see me back then. never looked at me, not even when i came to you. when he first beat me and then my mother.”

there are scratches in the ceiling and shouta doesn’t know where they come from. the sound of dabi’s voice fills his lungs, suffocating. it’s what he deserves.

“but that’s old hat, right?” dabi laughs, stitches creasing in a smile and this is the face to bring angels to their knees.

the wood of his nightstand sizzles when dabi presses the tip of his cigarette against it, leaving the ashes to scatter across the ground. he dresses in silence, patting his pockets for his belongings and it’s this mundane gesture that puts the voice back into shouta’s throat. “i’m sorry,” he says, a ghost sound from the past with no roots in this room. dabi pauses.

“take care of shouto,” he mumbles, somewhere between here and then, when he was seventeen and came to shouta with a mouth full of blood. when shouta looked at him and said he’s your father.

god weeps in the corner of his room when dabi climbs through the window and down the fire escape. the scratches in his ceiling begin to bleed.

[lifestones]

Project Eden Chapter 1

Unfortunately, I was unable to finish the one shot I had originally planned in honor of Red’s birthday today. So instead, I will be sharing the first chapter of Eden! Happy birthday Red!

Rated M for swearing. 

Sunday, April 12th, 2015.

Subject: Red Dragon.

There was no better way to start my day than by getting a bullet pulled out of my fractured radius… without anesthesia. Sounds fun, right? It was thrilling. Best thing to happen to me all year. Needless to say, Charlotte was efficient at the job. She was, after all, studying to be a nurse. I was used to pain, but… this hurt like a motherfucker.

I was just sitting on a stool in the infirmary in our base, which was under the nightclub, Euphoria, that we run to bring in funds and disguise our true identity.

Who are we? The Dragon Girls, of fucking course. Only the best girls-only gang in all the boroughs of New York City. And I just so happen to be the boss. But that was why I was getting treated here and not in, say, a hospital. I called us a gang, but it was a loose term. I preferred thinking of us more as a team of vigilantes. Yeah, we were criminals to the cops—for taking out the real criminals they couldn’t touch because of lack of evidence. We did the public a service, even if they didn’t fucking see it.

“You are seriously lucky, Red,” Charlotte muttered as she looked at the bullet she had pulled right out of my bone. “It wasn’t in as deep as I thought it would be.”

Charlotte D’Amore was her name, and she was the same age as me—well, until tomorrow when I turn twenty-one. We went to high school together, until we both dropped out when we were sixteen. She was originally from some hick town in Alabama. Her family moved to the city four years ago, when her father got a big promotion. But her father was an abusive piece of shit who beat both her and her mom, and her younger brother could never do anything about it without ending up in the hospital.

We first met at a hospital before school started. I was there for a physical. She was there due to an "accident"—aka her asshole father beating her so badly, he broke her nose, left arm, and gave her a concussion. We met at school after that, and we sort of became friends. I ended up helping her run away and we pretty much started the Dragon Girls together. She became my new best friend. We tried dating for a bit, but we decided it was better to stay as friends.

I would’ve said something if I didn’t have a washcloth inside my mouth to bite onto while she worked on my arm so I wouldn’t take a chunk out of my tongue. So I just gave a shrug, which I immediately regretted as the movement triggered sharp pain to shoot through my right arm. I could feel the blood dripping down my skin from the open wound, but I didn’t dare look down to see for myself. Seeing my own skeleton was not a life goal of mine.

“All right, I’m going to stitch you up now,” she said, turning to get the-

I stopped that train of thought. I really did not want to think about it.

Instead, I just focused on watching her, as long as I did not look at her hands or arms. Charlotte was absolutely gorgeous. She had thick, wavy golden blonde hair that fell to the small of her back, with fringe bangs, tied back in a half ponytail like usual, and her eyes were a calm shade of blue. Even though it was like three in the morning, she was fully dressed, wearing a black turtleneck that hugged her figure, black leggings, and stiletto boots that added like two inches to her height.

She was my second-in-command, and I relied on her to ensure that our communications were running smoothly while we were out on missions. She stayed behind the scenes more than I did. She was also better at staying behind the scenes than I was. I needed… action. Part of it was having ADHD and needing to be on the move.

I needed to be directly involved, even if it put me in danger—which was how I got shot in the first place. Bullet wounds were nothing new to me, but this time, it had been because I saw one of the ass wipes we were taking care of about to make a death shot on one of my girls, and I pushed her out of the way, taking it in the arm instead. Nobody was going to die on my watch.

But even watching Charlotte wasn’t enough to distract me from her work, so I ended up just closing my eyes and biting down on the cloth to keep quiet from the pain. It seemed to last hours, but it was probably only a few minutes. But it was a relief when I felt her wipe down my arm with a wet cloth to clean off the blood, and then she splinted it, before wrapping it up with bandages. She had set the bone before going in for the bullet, so that was all that needed to be done. A few minutes later, my arm was in a makeshift sling and she yanked the washcloth out of my mouth before I could do it myself.

“Y’know, I normally don’t like bein’ gagged,” I joked.

Charlotte rolled her eyes before smacking me on my shoulder. “Very funny, Red.”

“In all seriousness, thanks,” I said, sliding off the stool. “We’re really lucky you’re studyin’ to be a nurse.”

Out of all the high school dropouts here, Charlotte was the only one to pursue her GED. She was also the only one interested in a normal life. I was dreading the day she graduated, got a job, and moved on from us. I knew it was a life better suited for her, but at the same time… I was tired of being left behind.

“Yes, well, if someone quit being so damn reckless, this wouldn’t keep being a problem,” she stated bitterly, turning her back to me. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to wash up and head to bed. You should do the same.”

Ouch. She was pissed. I didn’t blame her, but damn. Charlotte was rarely hostile to me. But I also knew she really had not liked today’s mission. It was, after all, making trouble with the Battaglia crime family. She hadn’t been particularly vocal about it, but considering that I rarely ever change my mind, there was no point in arguing with me in the first place.

Charlotte had always been the sensible one out of the two of us. I’m not gonna lie—I can be a little crazy. Originally, she had just wanted to get away from her abusive home life. So had I. But I had also fallen into an extremely unhealthy pit of shit at the time, and after I snapped out of it (after nearly dying in the process), I had wanted to do something to fix this shitty as fuck world of ours. So I came up with the idea for the Dragon Girls—a vigilante gang that does what the cops can’t. She had supported me, but not without her own reservations.

Did I have blood on my hands? Yes. But only of monsters worse than me.

Still, there was no point in staying up when it was so late. I left the infirmary, and headed downstairs to the second basement floor under Euphoria, where all the bedrooms were. A lot of the girls had their own places, but some of us lived here. Not everyone was a fighter like me. We took in a lot of runaways as well—mainly girls who had abusive homes.

I knew what it was like to be powerless, and I would do anything I could to make sure these girls stopped feeling that way.

As soon as I stepped into my room, I pulled my holsters off my belt and dumped them on the table near the door where I kept all my guns. It took some effort with only one usable hand, but once that was done, I kicked off my boots and jeans. Actually putting on pajamas was too much effort, especially with one hand, so I climbed into bed as is. And within moments, I was out.

~ * ~ * ~

I ended up sleeping in until like noon, which was fine with me. All we did on days following big missions was celebrate. So I hauled myself out of bed, took a shower—which was a pain in the ass to do with a broken arm—and got dressed. I threw my leather jacket over my shoulders before heading out; I may not be able to wear it properly, but Euphoria could get cold and that’s where I was going to be.

