#when i saw curts name on the title page i said out loud curt! what are you doing here! in the same tone of voice i use for greeting a dog

[blorb-el]

i just enjoy it when he Does A Sit like this. scheming

batman 358, “don’t mess with killer croc!” 1983, script gerry conway, pencils curt swan, inks rodin rodriguez, colors adrienne roy, letters ben oda

[holylulusworld]

More than their roommate (3 of Arc 1)

Summary: Slowly the lines between lust and feelings blur and someone tries to destroy your blooming relationship.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader x Sam Wilson

Characters: Director Nick Fury, Maria Hill, OFC

Warnings: language, bickering, smut, fingering, light oral, possible FATWS spoilers, hurt & comfort, cuddling & snuggling, polyamory, bad therapy etiquette, mentions of non-con filming, extorsion, mentions of former abusive relationship, implied smut

A/N: Part 3/3 of (Arc 1) - The Therapist

Divider by @firefly-graphics

<< Part 2

Since you moved in with the boys, they work together like a well-oiled machine. 

Fury wanted to know your secret, but this is something you’ll never share.

Unbeknownst to you, Bucky and Sam, Fury already found out why your roommates work better together.

He saw the footage from their office and more than one from your shared loft.

Someone sneaked into your home, installed cameras, and filmed you anytime you had sex with one of your roommates – or both.

“Sam,” you gasp, looking at Sam between your legs. He has you on the edge of an orgasm but won’t let you fall. “We got no time. Fury wanted an emergency meeting this morning, with all of us.

“Yeah?” he looks up at you, smirking as you admire his face, covered in your slick. “I’m just having a snack before we go, babe,” Sam grins, diving back in to wrap his lips around your oversensitive clit. 

“Ah, fuck – Sam!” you cry, grinding against his face. “Please, I need a shower, fix some papers, and make a few calls,” you say, breathlessly. “Let me cum, please.”

“Alright, lemme just-“ Sam slides three fingers inside of your cunt, presses his fingertips against the roof of your vagina. “I’m gonna make you cum now and we have a shower together. I wonder why Fury called you in the middle of the night…”

“So sexy,” Sam kisses your sweet spot, leaves open-mouthed kisses along your neck. “What are we doing here, Y/N? I’m not complaining but is this something serious or just fun?”

“Honestly,” you turn around to face Sam, running your loofah over his chest, “I don’t know. All I can tell you is that I never did something like this before with two men. When I’m with you and James, I feel-“

“Complete,” he whispers, stopping your hands from cleaning his body. “Y/N, we need to talk about this. I don’t think Bucky can lose someone else. He already lost so much.”

“I’m not here to break your hearts,” you touch Sam’s cheek, just looking up at him for a moment. “I like you both, a lot. Right now, I can’t call it love yet, but if I would ever fall in love with someone again, it would be you and him…”

“Doc carries her own package, huh?” Bucky wonders, flipping through the pages of your file. “Did we find out who the douche breaking her heart was?”

“Not so loud,” Sam tuts. “After what she told me this morning, I asked a friend to dig a bit deeper. Sharon said Y/N left her former job, a well-paid position as someone broke her heart.”

“What do with the information now? I don’t think she wants us to stick our noses into her-“ Bucky bites his tongue when you walk into the living room.

“Ready?” you ask, brows furrowed in a silent question. “What? Do I have something on my face? Damn, is there a visible bite mark at my neck?”

“No, you just look so sexy in your professional outfit, doll,” Bucky grins, holding out his hand. “Do we have to go to the office today?”

“Fury said it’s important, James,” you tut. “Let’s be professional for once, okay. I know you hate meetings, but this is unavoidable.”

“Why is this woman here?” Bucky eyes the foreign woman warily, not missing you squirm in your seat. “Something wrong, doc?”

Sam can see a hint of fear flash across your face before you clear your throat. 

“This is Sarah Murphy, our expert for, let’s say internal affairs,” Fury huffs, hating he must have this specific conversation with you. “Let’s get this over with, Ms. Murphy.”

“Director Fury asked me to be here today to make sure whatever we discuss, stay within these walls. I can assure you, the material we will show to you, will not leave this room either and no one but Director Fury saw the footage.”

“Footage?” you furrow your brows, confusion is written all over your face and you clutch your hands to your chest in attempt to calm your racing heart. “Did you spy on one of us?” 

“None of us spied on you, Doctor Y/L/N. I always appreciate your hard work. Sadly, someone sent us this,” Fury points at the laptop Sarah Murphy placed on the desk. “I want you to watch the footage, all of it. Ms. Murphy and I will leave the room meanwhile.”

“I don’t understand,” you panic, grasping for Sam’s hand to squeeze it tightly. “Why do you want us to watch videos?”

“I must tell you before we leave the room, that someone sent us the footage, along with a few demands,” Fury stands, gives Sam a curt nod before he turns to leave the room. “In other words, someone tries to extort us. I will tell you about the details later.”

When it’s only you and your roommates you look at the laptop, afraid to watch whatever someone filmed. “I don’t want to watch this.”

“We must,” Sam says, breaking the tension, just pressing play. “Whoever filmed us or one of us will pay for it.”

“Maybe it’s not that bad,” Bucky tries, metal hand balled into a fist. “Maybe that bastard only filmed me doing push-ups or-“

The first thing you recognize is your hoarse voice, and the slap of skin against skin. Your eyes widen in horror when you watch yourself getting fucked by Sam while you watch Bucky jerk off and later on, covering your body with his cum.

“No,” your body starts to tremble, and you can barely feel the hand touching yours when the scene changes to another video. 

It’s in the kitchen this time, you bend over the kitchen island, Bucky’s hands hold you down by your shoulders while he fucks you roughly, calling you his whore.

“No-no-no-“ Bucky stops the video, clicks on the next one. This time you get fucked in their office, not days ago. “Stop this, Bucky-“ you cry, hiding your face in the palm of your hands. “Someone invaded our privacy just like that.”

“Baby doll,” slamming his metal fist into the laptop, destroying it on his way Bucky feels his chest tightening. He knows how it feels to have no privacy. “I will rip whoever did this to you apart.”

“So someone filmed us at our home and sent it to Fury. Then the same person filmed us at our office and did the same again,” Sam tries to not freak out. He hates you choke out sobs, desperate to forget about what you just saw. “But why?”

“We should ask Fury,” you whisper, not fighting Bucky when he brings you in his arms to cradle you gently. “Sam, you should talk. I-I can’t right now and Bucky, he’s too mad.”

“I’ll go get Fury,” Sam swallows thickly. He slowly gets up to kiss your hair softy, hand gently smoothing over your arm. “We will handle this, baby. No one is going to see this ever again.”

“We-We looked hot, at least,” you try to laugh, but choke on your tears instead. “I hate someone did this to us. It’s not only about me, but you and Bucky too, Sam. How dare them?”

“I’m going to kill them,” Bucky growls. “Rip them apart, limp by worthless limp…”

“Do we know who did this?” Sam asks while you sit between Bucky and Sam, not meeting Fury’s eyes. “Director?”

“I need to get this off my chest, doctor,” Fury sighs. “Whatever you do in your free time, is up to you.”

You nod, still not looking up. “Do we have a name or a reason why?”

“Sergeant Barnes, this has nothing to do with you, if you would just calm down,” Bucky starts to pace the room, jaw ticking, hands balled into fists. “I know you were on the footage too, but according to my information it’s all about the shield and the title.”

“Wait—what?” you gape at Fury, feeling a cold shiver run down your spine. “No way! You can’t be serious! Someone wants the title and Sam’s shield?”

“I’m afraid so,” Fury says, watching Sam run his hand over your hair. “We will do anything to help you, though.”

“What if Sam doesn’t give it to them? What did they say will happen?” Bucky asks, watching Fury lean back in his chair. “That bad?”

“Whoever is after the shield threatens to leak the footage. Doctor Y/L/N would lose her job. She would be compromised,” Fury explains. “I can’t say what would happen to your uh-“

“I don’t have a career and give a shit on my reputation, but we can’t let anything happen to Y/N and her job,” Bucky grunts. “What can we do to find them?”

“John Walker,” you whisper, glancing at Fury. “It can only be him – right?”

“Who is John Walker? I never heard of him before,” Sam watches you focus your attention toward Fury, not answering his question. “Y/N? What’s wrong?”

“If it’s John, we got to be careful. I know he wanted to become the next Captain, not accepting the gentleman’s agreement between Sam and Captain Rogers. I know some people at the government would like to see that man wield the shield, but we won’t allow him to do so,” you stand, straighten your skirt before you look Fury straight in the eyes. “I quit.”

“Doll, just wait a minute. Let’s talk about this,” while Bucky tries to stop you from throwing everything you worked so hard for away while Sam silently watches the change in your posture.

“What is else do we want to discuss, James? That bastard won’t stop, okay. He wants the shield but won’t get it.”

“I give it to him if this saves your career and reputation,” Sam offers. “Steve hand the shield to me, believing I’ll do the right thing. He would’ve done the same to save you.”

“No,” you slam your fist onto the table, making Sam jump. “If you don’t want to wield the shield, fine by me but we will not let anyone take it away from you.”

“What about your job?” you don’t give in. Looking at Sam you give him a weak smile. “Y/N?”

“Fury, tell that bastard he can go and leak anything he wants to. I’m an adult and had sex with two men I love. This is not a crime. If he wants to ruin my career, so be it. He can go and shove it up to his ass.”

“I did not expect anything else from you, doctor,” Fury chuckles, admiring you give a shit on John Walker’s threat.

“Just give me an hour to get back home. I don’t want to answer any questions today. Let hell come over me – tomorrow…” your head held up high you walk toward the door, grasping for the door handle before you look over your shoulder. “Are you coming, guys?”

“We can’t let that bastard get away with this,” Bucky points at the TV. An hour after Fury told Walker he can fuck his deal, named man leaked all the videos he took of you and your roommates.

“Hill did her best to take all the videos down. Luckily, she found the server with the original files. She also marked the files and tries to locate any copy,” Sam explains. 

He watches you sit in your favorite armchair, snuggled in a warm blanket you just look at the wall. “She just lost her career only as we couldn’t keep our hands to ourselves and tried to get rid of her, Sam.”

“I know.”

“I will find and kill John Walker. He will pay for hurting Y/N,” Bucky crosses his arms over his chest, watching you brush a single tear off your cheek.

“So, we're partners?”

“Co-workers. Not necessarily a team, but we will team up to avenge, Y/N.”

“Sounds like a good plan,” Bucky holds out his hand. 

“Sounds like a good plan,” shaking Bucky’s hand Sam smirks. “Now let’s find John Walker and show him what happens if he hurts someone we care about.”

“Finally-“ you walk toward your roommates, smiling softly. “Took you long enough to admit you like each other.” you walk toward your bedroom, smiling to yourself. “Did you find all the hidden cameras?” 

“Yes. Why?” cocking his head Sam looks at you. “Y/N?”

“You know, I don’t have to be up early in the morning any longer,” you smirk. “You can keep me awake all night long…”

“Doll,” Bucky purrs, eyes drifting toward your ass. “Ready if you are…”

“Hey, I told you she’s mine,” following you hot on your heels Sam calls Bucky’s name. “Hands off!”

“How did Y/N know it was Walker?” Maria looks at the leaked footage, clenching her jaw. “Director?”

“Do you remember when I told you she quit her last job? I told you that someone made her leave, it was Walker,” Fury explains. 

“Doctor Y/L/N doesn’t seem like someone just giving up on her career for a man,” Maria wonders. “There is more – right?”

“They were a pair for years, even wanted to marry but then, he changed. After the blip happened he became a different man. And since Steve Rogers and the Avengers undid the blip, Walker wanted to become the next Captain and turned into a possessive man on a mission.”

“Sounds like the perfect partner,” nodding thoughtfully Maria looks at her boss. “What happened?”

“Y/N tried to make Walker see he was in the wrong, that the end doesn’t always justify the means. She ended up in hospital with two broken ribs and a concussion.”

“She walked out on him I assume.”

“John Walker doesn’t like rejection in any way. This is the opportunity he was waiting for. He ruined Y/N’s career and aims for his next target—the shield in Sam Wilson’s hands…”

End of Arc 1...

