#when like. at any given point they had at least my entire torso and abdomen between my mouth and the dr

[commander-damneron]

Healthcare facilities have got to make up their minds on whether they want people wearing masks or not

[timextoxhajima]

The Misadventures of Ares: Promotionem

HOSTIS MASTERLIST

“Do I want to know if one of you will be reported missing tomorrow after I give you this information?” Dr. Choi has his left jaw snug in his left palm, head resting in his hand with his free one fiddling with the corner of a file. 

“With all due respect, Dr. Choi, I doubt you have much of a choice,” Hyunjae grits his teeth and bares them like he was cringing. You would love to agree with him on the spot, but that’s not a very smart thing to do now, no. 

The promotion was yours, and if it wasn’t, Dr. Choi might actually have to call 911 tomorrow when he doesn’t see your fiancé report to work. 

He raises a brow and provides a slight shrug at Hyunjae’s words, already tuned to his little remarks that could cause a fire, but not enough for him to fire him. The hospital couldn’t anyway, not when Hyunjae’s done more good than most doctors in the building. 

“I must have the both of you know that this promotion doesn’t mean anything. The paycheck is just about two or three thousand dollars difference and the working hours are still the same.”

A pause. He’s waiting for a reaction.

None. 

“No matter which one of you gets promoted at this point, the other can get a promotion far more honorable, you know?”

He pauses again.

Nothing.

Dr. Choi sighs in resignation. “Very well,” He opens the file. Hyunjae sucks in a deep breath and shrinks his left eye, like he was scared something was going to pop out of those ivory pages. “I would like to congratulate Dr. l/n for excelling at her job, and the hospital would like to present her with-”

“YYYYYYYYYEEEEESSSSSSSSSS!” Your fists are clenched so hard and pushed so fast up into the air, the sides of your chest hurt. “AHA! DIDN’T I TELL YOU I’D GET THE PROMOTION FIRST?”

“Dr. l/n,” The senior doctor calls out, yanking your ghastly triumph back down to Earth. You hadn’t realised you were inches away from Hyunjae’s face, doing nothing but ironically talking down to him as if you were ready to win a rap battle. 

“Oh,” Quick, embarrassed steps retreat you from your fiancé (and your loser of a colleague). “Sorry.”

Gaze stuck to the floor and your fingers tightly interweaved with one another, you cannot control the smile that’s erupting across your face. The glee, the satisfaction, the pure bliss that encapsulates your entire being in the form of a sheet of paper in front of you. 

“Very graceful, Dr. l/n.” Hyunjae’s voice sneaks up from your right, and the childish need to stick out your tongue at him overwhelms your need to remain professional. 

“Sometimes I question how you two made it past med school,” Dr. Choi looks up, over the rims of his glasses and raises a brow. The gesture earns a gentle huff from you as you turn away from Hyunjae. “Anyway, I’ll be sending you an email regarding the additional things you need to look out for, but for now, just keep up the good work.”

Clenching your fists in glee, you are snickering when you look up at Dr. Choi, who only turns to look at Hyunjae. “Doesn’t mean you can’t be the next to get a bigger promotion, Dr. Lee.”

“I know,” Hyunjae nods knowingly. The smug smirk directed at you rips out a sneer from your lips. “I trust you, Dr. Choi.”

You are halfway across the distance between you and your fiance, hand in the air and ready to slap it down against his arm when Dr. Choi raises both his hands, palms facing his audience and waving aggressively. 

“If you two want to fight over this miniscule promotion, please do it at elsewhere, possibly in the safety of your own homes.”

Hyunjae tuts loudly, walking around you and heading for the door of Dr. Choi’s office. “Thank you, Dr. Choi,” He pauses, and glances between you and the older doctor. “And do help me call the police and ambulance tomorrow if I don’t show up.”

Your lower jaw goes slack as Hyunjae purses his lips in mischief, quickly exiting the office before you can throw something at him. “You-!”

“Dr. l/n!”

The mandarin shades of the setting sun is reflecting off the champagne glass tower as you are shown to the rooftop restaurant. With the spectacular view of the city and the sights of exquisite food placed on perfect-white porcelain plates, this is the last thing you would’ve expected him to do. 

“Over here, Mr and Mrs Lee,” The waiter, who’s dressed in a suit that seemed mroe expensive than the clothes you were wearing now, gestures to a table for two nearest to the end where there was a gorgeous waterfall over the ledge and into the water catchment area below. “Here’s the menu. Today’s soup special is the Black Truffle Mushroom and I recommend that we get you started on a five-course seafood and steak meal with a Cabernet or Malbec.”

“Kitten, is there anything you don’t want before I get us started on that five-course?” 

Your eyes dart away from the glistening water below to look at Hyunjae, whose eyes are plastered to the menu while the waiter is standing by the table with his hands before his abdomen. 

“Uh- I-”

“We’ll both have the five-course. And make that two Cabernets. But is it alright if we change the soup special to Clam Chowder? It’s in the menu.”

The waiter takes the menu from Hyunjae that was being handed over. “Definitely. I’ll come by soon with the wine and soup.”

“Thank you.”

And with that, the waiter takes off with the menus and leaves you staring in awe at the view before you. Hyunjae peels your hand off the table and plants a kiss on the back of your hand, before cupping his own cheek in your palm.

“Do you like it?”

“Like it? I love it,” As much as you wanted to slam a book in his face for teasing you infront of your mentor this morning, you couldn’t. How could anybody? “You really didn’t have to.”

“No, no,” Hyunjae releases your hand for you to keep. “I’m great at being gracious and this is it. You won the fight and you deserve a treat.”

“But my treat’s the promotion. I didn’t need this.”

Hyunjae leans back in his chair, with his emerald green blazer a capturing all the orange there is that settling on the fabric. His hair is slightly tousled, and it’s a miracle how it remains in its position. He never liked touching much wax or hairspray unless he knew he couldn’t afford it getting into his face. But his skin is so clear, it looks like glass. And his eyes are pearls in the clear blue sea when you look down in the sand. 

Then he looks at you with utmost genuine when he parts his lips, only speaking out enough for you to hear.

“At least let me enjoy celebrating your wins with you, even if you beat me to it.”

A gentle chuckle escapes your throat. “Is this how you won Minhee over, back when we were in school? With your... diabetic, sugar-infused speech?”

Hyunjae pokes the inside of his cheek with his tongue and crosses his legs under the table. “That probably wouldn’t work - words don’t click like they do in her head as they do in ours.”

“That’s mean!” 

“Says you.”

The sound of your stomach gurgling stirs you in your sleep - which is weird. You've never had a problem with gastric or anything similar of the sorts. It's a surprise when your mouth starts flooding with saliva though, and you try to sit up in a bid to swallow down the need to hurl.

But a weight on your hip keeps you from sitting up completely, as so does Hyunjae's arm on your waist that keeps you pinned to the bed.

"Jae-" 

"Hmm? What is it?"

"Get your leg off me."

"No."

"Get your damn leg off me before I-"

There it is again.

Hyunjae can feel your physique squirm against his chest. The feeling of queasiness lurches up your stomach and into your throat and finally it becomes unbearable. He isn't given a chance before you literally slide out from underneath him and bolt for his bathroom, and before you know it you're on your knees with your dinner and dessert being hurled out into the toilet bowl.

"Jesus, are you okay?" Hyunjae squats next to you after turning on the bathroom light. "Was it something you ate?"

The stench of the remnants in the toilet bowl stinks up the whole bathroom, and your slightly limp hand reaches out for the flush. "I don't know. I don't think so- you're not puking."

"Well- I could have a stronger stomach than you."

Sitting your bum to the cold tiles of the floor, your eyes naturally start shooting daggers at your fiancé. "You really know when to say the best things, don't you?"

The mischief in him slips away, replaced with a gentle smile as he presses his hand to your forehead. "Well, you're not having a fever so it probably isn't food poisoning."

"Never mind," Your hand searches for something solid to help you up, but Hyunjae interrupts you and slides his arms under your knees and your back instead. "I can get a check up at the hospital tomorrow when I check into work."

"Can't you take the day off and get your check up elsewhere?"

"We literally work at the hospital," Your bum leaves the floor as he carries you out, stopping by the switch on the wall to turn off the light. "Isn't it common sense to make use of that?"

Hyunjae hums, making it to his bed in about 5 or 6 steps. The cushion sinks under your weight when he puts you down in bed, and he crawls over you playfully, with his arms perching his torso above yours.

"You're so cute when you need me to take care of you," He pecks your nose and forehead.

"I don't need any taking care, Sir," Your fingers dig into his cheeks as you squish them, forcing his lips into an 'o'. "You're cuter, by the way."

Hyunjae grins widely, eyes still sleepy. Then he topples over and scoops you into his chest like a child holding a puppy, lips against your forehead as his gentle breathing takes you away into your slumber.

"Why did you even bother to clock into work today when you're not feeling well?" The general practitioner frowns at you through the reflection of his laptop as he watches you slide the door of his office shut.

"Aw, not happy to see me?" The sarcasm was awfully heavy in your voice as the smirk remains plastered to your face. Dr. Kyung Won Jin whirls around in his roller chair and scoots over to his desk where you head for, automatically pulling your white coat so that you wouldn't sit on it.

"I think I'd like it more if we were... perhaps in a restaurant or a café catching up instead." He takes your temperature and blood pressure.

"I would but I'm swamped," The blood pressure arm strap tightens around your skin and muscle. 

"Not to mention that promotion I heard you got yesterday, right?" He smiles, turning to his laptop and letting some program run.

The satisfaction wells your chest. "So you've heard!" 

"How could I not, when the entire department heard you yelling about it in Dr. Choi's office?"

A low chuckle collects the atmosphere as he removes the blood pressure strap. He clicks a pen and jots down the number, but it's not enough to catch your attention.

"Well, had to make sure to rub it in his face."

"Would've been there to see it myself... but, probably didn't want to be around when y'all are hurling things at each other."

"News flash, we didn't throw anything at each other," You grin at Dr. Kyung, who pulls out a needle and a blood tube.

"Nice to know," He wraps a band around your forearm before lifting the syringe. "Hold still for me, yeah?" Dr. Kyung starts pulling on the syringe. "So, how did he take it? Did he give you the cold shoulder?"

All you can remember from the previous day was the warmth of the sunset and the coolness from the starry night sky.

"Nah," A sweet smile overcomes your greed to flaunt your triumph. "He took me out for a dinner date."

"Aww," Dr. Kyung pouts cutely, eyes flitting back and forth between the blood tube and you. "So, when's the wedding? You've already registered your marriage, haven't you?"

"Well, yes. But the wedding's gotta wait," Dr. Kyung pulls out the needle, pressing a cotton pad to your tiny wound that you press into your arm. "I don't think we can afford the time to plan one now. We were already busy before and now with the promotion... Nah."

"Mm," He hums, sticking the blood tube into one of those test tube holders.

"That's a bummer. But if you do have a wedding, I'd hate to miss it."

Dr. Kyung helps you paste a plaster before you get up and take your leave.

"Of course not. Anything for you, Dr."

The marble counter is slightly stained with cream sauce and some pepper when the pasta is done cooking, and Hyunjae wraps his arms around your waist in a bid to plant little kisses into the back of your neck.

"You're already not helping and you want to pull this stunt now?"

Hyunjae turns off the stove before you're done and turns you around, letting you lean against the edge of the counter. "Who said I didn't help? I got the groceries and I set the table."

You can taste the butter from the garlic bread he was told to make when he presses his lips into yours.

"I told you to help with the garlic bread, not eat them," Hands on his chest, you pull away but unable to escape from between his hands on the edge of the counter.

"I was hungry, let me live a little, would you?" His fingers find your chin and bring them to his face again. The smile that stretches across his lips when you can't resist the kiss he's offering tastes like-

Then Hyunjae's right arm finally leaves the counter, and his left rests on your waist instead. His lips don't leave yours until he finds the vibrating device in the back pocket of his pants.

"Mm, hi- Dr. Kyung," He manages between the kisses. "Mhm- yes- she was just- cooking-"

Of all times to call...

"Right- the blood test- Mhm-"

Then he abruptly screeches to a halt, and your lips are left alone like ditching a puppy along the street.

"Ugh, will you hang up and just-"

"No, shut up, kitten," He shows you his palm as he transfers more attention to the person on the other end of the line, his left hand still gentle on your waist.

Rolling your eyes, you turn back to the pan and pour out your dinners into two plates that you bring to the table.

"It's my blood test," You mumble to yourself, annoyed. After setting down the food, you finally turn around to look at him, hands on your hips. Your lips are already parted to ask him to hang up and just come for dinner if it's nothing important, but he beats you to it.

"Kitten," The phone is held a distance away from his ear, his eyes flickering like satellites in the sky. "You're pregnant."

[tsarisfanfiction]

Stabbed

Fandom: Thunderbirds Rating: Teen Genre: Hurt/Comfort Characters: Scott, Virgil, Gordon

Proofreading?  What’s proofreading?  This was a ventfic I started a while ago, and as my muse decided today - my one free day to properly write this week! - was the best day to go curl up in a corner and refuse to interact with me because some unwelcome stress appeared, I prodded a little more at this and maybe there’s enough to post.  Maybe.  It’s not a darkfic, but it is kinda whumpy so sorry, Scott.

I have nothing specifically planned for this, so chances are this is just going to remain like this forever more.  Sorry about that.

Scott gasped, staggering one step, two steps forward as something drove into his back.  Something solid, digging in painfully.

In front of him, crumbling away beneath the toes of his boots, was the crevasse he’d just climbed out of, the woman clinging to his back for dear life – uninjured, but shaken and unable to climb out herself.

Whatever it was was still lodged in his back, sending distress signals to his brain, but before Scott could unscramble it enough for a translation, there was a hand on his shoulder.  Steady but firm, heel of the palm dropped down over his shoulder blade.

“Sorry, hun,” the woman purred – was it the same women?  She’d been shaken but this woman wasn’t shaken at all – sounding entirely unapologetic.  “I appreciate the help, but I can’t have you blabbing.”

The pressure on – in – his back lessened abruptly, and the hand on his shoulder pushed.

Scott stumbled, earth gave way, and then he was falling, falling down into the darkness.  Instinct had him reaching for his grapple, but his back screamed at the movement and against his wishes his hands went numb, grazing the equipment but failing to grasp it.

Something went crunch inside his chest as his fall came to an abrupt end.  A rib or few, no doubt, but Scott had broken ribs before; a nuisance but as long as they didn’t poke holes anywhere they shouldn’t they’d be fine.  He was more concerned about his back, and the fact that he hadn’t landed at the bottom, but rather an outcropping of rock that wasn’t big enough for all of him. Already, he could feel blood rushing to his head as it dangled off the end, and the tingly feeling in his fingers that meant the blood flow to his extremities was compromised by the way they, too, were hanging.

Squinting, he could see his legs dangling as well, leaving his torso and abdomen the only thing actually caught by the outcrop.  If he shifted, his centre of balance would tip him off either forwards or backwards, and it was a long way down.

This was a problem. This was a big problem, and his screaming back just emphasised that.  His baldric was trapped between his chest and the outcrop, meaning that he couldn’t reach the comm in that, and his wrist comm…

He tried to twitch his tingling fingers without moving the rest of his arms.  It was not a successful move.  A second attempt was no better, and on his third he felt himself start to slip.

That was a major hint that he should stop moving.  Breathing didn’t help, either, his no doubt broken ribs sending stabs of pain through his chest to compliment the burning back.  He still didn’t know for certain what had happened, but he was starting to get a reluctant inkling.

There were only so many things that hurt specifically like this and Scott was unfortunately no stranger to things stabbing into him, as much as he tried hard not to think about it. He redirected his concern to the fact that whatever it was, it didn’t feel like it was there any more.

Suddenly the weird and uncomfortable position he was dangling in felt like a best case scenario, even if he could do without all the blood also rushing to his head.  But if it was pooling downwards, and the open wound was on the highest point of his body, maybe he wouldn’t bleed out quite so quickly.

He just had to hope one of his brothers realised something was wrong soon – but not so soon they also got attacked.

***

John telling him Scott had gone silent and wasn’t responding to hails had rushed Virgil into the fastest post-rescue clean up he’d ever done.  They weren’t far apart in distance – Scott had made the hop from this rescue to the trapped climber when the call had come in – but if John was worried, then Virgil was definitely worried.

Scott not picking up calls was unusual, especially multiple.  John had given them all enough earfuls about ignoring him that unless they had a really good reason, they always tried to respond immediately – the second eldest was not a brother to cross, and even Scott was wary enough of the consequences to at least agree to open comms.  Then again, open comms worked both ways and meant Scott could check up on them, too.

The added warning that it looked like his suit had taken some damage and he was partway down the crevasse and not moving was really just the icing on the cake.  Gordon had been slightly baleful at the snap to hurry up, until Virgil told him John thought Scott was in trouble, and then the aquanaut had jumped to work at a terrifyingly fast and efficient pace.

There was no room for slothfulness when a brother was in trouble.  Record time saw Thunderbird Two loaded and ready to go, and she roared into the sky at his touch, nose pointed in the direction her sister had headed earlier.

Thunderbird One had made the journey in five minutes.  Thunderbird Two made it in a shade under fifteen, going as fast as she could to minimise how long it took.  It was still twenty minutes since John had made the call, and Scott still wasn’t answering.  Scans and telemetry still put him down the crevasse, and Virgil didn’t bother to land.

Normally he’d keep control of Thunderbird Two and send Gordon down on the cable, but not this time. Not for Scott and the nagging sensation that he was needed.  Gordon didn’t argue when control was passed to him, and Virgil wasted no time in getting down to the module and rigging himself into a harness to be lowered.

It was a fair way down, not because Scott was far into the crevasse but because Thunderbird Two had to stay high so she didn’t dislodge anything with her VTOL.  They had no idea how secure or otherwise their brother’s position was, and if he fell from whatever was keeping him there, it was a very long way to the bottom.  A fatal fall.

Virgil couldn’t take any chances.

The familiar flash of blue uniform was the first thing he noticed.  The muddy crimson spreading across it was the second.

He accelerated his descent.