I headed out to the kitchen to grab a bite to eat. When I got there, several others were already chowing down.

“Ey, good mornin’, boss,” Hector Espinosa, the one guy in our group, greeted me. “Glad to see you’re doin’ better.”

Now you’re probably wondering why a guy was doing here when I said that we were females only. Well, Hector originally came to us as a girl. He was one of the runaway cases, and after living with us for a few months and befriending one of the girls who just so happens to be transgender, he finally realized that he’s trans. We’re girls only, but I knew that just kicking him out was against what morals I do have and I knew he would be even worse off. So, I let him stay and gave him a job to be a bouncer for Euphoria so he could have money for medical bills that would come with his transitioning.

Despite being born female, Hector had always been a behemoth; the kid was only nineteen but he stood over six feet tall. He was built on the stocky side, which had to make binding a pain in the ass. He was, as his name suggests, Hispanic. He kept his straight black hair nice and short, his skin was bronze, and his eyes were deep brown.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine.” I waved him off as I sauntered over to the stove. I paused, and sniffed the air. Something… had been burning. “God, did Maya burn the eggs again?”

“H-Hey! It was an accident!” the girl in question exclaimed defensively. “Hector distracted me!”

Maya was one of the younger members, a junior in high school. Her family life sucked ass, so she legally removed herself from her mom’s custody when she was sixteen and has been living on her own ever since. She’s also been in and out of Juvie, for drugs and other stupid shit. She joined us about six months ago, so she was relatively new here as well. She was seventeen now, and she had her wavy black hair pulled back into the usual low ponytail, her skin was darkened with tan, and her eyes were brown.

“Give the jailbait a break, Hector,” I scolded jokingly as I walked over to the fridge. “God, what am I, your babysitter?”

That earned laughs from everyone in the room. Everyone knew that Hector and Maya had a thing, but the extent of that thing wasn’t something I knew. It was none of my business, anyways. I was their boss, not their nanny, no matter how much I joked about it. Rummaging around, I found the egg carton and took it out.

“Guess I’ll just have to show you how to properly do eggs,” I said, shutting the fridge door with my shoulder.

“You would know, boss,” Hector snorted.

I laughed. “Good one. Yeah, I would, wouldn’t I?”

I set to work then, deciding that I wanted sunny side up eggs for a change. We usually just scrambled or fried them, since it was easier. But if I wanted to show off—which was the entire point of this exercise—I would have to make something fancy. An omelet was too much work for one arm, so this would suffice.

“Uh, boss? Do you need help?” I heard Maya ask.

“I got it,” I said, setting the pan down on the burner and turning on the stove. “You nerds forget I’m ambidextrous.”

Besides, if I was going to deal with this broken arm for who knows how many months, I needed all the practice I could get with using my left hand. God, this was going to be weird.

~ * ~ * ~

After breakfast was done and the kitchen had been cleaned up, I headed upstairs to Euphoria. We had a secret back entrance in the employee only area that had stairs leading downstairs to our headquarters. Even though it was fairly early in the day for partying, it was also a Sunday, which meant more guests than usual during this hour. Kaylee, one of the girls who worked as bartender, was behind the bar, washing some glasses. I headed over to the bar and plopped down on one of the barstools.

Kaylee turned towards me. “The usual, boss?”

I nodded. “You know me.”

Yeah, I was underage and I drank alcohol. Nobody could stop me. And my birthday was tomorrow, so it wasn’t a big deal anyways.

Kaylee slid a glass of 1994 Taylor Fladgate Vintage Port—my current favorite wine that I had allowed to be opened this year in honor of my approaching twenty-first birthday. It was, after all, made the very same year I was born. I was the only one who could drink it, though. You could say I’m very… possessive about my wine. It was the only booze I really liked. Guess once crème de la crème, always crème de la crème. Growing up filthy rich stuck with me in some ways, I regret to admit.

I lifted the goblet to my lips to take a sip of the wine as someone else sat down on the stool to my left. I didn’t really pay attention to who it was, until they spoke.

“I’ll have a glass of champagne, darling.”

My gaze darted over to my left. Just like I suspected—it was Astrid Glaisyer, an infamous assassin who we had worked with in the past. She was in her mid-twenties, tall and curvaceous, with long, curly mahogany brown hair, fair skin, and striking light green eyes. She was wearing a black lace bralette with a leather jacket over it, jeans, and a pair of black stiletto boots. She could pull off any look she damn pleased, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t think she was hot. But I don’t mix work with pleasure.

Kaylee slid a flute of our finest champagne over to Astrid, who continued to completely ignore me to down the entire glass. “Ah. Refreshing.”

“...What are you doin’ here, Astrid?” I asked warily.

She laughed lightly, head turning towards me. “Oh, darling, I thought you would be delighted to see me.”

I narrowed my eyes. “I’m really not in the mood to play your mind games, Astrid.”

Like I said, Astrid was a trained assassin. I didn’t know the full story, as it was none of my business, but there were rumors. It was said that there was this kingpin in Russia who had young girls kidnapped from their homes, all over the world, to be brought to him and trained to be killers. Astrid was supposedly one of these girls, and while I wasn’t one to immediately believe every single thing I heard in the criminal underground, this rumor was so rampant, it was probably true. We ended up working together due to sharing the same target—a corrupt millionaire who was secretly involved in human trafficking.

“Aw, you’re no fun, Red.” She pouted dramatically. “I thought we had something.”

I rolled my eyes, and took a sip of my wine. “Seriously, what’re you doin’ here?”

She sighed disappointedly, reaching up to brush her hair behind her back. “I came here for business, but was hoping for pleasure—that is, if you would care to satiate my curiosity~.”

“Business sounds great,” I deadpanned.

“Well… suit yourself, then.” Astrid reached into her jacket and pulled out a manila envelope. “I thought you would be interested in seeing this. It’s a new hit we received yesterday.”

Frowning, I took the envelope from her and set my wine glass down on the counter. I opened it up carefully, and slid out the contents. I looked over the papers quickly, only for my eyes to widen in shock as I realized who the photograph and information files were about. A sickened feeling sunk deep into my stomach, like I was going to vomit. All I could do was stare at it in shock for a few moments.

It was my little sister, Clarisse.

I almost didn’t recognize her in the picture, but after a moment of studying it, I realized it was definitely her. It had been five years since I had last seen her... I had been sixteen when I ran away, and she had only been eleven. She was fifteen now, a few months shy of her own sixteenth birthday. The photograph was clearly a school portrait, with the blue background and my sister wearing her school uniform. She had long, pin straight naturally platinum blonde hair pulled back into a perfect—and I mean fucking perfect—high ponytail that was angled to the side. Her skin was pale, like she didn’t get outside much, and her eyes were dark brown, like coffee. I noticed that her clothes were hanging loosely from her body, like she was too thin.

“You… got a hit… on my baby sister?” My voice was like ice as I looked up from the picture. “Who the fuck ordered this?”

“If I knew, I’d tell you,” Astrid answered calmly, unfazed by my icy rage. “Our clients are all anonymous to protect their identities. I don’t like killing children, regardless of how high the pay is. So I thought I’d hand this over to you, so you can find the sick bastard who wants your sister dead. Though… you don’t appear to be in the best position for that right now.”