Arc 2 - TBA

All works Tags

@yolobloggers

@shikshinkwon

@miraclesoflove

@mogaruke

@shatteredabby

@soryuwifeyxx

@letsdisneythings

@i-love-superhero

@psychicforest

@thevelvetseries

@anaelsbrunette

@sabascio

@goodgodimaweirdperson

@that-place-called-middle-earth

@trumpettay

@zxph-yr

@belovedcherry

@matsumama

@emoryhemsworth

@buckybarnesplumwhore

@wonderlandfandomkingdom

@kitkatd7

@coldmuffinbanditshoe

@princesssterek

@xoxabs88xox

@wandering-spiritash

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

Marvel Tags

@stuckys-whore

@notyourtypicalrose

@valsworldofcreativity

@officialmarvelwhore

@randomgirlkensy

@juniorhuntersam

@lumar014

@doctorswife221b

@sister-winchesters99

@sweetkingdomstarlight-blog

@the-soulofdevil

@dayasvalkyrie

@redroomproperty

@natura1phenomenon

@chaoticfiretaconerd

@heartislubbingdubbing

@hhiggs

@sea040561

@midnightsilver16830

@rvgrsbrns

@fandom-princess-forevermore

@amandamdiehl

@grincheveryday

@thelostallycat

@lunaticgurly

@supernaturalwintersoldier

@mrsdeanwinchester19

@pandaxnienke

@just-a-littlebit-of-everything

@tdbooth

@iloveshawnieboi

@vicmc624

@coffeebooksandfandom

@mariaenchanted

@rebekahdawkins

@lady-pswrld

@thinkaboutmara

@notbrooklynsblog

@bxnnywriting

@demonicbusiness

@introvertatitsfinest

@notbrooklynsblog

@just-a-littlebit-of-everything

@doozywoozy

@moshymosh

@soccer-100000

@avada-kedavra-bitch-187

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

Bucky Barnes/Sebastian Stan Tags

@marshyrebelcloud

@buchanan-lover

@rosalynshields

@neii3n

@jane-dough

@hinata7346​

[roonilwazlibisawriter]

Hermione is working a summer job in the muggle world in a library and runs into Draco. Tension ensues. 😌

Hermione greeted her boss as she walked in for her shift at the local library with a soft smile gracing her face. It was the summer after Voldemort was defeated by Harry and so many lives had been lost. After her, Ron, and Harry helped try to clear up some of the mess, she decided to take a mental health break and come back to her hometown and work at her local library. Harry and Ron decided to stay with the Ministry in London and help track down other death eaters. Part of her wished she would have stayed with them because they were her family, but she missed her parents and while she works out how to get their memories of her back, working in the library in the town where she grew up made her feel close to them.

She had set her bag down in the back and grabbed the first cart of books that needed to be put back and started moving down the rows, returning each book to the correct shelf. The silence was nice. Most of the time, the silence was too much for her, but it was different when she was in a library. She felt at home and safe amongst all the books; like at any moment, she could pick up any book and escape this world for a little while.

She focused in on the title of the book in front of her (Romeo And Juliet) and shook her head just slightly. She had been avoiding Ron’s calls recently. After their kiss, they had both decided that they would give each other some space to truly follow what they felt they needed to do next. She had decided that she was going to go back to Hogwarts in the fall for her seventh year, but both Ron and Harry decided to forego going back to school. She was supportive of them and they were supportive of her but with how busy they knew they’d be over the summer and then another year apart while she finished her schooling, her and Ron felt it best not to get into a relationship as of yet. She didn’t regret anything but he had been calling her more often and she felt as though they were in a relationship, which she couldn’t handle right now. Not with where her mind and mental health was.

She sighed as she put the book back on its shelf before moving forward. She continued along with the books in this row before turning the corner to go on into the next row when the sight of a blonde haired boy stopped her in her tracks. Draco Malfoy. After the war and her time at Malfoy Manor, she no longer felt disgusted at the sight of him, but that didn’t mean she’d ever want to talk to him. His head was lowered slightly as his eyes followed the words on the page. She could see the dark circles under his eyes. They stuck out even more against his pale skin. She wasn’t surprised as the war had taken a toll on all of them. She had seen his hesitation at Hogwarts when Voldemort had called for him. She saw how the only reason he seemed to go to him was because his mother called for him. He seemed just as scared as any other wizard that was there.

She turned to try and walk away before he noticed her when she heard him speak up, “Oh, I’m sorry. I can move if you need to move past.” His voice sounded soft and polite, something he’d never sounded before. She knew the minute he saw her face, he’d change his tone, but she turned to face him anyways, not backing down from a challenge before. She saw his face drop, just for a moment, before it was like a switch in his brain went on and his face became blank.

“Huh.” Is all she said as she walked past him. She wasn’t in the mood to deal with him. Part of the reason she came back was because she needed time away from everything that reminded her of the war and settling back into the muggle world seemed like a good way to do that. She turned down the next aisle, continuing to put the books back from the cart, hoping that he would just leave and she wouldn’t have to deal with him.

“Granger.” She heard behind her, but she continued on as if she hadn’t heard anything. A tap on the shoulder told her that he wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon so she flipped around to see what he wanted.

“Can I help you with something?” She said, trying to fein being polite. Her fists were balled up by her sides and she had to consciously release the hold as her nails were digging into her palms. She stretched her hands out subtly by her sides as she looked anywhere but his face.

“Uh, no, but-” He started but she interrupted him.

“Oh, then I must be continuing my work.” She turned to move on, but he spoke up once more.

“Please.” She held her breath for a moment before turning around. She didn’t say anything but gave him a curt nod to show he could continue. “I, uh, wanted to say I was sorry. For everything. The insults. The narcissism. The...I don’t know how to put it all into words, but just all of it. There’s no excuse for it.” He paused. He seemed to be looking for more words to say but Hermione, at this point, needed to find out if he had sought her out.

“Were you following me? I mean, how did you find me?” She felt a tightness in her chest and she didn’t know how she felt about his apology.

“No! I mean, no.” He stepped towards her, but she stepped back pushing the cart forward slightly. Noticing this, Draco stepped back to give her space. “I doubt you’ll believe this but this is a complete coincidence. I’ve been taking some time away from the wizarding world and decided to just drive through the muggle world. After everything, I just felt so lost. Everything I believed, everything I was taught to believe, seemed so wrong. I felt like my entire life was a lie. And I didn’t feel as though I could properly learn to move past my prejudices unless I truly went to learn about those that I had been taught to hate. Seems stupid when I say it out loud.” Draco was no longer looking at Hermione, but rather at his feet. She could tell he definitely had changed because he usually has his chest puffed out, his chin turned up, as though he was better than everyone and everything but the person standing in front of her seemed so unsure of himself.

“It’s not stupid.” She said softly, “but I don’t know what you want from me. Why are you telling me all of this?”

“Because even if I don’t deserve forgiveness, you deserve an apology. As for the rest of the explanation, I guess I just don’t want you to feel as though I’m trying to come after you or something.” He had lifted his head and Hermione studied his face for a moment. He looked tired, but she could see he was telling the truth. There was uncertainty in his eyes and a pleading look as well. She didn’t know if she could forgive him so quickly but she could understand him. Especially since she was working in this library to escape the same way he was. Maybe for different reasons, but the idea was the same. The magical world was too overwhelming, for the both of them. “I, I don’t want to keep you any longer, but thank you for listening, Hermione. I hope you have a good rest of your day. And I’m sorry if any of this...my being here or my apology, brings up any bad feelings or memories for you.” And with that, he turned to walk out.

“You said my name.” Hermione was staring at the back of his head, the shock of hearing her first name come out of his mouth. She’d never heard it before. And he stopped as well. “You’ve never said my name before, but you just said it. As though it was the normal thing to do.”

He turned around, his eyes wide. “I’m so sorry. I- I shouldn’t have. I don’t have the right. I-” She held up a hand, his mouth falling shut quickly.

“It’s okay. Really.” And It was. Hermione didn’t feel anger or anything, except a little bit of hope, from hearing her name come out instead of her last name or anything else. “I have to get back to work, but if you would like to get a drink and talk about anything, Draco, I get off at five.” And she smiled. A genuine smile graced her features.

Draco looked up at her when he heard his name. And seeing her smile, made him just lightly smile. Her smile was gorgeous and he felt hope from seeing it. Maybe, just maybe, he found what he was looking for in this little muggle town. In a library.

“See you then, Hermione.” And at her name and the smile on his face. Hermione thought that maybe she found what she was looking for, here in her hometown. In a library.

[cozy-the-overlord]

Crimson Curls

Summary:  A barista at the Avengers Tower coffeeshop goes missing. Her boyfriend, prominent Avengers engineer Michael Hauer, headlines a desperate campaign to find her, aided by the support of Tony Stark and the rest of the super-powered team. But as Hauer’s narrative begins to unravel, it becomes clear that a certain Asgardian prince knows more than he’s telling.

Pairing: Loki x Original Female Character

Chapter 3: Solace

Previous Chapter |

Word Count: 4,281

A/N:  Final chapter! Hope you like it :) Thank you so much for reading!

TW: domestic violence

Read it on Ao3

“Oh, did I mention that I finally convinced my mom to buy a smartphone?” Elaine was chuckling. “She just discovered the world of emojis. Every text I get from her is immediately followed by like twenty different happy faces!”

Laughter erupted up around the small table. Kristine found herself giggling too, despite herself. She almost hadn’t come tonight. She didn’t think the others had expected her to come, either: Curt had invited her with a nervous sort of hesitance that gave her plenty of room to back out.  “It’s okay if you don’t want to come. We totally understand.”

The excuses had bubbled to her lips in an instinctual panic—I can’t, I have plans, I’m not feeling well—but she clamped down on her tongue before they spilled out. Her therapist was always telling her that the only way she could take back control of her life was to trust herself to control it. So, Kristine swallowed her insecurities and smiled at her coworker.

“I’d love to. What time?”

It hadn’t been a perfect night. Old habits die hard, and Kristine found herself looking over her shoulder more often than not. Every time, she’d turn back to the table, feeling stupid. What did she expect to see? Michael lurking behind the bar in his orange jumpsuit? Her fellow baristas had to notice—if there was one thing that this whole ordeal had taught her, it was that she was incapable of subtlety—but they were kind enough not to say anything.

It had been fun, though—more fun than she had expected. Kristine hadn’t realized how little she knew the people she worked alongside. She found herself learning all sorts of things. Curt played rugby on the weekends. Kristine hadn’t even known rugby was a thing in America, but apparently he was in an amateur league right in New York, and went straight to practices after work on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Tasha was a self-titled crazy cat lady, with five felines living with her in her small apartment. She passed around her phone with pictures of the newest kitten, a tiny orange fluffball named Tigger. Elaine was locked in a never-ending struggle with her 63-year-old mother to “introduce her to the 21st century.”

At first, Kristine had felt guilty that she didn’t have any captivating stories to contribute to the conversation. Her only hobby was her art, and there wasn’t much to say about that. I draw people when I’m bored. Certainly nothing compared to Curt’s gripping account of how his friend fractured his neck in a game two weeks ago. But there was no pressure for her to add anything, and slowly, Kristine relaxed, content just listening to the chat.

The couple at the table across from them caught her eye towards the end of their meal. They had been whispering to each other ever since they sat down, looking back and forth between Kristine and their phone screen. She stiffened as they gestured towards her. Getting recognized in public… that was a thing she still couldn’t wrap her head around. She didn’t understand why seeing her made people so excited… it wasn’t like she was a singer, or an actress, or some other type of celebrity. She was just… her. Normal. No different than anybody else she passed on the sidewalk.

Kristine tried to ignore the excited couple and turn back to the conversation, but it was hard with the tell-tale clicking of a cell phone camera to her right. She closed her eyes. Just ignore them. Just ignore them.

The camera shutter soon caught the attention of the others, however. Elaine stopped what she was saying and turned to glare at the other table.

“Hey!” she snapped at the couple. Kristine jumped at the sudden shout. “Knock it off! She doesn’t want pictures!”

The two were stricken. Mumbling an apology, they turned back to their dinner.

“Thanks,” Kristine murmured, eyes downcast. It seemed she couldn’t go anywhere these days without being interrupted by someone. She couldn’t imagine how annoying that must have been for those she was with. “Sorry about that.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Elaine said. “It’s not your fault that people act like dumbasses around famous people.”

Famous people.

