#turns out you have to test your code! and if you cut corners at some point in the process it might not fucking work!!!!

[triviallytrue]

had a day at work that can only be described as god repeatedly rubbing my bad testing habits in my face

[lovings4turn]

☆ strange twist of fate . . . (o.p)

— a simple video shoot for mclaren leads to a lot of previously unexplored feelings about your teammate (2.3k)

+ fully inspired by mclaren’s summer games video, it is my fav thing ever at the moment. nothing stirs up some tension like a game of twister, right?

+ contains very subtle suggestive references. like. one or two sexual jokes. likely not very accurate oscar but, oh well. banner and divider from cafekitsune

the blinking red light of the camera in front of you indicates you’ve started rolling, and second nature (also known as years of media training) causes you to perk up a little as oscar begins to speak. even from his mannerisms, you can tell that he’s gotten far more confident being in front of the camera with you, the two of you building up a comfortable dynamic that you could stick to pretty well.

“alright.” oscar claps his hands together, shifting his weight back onto his right foot. the movement positions him just a little closer to you, his arm brushing against yours briefly. the hairs on your arms stand up in its wake, and oscar runs through the introduction of the video the media team has asked him to deliver.

“so, we’ve got some garden games,” he explains, voice dripping with faux enthusiasm as he turns to you with a coy smile.

the look generates a similar grin from you, something that usually happens when you’re in close proximity to oscar. not wanting to overthink it, you chalk it down to simple nerves. after all, you’ve only been teammates with oscar for six months. despite growing closer to him, it’s no surprise that your body continues to opt for bashful smiles over formulating a proper response.

surely everyone forgets how to speak to their coworker sometimes?

seemingly unaware of your internal monologue, oscar proceeds with his own conversation to the camera, eyes scanning the room and surveying the three games that have been set up for the two of you to play.

“we’ve got twister,” he notes, his accent thick as it wraps around the letters of the word. you ignore the way your brain plays the sound over again, an echo only you can hear. “and some limbo later, then jenga to finish it all off.”

if you weren’t too busy staring at the large, inflatable limbo bar in the corner, you would notice oscar’s eyebrows briefly jump at the sight of the twister mat. the dial sitting next to it on the floor reminds him of just what the game entails, and he swallows thickly.

deciding you should probably make an effort to speak at some point, you fake frustration and cross your arms over your chest.

“i’m pretty sure oscar’s beaten me in every other video we’ve done this year,” you begin, but you’re cut off.

“no, you won the uh- the lie detector thingy,” oscar points out.

it’s true. though you had somehow managed to get through the lie detector challenge receiving only one shock, oscar had absolutely crushed you at the ‘yes/no’ challenge, and managed to beat you in ‘hide and seek’ by somehow procuring the most effective hiding spot in the entire paddock. you don’t even want to remember just how badly you had done answering questions from the british driving theory test. 

keeping up the act, you roll your eyes and dismiss him with a wave of your arm. “okay, like, 7-1 then.”

at the sound of oscar’s high pitched chuckle, your face immediately cracks into a grin. it’s as though oscar’s laugh is programmed to make you smile no matter the circumstances, carrying some secret code that rearranges the chemicals in your brain — totally platonically, of course. you tell yourself that he’s just one of those people with infectious laughs, destined to make others join in their delight. 

“brilliant!” the director objects, a grin plastered onto her face as the camera cuts, signalling the end of filming for this segment. “that was perfect guys, thanks. if you wanna get ready for the first game for us.”

taking a deep breath, you nod and stride over to your first activity: twister.

similar to the motions you see oscar go through before every race, you make a show of stretching out your arms and neck with exaggerated groans, even shaking out your legs and performing a few deep lunges for good measure.

“just warming myself up,” you joke. “good thing i’m pretty flexible.”

“yeah? i’ll put that to the test, then,” oscar quips, clearly not realising that what he said could be taken in an entirely different way, a way that certainly doesn’t come to your mind the moment the words leave his mouth.

distracting yourself from his accidental innuendo, you move to one corner of the mat and watch oscar spin the dial for you, the pointer whirring around before landing on left hand red. you crouch down immediately and plant your hand onto one of the red dots, tilting your head to look up at oscar. it seems he was already looking, though, a small smile across his face as he rests his hands on his hips.

“your turn, oscar. you’re starting from the other side though,” you laugh, pointing over to the opposite side of the mat to you. “get over there.”

with a mock salute, oscar strides over to the opposing side of the twister mat, eyes locked onto you as he waits for you to spin the dial and administer his fate.

the game progresses as well as you could have imagined, the constant laughter between you two causing your bodies to shake and thus making holding yourself up a lot harder than it should have been. due to the increasingly awkward positions you find yourselves in, a mclaren team member has to step in at one point to spin the dial for you both since you’ve been rendered useless.

at one point, oscar groans softly at his latest instruction which leaves his body uncomfortably contorted. lip between his teeth, he stretches over to place his hand onto the green spot just across from you, granting you with the - undeniably enjoyable - sight of oscar’s toned arm inches away from your face. your eyes trace over the veins that protrude from his arms, splintering like lightning underneath his lightly tanned skin, practically begging your gaze to follow their path. 

having your insanely attractive coworker almost hovering over you as he pants and curses was definitely doing nothing to help you keep your focus on the content you were filming, and you prayed to any and every higher being that no one would be able to notice just how flustered you were becoming. you could see the twitter threads and youtube compilations now – y/n y/l/n being flustered for two minutes straight, y/n swooning over oscar, and whatever else the eagle eyed fans could create.

whoever at mclaren had suggested the two of you play twister was going to fucking pay.

you’re thankful when oscar speaks, dragging you away from whatever train of thought you had found yourself following.

“ah, what a stitch up that is!” oscar complains, letting out a few short breaths as he attempts to shuffle his body into a position that is easier to maintain. 

in return, you scoff, craning your neck to look at him with indignation.

“are you joking? i’m practically doing the fucking splits, oscar!” you object, nodding down towards your legs which are, to your credit - spread across the length of the twister mat in a way that isn’t entirely pleasant.

“guess the flexibility isn’t working out for you then?” oscar quips dryly. over the past few months you’d become accustomed to his more sarcastic, low-key humour, so it’s no surprise when a short laugh escapes your lips despite your current predicament.

a few more rounds pass without a hitch, but you should have known that fate would not be on your side for too long

“left foot yellow,” someone calls, and oscar looks down towards the mat you’re both occupying.

realisation dawns on you both at exactly the same time: the only free yellow spot lands directly between your legs.

“we can’t be on the- on the same sticker, can we?” oscar asks, voice fragmented through his breathy laughter as he tries to manoeuvre his body into a more comfortable position.

despite the way your heart pounds, you’re laughing too, shaking your head in what could be a gesture of amusement or admonishment depending on who you asked. though you should feel a little bad, you can’t help but laugh at the sight of oscar searching for every possible movement he can make, short groans and puffs of breath escaping his lips at the exertion. in an effort to prevent your mind from wandering further at the sound, you focus instead on the budding ache growing in your arms thanks to minutes of holding your body up in an unnatural position.

it’s no use, though. there’s only one spot he can logically move to. 

“oscar, you are not putting your leg there,” you protest, looking up at him with your brows furrowed. your voice becomes almost pleading despite the mirth in your tone. “oscar. oscar, call it quits.”

a flash of contemplation dances behind his eyes as he weighs up just how determined he is to win a trivial game of twister. at his hesitation, your palms grow clammy at the thought of oscar being even closer to you than he is now, and you’re scared that you’ll start to slip off of the mat if your mind doesn’t stop.

“does it have to be that one?” he asks, looking to the team behind the camera for confirmation.

amused, they simply nod, stifling their laughs with tight lipped grins. oscar takes another moment to figure out his next move before he lets out a groan, collapsing onto the twister mat with a breathy laugh. “there, i’m done. we’re done.”

victorious, you relieve your limbs of the strain they are currently feeling and flop down onto the mat yourself, raising your arms up in celebration as you grin widely at the camera.

“that’s one for me!” you shout, looking down to oscar so you can rub your victory in his face.

still on his back, you notice his eyes have fluttered shut and his chest rises and falls quickly as he catches his breath, cheeks flushed from the exertion. if the garish colours of the twister mat were not directly beneath him, you could almost allow yourself to imagine another, less innocent activity was the explanation for his fatigue.

taking a few moments to catch your breath, the two of you sit on the mat in a comfortable silence before oscar forces himself up, offering you a hand and helping you to your feet carefully.

the universe must have taken pity on you, as the rest of the video thankfully progresses with little problem at all. limbo is no contact at all, and being shorter than oscar gives you even more of an advantage, to his chagrin. your downfall is suggesting that your final round - jenga - be ‘winner takes all’. 

lesson learned: never underestimate oscar piastri’s jenga skills. 

overall, the shoot itself lasts maybe half an hour before you’re quickly dismissed by the camera crew, free to do whatever you please for the next few hours before more media duties call your name. it makes sense for you both to walk back through the paddock together, so that’s exactly what you do.

a comfortable silence blankets you both for a minute or so, before oscar speaks. 

“so,” he starts. though there’s an easy smile on his face, you can’t help but note a subtle hint of nerves in his voice. it’s a realisation that scares you a little. 

oscar had never really been nervous to speak to you. a little awkward, when you first met, sure, but his tone had never been laced with anxiety. 

you’ve made him uncomfortable, you worry. he noticed how you were looking at him during the video, noticed you were staring. fuck, fuck, fuck. you’ve ruined it.

“so,” you return, resisting the urge to wring your hands together like a chastised school pupil. “that was uh, an interesting idea, from mclaren. making us play twister.”

oscar nods and wets his lips. he seems to be weighing up his response carefully, and you brace yourself for whatever accusations he’s about to throw your way.

“yeah,” he agrees. “fun, though. think i definitely would have won, if you didn’t make me call it quits,” he teases, knocking his shoulder against yours. the unexpected movement causes you to stumble, and you laugh indignantly before shoving him back.

“what was i supposed to do?” you counter. your fingertips begin to tingle, heart beating a little faster as his words involuntarily bring to mind the memory of his body so close to your own. 

a cheeky grin rises to oscar’s lips, and though he shrugs, his next words are anything but casual.

“i don’t think you would have minded having me in between your legs.”

shock renders your mind blank as you scramble to come up with some sort of response. how are you even supposed to respond to that? deny it? make a joke out of it? brush over it and roll your eyes at him? nothing seems to be an appropriate response.

it seems oscar is enjoying your dumbfounded state, and if you weren’t floundering so much you would kill him for how much he was enjoying your misfortune.

“what do you mean?”

stupid.

like the little shit he is, oscar only shrugs again.

“just an observation,” he hums, coming to a stop outside of his driver’s room. though you think running away from the conversation seems a little juvenile, your hand hovers over the doorknob of your own room.

before he slips through the door frame, he speaks once more, crooked grin forming the words that would send you reeling for the rest of the day. 

“i wouldn’t have minded it, either.”

[uselessidiotsquad]

Should you fight my characters? Charr Flavor!

Inspired by @bluebudgie I thought the formula of this was so rad I wanted to make it for my own kiddos!

Sigilis Forgemuzzle

Fight Music: Very Noise - Igorrr

Should you fight Sigilis? Sure! I mean she loves fighting so if you're trying to teach her a lesson you'd be failing in that area. Yes in that sometimes she gets too full of herself as a brawler. So sure go for it as long as your intent is to fight not kill. If you're going for KILL please realize you will have a 9ft 650lb blood frenzied Galla coming after you for the rest of your days.

Who initiates the battle? She does! Likely she initiates it by saying something rude or unpleasant to you and then dares you to do something about it. It would be better to do this someplace with others, in case you need back up.

Who would win? If you can get her from a distance it's an easy fight for you, but you're probably out of luck in melee. Disassembling tanks has lead to some scary upper body strength.

Galla Strangleforge

Fight music: They Hit Without Warning - Edward Bradshaw

Should you fight Galla? No. For your own health and if you value your organs being in your body, no. She keeps to herself, keeps a cool head, and would rather not engage if possible given her tendency for frenzy. Out of all of my kiddos, she is the scariest in terms of sheer strength and combat ability.

Who initiates the battle? You would have to really REALLY try to get her to fight you. And honestly if you're trying that hard you have it coming. She's logical and calm - not one who gets worked up easily.

Who would win? Galla. Years of pit fighting and then being the Pact's combat instructor means she knows the dirty way of fighting, the survival way, and the proper way. And will use all of them. The word Strangle in Strangleforge is not just there for looks. If you're lucky she'll leave enough left of you for your family to claim.

The rest is under the cut to save your dash!

Elder Parteira (Party)

Battle music: Rise to Glory - Earth

Should you fight Party? Do you want to fight the village midwife? Do you want to fight the one that's done almost all the rearing of cubs for some 30 plus years? I mean she can be testy and crabby at times. But you realize everyone born in her village is going to come after you now that they are an adult. Would not advise it.

Who initiates the battle? Likely you did, she doesn't have time for wasting energy on skirmishes, she's got cubs to feed and dams to help.

Who would win? You probably have better mobility than she does, her joints aren't what they used to be. But get yourself cornered and you're in for a good walloping. Not to hurt you, but to teach you some damn manners.

Valens Forgedance

Battle Music: Bossa Dorado - Dave Martone

Should you fight Valens? They can be a prankster at times and it can be annoying. A fair fight as a show of strength would not be amiss, just be careful that you aren't too hard on her. There are the 3 aforementioned Charr that will have your head if you actually hurt her.

Who initiates the battle? I think it would probably be her wanting to spar and test her abilities out that's she's learned. Typically it wouldn't come to you trying to fight them because they've pissed you off there are some steps in the middle.

Who would win? What Valens lacks in strength she makes up for with agility. She would be dancing and evading all of your attacks until you get tired - but if you managed to get a single good hit in on her, you would probably win. She would very enthusiastically shake your hand for you winning - good fight! Good fight!

Larthi Glimmerforge

Battle music: World Turns - Rival Consoles

Should you fight Larthi? I mean it wouldn't hurt anything, it's existence is already sort of a blip in the world, a coding error if you will. I can't see why you would want to though, all of it's moves are defensive and blocking with shields and time manipulation to not be where your attacks land. So should you? I mean you can, but you're not going to really gain anything from it.

Who initiates the battle? You would have to, it doesn't do fighting. Having witnessed the end of all things puts conflict into a perspective of being pointless.

Who would win? No one. I mean it's a 50/50 chance that it will get ported to another place in time in the middle of your fight so basically no one wins. On the chance that it does stay around, you'd likely get bored of attacking and having it not do anything. It's not like Larthi even evades it just blocks every one of your attacks. You would get bored. It would already be bored.

Philetus Hearthmend

Battle music: Bone Marrow (Instrumental) - Protest The Hero

Should you fight Phil? The only reason you have to fight Phil is if you're a Charr fundamentalist who still thinks all Flame Legion is evil and wicked, or you're a human Separatist. Otherwise, no don't fight him, he's a big soft goofy guy.

Who initiates the battle? You would have to go above and beyond to do something to make him fight you - like attack someone he cares for. He doesn't always even get that someone is trying to start something, to be honest.

Who would win? It depends on why the fight started. If you were just trying to piss him off, then you would likely win because he would take it easy on you and let you beat him. But If you were doing something that made him go into protective of others mode (first of all I have questions) but then no you are not winning. He is a Flame Shaman Elementalist, that only uses Fire and has been mastering it his whole life. He can hold magma with his bare paws and shape it into weapons, with no injuries to himself. Chances are you are going to have spires of solidifying magma piercing you like a pincushion.

[thatfanficgurl]

Chapter 4: Into Your Arms

(🔞 Adult Content Ahead)

The neon light of Night City blurred before her as Lyric leaned up against the concrete wall for support. White noise static called suspect to vertigo, causing her to feel a prisoner of this bright, metallic jungle. She shook her head, an ill-fated attempt to shake off the exhaustion that crept across her ivory skin. "Lyric?" the familiar voice wavered, stretched over time and slurred in her recollection. The loud whining of a car horn screamed in her ears, shattering the glass dome of exhaustion her illness once formed. Turning her head, she barely saw the stream of silver that raced passed, all while losing her balance. A strong grip grasped her shoulders and pulled her back from the roadside.

Lyric lost her balance but quickly recovered while her vision crossed, an attempt to focus. "Choomie, look at me." The voice finally registered, red lines of code stretched across her vision. Lights realigned and finally Lyric could make out parts of Watson and the face of the voice that called out to her.

"Miyoko?" Lyric said slightly confused. Mimi rarely left Vik's clinic unless she and Vik were out for drinks. Night City intimidated her. It always had. If she hadn't met Lyric all those years ago when they were teenagers, Mimi's shell would have been impenetrable. "Mimi, what are you doing here?" Lyric asked, pressing her back against the cool metal wall behind her. She readjusted her glasses, ran her black tipped nails through her hair before looking back at Mimi.

Miyoko was a tiny thing. She was only about 5 foot 1 inches tall causing Lyric to tower over her. None the less, she absolutely saved Lyric's ass. "V was concerned about you." Of course it was V's doing that Mimi would leave her husband's side momentarily to check on her. Behind that tough exterior, Lyric was the only one who really knew how fragile Valerie really was. When they had lost a child in Atlanta, everything seemed to fall apart. Her Heywood sweetheart began to build up this tough girl exterior. She was more than grateful that V trusted her enough to let those walls down for her.

Rolling her shoulders back, Lyric winced at the grinding sound that omitted from her shoulder blades. Whether it was not enough fluid in between the joints or too much, she couldn't tell. "Did you hear about this gig she landed with Dexter DeShawn?" To business, always back to business with Lyric. She didn't trust Dex. He was well known for being one shady motherfucker. Cutting corners to cover his own ass wasn't some uncharted territory for him. Now, even knowing that T-Bug pulled some strings and got V involved only pissed her off more. If things go any less than smooth, both Dex and T-Bug would have hell to pay. If Lyric wanted to, she could have fried T-Bug's neuroports in a blink of an eye all while she casually sat in Tom's Diner drinking a strawberry milkshake. Very few people knew what kind of a deadly weapon Lyric really was. Mimi being one of the few; not even V knew.

Miyoko nodded, "Dangerous shit if you ask me. Are you feeling alright?"

Lyric chuckled, it was more of a cynical giggle than a joyous one. "Let's say I gave T-Bug a stern warning."

Miyoko shook her head, "Why am I not surprised? You know how sick you are, yet you risk your health. Come on, Choomie. Let's get you back to Vik's."

_______________________

Blinking slowly, V opened her eyes. Looking around the room, she could make out Vik's figure as well as Miyoko standing against the metal counter of the clinic with Lyric sitting on Vik's surgical stool. Warmth flushed V's face as she immediately smiled. She couldn't help herself. Lyric's hair was down now, her silver hoop earrings glint in the reflection from the fluorescents. Her upper lip curled in the left corner, lifting lightly to a small snarl as she blew a kiss at V.

V turned her gaze away quickly, her face felt hot from blushing. "Okay, let's test this. See the magic in action." Vik's voice caught V's attention as he smirked at her. He had caught a glimpse of her girlfriend's smile. "Linking you in. You might feel a little discomfort at first. Blurred vision, low contrast, glitches..." Vik rambled on, all while V's vision adjusted to the new optics. She gave Lyric as side glance and caught the sight of her skin tight leather pants move as she crossed her legs. Taking a deep breath, V looked away. Later, she would have to get her alone later. "Well, how's it look? Feel alright to you?"

V hardly noticed any kind of improvement at first, "Seen more dramatic improvements before."

"V." Lyric's stern voice cut across the room. V looked over at her girlfriend who was glaring at her. Her deep brown eyes glowed orange for a moment, how V longed to burn alive in the fire of her eyes. Though Lyric's face reeked of disappointment. As it should, V should have been more grateful. She gave Vik a guilty face, he shook his head in response.

"Patience, kid. Give it a minute. Time for the scanner. It might take you a few seconds to adjust. But first time's rarely the charm, with anything, really. Scanner should eventually sync up with your thought processes an' I also injected an NCPD file search. Run into any ne'er do wells, heh, you'll find out exactly what they ne'er did well." V looked at Vik, testing her scanner. Across her vision, came a profile screen; Viktor Vektor, Age: 50, Status: Married. Hell, it even listed that he was the 'Best ripperdoc in Watson.'