“Scott?”  His voice was drowned out by the VTOL of his ‘bird above. If Scott heard him, there was no reaction.  “Scott!”

Still nothing, and that red stain taunted him for the agonising seconds it took to draw level with the slumped form and properly get a look at his brother’s condition.

Bad was one way of putting it.  “John, find us a local hospital,” was another.

There was a ragged hole in the back of Scott’s uniform, the epicentre of the blood.  It barely missed the baldric, the margin looking painfully deliberate, but most concerning was the lack of an obvious case. Scott knew better than to take out foreign objects until it was time to be treated, and even if he’d mistakenly thought treatment was about to happen, there was no way he had reached whatever it was to extract it so cleanly.

Virgil felt cold at the implications.  “Gordon, anyone else nearby?”

He didn’t wait for the answer as he secured himself to the rock face with a grapple and yanked an emergency first aid kit out of his own baldric.  Scott hadn’t moved, hadn’t so much as twitched, at his arrival, and with the quantity of blood he’d lost, if he wasn’t unconscious he might as well be.

“Negative, Virgil,” Gordon said, voice steady and threaded with something that sounded like the military had come to the fore.  “How bad is it?”

“Bad.”  Virgil didn’t have the mental capacity to spare on anything more than basic answers.  “I’m secure; put her on autopilot and get a blood transfusion set up in the medbay.”

“F.A.B.”  The line connecting him to his ‘bird wavered slightly at the change in piloting, but the grapple held him in place.  Confident that Thunderbird Two would be ready for them, he wadded gauze and pressed it firmly to the hole in Scott’s back.  There was no response, no indication that Scott was even subconsciously aware of their surroundings, and he strapped it down with medical tape.

A deployed med scanner told him that there were two broken ribs.  Neither had snagged anything vital, but one was too close to Scott’s right lung for Virgil’s comfort.  There was very little he could do about that hanging inside a crevasse, and the priority was to get him to medical treatment as fast as possible.

It was awkward, but Virgil was creative, and securing a harness over his limp ragdoll of a big brother to tie him firmly to the cable suspended from Thunderbird Two was not an option but a necessity.  The gauze was already starting to discolour as the blood kept leaking out of the wound, and Virgil kept a careful eye on it as he triple-checked the line was secure and eased Scott off of the outcrop he was slung over.

The fact that his face was red wasn’t a reassurance; instead, it told him that Scott had been hanging down for long enough for the blood still in his body to pool in places it shouldn’t.  There wasn’t much he could do about it without risking further blood flow out of his body, but as the harness took Scott’s weight and left him suspended next to him, Virgil reached out a hand and carefully tilted his head so it wasn’t hanging down.

Blue eyes stayed lightly closed, no sign of conscious or subconscious recognition at the touch, and Virgil’s fingers trembled.  With his other hand he gripped the belt of Scott’s baldric, before sending up a call for them to be reeled in.  Whether it was John, Gordon or EOS that did so he didn’t know.  Didn’t care, either, because as the red drained from Scott’s face as blood retreated from pooling in his head it left too-white skin in its wake, which was almost worse.

Gordon’s language was colourful as he met them in the module, instantly fetching the hoverstretcher so that Scott could be gently lowered onto it as Virgil freed him from the harness and whisking him to the medbay as he extracted himself from his own straps.

It didn’t take long, but it was long enough for Gordon to have slipped Scott’s glove and bracer off of one arm and sliced the uniform open from wrist to shoulder, exposing the bare skin ready for the transfusion.  No words were exchanged as Virgil took over, Gordon instead relocating to cut away the baldric and the uniform around the hole in his back, exposing the site in its entirely.

Beneath his feet, Thunderbird Two thrummed as Thunderbird Five directed her into movement.  Virgil didn’t look away from his unconscious big brother for a single moment.

“This was a knife.” Gordon broke the silence, his voice icy. Virgil finished hooking Scott up to the blood bag and let it start flowing before looking over.

The aquanaut had removed the hastily plastered gauze, now saturated red, and was wiping away the worst of the blood from around the wound.  It wasn’t free-flowing, but that didn’t reassure Virgil.  After at least twenty minutes, Scott didn’t have much blood left he could afford to lose.  With most of it currently pooled where he was lying on his front, there wasn’t much to continue leaking from his back.

Virgil didn’t question his diagnosis.  When it came to things like that, Gordon knew more than he did.  Instead, he reached for a clotting agent, determined to do everything in his power to lessen the amount of blood still trickling out, while Gordon applied a fresh gauze.

“Mind his ribs,” he warned as his younger brother pressed down firmly.  “Two are broken.”

“Lungs?”

“Intact.”  For now.  Virgil hoped they could keep them that way.

There was little else he could do; a stab wound that deep needed surgery, and Thunderbird Two wasn’t an operating theatre.  Virgil wasn’t a surgeon, either.  “How far out are we, John?”

“Ten minutes,” his brother replied instantly.  “I’ve passed on the results of the scan and they’re ready to take him straight in.”

“F.A.B.”

He didn’t want to let his brother out of his sight – not ever, and certainly not if he’d been stabbed – but Scott needed more treatment than he could give him.  That didn’t make it easier to hand him over, blood bag still attached and a second prepped as the first ran low – and watch unfamiliar people whisk him away.

“Kayo’s on her way,” John told him.  “Thunderbird One is locked down and secure.  EOS is reviewing the security footage now to see what happened.”

“Some sonofagun stabbed him in the back’s what happened,” Gordon snapped.  His fingers were curling and uncurling, never quite making a fist. They were also covered in blood. So were Virgil’s.

“To see who did it,” John clarified, not reacting to Gordon’s waspishness.  “Until we know what we’re dealing with, stay together. And be careful.”

Virgil nodded, his voice somewhere stuck inside his throat, or maybe taken with Scott into the operating theatre.  He should be trying to reassure Gordon, but Gordon had slipped into something less familiar, more sharp edges and dangerous, and Virgil trusted him to handle whatever was going on around them while he ran through everything in his head, double-checking that he’d done everything right, that he hadn’t missed anything in his initial treatment, that there was no mistake he'd made that might cost Scott’s life.

There was a hand on his arm. Amber eyes looked up at him, firm and steely.  “Let’s get washed up,” Gordon said, although it wasn’t a suggestion.  Dimly, Virgil knew it should be the other way around – he should be the one making the decisions – but Gordon oozed confidence and a knowledge that he’d be obeyed, and it felt safer just to follow.  “Then we’ll go inside and wait for news.”

Wait to know if Scott would live.  The words weren’t said, but Virgil heard them all the same.

He nodded numbly and let his younger brother guide him back inside his ‘bird.

[un-romancible-npc]

Chance

Chapter One: Dancing in Silence

3631 words

Original Idea:

::You are here::Part 2::Ao3::

The cacophony of night that most coastal cities had was entirely lost on the quiet, lonely streets of Gotham. It wasn't a silent city by any means, but its citizens had learned a long time ago that nighttime was not their domain, and as fantastic as some of those night-liers were, Gotham knew it was best to leave the night to its own, and let the bats do their hunting.

Most of Gotham knew that, anyway.

Marinette Dupain-Cheng, President of the class in the French foreign exchange program, fashion genius, and proud owner of at least 3 brain cells, was lying wide awake at 2:30am in a bed in a luxury hotel room at the heart of Gotham City, desperately trying to figure out if cereal was a soup and feeling remarkably as though she had been lied to her whole life.

The hotel room, which she was finding she disliked more and more the longer her brain went without sleep, was a mess of creams and browns and golds when the lights were on, but in the dark, with only the faint street light filtering through the balcony doors' curtains, everything was the same vague gradient of grey to black. She much preferred it like that.

Marinette lay on her back, sheets tangled at the corners of her bed after hours of tossing and turning, her arms and legs splayed out in a manner not unlike a starfish that had been asked for a high-five, and her black hair flopped out of the two now virtually-useless buns perched atop her head, loose strands sticking uncomfortably to her wide-eyed face.

She had half a mind to wake up her roommate, Chloe Bourgeois, who had been asleep for the last hour and a half, and ask her opinion on the matter. Even considering what 'the wasp', as Alya had taken to calling her, was going through physically at the moment, and that she'd put Sabrina in a choke-hold for almost a full minute last time she was disturbed--with precise details of how she would personally destroy anyone who dared bother her nap again--and only let go after she'd given Sabrina and everyone who saw the incident one (1) more chance to live.

It probably wasn't worth it.

Unfortunately, Marinette was about to die from over-internalization, and she was genuinely considering putting her life on the line for answers.

Mari shifted to her side and stared at the gap in the curtains, one of the narrow slices of light that leaked through them leaving a stripe of color down her face and abdomen, illuminating her plain black sports-bra and green basketball shorts she'd stolen from Adrien after accidentally ruining her own fuzzy Pj bottoms mere hours before. If anyone else had been awake, they would have also seen the light glinting off the peculiar, vein-like markings that spiraled around her torso, their lines intertwining with themselves and leading up to two small marks just above her shoulder blades.

Marinette openly scowled at the double doors to the hotel balcony.

'I'm going to go insane.'

With a sigh as quiet as she could manage, Mari sat up, climbed to the foot of her bed, rifled under her dresser for her suitcase, and fished out her specially altered red-and-black hoodie, the matching pair of black leggings with red spots, and a pair of sneakers. Sliding into them in almost total silence--she doesn't count the muttered French that may or may not have been cursing when she stubbed her pinkie toe on the end table--she opened the glass doors at the end of the room and slid outside for some fresh air.

Stepping out onto the small balcony, Mari inhaled deeply and stared at the city. The lights were loud, even though the noises weren't, but the colors outside felt better, and she found she could think more clearly without the suffocating blackness of the room surrounding her, glaring at her with thinly veiled chartreuse and belly-hair-brown.

Mari looked up, the waning crescent moon sending a crooked smile her way as she did so, and she smiled right back.

The sky looked different in America.

She turned, mouth twisting into a knot, and stared at the 'french' doors that led back to her room, having half a mind to just go back inside… but her designer's heart craved a better view, and the stifling heat of her bed was exactly the kind of thing that would keep her awake longer.

Nodding resolutely, Marinette marched toward the doors, and leapt up precisely as high as she needed, fingers gripping the ledge above it with a strength that belied her small stature. Hooking her foot over the top of the door frame, she hauled herself up and began scaling the building, using every ledge and window she could. Her seemingly delicate hands were covered in calluses after years of sewing accidents and other... extracurricular activities, so the rough concrete and brick was nothing she hadn't dealt with before.

Chloe liked to 'joke' that she probably didn't have fingerprints anymore, and could definitely get away with murder. Marinette snorted, smiling to herself as she pulled herself over another window ledge, her brain temporarily distracted from cereal soup by that particular conversation that had kept the three of them awake far past curfew.

Chloe scoffed from her perch on the largest bed, tossing her head to flip her white-blonde braid over her shoulder as she dipped the little brush back into the fingernail polish container.

"Oh course I'm not talking about actually murdering anyone, Bumble-Bug." She said, delicately coating her pinky fingernail in pearlescent midnight-blue polish. "All I'm saying is that if, hypothetically of course, somebody, nobody in particular, at say… the school, happened to end up dead in a ditch somewhere," she dipped the brush again. "And there happened to not be any fingerprints, the police couldn't pin a thing on you. Ask Sabrina, she's doing an internship at her Daddy's place."

Shaking her head, and biting her lip to keep herself from laughing, Mari turned her attention back to applying her own rose-gold polish.

A few specks of Gotham's finest hotel were unintentionally scraped off the border of a window and tumbled to the pavement below. Mari grunted, adjusting her grip on a gargoyle-like figure near the edge of the roof to better secure herself so she could find another foothold, unintentionally scraping her palms in the process. She grinned.

"Y'know Ladynette," said Adrien, his mop of sunshine-blond hair coming into view as he sat up from where he had been lounging on the floor, still waving his hands in an attempt to dry the sloppy black and green nail polish he had insisted he do himself. 'We just have to take it off before I go home! Father won't know if we don’t tell him!' "Bee's got a point. I'm not saying I would appear as Chat to give you the best alibi in history, but I'm also not saying I wouldn't." He tapped the side of his nose, effectively smearing the nail polish on his index finger all over the inside of his eyelid. "You're the star student, after all."

Marinette couldn't take anymore, and collapsing into a giggle-fit, accidentally spilling the rose-gold nail polish all over her fuzzy pajama pants in the process. It took far too long to calm down, but when she did, Chloe and Adrien had already found replacement pants for her.

Mari returned to the present as she, with a final shove, found herself on the roof of the very prestigious hotel her class was staying at during their 3 month exchange program. Her entire class.

'No one in particular my foot.'

Mari stood near the opposite edge of the roof from where she'd climbed up, letting the cool, damp midnight breeze play with her hair, as she breathed a deep sigh.

Cereal was soup.

…

Kwamiis, she'd been hanging out with Adrien too much.

Her thoughts stilled for a moment, though her mind continued at breakneck speed as memories of her loved ones filled her up to bursting. She closed her eyes and let the images chase themselves in circles for a little, drinking in the feeling of the night and the faint smell of coastal rain that sank into her bones.

Gotham was officially her second favorite city.

The mood was briefly soured as her brain, still dutifully chugging along as the speed of light now that she had nothing else to think about, began turning to darker subjects. Mari sighed, her whole body sagged in exhaustion and her fingers twisting around the ponytail that was wrapped around her wrist as said darker thoughts began playing on repeat in her head, the face of at least two thirds of her misery laughing at her misery, though she wasn't on the roof to laugh at her.

‘Lila.’

Marinette's fiddling with the ponytail ceased as she began bouncing her leg, her hands moving up to readjust her buns in a vague hope of making them slightly less disastrous.

‘Oh boy, Lila…’

Liar and life-ruiner extraordinaire.

The reason her only friends were suddenly transferred to new classes even though she herself had tried a dozen times over to do just the same.

Mari sighed, tugging at a nasty tangle the ponytail-holder had somehow created with her bun.

At least she still had Alix and Kim. As much as she loved Chloe and Adrien, Adrien couldn’t do anything to rock the boat without his father forcing him to quit public school, and since Chloe’s father had finally been replaced as Mayor, she didn’t have nearly as much power as she used to. Besides, the class was against her to begin with, and it had only gotten worse as Lila began to spin her web.

Alix and Kim on the other hand, while they couldn't convince many people of Lila's schemes, they could punch people in the face. Mari actually cried when they told her they both got suspended for a week after doing just that the day they found out Lila was nothing but a liar, (Alix did the punching and Kim cheered her on) and while she insisted they never do that again, she brought them 'thank you' goodies every day for six months after that.

Her thoughts cheered up significantly after a few forceful topic-changes and as they continued to wander, a tune bumbled its way to the surface and, having nothing better to do at the moment, she began humming it. What the song itself was called she didn't remember, maybe it never existed to begin with, but the melody was quiet enough to be soothing, and it was calming, if a little haunting.

A few measures into her strange melody, Mari found herself half dancing-half fidgeting to the beat of her imaginary song, incomprehensible words playing through her mind as the night dragged on and Gotham continued on in semi-silence.

Mari was midway through one of the ballet moves Chloe had dragged her to classes to learn, when the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. Mari cut her movement off mid-flow and stood stock still.

Someone was on the roof with her.

Years of constantly living life on the edge of both a mental breakdown and a life-or-death battle was the only thing keeping her from blindly round-house-kicking whoever it was in the face and running off into the night. Fight and flight instincts could fudge a delicate situation, and whoever was up here could simply be getting some air, like her.

Maybe she should have let her instincts run the show.

She barely had time to register she was still humming--being forced to communicate in the most dire of circumstances had made the moments where she couldn’t shut herself up more often than she’d care to admit--when an arm that felt as though it was made of steel and iron was pinning her left arm to her back as a knee, which she assumed belonged to the owner of the steel and iron arm, slammed into the middle of her back and began forcing her to the ground.

In the split second before her face made contact with the gravel on the rooftop, Mari had one single thought racing through her head.

She knew this hold.

She’d done it a thousand times in the back alleys of Paris on odd nights.

This was the hold that would break your arm if you struggled.

The hold designed to keep the victim still and in pain.

The hold to intimidate and contain.

The hold made for criminals.

Hah.

No.

Faster than even she expected, Mari twisted her body completely around and successfully out of his hold, eyes narrowed in determination.

C R A C K

‘Well.’ Mari rolled away from her attacker, clutching her broken arm to her chest. ‘That’s going to be hard to explain to Mlle. Bustier in the morning.’ Mari recovered quickly--She'd felt more pain than a broken arm and won a fight before: and a non-functioning arm wasn't going to stop her now.--and regained her footing just in time to see a young man, probably about her age, in a truly shocking outfit with the most bizarre color coordination she had ever seen-- Okay not the most bizarre. She'd fought Akuma after all, and some of those deserved to be taken down on their fashion sense alone--pull out a katana from seemingly nowhere.

‘Wait…’ She thought as she dodged the katana swipe and dropped to the ground in attempt to swipe his feet out from underneath him. ‘Him and his traffic-light costume look familia--’

“Robin!”

Marinette froze as none other than Batman--The Actual Honest To Goodness Batman--swung onto the roof just behind her attacker.

Mari would’ve fangirled if she wasn’t so high on caution juice.

“Father,” apparently-Robin said, not breaking eye-contact with her, the blade of his katana less than an inch from her throat now that she wasn’t fighting back.

‘Wait… wait, isn’t that called adrenaline?’

“Robin, why were you attacking a civilian.”

‘Oh glory Batman is speaking to Robin, he’s speaking with Robin and they’re talking right in front of me--’ Mari blinked. ‘Civilian?’

“Tch,” Robin’s lip curled slightly, though otherwise he didn’t move. ‘Oh. Right. I’m not wearing my mask. “Father this isn’t another civilian.”

‘I mean he’s right, but I’m right here--’

“She’s clearly a villain.”

‘Okay WHAT?!’

“And what makes you say that?” Mari’s mouth moved in her own defense before she’d formed a proper argument.

‘FrICK.’

Silence.

Silence punctuated by Batman’s stare.

Which of them he was looking at was a mystery, but he punctuated the lack of noise nevertheless.