Kristine wasn’t sure how to feel about that. Should she be upset that the whole world seemed to know every intimate detail of her broken life, or should she be honored that they cared? Because they did care—that was maybe the most shocking part of it all. Once she woke up in April, after the whirlwind of finding herself in the Loki’s penthouse room and getting examined by the Avengers’ private doctor team and being interviewed by police investigators for hours, she finally looked at the Twitter hashtags that had been trending while she slept. It was… surreal.

Just saw the news about the blood in the apartment and I’m crying. I want her to be alive so badly, but I don’t think she is anymore. Please, @NYPD, don’t let this monster get away with her murder. #ArrestMichaelHauer #WheresTheBodyMichael? #JusticeForKristine

He controlled her, abused her, and tried to blame her for her own disappearance. Do NOT let him get away with it. #ArrestMichaelHauer #WheresTheBodyMichael? #JusticeForKristine

She’s such a beautiful girl. I hope they find her and that the boyfriend gets what he deserves. #JusticeForKristine

There were thousands of them. Thousands, and not a single handle she recognized. Perfect strangers, rushing from across the country to fight for her.

When Loki had returned with tea, he had found her in tears.

“What’s wrong?” he had asked, rushing to her side by the computer.

Kristine shook her head. “There’s just so many,” she whispered. “I never thought there would be so many!”

After the announcement was made that she had been found, alive and well, she thought the support would stop, but the floodgates had only just been opened. She started getting messages addressed directly to her, from tweets that read like letters to actual letters in the mail. Kristine had never gotten a letter in her life, and yet here she was having to open a special PO box because of all the mail coming into Avengers Tower addressed to her.

She got letters from people who followed the case, people who were so relieved to find that she was okay that they had to let her know. There were people she had never met, writing to tell her that she was beautiful and talented and deserved so much better than the likes of Michael. There were people writing to tell her that they hoped she knew that they would always support her, even if they could never understand what she had been through.

And then there were the people who understood exactly what she had been through. Some days, she found herself reading stories from women she didn’t know that read like pages from her own diary. Kristine had always been aware that she wasn’t the only person with a significant other like Michael—she had seen the PSA’s on television, she knew the words “domestic violence”—but somehow, she had always felt like the only one. Who else in real life was foolish enough to get into such a situation, and who else was weak enough to stay? But there were others.

So many others.

Those letters were overwhelming in a completely different way.

Kristine hid them all away, in a cardboard box underneath her bed in her Avengers Tower apartment. She had been staying there ever since she woke up: Mr. Stark had insisted. She had never really liked Tony Stark. He was fun to draw, because his face was so recognizable, but to her, that was where his merits always ended. Maybe it was because he adored Michael so much: every party she went to, he made a point of telling her how lucky she was that she snagged such a talented man. He provoked a deep bitterness in her chest, masked only by her anxiety. Kristine never had any doubts that if it came down to her word against Michael’s, Mr. Stark wouldn’t even bother to hear her out.

She couldn’t believe it when Loki told her Stark had fired Michael. He had done it early on, too: before the blood and the knife had even been discovered.

“The phone calls?” she whispered hoarsely. “That’s all it took?”

Loki looked at her sideways. “Those calls were horrific,” he said. “He’d have to be soulless not to terminate him after hearing them.”

And then, when she realized that she would have to find a new place to live now that Michael was in jail, Mr. Stark insisted that she stay at the Tower, at least until she found a suitable apartment elsewhere. He told her to consider it his way of apologizing.

“But—you don’t have to—to apologize for anything, sir,” she stuttered, unable to look him in the eye.

Mr. Stark was adamant. “This whole shitshow comes back to me. I hired him, I hired you, he met you because of it. Matchmaker, remember?” He shook his head, pinching the bridge of his nose. “No, it all comes back to me.”

Kristine wasn’t so sure of that, but she was touched by his guilt. He had even offered to send his Iron Legion to retrieve her stuff for her, but she elected to do that herself, with Loki. There wasn’t much to retrieve: clothes, art supplies, little bits and baubles she had taken with her when she moved to New York.

She froze in the doorway when they first walked in. The floor was as clean as ever, and yet in her mind she could still see the sticky red trail, the sickly warmth seeping down her shirt. It had taken a minute to process that all that blood had been coming from her.

Loki squeezed her hand gently. “If you’d prefer,” he murmured into her hair, in a voice just barely loud enough for her to hear, “You don’t have to go in. Just tell me what you wish to fetch, and I’ll take care of it.”

She shook her head, squeezing her eyes shut. “No. No. I’m—I’m fine. Let’s go.”

Still, the events of that night played out in her head as she made her way through the apartment. How Michael had been ordering that she quit her job at the coffeeshop. He had been wanting her to quit for a while now, convinced that she was constantly flirting with other men while he was at work. If she loved him, he said, she’d prove it by doing this one thing for him.

Kristine refused. Honestly, her resolve surprised herself. At this point, she had learned that the only way to keep the peace was to cave to Michael’s wishes, but this demand stirred something in her. The barista job was the last thing she had left, the only thing he couldn’t touch. She told him he couldn’t make her quit even if he killed her for it.

She had regretted the words immediately. He lunged at her with wild eyes, that vein popping in his neck. When she tried to call Loki, he ripped the phone from her hands and flung her into the coat rack.

Kristine had scrambled into the kitchen area. She had grabbed the knife in a panic, some half baked idea of defending herself, but he was on top of her before she had time to think, shouting at her and wrestling for the handle.

And then it was in her.

She didn’t feel it go in. Even after it went in, it wasn’t that bad—just a dull stinging in her abdomen that seemed to pulse with her heartbeat. She looked down slowly, dazedly, reaching out to grip the handle buried in her stomach. Michael looked down too, mouth agape. Kristine remembered thinking that he looked like a fish.

She wasn’t sure how she got back into the hallway floor, but Michael was yelling at her again.

“What the fuck were you thinking, going for the knife? Are you fucking insane?”

She was breathing hard, and it hurt more with every breath, sending shockwaves of pain through her body. Blood was dripping down her front. Her blood, she recognized dimly.

That was the scene Loki had arrived at. She didn’t remember much after that.

That moment ensnared her as she stuffed shirts into her ratty old suitcase. Loki didn’t talk about what he saw much, but it was clear from what he did say that he was certain Michael meant to kill her. She supposed she couldn’t blame him—had she seen what he saw, she probably would have drawn the same conclusion. But as it stood, Kristine wasn’t so sure. Maybe he would’ve finished her off, had her Asgardian knight in shining armor not come to rescue her, but she couldn’t forget his shocked fish face recoil when the blade pierced her stomach.

“What were you thinking Kristine?”

Why was she so hung up on this? What did it matter what Michael might’ve done if given the chance? The only important thing was what he did do: he hurt her, he manipulated her, he stabbed her. Wasn’t that enough?

It was enough for him to be arrested. Or… remain arrested, she guessed. Of course, the murder charge was dropped once it was proven that no murder had taken place, but police were quick to smack him with attempted murder and numerous charges of assault and battery. News outlets were constantly reaching out for comment, but Mr. Stark shut them all down for her.

“Ms. Ververs has been through a very traumatic experience,” he said at a press conference. “She has no desire to comment on anything at the moment, and we at Avengers Tower would greatly appreciate it if you all stopped pestering her.”

“Well, Kris, it looks like you’ve made it,” Agent Romanov said to her as they watched coverage from the television in the penthouse. “You’ve got Tony Stark acting as your PR. You can either celebrate or be extremely concerned.”

Kristine forced a laugh. Out of all her new super-powered roommates, the Black Widow was easily the most intimidating. Still, she seemed to like Kristine for some reason. Actually, all of the Avengers seemed to like her. Dr. Banner seemed to enjoy striking up quiet conversation with her, completely unbothered by her inability to get a coherent sentence out when she was nervous. Captain Rodgers was impressed by her artwork, always ready with some new compliment that made her day. Thor never failed to greet her with a smile.

Kristine was pretty sure they were just being nice because they felt bad for her, but she decided not to let it bother her. It made her feel nice too.

They were all outraged on her behalf when Michael took a plea deal. He plead guilty to attempted murder in the second degree in exchange for all other charges being dropped and was sentenced to seven years in prison.

“Seven years,” fumed Loki when the news broke. “He could have killed you, and he only gets seven years. It’s ludicrous.”

Despite popular opinion, Kristine was relieved. If Michael had pled innocent, there would have been a trial. She would have had to sit on the witness stand and face him down as she attempted to tell her story in front of dozens of eyes. Seven years was more than enough for her.

The check was paid, and the group made ready to leave, still laughing and telling stories as they walked through the door. Avengers Tower was only a short walk up the street, so Kristine said her goodbyes and started on her way. She never really went out much after the sun set. It was strange to think that even cloaked in night, the city still was wide awake. The night air sent shivers up her bare arms, but Kristine didn’t mind. She was wearing short sleeves a lot more these days, now that she didn’t have to worry about covering up bruises. It was freeing, in a strange sort of way.

Kristine noticed one of her missing posters taped to the stoplight while she waited to cross the street. The ink had mostly been washed away by recent thunderstorms, but she could still make out the outline of her face, grinning awkwardly at the ground.

It was a really awful picture they decided to plaster across the country. Michael had taken it, the morning after the first night they spent together. Her hair was a complete mess (but then when was it ever not?), and she had that uncomfortable photo smile she wore in every picture ever taken of her. She wasn’t even looking at the camera!—why on Earth had they chosen that one?  

She glanced around for a moment. When she saw that no one was looking, she ripped the poster from the pole and crumpled it into her purse. There wasn’t anything wrong with that. She hadn’t been missing for nearly half a year now, no reason to keep them up anymore. Still, Kristine crossed the street with the feeling in her stomach that she had committed a capital offense.

If her mother could have seen her now, she would have been laughing. Diana Ververs never understood her daughter’s desperate need to be seen by no one. It had been a problem her whole life. There was one time, all the way back in second grade, when Kristine had come home begging her mother to let her dye her hair brown so that she wouldn’t be the only redhead in the school.

At the request, her mom had tilted her head and frowned. “What’s wrong with that?”

“Everyone looks at me!” Kristine cried. “It’s ugly and I hate it!”

“Oh, Krissy, that’s not true!” she said. “They look at you because your hair is the prettiest color in the whole world. That’s why I married your dad, you know.”

The girl hadn’t been convinced. “I want brown hair!” she said. “Like Ashley and Erin.”

“But if you had brown hair like Ashley and Erin, I wouldn’t be able to recognize you,” her mother said, pulling her into her arms. “I’d say, ‘where’s my pretty little Krissy with her red hair?’ I’d be sad and lonely. You don’t want me to be sad and lonely, do you?”

Little Kristine had faltered at that. “Nnnooo…”

“Then you’ll keep your red hair for me?” she asked hopefully, kissing the crown of her head.

“Alright,” Kristine agreed reluctantly. “Just for you, Mama.”

Growing up, it had just been the two of them. Kristine’s father had died in a car accident before she was born, and they didn’t really have any extended family nearby. Kristine had been exceptionally close with her mother, closer than she had ever been with any friends or acquaintances she met at school. When the diagnosis came in, the ground just fell out from under her. What had been simple complaints of back pain was suddenly stage IV lung cancer, and Kristine was dropping out of her master’s program to help her mom through chemo.

Everything spiraled so fast. Within months, she was gone.

While she had been asleep, Kristine had dreamed about her mom. Her dad had been there too: Kristine recognized the diabolical red curls that he had so kindly passed down to her. They had swirled around her in a mist-filled limbo, smiling and singing to her in voices too quiet to hear properly. Kristine had wondered if she was dead. It made sense to her healing-stone-drugged brain: dying young was in her blood, after all. Death and her were old friends at this point, might as well embrace it.

Frustratingly though, her parents remained just out of reach. Kristine cried and screamed and begged, grasping at thin air for her mother’s hand, but she couldn’t quite bridge the distance. It wasn’t until she opened her eyes into the elegant chambers of Prince Loki and felt her groan vibrate in her throat that she realized she wasn’t dead after all.

Actually, it seemed her life might have just begun.

Kristine slid her ID card in the door of Avengers Tower, smiling awkwardly at the night watchman, then swiped it again in the elevator.

So much security. Sometimes, she almost forgot that she was living on what was essentially a government base. The elevator chimed as the doors opened at the top floor and she slipped into the common room.