Next, V scanned Mimi; Miyoko Vektor. Age: 30, Status: Married. Glancing over to Lyric, the profile glitched for a moment. V shook her head, looking back at Vik who chuckled, "Hehehehe. Give it time, kid for perfection. It outta work like a charm. Now, draw your weapon." V pulled her unity pistol out from the small of her back, tucked neatly away in her basketball shorts. "You should see your amo count and a brand new sight."

Standing, V retreated to Lyric's side. She looked at her with concern. Lyric seemed off ever since Jackie dropped this new gig on them this morning. "How much do you owe now?" Lyric asked while Vik smirked.

"Figured Mr. DeShawn hadn't paid her yet. 21k worth of eddies." Lyric looked at V with disdain as Vik answered her. God damn, this woman was expensive.

"Relax, babe. I promise, Vik, I'll pay you back with interest." V said while Lyric reached into her pocket and handed a credit chip to Mimi.

"No, you can pay me back in interest." Standing, Lyric wrapped an arm around V's waist. Her fingertips rested against the bare skin of V's hip that was slightly exposed by her shirt lifting up. The soft, pink skin beneath felt warm to the touch. V's cheek flushed as Lyric buried her face into V's neck, her black hair tickling V's cheek.

"That'll do, kid." Vik smirked as his wife sauntered over. "I'm sure you two love birds have somewhere else to be." Vik tossed a brown bag at Lyric, who caught it without looking in her right hand. She was too busy brushing gentle kisses against V's neck. No doubt it was another supply of stims to treat the symptoms of Lyric's illness.

V's voice hitched slightly, masking a moan she so desperately wanted to release, "How 'bout the neurovirus from the last job?"

"Done and gone while we were puttin' in your implant. Ran a full sweep on your soft and circuits. Zapped the critter. You're certified, bug-free." Vik explained. V pulled Lyric outside of the clinic, wrapping her arms around her neck. Pressing her lips against Lyrics, V hungrily tasted every inch of her perfect lips and inner mouth. Lyric turned V around and pressed her back up against the building that held Vik's clinic. Lyric raised her left hand, resting it against the base of V's throat.

"You still have to meet with Dex and find out exactly what this job is. Don't lose your head getting wrapped up in your desires." The last part left Lyric's lips in just a whisper. A longing groan left V's throat, her lip pouted to which Lyric took between her own, her teeth gently biting and pulling V's lower lip. Unable to control herself, V moaned into Lyric's kiss.

"Please..." V begged only to have Lyric pull back. She looked longingly into V's hazel eyes. "Let me play with your fire." Her voice whispered, receiving a low growl from Lyric. Who lifted V's face with a finger pressed up on her chin.

"Meet with Dex first. Call me, second. And maybe, if you're a good girl..." Lyric leaned in, gently biting V's neck. In a swift moment, she pinned V's wrists together above her head. V couldn't help herself, she was melting. She caved so easily for this woman, there was nothing she desired more in the world than to heed to her needs by a leash at the edge of their bed. A soft moan escaped V's lips to which Lyric giggled in her ear, "Maybe I'll set your soul aflame."

[roamthecountryover]

how's the writing coming along? make sure to go at your own pace so you don't burn yourself out!

also thoughts on the new owl house ep?

FOR THE FUTURE SPOILERS!!!!!!

So, writing... is hard. School has been crazy at the moment, and I've only just finished the second draft of the dialogue for Ch. 20. I know, it's taking a while. But!!! I didn't actually use that time for nothing. I wrote out some basic stuff for the next TWENTY chapters, up to ch. 40! Some important conversations, scene details, stuff like that!

Why do that instead of focusing on one chap. at a time? Well, I'm hoping I can cut some corners on time in the future. We'll have to see.

Moreover, I think I'll have more time to work on ch.20 this weekend. I do also have to study for a test, but I can do both.

As for the new episode???

FUCKIN. AMAZING.

I LOVE Luz's palismen- not only does it fit her perfectly, but it was just a really smart idea in general. It made it so not only most of the fan theories were right, but all their evidence was turned into foreshadowing! It's genius!

I like how everyone got development in the character arcs- Hunter, Willow, Luz, Camilla! Maybe they were a little rushed, but that's obviously not the writer's fault. It makes me sad that we're not going to get more of Steve and other minor characters, though.

Eda and Lilith are awesome, I love them. The new hair is awesome, and I am ready for all the trauma fics where Eda has to stand by and watch as Rain is nothing but a puppet... also nice GF parallel.

Belos is straight up fucking horrifying now. It'd be fucked up if the Golden Guard body he took was Garius's mentor. I paused and counted the helmets- got, like, 35? So, ya know, fuck.

I wish we got more of Caleb the Original. We have little to no info on him or his wife, The Maybe Clawthorne Possibly.

I really want them to release an important Journal, like Gravity Falls and Amphibia did. Probably Phillip's Journal, because that's the only really important journal TOH has. They haven't really established any codes tho... WAIT YES THEY HAVE

Anyway, that about sums up my thoughts. Thanks for asking!

[cashjojl463]

10 Things You Learned in Preschool That'll Help You With socks manufacturer

IP 56 is a rating for enclosures that are subject to a variety of weather conditions. This is a standard developed by the International Electrotechnical Commission (IEC) and is a worldwide standard. In the U.S., the National Electrical Manufacturers ASsociation (NEMA) sets similar standards.

™

IEC Ingress Protection Standards

The IEC has a published standard 60529, which defines Ingress Protection using a two digit code. This standard has all the information about testing and applications.

The first digit indicates the protection against access to hazardous sections and whether solid objects can get into the encolosure. In other words, how hard is it to stick your finger in there and cause some trouble.

The second digit indicates the amount of protection against water.

Here are the designations for the first digit - Hazardous Parts:

0 - Non-protected

1 - Protected against access with the back of the hand (50mm size object)

2 - Protected against access with jointed finger (12 mm x 80 mm)

3 - Protected against acess with a tool (2.5 mm)

4, 5, 6 - Protected against access with a wire (1.0 mm)

Here are the designations for the first digit - Solid Foreign Objects:

0 - Non-protected

1 - Objects greater than 50mm

2 - Objects greater than 12.5 mm

3 - Objects greater than 2.5

4 - Objects greater than or equal to 1mm

5 - Dust protected

6 - Dust tight

Protection designation for the second digit - Ingress of Liquids

0 - Non-protected

1 - Water dripping vertically

2 - Water dripping, enclosure tilted up to 15d

3 - Spraying water, upt to 60d angle from vertical

4 - Splashing water, any direction

5 - Jetting water, any direction

6 - Powerful jetting water, any direction

7 - Temporary immersion in water

8 - Continuous immersion in water

You can see that an IP56 rated enclosure is protected against dust (and other small particles) and is water tight against jetting water from any direction.

Let's face it; the world would be nothing like we know it today if steel had never been invented. From cars to trains, and from bridges to skyscrapers, the human race is undeniably dependent on steel supplies and on the ability of steel suppliers to manufacture enough of it in order to meet the ever increasing demand.

https://i.ytimg.com/vi/fycyMK3xkpA/hqdefault_1491133.jpg

To put this into perspective, let's consider the fact that China alone manufactures around 150 million tons of steel per year. Despite such an immense output, China is still the world's largest steel importer, importing close to 50 million tons each year, and this figure is expected to increase year on year.

The United States is not too far behind China in terms of steel production, and yet they too have to import millions of tons of steel annually. In fact, the United States is the world's second largest importer. With such staggering global demand, it only stands to reason that there'll inevitably be manufacturers cutting corners in terms of quality in order to keep production costs down, and profit margins up.

There are several different grades of steel, and manufacturers can easily mislabel their steel products intentionally so as to increase their profits. If or when this happens, who actually pays the price? Certainly not the steel suppliers! The businesses that rely on steel supplies for manufacturing goods also don't pay the price, but instead, it's often innocent consumers like you and I.

Let's take a very simple example. Let's say a local business that specializes in making gates goes ahead and orders their steel from a questionable supplier who in turn supplies them with steel which is inferior in terms of quality. The gate manufacturer unknowingly uses that steel, and then sells their gates as per usual. When those gates start degrading a few months later, it's the buyers who will be faced with the problem of having to replace their gates.

The above example is, as I pointed out, a very simple example. Now just try to imagine what the consequences could be like if a major construction company, tasked with erecting a massive suspension bridge, where supplied with steel of an inferior grade of quality.

Reliability and dependability are also key issues for businesses that rely on the use of steel supplies. For example, practically all large scale construction contracts include clauses which state that the construction company will be liable to penalties if certain deadlines aren't met. Usually, these penalties involve huge amounts of money, because a delay in construct can have a phenomenal knock on effect for other companies that are also involved in the building process. The construction company therefore can't risk running out of supplies.

Construction companies, along with many other companies, can lose millions if suppliers fail to deliver on socks wholesale time, every time. In a nutshell, if you have the responsibility of ordering steel from the suppliers, you really need to do some research before settling on a particular supplier, and you should also make sure you have a second supplier to fall back on if it's ever necessary.

[ronearoundblindly]

Best wishes for your Birthday dear Ro! If this interests you maybe a Drabble with some cooking and teasing Steve shenanigans. Also, I'm so in love with dignity of his choice. I live on angst now.

The Thought That Counts

Warnings: not vegetarian? splash of language? definitely zero editing

“Nobody move,” Steve yells.

You, Natasha, and Bucky freeze in your seats, eyeing each other warily. Nat’s face remains completely neutral as the clattering continues to roll through the apartment. Bucky has to put his vibranium hand over his mouth to stop from laughing out loud. You just grimace as you hear the oven door unceremoniously slam shut way too hard.

You scoot out your chair.

“NO.” Steve catches your gaze, pointing to pin you in place. “I said I would do it, and I will.”

“This is one of those times where ‘can I cook you dinner’ and ‘may I cook you dinner’ is an important distinction,” Nat mutters loudly, pursing blood-red lips together with the slightest turn up in the corners. “How long’s he been like this?”

“I’m FINE!”

You startle in your seat and shut your eyes, hoping to tune out the aggressive boiling noise from a pot on a too-hot burner.

“This would be hour four,” you say as calmly as you can manage.

Bucky snorts.

“I heard that,” Steve calls before a dejected and whiny, “noooo.”

“At least it smells good,” Nat admits, draining the last of her glass of pinot.

The dragging sound means—at last—the pot is off the stove, and you sigh in relief.

“I heard that too.”

“Nothing, honey,” you feign, “I’m just going to pour us all some more wine, okay? I’m pushing my seat out now.”

“It’s not funny,” he gripes, but from the rustling (and only slightly softened clattering of dishes), he’s moved to plating the meal now.

Thank god.

“No one is laughing,” Nat shouts back encouragingly, punching Bucky hard in his flesh shoulder.

“Nope,” he chirps in response. “Just lounging out here, drinking wine.” Bucky’s mouth is wide open in a silent cackle though. He could sit here and watch Steve do this all day…

…because it might take Steve all day.

“Don’t make me spit in your food, Buck.” Steve knows. He just knows.

And Bucky simply shrugs. “Been in the army. I’ve eaten worse.”

The cork finally pops out under your weak pulls; weak, of course, compared to everyone else in the room. In unison, Natasha and Bucky hold out their glasses to you, ready for dinner since they’ve been listening to the show for twenty minutes now.

Then there’s silence. It goes on too long.

The three of you return to anxiously looking between each other and making wild gestures to communicate what you should do. Finally, after Bucky has tried to tap out a response on the table and you mouth back that you don’t know Morse code, a plea emerges.

“Keeps. Can you come here, please.”

Oh, it’s sad, too. Poor thing. You’re expecting Hiroshima in your kitchen. It’s…wow, okay, it’s fine.

There are a few dishes by the sink, but most are rinsed and sorted into the dishwasher. This man has put a design of sauce on each plate while the meat rests on a cutting board. The soup starter that was boiling over is singed along the water level in the pot, but that's it. You’ve burned something worse just this week.

“Are you fucking kidding me?!”

He made all that noise, all that fuss, and that absolute punk did just fine. In fact, everything looks excellent, and you’re so frustrated that you march out to go grab your wine before coming back, leaving Bucky almost blue in the face out there.

“What? What could you possibly need?”

Steve holds out a little spoon. “Taste test?” His bright blue eyes are obnoxiously soft and loving.

From the table you hear Bucky blurt out, “when do you want me to tell her you were our Cooking Commando?”

I had far too much fun writing this actually. Should have been criminal. Also, thank you for the love on Dignity. I kinda pulled a fast one on some people and went heavy angst when other parts aren't that way, so it's nice to hear not everyone is like "burn the witch!!!"

divider by @firefly-graphics

[shurisneakers]

shut in [14]

Summary: When your high profile mission goes terribly wrong, you’re forced to hide in a safehouse with a man you’ve never met before. With seemingly nowhere else to go, you’re forced to work together to figure out who is trying to have you assassinated before it’s too late. (Sam Wilson x Reader, Hitman AU)

Warnings: anxiety, violence, guns, death, ptsd, swearing, abuse

Word count: 6.3k

A/N: last chapter you guys :’’’’) im too emo about a fanfic i s2g. there’s an epilogue but this is the official last chapter. 

i really appreciate feedback so if you would like to, please consider dropping me an ask or comment ly guys!

Previous Part || Shut In Masterlist

You had only heard of the warehouse before, never actually seen it.

Its reputation preceded it. It was only mentioned in passing as a place for the worst of the worst.

It was murky and smelled like rust, concrete and rotting corpses. You had no doubt a few of them would be littering the place. A few tube lights shone over you graciously like a spotlight, barely illuminating the area. 

The room you were in was utterly silent. The only exception were noises outside the door; loud shouts and clanging of metal. You assumed it to be people in the other rooms. Your assessment on how tight the ropes were coiled around you earned a few grunts and odd squeaks, but nothing major. 

You were bound to a chair, of course, with knots you had used before on others. It felt like a convoluted form of irony. It was firmly nailed to the ground to prevent you from using it against captors. You were gagged; pretty well, by the look of it. 

A noise from beside you threw you off track. A quick look to your left and you found Sam in a similar predicament. He shook his head slightly, implying that it was useless to find an opening. At least he was alive and breathing. 

“Are you done?” A voice came from behind you, echoing within the four walls. “I really want to get going and you’re taking too long.”

You knew who it was. It was impossible for you to mistake it at this point.

“Don’t mind the noise outside. We’re just torturing a bunch of people to death.”

You roll your eyes out of sheer instinct. The footsteps slowly moved towards the front of the room, heavy and deliberate. The expensive material of his suit shone under the light as he edged in front of you. Only he’d wear Armani to a murder.

The dramatic fuck clearly rehearsed it.

“Hey Buttercup,” Ransone smiled, distinctly proud of himself. Your bite on the bundle of cloth haphazardly shoved in your mouth tightened. “Been waitin’ on you for a while now. Wilson’s no good company.”

You sneak a glance at Sam’s side profile and he looks relatively untouched. There were a few cuts on his face that you could make out under the harsh light but that was it. 

“You can’t get out of those, if you're wondering.” He gestured to your current set up. “I told you, Sam. I save my warehouse for special guests. All your fun tools are gone. Took ‘em when you were brought in.”

As your eyes adjusted to the lighting, you faintly make out the presence of two men in the corners of the room, stiff as cardboard. His security. 

“Oh! Except this.” He brandished the paper airplane you had brought with you in the utility belt. He’d use anything to potentially get a rise out of you.

“Gettin’ sentimental now, are we?” He tested the tip of the plane with his finger. 

You prayed he wouldn’t destroy it. It had more value than he was willing to bet on. 

“You must be asking yourselves why you ended up here,” Ransone mused, looking at the plane from all angles. “No need to worry, I’ll tell you.”

You didn't expect anything less from him. Everything about this felt cinematic; the inconvenient lighting, the men standing in the corner. This man oozed drama over efficiency. 

“When I was just starting out, people warned me. Told me I wasn’t going to get anywhere, that we’d always stay in the same position because that’s how it’s been for all these years.” He tested the plane, holding onto the body sturdily.  

“There were too many big names already. We were one of them, of course. My father did a good job of giving us a solid foundation.” He pulled his wrist back like he was going to launch it, only to never actually do it. He carried it through the air, simulating its flight pattern.

“You remember my father, don’t you? The guy who cut off someone’s finger because they didn’t finish the job.” Ransone really only had one story to tell about his father and he worked it to death. Other than a few handful of times, his father never bothered about his presence much from what you heard. He favoured the ones who were brutal and Ransone- well, he was a glorified theatre kid. 

“Of course you do. He was an incredible man.” He laughed crisply. “But he had no real ambition. No drive. I told him we could have been at the top, the ones parents warn their kids about. He didn’t listen to me. He never really paid attention.”

His tone got wistful in the end, eyes distant like he was living the scene out in his head. 

“So obviously when he died, I had the chance to really make a difference. Really set us apart. Ten Rings and Hydra had their own niche; they had some ties with the military and the government and whatnot. Crazy motherfuckers, all of them.” He shook his dead in distaste. “But Serpentine- that was closer to home. Same market as us.”

You wondered how long he would take to get to the point. The only distraction you had were the noises that continued outside. An odd gunshot here and there really pulled your attention away from the story.

“Serpentine with their stupid code names. They really thought they were all that.” He sounded embarrassingly like a bitchy teenager. “Who do they think they were fooling with the Norse Gods thing, huh? Naming your leader Odin, his wife Frigga.”

“I fucking hated them,” he spat, face twisting into anger. “Told them to watch out, that I’d end their legacy. They laughed in my face.” 

He spun around, a wicked gleam in his eyes as he pointed to Sam, “That’s where you come in.”

Sam looked thoroughly irritated with the show that was going on in front of him. If he wasn’t gagged you had no doubt he’d have a few comments to pass. Ones that would get the both of you killed. 

“I told you to kill their leader. One job. You fucked that up.” Sam recalling the story of his first mission flashed in your memory. “Let that old nutjob into your head and allowed him to escape. We didn’t know where he was for years.”

“I let it go because I thought Serpentine was done for. Radio silence after Odin disappeared. And they were, until a few years ago when I get news that they have a new leader. Odin’s son, the new heir.” He waved around his hands, mocking the last part of his sentence. “Word on the street was that he wanted to kill whoever murdered his mother in front of his eyes.”

“I thought that was hilarious. You know why?” He laughed humourlessly. “Because that was you. You were the one who killed his mother. You remember that? Your big mission?”

“You killed my mom,” he jeered, unmoving.

“I’m sorry. I had to.” Your voice was quiet. Your hand clutched at the hood of the car to keep your balance. “But I don’t want to hurt you. Go.”

“He wasn’t supposed to be there. No one had even heard of him. His brother’s too soft to take on anything like this. He’s some farmer in England now. But he was supposed to be Odin’s only son. Yet somehow, the only person who could have known this other son existed and actually seen him… was you.”

“Turns out he’s like you. A secret adoption. No record of him anywhere.” You didn’t blink, not once taking your eyes off him in case he decided to go wild. “He should have died that day. You were supposed to kill them.”

Only Ransone would justify killing a kid because it fit his agenda. It wasn’t like he hadn’t done it before, and though he tried very hard to shove his ideology onto you, you never complied.

“Goes by Loki now, another stupid codename. Trained by his father who this idiot let go of.” He gestured to Sam callously, “and mad about the murder of his mother that you committed. Serpentine came back pretty quickly after he took control.”

A particularly loud sound of metal slamming would have made you jump had you not been tied down. Ransone swung around in anger, loudly cursing at them for ruining his train of thought. He muttered some more curses under his breath before plastering a fake smile on his face and continuing.

“I’ll admit, he’s a sneaky one. But they grew faster than any other cartel. They somehow knew all our connections, all our targets, our key players. It wasn’t possible,” he shook his head low as he paced up and down slowly. You knew where this was headed. “Unless we had someone giving them information from the inside.”

He stops to look at you.

“I would have forgiven you, Y/N, I really would. You know how I am about second chances.” He looked at you, eyebrows upturned with regretful eyes. “But then you had to go and spy on me for two years.”

You could see Sam turn to you from the corner of your eye, assessing your reaction. You didn't extend the same courtesy to him. You didn’t have any reaction.

“We found out very late, of course. I taught you well,” he chided, his inescapable  narcissism making an appearance once more. “But then we had to figure out why. Why you’d betray me and everything I’ve done for you.”