‘I’m sorry Batman: One of us is going to die tonight and it’s probably going to be me if your son doesn’t say something soon.’

“Tch.” Robin’s head rolled slightly to the side; an exaggerated eye-roll if she’d ever seen one. “You’re up here, alone, ballet dancing, and humming a stupid creepy tune.” Mari blinked at him incredulously. “It’s highly unusual in Gotham for anyone to preform their own... musical theater routine, at 4 in the morning mind you, unless they’re extremely unbalanced and have a bomb planted sixty feet below the mayor’s office.” 

“You…” She took a deep breath in, moving her broken arm as carefully--and casually--as she could. “You tried to knock me unconscious, fight me, and potentially take me to a police station for questioning... because I was awake at 4am.” Well, if Batman’s stare wasn’t burning holes into Robin’s head before, it sure was now. Robin, to his credit, relaxed his defensive stance slightly, even as a scowl darker than any she’d expect on his face dragged whatever hope she had of reasoning down with his mood.

“Robin?”

Batman had said 9 words since his first appearance, and somehow Mari knew he was on her side.

She and her motor-mouth could learn from him.

Robin snorted softly and stuck his nose in the air, though any fool could see it was over a sense of wounded pride rather than genuine haughtiness. Or, anyone who’d been friends with Chloe for more than a week, anyway. He finally relaxed his fighting stance, however, and stood with his back ram-rod straight and his arms crossed over his chest.

“It isn’t my fault she was being stupid.”

“And it isn’t my fault you couldn’t just use basic human communication to inquire as to my true intentions.” Being starstruck is overrated.

“If you were really a villain you’d take advantage of that.” He snapped, glaring at her.

“If I were really a villain,” Mari retorted with a scoff. “I wouldn’t be stupid enough to dance out in the open in celebration of my latest unfinished scheme.” Mari crossed her arms. ‘Owowowowow no that’s bad don’t move broken arm that hurts--’ “Especially not when it’s nighttime and the Batman Squad are out and about. Besides, you can be physically prepared for an attack while still brokering a deal. It’s how being a superhero is supposed to work, isn’t it? Get the villain talking so you can assess the situation and the threat without potentially risking any civilians in the way?” ‘I just back-talked Robin. And by extension, Batman.’

Mari could feel her blush burning her skin to ash.

‘Batman please take your son and leave so I can die in peace I’m--’

“You’re very correct, Miss.”

‘S a y  f r e a k i n g  w h a t n o w.’

Mari whipped around, her loose hair smacking her in the eyes as she did so, to see The Actual Freaking Nightwing standing on one of the rooftop gargoyles and grinning at her. 

Her heart had stopped functioning a long time ago, and it appeared her lungs were now bent on doing the same.

“Being a superhero is about more than just punching crime in the face. Though I gotta admit that’s the fun part.”

“Until crime punches ya’ back,” the ghost of Marinette’s soul replied through her somehow still-living body. “Then you just have a black eye, injustice, and a whole lotta paperwork.” Nightwing burst out laughing, and slid off his gargoyle to walk over and give her a clap on the back.

“It’s official,” he said, his grin wide and friendly. “You’re my second-favorite civilian.” Mari’s soul transcended to the next dimension. “What’s your name, kid?”

“I-I’m Marinette Dupain-Cheng, monsieur.” ‘I’m Freaking Nightwing’s Second Favorite Civilian. How in the ever-loving hECC, did I end up here? How has my life come to this? Is this where I die?’

“A pleasure to meet you Marinette,” Nightwing said with yet another grin, as he stuck out his hand to shake. “I’m sure you already know who we are, but based off your French accent you probably aren’t from ‘round here: I’m Nightwing.” He gestured to Batman’s looming figure. “The silent Night is Batman, and--”

“I suppose Traffic-Light boy is Robin, then?”

‘MOUTH WHAT THE HECK YOU CAN’T OPERATE WITHOUT EXPLICIT PERMISSION FROM THE BRAIN WHAT ARE YOU DOING GOING ROGUE LIKE THAT YOU’RE OFFICIALLY ON PROBATION--’

“No-- wait I'm sorry I didn’t mean it like that I swear--”

It was too late.

Robin had frozen in place, his face a mixture of shock and an emotion she couldn’t place.

Nightwing was doubled over with laughter.

Batman’s face seemed to always be an emotionless, impenetrable mask in the short time she’d known him, but Mari could’ve sworn she saw the faintest of smiles. It was gone in a moment, but it was there.

Marinette Dupain-Cheng had made Batman, actual honest to goodness Batman, smile.

Well, if she wasn’t dead before, she was now.

“We’re sorry for the trouble Miss Dupain-Cheng,” said Batman when it seemed like Nightwing wasn’t going to recover anytime soon. “I hope Robin didn’t hurt you too badly.” Marinette welcomed the distraction, though she was still redder than her hoodie. She waved her non-broken arm dismissively.

“He didn’t, Monsieur Batman. Je--err, I, am perfectly fine. I’m sorry to have disturbed your patrol.” Batman gave her the tiniest of nods. “Now, if you don’t mind, I think I'll get back to my room. It’s very late after all.”

“Enjoy your evening, Miss Dupain-Cheng.”

“You too, mon--err, Sir.” Marinette started walking toward the side of the building to climb back down, when a door in the center of the roof caught her attention.

Oh.

She paused halfway to the entrance, gnawing at her lip.

Mari turned around sharply.

“Robin?” The three caped crusaders paused. The boy in question gave her a sidelong glance, shooting her a quizzical look that may or may not have been laced with faint distaste. Not that she blamed him. “I’m sorry for any trouble I may have caused.”

He stared at her for a moment, his face expressionless for a moment.

“I’m sorry too. I hope I didn’t hurt your arm too badly.” he nodded to her curtly. “Have a good night, miss.”

And then they were gone.

A wave of exhaustion hit her like a truck, and she had the sudden realization she was supposed to be asleep at 4:30 in the morning.

She turned and opened the rooftop door, thanking anything and everything that the door was unlocked, and closed it softly behind her, leaning heavily against it and biting back her groan of pain.

Hiding a broken arm was painful.

Mari stared at the ceiling for a few seconds, absorbing everything that had happened.

Her face split into a joyous beam.

Adrien and Chloe were going to go berserk tomorrow.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

BONUS:

Nightwing: “Hey, B-man. Bat-guy. Bro-man. Bat-dad. Can we please keep her? Please?”

Batman: “Not that it’s up to me, but we can’t. At the very least not unless she can fight.”

Robin: “Father, she broke her arm getting out of my hold and didn’t bat an eye at it.”

Nightwing: “The bean did what now.”

(also have a sketch i did. i’m sorry it’s not great but i just... i lov her okay?)

::You are here::Part 2::Ao3::

[buckthegrump]

Hands of Fate - 4

Summary: You have a secret. It’s a secret that you’ve been able to keep hidden from the world for years (with the help of one other person). But after a run-in with a group of HYDRA agents, you find yourself at the Avengers compound. And it’s proving harder and harder to keep your secret especially with one particularly observant supersoldier who doesn’t seem to trust you.

Word Count: 1888

Warnings: Some violence, angst (kind of), swearing

Pairing: Bucky x Fem!Reader (Eventually)

A/n: if you want to be added to the tag list send me an ask, please. Previous parts on my masterlist

Despite your resistance and against your better judgment, you were becoming friends with these people, well, except Bucky but you didn't mind that at all.

Natasha continued to train you and you continued to surprise her with your fighting skills. She kept making comments about how you didn’t need lessons but you pushed and got your way.

Steve, who you kind of hated, only because you kept showing him different food combos that should at least slow him down. But they never did thanks to his superhuman metabolism.

Tony and Rhodey were fun because it was easy to start an agreement between the two of them, it was all in good fun but sometimes they walked away from each other.

Thor and Clint weren’t around because they had other business to attend to.

You only really hung out with Vision and Wanda in group settings because you didn’t want them to find out your secret.

Sam was a secret prankster and somehow he’d dragged you into one that he was pulling on not just Tony but the entire team. He talked Rhodey into joining the tomfoolery. You were on lookout while Rhodey and Sam worked on the plan.

“Why are we doing this?” Rhodey asked.

“Because I have a new goal,” Sam answered.

“Which is?”

“Sam wants to see how many pranks he can pull off before people catch him, which includes pulling pranks that might never see the light of day,” you told Rhodey.

“Sam, no offense,” Rhodey said and Sam paused and looked at him, “This is genius.”

You rolled your eyes, “Oh god. This is going to become a regular thing isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Sam answered, “And you will be our look out for all of them.”

“Great,” you muttered.

A few minutes later they were done and the three of you went your separate ways acting cool for the rest of the day.

/

“Are you sure you’ll be fine here?” Tony asked.

They were all leaving on a few different recon missions that would last over the course of a few days leaving you alone with Bucky.

“Yes, dad I’ll be fine,” you told him for the millionth time.

You had been there for almost 3 months now and they had made multiple promises about being so close to finding the guys that had attacked you. And even though you should’ve been, you weren’t in a giant rush to get out of here.

You had kept your distance from Wanda because your head was started to hurt and you didn’t know how long you could keep up the shield.

“Ok, we’ll be back in a few days,” Steve said walking up next to Tony, “If you need anything or need to go out for any reason talk to Bucky and he’ll take you.”

“Doubt it,” you muttered.

“He will,” Steve said giving Bucky a look.

Bucky grumbled something unintelligible and walked off.

The rest of the team left and you were now alone in the compound with Bucky Barnes.

“Fun times,” you said under your breath.

Finding things to occupy your time would’ve been easier if you hadn’t already blown-through all the shows and movies you could stand to watch on Netflix and Hulu.

With nothing else to do you made your way to the gym. You walked in and there was music blaring from the speakers. Bucky was using the punching bags so you stationed yourself at the treadmills. You don’t know what you expected Bucky to listen to while working out but it definitely wasn’t pop from the late 2000s/ early 2010s but the all too familiar sound of Just Dance by lady gaga was filling the training area so much that he didn’t appear to hear you enter.

Normally after you finished on the treadmill you’d practice hand to hand combat but you’d only ever done that with Natasha so you did a little awkward dance not sure if you should find another type of workout to do or just take a shower and do something else.

“I could teach you somethings ya know,” Bucky said not breaking his punching pattern.

“Or you could do something that would actually be useful and take me back to my apartment, Steve and Natasha left something behind,” you said trying not to look at him.

He stopped and walked over to you. He wasn’t wearing a shirt so you got a full view of his very attractive torso. You tried not to stare at him, but that was proving difficult when beads of sweat kept dripping down drawing your attention to his chest. He put a short-sleeved shirt on and looked at you.

“Why would I do that?” He asked looking annoyed.

“Because if I go somewhere you go somewhere,” you reminded him, “Wasn’t that the deal?”

He sighed heavily, “fuck.”

An hour later you were sitting on the back of Bucky’s motorcycle. You were holding on to his waist tighter than you needed too but you couldn’t stop yourself. Once he stopped the bike you wasted no time getting off the bike.

“Not a fan of motorcycles are ya doll?” Bucky smirked.

You glared at him not trusting your voice to hold steady. He did look incredibly hot on his bike but you’d never admit that to anyone. He got off the bike and followed you into your old building. You realized as you walked in that this was probably the last time that you’d be in that building because as soon as this whole mess was taken care of, you were leaving town.

As you walked up to your old apartment Bucky started talking.

“So what’s so important that you had to get me to bring her you here to get it?” Bucky asked.

You debated telling him because it was kind of personal.

“Something that my mother gave to me,” you told him and he stopped and grabbed your arm.

“We’re risking our lives so you get something that your mother gave to you?”

You ripped your arm from Bucky’s grasp and glared at him.

“Yes,” you sneered and continued to your apartment.

Once inside you could tell something was off instantly and normally you wouldn’t bother but if you were going to stay at the compound indefinitely you needed that necklace. You knew exactly where it was so you made your way to the bedroom with Bucky right on your heels.

You opened the door to find a man standing there with a gun pointed at you.

“Found you,” he beamed like the two of you had been playing the most intense game of hide-and-seek.

He cocked the gun and before you knew what to do Bucky was standing in front of you and taking the bullet. The HYDRA agent then repositioned his gun and shot but Bucky blocked it with his left hand. You almost cried out at the thought of him having a bullet hole in his hand before it ricocheted off his hand and you remembered that he had a metal arm.

Bucky took the gun from the man and shot him before you could register what was going on. You watched the HYDRA agent’s lifeless body fall to the ground.

“Oh shit,” you whispered and Bucky glared at you.

“Would you rather of had me let him live?” Bucky demanded.

“No,” you said meekly, “I just have never seen someone die before.”

Bucky’s face softened slightly at your admission.

“Go get your thing,” Bucky said softly.

You nodded and walked over to the nightstand and opened the drawer. There just laying carelessly on the wood was the compass necklace your mother had given you when you first showed signs of having powers.

You pulled up the necklace and placed it on your neck.

“A necklace? We almost died for a necklace?” Bucky asked in disbelief.

“I think that’s a little dramatic,” you said as you rolled your eyes.

Bucky gestured to his side, “I’ve been shot!”

You looked down at his right shoulder and there was in fact, a gunshot wound that wasn’t bleeding as much as you thought it should be.

You grimaced, you had completely forgotten that he’d stepped in front of you to take a bullet.

“Let’s get out of here,” he sighed.

The trip back to the compound was seemed shorter than the trip to your old place.

Once inside Bucky made his way to the infirmary and for some reason, you followed him. He looked around for something.

“Do you need help finding something?” You asked.

“I need tweezers or something to get this bullet out,” he grunted.

“It’s still in you?”

He turned to you slowly and gave you a look.

“Ok,” you said defensively, “Sit down and I’ll help you.”

He grumbled something in Russian but he did as you said. He sat on an exam table and continued to grumble in languages you didn’t understand.

Clearly, Bucky suffered from right-in-front-of-your-fucking-face syndrome because you found the tweezers after looking for a literal second. You walked over showing off the tweezers triumphantly.

“Сволочь,” he muttered.

“Such strong language,” you said.

He looked at you confused.

“You know Russian?” He asked incredulously.

“Not really,” you say and motion for him to lay back so you have a better opportunity to get the bullet, he lays back not taking his eyes off you. “But I know when someone is cursing. Cursing is a universal language.”

He grunted noncommittally and squirmed.

“I can’t get the bullet out if you keep moving!” You told him firmly.

“It hurts,” he sneered.

“It would hurt less if you stopped moving so much,” you spat and he glared but stopped moving.

You moved his shirt up his abdomen and inspected the wound. You were poking and prodding the flesh around the wound and every time you touched it Bucky would flinch a little, it gave you a little bit of joy.

Even with a bullet wound you couldn’t help but admire his physique and that irked you.

You bit your bottom lip.

“Thank you,” you said softly.

“For what?” Bucky groaned.

“For taking the bullet for me.”

“It’s my job,” he said.

“And you only did it because it’s your job?” you glanced over at him.

“Yeah, and because if you’d died on my watch I’d have to do a lot of paperwork,” he said.

“Great I’m glad I didn’t become an inconvenience for you,” you said and pulled the buttled from his side and he groaned.

You smiled and walked away. You were freaking out a little bit. You had accidentally healed him you used your healing power to heal him subconsciously while you pulled the bullet out. You knew because you could feel the current running through you and into him.

He was for sure going to figure it out, but at least it was just the healing power.

/

An hour later Bucky’s wound was completely healed scar and all. Which was odd, it usually took at least two hours for a GSW to heal. But typically he didn’t get it taken care of it within the hour so maybe taking better care of his body more often.

But that night he couldn’t stop thinking about how quickly his wound healed and he was sure it wasn’t just because he took care of it quickly.

[darkpoisonouslove]

“Eternal Like the Burn of the Ocean”

Summary: Valtor isn't the same selfish man who let himself hurt Griffin and can never have enough of anything. All he wants is a peaceful life with the love of his life. Can he ever have that, though, as long as his mothers are around, threatening his self confidence and the woman he loves? Part 3 of "Love Can Be a Trap That Sets You Free".

This takes place at least two years after part 2 and is the last part (that I have currently) chronologically. I will be adding more parts that are set between this one and the second one but I felt the previous part segued well into this one which is why this had to come as part 3.

Valtor took a deep breath, feeling the water caressing his skin as compelled by Griffin's magic. His own powers were keeping it warm, making it the perfect environment for them to rest in after their hard mission. Their combined efforts turned it into the ideal tool to help their tense muscles relax in the warm tenderness around them that he'd never suspected could be created by his Dragon Fire and soothe their wounds as manipulated by the healing spell Griffin had chosen from her growing reserve.

It had been one of the first things she'd focused her attention on and he'd been afraid that it was because he'd hurt her so viciously when he'd changed the essence of her being, but then he'd realized that she was doing it for her own conscience. He'd gotten hurt by his mothers again after a failed mission and she'd offered her help, the smile on her face big and warm when she'd used her newly acquired skills to nurse his injuries. She'd been happy to use her powers to heal and not destroy and he'd been happy that he'd given her the opportunity to choose what to be now that she was free of both the ocean and him. And she'd repaid him by taking care of him and caring for him.

He could feel the water laced with her magic washing away the scars of the battle little by little from his skin just like it always did. He didn't have a single new scar ever since she'd started dabbling in healing magic, and even the rage of his mothers couldn't leave permanent marks on him anymore. Sure, they hurt him to their hearts'–or rather lack of thereof–content and their punishments seemed to have turned more vicious now that they knew the consequences wouldn't last but Griffin's spells not only removed the traces of the torture he'd been subjected to. They seemed to remove the pain, too, the water carrying it away in its waves as if it had never been there. The only thing she couldn't fix were the old scars that had already healed, for she claimed the pain was trapped under the skin and deep into his being where her magic couldn't reach it, but he was grateful for everything she was doing for him anyway.

They had found a lake far enough from any people and from their home base to provide them with the privacy they needed for their recreational practices. A place where he was safe to just get naked and walk into the water, leaving himself in her gentle hands. As a rule, he wasn't a big fan of water, considering the source of his powers but he trusted her enough to allow her to hold him above the surface, knowing he was safe from drowning in her embrace, for she wasn't the siren he'd first met anymore. She was a human like him now, and yet, not quite as she could control the element that was his weakness, but he knew she'd never use it against him. She was his partner. She was his lover.