“Did you have a good time?” Kristine jumped. Loki was stretched out on the couch, legs crossed elegantly, not even looking up from his book.

She raised an eyebrow. “Were-were you waiting up for me?”

“Of course not. Not everything’s about you, you know.” Loki turned the page, but there was a glint in his eye that made Kristine smile.

“Um…” she pushed her hair out of her face. “I think I’m going to make some tea. Want some?”

“That sounds lovely.”

Kristine fumbled around the kitchen as she heated the water, feeling his eyes on her all the while. She found herself stealing glances back at him as well—he just looked so regal, lounging there as if he owned the whole place. She wished she could get away with snapping a picture on her phone, just so she could have something to reference for a sketch later. Kristine had been drawing a lot of Loki recently—after all, she had promised—but she had yet to show any of these portraits to him. The floundering, bumbling part of her was convinced that they weren’t good enough, that he’d hate them. Stupid, she knew—he had nothing but praise to shower on the artwork she did decide to show him, but still she was nervous.

She wanted him to like her so badly. Like them. The drawings. But her too. Kind of. And that was stupid as well, because she knew he liked her. He had saved her life, after all. But even excluding that, Loki had always been so nice to her. Kristine had often wondered if he knew how badly she looked forward to his little visits every afternoon at the coffeeshop, the silly little chats they’d share for a few minutes. And he never stopped looking out for her: even now, months after everything had been resolved, he’d still check up on how she was feeling.

Still, sometimes she wondered. Did he actually like her, or were his actions just out of pity? It was a strange thing to consider, especially given his tumultuous past (imagine trying to explain to the average New Yorker that Loki of Asgard might have spent months being nice to some random girl just because he felt bad for her), but she considered it often, nonetheless. She didn’t know how to feel about it.

Kristine brought the teacups over to the couch. Loki sat up, moving his legs so that she could sit next to him, thanking her softly as she handed him the cup. For a while, they just sat there, sipping their tea in silence.

Finally, though, she found the courage to clear her throat. “Hey,” she asked. “Remember when you asked me to dance at the Christmas party?”

He grinned. “How could I forget?”

“Why did you?” she asked bluntly. Her cheeks immediately flushed red. “I mean—did you—could you tell? That he—Michael and I—that we—”

Luckily, Loki seemed to get what she was trying to spit out. “Not exactly,” he said, stirring his tea methodically. “I could tell that you were unhappy, and that he was completely unbothered by the fact that you were unhappy, and I found that to be concerning. But at that point, I never would have guessed the extent of the situation.”

No. It seemed no one could have guessed the extent of the situation. “Oh,” Kristine mumbled. “Is-is that why you asked me to dance? Because you were concerned?”

Loki raised his eyebrows, turning to fix Kristine with an amused gaze. “I asked you to dance because I wanted to dance with you.” When Kristine stared back at him in silence, he laughed. “Is that so difficult to believe?”

“N-no.” Now it was her turn to focus on stirring her tea and ignoring her companion. “I just… I’m not sure what happens now.”

“That would depend,” Loki said. “What do you wish to happen now?”

Kristine gulped. He had put the ball in her court. Even months later, she still found herself expecting someone to pop up and tell her exactly what to do. But Loki was waiting patiently. This decision was hers.

“I guess…” she started, speaking far too fast. “I mean, I wouldn’t mind if you took me out for coffee. Not in the Tower, I mean. There’s-there’s a place down the street. Unless you’d like the Tower better, that is. I don’t really care—”

Loki hushed her gently. “I’d be honored to take you out for coffee,” he said. “Would tomorrow morning suffice?”

It took her a full minute for her to fully process what he was saying, but once she did, Kristine couldn’t stop the smile from spreading across her lips. “Yeah. Yeah, that would… suffice.”

“Good.” Loki leaned back against the cushions, and silence lapsed around them once more. Kristine hesitated for a moment before following him, shyly resting her head on his shoulder. He stiffened at first, and Kristine made to pull away, but he wrapped his arm around her and held her closer.

She sighed contentedly. She was safe here.

Safe with Loki.

[imaginetonyandbucky]

The Hitman Bodyguard: Chapter 2

Read on AO3

Hours later, Bucky closed the door on the last of the police, SHIELD, FBI, and whatever other members of the federal alphabet soup that had turned up when Stark had reported the helicopter attack.  Turning, he sighed when he saw Stark studying him as if he could see the metal arm under Bucky’s long sleeves and gloves.  “You gonna tell me about that fancy arm of yours now?”  Stark said.

“Nope,” Bucky said, lips popping on the “p,” as he walked around Stark to get to the pot of coffee in the kitchen, praying that there was still some left.

“Please?” Stark said as he followed.

"No." 

"Why not?"

"I don't talk about it for the same reason you don’t like to talk about the arc reactor,” Bucky said bluntly.  Coffee in hand, he went to the living room to grab his laptop.  He was going to have to write up an incident report about last night for Ms. Potts, so he might as well start now. “Because it’s personal.”

“So you were gravely injured in a terrorist attack, were kidnapped by said terrorists, had that arm grafted onto your body without your permission while you were unconscious, and then were kept prisoner for months to build weapons?” Stark said sarcastically.

Bucky stared at him for a long moment, blinking, and said, “Pretty much.” Stark’s jaw tightened and he looked like he thought Bucky was mocking him.   “Did you figure out anything useful about the Mandarin last night?” Bucky asked, offering the change of topic like an olive branch and trying to refocus that razor sharp intellect where it belonged.  “I noticed you didn’t say much about it to the agents when you told them about the helicopters.”

For a moment, Stark looked like he still wanted to argue, but then he relented. “Yeah, I did find something.  Rose Hill, Tennessee.”

As he explained his line of reasoning about Tennessee, Bucky’s frowned deepened.  He rubbed his temples and knew that Stark wasn’t going to let this go.  His next thought was how to kidnap Stark and take him to someplace where he would be hidden and safe, but the whole world knew what happened to people who held him against his will, so.  Short of somehow disabling all of the Iron Man suits, Bucky only saw one way forward.

“Dammit,” Bucky said aloud, right in the middle of Stark’s theory regarding some dog tags recovered from the blast.

“What?”

Bucky sighed.  “I’m going to have to help you superhero this goddamn situation.”

For a moment, Stark blinked at him blankly. Then he smiled widely. “Yeah? Alright, Rambo. It’s on.”

(More after the break!)

                                                            ***

“So much for that property damage bonus,” Stark said, staring at the ruins of the water tower, water still eddying a little around the boots of the Iron Man suit.

“Yeah.” Bucky slung his rifle over his back and kicked at a piece of debris.  At least the fallen water tower had put out all the fires.  “Technically the bad guys were responsible for this one, though.”

“We’ll add it to their tab.  Come on, we’re not finished yet.”  Stark climbed out of his suit and blew on his hands to warm them up as it folded in on itself.  “Clearly someone doesn’t want anyone to know more about what happened here.  Got that file?”

Bucky tapped his chest where the manila folder was tucked behind his bulletproof vest.  “Yep.  I grabbed it while you were busy with that hot chick.”

“Busy?” Stark scowled as he picked up his suit, now easily portable, and headed for the main road.  “You mean running for my life? I thought you were supposed to be my bodyguard.”

“Hey, I put three bullets in her, center mass.  I don’t think anyone expected that she’d be able to walk that off.” Bucky followed him, checking each car until he found the one that matched the keys they’d swiped off the hot chick’s partner. “Where are we headed now?”

“Given what just happened, I think ‘out of town’ would be a good direction to start with.”  Stark made grabby hands at Bucky’s chest until he handed over the file. He flipped through the file, reading everything with more thoroughness than he’d had earlier when they'd acquired the file.  Bucky glanced over at him as one page in particular caught his interest.

 “AIM?” Bucky said, reading the big letters off the corner of the page.  “Aren’t they one of those big defense contractors? Like BAE and SAIC?”

“Not quite on that scale, but they did score a big contract just recently,” Stark said, reaching for his phone.  “Hey Rhodey, whatcha doing?” 

               “Are you sure you’re going to be able to access the systems from here?” Bucky whispered dubiously as they made their way to an unguarded news van.  “I thought you’d need a secure system.”

“Look who you are talking to,” Stark said as they climbed inside.  “All I need is a satellite link and bandwidth.”

As Stark muttered to himself, frowning at the screens and grumbling at the results of an internet speed test, Bucky held his pistol at the ready, more than a little concerned about the fact that they were basically trapped in this van if another one of those fire people had followed them. He kept his ears tuned to listen for anyone coming and sure enough, after a few minutes, there was the sound of feet crunching on gravel.   "Incoming," Bucky had time to warn before the door to the van swung open.

To his relief, it was just some local yokel in a baseball cap, who held his hands up in surprise when he saw Bucky's pistol.  Bucky quickly lowered it and half-gestured, half-pulled him into the van.  “What the hell-" the man started, then Stark turned around in his chair and put his finger to his lips. "I-I know you!” The man said excitedly, pulling his baseball cap off his head and wringing it between his hands.  “Oh my God, Tony Stark is in my van! I knew you were still alive!”

“Is this your van? Is anyone else going to come in?”  Stark asked urgently, gesturing for the man to keep his voice down.

“No, it’s just us,” the man said, eyes still glowing with idol worship.  Bucky covered his mouth with his hand to hide his grin.  “Can I just say, I’m your biggest fan.”

“What’s your name?” Apparently resigned to his fate, Stark stood and held his hand out, pointedly ignoring Bucky's amusement.

“Gary,” he said, taking Stark’s hand and shaking it for way too long. Bucky coughed to hide a laugh and the man finally took his eyes away from Tony.  “I don’t know you,” the man said.  “Are you-”

“I’m just the help,” Bucky said hurriedly.  “No one important.”

“Don’t tell anyone, Gary, but I have a sidekick now,” Stark said, automatically dodging Bucky’s retaliatory smack.  He put his hands on the man’s arms and squeezed them, face getting serious. “Look, buddy, I’m going to need your help, ok?”  Bucky didn’t understand Stark’s instructions, but the man must have because he was nodding like his head was going to fall off and then he was climbing back out of the van, glancing in at Stark one more time before shut the door.

“I think he wants to wear your skin,” Bucky said in a stage whisper.  Loud pongs echoed inside the van as Gary climbed on top to soup up Stark's internet.

“Yeah, me too.  Is that kind of thing covered in the bodyguard contract?” Stark said as he obsessively refreshed the internet speed counter.

“No, just terrorists.  I mean, you don’t need a bodyguard, for crying out loud, you’re Iron Man,” Bucky said in a creditable impression of Stark.  Stark opened his mouth to respond just as the red lights on the screen in front of him turned green.  Windows flashed almost faster than Bucky could read them until Stark found an index of personnel files; then a video started playing of an interview.  Bucky recognized the young man in the video as the kid from the alleged suicide here in Rose Hill.  Stark flipped to a different interview and it was the hot chick from earlier, but in this video her left arm ended right before the elbow and that had definitely not been the case earlier.  The next video he put on was titled “Injection Test” and in it some smarmy-looking asshole with a ponytail said, “Misfits, cripples…you are the next phase in human evolution,” which made Bucky little queasy.  He clenched his jaw as he pushed away the bad memories, rolling his shoulders as he felt tension gathering there.

"Aldrich Killian," Stark said with a rude snort, not noticing Bucky’s reaction. Stark dismissed that video and moved to another one titled “Phase_One.”  As he watched the people being strapped in to the medical gurneys and injected with a clear fluid, Bucky started feeling lightheaded; absently he realized that his heart was pounding and his breathing was shallow.

Stop it, he told himself, trying to take a deep breath and slow his pulse.  It’s not you.  It’s not going to be you.  Then the people on the screen started moaning with pain as they started glowing from the inside out; when one of them screamed, sharp and sudden, both Bucky and Stark flinched.  Bucky stood up suddenly and turned away from the screen, putting his hands over his ears and closing his eyes tight.  It didn’t help much, because he could still hear the screams but now they were his own screams as he struggled against his restraints –

He jerked violently away from the hand that touched his shoulder, banging into the wall of the van.  Stark took a step back, hands in the air; Bucky’s eyes flicked between him and the screen behind him, paused in mid-explosion, for long, disoriented seconds before he remembered where he was.

“Holy shit, you were serious, weren’t you?” Stark said.  “About being held by terrorists. Was it them?” he asked, tilting his head at the screen behind them.