I scowled, my good hand clenching into a fist. “Do I look like I fuckin’ care? I’ll slit the bastard’s throat myself.”

Again, my bloodthirsty comment did not bother her. “I did spend most of yesterday trying to figure out just who sent this order in.”

“And?” I prompted brusquely.

“EDEN, Co.’s enemies are not so desperate they would want a teenage girl to die,” she stated grimly, her green eyes meeting mine. “I’m afraid that this could be an internal attack.”

Ugh… EDEN, Co was part of the Pendragon conglomerate that my family, the Pendragons, owned. Like I mentioned earlier, I came from a filthy rich family. And my family was not only one of the richest in the world, but one of the largest.

We had three “branches” if you will—the European branch in France, the Asian branch in Japan, and the American branch in, well, America. The Pendragons originated in Great Britain, but moved to France sometime before the American Revolution. Then on a business venture, they visited Japan. One of the sons of the CEO—or whatever the hell the equivalent was back then—fell in love with a woman there, and as part of the business venture, married her. We had a place in the east ever since. Our family became divided then, to the point where our bloodlines had become so distant, we were only related through legal means. So my grandfather, Osamu Pendragon, the heir of the Japanese line, married Caroline Pendragon, the heiress of the French line, and they moved to America to create a new branch that would regulate the other two in hopes of reuniting the entire family.

Their dreams did not come true. Hell, relations between both sides were worse now. But still, going to assassins to off the heiress seemed a bit… much. The hatred in our family was not that strong. Or at least, that was what I liked to believe.

“What the hell makes you say that?” I demanded.

“Most businessmen are not murderers, Red,” she stated coolly. “But your uncle? Something about him makes me… uneasy. And it is extremely difficult to unsettle me.”

I bristled at the mention of my uncle. Basile Pendragon was his name, and he was the younger brother of my dad, Xavier Pendragon, who died about eight years ago. I was only thirteen years old at the time—much too young to claim my inheritance and become the new CEO of Eden, Co. So Basile took the position in my place. I lost my position as heiress when I ran away from home, leaving Clarisse as the only American Pendragon left to take over.

It wasn’t something I thought of often anymore. That part of my life was long gone. But if my sister was in danger, I would have to suck it up and dive back into that shitty as fuck world.

“Tell me somethin’ I don’t already know,” I muttered.

My issues with Basile ran deeper than him taking my position away from him. But that was something I really did not want to think about. It was why I was the leader of a gang, and not the youngest multi-billionaire in the world.

“But Basile wantin’ to murder his own niece?” I shook my head. “He may be a bastard, but she might as well his heir. What the hell would he gain from that?”

“You tell me, Red.”

I scowled. “Well, sorry, I don’t have the fuckin’ answer.”

It was… complicated. Dad and Basile had a falling out at some point after my dad returned from a two year old business trip. Then, eight years ago, during the holiday season, for whatever reason, my dad decided to make amends with his brother. He invited Basile to spend Christmas and New Years with us. One day, when I came home from present shopping with my mom and sister, I… found my dad in his study, dead. Everything went to shit after that.

Astrid shrugged. “You know him better than I do. And you’re smarter than you let on. I’m pretty sure everyone who has ever worked with you knows this.”

...Considering that I have an IQ of 150, that was a bit of an understatement.

I scowled, picking up my glass of wine to take a long drink, and then set it back down. Ugh. I needed alcohol just to get me through having to think about this shit.

“The only reason I can think of is total bullshit,” I retorted.

“And that is…?” she prompted.

“Basile would want Clarisse dead if, and only if, he had his own kid somewhere…” I glowered at my glass of wine, before looking over at her again. “He isn’t married, which doesn’t mean shit, but I’m pretty sure the whole world would know if he had a kid. Which doesn’t make sense. Why the hell would he hide it?”

Unfortunately, I could think of a few reasons. All of which I quickly pushed out of my mind.

“Does it really?” she inquired, raising an eyebrow, like she could see right through me. “Your uncle has always displayed a desire to take over your family’s conglomerate. Perhaps he’s hiding something.”

“That’s an understatement.” I fought the urge to down another gulp. “A blind person could see he’s a shady motherfucker.”

“I think it’s still something to keep in mind,” Astrid stated. “Because someone wants your sister dead, and there must be a reason why. I’ll be keeping in touch.” Standing up, she reached into her purse, pulled out a twenty-dollar bill, and slapped it down on the counter. “Keep the change.”

I watched as she slinked off, lithe as a cat. I swore it was like she wasn’t even human sometimes. And honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised. More and more aliens—as in the kind from outer space—were coming to our planet every day.

Looking back down at the papers resting on the manila envelope, with her school picture on top, I picked my glass back up. I was going to at least finish this wine before going to do anything about this. And of course, I had to talk to Charlotte.

But there was no way I was just going to stand back and let my sister die.

~ * ~ * ~

“Red, are you sure this is a good idea?”

We were sitting in Charlotte’s car, parked on the side of the road in front of the Pendragon mansion on Carnegie Hill in the Upper East Side. It was an elaborate French Renaissance style mansion, four stories high, right down to the gargoyles on the roof. My grandparents bought it when they immigrated to America. When I was a kid, I used to be terrified of the gargoyles, thinking they came alive at night and would eat me if I left my bedroom. It was one of the few mansions in the city still used as a home.

“No, but I needta get to the bottom of this.” I turned my head to look at her. “Clarisse could be in some serious trouble.”

Charlotte sighed, glancing down at the steering wheel. “Just be careful, Red.”

I flashed her a bright grin. “Babe, I’m always careful!”

She gave me a flat look. “Every time you say that, you do something reckless and get yourself hurt.”

“...Look, Charlotte, all I’m gonna do is go up, knock on the door, and ask if Clarisse is home. Mamoru always answers the door. Well, he will if he’s still the butler…”

The thought of Mamoru no longer working in the place I once called home made me very sad. A bit pissed too, but mostly sad.

“All right,” she sighed. “Just hurry up.”

I unbuckled my seatbelt, pushed open the door, and heaved myself out of the car. Shutting the door behind me, I walked down the sidewalk and scaled the short set of stairs that led up to the front door. I stopped in front of the door, suddenly unsure if this was really a good idea or not. It had been five years—five long as fuck years. I had no idea what my sister even would be like.

Clarisse has always been Diana’s favorite. Ever since she was born, it was always Clarisse Clarisse Clarisse. She was the perfect one—the daughter Diana had always wanted. Me? I may have the IQ of a genius, but having ADHD made it almost nearly impossible for me to function in a classroom environment. But Clarisse had everything—beauty, intelligence, no mental issues, supportive parents. Yeah, Dad had been hard on her, but he was hard on both of us. It wasn’t like how Diana treated me. I struggled in school, got detention at least once a week, frequented the principal’s office… I could go on and on.

Clarisse had always adored me, despite all the contempt I felt for her initially. I did love my sister—and I still do—but after being treated like complete shit and being told I was doomed for failure, while she got raised on a golden pedestal… It was really hard not to be bitter. But we were still close, and deep down, I was worried how me leaving had changed how she felt about me.

But… I couldn’t stay away forever. She was my sister and I would have to try to make this right eventually. Now was a good a time as any.

So, steeling myself, I lifted my hand and pounded the door knocker.