He laid his head on her shoulder, letting his muscles slacken completely since he wouldn't need them to keep him afloat. Her arms were wrapped around his torso to keep him close to her as she couldn't sink and he was free to just enjoy the feeling of her skin pressed against his back as the water worked its magic of cleansing them from the entire experience of the battle they'd just participated in, taking away the strain and hurt of it. He closed his eyes and sighed blissfully.

"Aren't you tired of this?" Griffin's voice was a little too loud and disturbed his peace but it was just because she was talking right next to his ear. The current position didn't allow for much else and he didn't want her pulling away so he'd find a way to make do.

He loved listening to her lulling voice now that there was no danger of him falling under her spell, or rather, falling even more under her spell because she had him. She'd had him from the first moment he'd seen her, but now that she was less magic and more human, and more tender than anyone he'd ever met, he couldn't help but sink into the love she was offering so readily even after his mistake to try to force her to be his.

"I don't think it's possible for me to get tired of the quiet moments like this one," he murmured as he turned his head towards her neck, his lips brushing against her skin as they moved and he felt the shiver running through her. Her neck was sensitive and he was amazed she trusted him to be so close to it with his teeth after she'd had to spend hours healing the scar of his mark and enjoyed the caresses of his lips over the newly generated skin. He loved that, loved to see her react to the love that she wasn't used to getting either. It reassured him that he was just as good at giving as she was and he hoped that could make up for what he'd tried to take from her, knowingly and not so much.

Her arms shifted as if she wanted to bring a hand to his face to stroke it, but she didn't release her hold on him, knowing it had the potential of setting panic in his vulnerable being. Water was her domain and he was in the very real danger of drowning if she let go of him. So she made sure to hold him at all times and it was the most secure he'd ever felt, knowing that he was in the arms of someone who truly cared for him. In the arms of someone who had all the reasons to hate him, and yet, she never had. She loved him and he trusted her.

"I mean, aren't you tired of doing your mothers' dirty work and getting punished by them whenever the smallest thing goes sideways?" she spoke again, her voice quieter this time but it was the question that really disturbed him, and it seemed to do the same to the water as he couldn't feel its soothing effect on him anymore, but that could be caused by the tension that crept back into his muscles.

His eyes snapped open and he could now feel the stiffness of her body that was starting to infect him too. "You think I had a say in all of this, that I had a choice?" he asked, bitterness surfacing instantly, plummeting into him with the force of a tsunami as if in an attempt to pull him out of her hold on him. "This is what my mothers want," he said, trying to rein in his voice and not snap at her. It wasn't her fault, for she had just as much control as he did, and that was none. His mothers held the reins and controlled them like they were some unruly animals that deserved nothing but to be pushed past their limits and punished when they stumbled in their exhaustion. And how could he want that? How could he want to be treated like less than human, especially when she was there and treated him like a god?

"And what do you want?" Griffin asked, catching him off guard and he had to grab at her arms to make sure he hadn't fallen into the water and it was the lack of oxygen that was making him hallucinate. "What is your heart's desire?" Griffin murmured in his ear before she brushed her lips against his cheek, tracing half-kisses over the skin she could reach without moving too much and taking him out of the state of mind she was deliberately seducing him into. One of her hands started drawing patterns in the flesh of his abdomen, too, pointing his whole attention to her and what she was doing to him as well as towards pleasing her so that she wouldn't stop. She couldn't tell what he really wanted without her siren powers but she certainly hadn't forgotten how to tempt.

"I want freedom," he said as he allowed her to drag him into the fantasy of the life he wanted, even if he knew he could never have it. "I want to be with you somewhere so far away from them that we can't even remember they exist," he said trying to fight the wishful thinking, for it would be too painful when he had to wake up from his dreams, but his heart didn't let him. Or it may have been the feeling of her caresses that had him imagining a peaceful life for the two of them, with a house where they could wake up however late they wanted and he could drink his coffee while she had her tea in comfortable silence or they could spend all day in bed, laughing and talking, and kissing, and perhaps doing some more. Griffin could have her garden–growing plants seemed to be her thing and she loved the feeling of mud on her skin–and he could do historical research and be an independent archaeologist, hunting down artifacts lost for thousands of years. They could watch movies or go out to dinner dates in the evenings and fall asleep in each other's arms after a long exhausting day.

"Then let's leave," Griffin said, her tone carrying the roar of the ocean during a storm and it made him turn around quickly in her arms, almost forgetting that he had to hold on to her because he couldn't reach the bottom of the lake as far inside it as they were, and clap a hand over her mouth, listening carefully as he half expected the ground to freeze as the leaves broke off the branches and whirled around, carried by the wind that was only speeding up, while the trees morphed into monsters and their roots pulled him out of Griffin's grasp and underwater to drown him for the lack of loyalty.

"We can't," he hissed, still on edge even if it seemed like his mothers hadn't heard the blasphemy that had left her mouth. They could be lulling them into a false sense of security, waiting to strike when it would hurt most, which meant that he might never have a moment's peace again. He'd known it had been dangerous to let himself get sucked into the fantasy of a life where he was free of them and now it was too late to stop her from challenging them to take away from him what he already had, to pull her out of his embrace and find a way to drown her even though she could breathe underwater. "I'm not strong enough to oppose them," he shook his head regretfully as his hand fell away from her mouth since all of his energy had drained now. Or perhaps it was because he was hoping she could tell him something that would cure his mind from the memories surfacing in it, memories of the abuse he'd been subjected to because he hadn't been good enough and because he'd found someone who thought he was, contradicting their opinion.

His mothers hated Griffin with a burning passion, for she had shown him there was more than what they had led him to believe, that he was more than they'd made him feel like. She hadn't cared for their rules and had refused to follow their agenda even after they'd demonstrated why they were so infamous and widely feared. They'd only spared her because she was willing to follow him into fire–and she was terrified of it–and her loyalty to him was useful to them as she was watching his back, making battles safer for him with her partnership, even resorting to killing people if they threatened him although she still struggled with the souls on her conscience, and missions more productive with her strategies.

It'd turned out she was very useful with her resourcefulness and knowledge on guarding powerful artifacts and that had become the one thing granting her life. That and the fact that he was still obeying their orders, so he couldn't let her compelling sense of rebellion take over him. He couldn't risk losing her–not even for the chance to be free with her–when she was his treasure, the only thing he wanted. He couldn't let his greed take her away.

"Maybe not," Griffin said, making his heart sink to hear her confirm the sentiment even when he knew it to be true and he had to be glad that she was listening to common sense and not to her idealism. He may have freed her but he was still trapped and as long as she loved him, she was bound to suffer his fate too. And it was selfish of him to want her to stay in his cage as well, but he was only feeling free when she was with him. She made him want to wake up in the morning so that he could gaze in her golden eyes that were much more breathtaking than the dawn. "But I know we can do it together," she said as she cupped his face and prompted him to look at her, her other arm under his own, holding on to him even when he was grasping at her shoulders with both of his hands, for she'd promised she wouldn't let him drown. Not in water, and not in sorrow or pain.

He raised a hand to run through her hair, careful not to tear a hair away now that they got wet from water and tangled together, trying to ground himself when the emotions were tossing him in all directions in their roaring sea. "Aren't you scared of them?" he whispered, his own voice cowering and running away in his attempt to hide from the memories flooding his mind.

She'd opposed them to stop them from hurting him even after he'd told her to never do that. There was no need to since she could heal what they damaged later, and he was afraid for her own well-being because they couldn't get rid of him but nothing was stopping them from taking her apart whenever the whim struck. She'd still stood up for him–like no one else in his life had ever done–and they'd taken her in his place. Belladonna's frost had reached deep into her soul, finding her water essence and starting to freeze her slowly from the very core of her being out.

He'd managed to save her only because his mother had let go–he still couldn't forget the absolute terror that had shaken him profoundly as Griffin's frozen body had just barely fallen into his open arms instead of on the floor which would have undoubtedly had her shatter in pieces in front of his eyes–and he had the Dragon Fire. He'd had to use it to unfreeze her even despite the knowledge of how much she feared it, and he'd been trembling along with her from the terror that was now engraved in both their hearts when she'd hugged him with her arms still cold as death. They'd almost managed to make her hate water, the element she was made of. She could only stand it if it was warmed up by his magic now, and for the first time he felt like the heat of his Dragon Fire wasn't enough because he couldn't melt the chilling memories out of her head to help her relax.

"Of course, I'm scared," Griffin said, her hand falling from his face and over his heart. "I'm terrified," she whispered, tears filling her eyes and she looked down as if to gather strength from the knowledge that she could touch his heart whenever she wanted. He would always allow her to touch every part of him, especially when it helped her calm down. "But that's exactly why we have to leave," she said as she looked at him again, her eyes almost aflame with the determination that filled them and the reflection of it in her tears only doubled the effect. "I don't want to live in fear," she said, her hand cupping his neck as if to make sure his heart wouldn't start racing just from the mention of the emotion that had been instilled in him ever since he'd been little, but even her touch couldn't help when she was the one to bring it up. She just had to let it go, focus on the water and make it carry the pain of the wounds on his body away while her touch forced the fear to retreat all the way to the back of his mind where it practically didn't exist, swallowed by the dark chasm around. "I want to be free," Griffin said, as she grasped at his shoulder, her touch having the words sink into his skin and reach his heart, making it impossible to forget them. "With you," she added quickly with all the strength of the ocean that wore rocks away.

He drew her closer, leaning in to touch his forehead against hers and wrapping his arms around her in an embrace that he hoped could soothe the violent yearning in his soul. Of course he wanted to be free with her, wanted to be able to touch her whenever he wanted without the screaming panic in his mind that if he didn't do as his mothers wanted, they would take her away and it could be the last time he was touching her and feeling her love caressing him from all around as he was plunged deep into it. He wanted to be able to live and not simply exist in a state of constant fear. But the thought of losing her scared him infinitely more. He'd prefer to lose his Dragon Fire rather than her. It might be the element of life, but without her there was no life for him. Not after he'd gotten so used to her smiles and kisses that wove a bit more of her love into his being every time she gifted him with them.

"I would love nothing more," he said, moving a hand to stroke her cheek and feel her spill into him, "but I can't risk losing you," he pulled away, hating himself when his words forced her to harden and open her eyes for him to see the golden wasn't as shiny as it had been when his warmth had stoked her feelings. But his cowardice had always been stronger than his faith in himself.

"We can do it," Griffin said, letting go of him to cup his face with both hands and he grabbed on to her tighter not because he was afraid she'd let anything happen to him, but because he was afraid her own uncontrollable passion would whisk her away from him. "Together," Griffin said, the word dripping on his heart like honey in the sweetness of which he would gladly drown, tempting him again, but this time towards allowing her demise and he had to resist if he wanted to have any kind of future with her. "We're partners, fire and water working together, opposites melding into one whole," Griffin continued, pulling him even more into her and making his body relax when hers was pressed into him so closely. Her words reached deep into his mind, pulling forth the memories of all their victories and the feeling of invincibility he always felt when his magic tangled with hers and their souls danced together, causing him to open his grip and wrap his arms around her waist instead to keep any space from coming between them. And he could never be sure that that would always be the case while under his mothers' reign. "We can do everything when we're together," Griffin said, giving one last push even though he'd already jumped into her net, knowing she would catch him and hold on to him. Always.

He leaned in to kiss her and seal his promise to her that they'd be free to be together for the rest of eternity. Their breath mingled together and the traces of salt on hers that stayed there no matter how much honey she would put in her tea fueled his inner flames, making them burn away every last shadow of doubt trying to hide in his mind. There was no place for those when he was all filled with her faith in him and in the love they shared.

Griffin wrapped her arms around his neck and slowly pulled them under the surface of the lake, giving him time to panic if he needed to but he didn't. He had no reason to fear anything when she was with him–not water, and not his mothers–and that was proven as he felt oxygen rush into his lungs once the water covered them fully. Griffin's magic was sucking the oxygen out of it and giving it to the two of them instead which allowed them to kiss for as long as they wanted when they were underwater. And he allowed himself to sink into the endless love that was spilling from them and rippling through the water of the lake, making it vibrant with the element of life.

To clarify: Griffin isn't a siren anymore but she still has magic and a lot of it is water-based. She can't sink and she can use her magic to suck out the oxygen from the water but only when she is completely submerged and has no other way of breathing. She can also transfer some of the oxygen she gets that way to Valtor which practically allows them to kiss for hours if they so feel the need (and they do ;)).

[blackberrywidow]

Drive

Summary: When a dangerous assassin breaks into the reader’s car, she realizes that becoming his glorified Uber isn’t actually the worst thing that could happen to her. 

Warnings: This story is kind of a roller coaster. There’s language, violence, death mentions, and also fluff. It’s weird. 

Word Count: 7,766 (I’m so sorry)

A/N: This was written for @starksparker‘s writing challenge, which I am super excited about because her blog is awesome. However, I am not really thrilled with this story, but I'm already an hour late as it is so I’m just going with it. I hope it’s not too terrible?

“You’re bleeding all over my car.”

The man merely grunted in response, though you thought that may have had more to do with whatever he was doing in your backseat than your comment. From the sound of it, he had managed to find the duct tape that you kept under your seat for emergencies and commandeered it for make-shift bandages. You had never imagined that “emergency” would mean “patching up several stab wounds,” but you weren’t going to complain. You were certain that it wasn’t the most advisable action, medically-speaking, but he really was getting blood all over your backseat. Besides, he seemed like the kind of guy who knew what he was doing. For the most part.

You drew in a deep breath and squeezed your eyes shut for a fraction of a second while contemplating bashing your forehead against the steering wheel before releasing a heavy sigh and snapping them back open to stare at the road ahead of you in determination. You certainly hoped that he knew what he was doing, considering you had otherwise gotten yourself into a situation that would end in your death. You glanced in your rearview mirror, took one look at the shirtless, clearly worse-for-wear man with duct tape covering his still-bleeding torso and the horrible scarring surrounding his metal arm, and felt your hopes plummet even further. If whoever was after himdid manage to catch up to you, you both were going to be worse than dead.

“Do I at least get to know where I’m taking you?” you asked after the silence became too much to bear again.

To your surprise, his eyes snapped up to meet yours in the mirror, the blue of his irises shinning strangely in the dim lighting. You sucked in a sharp breath, thinking that eye contact was probably good progress; however, he only held your gaze long enough to say, “Just keep driving.”

For someone that had broken into your car and demanded that you uber him across the state, he was rather tight-lipped about the details of your impromptu trip.

Honestly, you just couldn’t believe your luck. You had dreamed of meeting superheroes since you were a little girl, and now here you were, driving to God-knows-where with the fucking Winter Soldier in the backseat of your shitty Impala.

Life has a really sick sense of humor, you thought with a self-deprecating chuckle as you contemplated all of the terrible choices you had made that led you to this point in your life.

---

It had started out as an average day, the same as every other day since you had moved to New York—wake up, skip breakfast, rush to work to do the same damn thing you did every day. However, at some point it had transitioned from an average New York afternoon to a slightly less average New York evening.

It started with a man dressed in all-black tactical gear with at least four guns strapped to his body flying through the window of your office. Which wouldn’t be all that astonishing given that you lived in the city of perpetual disaster, if said office hadn’t been located on the thirty-first floor of a skyscraper.

This, of course, had prompted everyone in the office to rush to the windows, though you were all careful to avoid the panel with the large hole and the nearby body. What was taking place on the streets below was utter chaos—the Hulk crashed into a building across the street  and you quickly deduced that he was who had put the man in through your window; there were swarms of men and women with guns swarming the streets, all dressed like the (probably) dead man lying nearby and armed with strange-looking weapons; there were other heroes fighting on the streets below, though they were hard to make out around all of the people attacking them.

You didn’t have to be a genius to figure out that this fight was a particularly bad one. The Avengers, while amazingly powerful and skilled fighters, were vastly outnumbered and being attacked with alien technology that they seemed unprepared for. And from above, the enemy’s strategy was clear: section the Avengers off from each other and overwhelm them.

You weren’t sure if the heroes had figured that out themselves yet or not, but it didn’t really matter. It was working either way. The Avengers were still adjusting to their new team since Iron Man andCaptain America had retired, so that made this the perfect time to strike. Which whoever the assholes in black were obviously knew.

In the thirty seconds it took for your mind to piece all of this together, your coworkers had begun to panic, just like everyone else this side of Brooklyn probably was. Everyone ran to the elevators and stairs, carrying you with them in their attempt to escape. You chose the stairs, not wanting to risk getting stuck in the elevator even though running down thirty-one flights of stairs was enough to make you nauseous and out-of-breath by the end.

Once you reached the lobby, you found yourself stuck in a mosh pit of people both trying to get in and get out of the building, and you felt your panic swell as you tried to figure out what the smartest course of action would be.

Your decision was made for you when a large truck was propelled across the street and directly into the front doors, knocking several people back and causing the surrounding foundation to crumble and crush several others. The now unsteady foundation prevented anyone from even thinking about attempting to find a way through the door again.

You shakily backed into a corner, heaving in deep, calming breaths as you reevaluated your situation.

The sounds of the fight still raged outside, and you were effectively trapped in a building that was full of people trying to get out. You closed your eyes, willing the tears that had begun to leak out of the corners to dry, and waited. For death or salvation, you weren’t sure, but it was the best you could do at the time.

And that’s where you stayed for five hours, with your back pressed to the wall and tears occasionally streaking down your face. When the clean-up crew and police finally got around to finding a way to safely evacuate your building, you could feel the relief in the air and almost cried again due to the sheer force of it.

You didn’t though, and you made it safely out of the building only twenty minutes later. You looked around as you walked to the parking garage that held your car, taking in all of the carnage that had been left in the wake of the fight. Entire buildings collapsed, cars crushed, streets destroyed. You felt odd, simply walking to your car as you would any other night, your coworkers and fellow New Yorkers surrounding you as they always did at this time. But what were you to do other than carry on?

This wasn’t the first battle that had terrorized your city, and you were sure it wouldn’t be the last. What mattered was that the Avengers had come through and saved you, and that they would always be around to do so in the future.