“No, not them,” Bucky said roughly.  “And I still don’t want to talk about it.” He crossed his arms over his chest to hide that his flesh hand was shaking. “Well? What did you find out?”

Stark eyed him for a long moment, gaze sharp and concerned.  “Are you ok?”

“I’m fine.”  Bucky knew he was being curt, but embarrassment was starting to bleed in as the adrenaline faded.

“Ok,” Stark said, sounding unconvinced as he reluctantly turned back to the screen. “I found out that these guys aren’t the bombers, they’re the bombs.” Tony reversed the footage and played it again, showing one of the glowing test experiments as he went nuclear.

“The Mandarin is turning these people into weapons?” Bucky’s stomach turned over.

“Not the Mandarin. AIM.” Stark flipped through the screens until he found Smarmy Ponytail and tapped the monitor. “This guy, Killian.”  He closed all the screens and wiped the computer, giving Gary an awkward smile and wave as they made their way back to the car.

“So where are we going now?” Bucky said as they got in, grateful to be away from the screams that still seemed to echo inside that cramped van.

“Hold on,” Stark said, distracted as he looked at his phone.  “I’m having JARVIS do a query of available AIM downlink facilities in order to pinpoint the Mandarin’s broadcast signal.”

“Ok.”  Bucky drove as far as he could while Stark worked, until he pulled up to an intersection with a major highway.  “Well?” he asked as the car idled. “North or south?”

“South,” Stark said in surprise. “Apparently we’re going to Miami.”      

“Miami?” Bucky repeated, curling his lip.  He still hated being hot, and beaches were a particular pet peeve – it wasn't socially acceptable wear long sleeves and his arm would get hot as fuck if it sat out in the sun for too long.  And the sand got everywhere.

“Yeah, looks like we get to have a road trip.” At Bucky’s unexcited face, Stark elbowed him.  “Come on, it’ll be fun.”

“Fine. But I get to pick the music,” he said, pulling onto the onramp for the southbound lane.  The first few hours of the drive went by fast because Stark’s love of classic rock was well known and Bucky had plenty of that on his music player, but when they were halfway through Georgia Stark started pestering him about his arm again, so Bucky got revenge by playing the most obnoxious music he could find.

“Oh my god, is that klezmer?” Stark said, sitting up as the first wailing notes of a clarinet started.  To Bucky’s surprise, he leaned forward and actually turned the volume up.

“How in the hell do you know klezmer?” Bucky demanded, glancing over to see Stark tapping his hands to the beat.

“How in the hell do you know klezmer?” he countered.  “I grew up listening to this stuff whenever my parents left me with our butler, Jarvis.  His wife was Jewish, came over here from Hungary.”

“Huh. I spent some time in Bucharest.”  Five years, to be precise, five years of hiding in the ghettos, Jewish and otherwise, from Hydra and the world in general.  

After that, Stark seemed interested in listening to all the music Bucky had accumulated on his music player, playing the songs that he had funny or interesting stories about.  The only exception was when he accidentally hit a Glenn Miller song; his lips went flat and face blank as he turned it off. “My dad used to listen to this kind of stuff when he was drinking,” was his only explanation.  Bucky didn’t comment as Stark put AC/DC back on, because that music didn’t exactly have great memories for him either.

Stark eventually fell asleep somewhere around Orlando, with his jacket bunched up under his head and Bucky’s coat draped over his shoulders.  As the yellow sodium lights flashed over his face, he looked deceptively vulnerable; awake, he was a force of nature, every inch a super hero, a decisive strength and intellect that barely seemed contained by his physical form.  But like this, features slack with sleep, his breathing deep and slow, he was an all-too-human Tony.  Bucky could see why he inspired so much awe in so many and why Ms. Potts was so desperate to keep him safe.  

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, resisting the urge to pull the blanket up higher around Tony's shoulders.  Getting too attached to this man, of all the people on the planet, would end in nothing but disaster.

[incorrectly-quoted-queers]

Blue

Chapter 1: Look 

Jason Erikson had spent the last four months of his life wanting to kill himself. Maybe more, if he was being honest. If only the fake-deep indie music in the cafe wasn’t so loud, perhaps the urge wouldn’t be so damn strong. Maybe it was his fault he has such a shit outlook on the concept of his existence. 

But at least he didn’t have to take the blame for this crap lunch, too.

It was intended to celebrate his recent unsatisfying promotion, and he and Julia were supposed to go to Red Dragon, his favorite Chinese place. When they got there, though, it was closed. Typical. Jason was ready to cancel the whole thing, but Julia insisted on having lunch anyway. It was his big day, right? So instead, they ended up next door at the Lovelace Nook because Julia didn’t have that long a lunch and now he had to settle for this shitty Caprese “garden bowl”. Jason didn’t know why he ordered it. He didn’t even like fucking salads. 

Vintage wallpaper and punny menu names didn’t fill the void of his newest disappointment, not when the table was wobbly, the vinaigrette was too sweet, and he felt like a goddamn audience member in his own life. And it sucked so much he wanted to jeer at the F-list actor playing him, maybe even ditch his theater seat altogether for something better than this bullshit.  

Safe to say, all three problems combined made his frown itch. 

After all, what the hell were they celebrating? Another disappointing milestone?

Despite the years he spent at college pissing people off for good stories, thinking he would find satisfaction in truth, he hated being a journalist. He had been incorrect in thinking a big city and a fancy promotion would make him any better. It was a hard job for anyone to stomach, especially when you had no patience for low-tier bullshit. And that’s all he got. He had the flashy title, but every assignment sent his way was some mode, method, or sub-sect of bullshit. Who could really be proud of their most popular article being called “The Secret Evils of Tupperware”? He sometimes spent afternoons daydreaming about glocks in his mouth or hitting the rocks under the Brooklyn Bridge, just because he couldn’t keep on writing so much pointless shit. 

After all the work he’d put into getting here, though, he’d be damned if he gave it all up now. Where would he go, anyway? It’s not like there was a life out there for him, past the one he was already trapped in. 

There had to be something he could do. There was always something, and not just in a desperate self-help book kind of way. He’d never taken the bullshit lying down. Just like his Papi’s attempt to re-brand shame as love or Professor Keller’s vindictive ideology against giving 4.0’s, he’d persevere and find a way to not just survive, but thrive.

So what the fuck was he doing here, prodding the tines of his fork into some limp spring mix?

This lunch would be the end of it. Jason wouldn’t live his life settling for shitty Caprese salad when he wanted a damn noodle bowl. Today would be different. Today he would march his ass right up to Editor Waler's office and—

"Jason? Jason. Are you even listening to me?" Jason blinked, meeting the expressive green eyes of his girlfriend, Julia Winters. Safe to say, she didn’t look amused. She had the kind of face that was always too honest, creating stress caverns in her cheeks for all the times she had to tell people they were being idiots. And Julia had a serious “how much of an idiot are you?” frown going.

To this day, Jason wasn’t sure if he appreciated that expressive honesty or fucking hated it. 

Either way, the jaded journalist certainly didn’t like getting caught being an absent-minded asshole. He shrugged, a slight blush coming to his cheeks, the kind he hoped his tanned skin masked. "Oh, of course. I'm always listening." 

She leaned back in her chair and glowered at him. "Please. Your eyes glazed over the same way they do when people run up to you trying to talk about soccer. If you really were listening, what was I talking about, wise guy?" 

Jason scoffed, though panic rose in his throat. He scanned his memory of the past fifteen minutes like an open newspaper, but every page was blank. Shit. The only thing he had a clear image of was the first few moments they walked in, when she giggled at the oh-so-clever dish names. 

Right, he remembered now. It was her favorite alliteration they offered: the Curie Caprese. Fire roasted tomatoes, basil, and fresh mozzarella atop spring mix with a so-called spicy red pepper and oil vinaigrette. And after that, he whirled around in his head like the most oblivious, self-centered centrifuge. 

In a slight panic, he blurted out the first thing that came to mind. "Work. We were talking about work. Your boss was bothering you again, right?"

Julia reddened and glanced down at her hands. "I guess you were listening." 

At her backing off, Jason thanked his lucky stars. God, if she wasn’t obsessed with talking about her shitty boss he would have been screwed. Fighting would’ve been the cherry tomato on top of his shitty afternoon. 

Her composure now compact, compressed, Julia said, “I'm sorry, Jason, you've just felt so distant lately."

While it probably would’ve pissed her off, he almost laughed. Distance was his middle name. If she didn’t know that by now, she wasn’t as smart as he thought she was. 

That, or she picked up on the mood of his internal monologue, but who could do shit like that? 

Though he opened his mouth for some off-hand bluff of an excuse, time was on his side. Literally. His phone started to vibrate: 12:50. It was his “get your dumb ass back to work” alarm. One lunch with Julia last year ran a little late and his boss, Waler, made him listen to his drivel about the perils of one’s personal life getting in the way of a serious career.

Maybe if Waler gave a shit about his personal life his wife wouldn’t be leaving him, but hey, who was Jason Erikson to know anything about healthy, functional family lives? 

He dropped his fork and knife back into his grazed bowl. Finishing this salad wasn’t really on his list of priorities anyway.  

As he tucked the phone away, shutting it off,  he stood up from their table and kissed her forehead. It’d only be more trouble for him if she kept that tense, uncertain look on her face. He ran his hand over the top of her head, tucked some hair behind her ear. Just that alone got her shoulders straighter. Jason did his best to convincingly promise:  "Look, the distance is all in your head. Don't worry about it. Now I have to get back to work, okay? I’ll see you.” 

She stood and pressed her fingers to his forearm, a small gesture that normally he didn’t think much about. With everything else swimming in his head, though...

Julia said, simply, "I love you, Jason."

But then he paused.

Feeling his weight of gravity shift her way, Jason rocked back on his heels. Today he was marching off and taking back his life, not falling at some beautiful woman’s feet. Instead, he tossed her a dismissive smile like it was a pity tip. "See you later, Jules."

He didn’t look back once he turned. Years ago he learned that was a trap. There was something about her eyes, and the summer’s end feel to them, green fading into golds and browns, that made you never want to leave sometimes. 

Since he knew what his own eyes looked like, he didn’t love sticking around.

Then Jason sauntered off, focusing on clearing his head of all the tangled mess he made of it. It always was like this, like she was some His daily lunches with Julia were a chore, and this one was no different, but if they kept her happy and relatively placated he wouldn't object. 

Some days he didn’t know why he bothered, but...

Just then, his phone started buzzing again. He could’ve sworn that he turned the damn alarm off, but it was just that kind of day, wasn’t it?

But when he pulled his phone out of his pocket, it wasn’t the same fake-charming, hyper-designed sans serif font reminding him to get to work. Instead, it was a phone number. Normally, he’d assume it was some work contact and answer. With the area code on it, though, one he hadn’t seen in years, his heart stopped dead. 

Or, at least, he wished it would.  

For unknown, probably dumb subconscious reasons, though, he answered. Jason really didn’t fucking have to, but... he figured today couldn’t get any worse at this point. That’s what he massaged into his head like some protection charm as he said, “Hello, this is Jason Erickson.”

Across the line was the all-too polite and enunciated kind of voice that he was once used to, years back. It only made his heart dig itself deeper into the ground. “Hello Mr. Erickson. This is the Abaddon Nursing Care Center.”

Not them. Not again. “Look, if Julio Ramirez left anything in the goddamn plumbing, I don’t care-”

She cut him off with a curtness he didn’t expect. “No, this is about your brother.”

Of all the things she could’ve said, that was the thing he least expected. Well, perhaps not the last, considering it’d been more than two decades since he saw his dad. Guess good old Calvin Erickson knocked up some other poor idiot. Jason would have to say a little prayer for that fool. 

But it didn’t matter if they shared blood; it was the kind of blood that never mattered to him. Wasn’t like this nameless stranger mattered either, right? Jason bit into his words. “I don’t have a brother.”

There was a pause on the other end, the kind where someone felt awkward about the anger in his voice. He didn’t flinch or recoil. “Right, Dr. Fairchild mentioned you might not know.” The nurse sighed, like she was repeating some tiresome urban legend to a child. “Your half-brother is... troubled. He tried to jump off the abandoned bridge. He survived and is out of critical condition, but-” Before he could tell them to fuck off and find someone else, the nurse just had to say something more. “But if you don’t come to get him soon, I’m sorry to say that he’s 18 so that means we’ll have to discharge him on his own within the next 48 hours.” 