After what seemed like an eternity, I heard someone begin to unlock the door. Moments later, it opened, revealing a stately older Japanese man who was, without a doubt, Mamoru Nakajima, who had helped run the Pendragon household since before my dad was born. He seemed to have aged considerably since I had last seen him, as his dark hair was now silver, and his face was creased with age lines. He was wearing the usual black suit with a black tie.

His dark eyes widened as he saw me. “Miss Ellie?”

I almost cringed at my old nickname. My full name is Elysia Pendragon, and growing up I went by Ellie. It was a painful reminder of who I used to be—who I would never be ever again. That little girl was long gone.

“Uh, hey, Mamoru.” I let out an awkward laugh, reaching up to rub the back of my head with my good hand. “I know, I know… it’s been forever… but I was wonderin’, is Clarisse home?”

Mamoru grimaced. “Ah… I’m afraid not. She is currently out with… friends.”

“Oh, Aimee and Gigi?” I asked, recalling her childhood friends.

He shook his head. “No. She has made… new friends. I believe it is the very same crowd you ran with before you left us.”

“WHAT?!” My voice cracked up an octave. “God, are you serious? Is she stupid or somethin’?! Ugh, sorry Mamoru, but I’m gonna go haul her ass outta there. We’ll have to catch up some other time.”

~ * ~ * ~

It was an understatement that this was one of my least favorite places in all of New York City. It was in one of the sleazier areas of Hell’s Kitchen, where people only go if they want to get shot up—by a gun or a needle. I used to come here all the time with the new “friends” I made in high school late freshman, early sophomore year. We’d go to this old abandoned townhouse to drink, smoke, do a variety of recreational drugs, and have sex.

I am not proud of what I did that year, and it stuck with me even when Charlotte managed to convince me to run away. It started out simple, like always. First it was just getting drunk and doing stupid shit—like letting one of the guys fuck me without protection. Then they got me into smoking pot. Then I tried out coke. And then I jumped right into heroin. I was so desperate to numb all the internal agony tormenting me, I was willing to do anything. I abandoned my childhood friends for these dipshits. If it wasn’t for Charlotte, I would either still be in this pit or I’d be dead. Probably the latter.

I hated being reminded of my weakness. I couldn’t even remember how I went cold turkey without dying. And yet here I was, about to step back into this hole of dark memories just to drag my sister out of hell. That was going to be a feat with a broken arm.

“Are you going to be okay going in there?” Charlotte asked warily. “Do you want me to go in with you?”

I shook my head. “No, it’s fine. I don’t want you in there anyways.”

Not feeling like discussing it further, I got out of the car. This place was so damn shady, and I was used to shady. Charlotte had her gun on her, and I had mine hidden in my jacket just in case. But if anyone recognized me, they would wisely give me a wide berth. I headed up to the front door of the shoddy townhouse that had definitely seen better days. I could already smell cigarette smoke. I tried not to cough. I hated that shit so much.

I lifted my good hand to pound on the door. When there was no response, I scowled to myself. I really was not in the mood for this shit. I tried the doorknob, and the door opened with ease. God, anyone could walk in here and just murder them. Idiots.

As I stepped inside, I was hit by a mix of cigarette and marijuana smoke that immediately made me cough. I covered my nose with my sleeve for a moment before proceeding further in. This place really hadn’t changed much over the past five years, except for there being more chips in the ugly floral wallpaper and more unidentifiable stains on the walls. The floorboards creaked under my boots as I walked further in, making my way to the main room.

I could hear laughter as I got closer. Once I reached the open doorway that led to the living room, I saw just what was going on. I only recognized a few faces. Two of my old classmates were smoking weed. Two others who I recognized from the grade below me were shooting up something. There were a bunch of high schoolers drinking beer in the far-right corner, laughing and joking amongst themselves. And then there was my dear baby sister, on her back on one of the ratty, flea infested couches, half naked, with only her bra and panties on, while a guy, also half naked with only his boxers on, was on top of her, sucking on her neck.

…’Kay, this was not what I expected when I came looking for her.

“CLARISSE WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOIN’?!”

Not gonna lie, the reactions to me screaming were priceless.

Clarisse shoved the guy on top of her away so hard, he fell right on his bare back on the rough wooden floor. Several of the drunk high schoolers fell off the table they were sitting on. The smokers dropped their pipes. And the junkies looked up drowsily.

“ELLIE?! What the hell are you doing here?!”

I scowled darkly, and walked right up to her. The guy hastily scrambled out of my way. At least he wasn’t completely stupid.

“What the hell do you think?” I snapped. “I hear you’re in some kinda trouble, so I stop by to see if you’re at the mansion, but no, Mamoru fuckin’ tells me you’re here in this shithole!”

Clarisse looked exactly like her school portrait, except for a few things. Her ponytail was no longer so perfect, mussed up from the foreplay I had interrupted. And she had some rather bold makeup on—thick black eyeliner, silver eyeshadow, and red lipstick that had left marks all over that guy’s body. Still glowering at me, she hastily grabbed her shirt and pulled it back on. But she wasn’t quick enough to hide the fact that she was almost skin and bones.

“Aren’t you being a little hypocritical, Miss Crimson Dragon,” she retorted icily. “They’re your friends too!”

“Friends? Friends? Really?” I scoffed, crossing my arms over my chest. “That’s bullshit and you know it, Clarisse. There’s a reason why I’m not still here. They’re not your real friends!”

Clarisse stood up, hands clenching into fists, and I realized she was at least two inches taller than me. “Shut up! SHUT UP! Why do you even care?! You left me!”

Her explosion ricocheted across the entire room, making literally everyone freeze. I was so used to being the angry one, I wasn’t sure how to react to… to my sister’s rage. She was trembling, her fists clenched so tight, her knuckles turned white. Tears slowly began to pool in her dark eyes, reminding me of how she tended to cry whenever she got pissed off. All I could really do was, well… stare at her in shock.

“You’re gone for five fucking years without saying a word!” she spat venomously. “And you think you can just waltz back into my life and tell me what to fucking do?! I don’t need you, Ellie! I don’t need anyone! I can do whatever the hell I want, and you can’t stop me! I’m better than you, and you know it!”

Her words were like daggers, piercing right into me, but I deserved all of it. Because she was right—well, about that part. She was still a fifteen-year-old girl spouting probably the same attitude I had at her age. But it was obvious that nothing I said was going to get through to her.

So I just nodded, shoving my good hand into my pocket. “Suit yourself, then. Have fun fuckin’ up your life, Clarisse.”

With that, I turned around and walked away before anyone else could say anything to me.

[caitbalfes]

Lifeline (3/?)

Jamie & Claire | AU | Claire doesn’t have a husband to return to. Jamie doesn’t have a price on his head. Seems like smooth sailing … right? (AO3)

What is this ??? An update ??? Why yes, yes it is. Also, spot the line I stole from Outlander (Outlander, as in, the first book – or Cross Stitch, really, since that’s the version I’ve read.)

I. An Escape • II. The First Misstep

III. The Barmecide Effect

I hadn’t seen Jamie since he’d been whisked away by his wife—God! His wife. That had certainly been . . . unexpected. I’d thought Jamie was unusually, though pleasantly, open with me. He’d regaled me with stories about himself, his life before Leoch, his family—though not all of his family, apparently. Not his wife. Why had he felt the need to hide that from me?

Because he doesn’t owe you anything, you aren’t friends; you barely know one another.