“I still can’t figure that out.” You wanted to scream at him, everything he had taken away from you, everything he forced you to be. “I treated you the best out of everyone I had. You had the best training, the best resources. You wouldn’t have made it anywhere if I didn’t drag you out of that shithole orphanage.”

You had heard of blissfully ignorant, but he was well beyond that at this point. 

“Didn’t take too long to connect the dots. What, with Wilson’s great act of charity and your lack of better judgement, both of you managed to fuck up enough to screw me over years later.”

“I initially was only going to have you killed, Buttercup,” he admitted nonchalantly, like your life had no value. “But then we found out that Sam’s been lying to me for a long time too. Been hidin’ his friend a few states away.”

“It was meant to be,” he cooed. “Such a similar past. You could have met each other before, you know? Pierce wouldn’t be the first time you were at the same house on the same day.”

You couldn’t help but wonder what it would have been like if you had known Sam earlier. Would you have been friends or would you have been forced to kill each other in his sick ‘survival of the fittest’ game?

“It felt poetic to have you both die together, you know? On a mission gone wrong. A full circle.” God, he spent too long planning something elaborate when he could have just put a bullet in your head and ended you the day he found out. Fucking weirdo.

“Made sure I sent you to the same place at the same time. Pierce was dead long before you came, the poor fuck. But then again, collateral damage. No mercy.” He shrugged. “Had everyone at the ready. You should have died that night.”

“But like everything you do,” his voice suddenly rose like a child throwing a tantrum, “you fucked that up for me too. Escaped with his stupid fucking car.”

“None of those useless agents could find you. How could they?” The beauty was that Ransone must have spent too long looking when you were basically right there, just miles away. “You didn’t go to one of our locations and Serpentine hides their safehouses well.”

You still remembered the relief when the door accepted your fingerprint. 

 It was a long shot but you didn't have anywhere else to go. You weren’t even sure that this house existed.

Another loud crash arrived from the outside with noises that sounded like more gunshots, making Ransone jump this time. Just how many people were being tortured here?

“Keep the volume down, you stupid fucking imbeciles!” he screeched, pounding at the metal door. The decibel reduced, but still continued on.  

He dragged his palm across his face in exasperation, talking under his breath to himself. He shook his head before turning back to you.

"Oh, by the way, don't think about escaping. Got every last one of my best agents out here after that stunt you pulled at Pierce’s house,” he says offhandedly.

He takes a second to regroup, get back into character.

“So we released your pictures to the public. Can’t go very far if people are looking for you constantly. It was the only way we could get you to stay in one place.” Ransone raised his shoulders casually. “We had every lowlife out there waiting for one of you to show up.”

“We eventually had someone report Wilson in a town a while away from Pierce. I was making my way there but then you sent me your location on your own. Had men outside your house that night.” He paused, peering at the plane in his hand.

He finally let it go, watching as it barely went any distance before nose diving to the ground. Your eyes trailed after it, hoping he wouldn’t crush it with his foot.

“This is the worst fucking paper plane I’ve ever seen. The balance is completely off.” He stared at it in wonder, picking it up again and shoving it back into his pocket. You let out a breath you didn’t realise you were holding. “Anyway one of them heard you talkin’ about how you’re leaving the next day so we just got ready at the door.”

“Et voila.” He grinned, spreading his arms. “Here we are. Brilliant, wasn’t it?”

Unnecessarily long, but you weren’t going to complain. 

“Oh, I forgot you can’t talk.” His mouth quirked downwards into a ‘whoops’. 

He took a long pause right in front of you before his hand reached out to cradle your face. “I wouldn’t let those idiots kill you, Buttercup. You deserved better than that.”

He stared unnervingly into your eyes, looking for a hint of anything, any sort of remorse. He wasn’t going to find any. You wished he saw nothing but hatred. 

“It’s why I had to kill you myself.” He sighed when you pulled your face away the best you could from his palm in disgust. “But I’ll do you a solid. I’ll give you a chance to beg for forgiveness. Maybe if you’re good enough I’ll let you go.”

You knew he was lying. He had no intention of doing that. He only wanted you to grovel in submission, plead for your life for a fucking power trip.

He ripped off the tape that was over your mouth, making you flinch at the burn. He pulled out the cloth faster than you could spit it out at him.

“Go ahead,” Ransone said smugly. His ego would outlive all of you. 

“Him first.” Your mouth was dry and your lips felt chapped. You had clearly been knocked out for a while by then. You had no idea how far away you were from the original location.

“What?” His smile dropped to a frown rather quickly.

“Him first.” You mentioned towards Sam with your head. 

“That’s cute.” He laughed, stopping when you didn’t join in. “Oh, you’re serious.”

“I’m not saying shit till he does too.” You were bemused, monotonous. You just wanted to get this over as quickly as possible. 

“Fine,” he huffed when your expression didn’t change. “It’d be fun to watch him beg anyway.”

You hear the rip of the tape from his face, the scrunch of the material before he balled it up and threw it on the floor.

Sam shook his head furiously, forcing Ransone to take a step back swiftly before he hit him. 

“Right.” Ransone clapped his hands together. “Let’s get star-”

He was interjected by another loud bang followed by a series of gunshots. Another victim massacred. He groaned in frustration, stamping his feet at the constant interruption. The universe was determined to not let him finish his monologue in peace, and for that, you thanked her.

You looked at Sam, nodding slightly. He gave you a small smile in return, calming the nerves you were beginning to feel.

“Where were we?” Ransone did not look happy; a vein was dangerously visible on his forehead. Now would not be the best time to do anything that angered him. “Yes, go ahead. Beg.”

“Ransone,” Sam began, exhaling lightly. “We knew.”

The smile on Ransone’s face faltered. “What did you say?”

“He said we knew,” you cut in. “You melodramatic fuck.”

Ransone’s grin faded abruptly and it was by far the most satisfying experience you had ever experienced.

“Yeah, we figured it out ourselves a while ago.” Sam had the slightest smirk on his face. “Y/N did, actually.”

“Fuck,” you cursed.

You could feel his muscle shift as he looked at you. 

“What’s wrong?” 

You opened your mouth but shut it again. How do you explain it to him without sounding utterly ridiculous?

“I need to tell you something and I need you to hear me out before saying anything,” you pulled away from him, shuddering at the sudden cold that enveloped you. 

“I’m listening.”

“I think it’s Ransone. He’s been trying to kill us.”

“Why?” He didn’t sound judgemental, hardly even fazed, like it was a completely plausible suggestion. You couldn’t express how glad you were.

“The guy you didn't kill, if he’s the old head of Serpentine, then... I know his son.” Your mouth was dry as your mind raced to piece it together. “He’s the one I didn’t kill.”

“What?” Sam’s eyebrows furrowed, and you could see him trying to figure out the connection. “How are you so sure?”

You closed your eyes, letting out a deep exhale. “I’m going to need you to not react to what I’m going to tell you.”

“Okay...” he trailed off. 

“I’ve been working with him for two years. Passing information on to him about Ransone.”

“Wait so that means-”

“I’m the spy. And I think Ransone figured it out. He wants to kill me.”

“You knew,” Ransone stated. He looked like he was in a daze.

Sam looked at you once before nodding. “If you would shut up and let someone else talk for once, we would have told you a while ago.”

“It helped that you confirmed details about Pierce’s death without us having to tell you.” The last conversation you had with him replayed in your head verbatim. “There’s no way you would have known he was dead before we got there unless we told you. Or you did it.” 

“We knew you had agents outside the house. Kinda expected that when we gave you the address,” you shrugged the best you could, “Sam’s security cameras got all of them.”

“Made sure that one fuck behind the tree could hear us planning outside,” Sam added. “He wasn’t very stealthy, by the way.”

“Have you decided on a day?”

You nod, looking straight ahead into the darkness. “Tomorrow.”

“You sure? Our timing has to be right.”

“Yeah.” Your voice is coarse. “I’ll have to tell him.”

He nodded, leaning his elbows on his knees. He was too tall for the stairs, almost like he was crouching instead of sitting.

His voice dropped to a whisper like it’s a secret only meant for you.

“You knew you were going to be ambushed.”

“No shit.” You nodded. 

The loud bangs continued outside the door but you paid no heed to it. The closer it got, the more your stomach jumped, hoping that more people you pissed off didn’t storm in. You had quite a list anyway.

“You knew they were coming,” Ransone appeared like he had gears turning in his own head, trying to add everything up on his own. “Then why didn’t you run?”

“Well, we kinda needed all of you in one place.” 

“Huh?” He blinked, not listening to all the commotion that was going on around him. If he didn’t, he was choosing to focus on this instead.

“We had to take out all of you at once,” you disclosed, fidgeting with the rope to see if it would give. “Kinda knew you were waiting to kill us yourself when we gave you the location and nothing happened immediately. You’re too much of a sissy to kill us without backup so we wanted you in one place with the rest of them.”

You tilted your head towards the two men standing in the corner.

“You knew all this while and lied,” Ransone jeered, face twisting into something rather indiscernible; a nice mix of shame and rage.

“Not like we had another choice, man.” You just knew Sam was rolling his eyes. “You think I would voluntarily listen to you monologue like an idiot?”

“You did gag us,” you added, trying to buy as much time as you could. “That’s on you.” 

The ropes were still tight as could be and the chair wouldn’t budge. Even your feet were too tightly tied together to do anything. It was what you expected, but that wasn’t going to stop you.

“Shut up!” Ranone’s face was hideously red.

“You rehearsed it, didn’t you?” Sam called out, taunt in his tone. “With the lighting and shit.”

“He doesn’t have to. He does one a week to some poor fuck who has to listen.” 

You couldn’t believe the both of you were teaming up to bully a man who literally held the fate of your lives in his hands. It was something you never imagined yourself doing.

“How do people take you seriously?” Sam laughed. More than yours, his remarks seemed to be ticking Ransone off. 

Ransone let out a guttural cry, knuckles so white you were afraid they were going to break. He whips around, stomping over to pull the gun from the hand of one of his bodyguards.

“Easy there, DeNiro, that’s not a stage prop.” Sam chided.

The concrete in front of him suddenly cracks loudly. He looked up, slightly taken aback. 

“Next time it’ll be your fucking face,” Ransone snarled, waving the gun around like a maniac. You send a cautionary glance to Sam, telling him to back off. Ransone was volatile. He would act without thinking. 

“Why did you kill everyone I was friends with, Vincent?” you asked slowly, trying to divert his mind. 

He turned to you, a crazed look in his eyes.

“Why did you take everyone from me?” The more you asked, the more it became about genuine curiosity rather than a distraction from shooting Sam in the head.

“Take everyone from- none of them were going to last anyway!” He throws his hands up in the air angrily. “I was saving you from yourself. From the eventual pain.”

His face was desperate, and you for a second forced yourself to think from his perspective. He looked like he truly believed in what he was saying, like he genuinely thought he was supporting you. Like he cared. The thought that maybe he truly wanted to help you was the only way you could comfort yourself for so many years. 

“If you were in pain, you wouldn’t perform. I was only pushing you to your full potential,” he continued, a wild smile on his face mixed with eyes rimmed red like he was ready to cry. 

Your stomach sank, even though you hated it. It wasn’t about you, it was about what he could get from you. 

There was silence. Even the noises outside seemed to have stopped, all waiting for your next move.

“You’re a sick, conniving fuck,” your words waver, and you hope it hits him as hard as it can, “And I can’t wait till you’re dead.”

His face morphed from one of helplessness to slow fury once more. Manipulative prick.

“Do I have to remind you that you’re the one tied up?” He wipes at his nose, voice returning to normal. “The only reason you’re alive right now is because I need to know why you let yourself be captured so willingly.”

Your incessant need to know everything stemmed from him and the paranoia he induced in you from when you were a kid. Everything you thought was wrong about you came from him.

“We told you, you overdramatic fuck.” Sam drew the attention away from you thankfully. You took a deep breath, stabilizing yourself. 

“What, that you needed the team in one place to take us out?” Ransone asked, to no one’s answer. “You and what army?”

“Well, the one who’s been here for a while now,” you pipe up.

No one says anything. Pin drop silence reigns free. 

“You said he’d be here,” Sam hissed at you. “How much longer do we keep this going?”

“He said he would,” you argued back, feeling the heat creep into your cheeks.

“What the fuck are you both talking about?” Ransone asked, but you continued to ignore him.

“What are we going to do if he-”

The door violently exploded off its hinges, sending debris flying everywhere. You clenched your eyes shut and ducked your head to avoid getting smacked in the face with rubble

The dust hadn’t even cleared before multiple rounds were fired. You flinched when your ringing ears hurt more at the sound of gunshots. 

You struggle against your ropes, trying to get to Sam. They only get tighter until suddenly your arms break free. Your neck and legs soon follow as you shrug off the ropes that were cleanly sliced off.

Your ears were still getting used to the chaos when you notice someone humming behind you. It took a second to register that it was a fucking Britney Spears song. 

“What took you so long?” You coughed, waving the air in front of you to clear it as you stumbled towards Sam.

“I wanted to make an entrance,” Loki said dismissively, following you. “I think I may have overshot it by a few seconds.”

You fell to your knees in front of Sam, quickly moving to untie the familiar knots. He lifted his head to look at you, a thin layer of dust covering his face.

“Are you okay?” you asked in concern, simultaneously untying as fast as you could. It was one you had used many times before; a complicated knot that guaranteed you wouldn’t have been able to make it out of the bondage.

“I think my leg’s asleep but other than that I’m good.” 

You give him a small smile, thankful that he wasn’t hurt enough to lose his dry sense of humour. Your hand involuntarily reached up to brush some dust off his cheekbone. The intensity with which he looked at you had you swallowing thickly.

You snapped out of it quickly, working on freeing his legs as Loki took a step behind his chair to cut the rest of him loose.

“This him?” Sam mentioned to Loki, massaging his wrist to return some feeling into it. 

“You can just ask me, you know,” Loki commented, but clearly not taking any offence. 

“I’m sorry about your family, man.” 

You didn’t expect Sam to say that, and from the looks of it, neither did Loki. He stopped for a moment, before continuing to cut the last rope.

“You let my father go,” he said, sawing the last part off, “and although I personally think you should have killed the miserable old bastard, he made it clear that he owed you one.”

The both of you stood up. You glanced around the room, noting how both of Ransone’s bodyguards were on the floor, bullet holes riddling their body. 

He himself was beside them, lying facefront on the ground. Armani suit be damned.

“How many more are outside?” Sam asked, tearing your attention away from the bodies on the floor.

“All taken care of.” Loki put the knife back into its sheath on his thigh. “We made quite a commotion. I’m surprised he didn’t do anything.”

“He’s a little dense,” Sam remarked. Most of the noises you heard earlier weren’t just other victims being tortured, although you knew that it was still a large fraction of it.

“Should we go?” you asked, doing a quick sweep of the room. You found nothing moving among the pile of rubble.

“Unless you got anything else left to do.” Loki gestured to the large hole in the wall where the door was.

“I think we’re done.”

He simply nodded, spinning on his heel to walk out the room when someone yelled from behind you. 

You all halted what you were doing, slowly turning to look at where the noise was coming from.

“Don’t take another step,” Ransone warned, a gun pointed straight at you, barely able to stand straight. He looked worse than you’d ever seen him. His suit was torn and he had a few streaks of blood down his face. His hair was tousled and unkempt, rougher than it had ever been before. “Or I swear I’ll-”

“Oh, shut up,” Loki interjected, firing a shot into Ransone’s stomach before anyone could even react. He returned the gun to its holster that you didn’t even notice was there on his waist. “He talks too much.”

Ransone staggered back until he hit the wall, knees buckling beneath his weight as he slid to the ground. The gun he pried off his bodyguards lay where he was standing previously. 

You ignored Sam’s uneasy questions as you took a step forward. 

You picked the gun up, cautiously making your way to Ransone. You crouched next to his body. He looked at you before looking down. You followed his line of sight, watching as he lifted his hands. They were covered in blood. 

“How’d he know where to find you?” Ransone’s voice was more subdued than you’d ever heard him.

You reached over, slipping your fingers into his jacket pocket and pulled out the paper airplane that was flattened due to the impact.

“Hey, you can put a message in it. Maybe one of those button trackers, a microphone. The possibilities are endless.” He laughed, folding another one out of the limited supply of paper he had left.

You unfolded it, letting a small object, not bigger than a button, fall into your palm. He stared at it before realisation dawned on him. 

“I knew you’d take all my weapons, but you wouldn’t get rid of this,” you disclosed, folding the paper plane back to what it was and gently putting it into your pocket. It was still salvageable. “Not if you could use it to hurt me.” 

You watched him take a shaky breath, flinching when more blood rushed out of him. 

“You can still help me, Y/N. We can get out of here together,” he rasped. “Think about everything we’ve been through. We can work it out. I love you.”

You involuntarily let out a strangled cry at the last part. It was nothing but a last ditch attempt to persuade you, pull you back in.

“Look- look at me. Buttercup,” he croaked when you wouldn’t oblige. “I love you. I’m your home.” 

You finally look at him. Look right into his eyes, red rimmed and fading. You look for it, the adoration he spoke of. The care he promised. Anything to make sense of why he would tear you apart time and time again. The love he had for you.

You find nothing. Gray eyes look back at you blankly, desperately, in pain.

“You never were,” you whisper, standing up abruptly. 

You raised your arm, pointing the gun at him. He sputtered out more half baked apologies, unaware of anything that was coming out of his own mouth.

You clench your eyes shut, pulling the trigger. He lets out a cry when the bullet lodges in his shoulder. 

You take a step back, letting the scene imprint itself in your brain of him powerless on the ground at your will. If you followed what he preached, you’d have ended his life right there. No mercy.

But you weren’t him. And you didn’t ever want to be.

“I need to do something too,” you heard Sam say. You can feel him near you, brushing against you for a moment as he gently reached for the gun you held. You gave it to him, feeling him squeeze your hand in reassurance. 

Ransone looked at Sam as he stood beside you. He fired a single shot into his leg, clearly hitting bone. You hear the same wail from before, mixed with sputtering as blood leaked from his mouth.

“That was from Riley. He says fuck you.” Sam let his hand fall again. “All yours, man.” 

“You already know what this is for,” Loki said simply. 

You chose not to look away as he shot the last round right into his forehead. Ransone’s head slumped over. Dead, glassy eyes stared beyond you. 

None of you say anything. Just stare at the lifeless body in front of you.

“It’s really over, huh?” Sam’s voice is quiet, like he's having trouble processing what just happened.

You don’t answer. Only take a step towards him, and intertwine your fingers with his, continuing to stare at the corpse of your lifelong abuser. 

____

The sun was beating down on you. You didn’t expect it to be evening when you stepped out of the warehouse. 

“Where are we?” you asked, shielding your eyes from the sudden brightness that left you squinting.

“Middle of nowhere, I’d say.” Loki stares with disdain at the old building that looked worse for wear. “Would it kill the man to have a bit of taste?”

That reminded you. “Thanks for the house. And… sorry we showed up uninvited.”

“You didn’t do too much damage to it, I hope.”

You looked at him guiltily, mind flashing to the many bullet holes that decorated the back wall. “I’ll pay for the repairs.”

“Forget it. It’s of no use since everyone knows it exists now.” He dismissed with a wave of his hand. “So, Y/N. I guess that concludes our deal?”

“I guess it does.” You nodded,

Sam wraps his arms around your shoulder and you lean into him with a sigh, allowing the comfort his touch brought to seep into you. 

“How’d you guys make a deal anyway?” he inquired. You closed your eyes, chest rising and falling steadily.

“Well, I was going to kill you at first,” Loki explained offhandedly, gesturing to you. “But then-”

He trailed off.

You remember, clear as day, when Loki confronted you in the early hours of the morning outside the park you went on runs. He had a gun pulled on you before you could fathom what was going on, before you could even realise who he was.

“But then?” Sam prodded.

“Did he make it?”

“He did,” you divulged the information you had found out a while ago. It was a messy confrontation to say the least but you got out unscathed.

“Saw something that I recognised,” he said dryly, eyeing you up and down. “We were both pulled into something we didn’t have a say in. Stuck, you could say. I just thought that it was a win-win situation if we worked together to kill that idiot back there.” 

“So you agreed to spy on him,” Sam concluded. “You got revenge. What was your incentive?”

You look at Loki who just smiled at you. You return one half heartedly.