Fuck. Her.

Taking a deep breath, Jason stayed firm and said, “Look, I’m not-” but he cut himself off this time. The next time he said “look” he was going to shoot out his own tongue. He’d heard the word “look” shot at him like a weapon more times than he ever needed to hear it in a lifetime. Understanding is done best when seen, Papi would say. 

Well, Jason hadn’t seen anything, had he?

So this kid, whoever he was, didn’t matter, barely even existed, as far as Jason was concerned. He had no obligation to get involved in whatever fucked up shit this was. 

All he had to do was politely decline, put down the phone, and march up to Waler’s office to move his career in a better direction. It was what he needed. 

Against his better judgment, Jason’s hand didn’t move, he didn’t shut the phone off, he didn’t even keep walking. Nailed still to the concrete below him, he looked up at the stupid fluffy white clouds above him and asked, “What’s his name?”

[mchanv]

(DFYaH) Chapter 6: A Shoulder to lean on

[Originally on AO3]

Summary: I’ve always wondered what Draco Malfoy’s side of the Harry Potter saga was, that’s how I came up with this idea. It is not possible at all to be canon, due to the inability of certain magical items in the story. It runs alongside the books very closely, so some dialogue or actions can come directly from them.       Draco Malfoy goes to Hogwarts for his first year. After being sorted into Slytherin and the night had fallen, a strange silvery bird gives him a message. The bird, seemingly a Phoenix, belongs to Albus Dumbledore, his Headmaster, who gives Draco a book upon his arrival in his office that same night. Draco has no idea what the book meant, but decides to go through with what Dumbledore has asked of him.

Ship: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Marcus Flint/Oliver Wood (background)

Genre: Adventure/Romance

Word count: 3,177

—————

It was late in the day already, around eight o’clock. Draco and Pansy were both seated in the common room on their usual couch. Pansy was happily chatting away about whatever, but Draco wasn’t paying attention. His thoughts were racing, panicked, but determined. It was now or never, he thought and looked Pansy right in her brown eyes.

    “I have to talk to you,” he blurted out, in a low voice for any eavesdroppers. Pansy looked quite taken aback. Draco knew she hated being interrupted when she was talking, but her gaze softened quickly, as if knowing this was important to Draco.

    Draco stood up and so did Pansy. He led her down the corridor to his dormitory, which was luckily empty, and sat down on his bed. Pansy took a seat on a chair next to it and started, “So, what is it, Draco?”

    Draco fidgeted with the rim of his button-up before meeting her eyes. He couldn’t hide the desperation in his own and saw her brows furrow. “Draco?” she asked again, her voice worried. Draco couldn’t take it anymore. All those years of not being able to open up to anyone, of keeping everything to himself. He simply broke.

    “Pansy... I, I can’t take this anymore... any of this...” he muttered, looking at the ground. All the secrecy of his headmaster only adding up to the usual pressure of being the Malfoy heir. Tears started forming in his eyes, although he tried to hide it, to not let them fall. But he knew he hadn’t a chance.

    Pansy sighed, moving to sit next to him on his bed, and put a comforting hand on his shoulder. “It’s all right, Draco, you can tell me...” she whispered, giving him a reassuring smile as he looked up. Draco smiled back slightly.

    “Everything is just too much...” he started, trying his best to keep himself together at least a little longer, “Everything... the responsibilities of being the Malfoy heir... my father’s pressure... school... having to be the best...” He sniffed as a tear started rolling down his cheek. He felt a warm hand wipe it away and looked at Pansy, smiling soothingly at him, understanding shining slightly in her eyes.

    “And... and then that book... and the secrets surrounding it...” he continued, still looking at Pansy, more tears staining his pale cheeks. “Dumbledore knows what it is, Snape knows what it is, even bloody Flitwick knows all about it!” Draco felt the anger of the night before rise inside of him again.

    He jumped off the bed and out of Pansy’s grip. He had no idea how, although as young as he was now, he hadn’t broken before already. “Why am I the only one who can read the bloody book!?” he shouted, “Why do I have to do this?! Why not someone else?! WHAT IS THIS BLOODY THING!?” He threw the book which he had picked up off his bedside table, at the wall. He immediately regretted it, though, as it fell open on page 1. He read the title, The Boy Who Lived.

    He calmed down slightly and closed his eyes, allowing the tears to fall freely. No one else besides him and Pansy were here, and he trusted Pansy completely.

    He ignored the ruffling coming from his bed.

    Draco didn’t know why. He had no idea how the girl had gained his trust in less than a week. His father always told him he couldn’t trust anyone, let alone girls, but it just felt so right.

    He flinched when he felt two slender arms surrounding his upper body. Opening his eyes, Draco looked right into Pansy’s shoulder. Understanding her meaning, and feeling slightly more at ease, Draco dropped his head in her shoulder, returned the embrace only half, feeling slightly uncomfortable with the proximity, and cried. Cried for, how long, he couldn’t remember. Cried freely for the first time in his life. Cried until his tears vanished, his throat dry, and Pansy still embracing him, running a hand slow and comforting over his back, calming him.

    “I’m sorry,” he sniffed when he stopped, but didn’t let go of the girl he now held in a stronger embrace.

    “It’s fine, it’s all fine,” she responded soothingly, stroking his hair carefully, knowing Draco really cared about it.

    “I want to tell you everything,” he whispered into her shoulder, the words muffled but loud enough for Pansy to catch. “Do you promise to keep it a secret?”

    He felt her head nod and she let go of Draco, sitting down on his bed and patting the space next to her with her hand. Draco, his eyes slightly red from the crying, sat down and fidgeted with his hands until Pansy stopped him, laying her own on top of them. He took a deep breath and explained everything.

    He explained about the book being about Potter, giving some specific information about everyone being so secretive about it. He moved on to the usual talk about his father, of which he so often thought when he couldn’t sleep. Pansy described it as ‘abuse’ but Draco assured her it wasn’t as bad. “Not as bad as Potter has it, at least!” he had said jokingly, but still meaning it.

    They talked for probably over an hour, only stopping as they heard voices nearing the dormitory. It was hardly noticeable anymore that Draco had been crying. She gave him a last hug and went to sleep. That night, he had the best dream ever. And he noticed how he didn’t need to be completely free; he just needed a shoulder to lean on. A best friend. One he just found, only a week ago. That’s what the dream was about, and that’s why he couldn’t stop smiling in his sleep.

—————

The rest of the week was calm. Draco checked his book often, too often for it to be healthy, Pansy had said on Tuesday, but Draco didn’t care. He was waiting for the book to continue, and he wanted it to, desperately.

    After telling Pansy of the book being about Potter, Draco noticed it was the single worst thing that could ever happen to him. He was joking, of course, he knew of worse, though he rather not thought of it. But ever since he had told her, she had been teasing him about it.

    She nudged him every time Potter would enter the same room they happened to be in, would make snide comments whenever she would catch Draco staring at him. She loved reminding him about this ‘obsession’ she said he had. Draco had denied this immediately because there was no single way he’d ever be obsessing over that Gryffindor!

    Then, finally, Draco opened the book late one morning to find fresh sentences written on it in the newly formed next chapter: Chapter 9, The Midnight Duel. He couldn’t help himself and immediately started to read, only for Pansy to come in right as he was examining the sentences.

    New sentences were being written, actually written, though there wasn’t a quill visible. All wrote themselves at different speeds, some faster, some slower, in whichever amount of time they were happening, Draco guessed. Draco noticed Pansy walking up behind him, looking at the book as well.

    “Is something happening?” she asked curiously from over his shoulder. Draco, remembering she couldn’t see it, nodded.

    “The sentences are writing itself! It’s like they’re writing what’s happening!” he beamed excited, keeping his gaze locked on the book.

    “Do you think they’re happening now?”

    Draco read, or studied, a few of the new sentences before answering, “No, tomorrow. Tomorrow’s our first Flying lesson with the Gryffindors and they’re talking about it tomorrow morning.”

    “Hmm...” Pansy was deep in thought, Draco saw it in her eyes as he turned around and followed her with his gaze as she sat down on his bed. “Do you bet it’s showing what’s happening in exactly twenty-four hours?” she wondered, looking up at Draco.

    Draco raised his eyebrows, wanting to laugh at first, but then thought about it. Could it be possible, possible that the book is so magical it can track time down to the exact second and change the day? “Maybe...” he muttered. “We’ll have to find out tomorrow, right?”

    Pansy nodded enthusiastically, probably glad Draco was involving her in all of this despite his insecurities and trust problems, of which he had informed her last Sunday evening were mostly because of his father. “Let’s go have breakfast first.” She stood up, smiling, and Draco followed her out the common room towards the Great Hall. “We’re continuing with the Wand-Lighting Charm first period!”

—————

“Hey, Draco,” Pansy whispered to him in the common room that evening, catching his full attention in the blink of an eye. They only ever talked about important matters in whispers; the book, mostly. “Can you see if I have to do something special tomorrow? In the book, I mean...”

    Draco was confused about what she meant at first, but understood she wanted him to tell her what was happening so she could adjust herself to it, just as he told her he did. He gave her a curt nod and jerked his head in the direction of his dormitory.

    She followed him quickly, and they sat down on Draco’s bed, Draco with the book in his hand, ready to read. “Give me a few minutes,” he muttered and began reading.

    He could skip to the first page before he saw his name, reading it through well. He had to come up to their table tomorrow with Crabbe and Goyle, snatch the Remembrall and scowl before giving it back. Skipping a bit, he noted a few things Potter noted. He had to say a few words and then; he turned towards Pansy. “You got a line!” he mentioned excited.

    She instantly grabbed the book, but gave it back soon after, probably remembering she couldn’t read it. She smiled sheepishly at him and he rolled his eyes. “I’ll read it...

    “‘Ooh, sticking up for Longbottom? Never thought you’d like fat little cry babies, Parvati.’

    “You have to say it right after a Gryffindor girl called Parvati Patil makes a comment. I’ll give you a sign,” he said to her. She nodded, taking it all in. He read the next of the chapter in a haste until it ended. He’d have time later to actually note things down. For now, he just had to memorise as much as possible so he would know what to do the next day.

    He dismissed Pansy, telling her that was all and that the rest of the chapter had to be a surprise, and a big one at that! he had told her. She left with a shimmer of disappointment, but also with a shine of excitement lingering in her eyes from when he told her her part.

    Draco fell asleep quickly that night, repeating the sentences, his ‘script’, in his head until he drifted off.

—————

Draco woke early the next morning, just as he had planned. He got dressed, grabbed the book, met up with Pansy in the common room and went down to breakfast with her.

    There, he read over his lines again and again, Crabbe and Goyle joining his side not long after, until Pansy nudged her. He instantly looked up to see Potter and his oh so lovely friends enter the Great Hall and sit down at the Gryffindor table. From then on, they pulled his attention towards them.

    A few moments later, he looked up to see the barn owl fly towards the place they were sitting. He nudged Crabbe and Goyle, gesturing them to join him, and put up his best stern face before walking over to the table.

    Nearing there, he heard the end of Longbottom’s sentence, “... you’ve forgotten something...” that was his clue to ‘walk past’ and snatch the Remembrall out of his hand. Just like the book had said, Potter and the weasel jumped to their feet, probably hoping for a reason to fight Draco.

    “What’s going on?” Professor McGonagall called out, looking from Potter to Weasley and to Draco. The latter preparing himself for his line.

    “Malfoy’s got my Remembrall, Professor.” That was his clue.

    Draco scowled as best as he could manage and dropped the Remembrall back on the table. “Just looking,” he said and turned around, gesturing Crabbe and Goyle to follow him.

    Out of their eyesight, Draco dismissed the two and walked back towards Pansy, who was waiting for him at their table, an expecting look in her eyes. “And?” she pushed as he took his seat next to her.

    He smiled mischievously at her. “Just as planned,” he whispered. “Now we only have to wait for Flying this afternoon.”

—————

And waiting they did. They revised their lines often, Draco having the most trouble with them because he had the most. Plus, he also had to remember actions, whilst Pansy didn’t.

    They hurried towards the grounds before anyone else and Draco studied the place, making out how high and how far he had to fly. The nerves were killing him and he had no idea why he was so desperate to do this right. He stopped as the other Slytherins neared and put his full attention to Potter when he finally arrived. Did he always have to be later than anyone else?