I almost felt betrayed, which was absurd. But he had saved me and I had healed him. He had ensured I’d be allowed to stay at Leoch despite my being an Englishwoman. He had been nothing but kind, and somehow I’d felt . . . what? That there was something between us? Well, apparently there wasn’t, or at least there couldn’t be. He was married, after all.

Despite all that, I hoped he would come to the hall tonight; otherwise I would have no company save the liquid kind. Alcohol was a fine companion, but not when somewhere filled with people who distrusted you. It wouldn’t do to be careless; I had to be on my guard.

“Mistress Beauchamp!”

So I wasn’t to be alone, after all. He stood on the other side of the room, waving. He needn’t have waved for I could see him perfectly even from a distance. His height alone distinguished him, and then there was his red hair.

I walked over to him, glass in hand, as he was the only person here, save perhaps Mrs Fitz, that I trusted. I certainly didn’t trust Colum, nor did he trust me—he’d made that perfectly clear.

Jamie had taken a seat by the time I reached him. He indicated for me to sit next to him, and so I did.

Neither of us said a word to the other. I sipped my Rhenish and kept my gaze on Gwyllyn the Bard, trying to focus on his lyrics. Though I didn’t understand them, I found them beautiful and serene.

As though he could read my mind, Jamie said, “I could translate some of the lyrics for ye, Mistress.”

I nodded, but didn’t look at him.

Jamie leaned closer, and I felt his hot breath on my cheek as he whispered the English lyrics in my ear.

I turned to him suddenly, my abrupt head-turn causing our noses to bump into each other.

“How is your wife?” I asked, still nose-to-nose with him. At first he had been too startled to move. Now, sobered by my question, he pulled back.

“She . . . weel, she isna pleased wi’ me, I’m afraid. She was . . . not too happy about my absence yesterday.”

I supposed that explained her absence now. I had wondered why Jamie came alone and had contemplated asking about his young girl for a while. At first I had decided it might be rude, but a glass later I decided that propriety be damned.

“You never told me you had a wife.”

His face was hard to read, but his silence told me all I needed to know. He didn’t have an explanation for why he’d omitted that piece of information when he told me of himself.

I couldn’t find it in myself to be angry with him any longer. I knew he hadn’t withheld the information in order to seduce me, or something along those lines. If that had been the case, he wouldn’t have rejected my kiss. He still seemed the honourable man I’d first thought him to be. However, this knowledge didn’t quell my curiosity even a little.

I wondered suddenly if Jamie thought I was angry with him still, and felt guilty for causing him more pain than he deserved. His wife was upset with him—though she probably had good reason. His godfather was in an I-told-you-so mood, and I, a mere stranger, felt betrayed by him for no good reason at all.

I turned to Jamie once more, putting my hand on his arm in hopes of reassuring him.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I didn’t mean to be judgemental. It was none of my business whether you were married.” Though you could’ve told me when I tried to kiss you, I almost added, but didn’t. This was hardly the time.

“—But just as I was about to mount Donas, wee Hamish—that’s Colum’s lad—interrupted. He had concerns about marriage, ye ken.”

“What concerns could such a young boy possibly have?”

“Weel, he’d been told that ye must serve a lass like a stallion does a mare, and asked me was that true.”

I snorted into my goblet. “Wherever would he get such a notion?”

“I can assure ye, it’s no so unusual a misconception in these parts, Sassenach,” he said, and I thought he blushed.

“You set him straight, I hope.”

“As well as I could. I wouldna say I’m an expert on the matter.”

“No? You’re married, I should think you’re well versed in the subject.”

“I’ve a fair knowledge.” It was clear he didn’t wish to elaborate.

I wondered for the first time how his marriage to Laoghaire had come to be. He didn’t seem so head-over-heels in love with the girl, but perhaps that was because they’d been married for a long time and no longer acted like newlyweds. That didn’t match up with their ages, though. Jamie was likely in his early twenties—old enough to have been married a few years, but Laoghaire could be no more than seventeen.

Perhaps it was simply an unhappy marriage. I’d only met Laoghaire once, and hadn’t found her to be a particularly pleasant person—but then, what did I know? Maybe I’d just encountered her on the wrong day, in the wrong mood. She could be a lovely person for all I knew.

Jamie turned to me, and I forgot all about Laoghaire.

I couldn’t help but notice the beauty of his red hair in the romantic glow of candlelight that lit up the great hall, it lent his locks a fiery tone. I thought it made him look much like the great warrior I imagined him as.

Though perhaps it was his rescuing me that made me look upon him in such a way. That, or my healing him, seeing as it was not unheard of for a doctor to form a certain bond with a patient of theirs. Frank had told me that once when he suspected I was having an affair. Perhaps he hadn’t suspected as much as hoped, for had it been true it would have evaded him of guilt.

It was certainly possible that my romanticised attraction to the man next to me had little to do with dashing rescues and the bonds of healing, but rather the drink in my hand, for it wasn’t my first. I had to admit I had drunk far more than I should have.

“Mistress,” said Jamie, “should I see ye back to the Surgery? While we can still walk upright,” he added, before I could protest.

Perhaps that was best.

His hand was on my thigh, though I barely felt it; his touch was feather light. He was warm, not like the flames of his hair, nor the heat in his eyes, but a pleasant kind of warmth that protected from the cool, damp air of the Surgery where he touched my skin.

He inched the hand upwards, taking with him the hem of my shift, exposing more skin to the night air, and to him. He was less exposed to me, for I found my vision obscured by dark curls. Had I been able to feel my hands, I would have brushed my hair out of the way, but I had little sense of myself. I couldn’t feel my body but for where he touched me.

I tried calling out his name, urge him on, but I had no voice either. I had nothing but an aching need.

His touch, which had left me a moment before, returned, not warm this time but scorching. His hand continued its torturous teasing, moving upwards, but never seeming to reach its destination.

Still, I felt him. I felt his hand burning my thigh, and his hot breath brushing my ear as he breathed out, “Sorcha.” I wanted to ask what it meant, but was still unable to find my voice.

He was so close to touching me where I wanted him. So close it made my heart beat faster and my breath come quicker. So close I couldn’t feel anything but him, smell anything but him.

I couldn’t reach out for him, though I ached to touch him. My hands were limp, and my mind foggy.

I faded in and out of consciousness. I fought to stay under the surface, where the heat resided, but my mind kept pulling me up.

I made one last effort, compelled my hand to move, let it search in the dark for my companion, but found that he was air and his touch was a phantom one.

[spidderboi]

Your Boss is Who? Part 1

Pairing: Peter Parker x Stark!Reader

Summary: Y/N has telekinetic powers, not that she has told Tony anything about them. At night, she sneaks off, constantly searching for criminals to fight. Since she met Spider-Man, they’ve become close even without knowing each other’s identity. One day, when Tony introduces her to the latest Avenger, things get interesting.

Word count: 1,445

Warnings: swearing

A/N: Are Stark!readers cliche? Absolutely! Is that gonna stop me? Nope! Oh and Peter is eighteen and reader is seventeen going on eighteen

Part 1    Part 2    Part 3    Part 4    Part 5    Part 6    Part 7 (end)

Being Tony Stark’s daughter can be rough, that’s not to insinuate that Tony is a bad father in any way. If anything he was more than you could have ever asked for, but good god could he be overbearing. If Tony had ever loosened the reins even a little bit, you probably wouldn’t have developed the habit of sneaking out in the middle of the night to play hero.