Or at least, that was what you had thought until you got into your car and almost had a heart attack.

A large, warm hand clamped down on your mouth, and you froze, half turned in the driver’s seat, arm extended to deposit your purse in your backseat. Which was currently occupied by a large man.

“Shut the door,” he said, voice a low growl.

You blinked at him with wide, terror-filled eyes as you tried to process his request. When he repeated the command, you threw your hand back, blindly grasping for the door handle to pull it shut with a thudthat seemed to resound in the silence that had consumed the parking garage.

As soon as the door shut, the hand dropped from your mouth, leaving behind the faint taste of salt and blood on your lips. You watched in stunned silence as the man fell back onto your seat with a groan.

What the actual fuck?

You remained that way for an embarrassingly long time, just staring at the man lying in your backseat with your mouth hanging open. It wasn’t until your eyes adjusted to the low lighting that you were able to make-out his features, prompting you to gasp.

His eyes snapped open, looking startled, as though he had forgotten that you were even there. Which was kind of bullshit, as he had broken into your car, but as you took in his wounded state, you figured it was understandable.

“Holy shit,” you breathed while he continued to eye you warily. “You’re the Winter Soldier.”

James Barnes continued to stare at you for only a moment longer before he apparently deemed that to require too much effort and flopped his head back down on the seat. “They don’t call me that anymore,” was all he said.

“What happened out there? Why are you in my car? Where are the other Avengers? What—”

“Stop,” he growled through clenched teeth, slowly sitting up.

You gulped. He was clearly in pain, his human hand clutching his abdomen while the metal one ripped into the fabric of your backseat. But his clear discomfort did nothing to dull the murder in his eyes as he stared you down. “I can’t answer any of your damn questions if you don’t breathe between asking them.”

You nodded at him, not daring to do anything else while he looked at you like that. You weren’t afraid of him—you knew that he was a hero now, far past the days when Hydra controlled him. That had been made clear when he was brought back. But he was intimidating regardless of his questionable sanity.

He sighed heavily, and slumped a bit in the seat, seeming to resign himself to something. “We were overwhelmed. Hydra attacked, using stolen alien technology from the Battle of New York. We couldn’t shake them. So we were given the order to retreat and regroup until S.H.I.E.L.D. can retaliate.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but he cut you off with a sharp look. “I’m still answering your questions, or would you prefer I didn’t.” When you said nothing, he continued. “I’m in your car because it was the first place I could make it to in order to lay low until Hydra cleared out. I must have passed out.” This seemed to be disturbing to him, judging by the displeased twist of his mouth and the way his shoulders slumped ever so slightly when he said it. You supposed he wasn’t used to being vulnerable.

“Well,” you said, seeking to reassure him, even though you were sure it was the dumbest thing you could do at the moment. “It’s understandable, given your condition.” You waved a hand in his direction, as though he would need help understanding what you meant.

He scoffed, the serious set of his features warming into something close to amusement. “Yeah, I noticed.” His face quickly settled back into seriousness with his next statement though. “I have no idea where the others are. Just where they’re supposed to be going.”

You swallowed thickly, unsure if you should ask your next question. You did anyway. “What happened to Hydra then?”

“They did what they do best—crawled back into the shadows to wait for another moment to strike. They’ll be back, ready to take what they came for, but next time… we’ll be ready when they do.”

You analyzed him for a moment, taking in the stiff set of his shoulders and the determination in his eyes. You had never seen someone look that way—as though the world rested on his shoulders and he was ready to carry it for as long as he could, despite his wounds and the bitter taste of loss in his mouth. It must have been what prompted you to say what you did next, which would definitely go down in history as the dumbest thing to ever come out of your mouth.

“What do you need me to do?”

His eyes flashed up to yours in surprise, and he took a moment to answer as he stared at you in contemplation. You weren’t sure if it was the direness of his situation, wounded and bleeding in the backseat of your car with nowhere to go, or if he saw a hint of his own determination reflected in your eyes that gave him his answer, but eventually he found it and said one word:

“Drive.”

---

And that was how you found yourself driving down a deserted road with a possibly dying former-assassin/current-superhero taping himself up in your backseat, guided by nothing but a destination that you weren’t privy to.

Your attention was drawn to the backseat again when you heard a low curse come from said dying man. “You should let me take you to a hospital,” you muttered, though you knew it was worthless. You had already told him that at least a dozen times during the hour you had been on the road.

His response had always been the same: complete silence. So you were surprised when he graced you with a response this time. “Can’t. Need to get to the meet point as soon as possible, and Hydra will be looking for any Avengers they can find. I’ll heal fine on my own.”

You scoffed, unable to resist despite the seriousness of the situation. “Yeah, your super soldier bullshit seems to be doing you wonders right now.”

“It’s the alien tech. I just need more time.”

“Yeah?” you ask, glancing back in the mirror. There was a breathy quality to his voice that you didn’t like. His head was lolled back on the headrest, and he was breathing hard. You bit your lip, returning your attention to the road. You just had to get him to whatever safehouse he had, and then you were done. Worrying like this wouldn’t help anything. “How much time? How far away are we from wherever the fuck it is you’re making me take you?”

He sighed heavily, and you thought that would be the end of the conversation. He hadn’t been really big on talking for extended periods of time thus far. So it surprised you again when he said, “You don’t have to take me anywhere. You can drop me off here; I’ll make it there on my own.”

You were ashamed to say that you hesitated, your hands gripping the wheel tighter than necessary as you contemplated your options. It would be safer for you if you pulled over now, left the Winter Soldier to his own devices. No one would be chasing you. You wouldn’t have a grouchy man bleeding all over your car. But, looking at him in your rearview mirror, you knew that there was a good chance he wouldn’t make it if you did that.

Your grip on the steering wheel eased and your shoulders relaxed as you made your decision, comfortable knowing that even if what you were doing ended in your death, it was your decision. You had a choice, and you were choosing to help this man that had given so much of his life to protect the world, and if that got you killed then so be it.

“I’m not leaving you anywhere. I just want to know how long it will take us to get there.”

The car was terribly silent for another tense moment, and you got the feeling that he was watching you. But eventually he relented. “Four more hours.”

And suddenly you were tense all over again. “Four more hours?!”

“That a problem?” he asked, and though you couldn’t see him, you imagined he was smirking. It seemed like the kind of thing a jackass like him would do.

Deep breath in. Deep breath out.

“No,” you said after a moment, forcing yourself to relax once more. This was your choice, you were going to deal with it. “I’m just not sure that you’re gonna make it that long if you don’t get medical attention.”

“Don’t worry about me. Just focus on getting us there in one piece.”

“That would be a lot easier if I knew where we’re going.” The silence that accompanied your statement was expected, but not appreciated. You sighed heavily. This was going to be a long four hours if you weren’t even able to talk.

“So, if you don’t go by the Winter Soldier anymore, what should I call you?” More silence. “Look, if I’m going to be stuck in a car with your grouchy ass for four hours, I think I should at least know what you like to be called. It’s not like I don’t already know who you are,” you pushed, more than fed up with the one-sided conversation.

“Bucky,” he said, after just another beat of silence and you smiled.

“Bucky it is,” you replied, meeting his eyes in the mirror. “I’m (Y/N).”

He shook his head and rolled his eyes, making your grin widen. “Nice to meet you, (Y/N)… and thanks.”

---

You drove in silence for another hour or so before it happened. You were talking to him, about nothing in particular, and he would occasionally chime in to let you know that he was still alive. That was the agreement that you had come to, though he had scoffed at it. So when you had called his name for the third time and received no response, you knew something was wrong.

You glanced behind you, making sure that you were still alone on the country road you were currently driving on, before pulling off on the side of the road.

You were out of your door as soon as the car was parked, running around to the back and throwing the door open more aggressively than necessary. You immediately gasped, your hand flying to your mouth. With the light now on in your car, you could more clearly see the damage that Bucky had taken, and it was bad.

He was sprawled out in your backseat, unconscious and badly damaged. Though the bleeding appeared to stop, partially due to the numerous strips of duct tape he had applied to himself in lieu of bandages. There were a lot of patched up areas, and though you couldn’t see the damage through the tape, you imagined the cuts were deep. He was also heavily bruised, nearly every piece of visible skin discolored.

“Shit, shit, shit,” you chanted to yourself as you clambered into the backseat, crawling over Bucky in your haste to check his pulse.

You were straddling his body the best you could on the narrow seat, one hand brushing his hair out of his face while the other pressed two fingers to his throat when he woke up. His blue eyes snapped open, fevered and crazed, and all of a sudden a knife was being pressed against your throat.

You froze, every muscle in your body tensing as you waited, hoping he would realize who you were before slitting your throat.

He blinked up at you, clarity returning, and he dropped the knife with a groan. “What the fuck are you doing?”

You huffed, shifting until you were sitting next to him rather than on him. “You passed out again. I thought you were dead.”

He scoffed, moving back until he was sitting upright. He didn’t look at you as he said, “You shouldn’t do that. I’ll be fine.”

You dropped your head back against the rest and pressed the heels of your palms against your eyes, trying to staunch the sudden build-up of tears. You hated that you wanted to cry, knowing that to Bucky this was just another day and that you were doing neither of you any favors by being emotional. But for you, this wasn’t normal. Sure, you had been in New York for the alien invasion. And sure, a number of horrifying things had happened since then, but this was different.

This time you were directly involved. There were people coming after this man, and they would certainly kill you to get to him. And he was really too injured to do anything about that himself at the moment—he was too injured to do anything but bleed-out in your backseat. His life literally rested in your hands, and you weren’t sure what to do with that. He wouldn’t let you do anything to help him, and you didn’t have the strength or know-how to do it yourself. This entire situation was just becoming too stressful for you to deal with without some emotional spill-over.

You drew in a few deep breaths, willing the tension to drain from your body, and finally turned to face Bucky. He was watching you, like he had been off and on for the past few hours whenever he was conscious enough to. Like he was waiting for you to break and run, leaving him to survive on his own. You wondered if that’s what he would prefer.

It was enough to push you forward—spite was always a big motivator for you, and it would do the trick now. If this man didn’t think that you could handle yourself… well you would just have to prove him wrong.

You straightened your spine, made direct eye contact with him, and without a hint of uncertainty said, “We need to stop for you to rest.” When he opened his mouth, a protest on his lips, you cut him off with a sharp look. “You can’t keep going like this. You’re too injured—you may heal with enough time, but if we just keep driving like this Hydra will probably find us before you do. And if you’re passed out or too delirious to fight, we’re fucked.  So, we need to find somewhere to lay low until you’re healed enough to fight, and then I’ll take you the rest of the way to where you’re going. Besides,” you said, seeing him waver as he considered what you said. “If you pass out while I’m driving, I’ll have no idea where to go since you don’t see the reason in telling me where we’re going.”

He watched you for only a beat more before sighing deeply and closing his eyes, looking as though he was resigning himself to something. You suppressed your smile as he said, “Fine. One night.”

---

Thirty minutes later you were smiling pleasantly at the cheap hotel’s receptionist as though you weren’t about to smuggle a wanted-superhero into one of their rooms. Honestly, you were becoming kind of numb to the absurdity of it all at this point.

“Here you go, sweetie,” she said, handing you the key with a kind smile. “Enjoy your stay.”

You only took enough time to give her a rushed but polite goodbye before hustling back out to your car. You knew that Bucky was probably right—that his enhanced genes would heal him. That it wasn’t as serious as it looked, and some good rest would be all he needed to heal by morning. But you couldn’t help but worry that he would die while you weren’t looking. So the sigh of relief when you opened the door to see him still breathing was completely involuntary and underserving of the eye roll it earned you.

“Still alive,” he said with a wry smile. It was the closest he had come to outwardly showing his amusement, and you forcefully pushed away the swooping feeling in your stomach that it caused. He was definitely attractive—probably the most attractive man you had seen in person, even with his numerous open wounds he had at the moment. But this was certainly not the time or place for you to notice such things.

“Yeah, but you won’t be for long if you keep that attitude up.”

He snorted, shaking his head. “Yes, ma’am.”

Your lips twitched in response, and you relaxed ever so slightly. Banter was good. Banter helped you forget that you were helping a man on the run from a Nazi organization and not on a weekend getaway. You held out your hand, which you were happy to say he only eyed for a second before taking and allowing you to help him slide out of the car.

“We’re in room 214. So you’ll have to make it up some stairs, but I thought it would probably be better than the ground floor.”

He nodded at you and released your hand, looking all around as you guided him to the stairs the receptionist had directed you to. “I’m not dying, (Y/N). I can make it up a few damn stairs.”

You eyed him critically but said nothing.

He did make it up the stairs with little more than a grimace and a limp. It wasn’t until you had made it safely inside your room and he had fully investigated the area that he collapsed on the bed with little ceremony, causing you to jump in alarm.

“Bucky?!” you exclaimed, rushing to him. You placed a hand on his back, making him groan and throw back a hand to try to smack yours away.

“Just let me sleep,” he slurred, his voice muffled by the bed his face was currently pressed against. You raised an eyebrow and stepped back, crossing your arms.

“That’s it. You’re just going to go to sleep now?”

He rolled his head to the side just enough to look at you with his left eye, making his annoyance clear. “You insisted on stopping to rest so I could heal. That’s what I’m doing. Wake me up if something happens.”

And with that, he shoved his face back into the mattress. You continued to stare at him in shock for a few seconds before shaking your head and settling into the chair in the corner of the room.

You didn’t often imagine what a super soldier with a shitty past would be like, but it wasn’t this.

---

Bucky woke up only four hours later, and he was clearly feeling much better. If he was surprised to see you sitting in the chair, still awake at five in the morning, he didn’t comment on it. He only took the time to wash himself of the blood and dust he had accumulated the day before, removing his bandages (better known as duct tape to normal people) to reveal mostly-healed skin.

You had taken the time to run to the local Wal-Mart to get him some clothes while he showered, and you almost swallowed your tongue when you got back and he was standing half-naked and wet with only a towel covering him. Which he clearly noticed, if his self-satisfied smirk suggested anything.

“That for me?” he asked, nodding at the bag you were still clutching in your hand.

You blinked at him, quickly recovering enough to toss it at him. “I thought you might like some clothes. Unless you would prefer to take on Hydra naked.”

He raised an eyebrow at you but made no effort to hide the smile that was now curling his lips. “Clothes are fine, but I can go without if you prefer.”

You rolled your eyes, shaking your head. “Doesn’t seem the most practical of choices, if you ask me.”

“Practicality doesn’t always equal preferability.”

“It does when you’re being chased by Hydra,” you scoffed. “And I’d be careful if I were you, Bucky Barnes. It almost sounds as though you’re flirting with me.”

He blinked at you, amusement dropping off of his face for a moment, and you almost regretted your words. But he quickly recovered, giving you one last smile and saying, “A little rest can do wonders for your attitude, you know,” before swaggering off to the bathroom to change.

You wanted to punch him in that moment, but the feeling was overridden by your ridiculous desire to kiss him. You were smart, however, and did neither.

---

Ten minutes later, you were walking to your car. Bucky was quieter than he had been in the room that morning. You had your hand on the handle of your car door before you realized that he had stopped walking a few feet back and was just staring at you.

You cocked your head to the side in question and asked, “Is something wrong, Bucky? Five minutes ago, you said we needed to get back on the road as soon as possible.”

He considered you for another moment before shaking his head and holding his hand out to you. When you did nothing but stare at his hand, he elaborated. “The keys.”

“You want my keys?” you asked, looking at him with wide eyes. He couldn’t seriously be about to ditch you in the middle of nowhere.

He rolled his eyes and sighed, like he tended to do whenever you asked questions. “I’ll drive. You need to sleep.”

You blinked, unsure of how to respond to his surprising thoughtfulness. So, you just tossed him the keys and moved to get into the passenger seat.

The car was quiet again, just as it had been on the drive last night. But this silence was less tense, more familiar, and it quickly lulled you to sleep as Bucky began the trip to wherever the hell it was you were going.

---

You awoke to the sound of screeching tires and crunching metal.

Your eyes flashed open, catching glimpses of the chaos that surrounded you. Bucky’s metal fist glinting as he clenched the steering wheel. The car that had just rammed into you. The world tilting out from under you as the seatbelt bit into your chest.

You were only in the air for a moment before you crashed back into the ground, though it felt like ages. You imagined the sound of shattering glass and scraping metal and the screaming that you knew must have been coming from your mouth, but your ears were ringing to loudly for you to make any of it out.

Which was why it took Bucky ripping the door off of your side of the car and pulling you out to gain your attention. He had been calling your name, and he still was if you were reading his lips correctly, but it didn’t matter. You hadn’t even noticed him get out of the car, you were too focused on the fact that they had found you to pay attention to anything else.

“(Y/N)… you ne… get out of…”

“What?” you said, or rather shouted, trying to make out what he was saying as your hearing came in and out. “What are you saying?”

Bucky growled and shoved you to the side as he shouted one word that you had no problem hearing. “RUN!”

You listened without question, darting across the street that Hydra had swarmed sometime after that first car had made contact with yours. The road was surrounded by woods, and without any idea of where you were supposed to be going, you simply picked a direction and ran, trusting that Bucky would soon follow after.

You ran for what seemed like several minutes, breaths coming in sharp gasps as you willed your legs to just keep moving, when you noticed a shooting pain course through your leg. You tripped, catching yourself on a nearby tree, and glanced down at your right leg.

You wish you hadn’t.

A shard of glass had embedded itself in your thigh at some point, unnoticed by you in your haste to get away and the adrenaline rush. But it was all you could focus on now.

You sank to the ground, breathing fast and shallow as you tried to figure out what to do. You knew that you had read stuff online before—do you pull it out or leave it in? You didn’t know. All you knew at the moment was that it hurt.

“Well hello there, sweetheart.”

And that you were supposed to be running for your life. Right.

Your head snapped up, seeing a man dressed in black approaching you in a slow swagger with a raised gun, as though he had all the time in the world to kill you. You supposed he did. It wasn’t like you were going anywhere at the moment.

“Don’t call me sweetheart,” you said, because it was bad enough that you were going to die alone in the woods at the hands of a Nazi-wannabe. You weren’t going to let him patronize you as well.