“I’d say freedom is a pretty big reward, wouldn’t you?” And it was. You couldn’t even begin to explain the weight that would be lifted off your shoulders. “I can’t guarantee you’ll have a perfectly normal life. Might have to change your identity, move around a bit.”

“Everyone’s looking for us as wanted criminals,” Sam voiced everything you were forgetting about in the surge of emotions rushing through you.

“I got some connections,” Loki said dismissively. You peered at him from under Sam's arm. “I can have it traced back to a dead mobster in a warehouse, no problem. If they think it’s a gang war there’s no way they’ll try to get too involved. Consider it a gift from my father.” 

Sam nodded, relaxing slightly now that most things were taken care of.

“That’s sorted then.” Loki examined the barren land that surrounded you. “You’re going to need a ride back to civilization, aren’t you?”

“If that’s possible.”

“I’ll have someone drop you off. You got any place to go? At least to stay low for a while.”

You didn’t have anyone. The only one you had was the man beside you. Nothing was settling in at the moment, and you realised that it would be a long road until it did. But you had a shot. A real shot at something even resembling recovery. 

Sam and you looked at each other before he turned back to Loki and nodded.

“New Orleans.”

Next part

here’s my ko-fi if you’d like to support my writing <3

here’s a list of references/foreshadowing to the end all throughout the series!

[justkending]

Moral of the Story (Prologue)

Series Summary: From childhood friends, to highschool sweethearts, the two naive, young, and lovestruck teens decided the best way to keep a strong relationship during college would be to marry right out of highschool. No one batted an eye at the idea as everyone knew they were soulmates. However, college is a big step in a person’s life. You learn new things about yourself, you make new friends, find new hobbies… And maybe being newly weds and going to different colleges across the states wasn’t the best plan… After a falling out, and a tragic heartbreaking divorce, the two now hold grudges for how the other handled the whole thing in the past. Neither not really knowing both sides of the story. 10 years later, and they both get a call from the lawyers office that settled their divorce. Somehow the papers never went through and the divorce was never completed. So now, the exes, or should we say husband and wife, have to meet back up after all these years to settle their failed marriage once and for all. (This summary will be shorter in other chapters. I just needed to get the full concept out there;)

A/N (repeat): So the other day while I was doing my hair (quite the process), I was playing music and the song Moral of the Story by Ashe came on. Mind you, I’ve heard this song hundreds of times, but for some reason, this time I got a major story idea! Listening to the lyrics brought me to this new series. Of course, the lengthy summary above will give you an idea of what came to my brain, but I recommend you listen to the song still because it plays a big part in my thought process:) (Plus it’s a good song;) Enjoy and please do not hesitate to share your thoughts and comments with me! I love each and every single one<3

(I will release the first chapter at the beginning of next week! That way I can give myself some time to write more chapters before sharing it!)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Y/N (Modern AU)

Word Count: 1200+

Prologue:

"Melody, have the papers for the Bee's Knees company come in yet?"

"Uh, no. But I can call them again and see if they faxed it or sent over a physical copy though," Melody answered from her desk, already typing away to find the company.

"Perfect. We have a meeting with a recycling plant next week and I want to get everything set before we go in with them," Y/N nodded, coming out from her office with a file in her hands. She turned to her assistant at the front desk who was about 20 emails deep and already finding the issue. "Hey, you're not coming in tomorrow, right?"

"Um, no, no. I am. I rescheduled that date," she answered bashfully as if she had been caught in the act of something.

"Melody..." Y/N drug out, hand on her hip.

"What? I- He understood. He said he was fine moving it to Saturday," the young woman shrugged, never looking back at her boss that was clearly sending her a motherly stare.

"You're already over your 40 hours this week, and you've rescheduled with him, what? 3 times now?" Y/N moved to the front of the desk so the young brunette had to make eye contact with her.

"Yes," she answered hesitantly.

"Is it just nerves or something else?" Y/N smirked.

"I'm not nervous... It's just been a while since I've had time for a date."

"Two things about what you just said in the past minute. One, clearly this guy likes you because he's rescheduled with you this many times and hasn't called it off yet. So if you're nervous about it not going well on his end, I think you're safe," Y/N pointed a finger at her.

"But-," Melody started.

"Second," Y/N cut off with a raised eyebrow. "I'm giving you time to go on a date and you're still not taking it. Work is no longer an excuse."

Melody stopped avoiding eye contact and looked up at the Y/H/C hair woman leaning on her reception desk.

"You've been talking with my mom again, haven't you?" she sighed.

"I promised I'd take care of you. So yes, I have. And though her reasoning for you dating is because she wants grandbabies, I just want you to have fun and live your life. You're 22. Don't waste your young years being scared."

"Ugh, fine. I'll text him now and see if he's still available for tonight," she groaned.

"Perfect!" Y/N grinned in victory as she started to walk back to her office. "I expect the details in the morning," she winked before she walked in.

"Oh, Y/N!" Melody stopped her. "A message came for you while you were in that last meeting."

"Who from?" Y/N quirked an eyebrow, moving back to the desk.

"Uh, I don't really know. Didn't sound familiar, but here's the name and number they said to call back from," she answered, handing her a note.

Y/N took the small paper and looked it over. Her face dropped and her eyes widened.

"You ok? Is it someone you know?" the young assistant asked, noticing what looked like horror on her face.

"Um, yeah. Yeah, an old acquaintance of mine," Y/N tried to quickly brush off. "Um, I'm going to take this. Can you hold any calls and if anyone comes to talk, tell them to just email me?"

"Oh, ok. Yeah, I'll take care of it," Melody nodded.

"Thank you."

Rushing back to her office and quickly shutting her door, she raced to her phone. She read the business name again, not sure if she was dreaming or if it was a hallucination.

Nope. Hammer Attorney was written in Melody's perfect penmanship on the paper with a number that held an area code from New York. A place she never thought she would hear from again and from a town she hadn't visited in almost 10 years._________________

"Buck, did you tell Fury about getting those new water therapy machines?" Steve shouted from his room.

"We're at home, Steve. Why are we talking about work?" Bucky groaned as he slouched on the couch. A beer in hand and a documentary with I Survived stories playing in front of him.

Steve came in from around the corner looking down at his phone in hand before moving his eye line to his roommate.

"Because I just got a call from the night crew saying that the last one that was working, finally went out tonight while they were running it for some test," Steve raised an eyebrow.

"Ugh, you would think that a facility run by a billionaire who literally makes his money on high-tech machines, wouldn't have to ask for those kinds of things," Bucky groaned, grabbing his own phone and going through emails. "Let me check to see if the email went through. He wasn't in office when I went to tell him."

As he was sorting through the hundreds of emails sent back and forth just this week alone, he found the reply message.

"Yeah, management confirmed it. They should be in by Saturday it looks like. Guess Stark was still working out the kinks to a new one and was waiting to send one our way until the last one died to get more time on his newest model."

Steve nodded before walking to the kitchen and typing Bucky's response to the other crew members.

"The man is always finding new ways to upgrade them before he can even send them to us."

Just as Bucky was about to throw his phone to the side again though, it started ringing. Looking at the caller ID, he didn't recognize the unknown number. It was from in-state but in his hometown area of Brooklyn. He pinched his eyebrows together confused at the call, but answered it anyway, thinking it must be someone from home.

"Hello?"

"Hello. Is this Mr. Barnes?" The other voice answered.

"Yes, this is him. Who's this?" he asked, sitting up a little and putting the beer on the end table.

"My name is Matthew Murdock. I work at Nelson and Murdock Law firm," he went on. Bucky shook his head not knowing what that was supposed to mean. "Well, you may actually know us previously as Hammer Attorney. We recently just took over their business after some fraud issues."

Bucky's heart stopped. He knew what that name meant.

"I hate to inform you, but we were going through some of their old files. Ones we were informed could be incomplete or done completely incorrectly due to little care in the actual cases, but more so in taking the money."

"Incomplete cases?" Bucky said softly. His brain was still trying to wrap around the conversation.

"Yes, unfortunately, it looks like a lot of cases having to deal with divorces that the past owners handled, were done strictly in order to launder money. They weren't actually certified, nor trained in handling divorce settlements."

Bucky froze. Eyes wide. Mouth agape.

He stuttered out a response when the man on the other line didn't continue.

"A-And talking about incomplete divorce settlements, you called because..." Bucky knew. He needed to hear it out loud because if he didn't, it wasn't true. It couldn't be.

"I'm so sorry Mr. Barnes, but it looks as though you and your wife, Y/N Y/L/N or sorry, Y/N Barnes, are actually not divorced."

(I will release the first chapter at the beginning of next week! That way I can give myself some time to write more chapters before sharing it!)

Moral of the Story Taglist:

@taylormobley @ximaginx @vicmc624

Marvel Tags:

@thejourneyneverendsx @death-unbecomes-you @heyiamthatbitch @lizzymacy555  @srrymydood @xa-dia @redhairedfeistynerd @morganclaire4 @connie326 @captain-asguard @mollygetssherlockcoffee @teenagedreams-bucky @shower-me-with-roses​ @pham-tastical 

My Lovelies forever:

@natura1phenomenon​ @lauravicente​ @kakakatey​ @traceyaudette​ @notyourtypicalrose​  @laneygthememequeen​ @awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce​ @sandlee44​ @thorne93​ @thefaithfulwriter​ @essie1876​ @greyeyedsmile14​ @capsiclehan​  @xostephanie​ @averyrogers83​ @awesomenursingstudent​ @gh0stgurl​ @cs-please​ @carls1022​ @jjlevin​ @rainbowkisses31​ @carls1022​ @anise-d-castle6​ @deannotmoose​ @their-bibliophile​ @kitkatd7​ @willowbleedsonpaper​ @mariaenchanted​ @snffbeebee​ @couldabeenamermaid​ @rebekahdawkins​ @alyispunk​

Bucky Barnes Tags:

@chloe-skywalker​ @charmedbysarge​ @jbarness​ @bellamy-barnes​ @katiaw2​ @aikeia​

[imagine-all-the-imagines]

Casey Novak x F!Reader - Reader is being “protected” by the mafia and when the SVU tries to get her to work with them, the mafia lashes out.

Warnings: Violence, Financial troubles, break ins, threats, blood.

I hope you enjoy!

That morning started like any other. You got up and started breakfast, only to be interrupted by the patter of little feet running towards you. You smiled and turned to see the smiling face of your two-year-old bounding at your legs. Crouching down, you caught the laughing child and spun her around before balancing her on your hip while you continued to scramble the eggs in the pan.

“What do you think, baby? Eggs and pancakes for breakfast?” You asked the little one in your arms.

The girl in your arms giggled again and nodded her head as you set to work getting breakfast finished. When everything was cooked, you set your daughter down in her chair and got the plates together. As you sat down by her and got ready to help her cut up her pancakes, there was a knock at the door. You kissed your daughter’s forehead and went to the door, checking the peephole before cautiously opening the door.

“Hello ma’am, my name is Olivia Benson and I’m with the Special Victims Unit. Were you aware that there’s been a series of break ins in your neighborhood?” The woman in front of you spoke with an official voice.

You were taken aback, “Break ins? Is everyone ok?”

The woman gave you a sympathetic look, “Unfortunately no, there have been a few attacks.”

Shock jolted through you. You had moved to the neighborhood for the safety that it provided. You hadn’t had the best of luck in your past, but this was supposed to be a fresh start.

“I’m sorry, I had no idea. I haven’t noticed anything unusual.” You managed to sputter out.

At that moment, your daughter let out a cry and you gave the officer a guilty look. “I’m so sorry, I have to get my daughter, you caught us in the middle of breakfast.”

Olivia gave you a nod, “That’s fine, go take care of her. But ma’am, if you think of anything, or see anything, please don’t hesitate to call,” she produced a business card and handed it to you.

You nodded and took the card, as you headed back into your house.

As you closed the door, you turned the card over in your hands before placing it on the table by the door and heading back to feed your daughter.

You had only just cut the pancake into a few more pieces when your phone pinged.

Boss: Who was that at your door?

Y/N: The cops, apparently there’s been some break ins around the neighborhood and a couple of people have been attacked. They were asking if I had seen anything.

Boss: I see. Have you seen anything?

You suddenly felt a pit in your stomach. Something didn’t feel right as you typed out your response.

Y/N: Honestly, no. I didn’t know that anything had been happening.

There was a long pause before your phone pinged again.

Boss: Good. I’m glad you haven’t had any issues.

Boss: I need you to come in for a meeting later today. 1:00, at the diner.

Y/N: I’ll see you there.

You turned back to your daughter and gave her a tight-lipped smile as you tried not to show her you were nervous. As you both finished breakfast, you got your daughter out of her chair and placed her in her playroom where she immediately went for the stuffed animals in the corner. While she created her own world with her stuffed animals, you sat in the rocking chair and tried not to think about what was to come that afternoon.

While you were trying not to think of your day, other thoughts started to intrude. Memories of how you met this man started to creep in.

_____________________________________________________________________________________

It was about three years ago; you had just been kicked out of your apartment due to not being able to pay your bills, and you were struggling. Your parents lived out of the country, and you couldn’t stay with them. Then you found out you were pregnant. That was your breaking point.

He found you when you came into a diner, looking for a cup of tea and maybe something to eat. You needed to warm up, the weather in New York could be unforgiving, and you had to keep yourself going, not just for yourself, but for the little bean growing inside you.

You had gone up to the counter and ordered, pulling out loose change and some crumpled bills to pay the waitress. You enjoyed the warmth of the diner as you waited for your food, unaware of the man in the corner booth watching you.

When your meal came out, you started eating. When you were about halfway done, you felt the presence of a someone sit next to you. You slowly looked up and saw that a man was looking down at you.

“Can I help you?” You asked as you wiped your mouth off with a napkin.

The man gave a short laugh, “Actually dear, I think it is I that can help you. You look like you’re in need of a place to stay, maybe a shower, and a few hot meals.”

You couldn’t deny that sounded nice, but you were hesitant. How could you trust this man, he could be trying to lure you away to cut you up and dump your remains in the river.

The man must have seen the hesitation in your face because he gave a boisterous laugh and smiled at you, “Trust me child, I mean you no harm, I just want to help you in these trying times.”

You rolled your eyes, “My momma always said, ‘Never trust anyone who says, “Trust me.”’ What makes you any different?”

The man looked you in the eye, suddenly very serious. “I never go back on my word. It’s very important to be a man of my word.”

You looked at him and you knew he was telling the truth. You were still hesitant, but you nodded. “I need help. Everything that could go wrong, went wrong. I lost my apartment, which led to me losing my job. I didn’t have anywhere to go, so I’ve been living out of my car. And to top it all off I’m having a kid. I’ve been lucky enough to go to a free clinic to keep myself health, but I can’t do that forever.”

You found yourself telling this man everything. You couldn’t control it, it was basically word vomit, but when you were done, you looked up at him. He was nodding slightly and giving you a sympathetic look.

You suddenly didn’t have an appetite and pushed the plate away. The man reached into his pocket and pulled out money, putting it by your plate. He gently put his arm around you and led you out of the diner and into a very nice car that was waiting at the curb.

The man’s name turned out to be David, and he explained that he was the leader of an underground organization. You later learned this was code for he the leader of the mafia in Manhattan, that fact should have scared you away, but you were being taken care of. You knew that there was illegal activity happening, but you had been promised that so long as you stayed quiet, you’d be taken care of. This meant that you had the best medical attention, you had been able to move into a house, and you were able to raise your beautiful daughter in peace.

_____________________________________________________________________________________

And now you were being called back in by The Boss.

As the meeting time drew closer, you called your daughter’s babysitter and got everything set up for her to come over to watch her while you stepped out.

The knock on your door startled you. There was still time before your meeting, so you knew it wasn’t your babysitter.

Opening your door, you saw the same detective as before, but this time she was joined by a tall, muscular man.

“Sorry ma’am, we were just in the neighborhood recanvasing, and we just wanted to see if you had remembered anything from the past few days.” The man spoke this time, and his voice was comforting, but there was a sense of urgency about it.

Dread hit you like a ton of bricks, and you shook your head quickly. “I’m sorry, I haven’t remembered anything.  Now, please, I have to get ready for a meeting.”

You backed away and shut the door in their faces, turning quickly and going to your daughter. You made sure that she had everything that she would need for her time with the babysitter.

Eventually it was time to go to the diner. You kissed your daughter’s face and said your goodbyes, pausing by the door and slipping the detectives card in your pocket before you headed to your car and left for the diner.

After a short drive, you arrived at the diner and pulled into the lot. Climbing out of your car, you headed inside. The diner was eerily quiet and almost completely empty, minus a few staff and David in the corner booth with a large henchman standing beside the booth. David gestured to the other side of the booth, and you slid in. Taking your place in front of him, you looked him in the eyes and tried to not let your fear be too apparent.

David nodded at you. “I wanted to talk to you about some things that are going on around you. As you are now aware, your neighborhood has become a bit of a hotbed for criminal activity. I want you to know that you are completely safe. No harm will come to you. Some of the boys are just tying up some loose ends, but again, you have nothing to worry about. But, understandably, we’d appreciate it if you could keep it hush hush, you understand right?”

You looked at the man in front of you and gulped, slowly nodding. “I understand. But, why are you telling me this? I didn’t know anything about it.”

David grinned at you, a grin that gave you the heebie jeebies, “Think of this as a test. If you keep the secret, everything will continue to be fine. If you squeal,” he paused, “well, hopefully, you don’t have to find out what happens if you squeal.”

You felt all the color drain out of your face and you nodded again. “Of course. I can keep the secret. My daughter and I, we owe you our lives.”

David gave you a short nod, “That’s what I hoped to hear. You can go but remember what I said.”

You gave David a weak smile and all but bolted out of the booth and out to your car. Frantically, you pulled out of the parking lot and headed to one of your favorite bars, needing a drink after what you had just gone through.

_____________________________________________________________________________________

As you sat at the bar, you looked at the drink in front of you, trying to process what you had just been told. It all was just too much, and you were having trouble processing it. One of your hands rested by the glass while the other fiddled with the detective’s card in your pocket. Knowing what you should do, you found yourself pulling out the card and studying the letters and numbers intently.

Finally, you built up the courage and pulled out your phone, stepping away from the bar you typed in the phone number. After a few moments on the phone, you nodded and headed back to the bar, paying for your drink and leaving the building.

When you arrived at the Manhattan SVU precinct, your eyes immediately found Olivia and you went over to her. She ushered you into a room with another woman sitting at the table.

“Hello, Y/N, my name is Casey, Olivia has already told me a bit about what is going on, but, I’d like to go over it again with you.”

You nodded and sat at the table with Olivia and Casey. Taking a deep breath before telling them everything. By the time you finished telling them what was happening, you were in tears.

Casey reached across the table and gave your hand a squeeze. “With your help, we’re going to catch these bastards, and they’re going to go away for a long time. Olivia and I have already talked about it, and you’ll be getting police protection until this is done.”

You gave her a slight smile and squeezed her hand slightly. “Thank you, I just want this to be over with.”

The two women walked with you to the entrance of the precinct and you thanked them both again.

_____________________________________________________________________________________

The last thing you remembered after leaving the SVU was heading back to your apartment. You had been looking forward to seeing your daughter after being away from her all day. You had told the babysitter that you would be home late, but you assured her you would be able to cover her extra time. You opened the door to your house to see nothing but darkness. Calling out the babysitter’s and your daughter’s name with no answer. Grabbing your key and pulling out your phone, you started to dial Casey’s number, then it all went black.

When you awoke, you found yourself in a dark room with your hands and feet bound to a chair in the middle of a room. There was a table in front of you and a large man in an ill—fitting suit sitting across from you.

“So, Miss Y/L/N, my boss was under the impression that we had an understanding. You keep your mouth shut and we keep you and your daughter safe. Imagine how upset our boss was to find out that you were talking to that lady ADA. Tell me, what did you talk to her with?” The man in front of you let out a sickening grin.

“I promise,” you pleaded with the man, “I didn’t say anything about you, they were curious about a string of break ins. Nothing to do with your organization at all. Please, where is my daughter, she and her babysitter were gone. I need to know they’re safe, please.”

The man looked at you, unfazed, as your pleas fell on deaf ears.

“Believe me, miss. Everything will turn up the way it is supposed to be in the end. Just you wait.” The man got up from the table and walked out the door as you struggled against your bindings, pleading for your daughter and her babysitter.