You hadn’t discovered that you had the ability to move things with your mind until you were sparring with Nat, something your father insisted you learn to protect yourself, about a year ago. Of course, had you just told your dad about your powers when you discovered them, you would be saving yourself a lot of grief. On the contrary, had you told your dad about your powers there is no way that he would have let you go out and fight. Considering you were about to go out on another patrol, that definitely wasn’t an option anymore. What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him, right?

“Hey, F.R.I.D.A.Y?” You spoke as you quietly pulled your door shut.

“Yes, Miss Stark?”

You peeked down the hall, “Where is my dad right now?”

“He has fallen asleep in the lab again, would you like me to wake him for you, Miss Stark?”

“No, no. That’s quite alright, he probably needs the sleep anyway. Thank you, F.R.I.D.A.Y.”

“My pleasure, Miss Stark.”

Taking the stairs to avoid possibly running into anyone, you pulled your black hood up to cover your hair. Finally making it to the ground floor, you pull the wind guard over your nose and slip into the shadows, avoiding any cameras that may try exposing you.

Slipping down an alley, you contemplated which way to go. You knew that if you went down the right the crime rate would be significantly lower, but on the left? That’s where all the fun happened. Homicide, robberies, arson, you name it. You knew that if your father had known you went to this side of the city, he would be fuming. So the left side it is, and an action packed night was sure to be ahead of you. If you were lucky you might even get to see your favorite spiderling.

Rather, Spider-Man, as he liked to be called. Though, he wasn’t much of a man, not yet at least, he couldn’t have been much older than you. Before you saw the face behind the mask, his voice was a dead give away. Cracking and breaking, and at the absolute worst times. You recalled one particular occasion in which, through your combined efforts, you had taken down a band of petty thieves. The two of you were tired and out of breath, but Spidey decided that it was as good of a time as any to go ahead and interrogate the bandits. In the middle of his whole tough guy act, he had what has to be classified as the worst voice crack in the history of voice cracks. He’s lucky that the guys were scared of him and made no comment on it, but you were a different story. You teased him relentlessly for weeks, but he didn’t seem to mind so much, especially considering the fact that that moment signified the beginning of your relationship.

You would be lying if you said that you didn’t have some type of feelings for good old spider boy, but those started out completely platonic at first. It slowly developed into a crush, but now you are downright smitten. It’s not like anyone could really blame you, the moment that you saw his dark chocolate eyes and brown curls, you were a goner. Not to mention he was funny! Unintentionally of course, he just happened to be so painfully awkward that it made his actions humorous. Little did he know that that was one of the aspects of his personality that you admired the most.

The two of you had decided that it was probably best that neither of you share personal information such as names, where you’re from, for safety reasons. You still talked about your lives but only in vague terms, the last thing you wanted was to put him in danger, as a result of who you really were. You couldn’t believe that given the fact that you didn’t even have a name to put to the face, you are head over heels for the spider boy.

You were ripped from your thoughts by a scream that piercing the silence. Your feet led you  in the direction of the shriek, before you had fully registered what you were doing. As you bolted down the street all you could hear were the sounds of your own feet pounding against the ground as you hastily made your way in the direction of the commotion.

The site you were met with angered you beyond belief. Three men cornering a woman, shouting profanities and thrusting beer bottles in the air.

“Seriously?” You place your hand on your jutted hip as the men turn to stare at you.

“None of your business, fuck off.” The bigger of the three chucks his bottle at your head, you see it coming and merely raise an eyebrow as it comes to a halt three inches from your face before dropping to the ground in front of you with a crash.

You clear your throat and kick your boot at the shattered glass on the ground, watching as the men shake their heads in an attempt to clear what they believe to be a drunken hallucination.  “Like I said, seriously?”

The sass in your voice doesn’t seem to sit well with the burly one as he stumbles towards you, you smirk and look behind the men at the woman who stands there in surprise, “Run.”

She takes off as the man charges you. Simply side stepping the man as he runs into the dumpster behind you, you fold over laughing, “Come on! I want a real fight for once, is that too much to ask?”

Glancing back at the other two men, who seem to have sobered up at the fall of their friend, you catch them nod at each other before rushing you. You duck, as a fist comes flying at your face, kicking the knee out from under one of the men. You’re not so quick as the other swings a broken bottle towards your unprotected side, only moving your arm in time enough to avoid the sharp edges from piercing your ribs. A shooting pain travels up your left arm as the man disappears, you look up to see him webbed against the wall opposite of you. Spider-Man lands in front of you as you land another punch to the temple of the last man, sending him sprawling to the concrete.

Even through the mask you can tell Spider-Man is glaring at you, “You have powers for a reason! Use them!”

“But it’s more fun this way,” You push your bottom lip out into a pout and look up at him through your lashes.

“Yeah, well it’s a hell of a lot safer with your powers.” You roll your eyes and turn to walk away as he scolds you, holding your arm with the opposite hand.

“Oh, come on, Spidey. It’s not like anyone got hurt.”

“You’re bleeding.” He states bluntly.

You look at him over your shoulder, “Just because I’m bleeding doesn’t mean it hurts.” You claim, lamely. “Girls bleed all the time!”

He looks down and coughs while rubbing the back of his neck, “Oh my god, not like that! All I mean is we’re not wimps. We can take a hit.”

“Hey! I know you can take a hit, Nova. But your arm is bleeding, just let me look at it.” He takes a step towards you, pulling his mask off. He places his hand on top of your’s before removing it and pulling up your sleeve. “Damn, Nova. He really got it in there pretty good. I’m gonna have to do stitches this time.”

“Oh, come on. It’ll heal fine in a couple of days!”

“Yeah well, in a couple of days it’ll be infected. Come along, little one.” He slips his hand into yours after pulling his mask back on and loops his arm around your waist.

“Little one? I’m not even a full year younger than you.”

“Eh, you’re still younger,” He grins through his mask. Wrapping your arm around his neck, he aims at the top of a building, launching you both into the New York skyline.

~S & Iz

Part two

[handsomewrites]

Catching Up With The Fastball - Ch. 2

this is all that we have planned, choices taken from our hands. finally this fades to stand alone. my mind is a runaway, and I find it too hard to breathe.

Jeremy doesn't have legs, and no one seems to understand his life is over. The doctor doesn't make it better, but he makes it different.

Posted on Friday because I’ll be away from the computer on Saturday.

Jeremy’s hands felt the rough fabric of bandage again. Thick, but not so thick that he couldn’t feel the pressure of his grip on the wounds underneath. With a palm on each side of his thigh, his fingers could touch on the top and bottom. That wasn’t new, but as he slid his hands lower, the flesh of his leg tapered away to nothing. Right above where his left knee should be. He still had his right knee, but the flesh tapered off a few inches below that, too. Thinking about it, he pressed his hands a bit harder.

He wasn’t really feeling it yet. Well--he was feeling it, as much as the drugs would allow, but it didn’t… feel real. Maybe he would still wake up. He ran his hands back up to the top of the bandages, pressing a little harder than maybe he should. It had been a couple days since he’d woken up, so they’d cut back his drugs. He probably wasn’t doing any more damage, or it’d hurt a lot more. Plus, the small sparks of pain grounded him. He felt like he wasn’t blinking enough.