He scoffed, looking at you with a look that could pass for amusement in a different situation. “Oh, sweetheart, I’m afraid you’re not calling the shots here.”

“No,” another voice said, you could have cried in relief. “But you aren’t either.”

You closed your eyes and rested your head against the tree, comfortable in the knowledge that Bucky would take care of this and not really caring to see it. You didn’t open them until you felt cool metal against your check and heard a gentle voice calling your name. “Are you with me, (Y/N)?”

You groaned, but opened your eyes. “Unfortunately.”

A ghost of a smile crossed his lips and he nodded. “Good,” he said. Resting back on his knees and unbuckling his belt. You only raised an eyebrow, too tired to even ask him what he was doing, but he must have understood. “I’m making a tourniquet, and then I’m going to pull the glass out. It’ll hurt.”

It did, which is probably why you blacked out. Well, that combined with the single hour of sleep you had gotten in the past thirty-six hours and the numerous near-death experiences. But you didn’t really care as your vision went fuzzy and the comforting numbness of sleep overtook you.

---

“Who the hell is she?”

“… A friend.”

The first voice scoffed, “Since when do you have friends?”

The two voices continued to bicker around you, and you fought to crack your eyes open if only so you could tell them to shut upand let you sleep. However, it was about this time that you remembered what had happened before you passed out and you promptly shot up with a gasp.

Bucky was by your side in an instant, pressing you back into whatever it was you were laying on. Probably a bed, judging by the softness of it. “Not so fast, (Y/N). You’ll bust a stitch.”

“Stitches?” you asked, the word feeling strange in your mouth. Your head swam as you tried to make sense of everything around you. “Did you give me some pain killers too?”

Bucky nodded, looking at you with caution. “Yeah, I figured you would appreciate it when you woke up.”

You breathed deeply, noting the dull pain in your leg. Much better than it had been before… however long ago that was. “Thanks. But can you tell me what happened now?”

“Yeah, I’d love to know too.”

Your eyes snapped to the doorway, seeing a man leaning against the door. You had tensed, anticipating more trouble, but immediately relaxed once you recognized him. Bucky, however, seemed to have the opposite reaction as he glared at him. “(Y/N), this is Sam. Sam, this is (Y/N). And I was getting around to it, if you’d just be patient for a damn second.”

Sam rolled his eyes, but motioned for Bucky to continue. Bucky took the que, returning his attention to you as he said, “I took care of the guys that came for us, tracked you down in the woods, took care of the dick who found you, took care of your leg, and then hauled your unconscious body to the safehouse.”

You raised a brow as Sam scoffed. “Thanks for sparing no detail.”

Bucky sighed, shaking his head, and glared at Sam when he chuckled. “What more do you want me to say? That’s what happened.”

“How long have I been unconscious? How did you get us back here? Where are we? What do we do now?”

“You’ve been out for three hours. I took you back to the road, took one of Hydra’s vehicles, and drove us the rest of the way while you were unconscious. We’re at the safe house. In New Jersey. Youare going to stay here until you can move. Weare going to fix this.”

You saw Sam widen his eyes in surprise at the way Bucky ran through your questions without protest, but ignored it in favor of asking, “What do you mean ‘fix this?’”

Bucky looked at you, eyes seeming to sear into you as he said, “The less you know the better, (Y/N).”

You closed your eyes and dropped your head back against the bed with an annoyed sigh. “That is such bullshit, but I’m too tired to fight you on it, so whatever.”

Sam laughed, breaking the heavy silence in the room and making you jump. “Damn, man. Where did you find her?”

“He broke into my car and made me drive his dying ass here,” you said without inflection or opening your eyes.

“Okay,” Bucky interrupted as Sam continued to laugh. “First of all, I didn’t make you do anything. Secondly, I was never dying. And I actually ended up driving most of the way.”

At that reminder, you cracked open an eye to look at him suspiciously. “Yeah, about that. Why did you even bring me the rest of the way? You didn’t really need me after you healed.”

Bucky opened his mouth, seeming to flail for an answer before settling on, “I couldn’t just leave you to bleed-out in the woods.”

“Okay,” you said, slowly raising yourself up on your elbows, maintaining eye contact the whole time. “But what about at the hotel?”

The sound of gravel crunching outside drew everyone’s attention to the front of the house and away from your question, much to Bucky’s visible relief.

“That’ll be the others,” Sam said, giving you one last amused glance before heading out of the room. “I’ll leave you guys to it, but we’ll be heading out soon.” With one last meaningful glance at Bucky, he left to greet the others.

You returned your attention to Bucky, though he was careful to keep his attention trained across the room. There was a lot you wanted to say, but you eventually settled on, “Thank you. For not leaving me.”

His eyes snapped to yours and he nodded. “I was just returning the favor.”

Your lips twitched, but you didn’t have it in you to actually smile at him. “Still. Thank you. Though I’m not really sure what I’m supposed to do now that I’m here.”

“There’s a doctor that was evacuated form Stark Tower on her way here. Dr. Helen Cho. She’ll watch after you while the rest of us take care of Hydra. Once you’re healed enough to move, we’ll arrange for someone to take you back to the city.” This was said with a clinical detachment and efficiency that had you raising your eyebrow.

“Really? That’s it?”

He mirrored your look, face blank. “What?”

“Well, do you have a plan? Do you know how you’re going to fight back?” you tried to keep the annoyance out of your voice, but you were sure you weren’t successful, judging by the flash of Bucky’s eyes.

“I don’t really have the time to beat around the bush with you, (Y/N). We’ll take care of this. You don’t have anything you need to worry about, so just focus on healing.”

You clenched your jaw, wanting to look away and fade back into unconsciousness, but you stubbornly maintained eye contact. You had done a lot of crazy things that you never would have thought possible in the last twenty-four hours. You might as well be brave enough to ask what you really wanted to. “Will I ever see you again?”

Bucky held you gaze for several seconds before giving you the answer that you had anticipated but feared: “Probably not.”

You nodded, smiling at him despite the pain his statement caused. You had met the man only a day ago, and you could hardly call yourselves friends. But you couldn’t deny that you felt connected to him after everything that you had been through with him. It didn’t matter though, and you weren’t going to hold that against him. “Okay. Be careful, Bucky. And good luck.”

He smiled at you, the first real one that you had seen from him, and left the room. You settled back on the bed, closing your eyes and willing yourself to fall back asleep. The world of superheroes was fun (i.e. terrifying) while it lasted, but you knew it was best to let it go. Even if Bucky Barnes was kind of dreamy and you felt like you had developed an unhealthy attachment to him sometime between him breaking into your car and saving your life.

It was just the crazy circumstances of the situation that made you feel like that. It would fade in time, with the wound in your leg and the distance that he was putting between you, and you would return to New York and forget it ever happened. Easy.

---

Three years later

“You’re bleeding all over my car.”

Bucky laughed, only furthering your irritation. “I’m serious, Bucky. We’ve talked about this. If I’m going to pick you up after a mission, I would really appreciate it if you at least properly bandaged yourself first.”

“I know, I know,” Bucky said, grinning at you with his sparkling blue eyes that never failed to make you swoon. Which only pissed you off more. “I’m sorry, Doll. But I was just remembering the first time we met.”

Your anger dissolved instantly at the memory, and your lips begrudgingly curled into a smile as you cocked an eyebrow at him. “You mean when you broke into my car?”

He smirked back at you, above rising to your bait after all of these years. “Yes. It was when you oh-so-eloquently chastised a dying man for bleeding in your car that I knew I had fallen in love with you.”

“You are so full of shit, Bucky. And besides, I thought you weren’t dying?”

You saw him nod out of the corner of your eye as you continued driving, and you fought the urge to grin at the sight of him sitting so calm and relaxed in your passenger seat, despite the sizable cut above his right eye.  You wanted to maintain your annoyance as long as possible, mostly because watching Bucky beg for your forgiveness was pretty cute. “Right and right. But it waswhen I knew that I was lucky to choose your car. Not everyone would handle an assassin breaking into their car and telling them to drive so well.”

“Former assassin,” you reminded him, pulling into the parking lot of your apartment building. You turned to face him once you put the car in park, assessing his nervous smile and bouncing knee. “What’s up with you tonight anyway? Why the walk down memory lane?”

Bucky tore his eyes away from yours, focusing them on his hands instead. “I’ve just been thinking about it recently,” he shrugged.

You pressed your lips together, contemplating him with narrowed eyes. Something was definitely up. “Just tell me what’s going on, Buck. You know that I’m here for you, whatever it is.”

“Yeah,” he said, finally looking up at you with one of his rare, shy smiles. “I do.”

After he was silent for another long moment, you shoved his shoulder feeling the cool metal press against your palm as he allowed you to move him ever-so-slightly. “Well? Please just tell me. This suspense is killing me.”

That seemed to snap him out of it, and he raised his eyes to yours, a look of determination crossing them. “Well, we wouldn’t want that, would we.” He gulped, which was really odd for him. You were just starting to feel really concerned when he drew something out of his jacket pocket, popping the lid and holding it out to you with steady hands and serious eyes. “I love you, (Y/N). I may not have loved you from the moment I met you, but I knew that you were something special. There’s no other woman that would put up with me the way you do—protect me the way you do, support me, care for me. Love me. And I’ve wanted to do this for a long time. It’s what we did, back before the war. You find a nice girl and you marry her and that’s that. But things have changed a lot since then, both for me and the world. And I didn’t want to be the kind of man that would willingly put you in danger like that. But,” he quickly corrected with a smile when he saw you ready to protest, “that’s your choice to make. So, I’m giving you a choice, (Y/N), and I’ll respect whatever decision you make. Will you marry me?”

You sucked in a shocked breath, as though you hadn’t anticipated this the second he brought the ring out. It was one thing to think it than to hear him say it though. His smile had just started to wane when you realized that you still hadn’t answered him. “Yes,” you gasped out. “Of course I will.”

Bucky smiled widely in clear relief, and you started crying as he slid the ring out of the box and onto your finger. You chocked out a laugh as you admired it, shaking your head. “I can’t believe you were actually nervous about this.”

Bucky smiled sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Well, I never know what to expect with you, (Y/N). You were just as likely to say yes as you were to tell me to fuck off.”

You glared at him, trying to will some venom behind the look despite your tears. “That is so not true.”

“I know,” Bucky said, gently gripping your chin to guide your mouth to his. “But I still worry.”

“You shouldn’t,” you said, pulling back from him so he could see the sincerity in your eyes. “I’d do anything for you.”

Bucky nodded, a smile playing on his lips as he said, “Well, it’s official, Doll. I’m with you ‘till the end of the line.”

[adobe-outdesign]

I Found You [Sequel to Dear Father, a Sister Location fanfic]

(Dear Father can be read here.)

He’s not sure how many days he’s been lying there. He’s not even sure he wants to know.

Michael’s pretty sure he’s seen the light from his window increase and decrease at least four times, maybe five. He’s not positive. Ever since he had given up, time had been slow, murky, a molasses-like monotony broken only by the sound of a fly buzzing around in his room.

This was the new plan he had formulated. He wasn’t supposed to be alive, so he wasn’t going to act alive, either. He would just lie here and quietly rot away in his room, and no one would be the wiser. Unfortunately the idea had proven more difficult than expected, and his inability to sleep despite his sense of exhaustion had created nothing but a sense of boredom and listlessness.

The fly lands on his outstretched hand and he watches it, not moving. It crawls a few feet to a particularly rotten section of his finger, then bends its abdomen and lays a single white egg under his skin.

Michael jerks upright and strikes the spot, hard, leaving a black twitching mass where the fly had stood. He darts to the bathroom, trying not to panic. It’s just a fly. What did you expect? You’re dead.

He grabs a piece of toilet paper and quickly removes the fly’s remains, then steadies himself. He pinches his flesh, not directly looking at the spot, until the egg slides out between his fingers where it’s quickly smashed. He sets his hands down on the sink for support, feeling ill. There could be more eggs, he thinks to himself. Maggots crawling around inside of him like the endoskeleton had done, eating what’s left of his skin-

A bath. He needs to take a bath.

He leans down to start the tap, then realizes that his stomach wound - could it even be called a wound at this point? - would make it impossible. He had debated on sewing it shut shortly after it happened, but closer inspection had revealed that the Scooper had ripped out not only his organs but most of the skin on his torso. The open gaping hole would let in water, which would only make him rot faster.

Michael settles for stripping off his clothes, stained with who knows what kind of bodily fluids, and using a wet washcloth with a bit of soap to wipe down the outside of his skin. It’s an odd feeling -  this rotted purple Thing no longer even feels like his body. It’s as if he had found a corpse outside and was washing it instead of himself.

He moves to cleaning the hole in his torso, involuntarily shivering at the unfamiliar sensation of touch on the inside of his skin. He keeps going until the washcloth comes away black, then brown, then with nothing on it at all.

Digging into the hall closet reveals a large container of antiseptic fluid, the kind you’d expect to see in a hospital. When he had first discovered it, he had wondered why his father would need something like this. He no longer needs to wonder.

He rubs himself down with the sanitizer, then fetches a fresh set of long-sleeved clothes - the less skin he had to see, the better - and wonders if he looks any less awful now that the most rotted areas have been cleaned.

He doesn’t know. All the mirrors are still covered.

MISSING THREE-YEAR-OLD FOUND SAFE IN TEXAS, the headline reads. Michael skims the article, only halfway interested, before continuing to flip through the pages. He skips past the comics entirely, and only pauses long enough at the sports section to see who won the Superbowl (the Giants, apparently). He slows down when he gets to the articles, reading over the latest news.

IT BURNS! Fazbear’s Fright burns to the ground

A new local attraction based on an ancient pizzeria chain burned down overnight...

Michael remembers what he had promised his father, and decides on a new purpose right then and there.

I’m going to come find you.

Michael pulls the box off the shelf and beings rummaging through its contents. Most of the items were simply scrap - bits of metal, bolts and wires that no longer connected to anything. He studies them, then sets them aside in an ever-increasing pile.

He moves to another shelf, glancing behind him at the doorway. There’s no one here, he reminds himself, but he can’t help but remember the unease he felt when he first took this job. Nothing had really changed since then save for some new caution tape around the front entrance, but there was something empty and dead about the place that somehow made him more anxious than when the animatronics had been there.

He returns his attention to the shelf, selecting a white mask. Probably a prototype of some type, he figures to himself. He sets it on a considerably smaller pile of parts, its contents being more complete, more finalized than the first pile. And more expensive, Michael thinks, and he smiles to himself. A few hours later the parts and service room in Circus Baby’s has been picked clean. Michael walks away with a jumble of half-finished animatronic pieces, being careful to stay as far away from the Scooping room as he can.

As much as Michael had grown to hate his father’s creations, they would certainly fetch a nice price in the papers.

Michael swears he can smell the smoke still wafting from the ruining building in front of him - if you could even call it a building at this point. You don’t even have a nose anymore, he reminds himself, but he still can’t quite dismiss the scent.

It’s difficult to see the building in the nearly moonless night, but he can just barely make out the silhouette of the attraction, black against the night sky. It’s little more than a skeleton now, the wooden supports that once held up the building once now charred and collapsed completely in some areas. A single sign reading “FAZBEAR’S FRIGHT” is the only indication of what the place used to be.

Michael walks around the perimeter of the area, unwilling to get closer to the unstable rubble. The newspaper wasn’t exaggerating - it looked like the entire place had been stripped down of anything Freddy’s related. Michael stares at the scene for a moment before turning away, something bitter settling into his hollow chest. He’s not here. At least, not anymore.

He starts to walk away, and nearly misses the large, oddly-shaped footprints trailing off into the woods.

Come on down to- He’s winding up for the pitch and- Win a boat and a new pair of pants!- I can hear the Fox laughing from his temple- Matt, how could you!- These are America’s Most Wanted-

The remote clicks endlessly, without enough pause to really take in what was being shown on the screen.

Every day since it happened, Michael had sat in his favorite chair in the living room, always at the same time, always on the same channel. Being able to still watch his favorite show was one of the only good things that had come of his unexpected immortality, and it had become a ritual of sorts, a coping mechanism that made dealing with his situation just a little bit easier. Now he simply scrolls through the channels, verifying what he already knows.

His copy of the TV Guide had come in. He had reread it three times, just to make sure he wasn’t simply missing it, before coming to terms with the listings in front of him.

The Immortal and the Restless had been cancelled.

Michael holds the bank statement in his hands silently. He knew this would happen, but something about seeing it on paper was a jarring wake-up call.

$31.29

He had really only made it this far because he had a tiny bit of money tucked away into savings - and because he no longer needed to buy groceries or utilize the air conditioner. But he still needed to pay mortgage, and the electricity bill, and the water bill, and thus rest of his finances had gradually drained away, bit by bit.

He double checks the box of parts he took from Circus Baby’s just to make sure. Almost all of his father’s animatronics had been sold off already - at least, the ones he figured were the least likely to kill and/or maim anyone. He reaches his hand into the box and pulls out his personal favorite item, a small plastic figurine of Funtime Freddy. He rubs the buttons on the toy’s torso as he sits against the wall, pondering.

He needed to find a job - that much was certain. However, the idea was much easier in theory than it was in concept. It was already dangerous to go out at night, let alone to a job interview in the middle of the day. Michael idly wonders again for the hundredth time what someone would do if they saw him in the daylight.

He looks down at the figure, and something suddenly clicks. I don’t have to go outside during the day. There were plenty of night shift jobs available, and if he found one that he could do alone, no one would ever need to see him.

Michael would be smiling, if he still could. Instead he stands up, brushes himself off, and slips the figurine into his pocket.

The interview is over the phone. Michael feels like whatever God put him into this situation was slowly starting to warm up to him.

“Hello hello?”

“Hello. My name is Gabriel Keller,” Michael announces. He had been embarrassed of his accent as a child and had taught himself how to hide it, which was proving to be a valuable skill right now. “I’m applying for the management position at the new pizzeria. The ad was in the newspaper,” he ads hastily. There’s something familiar about the voice, but he can’t place where he’s heard it.

“Gabriel?” he asks, and Michael’s heart would’ve stopped if it was still in his chest. Does he know?