_____________________________________________________________________________________

When Casey got the phone call from you, she was confused. You had just left the building and you couldn’t have made it very far, so why not just come back inside? She quickly understood why when she answered the phone. She heard you struggling in the background and immediately got Olivia.

The two women quickly rallied the troops and explained the situation. Thankfully, you had given them a list of places that David and his goons liked to do their business, so the team split up to check them all.

Casey followed Liv to her car and got in without saying a word. She needed to help find you. There was something about you that made Casey need to make sure you were ok.

As the Liv and Casey made it to the diner, Casey noticed a torn piece of fabric on a branch around the side of the building. Liv called in for backup and then followed the worn path to the back of the building where the door of a storm shelter sat, unlocked with a rock propping the door open.

Casey heard another car pull in and within moments, Elliot was there beside his partner. Olivia motioned for Casey to wait outside while they ventured into the shelter.

_____________________________________________________________________________________

You sat there in the chair, head lolling from the force of so many punches. You could feel the blood dripping from the multiple lacerations to your face. You were certain that your hand was broken, and the clothes you had been wearing were sliced and torn till there was nothing left.

You tried to tell the men that you hadn’t done anything wrong, that all you wanted was your daughter, but somehow, they knew. They had followed you to the bar and then when you went in to talk to Olivia and Casey. They told you that they had bugged your phone, so they heard everything when you had called to schedule a meeting with them.

As another painful round of punches hit your flesh, you swore that you could hear the sounds of someone entering the room before everything went dark.

_____________________________________________________________________________________

When you woke up, you were blinded by the brightness of the room that you were in. After a few moments, the sounds of the machines in the hospital became more apparent. Blinking your eyes, you looked around the room. You nearly burst into flames when you saw your precious child curled up in Casey's lap.

You cleared your throat and spoke quietly, “Sorry about her, she can nap anywhere.”

Casey looked startled and then smiled, “That’s perfectly fine, she didn’t want to leave her mother.”

You gave a small chuckle, “That sounds like my girl. Is she ok? They didn’t do anything, did they?”

Casey shook her head softly, “She’s fine, so is the babysitter. They had them locked in the utility closet upstairs.”

You breathed a sigh of relief, “And David?”

Casey gave you a bigger smile, “Locked up. He won’t be coming out for a long while. Even with all that money.”

You grinned, “Thank goodness, I’m glad I don’t have to look over my shoulder. We need to move forward instead of staying in the past.”

Casey reached over and grabbed your hand. “I think that sounds like a fantastic idea.”

And that’s how Olivia found the two of you when she came to check in on you, holding hands and whispering to each other. As Olivia slowly backed out of the room to avoid being noticed, a smile began to grow on her face. Who knows what will come of that, but Olivia sure wasn’t about to ruin a beautiful moment. 

[fromthedeskoftheraven]

Visions of sugarplums

Pairing: Agent Whiskey x female reader

Content: Pining, workplace romance, fake dating if you squint, oh no we’re snowed in, mention of food, kissing, making out, mostly-non-explicit sex (under-18s, jog on), so many sweet pet names you’ll get cavities, romantic Jack because apparently I'm a sucker for that

Word count: ~4800 (yeah. Jack is a demanding muse)

Prompt: “Hoping one day you’ll make a dream last” (Let Her Go, Passenger), for @yespolkadotkitty‘s follower celebration writing challenge 🎉

Note: I said canon Whiskey who? This cowboy drinks respect women juice.

Part two: Kentucky welcome Part three: Just say you will

Taglist (if you’d like to be tagged, un-tagged, or make a request for future fics, feel free to let me know): @writemessystarwars @keeper0fthestars @flightlessangelwings @yespolkadotkitty @emesispo @songsformonkeys @beccaplaying

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

A whirl of snow stings your cheek like a slap as you hurry through the grounds of the posh ski resort that sprawls across the valley, dotted with cozy cabins and million-dollar chalets.

Your sheer stockings, low-cut dress, and teetering heels are no match for snow bursts and the wind that cuts through you like a  knife. Inwardly cursing your alter ego and her penchant for skimpy fashions, you tug your thin coat more tightly around you.

This mission was supposed to be a piece of cake. A few days at a luxe resort, posing with your partner as an arms dealer and his girlfriend to get close to your target, and everything was going swimmingly...until your search of the target’s study during a cocktail party was interrupted by two of his security staff making their rounds ahead of schedule. The adrenaline rush of your narrow escape is still humming in your veins.

Beside you, long strides making quick work of the path, Jack Daniels has transformed himself from intelligence agent to wealthy gun runner with the world on a string. The cashmere overcoat that cost more than your first car is the perfect finishing touch to his sharp suit, and his dark good looks stand out even in the hazy moonlight.

Rounding the corner of a chalet, Jack slows his steps to a stroll. A strong arm pulls you flush against his side as he walks, letting an easy laugh float on the wind like you’ve said something witty. Before you have time to wonder what’s going on, another couple materializes in the pool of light from a lamp, squinting against the gusts that throw fresh powder into the air like confetti.

“Evening,” Jack says with a tip of his hat and a winning  smile, the very picture of a genial Southern gentleman. “This weather sure is pickin’ up, ain’t it?”

The couple mutter their agreement  and hurry on their way. Once they’re out of sight Jack’s hand slides to the small of your back, guiding you as you both quicken your strides again. Your teeth are chattering by the time the wind blows you onto the porch of your own cabin, and in a fumble of hands on the doorknob you step together into the blessed stillness of the spacious room.

A  cheerful whistle pierces the air and you turn to find Jack brushing snow off of his black Stetson and favoring you with a lopsided smirk. Even damp with melting snow he manages to be striking, all sultry eyes and dashing mustache and wayward strands of dark hair curling over his  forehead.

“Nothin’ like a little skirmish to get the blood pumping.” He carefully sets the hat on the fireplace mantel to dry. “I feel like...”

“...A tornado in a trailer park,” you finish with him, earning one of those wide, dimpled grins that always dazzles you a little in return.

“Just so,” he says.

“That’s another one in the ‘win’ column.” You try to suppress a shiver as you pull the flash drive that might as well be a smoking gun from the cleavage of your dress. “A few bumps in the road, but we got what we needed.”

Jack ignores the congratulations, stepping close to take your chilled hands between his large ones. His hands aren’t much warmer than yours, but the thrill that trickles down your spine has nothing to do with the cold.

The frown lines between his brows deepen. “Darlin’, you’re colder than a well-digger’s belt buckle. Go on and have yourself a hot shower while I get a fire started and check in with HQ.”

“I can wait, I’ll help you,” you offer.

He shakes his head, already moving toward the fireplace. “Don’t you worry, sugarplum, ol’ Jack’ll have this place snug in no time. You just get comfortable.”

Helpless against the lure of hot water and fuzzy socks, you rummage in your suitcase for a change of clothes. Still, you stop at the bathroom door to look back at Jack where he’s stacking logs with the same determination furrowing his brow as when he’s reviewing dossiers or cleaning his guns.

The two of you have been almost inseparable for the year that you’ve been working for the Statesman agency. Even your code name was assigned with your partnership in mind, a little inside joke Champ never gets tired of telling when he introduces the two best agents in the New York office: “...Because you can’t have a Manhattan without Whiskey and Vermouth!”

Jack comes on as strong as his namesake liquor, but you’ve seen the  steely nature under his flashy Southern charm, the practice behind the effortless shows of skill, the tender heart he hides with bravado.

And he has no idea you’ve fallen in love with him.

As though he can feel your gaze, Jack looks up, his stern expression relaxing. He gives you a wink and waves one hand to shoo you along before getting back to his task.

With a sheepish smile, you duck into the bathroom and turn on the shower before you can do something stupid.

Like asking him to join you.

***

"Mission report, Agent?”

Champ’s projection flickers into the armchair across from Jack, looking like some kind of Halloween effect with the flames dancing over the logs in the fireplace behind him.

“We’ve got all the intel we need.” Jack adjusts his glasses, stretching his legs out in front of him with a sigh. “Agents ready for pickup.”

“Glad to hear it. Where’s Vermouth?”

Jack glances toward the sound of running water. “She’s just showerin’ to warm up. We got caught in a snow flurry coming back to the cabin.”

“That so?” The ghost of a smile flits over Champ’s face. “I thought you’d want to be the one warmin’ her up.”

Jack’s not sure if he’s more annoyed by the teasing, or how quick he is to take the bait. “Champ, this ain’t a Fourth of July picnic. In case you’ve forgotten, I’m on a delicate mission with my partner.”

“Now, don’t get your feathers ruffled, son,” Champ says mildly, reaching for a highball glass. “You confided in me about your feelings, and I’m just givin’ you a little nudge of encouragement.”

“I did not confide in you.” Jack leans forward to jab a finger at the hazy image of his boss. “You tested Ginger’s new truth serum on me.”

Champ’s grin is distinctly unrepentant. “Well, you looked like a man who needed to get somethin’ off his chest. ‘Sides, I won twenty bucks from Tequila for being right.”

Jack only grunts, slumping on the couch again. “Your granny’s special mint julep recipe, my ass.”

“Jack, she’s a pretty girl. Smart as that whip of yours. You think you’ll be the only one to notice? Anybody can see Vermouth thinks the world of you, but one of these days she’ll be wearin’ another man’s ring if you don’t stop pussyfooting around and make good on all that flirtin’ you do.”

That idea settles in Jack’s stomach like a bad oyster.

Of course, Champ has a point.

You are pretty. No, scratch that...beautiful. You’re a hell of a good agent -- the quickest route to Jack’s bad side is to suggest otherwise -- but you’re so much more than that. Your sweetness and spirit are more than a man like him can hope to deserve, but damn if the way your eyes light up when you smile doesn’t thaw something long dormant in his chest.

If he’s been hell-bent on keeping things professional between you, his dreams are anything but. When he closes his eyes he sees you, soft and yearning and his. His to have and hold until he wakes up aching, with your phantom touch lingering on his skin.

He’s starting to forget why professionalism was so important to him in the first place.

“Champ, you got anything else related to this mission? Been a long day here.”

“Matter of fact, I do.” Thankfully, Champ has the grace to go along with the change of subject. “That storm’s kickin’ up too much snow to get a jet in there. You’ll have to hunker down and wait for a pickup in the morning.”

Well, if the universe wants to hand Jack another night in your company, who is he to argue?

“Copy that,” he says out loud. “We’ll await contact in the morning.”

Champ smiles. “Plenty of time for any long-overdue conversations you might want to have.”

“You’re startin’ to break up. Whiskey out.” Jack pulls off the glasses and tosses them unceremoniously onto the coffee table, scrubbing a hand over his face.

Sparing a glance at the darkening sky outside the window, he hauls himself off of the couch to put another log on the fire, trying not to think about how Champ just might be right.

***

When you emerge from the bathroom in a cloud of fragrant steam, Jack is lounging on the couch in front of a crackling fire. He’s traded the designer clothes for jeans and a faded button-down shirt and managed to tame his tousled hair. You know he takes pride in his trademark hat and bespoke suit jackets, but there’s something about him when he’s dressed down and softer around the edges that tugs at your heart.

He looks up when you come into the room, cheek dimpling with a smile. “Well, don’t you look like a new woman? Thought you were fixin’ to turn into an icicle on me for a minute, there.”

“Here’s hoping our next assignment involves sandy beaches and umbrella drinks.” You hug your sweater around yourself. “What’s the word from Champ?”

“Looks like we’re here for the night on account of this storm.”

As if on cue, a gust of wind rattles the windows, making you jump.

“Come and have a seat by the fire, sweetheart.” Jack picks something up from the coffee table and waves it at you. “Got a protein bar and some water for you. I don’t know about you, but a handful of damn canapes ain’t going to see me through to morning.”

“You sure know how to wine and dine a girl, cowboy,” you tease, dropping onto the couch.

His laugh is as good-natured as ever. “When we get back home, I’ll cook you the best steak you’ve ever had.”

“The best steak since the last one you cooked for me?"

“Well, a man should always be improvin’ his technique to keep a woman happy.” His dark eyes twinkle with mischief, and you roll your eyes but can’t quite smother a laugh.

The protein bar tastes something like chocolate-flavored chalk but you’re hungry enough to make quick work of it, washing it down with gulps of water. Jack nudges your shoulder and you find him offering his flask with a wry smile.

“’Fraid it’s all I've got in the way of dessert.”

The whiskey inside burns its way down your throat and mellows to spread its warm glow through your chest. With a sigh, you hand back the flask, watching Jack’s throat ripple with the swig he takes before reattaching it to his belt.

The liquor’s fire contrasts with the chill of the day in your bones, setting off a shiver that shudders through your shoulders and arms.

“Honey, you still cold?” Jack’s voice is rough-edged with weariness and whiskey.

“Well, I like a nice walk in the snow as much as the next girl, but I was half naked in that ridiculous outfit,” you say dryly.

One corner of his mouth quirks upward. There’s something unreadable in those fathomless eyes as he watches you for a moment before opening one arm, arching a brow in invitation.

Some tiny, winged creature takes up residence in your chest where your heart should be, and you immediately scold yourself. Jack’s your partner and your friend. Of course he has the decency not to want to see you miserable after a long, cold day.

So you tell yourself, even as you go to him, nestling into his side and letting his arm come around you to hold you close. His hand is relaxed on your shoulder, his thumb trailing back and forth in a gentle rhythm.

“Better?” he murmurs.

You feel like home, you think.

“Better.”

With Jack’s heartbeat steadfast and comforting under your palm, the last of your reserve dissolves. You tuck your head into the crook of his neck and melt into his warmth, breathe in his scent, musky and tinged with leather and sandalwood.

Quiet descends on the room, fleece-soft and a little sleepy, as you stare into the fire and let your mind wander. The hypnotic trace of Jack’s thumb over your shoulder is the only indication that he’s still awake.

You sneak a look at him. His eyes glitter black in the gathering dark and his profile is regal, carved into the stern dips and hollows of a Roman sculpture by the play of light and shadow from the fire.

He’s beautiful. You wonder if anyone’s ever told him.

“Jack?”

He hums in answer, almost the purr of a contented cat.

“Do you ever think about retiring?”

A soft snort of laughter rumbles against you. “You callin’ me old?”

“We both know I’d punch anyone who did,” you scold, giving his chest a playful swat. “I just mean...do you ever imagine doing something else? Something more peaceful?”

“Well, I’ve got a patch of land in Kentucky with a farmhouse. One day I suppose I’ll give up the apartment in the city and trade the Silver Pony in for a ridin’ mower.”

You frown. It’s a jarring reminder that after all this time, Jack still has his secrets. “You do?”

He nods. “It’s been in my family for generations, my granddaddy left it to me. Always thought I’d raise a family there. Houseful of kids, dogs, the whole nine yards,” he says ruefully.

He doesn’t have to tell you why he never did.

The tragic loss of Jack’s wife and unborn son is no secret in the agency, and you might know better than anyone about the hole they left in his life. It’s always broken your heart for him, but the idea of this family home that sits empty but for his ghosts makes it suddenly, achingly easy to imagine Jack building a cradle in the barn and reading bedtime stories and teaching little ones to ride their first horses.

“Maybe it’s not too late,” you offer. “You never know.”

He squeezes your shoulder for an instant, a silent recognition of your kindness, before going on with a breezy sigh. “What about you? You fixin’ to go plant yourself by a pool somewhere with a fancy drink in one hand and a book in the other?”

“What, and not get to play fake criminals at cocktail parties with you?” you scoff. “Not a chance.”

His smile is sharp and sweet as molasses. “Well, I'm always happy to escort the most beautiful woman in the room.”

There’s something so plain and sincere about the sentiment that you’re taken aback.

Jack throws around compliments like other people talk about the weather. But you know when he’s just greasing the wheels of conversation, filling the space between words...and this isn’t it.

Ignoring the rush of heat into your cheeks, you default to the safety of humor. “Flattery will get you everywhere, Agent Whiskey.”

The smirk, the laugh, the sly innuendo you’re expecting don’t come. He shifts to look at you, so close and so handsome it hurts, and the naked admiration in his eyes makes your breath catch in your throat.

“Ain’t flattery, sugarplum.” His thumb travels fleetingly to the bare skin of your neck above the collar of your sweater. “You’re as pretty as a Kentucky sunrise and twice as bright, and that’s the truth.”

“Jack, that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me...that anyone’s ever said to me,” you blurt out, and mean it.

His dimple deepens, and a dash of his usual devilish charm flashes across his face. “Well, if we’re bein’ honest with each other, I must confess to thinkin’ lots of complimentary things about you.”

You can barely hear him over the hammering of your heart.

“Is that so?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he drawls. The flicker of his glance to your lips is so quick, you could almost miss it.

But you don’t.

Maybe it’s the whiskey, maybe it’s the wind wailing in the eaves, maybe it’s the thrill of almost being caught by the bad guys, but something prods you on, dares you to play with fire. Your hand shifts almost imperceptibly on his chest, letting the tip of one finger find the warm, tanned skin at the open neck of his shirt.

“And what are you thinking right now?”

Something hot and swaggering flares in his eyes and you know, you know he’s picked up your gauntlet.

“Well, sweetheart...” His hand moves from your shoulder, trailing lazily to the nape of your neck. He tilts his head to watch goosebumps erupt in the wake of his touch before turning that smoldering gaze on your face again. “Right now I’m wonderin’ what you’d say if I were to kiss that pretty mouth.”

“I’d probably ask what took you so long.”

You barely finish the sentence before his hands cradle your face and his lips are on yours, stealing your breath with their plush softness.

Nothing in your experience of lukewarm flirtations and flaky boyfriends has prepared you for Jack’s affections. He’s a force of nature, possessive and generous by turns, and his approving hum when you open for him and the hot slide of his tongue against yours have you clinging to him like you’ll drown if you let go.

It’s only when you’re nearly dizzy that you break away for air. “Jack,” you whisper, sinking a novel of emotions into one syllable.

His lips brush your forehead. “I’ve got you, sweetheart. My beautiful girl.”

“I’ve always been your girl, Jack.” You rest your forehead against his, closing your eyes against the glaring, shimmering audacity of the words. “I love you.”

The exhale that fans over your cheek is your name. Your real name, the one thing he almost never calls you. His hand is gentle, tilting your chin up. “Look at me.”

You gather the nerve to lift your eyes to his, only to find them soft. Happy.

“Honey, I love you.” His dimple makes an appearance with an apologetic smile. “Hell, I was smitten from the first handshake. But you were a new agent, and things were workin’ out so well, I never wanted to upset the applecart by tellin’ you so.”

Your laugh is breathless with relief. “Well, then,” you say, toying with the button that stands between you and his bare chest. “I guess we’ve got some lost time to make up for.”

“Oh, I like the sound of that.” With the agility of his training, he hooks one hand around the back of your knee and the other around your waist and moves you to straddle his lap. His big hands splay across your back to pull you snugly against him as he traces the line of your jaw with his nose. “Now where were we, darlin’?”

Your head is spinning with the nuzzling of his nose over your pulse point and the broad warmth of his chest pressed to yours and the growing hardness under the tight denim of his jeans.

“You were--” You break off in a gasp as his teeth graze the sensitive skin of your neck. “You were kissing me better than anyone else ever has.”

“Baby, I’m gonna make you forget about ever kissin’ anybody else.”

You don’t bother telling him you’re way ahead of him.

Jack’s hair is soft and thick when you weave your fingers into it like you’ve always wanted to, stroking where it hints at curling at the nape. When your hand slips under his collar to shape the strong column of  his neck, caress the vulnerable skin under his jaw where his pulse is thundering in time with yours, the low growl in his throat sends heat spiraling straight to your core.

He surges up to capture your mouth again, a hot, demanding crush of lips and tongues that makes you move restlessly against him, wanting more. He doesn’t miss it, and when he slides one hand to your lower back to press you even closer on his muscled thighs every nerve in your body lights up.

“I want you, Jack,” you plead between kisses. “Need you.”

His hands slide underneath your sweater and come to rest, warm and calloused, on the soft skin over your ribs. When you least expect it, he gentles the kiss into something almost chaste and when he pulls away, just enough to look into your face, his eyes have gone solemn.

“Tell me to stop, sweetheart. I will.”

You could burst with love for this man.

“I’ll strangle you with your own lasso if you do.”

Jack barks out a surprised laugh, lighting up with a grin before he goes in for another kiss. “Gonna take care of you, sweet girl.” His voice is silky against your lips. “Gonna give you everything you need.”