    He took care of holding his broom wrong for sure, although Madam Hooch corrected him different from how he usually flew. Draco guessed it must have been true he had always done it wrong and felt his cheeks heat up slightly from embarrassment. Then everything went incredibly quick.

    Longbottom flew up and fell, Madam Hooch took him to the hospital wing, and then, it was time for Draco.

    He started laughing and exclaimed, “Did you see his face, the great lump?” He frowned slightly as the other Slytherins joined in, even Pansy.

    “Shut up, Malfoy.” Draco heard the line and looked up at Pansy, he winked. She straightened herself, looking right at the girl who had just spoken, Draco figured that must be Parvati Patil.

    “Ooh, sticking up for Longbottom? Never thought you’d like fat little cry babies, Parvati,” she called and Draco followed her up.

    “Look!” He walked towards the Remembrall a few feet ahead and picked it up. “It’s that stupid thing Longbottom’s gran send him.”

    He held it up and his heart jumped as he heard the whisper. Wait. His heart jumped? Never mind, on with the story. “Give that here, Malfoy.”

    Draco gave him his best nasty smile, but maybe he just wanted to smile... “I think I’ll leave it somewhere for Longbottom to collect — how about — up a tree?” He let his eyes shift to one and mouthed ‘look!’ at Pansy before jumping on his broom when Potter spoke up again, louder this time.

    “Give it here!” Draco flew higher, as high as the book had described.

    “Come and get it, Potter!” he called down after situating himself. In the time Potter was arguing with Granger and flying up, Draco looked down towards Pansy’s shocked face, smirking at her.

    He returned his attention towards the important matter as Potter called out, “Give it here or I’ll knock you off that broom!”

    “Oh yeah?” He tried his best to sneer but his mask faltered and he probably just looked worried, preparing himself for Potter coming at him.

    “No Crabbe and Goyle up here to save your neck, Malfoy,” Draco heard him call after he had only just avoided him. He himself was still recuperating from the shock. He had still surprised him and he flew amazing.

    Getting back into character, he shouted, “Catch it if you can, then!” And he threw the Remebrall in the air and flew down. He didn’t want to look back up at him for the sake if it went wrong and he’d fall.

    “What was that about?” Pansy whispered to him as he landed.

    “What the book said,” he returned in a whisper, daring to look up at Potter right as he caught it. Draco had to fight back a smile but failed drastically. He was glad Professor McGonagall came quick, so he didn’t have to hide his ‘triumphant’ face.

    “What’s gonna happen now?” Pansy asked Draco as Madam Hooch dismissed the lesson early.

    “Well, Gryffindor has a new Seeker, that’s for sure!” He smiled, but his face dropped as he continued. “And I’ll have to challenge Potter to a Wizard’s duel at dinner...” he felt a hand on his shoulder and looked up at Pansy.

    “I know you can do this,” she whispered, “and you don’t have to attend, just leave it alone and see where it gets you.”

    Draco smiled at her and nodded before heading to the Great Hall for an early dinner and a revision of his sentences.

—————

About an hour later, Potter entered the Hall and Draco knew he had mere minutes to confront him. He walked over to Crabbe and Goyle and told them to follow him. Right as those twin-weasels left, they neared the table.

    “Having a last meal, Potter?” he sneered at him. “When are you getting the train back to the Muggles?” Draco wanted to slap himself after saying that. Never, ever would he ever want Potter to return to them, those Muggles!

    Potter brought him back to reality by saying coolly, “You’re a lot braver now you’re back on the ground and you’ve got your little friends with you.” Draco heard them, Crabbe and Goyle, crack their knuckles at that.

    Draco mustered all his courage together and said, “I’d take you on any time on my own. Tonight, if you want.” But I don’t... “Wizard’s duel. Wands only — no contact. What’s the matter? Never heard of a Wizard’s duel before, I suppose?”

    “Of course he has,” the weasel said in his annoying voice. Now Draco came to think of it, Potter’s voice was actually completely not as annoying as any other Gryffindor. Like he was different, special. Special to Draco? He internally shook his head. He had missed the end of his comment but had luckily read it in the book. He looked at Crabbe and Goyle, already knowing who he’d choose, but delaying it to make it seem realistic.

    “Crabbe,” he answered in the end. “Midnight all right? We’ll meet you in the trophy room, that’s always unlocked.” He walked away without another word, knowing already he’d never show up there and hoping Potter would be smart enough not to do so as well.

—————

(Text Copyright © 2020 MChanV)

[oops-my-fingers-slipped]

Finish the Story (Part 1)

Author: Admin Lex Characters: BTS + you Pairing: Namjoon X Reader X Taehyung Genres: Fantasy, Angst, Fluff, Romance POV: First Person + Taehyung POV Description:
You offered to help Namjoon refurbish his old bookshop and in the process you find a peculiar book. Unknowingly, you end up diving head-first into a world of ink and parchment unlike your own. There, you meet a boy trapped in the bindings of literature and your life changes forever. I was followed into the bookshop by quarrels of Autumn’s leaves and the North Wind’s children dancing away with ribbons of my hair. The shop’s wooden door swung closed, shutting out the world outside but kept hundreds preserved in the room before me. Though tall oak bookshelves lined every wall of the store, thousands of books piled up in precarious stacks rising almost to the ceiling. Blinding rays of sun from the sky-light windows struck the mountains of literature and illuminated the specks of dust orbiting the air. In the back left corner sprouted an Acacia tree, coiling itself around a wooden beam, spiraling upwards towards the roof windows. It’s sunset-colored leaves joyfully basked in the sun amitting from the glass. However stunning the tree appeared, dead leaves from previous seasons decorated the floor and crunched beneath my leather boots as I approached the front desk.
Noticing no one behind the counter, I began to call, “Nam-” before a heavy thud sounded from under the polished wood followed by a muttered curse. Surely enough, Namjoon emerged from under the desk, scratching his head of lilac-purple hair with a pained look on his face. I failed to restrain a loud chuckle that bubbled up from my diaphragm. Namjoon rolled his eyes and deadpanned, “Ha ha, very funny.” He eyed the four books enveloped in my arms and continued, “I wasn’t expecting you until tomorrow. Don’t tell me you finished them already.”
I smirked and replied, “I hate to break it to you but I’m only 3 more books away from beating your record of 16 in a month! You better step up your game. You’re getting your ass kicked by a sophomore.” I plopped the small stack of books down onto the counter and Namjoon slid the nearest one on its side, scanning the bar code suck to its spine. A curt “beep” was heard as each novel touched the device. “Well excuse me for having an entire bookstore to manage while you have all the free time to read in the world. Unlike you, I have responsibilities to handle and customers to deal with.” 
I looked around the shop, noticing how devoid of business it was.
“What customers?”
“You.”
The comment was meant to be sarcastic but a little pit of pity bloomed in my heart, knowing that I, in fact, was one of his only customers. I decided right then and there that I would no longer be the only one who’s footsteps echoed through this building every day, but rather the silence to be filled by constant turning of pages and friendly chatter about new releases. He needed customers and that’s exactly what he would get. “That’s exactly my point! I am your only regular client but”, I lowered my voice for emphasis, “that is about to change.”
Namjoon lifted his head, temporarily distracted from his task. “You’re so dramatic. Besides, I’m managing this place just fine without your help.”
I sighed and tried a different approach. “Uh-huh, if ‘managing a bookstore’ includes not picking up after your tree -heaven knows why you even have a tree in a bookstore-, not organizing your shelves, and there are so many dust clouds in here I can barely see three feet in front of me.”
I may have exaggerated a tad but I wasn’t necessarily wrong either. And he knew it. The roots of the tree had started to lift some of the floorboards and weave itself through the infrastructure. Eventually, the more damage the Acacia caused, the more it would cost to repair it and with no steady income, where would Namjoon find the funds to pay the fees? His predicament was challenging, to say the least.
I already made my point loud and clear so my voice softened a bit when I proposed, “Ya’ know I could help out around here if you’d like? For free, at least until you gain enough business.”
He scoffed at my offer, seeming unfazed by my my bluntness and challenged, “Do you honestly think you could handle this monstrosity?” Namjoon drummed his fingers against the table-top, obviously amused at my proposition.
Did he know something I didn’t? Probably.
Ignoring the thought, I lifted my chin high and said, “Challenge accepted. When do I start?” “Now.”
•~• It’s been three days and we’ve hardly made a dent in transporting every book to the back storage. Namjoon’s plan was to clear the shop of the literature temporarily until the interior was complete and restock the shelves later. So we began with the cities of stacked books towering over ten feet….
It was a start.
A very slow, gradual start. And the finish line seemed light years away.
The “free time” Namjoon claimed I had was nonexistent, now occupied by long hours of organizing and sorting through endless amounts of novels. The more days that flew by, the more our hard work progressed and the prouder we became. The time after school to long after dark were spent in the soon-to-be-bookstore with only each other as company.
I’ve always thought of Namjoon as ‘the purple-haired dude who runs my favorite bookstore’, that is, until he quickly became the person I spent the most time socializing with. The long nickname shortened when I began to refer to him as a newfound friend. It was almost impossible not to grow this fond of him when we worked together striving toward the same goal, not to mention the shared tastes in books and writing. His company kept the boredom at bay when working and though I wouldn’t dare admit it, I started to look forward to our extended conversations, unpopular theories, or book recommendations. To put it simply, maybe fixing up this old outdated bookstore would blossom both the business of the company and our overall relationship.
Due to Namjoon’s undeniable whit, we eventually developed shifts where every few hours we would switch off between finishing up schoolwork and progressing the bookshop. The system deemed itself very effective, as we both managed to maintain our spotless GPAs.
This particular night, I sorted books sat on the newly-swept hardwood floor, the moon’s silver shadow casted down from the skylight windows cloaking my hands as I worked. Tonight seemed like a regular evening until I reached for another novel, expecting a smooth book jacket to meet my fingertips but, instead, felt the velvet fabric of a book unlike any other. My eyes landed upon a hard-cover book wrapped delicately in crimson-red velvet. The title glistened a radiant gold and read: Finish the Story. I explored its exterior, searching for an author’s name but none was found. I also noticed how the spine didn’t posses a bar code stuck to its back.
Hmm, that’s odd. Maybe this is one from Nam’s personal collection…
The spine cracked as I opened the cover to reveal the title page, which was decorated in florals of bright scarlet roses sprouting thorns of gold. The blooms of flowers dripped black ink from their buds. The artwork was absolutely, positively marvelous and don’t get me wrong, I’m not an artist but the time and effort to paint this must have taken decades. I admired it a few more seconds before forcing myself to flip to the first chapter.
Compared to the art coating the title page, the chapter page seemed mundane. Regular script ran from one side to the next just any other book. Still a bit skeptical about the art, I turned a single page and sure enough, I gaped in awe at the scene that beheld me.
Another picture enraptured my attention. A glowing castle made entirely out of bronze nails and plates loomed over rolling hills of ruby red poppies, making it appear aflame. The sky was painted with varieties of violets, dark blues, and indigos. The two color schemes clashed with one another so perfectly, I almost didn’t notice the lone fox that parted the poppy fields curving in the direction of the palace. The animal’s head turned towards the corner of the page, almost looking…. angry? I followed its eyes over to the bottom left corner where a man sat back looking up at the sky, his neck craning so eager to touch the indigo painted stars. He looked so carelessly free while the fox’s eyebrows furrowed in irritation.
I let a little giggle escape at the bit of absurdity.
What a peculiar sight!
Suddenly, my eyes darted back to the man sitting at the corner of the page, catching a glimpse of movement. To my surprise, he no longer looked up at the sky but instead stared right at me, one ebony eye charmingly winked.
Huh?!?
I wasted no time slamming the book shut.
Ok, it’s official. I’m going completely insane. Maybe these long work hours are getting to me. Yeah, that’s probably it. Right?
However I may try to convince myself that I hallucinated what I saw… I couldn’t help but wish that it hadn’t been my imagination and that something incredible was about to happen. But that’s ridiculous.
Even so, I still found myself placing the book in my bag, swinging it over my shoulder, and briskly began walking down the street to my apartment. •~•
“Ouch! Hey!”
Taehyung flew backwards from the impact of his book rudely being slammed shut. His face was now thinly coated in yellow pollen from the poppy field. It tickled his nose, forcing a sneeze to rip out from his nostrils. “Aachoo!”
The fox bounded over the sea of red and gold to stand before Taehyung, a disapproving growl hummed from his throat.
“You didn’t get to your position on time! And to make matters worse you moved, you moved. This was our first reader in ages and you had to go ahead and blow it!”
Taehyung ran his nimble fingers through his hair, ready to sit through another lecture about how to always stand statue-still when a new reader opens their story. “Ah, I’m sorry Jin. We just haven’t had a reader in forever and I thought it might be entertaining to mess with them a bit.”
He stood up as a small smile carved itself across his features.
Jin flicked his tail, not taking this for a valid excuse. “As funny as that was, next time please do your job as I’m sure Yoongi and the others are doing just fine. Try learning a thing or two from their excellent example.”
Taehyung raised his eyebrows slightly and giggled at the memory of his companions, “Last time I saw them, Kookie and Jimin were playing frisbee with the moon on page 84 and got it stuck in a palm tree. Your right, they are great exam-”
The fox bolted to the end of the page and glanced back at the man, warning him about his job as a book character one last time before he leapt through the pages, stopping on page 84, solving yet another problem.
Sighing, Taehyung plopped back down into the poppy pillows growing around him and peered up at where the reader’s face would usually gaze from. He wondered if the new visitor would open the book again. She was quite interesting, after all. Then again, all the readers were. Each one completely different from the last. Each one more exiting, new, and exotic. Each one, you know not trapped in a book like him and the other characters were. Each one free.
Taehyung knew that it was dangerous to be hopeful, to wish that the girl opened the book again. Because, well, after the little stunt he pulled today she will most likely not. But the little tug on his heart told him that maybe, just maybe she would investigate his book again. The way her eyes glittered and flew from one page to the next gave him the impression that she was a bit too curious for her own good. But, no these thoughts had no place consuming his head. He shut them out and instead focused on the stars above, daring to pretend they were her eyes.