“There was an employee that worked at my last location. He was named Gabriel,” he intones, and Michael relaxes, remembering something he read about how it was a good idea to make small talk during an interview.

“So you’ve run a pizzeria before-?” he starts to ask, then freezes.

He knows who’s speaking.

“...Only a small one. It shut down after a few months. I figured that trying again fresh might be worth a shot, but I need someone to manage the place while I’m away,” Henry states.

Henry. Michael didn’t know him too well personally, but his father certainly did. His old business partner, the one who had helped him build Freddy’s. The one whose children he had killed. Michael’s grip tightens on the phone, wondering whether or not he was doing a good enough job at hiding his voice.

The next few questions are generic - was he old enough to work (yes), did he have reliable transportation (yes), was he a legal US Citizen (do corpses count as US Citizens? He went with yes). Then there were a handful of questions that were more job specific.

“Do you have experience working with dangerous machinery?”

The hole in his torso seems to hurt more. “Yes, I am.”

“Are you comfortable with working late hours, a high-stress work environment, and signing a waiver form?”

A little late for that, he thinks, nearly laughing out loud at the thought. Instead he restrains himself. “Of course.”

“Well, that’s all I have for now. You seem like a responsible young man, Michael. I have one other candidate I’m hoping will apply, but if he doesn’t you’ll be contacted immediately.”

“Thank you, sir,” he replies, the line going dead on the other end. He continues to hold the phone to his ear, something clicking in his mind.

He called me Michael.

He pulls one of his father’s many journals off the shelf, and a photo album falls down with it.

Michael’s surprised. He never thought of his father as much of an album person. William wasn’t exactly what he would call a sentimental person, especially when it came to his family.

Opening the album seems to confirm his thoughts at first. It’s mostly pictures of robots, some finished, some not. Most have dates and model numbers written under them, but no other information. He recognizes a few of them - Baby, Funtime Freddy, Ballora. Some aren’t as familiar, such as a yellow-eyed Freddy endoskeleton.

He turns to the next page. This one has shots of people mixed into the robot pictures - there’s one he recognizes of William, back at Fredbear’s, in the Spring Bonnie costume. Henry was with him, and they were both laughing. Michael honestly can’t tell if his father was genuinely happy or not.

Michael moves to the next row of pictures, and it feels like everything stops as he realizes what he’s looking at. That’s me.

It was his last high school photo before graduation. The figure in the photo is standing in front of a purple background - he remembered that he hated the way it looked, but purple was his father’s favorite, so purple it was. His hair was neatly combed and gelled into place - he remembered spending a good hour styling it that morning-, and he’s wearing a nicer shirt than usual. This is me. He runs a hand across the rotted, torn flesh making up his face, suddenly overcome with the feeling of loss and anger. This used to be me.

He realizes he’s clutching the photo so hard it’s starting to fold. He forces himself to relax his grip and takes a moment to recompose himself the way his father had taught him to. There’s nothing you can do about it.

He sets the photo on the carpet, face-down. He doesn’t want to look at it anymore.

The rest of the photos are pretty standard - more robots and a few scattered pictures of William at various events and stages of health. But there’s one more that gives him pause.

It’s one of the only family photos in the album. He vaguely remembers getting the photo taken - they had moved back to England for a short period to pick up the new member of the family, another product of a one night stand that William had just been informed about. Michael is still a child in it, but even back then the resemblance to his father was uncanny. William stands behind him, still robust and lively, not the emancipated and scarred man that usually came to mind when he thought of his father. In his other arm he holds a bundle of blankets with a mop of blond hair coming out of it. Elizabeth.

He feels like he should feel something at the sight of her, some sort of anger at her for what she did to him, but there’s nothing. The monster that had killed him no longer bore any resemblance to the baby in the picture. If anything, she was as much as a victim as he is.

He pockets the family photo and burns everything else.

The shadows created by the flashlight beam create odd shapes, and he jumps at what appears to be a slumped figure only to realize it’s nothing but a pile of trash bags. He rubs the figurine in his chest pocket to calm himself and moves into another alleyway.

He sees the ears first, and as he moves closer he can make out the rest of it. The suit is rotten and discolored, full of holes that expose metal joints and wiring - and a corpse more rotten than he is.

Michael moves closer, shining his light directly in the thing’s face, and for a moment it doesn’t react. Then it jerks spasmodically, the mechanical noises of the thing’s servers almost disappearing under the sounds of crunching bone and ripping flesh. The plastic eyes roll wildly in the thing’s head, coming to stop at Michael’s face.

Father, Michael utters, and somehow he doesn’t feel fear. Perhaps it was just the sheer adrenaline running through his system.

Or perhaps he just doesn’t fear his father like he used to.

The faint light in the back of his empty eye sockets glows impossibly light as he boldly leans in closer to the rabbit animatronic.

I found you.

[floweryfandomnerd]

@the-twisted-otaku Maro this has been in my inbox for so long I'm so sorry. Forgive me because ily <3

----

“Xerx, what are you doing? ” Reim asks, deadpan and staring with great annoyance at Xerxes Break hovering over him with a bandage pulled taut between his hands. What Xerxes is even doing on the bed of his room, he isn't all too sure. Reim, if he remembers correctly, had returned to the Barma mansion after being ambushed by chains - not the Rainsworth Manor.

“You're injur-” Xerxes chokes on the word, shaking and coughing up blood onto his handkerchief, “I'm treating you. Let the doctor see you now,” he adds, making a beckoning motion in Reim’s direction, cheerful and acting as if he hadn't just coughed up half his life.

Reim stares at him with disbelief, out of the two of them, Xerx is most definitely the more injured one, “You're blind. The doctor isn't seeing anything.”

“That's rude, I can still see a little bit, you know,” Xerxes whines at him, petulant like a young child. He sits back on his knees, quietly groaning with pain and withdrawing the bandage when Reim protests too much.

“Don't lie to yourself, you can't even tell where I'm injured - plus if you could still see why do I have to do all your paperwork?!” Reim says, incredulous and exasperated, getting only a pout in response.

Reim rubs a hand wearily over his face, sighing audibly, and Xerxes takes advantage of his momentary inattention, pouncing on Reim with the bandages and quickly wrapping them around what he guesses is Reim’s head, he can't quite see. He ignores Reim’s protests and slaps away his hands when he tries to claw at the bandages until he ties them securely in place and sits back down, grinning and pleased with himself.

“Mmf ismfnt helping,” Reim says, voice and words garbled by the bandages over his mouth, and entire face, really - funny how Xerx had managed to bandage everywhere but the cut on his head. He reaches behind his head and unties the admittedly sloppy knot, letting them fall soundlessly off his face and into his lap. He hopes that Xerx won't notice and try again. Just in case, he takes it and wraps it around the part of his head where he actually hit it and covers the small cut there.

Fixing him with a stare that Xerxes cannot see, Reim watches him critically, he might be good at hiding it, but then, Reim is good at seeing when his best friend is in pain too. “Xerx, you can stop pretending now. Let me see.” Reim says quietly, somber.

Childishly, Xerxes shakes his head, although Reim just ignores him and moves closer. If Xerx won't undo the buttons to show him where he's hurt, he will. He gets the first button undone before his hands are slapped away and, with a long-suffering sigh, Xerxes starts undoing them himself. The bandage wrapped around his torso is more red than white, covered in dried blood, hastily and messily applied and probably in need of a change. Careful to not jostle Xerx, Reim slowly peels away the bandage and exposes the wound to fresh air.

He cleans it up with a soft cloth, washing away all the dried blood as Xerxes winces. It looks like it could do with some stitches to help it heal faster, though he doesn't have any. “Wait there, Xerx, I'll only be a minute.”

Reim sets aside the blood-stained cloth and quietly leaves the room, heading towards the room where he knows Barma keeps his rubbing alcohol, fetching a bottle and a new cloth. By the time he's stepped back into his bedroom, Xerxes is seemingly asleep on the bed, it doesn't worry Reim that Xerx is no longer awake, he's snoring louder than a lion. Tipping some of the alcohol onto the clean cloth, Reim disinfects the slash on Xerx’s abdomen.

Xerxes stirs, cracking an eye open, “Ow.”

“Sorry,” Reim says, pulling away the cloth and applying the fresh bandages.

When Reim is done, Xerxes pushes himself to sit upright again on the bed, once again doing up his shirt.

“You've got to stop over-using your chain Xerx, it made that slash so much worse than it otherwise would have been.” Reim chastises, pausing for a minute in thought for how to say it, “You'll be fine - this time. But how many times are you going to take everything on by yourself before you realise you can't go about trying to throw your life away?! Are you going to push yourself to breaking point every time there's danger? I might not like fighting but I still want to protect you. Going about and constantly getting yourself hurt, you'll upset Sharon-sama! Even more so than me!”

Xerxes puts his hands up in surrender, waiting for Reim to finish his rant. He's listening and kind of tired of getting told off for trying to take on too much, not that one rant is going to fundamentally change him or how he chooses to protect others, but he supposes it's better to wait it out.

Reim trails off, out of breath from his long rant and watching Xerxes for any kind of reaction, even if it's obvious that he listened nothing he just said, Reim sighs wearily, flopping onto the bed next to Xerx and ignoring the muttered, ingenuine apology that comes from him. He could do with going to sleep, if it weren't for someone incessantly poking his side to keep him awake.

“Are you okay, Reim-san?” Xerxes asks, not ceasing his poking in the slightest.

Reim turns himself to face Xerx, not bothering to hide his annoyance, “Fine,” Reim responds, “I'd be much better if you'd stop poking me.”

Xerxes’ hand stills guiltily, “Well, I'm bored - and hungry - what can you expect?” Xerxes gestures around him to illustrate his point, sleeves covering his hands either side of him up in the air as if it was perfectly obvious that he'd decide to never let Reim have a moment of peace in his life. In retrospect, it kind of was.

Yawning, Reim covers his mouth with his hand, tired and watching as Xerxes unconsciously copies, “Would you let me get some rest if I brought you some sweets and something to do? Would that make you behave like an adult?”

Xerxes doesn't miss a beat, “One hundred percent!” Xerxes answers, dragging out the vowels.

Reim doesn't deign him with a response, pushing himself up and off the bed and leaving to raid the kitchen ofr whatever sweets that might be there - though they're not Gilbert's - and looking for something to occupy Xerxes. It's a rather difficult task, given that Xerxes is mostly blind and can no longer read; Reim can't satisfy him with a book. At least, Reim thinks upon spotting it, a chess set might be effective. Maybe he can convince one of Barma’s other staff members to play with Xerx whilst he finally obtains some much needed rest.

He returns to his bedroom with a fork, a full cake on a plate held carefully in both hands, the chess set in its box tucked tightly under his arm and no house of Barma staff member in tow. Reim hands the cake to Xerx - who gleefully and instantly begins digging in - and sets the chess set on the bed in front of Xerxes, climbing up and sitting cross-legged so that the chess set is between them.

“One game,” Reim states, pointing at the board and waiting for Xerx to fix his bleary gaze on it, “When I win, you shut up and let me sleep for a bit.”

Xerxes grins at him, “You really think you'll beat me at chess? I'm still pretty good whether I can see properly or not.”

Xerxes plays well, though it's one of the lucky matches where Reim wins and he finally gets to put his head down and close his eyes. He doesn't even bother to kick Xerxes out of the bed.

[themonolithicmystique]

A Black widow and Scarlet Witch hyper hourglass and GTS growth competition piece. Taking place during the events of the Civil war airport fight?

“OK, anybody on our side hiding any fantastic and shocking abilities they’d like to disclose?”

Things may have gotten out of hand.  Having been sequestered in the Avengers complex and kept out of the loop by Vision for the last few days, Wanda Maximoff wasn’t quite sure how her failure to stop Crossbones’ suicidal detonation in a non-lethal manner in Lagos led to her standing on an airport tarmac fighting a good half of the earthbound-Avengers and several other superheroes she didn’t know.  That one of the heroes supporting Captain America had just grown to sixty feet in height only barely added to the strangeness of the situation.  All she knew for certain was that helping Cap and his fugitive friend reach the Quinjet might clear their names and put a stop to all the madness ripping through the team.  At least, she hoped that was the case - the means by which doing so would ACTUALLY help remained shaky and unclear in her head.

Still, certain or uncertain about the particularities, she had to do her part in this fight, and for now that meant defending this Scott from Iron Man’s forces.  Extending her neural pathways beyond her fingertips and into the kinetic potential of her opponents, she pulled War Machine out of the sky as he made a beeline for the giant hero, sending the red-and-blue clad man dangling from his leg flying after him.  Tony fired a barrage of mini-missiles at Scott’s face, so Wanda redirected them towards the ground, where they just scarcely missed the dark figure racing towards her.  Unwilling to divert her focus for too long, she simply sent him rocketing thirty feet into the air, and raced to a new hiding spot.  With the focus her powers required, it wasn’t wise to engage with more than one opponent at once, much less remain out in the open.

As she crouched beneath a truck (one she hoped nobody saw fit to use as a bludgeon any time soon), she ran a mental tally in her head of the heroes on Tony’s side, trying to work out if anyone DID have such hidden powers that might turn the tide of battle.  Tony and Rhody she knew relied entirely on their suits, which could fit an impressive array of weaponry within their stores, but never anything exceedingly destructive for fear of harming inno... She shook her head and tried to keep the thought far from her mind.  These two newcomers were almost entirely unknown to her, yet from what they demonstrated during the fight up to now they seemed to lack much more beyond enhanced strength, reflexes, and durability.  One of their number had jokingly referred to the dark-suited one as “your highness,” which might mean the threat of an army arriving, but she rather doubted it, given the singlemindedness with which he assaulted Cap’s friend.  Vision... they had exchanged notes on their powers and their relation to the gem within his forehead multiple times.  If he had seen fit to hide any powers from her, she didn’t want to know how devastating they might be.

And as for Natasha...

Black Widow.  Climbing up a series of shipping crates and making a run for Scott, currently entangled with the red-clad hero crawling over his face.  Everyone else was too busy with their own scraps to have kept track of her or noticed her quick ascent.  If Wanda traced her movements correctly, she was heading straight towards the component of Scott’s suit that stored whatever he adjusted to shrink and grow.  If she got to that and messed with it, she might take Cap’s best asset out of the fight and turn the tide of battle to Tony’s favor.

Nobody else could help.  Wanda ducked out from under the truck, aimed a burst of electrical impulses, and hurled right as Nat leapt for Scott.  The two collided in midair and sent Nat flying with a high-pitched yelp... alongside a burst canister of some rapidly evaporating red liquid.

Scott froze in place upon hearing Natasha’s scream, and promptly received a sharp punch between the eyes from the man crawling over his face.  With a shake of his head, he flung the other hero off, and took several hurried steps towards Black Widow’s prone body.  “Oh my god, are you OK?  What am I saying, you’re not OK, I am SO sorry, we’ve gotta... I gotta...”  He took several deep breaths, staggered backwards, then boomed, “EVERYBODY GET CLEAR, SHE’S GONNA BLOW!!!”

Her ears ringing from the giant’s bellow, Wanda could not properly tune-in to the frequency of Iron Man’s comms, and so missed Tony’s clarifying question.  She certainly heard Scott’s response, though.  “..VIOLENTLY IMPLODE IF YOU’RE NOT IN A PROPERLY SEALED CONTAINER!  AND THAT’S WHEN THEY’RE SET TO SHRINK AND YOU GET A LOW DOSE!  SHE JUST TOOK A WHOLE VIAL OF PARTICLES SET TO GROW AND EXPANDED TO MY HEIGHT!  WE’VE GOTTA MOVE, NOW!”

Utter chaos.  The fight and all reasons for it forgotten, the heroes scrambled about the tarmac, uncertain whether they should follow Scott’s instructions, take advantage of his panic to get a blow in, or find some means of helping Natasha before she... did what Scott implied.  Flying bodies collided with one another, personal fights paused before splintering into smaller conflicts, and the area around the fallen superspy remained clear of activity.  Lurking outside her hiding place, Wanda noticed a series of dancing red energy pulses sparking and twisting about Natasha’s body.  Whatever Scott used to grow, it was interfacing with the residual effects of Wanda’s powers, and could create a result far worse than Black Widow simply exploding.  She couldn’t allow this to happen again, not so soon after her attempts to help led to so much death.

To a chorus of shocked voices shouting her name, Wanda raced towards Black Widow, skidded upon her knees to a halt, and began trying to disentangle the red liquid from her body.  It proved difficult, for its dissipation in the atmosphere had also caused it to adhere to her cellular structure in ways she didn’t quite understand.  Small bursts of energy inside a single pore felt like a nuke detonating in her face again and again and again.  Every time she pulled apart one relationship, fifty more appeared across the same square inch.  Worse still, Wanda felt the same sparking begin to take place within her own skin, and tried to spread her efforts across two bodies to ensure her own survival.  With her attention divided, mistakes piled up, and soon she was doing more to promote an aggressive spread of the energy than contain or dissipate it.

Her eyes filling with tears at the prospect of her failure repeating, Wanda barely noticed Natasha stir, groan, and open her eyes.  “Maximoff?  What’s going on?”

“Do not move, do not move, please do not move...” she begged the prone spy.

“Huh?”

Nat propped herself up on her elbow, and the pair exploded.

Except... not quite in the way she expected.  Everything became a blur as Wanda’s temperature shot up by what felt like several million degrees.  The sounds of metal shearing and stone crumbling filled her ears, alongside the sensation of something hard yet incredibly fragile dragging across her knees.  A sense of heaviness spread across her entire torso, and she fell forward onto an exceedingly soft surface from the sudden weight.  It was sensory overload, far too much for even one capable of extending her senses across a miles-wide area to process.  Perhaps this was what exploding felt like to her, the sense of your body impacting everything all at once before you realize you’re actually in a billion pieces...

Not so.  Just as suddenly as the nightmare started, it ended, and Wanda found herself kneeling amidst the rubble of what looked like a tiny model of the tarmac.  The reality of her situation flashed across her brain instantly, but she was not ready to consciously admit what happened, and so failed to consciously register it.  Instead, she took several deep breaths, and found each exhalation led to a deep thudding sensation across her abdomen.  A quick glance downwards revealed her chest had expanded to ludicrous proportions, spreading across her lap and straining her scarlet corset to its absolute limit.  That same glance revealed the only reason her breasts weren’t touching the ground was their resting place upon Natasha’s equally strained black spandex, full of a similar amount of chest... though slightly less than Wanda’s perhaps?