His hands move, bringing your sweater with them to whisk it over your head, and you feel the weight of his appreciative gaze roving over your bare skin and sheer bra.

“I can’t remember when I’ve seen anything so gorgeous.” His hands are back at your sides, fingertips teasing at the edges of the purple lace that leaves little to the imagination. When his eyes meet yours again, they’re blown dark and deep with desire. “And I reckon you’d look even prettier spread out for me on that big bed.”

That’s all it takes to have you scrambling to your feet, shimmying out of your leggings and socks as you cover the handful of steps to the luxurious bed that faces the fireplace. You reach for the clasp of your bra, but a click of Jack’s tongue halts your movement.

“Slow down, there, honey.” There’s a hint of command bleeding into his voice that you know well from missions, the sound of him giving orders and expecting them to be obeyed that always kindles a flame in you. “Let your man unwrap his gift.”

A blush warms your cheeks and trickles down your neck as you drop your hands to your sides and wait for him beside the bed, anticipation tingling in your limbs.

Jack has beautiful hands, as graceful as they are strong, but they’ve never been so mesmerizing as they are now, making quick work of his shirt’s buttons and carelessly shedding it to the floor.

You’ve seen him shirtless before -- it’s hardly avoidable when you spend most of your lives together -- but never like this. Never when you’re openly staring at his broad shoulders and lean waist and the smooth planes of his chest, all bronzed in the glow of firelight. And certainly never when he’s calling himself your man and looking at you like he’s starving and you’re his favorite meal.

His arms slide around your waist and the heated press of his skin against yours tears a soft whimper from your throat. He catches it with his mouth, blends it with his own hum of satisfaction in a searing kiss.

He keeps his lips on yours even as he eases you back onto the bed, laying you down on the fluffy comforter with his hand cradling the back of your head. He stands again for as long as it takes to shuck off his jeans and kick them away before he’s crawling over you, settling his warm weight over your body and into your welcoming arms. You’re so swept up in the kiss that reunites you that you barely notice the skillful flick of his fingers that frees you from your bra...until he bends his hot mouth to your breasts and lightning spikes through your veins.

“So perfect,” he praises against your tender skin. “So good for me.”

He’s perfect. Even more than you’ve imagined on the lonely nights when you give yourself over to fantasies just like this, of Jack pressing you into a mattress and murmuring sweet sentiments in that liquor-and-honey voice while his clever hands find you more than ready for him.

A whine escapes you when the cool air of the room suddenly replaces the heat of his body, leaving you bereft.

“Don’t you worry, honey.” Jack’s voice drops an octave, even as a smirk coaxes his dimple out of hiding. “I said I’d take care of you.”

Warm hands slide your panties down your legs and off, and he strips off his own boxers to come back to you in all his naked glory.

His strong biceps cage you in and his mouth finds yours again as your hands roam greedily over golden skin and taut muscles and the hot, hard length between you.

“Jack, you’re so beautiful,” you sigh, over his panting breaths into your neck. “I’ve wanted this. Wanted you, for so long.”

He raises his head to look at you, lush lips parted and eyes blazing. “Honey, you’ve got me. For as long as you’ll have me.”

He kisses you like he’s sealing a promise.

And then he’s inside you, like he belongs there. Maybe he always has.

Every surge of his body, every stroke of his hands, every gritted curse and word of praise pressed to your skin makes stars burst behind your eyelids, and when you’re clutching blindly at his back and keening his name like an incantation, his voice is a desperate rasp in your ear.

“Let go, sweetheart. I’ll catch you.”

You do. And he does.

And when he grips bruises into your thigh and shudders in your arms and buries a broken declaration of love in your hair, you know beyond a doubt there will never be anyone else.

***

If there’s a heaven, Jack’s pretty sure he's died and gone there to be lying in a cloud of down comforters with you tucked close to his side, head pillowed on his shoulder and legs tangled with his own. The bare skin of your back is petal-soft under his stroking fingers as he watches the firelight dance on the ceiling.

“I love you, Jack,” you murmur, and his heart swells too big for the prison bars of his ribs.

“I love you too, sweetheart.” He laces his fingers with yours on his chest, brings them to his lips. “You know, I dreamed about this,” he confesses.

You raise your head, resting your chin on his chest to look at him. “You did?”

“I did. Felt a little guilty about it, if I’m bein’ honest, but I don’t guess I could help it.”

“I won’t hold it against you.” Your eyes sparkle at him in the dim light. “Did I live up to your dreams?”

He smiles, sweeping a stray lock of hair away from your face. “Oh, honey, they couldn’t hold a candle to the real thing.”

You look pleased with that answer, nuzzling a kiss into his neck before settling your head on his shoulder again.

“I can’t wait to get you home,” he muses. “Have you in my own bed.”

He feels you smile against his skin. “As many nights as you want, cowboy.”

“Careful, there. I might take you at your word, you’ll go home and find movers at your place.”

You sigh out a laugh that’s music to his ears and draw idle shapes on his skin with your fingertips in the quiet.

“Jack,” you say again, soft as a peach blossom.

“Yeah, honey?”

“Will you take me to that farmhouse sometime?”

His greedy heart can already see you there, breathing life into the place.

You, perched on the kitchen counter, feet swinging in time with your chatter while he cooks for you. Sitting with him on the porch swing to watch the sunset splash its tapestry of pink and orange and lavender across the sky. Soft and sweet underneath him in the big cherry wood bed, greeting the pale glow of morning with sleepy eyes and kiss-swollen lips.

A backyard wedding.

Tiny, mewling cries in the night and your silhouette framed with moonlight from the picture window while you nurse a baby who has Jack’s eyes back to sleep.

The peace that washes over him is too good to be true, too hopeful for his battered heart, too honest for his life of compromises.

He closes his eyes, drinks it in anyway. Claims it. Squeezes you a little closer in his arms.

This is the dream that lasts.

“That’s a promise, sugarplum.”

[marvelsbetch]

Peter Parker’s field trip part 3

-Peter's POV-

After lunch Owen grouped us all

back together, including Wade, and took us around more labs. There was nothing particularly special about any of them until the corridor we were walking down became all too familiar. We stopped infront of a door to a lab, the door to my lab. Oh God.

"Now, for those of you who don't know and haven't guessed it yet, your class mate Peter works here. This is his lab and I was wondering if he would allow us to see what's inside. Peter?" Owen announced looking directly at me.

"Fine but you have to swear not to touch anything and not discuss anything you see with others." I warned them as I swiped my card and held the door open to all of them.

They all filled in and started looking around cautiously and with amazement. Many people noticed the prototype suits on mannequins at the back of the room. I was helping Dad, Pops, Bucky and Wanda with new designs for suits as well as trying to improve mine. It's been a challenge but we're making steady progress.

"Peter, Mr Stark has told me to ask you to open your connecting doors." F.R.I.D.A.Ys voice rang out across the room.

"Oh dear lord." I sighed and moved to open one of the other doors in the room that connected mine and Dads lab.

There was also a door connecting to a storage closet filled with various building parts. The other doors lead to a bathroom, Pops' art room, The training room and a testing room. There was lots of doors but thankfully I labelled them all.

"What do y-" I started but cut myself off when I opened the door and saw the guardians stood in Dad's lab. Frick!

"Mini Peter!" Drax yelled pulling me into a very tight hug. What's with the bone crushing hugs today?

"What're you all doing here?" I asked pushing Drax away from me.

"Can't we visit our favourite earthling without a reason?" Peter asked putting his arm around me.

"You sound like Thor." I told him shrugging his arm off.

"Don't insult me like that." Peter told me jokingly serious.

"How come I don't get any love?" Wade asked appearing behind me.

"Hey! What am I here for?" I asked him trying to sound offended.

"Beside you." He said putting an arm around my waist and resting his head on mine.

"Hands off Wade." Dad warned with a scowl on his face glaring at my boyfriend.

"Alright Stark, alright." Wade said sarcastically and put his hands up before slowly backing away.

"Don't push me, I'm already letting you stay in my tower, and sleep in his room for that matter." Dad gestures to me with an angry look on his face.

"Moving on, why're there a bunch of gawping teenagers stood behind you?" Peter asked gesturing to my class.

"Well, this is my science class from school. They're gasping because no one believed me when I said I had an internship here but I've proven to have more than that." I explained taking Wade's hand in mine much to Dad's disappointment.

"Anyway, what're you doing next? When're these losers leaving?" Peter asked putting his arm around my shoulders.

"We're visiting the training rooms with Steve, Nat, Clint, Bucky, T,Challa, Wanda, Vision, Strange and Loki." Dad explained making me groan and put my head on Wade's shoulder in annoyance.

"And then they're staying the night and visiting Avengers Tower tomorrow." I told him from Wade's shoulder.

"Avengers Tower?" Drax asked confused.

"It's kind of like our mother ship. It's where we're briefed and de-briefed about our missions and meet up for various things. We used to use this tower but it's less used now." Dad explained.

"They still use it sometimes though. Say, for example, to embarrass me." I said sarcastically lifting my head up.

"Aww, come on Pete, don't you love seeing us all day?" Dad teased grabbing my cheek.

"Not when your soul purpose is to embarrass me infront of my class. Other times, I couldn't thing is anything better." I told him making him smirk.

"Come on then, let's go see everyone train." Dad said clapping his hands together and leading the group through one of my doors and directly into the training room.

"Ah, Midtown I presume. Welcome to the Avengers training room." Pops introduced gesturing to the room around us.

There was treadmills, weight lifts, cross trainers, workout bikes and much more. Over in an empty corner Strange, Wanda and Uncle Loki were practicing their magic where as every one else was doing normal physical training.

"So, who wants to fight an Avenger?" Aunt Nat asked looking across all the students in front of her. "You, with the stupid grin. Come up here." Nat instructed pointing to Flash. Oh dear lord.

Flash confidently made his way up to Nat and just stood there doing nothing. Nat showed him a proper fighting stance and told him to attack. The next few seconds was Nat pinning Flash to the mat before he could react.

"I wasn't ready." Flash breathed out from the floor.

"No one is. That's why she's good at what she does." Pops told him smirking at me. "Why don't you have a go?" He asked me.

"No I'm good. Do you want to?" I asked gesturing to the mat and Nat.

"Oh come on kid. Live a little." Pops coaxed with a smug grin on his face.

"Fine." I sighed detaching myself from Wade and standing in front of Nat. I got into a fighting stance and we started fighting.

After 10 minutes of back and forth between me and Nat I eventually pinned her to the mat to the astonishment to my class.

“Well Peter, good to know nothing's changed." Pops grinned passing me my water bottle and a granola bar.

"Thanks Pops." I said with out thinking.

“Right, now we're gonna teach you basic self defence. We'll split you into groups and go from there." Pops explained turning to my class when an alarm went off.

"Code Green! Natasha and Peter to Dr Banners lab please." F.R.I.D.A.Ys automated voice rang out.

Me and Natasha took off running as fast as we could to Bruce's lab and stopped in front of the door for a brief moment. We could hear crying? Slowly, we opened the door and found Hulk sat on the floor crying.

"Hulk?" I cautiously asked stepping forward.

"Spider Boy!" Hulk yelled pulling me into a tight hug. "Hulk miss his spider boy!" He cried.

"Okay big guy. Why were you crying?" Natasha asked placing her hand on his arm.

"Lonely. Bad Human kept me trapped." Hulk explained as more tears fell.

"Okay buddy, put me down and we can hang out with you for a bit. How does that sound?" I offered.

"Thank you spider boy." Hulk said giving me one last squeeze, breaking my last rib and placing me on the floor.

"So, what do you want to do?" Nat asked sitting on the floor next to Hulk.

"Play outside!" Hulk whined. When did he become so child like?

"Okay, wanna play tag?" I offered thinking back to childhood games.

"Tag?" Hulk asked.

"It's where we run around and touch people gently. The person you touch is then 'tagged' and you must run away from them. You understand?" I explained.

Hulk slowly nodded so Nat took him outside while I called Dad to explain what happened.

"Hey kid, you okay?" Dad asked with my entire class looking at him.

"Yeah he was just lonely and in a mood with Banner. Me and Nat are gonna play some tag with him if that's okay. We'll either be on the roof or balcony." I explained to him.

"Okay stay safe." Dad told me before waving.

"I will. See you later." I said waving back and hanging up the phone.

-2 hours later-

After playing tag with Hulk for way too long we managed to get Banner back. The only think was, we promised Hulk to speak to him later. While my class will still be here. Hopefully he doesn't get scared or feel threatened and we can have a nice and calm conversation with him. We walked back to the training room but no one was there so I called Dad to see where he was.

"Hey, where've you all gone?" I asked.

"We're in the penthouse. How was playing tag with Hulk?" He asked.

"It was fun. We promised we would speak to him later so we need to talk to the class and explain otherwise he may feel threatened or angry." I explained to him getting into the elevator to take us to the penthouse.

"Okay, I'll gather everyone and you three can explain to them." He said.

"Right I'll see you in a minute." I told him before hanging up.

We got to the penthouse and found my whole class plus teacher stood in the living room like they were waiting for something. I walked in with Nat and Banner on either side of me and they all looked visibly shocked.

"Okay, quick announcement if you're all going to be staying the night. What happened before was a 'code green' that means the Hulk. Now, not every time he's here he's angry, so for instance today, sometimes he's just lonely. We managed to get Banner back but promised we would speak to him later so if anyone hears a code green do not freak out. Don't go up to him or anything but don't freak out. That's what'll make him intimidated and angry and that's when people get hurt. Do I make myself clear?" Nat asked giving each individual a piercing glare.

"Yes Miss Romanov." They all said simultaneously.

"Now, you have one hour before food to explore the penthouse. Any door with a red square is a prohibited area, it's mainly bedrooms though. Have fun and don't break anything." Dad warned.

As soon as he finished everyone scattered and tried to find something interesting to look at. Me, Wade, Ned, MJ, Dad, Pops, Nat and Banner all just sat on the sofa and started a movie. As time went on the rest of the Avengers along with Thor, Loki, Shuri and T'challa came in and started to watch the movie with us. We briefly heard and saw my class mates walking around and looking at things in the hallways. They were all very interested in the littlest things.

An hour soon went by and we called everyone back in to talk about food and what we should order. We ended up with Pizza cause who doesn't like that? We ordered 35 because there was a lot of us and I needed like 4 to myself, it was 15 margaritas, 5 Hawaiian, 5 BBQ chicken, 5 vegetarian and 5 meat lover. All large and all delicious. True beauty. We all sat in the living room and no where else would fit us all and ate in pretty must silence.

"So Peter, how come you know the Avengers?" Christie asked.

"The internship. I work closely with Mr Stark and just met everyone from there. It stared with working in projects all night to having sleepovers and it all progressed from there." I explained. It felt weird to call Dad Mr Stark again after all this time of calling him Dad.

"Patricia, how did you get the internship. Stark Industries don't usually hire teenagers." Mrs Robbins asked trying to be polite but made one big mistake. Patricia.

"Well I found Videos of Peter's work on YouTube. I'd also bumped into him at Oscorp at one of your other field trips." Dad explained with emphasis on 'Peter'. Mrs Robbins seemed uncomfortable with Dad's use of my name.

"Well what type of thing do you work on?" Al asked.

"All sorts. Started with building small robots to help with small mundane tasks then working on bigger robots with Mr Stark and then working on suits and weapons for everyone. Now I'm designing them as you all saw before. Btw Wanda, I need you to come to my lab at some point this week to check hour suit out." I informed.

"Okay, maybe after food we could go." She offered taking another bite of a BBQ chicken pizza.

"I can do that." I agreed and finished my slice of margarita.

"Well, why you?" Flash asked clearly annoyed. Shoot.

"What do you mean why him?" Pops asked getting angry.

"Well, with all due respect, why did you hire him? He's nothing special, just a charity case at the end of the day." Flash huffed and Pops' face went red with anger.

"Charity case? What do you mean by that?" Wade asked trying to moving me from his lap but I didn't budge. I knew he'd kill Flash.

"Like with his Aunt, they didn't have money and skips out on school with stupid excuses. You're probably only talking to him cause you feel bad, no need to lie to us." Flash explained and Banner's face turned green.

Everything else happened so fast. First Wade practically threw me off of his lap onto the floor where Ned caught me. Then Banner stormed out of the room yelling and turning green. After that, Dad got up from his seat and lunged forward but Pops caught him and was holding him back in a hug type situation. Nat pulled a knife out. Bucky smashed a pizza. The sofas were floating. There was thunder outside. Loki was evilly smirking. Shuri was holding T,Challa back. Sam was seething in the corner. Clint reached for his bow and arrow. Wade pulled a katana out of god knows where. It was all happening.

"Everybody outside now!" I yelled at the adults and dragged my Dads and Wade out the room behind me.

They all came out and I was immediately attached with question after question after question. Nat was asking if I wanted her to kill them. Dad, Pops and Wade were agreeing with her. Thor was threatening to bring the whole of the Asgardian army. Banner was still no where to be seen. Things really went down hill fast.

"Come on Baby. He made you feel like shit, let me teach him a lesson." Wade tried to persuade pulling me close and putting his hands on my waist.

"No Wade. You're not killing him. You've been doing so well, you've gone a whole 2 months without killing anyone. Don't throw that all away for him. Come on baby, calm down and help me with everyone else." I pleaded looking into his eyes and placing my hands on either side of his face.

"Fine but if he says one more thing not even Hulk could hold me back." He sighed bringing me in for a brief kiss.

"NOT IN FRONT OF US!" Dad yelled all anger seemingly averted to Wade.

"Geeze old man, calm down it was just a kiss. Not as if I fucked him right in front of you is it?" Wade told him sarcastically.

"Stop before your killed." I warned him.

"Mmmm. You're no fun." Wade told me.

"This is all beside the point. Banner's Hulked our and Hulk is not happy about Flash. He's coming straight towards everyone." Nat warned looking at something F.R.I.D.A.Y shown her.

"Oh god." I said as everyone rushed back into the living room to find my class huddled in a corner with Hulk slowly advancing.

Me and Nat ran out infront of them and our hands up to indicate for him to stop. Hulk looked between me and the group with confusion.

"They're mean to spider boy. Why be nice?" Hulk asked.

"Because it's what we do. We're nice to people despite them being mean to us because otherwise we'd be as bad as them. We don't want to be as bad as them. We want to be better. Do you understand?" I explained to Hulk slowly.

"Yes I understand spider boy." Hulk slightly sulked and walked over to a different side of the room where he turned back into Banner.

"How can you do that?" Someone asked hesitantly.

"Do what?" I questioned confused.

"Calm him down. I thought only black widow could do that." They explained baffled.

"Well you thought wrong." I simply told them with a shrug as I walked back over to the couch and sat on Wades lap much to my Dad's disappointment.

"Okay then, what movie should we watch?" Pops asked trying to change the topic and succeeding.

"Okay this is how we're doing it. If you want horror move to the right side of the room. If you want comedy stand to the left." Dad spoke. The majority, including myself and Wade, moved to the right.

"Okay, Annabelle Creation to the right, It to the left." The majority stayed at the right.

"It's settled." Pops announces turning the tv on and playing the movie.

Everyone found somewhere to sit, Dad on Pop obviously, then everyone else who lived at the tower, Ned and MJ squeezed onto the couches. The rest of my class sat on the floor that was covered in blankets, pillows and other types of bedding. It looked quite comfy but nothing was as comfy as Wade.

"So, Parker, how come you're buddy buddy with all of the Avengers?" Flash asked once the movie begun.

"I told you, I'm Mr Starks personal intern and so I met everyone." I lied.

"It's so weird to hear you call me Mr Stark again." Dad pointed out making us all laugh but confused my class.

"Don't start calling me Steve again, too weird." Pops requested earning a few more laughs.

"Alright Cap'ain." I said making us again, laugh a little.

"So, Peter, how did you get your internship?" Al asked.

"Well, it's a long story." I told him trying to think of one on the spot.

"I secretly sent out a message to collages and High schools near by and asked for their most brightest and promising students. I got almost two hundred responses but one from Midtown high stuck out. A boy who couldn't do PE to save his life but could do a university level science equation in his sleep. Sounded like me when I was younger so I spoke with him and after a few trials including him and some other candidates I went with Peter. One of the best decisions I ever made." Dad informed them, lying slightly, making me blush and look down.

"How did that lead to all of this?" Al further questioned gesturing to me and the rest of the Avengers.