“Oh, Baby.” He hadn’t heard his Ma’s heels clicking down the hallway like usual, but then, he was sort of distracted. She dropped the bag of food she’d brought on the small side-table that had replaced his heart monitor before walking over to the side of his bed. Her small, manicured hands grabbed his wrists, and he let her move them from his leg--his stump, rather--and back to his lap.

He looked up at her face as she moved the blanket to cover up to his hips, and it took him a few moment to focus his eyes. “Oh, hey Ma.”

“Jeremy… How are you feelin’?” She had her hands on his again, both of them holding one. Well, sort of--one hand was still in her arm cast, so it was like one hand held his, and the other was just grabbing at it with her fingers. But the intent was there.

He shrugged. She sighed.

“I brought ya some lunch. Fried chicken, your favourite…!”

He glanced over to it and nodded.

“Thanks, Ma.”

She stood and watched him for a moment more before sighing and squeezing his hand.

“Oh, Jer-bear…”

They stood there together for a bit, silent. Jeremy always felt a little better when she was there, but not… a lot. He hasn’t felt a lot of anything, for the past few days since he woke up. After a few moments, though, his stomach made a noise, and his mother smiled, reaching over to the bag and pulling out a drumstick.

He took it with a weak smile and started eating, and she pushed away from the bed. She wandered over to the window and pulled the curtains open, letting the sunlight in--Jeremy looked paler than usual, with heavy dark bags under his eyes. His hair stuck up in every direction, and he was looking at his chicken like he was looking through it. Like he barely even tasted it.

She sighed again, the sight pulling at her heart as much as what she was about to tell him. “...Hey, Jer?”

“Hmm?” Jeremy looked up at her, mouth full.

“You know you’re… gonna be here for a bit.” He didn’t say anything, mouth full, so she continued. “And hospitals cost money, after all, so--”

Jeremy’s eyes widened as she spoke, and he swallowed quickly to respond. “If we can’t afford it, Ma, I can just--get better at home, or somethin’, I don’t--”

“Oh, now, hush, Jeremy, lemmie finish!” He frowned, but fell quiet. “It’s taken care of, don’t you worry. We got a little insurance from the Kroger’s, you know, and the rest of it is paid for with a couple’a loans an’ a couple’a credit cards.” Her accent drew out the word cahds in a way that always made him want to smile. Her accent had always been stronger than his. “But, you know, you won’t be workin’ for a while, and I gotta start payin’ shit back pretty soon, so I’m gonna be pickin’ up a couple’a extra shifts, maybe even a third job…”

“Aw, Ma, no…” She already had two jobs, both retail bullshit. She always seemed so tired.

“No, no, I can handle it, it’s no problem. Nicky’s been hangin’ around, helpin’ out a bit, so maybe he wouldn’ mind chippin’ in…” Nicky was Jeremy’s brother, the one closest to him in age. Still a few years older, but he lived nearby and didn’t have any kids yet. “Bottom line is, we’ll make it work. But I won’t be able to come around an’ visit as much as I have been.” She looked at him with… concern. Not pity, legitimate concern. “Are you gonna be okay, Jer-bear?”

God. This was all his fault--he’d gotten them both into an accident, and now because of him, his Ma had to get another job and more shifts. “Yeah, Ma, whatever you need’ta do. I’ll be fine.” He’d probably lose his job, too, missing so much time--if he even could’ve kept doing it at all, now that he was a cripple. He wished he could do more for her, but...

“Are ya sure?” She went back over to rub his back, and he nodded. He needed to do whatever he could to make her life easier, and one of those things was trying to keep her from worrying. That was the least he could do.

“Yeah. I’m just sorry you gotta go through all this shit…”

“Don’t worry about me, honey. We’ll be fine. Just focus on gettin’ better, okay?”

There really didn’t seem to be any road towards better --legs didn’t regrow, after all--but he smiled and nodded for her.

---

There were forty-seven tiles on the ceiling of Jeremy’s room. He’d counted them three times. Wait, was it forty-seven or forty-eight? Had he counted the half-tiles as one each or added them in as halves?

Well. Better count them again.

At tile number seventeen and a half, since he was counting half-tiles as halves now, the door of his room opened. He didn’t look away from the ceiling tiles to look at them, lest he lose count.

“Good afternoon, Jeremy,” his visitor chimed. It was the doctor again, judging by his weird accent. Something European. “How are you feeling today?” It was a harsh accent. Not very good for a doctor, he thought. “Jeremy?” And he had trouble pronouncing the letter ‘R’. Which made saying his name sound kind of weird. “Jeremy.” It was too guttural, like he was putting too much spit into it? Or making it too round, or something, but he wasn’t sure how a sound could be round--

A big red-gloved hand filled his vision and snapped a few times, which was kind of impressive with said gloves, and it startled Jeremy out of his reverie. He looked over to the doctor, who was frowning down at him. “Oh, hey Doc.”

“Hello, Jeremy.” He pushed his little glasses up his nose with one finger, his other hand holding a clipboard. “How are you feeling today?”

Jeremy shrugged. “I don’t have legs.”

“I mean. No, I suppose not. I guess we can just go through the list, then.” He walked across the room to grab the one chair, and dragged it over to sit down next to the bed. Jeremy sat up as the doctor continued. “How does your head feel?”

“A little fuzzy, I guess, and it hurts over here,” Jeremy waved a hand idly around the left side of his head.

“Alright. Are you seeing alright?” Jeremy nodded. “Hearing?” Again, Jeremy nodded. “Good, good.” He paused, scribbling on his clipboard. “Now, I’ve noticed you haven’t been eating very much.”

Jeremy shrugged. “Not real hungry, I guess.”

The doctor hummed. “Feeling sick to your stomach?”

“Nah.” He looked over to the food his mother had brought earlier. He’d only eaten the one drumstick. It was okay, but eating didn’t really feel worth the effort.

“...She said that was your favourite,” the doctor pointed out, his pen pointing towards the uneaten chicken. “She was very excited to bring it up to you.”

“Yeah. She’s a good Ma.”

There was a small stretch of silence before the doctor put his pen down on the board. “You may feel better if you eat, you know.”

“I feel fine.”

“You know, it’s okay not to feel fine.”

Jeremy felt a hand on his shoulder, and frowned, still staring away from the doctor, at the chicken. “Good to know. Still fine.”

The doctor sighed. “It’s completely normal.” Jeremy continued to look away from him, so he stood. “Well, alright. I’ll be back before nightfall to check on you again. And if you decide you do want to talk, just press this button.” He held up the device attached to the bed and pointed to the green button as he spoke. “The red one is for if you believe yourself to be dying. The yellow one is for nurses, if you are hungry or need something… changed, or whatever. Green gets me, for non-emergencies.” Another beat of silence passed before the doctor put it back down and moved to walk out.

“Hey, Doc?”

“Hm?” He turned his head to look at his patient, one eyebrow raised.

“You got a name, or should I just keep callin’ you Doc?”

The doctor chuckled. “You may continue to call me Doc if you wish, but my name is Dr. Ludwig.”

Jeremy nodded.

“Thanks, Doc.”

The doctor chuckled as he walked out of the room.

---

Over the hours spent sitting alone in his room, Jeremy had begun to enjoy the feeling of massaging his stitches through the bandages. The one on his head was convenient to reach, but only two stitches, and not as fleshy. His legs, though, had a satisfying squish when he pressed it, and a white-hot pain that made him feel real, though whether he wanted to feel real or not he still wasn’t sure.