[thewriterwhodreamed]

Twelve Years Prior: Chapter Three

    "Well, well, well. A slytherin out past curfew… My, aren't we in for a treat." Flich says, and I jump, throwing the book across the floor, and I look up to meet his eyes and he's grinning like he's just gotten the last piece of cake at a family party. It was an evil grin.

    He yanks me from my spot and before I know it we're standing in front of Snape's study and he's already knocked.

    Dread filled me, making my entire body feel like it weighed a million tons, but when the door opened, it was gone. Instead it was replaced with hate, a passionate hate.

    "You'd better have good reason to-" His glare is cold and murderous, but all it does is fill me with more hate, and more anger, and suddenly I'm boiling.

    "Leave, us." He's cool and collected but as soon as he drags me into his study he loses his demeanour and he is filled with rage. "You have a hat stall and suddenly you think you don't have to follow the rules!" Its somewhere between a yell and loud voice, not quite being either of those. "Most wait a month, but you do it within the first two weeks." He hisses, and I flinch.

    "Professor, I-" He glares daggers at me, trying to silence me but it doesn't work, at least not fully.

    "I should have you expelled for this."

    "For What? Learning past bedtime? I'm not the only one! Others are further up into the night studying, just trying to pass their classes, while I am terribly bored! You're just lucky I haven't ventured into the restricted section!" I yell back at him.

    "Detention everyday until Christmas break."

    "But Professor-"

    "Do not, push me, Skotàdi. It wouldn't do you well." I had boiled over. No one,simply called me by my last name without putting the proper title in front of it, and no one, and I mean it, No one, called me by my full first name.

    "And it would serve you well *Professor*, to address me with the proper title of miss!" I yell and storm out, leaving a slightly shocked Snape in hs studies, and I am practically running through the halls to get back to the Slytherin dorms, praying that I hadn't just ruined my chances at becoming a witch and staying in this school, despite how boring it was.

    I was almost to the Slytherin Common Room, when I ran into the headmaster.

    "Ms. Skotàdi, what a pleasant surprise." He greets me kindly and the anger does subside, but my stubborness doesn't.

    "I'm glad it was you rather than anyone else." I mumble.

    "Indeed." I stare up at him in shock, surprised he could hear that. "In fact, I'm rather glad I found you, I needed to speak with you on a few matters." I nod in agreement and he begins to walk, so I stand beside him and walk with him.

    "Am I in more trouble, Headmaster?" He chuckles.

    "No, my dear, I believe Snape will have punished you enough for the rule you broke."

    "How did you-"

    "It matters not, how I know." His voice is soft, causing me to really listen to the old Headmaster.

    "Then, Headmaster, what do you wish to talk to me about?"

    "Your stay here are the school, has it been to you liking?" I nod my head. "Good. And your classes?"

    "They're easy, none of them hold my interest, and I'm simply bored." He chuckles and nods his head.

    "Surely one of them interests you…" Don't say it. Don't even think about saying it.

    It turned out, I loved potions, in fact, it was my favourite class. The issue was that it was taught by the Professor I most hated in the school. Snape.

    "Potions." No it wasn't, take,it back and say DADA, or Herbology, say anything to take it back. "I really love potions."

    "Ah, yes. It is a good class. And what,do you think of the professor who teaches,it?" Think carefully on this answer Rhay, you're telling the Headmaster about one of his own.

    "They say he's heartless, but they're wrong. He has a heart, but it's a heart of evil." I spit and he simply nods.

    "Remember, Ms. Skotàdi, that the opposite of love, is indifference, not hate. In fact I have often found hate to be one in the same as love, just misplaced and misguided love, perhaps?" He looks to me, hoping for me to give an answer.

    "I do not love Professor Snape, Headmaster."

    "No, of course not. But perhaps you're feelings towards him will change with time. You yourself said, that he had a heart." I stumble over my feet and quickly fix myself.

    "You took my words out of,context, Headmaster."

    "Ah, but you still said them." He stops, and I can tell we're nearing our end of the conversation. "Perhaps, he shows his feelings in different ways, maybe you should try to see through his eyes."

    "I don't,think that will change him."

    "No, but it mau teach you to see through others eyes before you judge." He gives me a stern,look, and I give him a curt nod. "Then,I bid you goodnight, my dear." He walks away and I head once again to the,Common Room.

    My head touches the pillow but no sleep comes to me, and I am left to mull over the events of tonight.

    What Headmaster had said was cryptic indeed, but it was spoken true.

    Professor Snape had a heart, he just didn't show it.

    So, I had detention everyday, and maybe Headmaster was right, maybe I would see through his eyes, but I Wasn't going to let him off easy.

    No, I would be the most annoying first year, and he would crack before I did. I would make him show his heart before I showed mercy.

    When breakfast came, word had gotten around the school of what I had done, of how I had snapped at Professor Snape.

    "I can't believe you snapped at him." I hear Aurora say to me.

    "What do you mean?" I shove a spoonful of oats into my mouth.

    "No one has had the balls to stand up to him, and those who would try, were transferred or expelled."'

    "Yeah, man. You're lucky to still be studying here." A third year called John takes a seat next to me and he's already loading his plate. He was the standard Slytherin, slicked back hair, pressed clothes. Once again the image of perfection.

    Aurora had helped me get ready, taught me a spell to iron my clothes and the way she applies makeup with magic.

    In fact the Slytherin house was just doing everything with magic. Getting the chores done with magic, like cleaning and laundry.

    So, needless to say, my face had makeup on it, granted it was just the winged eyeliner and bright red lipstick, it was part of the Slytherin look.

    The thing that was different between us, was my hair was down, not up and itt reached my waist in long white curls, making my hair look like white smoke.

    I heard a flapping of wings and a brown package landed right in front of me, missing my breakfast.

    I opened it and inside revealed a box of red hair dye, the thing I asked my parents for. And it was bright cherry red, the perfect colour for being different.

    "Hair dye?" Aurora asks, I nod, a small smile forming on my face. Classes didn't start for another two hours, seeing as how I was one if the first down to breakfast.

    It was also Professor McGonagall, who was one of the more relaxed Professor's, and it was close to the dorms.

    So, two hours later I emerged with the brightest red hair I had ever seen, and oh weren't people in for a surprise.

    The minute I stepped through that door for class, there were whisper and looks, nothing I wasn't used to. It wasn't the first time, and it wouldn't be the last.

    "Wow." The ravenclaw who sat next time breathed. "Your hair is brilliant." I grin, finally something good.

    "Thanks, think it fits me?"

    "Without a doubt." She grins. "Hey can you help me, I'm better with music and arts, not studies?"

    "Absolutely, I have detention, but after dinner I'd be more than willing to help."

    "Really?" She lights up, and brushes a piece of brown hair behind her ear. "Thank you so much!"

    "Now class-" Professor says as she comes out of her studies and her eyes meet mine and then she continues with her speech, and tells us to begin to work on pages and write a report, and I spend most of my time helping the ravenclaw next to me.

    Finally the bell rings and I begin walking to the door

    "Ms. Skotàdi?"

    "Yes, Professor?" I turn around to face her.

    "Your hair was fine the way it was, why change it?"

    "I didn't need my parents called dirty because I'm an alleged pure blood."

    "Be careful around here, you may find the past haunting you." I nod and finally leave.

    Her words haunted me all through the day, right up until the last thirty minutes of DADA, where I was planning my methods of how to annoy, provoke, and ultimately get Professor Snape to show his heart.

    The bell finally rings, and I'm almost running to Professor Snape's studies, a plan already forming in my head.   

    I barge through the door and he looks up.

    That's when I see it, the pain and the passion and love in his eyes.

    And suddenly it's like I'm seeing him for thr first time, because I recognize those eyes. I've seen it in my foster parents eyes whenever they tried to get pregnant, but only ended up adopting me.

    Love that's been placed in someone and only have that person be taken away.

    After awhile, you start to see the same eyes in everyone.

    He's quiet, and he's eyeing me, taking me in, and,then his cold and distant demeanour is back.

    "Go to quidditch practice." He snaps, and busies himself with whatever he was doing before I interrupted him.

    "Profe-" I begin, somewhat concerned for what I saw in his eyes.

    "Now." He bellows, and I scram. I hadn't been afraid of him until now. I had no reason to be. Until now.

    It was the emotions behind his eyes that had done it. That's what scared me. No one feels that way unless they've lost someone, and maybe at one point he had a daughter, maybe that was the reason he reacted the way he did. It would only make sense.

    "Oof." I run right smack into into someone and our books go flying, and at the same time we bend down to pick them we knock heads too.

    "I'm so sorry, I apologize-" My words quicker than my brain.

    "No, not a problem, I should have been looking." I chuckle at the comment, and after we've collected our things we stand up.

    I've never seen a more charming pair of brown eyes, it was like swimming in pools of dark chocolate mixed with a light autumn brown, and all i wanted to do was drown.

    His hair was brown with lightest tint of copper, that was slicked back and combed neatly so that the ends feathered out at his neck.

    His skin was tan, tanner than any of us here, and his body was built and covered in muscles. He was perfect, like a greek god.

    "Say, aren't you the twelve minute hat stall?" I chuckle laughing at my reputation.

    "I see my reputation precede me." His smile is handsome and all I can do is stare in awe.

    "Only the good part."

    "I see many consider my outburst to Professor Snape as a bad, or negative thing…"

    "Many do, yes." He nods in agreement.

    "Perhaps then, it was needed. If the entire school is in fear of him, they should know now that they can stand up to him as I have done. He does not need to be the tyrant of this school." There this look of awe and wonder on his face and I'm suddenly uncomfortable.

    "You're the first to stand-up to him and not get expelled, perhaps there is something different about you, that even he sees. The hat certainly saw it." I roll my eyes.

    "Yes, an inanimate object that just happens to know where I would be suited best. Maybe I should have gone in Hufflepuff where I wouldn't be noticed." I mumble to myself and begin to walk, and he matches my stride beside me.

    "My name's Chris, I'm a fourth year Ravenclaw."

    "Nice to meet you, the name is Rhay." He Starts Talking introducing himself, but all I can think about is how my fingers haven't touched the cool ivory and ebony keys of a piano in almost a month.

    Of all the times to miss it now, it had to be mid conversation, but it made sense.

    I played all the time, when i was happy, angry, sad, or,even confused. I would play. Just to bring my mind and thoughts elsewhere, away from the problems so to speak.

    "I'm sorry to interrupt, but do you know where there is a piano? I'm dying to play one?"