"Well, with being his personal intern I followed him everywhere and into meeting for both Stark Industries and the Avengers. He also let me stay here when my aunt had to work late, this then turned into me spending the weekend here most times and some school night. With me spending so much time here I met them all, I was a little awkward at first but got used to them and then the jokes started which turned to minor pranks which turned into Parnell wars which turned into me finding a family in the most unsuspected way." I spoke fondly smiling at the memories of first meeting them and the first prank pulled, Clint decided it would be funny to put shaving cream in all of my pockets and shoes.

"Wow, must be amazing, knowing you can come here at whatever time you want and have the Avengers back you. You're a lucky kid Parker, I'll give you that." Al said.

"I know I am." I spoke, mostly to myself as I took Wade's hand in mine.

"How did your relationship start?" Hayley, a girl from my class, asked.

"That is an interesting story that I'm sure Wade would love to tell." I said smirking slightly.

"Well, I have a tendency to brake in the tower and one time I ran into the living room escaping Stark and found Peter sat on this couch watching Star Wars surrounded my blankets, pillows and junk food. I walked over, sat next to him and had a lovely conversation with him about Star Wars and Star Trek, it was very engaging. Then Stark ruined it by kicking me out and giving me a lecture on communicating with his intern. I clearly didn't listen and came here more often to speak to him, on one of my trips my crush grew too strong and plucked up the courage to ask him out. He said yes much to Starks distaste. We went on a date, shared a kiss and decided to make it official, this was 8 months, 4 days, 32 minutes and 54 seconds ago." Wade told them smiling widely as he pulled me into a deep and loving kiss only to separated by my Dad flicking Wade's ear.

"Wow, that's so sweet." Hayley fan-girled.

Soon enough, nine thirty rolled around and we were all sent to bed, my class was showed to their shared rooms while me and Wade snuck off to my room where he followed through on his earlier promise.

To be continued...

[woodrokiro]

Bar Service (fic)

Fandom: Bleach

Characters/Pairing: IchiRuki

Summary: Bartenders--especially bartenders around the corner from her apartment--are strictly off limits. Restaurant AU. Written for @ichirukimonth . TW warning for mentioned child abuse. 

She doesn’t think much of the restaurant a few blocks away from her new apartment.

She always passes it to and from her work commute, of course. Maybe from time to time she glanced over, musing how it looks cute enough--a great place to take a date or some friends....

Before Rukia remembers: 1. She doesn’t have the time or capacity to date, and 2. She has no friends here yet… And probably won’t for a while, considering her lifelong difficulty making them in the first place. 

It’s fine by her, honestly. She likes throwing everything she has into her job, loves doing her best to earn a smile or laugh from her patients. That’s enough social interaction for her, and at the end of the day she can go home, pour a glass of wine, switch the television on to some silly drama and order takeout without mourning the “loss” of a Friday night.

So for the first few months that she’s living in Karakura: no. She doesn’t even think about stepping foot in Amore e Morte. 

Until she gets a particularly bad case at work. 

The fact that it was a foster child case alone makes her heart hurt--but of course, there’s always more with these sort of situations. 

A little girl named Hina, aged eight but looking so much smaller waiting there in her office. The social worker sitting with her--a woman named Rangiku, who Rukia knows a little and actually quite likes--squeezes Hina’s tiny hand before pulling Rukia to the side, quietly explaining the situation. 

Physical abuse from her former home where she had been for a year. Her teacher kept noticing bruises in odd places and finally called CPS, who did nothing for two months before the behavior escalated and Hina ended up in the ER.

Her new foster mom is a real nice lady, says she hasn’t been acting out or anything but… Rangiku shrugs, flashing a reassuring smile when the little girl looks their way. You know. 

She knows. 

So Rukia does what she does best: she goes to the little girl, introduces herself by her first name, and focuses on her work until she can sob angrily in her car at lunch break. 

And when her workday is done, when her emotions are fried and she’d really like a drink or three anywhere but her lonely apartment--she sees the restaurant’s sign, glowing warmly in the dusk light. 

Amore e Morte. Love and death. A weird name for a restaurant, she thinks, and wonders if the owners either don’t know Italian and thought the name was cool or are just uppity snobs. 

If you’d stop being so cynical you might go out and actually enjoy life. She can practically hear Renji’s voice scoffing in her ear now.

She parks her car at home before walking back over to the restaurant.

--

The outside of the restaurant is nice enough, but the inside is… Well. Lovely.

Brick walls painted white make the entire place look minimalist yet cozy. A couple of trendy paintings hanging sparsely through the restaurant makes the environment chic, but not overbearing. A few hanging lanterns bring just enough light to let everyone see where they’re going, but otherwise candles are utilized at each of the tables for a romantic touch.

Rukia sees by the sheer number of couples there that it is indeed a good place to bring a date.

And by the looks of one dish smelling deliciously of chicken and bell peppers that passes her by in a waiter’s hand, the food isn’t too bad either. Rukia’s mouth waters. 

“A table for one, miss?” 

Rukia startles from her musings, feeling rather silly as the bright and cheery hostess smiles patiently back. 

“Oh! No, I don’t think that’s necessary. I wouldn’t want to take up one of your tables. Do you have bar seating?”

“Of course! Right this way.” 

The hostess leads her into an adjacent room that sits tucked away from the main dining room. There’s still a couple of tables in this room, and two of the eight bar stools are occupied but it’s so much quieter here, the noise of the dining room a mere buzz. She breathes a small sigh of relief as she takes the stool at the far end. She wanted to be out and about, just… Not that out and about.

“Our bartender Kurosaki-kun will be taking care of you. I believe he’s just in the back talking to Chef, he should be right back.”

Rukia thanks her, taking a glance at the menu. 

She quickly finds out Chef Yasutora Sado’s menu inspiration is Mexican-Japanese fusion cuisine, which is… Interesting, considering the restaurant’s name is Italian. In any case, she’s fascinated. Rukia by no account considers herself a foodie, but the thought of blending traditional Japanese dishes with Mexican spices and turning them into something like sukiyaki tacos makes her stomach growl. 

“Can I get you something other than water to drink?”

Her gaze flickers from the menu to the well-toned arm extended out toward her, pouring a glass of water. Her eyes move up the arm to the man it’s attached to. 

A handsome guy, she’ll admit: if it wasn’t for the obviously bleached orange hair, the sword tattoo on his forearm peeking out from under his rolled sleeve, and the fact that he looked like he wanted to be literally anywhere else.

If she had to pick him out from a crowd, there’s no doubt she’d know him as a bartender. What a walking cliche. 

“Yes, I’ll take--” She didn’t even take a glance at the drink menu. She looks down quickly. “Sorry. Can I get a matcha mojito?” 

He nods, his hands suddenly flying through liquors and shakers and mixes to make her drink. “You ready for food, too?” 

“Any recommendations?” 

“Everything.”

She snorts. She’d be irritated by the subpar service if it wasn’t for his small smirk at her response. 

“Seriously, everything’s good here. If you get something you don’t like, drinks are on me.”

“Risky.” Rukia lifted an eyebrow. “You place that bet with every customer?”

“Every single one.” 

She highly doubts that, but she appreciates the trust in his workplace nonetheless. She orders a couple of small plates, and he tends to his other drink orders while she sips her own. 

The food, when it comes out, is… Infuriatingly good. Infuriating because she would have loved to have scored a couple free drinks off the arrogant punk bartender, but she’ll have to swallow her pride because the sukiyaki taco is absolute divinity. She sips her second drink, already accepting that she’s gonna have to admit to him she’ll be paying full price for everything she ordered.

Unfortunately, it doesn’t look like she’ll have a chance to gloat. From what she hears next door, dinner service has picked up and with that: drink orders. He’s doing as well as he can--hands expertly flying through the liquors, garnishing the cocktails with an expert flourish before passing them on to a server--but she can tell he’s feeling the stress, particularly when he reads his second to last ticket in the rush.

“Fuck,” she hears as he rolls his eyes, stalking over to the wine cabinet. A server comes by, concerned. 

“You need anything, Ichigo?”

He waves a hand, not turning to look at his coworker. “No, no I’m fine. Just annoying when I don't open a bottle before rush, that’s all.”

The server scuttles off to tend to her tables while Rukia watches him bang a (very expensive looking) wine bottle on the counter, clumsily ripping into the foil with an opener. At one point he cuts his thumb, and he half-hazardly wraps a paper napkin around it while he tries helplessly to pull the cork up. The wine opener doesn’t grip the bottle steadily a couple of times, she waits on baited breath to see if he’ll break the bottle. After a few dangerous-looking test runs, he manages to hoist the cork up, cursing out a “fucking finally” at the sound of the cork popping.

The whole thing must have taken ten minutes.

Maybe it’s the matcha mojitos finally hitting her, but she can’t help it. She laughs. 

He shoots her a wild look and she covers her chuckles with the back of her hand. 

“Sorry, sorry! I’m not--it’s not funny. I just… That was the most atrocious opening of a wine bottle I’ve ever seen.”

Ichigo stares for a moment before scoffing, turning back to his (finally opened) bottle and pours the wine into a glass. “Yeah, well… I don’t do wine service here, lady.”

“Excuse me? That’s ridiculous. You’re a bartender.”

“Exactly. Bartender. I do cocktails, not fancy wine stuff.”

“Let me guess, you consider yourself a mixologist.”

“Don’t ever call me that. Ever.” He’s shaking his head as he moves on to his next order, but oddly enough Rukia feels like she knows he’s suddenly having a good time. “Like I said, I don’t do wine etiquette and all that. That’s for the servers.”

“I’m just… It’s hard to believe you’ve made it this far in a nicer restaurant’s bar without knowing how to open wine.”

“Not that far. I’ve been here for like, six months.” He shrugs at her inquisitive stare. “Old buddies with the chef. I bar backed in college where he was a line cook, so… And if he ever got sick of me, my sister is his sous chef. Then again, she’s more likely to fire me than he is, the brat.”

“Especially with you not knowing how to open a fine vintage.”

“Get over it. When it’s not busy I get one of the servers to help me.” He looks down, having seemingly forgotten about his paper toweled thumb. “Shit. Hang on, I gotta get a bandaid from the back--”

“I have some, if you want.” Rukia starts digging through her purse. “If there’s not some restaurant code for the kind of bandage you’re supposed to use, of course.”

“If it looks neater than a shoddy paper towel job, ‘should be fine. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome. Here.” 

He stares at her outstretched hand. She stares back, getting more irritated as she waits. 

“What?”

“... It’s a Chappy bandaid.”

“So?”

“So why are you a grown ass woman carrying around Chappy bandaids?” 

“They’re for my patients, for kids.” She’s telling the truth, technically. To say she also quite enjoys Chappy as a character does not need to be mentioned. “Do you want it or not? Swallow your manly pride or go looking for an ugly beige bandage while your tickets pile up again. Tick tock.”

“Fine! All right, already.” He takes the bandaid and starts unpeeling the paper adhesive. “You a pediatrician or something?” 

“Child psychologist.” Suddenly Rukia remembers Hina’s sweet face and feels terrible for not thinking about her once this entire dinner. 

“Jesus.” Ichigo’s shaking his head, pressing Chappy to his cut.

“What is that supposed to mean?” 

Maybe it’s the alcohol, maybe it’s the guilt, maybe it’s the fact that it’s such a weird response to her revealing her profession, but Rukia can’t help it. She narrows her eyes and crosses her arms.

If he’s uncomfortable with her sudden hostility, he doesn’t show it. He shrugs. “It’s just… I can imagine it’s a hard job. Sometimes, anyway.” 

Oh. 

“Oh,” she exhales. “I’m sorry, I--yes. It can be, yes.I just… That sort of response I’ve only ever gotten from people that don’t believe in the importance of mental health. ‘Shrink talk’ and what have you.”

“Nah, I believe it.” He’s finished his job of covering his wound and moved on to his next drink order. 

She’s abashedly stirring the ice in her glass when she barely hears him say: “I had to go to a children’s therapist once, as a kid. Helped me a lot.”

She raises her head to look at him. He hasn’t changed his facial expression, nor is there any change to his body language as he continues to do his job--but as a psychologist, Rukia can’t help but wonder whether she’s the first person he’s ever told this to. 

“Me too. When I was a child, I… A therapist had helped me, too.” She raises her glass and clears her throat. “To recognizing childhood trauma, I suppose.”

He lets out a short laugh at the sudden dark joke, a sound so quick and so… So nice she can’t stop the fleeting thought that it’s a sound she’d like to hear more of. She shoves it away. 

Bartenders are absolutely off limits. 

He raises the glass that he’s mixing a cocktail in. “Yeah. Cheers.”

--

Later when she finally picks up the check, she pauses.

“Excuse me.” She waves Ichigo down, maybe just a tad tipsy. “You got the check wrong.”

He frowns, taking the bill from her and scanning it. “What are you…”

“You forgot to put a drink on there. My third one.”

It clicks and he rolls his eyes. “Oh my god.”

“What? I’m being honest.”

“It’s on me.” He slides the receipt back to her. 

“But I didn’t dislike any of the dishes!”

“Take some advice, will you Doc? If the restaurant staff didn’t put something on your bill and you still got it, chances are: we wanted to give it to you.” They lock eyes for an intense moment before he clears his throat, looks down to wipe his (suspiciously clean) bar. “‘To childhood trauma,’ and all that. Now stop yapping so loud about it. You want everyone in the restaurant to hear about me giving out free stuff?”

She shuts her mouth at that, but one small detail about what he said is bothering her.

“It’s not ‘Doc,’ so you know. I have a name. It’s Rukia. Rukia Kuchiki.”

“Okay. Whatever, Rukia.” He turns around and waves his hand. “And I’m Ichigo. Just pay your damn bill and come back soon or whatever.”

And with that: she guesses she has a new spot.

[thr-333]

Drastic Measures- Part 6

@daminette-december2019-2020

~Comfort~

Damian! for your own health and safety stop trying to KILL Marinette!!!

Ao3

First <Previous > Next

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

“Marinette you need to call them,”

Marinette buries her head deeper in the pillow, Adrien tries to pull it away from her.

“Marinette you need to call them,”

Adrien starts leaning his weight into taking it away, Marinette holds tight getting dragged across and half off the bed.

“Marinette if you don't call them I’m going to call them myself,” Adrien threatens, letting go of the pillow and leaving her half hanging off.

“Nooooo,” Marinette moans nose smooshed into the floor.

“Your parents are nice,” Adrien pats her on the back.

“You’ve never seen them angry,”

“They aren’t going to be angry, they're going to be angry if you don't call,”

“Nooooo,”

“... Ops too late I dialed,”

“What?!” Marinette leaps up catching the phone as Adrien drops it.

“You’ll thank me later~” Adrien dances out of the room followed by the Kwamis leaving her all on her lonesome.

“Hello?” Tom’s voice cuts through Marinette's panicking.

“Hi Papa,” Marinette cringes shifting herself back onto the bed.

“Marinette? Marinette! Are you ok sweetie? what's wrong, are you safe, where are you, how can we-”

“I’m ok Papa, I promise,” She relaxes a bit, Adrien was right, for now.

“Oh sweetie, what happened can we talk about- Sabine! Sabine! It’s Marinette! Marinette called!”

“Marinette? Are you safe honey,” Marinette lets go of the breath she was holding at her Maman's concern.

“I’m safe Maman, I’m staying with the Waynes,” She'd ask how exactly Sabine managed to set that up another time.

“Darling, why did you leave?”

“Uhhhhhhhh,” Saying shes on a top-secret mission or can't tell them because it will put them in danger is useless, it’ll just make them ask more she has to completely shut them do- “The sunsets where it rises,”

“... What ,” Marinette cringes at the sharp tone.

“You used to tell me that when there was something you couldn't tell me, for good reason, well now it’s my turn,” Marinette had long suspected what exactly that code meant, but knew enough it meant you didn't ask questions, and you didn't use it lightly, “The sunsets where it rises,”

“Alright, alright I get it please don't repeat that,” Sabine shushes her, “Marinette it can not be used lightly, in fact, you shouldn't be using it,”

“I need to Maman, and I'm not using it lightly, I just need you to trust me, I can handle this but I need to do it without you,” Marinette sighs, she wished she could tell them everything, “I promise when I can I will explain everything, for now, I can’t come back to Paris,”

“Alright Marinette, if you're sure about this,” Tom agrees, Sabine still mulling over it.

“I am,”

“And your smart about it,” Sabine stresses, “Honey even if you can't come back to Paris we can come to you,”

“That's alright Maman, I’ll work better knowing your both safe in Paris,” Marinette relaxes back into the bed, waves of exhaustion washing over her, “Please stay in Paris for me,”

“Alright sweetie we will, just make sure to call us,” Tom soothes her, Marinette could almost fall asleep like this.

“I will,”

“Everyday,”

“I’ll try,” Marinette smiles at his demand.

“Get some sleep darling,” Sabine comfort, Marinette seconds away from doing just that, “I’m sure you’ve earned it,”

“Night guys,”

“Good night sweetie,” Marinette lets the call drop, eyes drooping low.

The door slams open and she jumps up into a defensive position getting tangled in the sheets. She doesn't have a second to steady herself as she is tackled. Marinette kicks the attacker in the stomach using the distraction to roll them over so she’s on top. She miscalculates sending them both off the bed. Marinette's side hits the ground, she groans opening her eyes to see who attacke-

“Damian?!”

“You’re an assassin!” He lunges, Marinette dosages out the way, going again for his stomach but he catches her leg this time.

“What the?” He tries to pin her but she twists her leg to get free and rolls away into a couched position, “I’m not an assassin!”

“You’re here to kill them,” Damian sends a kick her way she dodges, using the momentum to stand up and get on even ground.

“I’m not going to kill anyone!” Marinette snaps, striking first, taking the element of surprise and managing to get him in a hold, “Never have never will,”

“You were raised by one,” Damian tries to get out of her hold, she pulls tighter on his arm in warning, “You can’t be as good as you act,”

“Maybe my Maman was an assassin,” There was certainly no way a baker should know her skills, “But she changed and certainly never wanted me to be one,”

“Tt,” Damian scoffs, trying to break out of the hold with raw strength, little did he know she had him soundly beat in that department, “There's no way, no matter how hard she tries it doesn't change who she is; a killer,”

Marinette is filled with a white-hot rage before dousing it with years of practice. Damian gives up on strength starting a more covert way of getting out, if he finds the right angle he can dislocate his wrist then get the leverage he needs to get free. It was a move her Maman had shown her when teaching her this move, getting out of Marinette's hold by dislocating her wrist without flinching. It had made Marinette think that dislocation wasn't painful, even less so when her Mana had reset it herself without flinching. Then years later while they were still little Kim had fallen in the playground and cried his eyes out when his wrist was dislocated, then had screamed when it was reset. After that Marinette had figured her Maman wasn't all she had seemed.

“Damian, are you an assassin?”

“...”

“Don’t hurt your wrist, I’m going to let you out just don't attack me again,” Marinette relaxes enough so if he wanted to Damian could break out and if she wanted to she could pull him back into the hold, it was a test of trust on both sides, “Damian I’m not an assassin and I wasn't sent here to hurt anyone, I didn’t even intend to be here that just how the cards fell,”

“You expect me to believe that?” He doesn't try to break out but he certainly doesn't relax, "You show up in Gotham then your Mother threatens us to take you in,"

Threatens huh? yeah, that made more sense.

“No, of course I don’t expect you to trust me,” Marinette says gently, “Your families safety is on the line, I expect you to do whatever it takes to keep them safe,”

“...”

“You can change who you are you know,” she did it every day when she became Ladybug, and overtime the line between Ladybug and Marinette had blurred, “My Maman is the kindest person I know, she’s full of compassion and joy no matter what she did in the past, and above all, she cares about me, she cares about her family, just like you,”

“That doesn't change anything,”

“It doesn't change what you did, but it can change what you choose to do,” Marinette rubs her thumb comfortingly over where its clasped on his wrist, “And that can mean a whole lot more that what you were forced to do,”

“... let me go,” Marinette obliges and they both sit up, neither starting a conversation.

Marinette studies Damian, a severe contemplative look on his face. She's sure to others it would look like a scowl, but Kagami isn't very good at expressing herself outwardly so Marinette had learned to read between the lines, and the lines say a lot. Then there's the little fact that Bruce Wayne's son is an assassin and maybe she should be slightly more worried about Bruce himself. She rethinks all their other interactions, framing it with the new information his attitude suddenly makes a lot more sense, and is even admirable in a way.