This wasn’t the life he’d wanted.

As his thumbnail dug under a stitch, he found himself thinking about the life he had, now. The first thing that came to mind was the track team. It was just the local rec team, yeah, but it was something he enjoyed--maybe the only thing he enjoyed, now that he thought about it. He loved the people, he loved flirting with the coach, even if she clearly wasn’t interested, he loved joking with the team and listening to the old-timers and playing with the kids. He loved competing with them, getting faster, making them proud. He loved their smiles at the finish line of the sprint and their jokes about his hurdle jumps.

But more than all that, he loved… the track. It was stupid, but god, that patchy plot of grass with its plain black oval of asphalt, that felt like home. Even when the team wasn’t meeting, that’s where he went whenever he was upset, or confused, or mad, or… happy. He went there after work and in the morning when he woke up, to clear his head or relax his body or simply to feel the pliant old track give just slightly under his feet, to feel the impact shudder up through his calves and his knees to his hips and his heart. The smog on his face. If he went fast enough, it felt like fresh air.

His thumb dug in harder. He wouldn’t be doing that any more. He couldn’t feel anything in his feet or calves or left knee any more, for one thing, but he wasn’t stupid, either. They could barely afford to keep him alive, there was no way they’d be able to get him prosthetics. Even if they could, it took years to learn how to walk on them, much less run, and he wasn’t exactly the best student. He could barely learn arithmetic, how could he re-learn walking?

Jeremy was torn from his thoughts as he felt wetness under his thumb, and looking down, he saw that he’d torn some bandage with his nail. He also noticed that said bandage was bloody, as was his thumb. He hurriedly wiped his thumb off on the bandage to clear the evidence, covered his lower half again with his blankets, and grabbed the remote attached to his bed. Red is emergencies, which this definitely wasn’t, but he didn’t like the nurse, or her fake smile or her fake face. He pushed the green button, then, and dropped the remote back into its tray before settling into bed.

No one came for a few minutes, and Jeremy had almost nodded off by the time the door opened and Doc came in, white coat fluttering behind him. “Jeremy--did you need something?”

The boy blinked a few times before sitting up. “Yeah, uh… My leg hurts. Was just sleepin’ and it, uh. You know. Started hurtin’, so…”

As he spoke, the doctor walked over to his bedside and threw the blankets away from his legs. Jeremy’s hands immediately went to hold his gown down in front of him, for some sort of modesty’s sake, and Doc failed to suppress his eye roll. “Jeremy, please. You had a catheter in for a week, do you think that happened magically?”

Jeremy felt his face heat as he looked away, definitely not pouting. The doctor chuckled, briefly, but fell quiet when he saw his patient’s leg.

“You are bleeding quite heavily again,” he pointed out, pulling the chair back over so he could get a closer look.

“Yeah. Dunno how that happened.”

The doctor began to unwind the bandages, and his frown deepened. “Your last stitch is nearly torn free entirely…”

“Rough sleeper.”

“...Indeed. Well.” He put a lot of emphasis on the word well, but it didn’t sound right. Like vell. “Try to stay awake while I am gone. I need to get a few things in order to fix this.”  

“Right on, Doc.” Jeremy folded his hands behind his head. Admittedly, he did almost fall back asleep before the doctor returned, but his eyes snapped open again with the loud click of his boots.

“Sit still, please.” His demeanor seemed clipped, this time, like he was irritated. He had a tray with him, and when he sat again, Jeremy saw a long curved needle. It was spooky looking.

“Wow, that thing’s spooky lookin’,” he said.

“Indeed,” the doctor agreed absently, threading the needle. He wiped it down with a wet wipe, and wiped Jeremy’s wound with another, which stung a little, but Jeremy didn’t say anything about it.

Doc pushed some stuff around in his wound, which felt weird, and then thrust the needle into his flesh with no further preamble or anesthetic. Jeremy did yelp, this time, right hand moving up to his mouth so he could dig his buck teeth into it. He felt the flesh tug against the metal, and the rough fibers of the stitch pull through the hole it left, inch by inch. Centimetre by centimetre. After what felt like an eternity, the fiber reached its knot, and pulled taut. Jeremy whimpered. Then the doctor did it all again, to make another stitch, and Jeremy dug his teeth into his hand even harder.

Then, with a snip, it was done. “There you are. All better. Just need to bandage it up again. Oh, and, let me see your hand. I need to check your pulse.”

Panting slightly, Jeremy did as told, but the doctor didn’t check his pulse. He tugged Jeremy forward roughly, bringing the hand--Jeremy’s left, since the right was in his mouth--up towards his own face, with a look of anger on his face. Even Jeremy had to admit, it was… scary.

“There is blood under your thumb nail,” the doctor pointed out dismissively, before releasing the hand and allowing the boy to collapse back into bed. He retrieved a roll of gauze from his tray and began to re-bandage the wound before continuing. “Stitches do not come out easily, Jeremy. I can recognise a self-destructive injury when I see one.”

Jeremy was quiet. What could he say to that? It wasn’t often he was so bluntly called out.

“You called me before any serious damage could be done, though. I see you do not wish to prolong your stay, or to… procure more drugs from me. So why?”

The doctor didn’t look at him when he spoke, focusing on his task. It was a little weird, but it made Jeremy more comfortable, somehow. The Doc was still waiting for an answer, though, and any doubt Jeremy had about that fact was dispelled by the glance he got from the corner of the doctor’s eye. “...I dunno. It felt good, I guess.”

They were both quiet until Dr. Ludwig finished his task, and put his tools back on his tray. Then he looked Jeremy in the eye, serious but no longer scary, with Jeremy’s blood still warm on his gloves.

“No one expects this to be easy for you, Jeremy. You have lost a part of your body. It should be difficult. But talking may make it easier.” He gave a gentle pat to the leg he’d just bandaged, leaving a small smear of red on the pristine white bandages. “If nothing else, tearing out your stitches will not. It will just make it scar worse.”

Jeremy stayed quiet, chewing his lip, avoiding eye contact. The doctor’s hand on his leg was warm, and large, and the pressure was… nice. Different from his own pressure. He couldn’t explain it. But he felt it, perhaps more so than he’d felt the pain of pulling out his own stitch, radiating through the layers of fabric to loosely grip his newly acquired deficiency. Warm. Real. Comfortable.

A few moments passed without anything being said. Jeremy looked up to see the doctor still looking at him, with a pointed expression. It wasn’t invasive, though, or irritated as it had been before. Almost friendly. A few more moments passed before he spoke.

“...Doc?”

“Yes, Jeremy?”

Another beat passed. “Uh... Where’s your accent from?”

The doctor smiled. “Germany. Stuttgart, to be exact.” He patted Jeremy’s leg before standing, warm hand leaving Jeremy’s leg, picking up his tray to take with him as he left. He continued to speak, even as he walked away. “I imagine being cooped in this room all day must be boring. Tomorrow morning I will bring by a wheelchair and show you around the hospital, if you’d like.” He glanced over his shoulder to gauge Jeremy’s response.

Deep down, he didn’t really want to do anything. But something about the doctor interested him, from his weird accent to his rapidly cycling facial expressions to his warm hands. He was strange and scary, but… “Yeah, alright. Sure thing, Doc.”