Something catches the corner of her eye and she spots a camera peaking from the edge of the still-open door.

“Adrien!” She shouts, making Damian jump a bit which she silently finds funny in an endearing way. The phone disappears and Marinette runs to the door where Adrien is already booking it down the hall, “Adrien get back here!”

Marinette gives chase, intent on making him delete whatever picture he took no matter how cute he thinks they are. In her haste, she leaves Damian alone to his thoughts. Yet still, he's more at peace than he has ever been.

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

No taglist :P

[cinebration]

Negate (Erik Lehnsherr x Reader) [One-shot]

Premise: Erik Lehnsherr discusses ideology with a human—or so he thinks.

Warnings: none

Gif Source: unearthlydust

Contrary to popular belief, Erik liked to be around humans. He approached it with the scientific fascination of someone seeing the last of a species living its existence without knowing it was facing extinction. They didn’t know that the next stage of evolution sat among them, walked past them, breathed the same air.

Humans were zoo animals to Erik. Dangerous, to be sure, but limited by the bars nature had designed around them.

It was this need to witness the ignorance of humans that made Erik stop at a roadside bar and enter.

The bar made no impression on him. It looked like any other roadside bar in the country, replete with battered tables and stools, warm but slightly dim lighting, and smells aplenty ranging from smoke to piss and vomit in dusty corners. Pool balls clacked against each other as they rolled over green felt. Music played in the background, not quite heard over the subdued din of voices. 

The only anomaly was that despite the late hour, the drunks weren’t rowdy. Perhaps they weren’t drunk at all. Some places like this watered down their beer.

Erik sat at one of the stools at the bar and waved down the bartender with one finger. The man, dressed in the flannels one expected in this particular brand of bar, sauntered over.

“A beer,” Erik said. “Whatever you have on tap.”

The man nodded and plucked up a clean glass from under the counter. Erik pulled out his wallet.

“On the house.”

He paused and slowly turned on his stool in the direction of the speaker. It wasn’t so much the feminine voice that had drawn his attention as it was the quiet authority in it. The kind of quiet authority only wielded by people with true power.

Power of self over others.

Funny how many humans had that despite their inferiority.

Erik’s gaze raked over your frame. You sat at one of the round tables behind him, meeting his gaze levelly.

“That’s very generous,” he said.

The bartender set the beer before Erik. Grabbing it, Erik strode over to you. The chair across from you slid out from under the table, pushed by your foot as invitation. He accepted, sat down, took a long sip of his drink.

When he set the glass back down, he asked, a tone of amusement in his voice, “Why do I merit a free drink?”

“All first-timers get one,” you answered.

Interesting terminology, Erik noted. His gaze swept past you around the room, surveying the bar’s patrons. Now that he looked at them, he realized they weren’t quite whom he would’ve expected in such an establishment. The people ranged from vagrants to upper middle-class. They commingled peaceably.

“I like watching people, too,” you said, drawing his attention to you. “They never know what’s going to hit them.”

Eyebrows arching, Erik turned your words over in his mind. “That’s a strange thing to say.”

“It’s what you were thinking, wasn’t it?”

He laughed. The presumption of this human.

You smiled thinly and introduced yourself.

“Like the name of this bar,” he noted, recalling the illuminated sign announcing the bar’s presence to passersby on the road.

“The very same.”

“You own this place, then?”

“Two for two. What do I call you?”

“Erik.”

“With a C or a K?”

“No one’s ever asked me that.”

“First time for everything.”

“A K.”

“Very nice. So, Erik with a K, what brings you here?”

He thought for a moment before answering, his teeth flashing, “Passing whimsy.”

“You don’t strike me as the whimsical type.”

“You presume much about a complete stranger.”

“I see all kinds come and go here,” you said slowly, your attention casting about the room. “I’ve seen them all. So I can tell things.”

“Not all of us are the same,” Erik countered. “Some of us have evolved.”

Silence.

Your eyes bored through his. “Metaphorically or literally?”

“Literally.”

Your gaze dropped from him. Plucking some lint off your pants, you said, “Like those mutants.”

Erik stilled. A feral smile spread across his lips. “Yes, like ‘those mutants.’”

You nodded. “Evolution is a funny thing. Do you think humans are the Neanderthals? Or are the mutants?”

A slight crease formed between Erik’s brows. The conversation rang mild alarm bells in his head. “Humans.”

“Well, if that’s the case, I hope humans can continue on as part of mutant genetic code like the Neanderthals.”

Erik leaned forward. “That’s quite an attitude toward your own species.”

You shrugged. “If mutants are the next step, what have I to fear? Nature has chosen.”

“Humans fear everything that scares them.”

“They can’t change the inevitable.”

“If there were a mutant in this room right now, you wouldn’t be afraid?”

“Far from it.”

Erik’s gaze dropped down to the simple necklace around your neck.

“And what if I were a mutant?” he asked. “If I showed you my power, you would change your opinion.”

“You’d be surprised.”

“You’re the one in for a surprise.”

Erik squeezed his fist, his eyes on the necklace’s metal chain.

It didn’t move.

Erik squeezed again.

Nothing.

Panic reared in his chest, clawed up his spine. He suddenly couldn’t sense any metal in the room. Had he been able to when he entered?

He glanced at the beer. Had he been drugged?

Your voice cut through the panic.

“Tell me,” you said, “where exactly would a mutant like me belong?”

All eyes in the room suddenly turned on him.

He glanced up, brow furrowing in confusion even as his eyes widened a fraction in alarm.

“The only mutants who like to be around me are the ones who don’t want the world to see their real faces.” You gestured around the room. “Everyone here is a mutant, Erik. Can’t you tell?”

His gaze swept over the stony faces of the bar’s patrons. No, he couldn’t tell. That had been Charles’s ability, not his.

He would have brought the whole roof down on a group of his own kin.

“Everybody out,” you declared.

Reluctantly, the customers filed out of the bar. As the door swung shut behind the last of them, Erik glimpsed the furthest ones changing back into their normal forms. Beautiful, all of them, to his eye.

The door clicked shut.

“If you create a world where we are the norm,” you continued, your voice strong in the silence, “I would become obsolete. After all, what good is someone like me, who negates mutations, in a world where we are proud to display our mutations?”

“I…”

You leaned back in your chair. “Exactly. You see, Erik, you believe any mutant who wants to coexist with humans is a traitor. But for a mutant like me, I have to coexist with them. Why? Because otherwise I would be alone.”

You stood, your chair scraping along the wooden floor. Erik watched you disappear into the back room and return a moment later with your jacket and your bag. Slinging it over one shoulder, you gave him a long look. He felt it rake over his soul.

“Think about that,” you muttered, “the next time you say mutants protect mutants. Would you want to protect me?”

Striding past him, you paused at the door and clicked the overhead lights off. “Lock up for me, would you? I don’t want this place robbed.”

Erik sat in the dark and the silence for five minutes after you walked off into the night, turning over the conversation in his head.

Closing his eyes, he felt around with his senses. The metal bar stools and the fixtures overhead creaked slightly as he tugged lightly on them, testing his powers.

They had returned.

Erik breathed a sigh of relief and stood. Following your path out the front door, he paused to click the lock shut from the outside. He stepped back a few paces to look up at the sign overhead. Your name no longer glowed, the lights extinguished.

Would he protect someone like you?

His stomach twisted as he recalled the helpless panic he had felt.

No, he wasn’t sure he would.

[misterghostfrog]

39 FOR THE PROMPTS PLEASE AAAAA

LOOK OK, i’m going to start by saying this one... got away from me a little bit. And I didn’t originally mean to combine the prompts, and neither are technically correct. BUT consider you can’t stop me

39. Kissing tears from the other’s face.

30. Pulling away from a kiss, whispering words of love against each other’s lips.

Cw; This takes place after the unknowing but before Jon wakes up in canon, and Martin starts in a rough headspace. Also accidental compulsion.

(This is actually a sorta part-2 to the pre-unknowing ficlet I did! Tho u don’t gotta read it to understand it works as a standalone too. Anyway welcome to the AU ZONE)

EDIT: fixed a typo

Martin usually visits Jon on Thursday.

He used to visit every day. But the nurses began to give him looks after the first month, and it was hard to balance checking on Jon with regular life things like groceries, laundry, and work. So he’s cut back. If only to preserve his sanity.

He considered Sunday. But Sunday is the day he visits his mum, another thing that has been hard to balance with- well. Everything. Besides, it’s hard to stack that much heartbreak into one day.

The receptionist gives him a funny look. He would give himself a funny look too, he looks a wreck, he knows it. She knows him, so seeing him on a wednesday looking like he crawled out of the back end of hell. Or maybe just hasn’t done any laundry for a few days. Or showered. And got in a fight and lost.

He’s already waited too long though, he thinks. He... well. It’s his last chance, he supposes. If Jon isn’t coming back, then...

Yeah.

It’ll be for the best.

He turns the knob on the door, he knows what he’ll say. Even if he’s talking to a dead man he needs a speech apparently. And-

He bounces off of something- or someone. Who trips back a step in turn.

“Oh god- I’m so sorry-” He says almost automatically.

“No, don’t worry about it I wasn’t-”

“I wasn’t even looking where I was going a-and-”

“Really it’s fine-”

The man isn’t a nurse, Martin’s sees that much. He’s tall-ish. Handsome, certainly. Definitely no-one he’s ever met. And certainly no-one he thinks might have a reason to visit Jon. Not that Jon shouldn't get handsome visitors, but- well. He doesn’t- didn’t? Have many people outside of the institute he ever talked about. And so this guy turning up out of the blue is... well.

“Er- I’m sorry, but who... who are you?”  He’s not- he’s not upset. that this random stranger is visiting Jon. It’s just weird is all. Yeah. Really weird, actually.

“Oh! I- I’m- I’m a friend of Jons.” The man says with an awkward smile, his eyes darting down to his shoes for a moment as he says it. “Er- Antonio.” He tacks the name on like an afterthought. This time his gaze flicks somewhere around Martin's shoulder, he shuffles on his feet.

Martin’s never been an expert at picking up on lies, not to say he’s bad at it. He just doesn’t find it something to worry about generally. But it’s hard not to notice when ‘Antonio’ is basically holding an imaginary blinking neon sign that says ‘I AM LYING’ with accompanying metaphorical Morse code with the same message.

He swears he’s heard that name before though.

“Oh. Er- he’s never um, talked about you?” he says carefully.

“Oh, yeah. Very old friends. Haven’t um- talked in a while.” ‘Antonio’ waves a hand awkwardly. And casting consistent looks towards the elevator.

“Uh-huh.”

“Anyway! I’m uh- I’ll be going now. Visits over stuff to do y’know.” He’s already walking away as he says it, backing up for a moment and casting a quick wave before trotting away down the hall.

“Oh, y-yeah. Sure, bye?” Martin waves- though ‘Antonio’ isn’t looking. Watching as he basically runs down the hall.

“Bye!” ‘Antonio’ throws over his shoulder as he turns the corner to the elevators.

Well then.

“Huh.”

That’s not how he thought this visit was going to start.

He pauses for a moment. He’d been working off of something of a momentum. Check in with the nurse, make his speech. And be ready to say his goodbyes. But that... whatever just happened. Well, it threw him off.

He sighs.

It doesn’t matter. Weirdo visiting Jon. Seems about right, actually. If he thinks about it. Probably left a statement somewhere too, just to complete the weird weird picture.

The word ‘weird’ is starting to sound less like the a word the more he thinks about it.

He pushes the door to the hospital room open, he knows he’s imagining it. But the air feels heavier. The dread of the situation. The finality. Jon is still there, unmoving in his hospital bed. There's several machines tucked into the corner, they’d unhooked him from everything after the first month when it became clear that this is simply his state of being. That’s also about the time the nurses started telling him Jon probably wasn’t waking up.

He’s not going to wake up. Martin knows he’s not going to wake up. He’s been fooling himself for so long but now with the flesh attack he needs to do something. Or at the very least stop feeling like he’s doing nothing. But being miserable isn’t a solution either. 

Maybe there is no solution. Maybe it’s just, problems. Stuff he can’t fix or deal with and just- has to let it follow him until he dies.

He shifts, and his ankle twinges.

He’d tripped. It’s so stupid, it wasn’t even the monsters. He’d just- fallen and ended up hiding in a side room while everyone else dealt with meaty things crawling out of the floorboards. Just sat and hid and did nothing.

He’s tired of doing nothing.

Jon snores, interrupting his train of thought.

Martin smiles, god he’d forgotten Jon did that. Those little snorting snores- he’d only heard them a few times, back at the institute. It had scared the hell out of him the first time he’d been living-

Wait.

What?

Martin blinks. And watches as Jon scrunches his nose, making a small irritated noise- and turns over.

What.

His head skips, rewinds. Plays what he just saw back. Jon is breathing, how long has he been breathing? Doesn’t matter, he’s breathing which means he’s alive but what-

That weird guy. “Antonio”

He’s gone, Martin knows he’s gone. But he checks anyway. Even running all the way to the elevators. But he’s gone.

And Jon...

Jon is alive.

The thought hits his brain, and then slips away like a wet fish. There’s no guarantees. This could be a fluke, this could be a trap. It might not even be Jon. Just... something that looks like him, and snores like him. And-

A nurse taps him on the shoulder. And he realizes he’s been staring at the elevators for, well, he doesn’t know how long. Long enough to catch several concerned glances from passers-by though.

“Are you alright sir?” She asks, politely. He recognizes her, he chatted with her once when visiting Jon. She’s nice. She does the check ups a lot of the time, one of the few who’ll actually do it.

“He’s alive.” He says flatly, instead of answering. Because he’s not sure what the answer to the question is anyway.

The doctors do tests, though not many. According to them he’s fine. Fit as a fiddle aside from some fatigue and a little confusion. Which clearly makes them uncomfortable. Which he understands. A man wakes up from a three-month coma like he’d just rolled out of bed on a Monday morning? It makes him uncomfortable too, he thinks.

Basira drops off a statement. ‘Just felt like I should’ she’d said when he asked why. And neither of them felt particularly good about that answer.

After the statement he’s fine, not even fatigued. He’s alive.

He keeps looking at Martin.

Martin isn’t sure why he doesn’t want to look back.

Maybe it’s because it still feels like a trap, all of a sudden he comes back with no- no fanfare no effort. Right as rain and just... there.

Nobody else wants to deal with him right now- not after he just pulled a Lazarus like that. Jon wants to go to the institute. But Martin isn’t having it. He just woke up from a three-month coma. He’s going home. And yes- his lease apparently expired before the unknowing, so he doesn’t have a place to stay. And yes the only person willing to give him a place to stay is Martin. And Martin... well, it’s Jon. and even if it wasn’t, in the wake of losing three months of his life- and a friend. Or someone who had been a friend at a point before this all went to hell. He wouldn’t leave him alone for anything.

Martin tries to force himself to come to terms with it as they both climb into his car- this is what he wanted. He should be overjoyed. But it feels... it feels like if he looks at Jon for too long he’ll just... disappear. Or stop breathing again. Or stop being Jon.

“Good to see not too much has changed while I was gone.” Jon says wryly as he wrestles with the seatbelt. Which squeaks as he struggles to pull it out far enough to actually fasten it.

Martin just hums in response. Not trusting his voice not to betray whatever it is he’s feeling right now.

The drive to his flat is mostly quiet, aside from a few awkward attempts at conversation from Jon that all fall miserably flat. Eventually he gives up, and the rest of the drive is spent in silence. 

It’s not too far from the hospital to his flat. So before he knows it he’s leading Jon up the steps to his home.

It’s not much, he knows. Can’t afford anything truly fancy when carrying medical bills around. But it’s nice, homey. He hopes.

“Home sweet home.” He says, dropping his keys on the table by the door and hoping he sounds cheery. Because he doesn’t know what else to be right now. He’s figured out what emotion he’s feeling, though he’s not sure it counts as an emotion honestly.

Numb. 

Stupid, isn’t it? 

“The bathrooms down the hall- I think your stuff’s all in storage at the moment,” his voice wobbles at that, he swallows “so we’ll have to go get that soon. You can help yourself to anything in the fridge-” He’s stopped by a hand on his wrist. Familiar, too-thin, and cool.

“Martin.” Jon says. “Did I... did I do something to upset you?” It’s a question, small and helpless. Martin just wants to brush it off, he’s fine. He just needs time-

“You died, Jon.” He says instead. The words coming out unbidden.

“I- I came back.” He tightens his grip on Martins wrist for a moment before loosening  “In one piece even. I believe that was a part of our agreement” There’s a note of teasing in that last part, Martin wishes it was funny.

“I said come back safe Jon, not ‘come back from the dead’” Jon's hand drops from his wrist.

“Do you not... Are you not glad I’m back?” He sounds- sad. Of course he sounds sad Martin basically just said he wished he'd died.

“Of course I’m glad your back, I just-”

“Then what’s wrong?” The words are just- they’re just words. But Martin feels something pull in his chest.

Martin looks at Jon for the first time since the hospital.

“I’m scared, Jon! I You were dead for three months, Y-you didn’t even have a heartbeat and I-” He brings a hand upland runs it through his hair, Jon doesn’t need to hear this. He should be resting not listening to Martin dump his issues like this- “you were dead and I was the only one left. A-and yeah you came back, but- god what even is this! You’re just, fine. A-and I’m- I don’t want you to not be fine but I- I can’t even prove to myself that you’re real and not- I-I don’t-” He forces himself to stop. clamping his jaw shut around the words that suddenly feel like they’re pushing at the back of his throat like bile. Jon stares back at him, eyes wide and confused and hurt. He’s disheveled and still wearing the pajamas Martin had brought for him in the first week. Small and tired and maybe even real. He looks at Jon until he can’t because his vision begins to blur and his eyes begin to burn.

“Martin, I- I’m- I’m sorry I-” Jon's blurry form moves, and Martin shuts his eyes. Shaking his head. He should be the one apologizing, Jon didn’t need to hear that and he just- threw it at him.

“I’m-” Martin tries to apologize, but it comes out as little more than a croak. Cool hands cup his cheeks, and he opens his eyes. Jon's face is closer now, eyes scanning desperately over Martin's face.

“I- I’m not- I don’t know what I am but I’m- I-I’m me. I-I promise, I don’t know how to prove it to you but I-” Jon starts, and Martin can see his lips move to form the words-

Jon is here, he’s alive. He’s awake. His hands are on Martin's cheeks and he’s running his thumb through the tear tracks, fumbling over awkward reassurances. and looking so, so earnest. Hell, he made a joke about a conversation nobody else heard. Something just between the two of them, nobody else. And to fear entities, maybe that doesn’t matter. But for now, with Jon so close and acting so perfectly imperfectly Jon. Martin can let- no. Make himself believe. Jon’s not dead, it’s not a trap. Not right now, not yet. Just for right now, Martin isn’t alone anymore.

It doesn’t take much to lean forward, pressing their lips together. Jon makes a small, cut-off sound of surprise before melting into it, letting a hand move to the back of Martin's hair and the other fall to his shoulder. Martin's arms wrapping around Jon's waist.

Eventually they have to part for air. Martin doesn’t open his eyes, but he can feel Jon's breath on his face, and his hand in his hair and it’s all just another reminder he’s alive. And so wonderfully real.

He feels Jon move after a moment, using the hand he’s left on the back of Martin's head to guide him down. Pressing now-warm lips to the wet patches on his cheeks. Martin tries to laugh, he’s not sure why. It all just seems a little absurd all of a sudden. but it comes out as sort of a wet hiccup. Prompting Jon to tilt his head, and lock their lips together again.

Martin doesn’t know how long they stand in his entryway, trading kisses and just... being in each other's arms. But it’s long enough he’s run out of tears for Jon to try to kiss away, and the strange wired feeling has faded. Leaving him tired and heavy and in desperate need of a lie-down.

He pulls back, though not far. He can still feel Jon's lips against his as he speaks.

“Please don’t die again.” He says softly.

Jon sighs, pressing a small, chaste kiss against his lips.

“I’ll do my best,” he says, and Martin can feel the words as Jon's mouth brushes his as much as he hears them. And then he kisses Martin again, like he’s trying to seal the words there with his lips.

And, Martin supposes that promise was enough last time. It might be more than enough for him now.