She made an effort to back off, and ceased her efforts due to a combination of the crunching sound behind her, and the tactile confirmation that her backside had swollen to match her breasts.

Wanda was huge, a curvaceous bombshell well beyond anything she knew was naturally possible, and from the way Natasha’s legs dangled in the air, she matched her opponent (almost) pound-for-pound, literally.  Her efforts to disable the liquid splashed across Natasha must have saved them from fatal detonation, but also led to their flesh multiplying in a downright ludicrous manner.  Would they be able to live normal lives after this?  Would they even be able to engage with the fight again, assuming it was still on?

The fight!  Tony might have taken advantage of the chaos generated to stop Cap and imprison his friend again!  She had to get back into things, and make sure everything was alright, ridiculous proportions or no!  With a mighty heave, she brought herself to her feet... and finally registered that she stood three-hundred feet tall, the entire tarmac ruined beneath her growing body, her burst boots crushing two airplanes beneath their tread each.  The other Avengers were mere specks to her vision, with Scott barely coming halfway up her shins.  She could barely tell one from the other, much less participate in the conflict.  It seemed a moot point, as they were all simply standing there, staring up at her massive form, but...

Natasha stirred once more, finally able to rise to her feet with the enormous weight of Scarlet Witch’s chest lifted.  Tiny burst seams littered her suit, and her legendary control over her body’s movements seemed completely thrown off by the excess weight spread across her form.  She glanced down at the ground bug-eyed, then her own chest with even wider eyes, and then into Wanda’s equally startled face.  “Do you... do you want to tell me what just happened?”

“I...” Wanda started, startling herself with just how much louder her voice was than the near-deafening boom of Scott’s mere minute prior.  “I attempted to stop you... and then to save your life... and now we... I am sorry...”

She reached out a hand to try and grasp Widow about her shoulder, only for a small red spark to emanate from her fingertips.  The pair suddenly shot up another five feet each, and their curves surged outwards by a relative two inches.

It was getting hard to think.  The air was fine, but Wanda couldn’t stop breathing in shot, violent bursts.  Her outfit constrained her every inch, chest and rear practically ding to burst free of their confines.  So much had happened in the last several minutes, she just couldn’t get a grip on any of it, and she couldn’t read Black Widow’s expression, or figure out where to put her feet, or tell what to do at all but stand here stunned and wait for some help, or...

Impulsively, she took a step backwards, and almost squashed Iron Man and War Machine underfoot.  Black Widow, who had directed her attention to the miniature superheroes down below, determined who scattered based on their movement patterns, and made a connection in her head.  “You... tried to blow me up!  And then tried to get big in order to crush all of us!”  Wanda blinked in confusion, sure Nat didn’t normally talk like this.  “And now we’re BOTH huge!  Well, I’m... I’m not going to let you step on my teammates!”  No, definitely not talking like herself at all.

Wanda’s thoughts didn’t get much further, as Black Widow pounded her right across the face.  Instead of making contact, though, her fist swiped across the surface, inches away from skin, and caused the two of them to grow once more.  Their suffering clothing popped several more seams, and an entire relative foot of cleavage appeared across Natasha’s front.  She didn’t seem to notice, though, as she swiped her leg across Wanda’s missing again and inducing even more growth.  It seemed as if the pair were unable to make contact with one another without promoting the same strange interaction of Pym Particles and Wanda’s neuro-electric connection to energy that caused them to achieve such heights in the first place.  Nothing so eloquent or coherent as that thought occurred to Wanda, though; she just knew Black Widow was attacking her based on some misconceived understanding of the situation, and in her addled state she decided to strike back... only to promote yet more growth.

Whether or not Captain America and Iron Man resolved their differences mattered little to the newly-birthed giantesses.  As they grappled with one another and attempted to get at least one good blow in, their bodies surged upwards and outwards.  In less than a minute, their clothing went from slightly strained to heavily tattered to completely shredded, leaving them one thousand feet tall, completely nude, and still growing.  Their breasts hung down past their navels, juggling flesh slapping against juggling flesh and creating yet another catalyst for expansion, while their rears and hips widened to two, three, four times the breadth of their shoulders.  Neither seemed willing to cease the fight, which lost any and all sense of reason faster than the conflict they so recently left behind.  All that remained was a desire to hit and hit back, soon to be replaced with genuine love of the sensation of growth, and perhaps even a lust for one another...

But that’s for the sequel, innit?

[absclutezerc]

Heal - One muse offers sex to comfort their sick/injured partner — you know exactly who these are both for

two modes. angst and smut. | accepting; selective @arianashepard

   The Commander had done what she had a strange tendency to do consistently; get herself hurt. Injured, bruised, bloody, beaten. Wounds were easier to close, bleeding was easier to stop, but there were still moments with advanced medicine in place he couldn’t help her entirely. There were still days she had been stuck in bed for a long period of time, though she had at least been moved from the med bay to her own personal quarters. Stabilization, her wounds slowly closing, the beds were needed for others. She could move on her own in a week.

   He had been making his rounds when he had gotten to her door, and he knew what he would find on the other side. She would be working again, trying to stop the deterioration of her muscles from all the bed rest. She would be at risk of reopening wounds. She would be at risk of infection, she surely hadn’t changed her bandages. Jonathan knocks once, twice, thrice before entering. Inside, he sees her. Sees her working as she shouldn’t be, moving as she shouldn’t be. 

   “Miss Shepard,” Jonathan exhales, disappointed in the act. “I thought I made my instructions clear. If you want to be back out on the field, you need to listen to what I say. Your bandages need to be changed, and because you refused to stay in the med bay, I had to make a detour for you while doing my rounds. Go on, sit, let me unpack my things and we can get started.” 

   She had gone to say something, only for him to cut her off. He had little time for her snarky remarks, let alone to be told how to do his job, so it was best to nip it there before it could bloom. Ariana followed his instruction, albeit a bit begrudgingly, but it was done nonetheless. Beneath her shirt, her torso was a mess of wounds now open due to her movements prior. It’s like she would rather play the part of a rebellious teen than grow into her position. 

   This wouldn’t do at all.

   The soiled bandages discarded, he sighs looking at the mess she’s made of herself. It’s unfortunate, seeing as they’ll scar from being reopened so often. Jonathan tells her to lean back in bed, assures her that he intends to clean them before they fester. He pulls a roll of gauze from his bag, but instead of soaking it in antiseptic, he uses it to bind her wrists to the post behind her. 

   “I need you to trust me, Miss Shepard. This is only to be sure you don’t move and make things worse for yourself,” He looks over her, chest bare with her arms lifted behind her head. Torso is littered with open wounds, bruises blossom on freckled skin. He feels his heart skip at the sight before him, how beautiful. “If you would rather me stop, feel free to say it at any point. I’ve no intention of betraying your trust.” 

   He can hear the way her heart hammers in her chest, the way she watches with fascination and– perhaps a little fear. Cool hands run from her collar, down her sternum, ghosting over the purples and blues, then stop at the bullet wound a few inches from her hip. There was just one, the other injuries long lines of open red. How she managed to only get shot once was a mystery, but he wouldn’t question it. Jonathan leans, and presses kisses against the bruising, listens to the way she gasps in pain, which only stirs him. His actions are not malicious in any way, but he uses it as a way to punish for disobeying clear instructions. He trails them from one violet shade to the next, ghosting briefly over the rise of her chest, teasing at the peak of one, to continue his crusade from her collar to her chin to her lips. There’s a deepness there, and he claims ownership quickly. She was in no position to refuse it, especially given her situation. 

   “Remember, if you want me to stop, you need only tell me,” He disconnects for a moment, reminding her, then continues. Jonathan kisses her neck, down her collar, finds that peak once more, and brings it between his teeth to bite down on. It’s not forceful, of course, but it should bring a rise from her. And a rise he gets. One hand trails, feels her skin shiver against his touch, to slide beneath her trousers and down between her thighs. Legs spread slightly at the intrusion, giving him access to slide inside with ease. Perhaps she had been anticipating it, perhaps not, but a gasp is heard. A single digit turns to two, though it is not done quickly. No, he wants to take his time. Wants to tease her as much as he can. 

  Jonathan can feel the Commander roll her hips against his hand, and he withdraws. He leans back, a look of scorn on his face. “You’re restrained to limit your movements, understand? I can stop here if you’re going to endanger yourself, Miss Shepard.” 

   “Don’t. Jonathan, please, I won’t move again. Don’t stop here.” 

   “I’ll carry on, but please, Ariana, try not to move.” 

   Sliding down to her waist, he slowly pulls her trousers down and eventually off, along with any other barrier that would stop him from carrying on. She does not move, taking his instructions to heart, and he hums shortly in thanks. He nudges her knees apart, resuming his previous action. She’s made a mess of herself. Jonathan notes the way she bites her lip when he presses in again, one to two as he had done before. He resumes the tease, presses kisses against her skin, leaves patchwork red and purples to show he has claimed her. Ariana is audible, he can feel the way her chest rumbles as she moans, and he only wishes to silence her with himself. To have her choke. 

   Oh, that would need to be later. Another day, when she’s healed plenty and had time to rejoin her crew. Now, now was different. Now, he’s unbuttoning his shirt and freeing himself of the fabric. Now, he’s fumbling with the buckle of his belt and the zipper of his pants, the constriction too much for him. He pulls himself free, steps out of the linens, and returns to her. Hand goes for her heat, fingers swiping over her to coat himself in her slick. Satisfied with his progress, he kneels on the bed, eyes locked on her as she parts for him once more, and he presses. It’s slow, of course, he’s doing it deliberately. He drags himself over the peak of her heat, watches how her chest expands with each breath she takes. It’s exquisite, watching how she dares to move as he takes his time with her. Fascinating, truly. 

   But the tease has ended, and he’s aching already. Jonathan aligns himself, presses in slow, slow, exhales a breath a bit too ragged as he does. For a moment, he pulls himself back, enjoying the way she tightens around his length, only for him to shove in a tad forcefully. He makes himself at home, sets a steady pace, feels heat bubble and he lets himself go. It wasn’t often he let himself wander, especially given the circumstances currently, but he drops his facade. He voices his pleasure, enjoys watching the way her lower abdomen rises and falls as he withdraws and enters. He lets himself enjoy the sounds she makes, how she squirms beneath him to find a better position. Without thinking, having lost himself to carnal desires he’d previously realigned himself with, he follows the scent of blood. He had forgotten she was injured to begin with, and he disregards the title he carries. Jonathan plunges a thumb into the bullet wound, the thing already open and weeping from the movement, and he removes the digit to see it coated in crimson. The yelp of pain from her is not ignored, he hears her entirely. The thumb is brought to his mouth, licked clean, and he smiles down at Ariana. Perhaps her image of him is now tarnished, but he was a creature with desires as any other, and he wonders if she would do the same if the roles were reversed. He’s sure she would, though it might be his mind attempting to reassure him so he wouldn’t lose himself to his thoughts. It wasn’t often he had his way with her, given her position and how often she fought with him when he tried. 

   A hand wanders up  her torso, finding a home around her throat, and he squeezes. Feels the way her veins swell with blocked blood, how he can feel her swallow against his palm. He counts, counts to ten, and releases. Then does it again, keeping time with each thrust, and releases. Jonathan leans down, lost to desires, the heat rising in his chest and a voice nagging at the back of his mind. Few kisses are pressed to her neck before teeth plunge into her throat, he draws in the fluid seeping from it, a low growl resounding in deep in his chest as he swallows. The sensation is enough to push him over the edge he didn’t realize he had teetered on, feeling himself spill into her before he can reconsider his placement. 

   Jonathan holds himself there before withdrawing, ensuring the moment he detaches the damage he dealt wouldn’t be lethal. Blood and spit drip from his lips as he pants, leaning back from her and pulling himself from her entirely. His vision had been taken by bright white, as it always had been when he feeds, the last few moments a bit of a blur. He can hear her heart hammer in her chest, though it’s a bit more dull than before. Jonathan smiles, fangs present as he rises to grab a cloth from his bag. 

   “Forgive me, I’m a bit rusty with house calls.” 

[redrobinfection]

“Mi cama es su cama”

JayTim Week 2018 | Day 5 - “Bed Sharing” (Day 6), Pt 5 of 6

AN: Okay, so, March is definitely one of the worst times of year for me, surpassed only by April, so, originally, I hadn’t planned on participating in this JayTim Week. But I couldn’t stay away from the “bed sharing” prompt, and thus this massive oneshot was born. Since I don’t like posting long works to tumblr, and the fic naturally split into six, roughly-even parts, I’ve decided to release one part each day up until day six, at which point I’ll also share a link to the entire work on Ao3. I particularly enjoyed writing this spur-of-the-moment monster, so I hope you enjoy reading just as much!

Tags: enemies to friends to lovers, pre-N52, slow burn, blood and injury, tw: blood

<< Part 4

---

Tim blew out a breath and sagged down onto the bed, running both hands through his hair. At this point it was a waiting game, nothing to do but wait until the man tucked into his bed woke up again. He carefully smoothed out the blankets he had draped over Jason's still form, mindful to keep his touch light so as not to aggravate the wounds stitched and bandaged underneath, and mused over the events of the past two hours.

The ordeal had begun with a bewildering alert from one of the safehouses at which he and Jay would often meet up to discuss cases or catch a nap if one or both of them were running on fumes. The napping part of it had started out as a joke between them after the time Tim had crashed at Jason's place right after the invasion had ended. Since then, every other week or so, one of them would show up at whichever safehouse the other was currently occupying just to beg a nap, hang out, and eat the other's food. These days, they were hanging out together at least twice a week, and Tim was actually starting to depend on those extra naps to keep him going throughout the week.

So when he had gotten the alert, he had wondered if maybe Jay had thought that he was there for some reason and just hadn't thought to disable and reset the security? It was that or someone had legitimately broken into the place; all of the Bats knew to either call him or disable the security themselves upon entering, so it wouldn't have been one of them. He had been particularly bewildered after he had pulled the security feed and saw that it was indeed Jason who had entered. Uncertain and a little concerned, Tim had peeled off from his patrol route and circled back to check, just in case.

Maybe Jason had info for him but had lost his comm? Or maybe he'd been hit with fear toxin or something similarly nasty and just homed in on the closest place to crash, just as Tim had months ago when he'd been hit by Freeze? Or maybe he had just really needed a nap?

Those possibilities had circled like impatient vultures in his head as he had cautiously entered the safehouse through the false wall Jason had carelessly left ajar. Upon seeing nothing immediately out of place, he had turned off the silent alarms and reset the system. He had then walked from room to room, seeking Jason out, until he had found him in the only bedroom.

At first glance it had appeared that Jason had snuck in for a quick nap, stretched out on his stomach across the bed, hood nowhere to be seen, head buried in a pillow. The second thing Tim had noticed was that Jay hadn't bothered to remove his boots before flopping across the bed. It was at the point that Tim had opened his mouth rouse his guest and gleefully rib him for his oversight that he had noticed the third thing, the spreading pool of blood just seeping out from under Jason.

Tim had instantly cried out and jumped forward, gingerly rolling the man onto his back. The stain hadn't spread too far, but thinking back to when he'd first gotten the alert and by looking at the deep color and wet glisten of blood that could no longer be absorbed by the saturated material, Jason had clearly been bleeding profusely for a while.

Heart in his throat, Tim had jumped right into crisis mode, quickly stripping out of his gauntlets, pulling on the nitrile gloves he kept in one of his bandolier compartments, shaking Jason to gauge level of consciousness - completely non-responsive - and feeling for a pulse as he gauged Jason's color and breathing. He had clearly lost a lot of blood, as confirmed by the paleness of his skin, his rapid, shallow breaths, his rapid, thready pulse, and the total loss of consciousness, but at least Tim had made it back while he had still had a pulse.

Tim had wasted no time in running into the gear room for his vigilante first aid kit, IV fluids and oxygen. He then quickly identified two gunshot wounds to the torso, in the lower right quadrant, and one superficial wound to the left shoulder. He had staunched the bleeding temporarily with sterile gauze and pressure bandages, then set Jay up on fluids and oxygen while he had made some calls out to Oracle and the Bats to call in some favors.

He had then cleaned and stitched the wounds in record time - Jay had been lucky the bullets hadn't gone deep enough to rupture viscera or nick any major arteries, otherwise he would have been taking a trip to his least favorite cave in the world, if he had survived long enough for Tim to call in the cavalry - and then he had gingerly shifted Jason over on the bed so he could strip the blankets and sheets from under him. The blood had soaked all the way through, as he'd thought - the mattress was a total loss - but it was the only bed Tim had, so he had done his best to soak up as much liquid as he could, then laid down a layer of towels before stretching clean sheets over the bed.

He had only just then finished tucking Jason back into the bed, setting him up on a unit of blood, cleaning up the bloodied sheets and towels, and putting away the first aid supplies. It had been two hours since he had first gotten the alert from his security app, but it had felt like two of the longest hours of his life.

He hadn't realized until he'd seen the pool of blood and seen Jason's pale, slack face how much he actually cared for the man. It scared him, just how much he cared. It frightened him, just how much it had frightened him to find Jason bleeding out and unresponsive in his bed.

He shifted his attention back to the man lying in his bed in the present moment. He threaded his fingers into Jason's and squeezed, his fingers mimicking the fear he felt squeeze his chest in that moment as he thought back on how close to total disaster they had come tonight. If he had been a few minutes slower or if the bullets had gone a little bit deeper or if they'd hit just a little higher. So many 'what-ifs' and it terrified him that the mere act of considering those possibilities terrified him so much.

He'd felt fear for the safety of those he'd worked with before - for Bruce, for Dick, for Steph, for Bart, Kon, Cassie and the Titans, even for Damian, once - but he'd never felt fear like this before. He wasn't sure what to make of it. Now that he was waiting for Jason to wake up, he wasn't sure whether he was more nervous about what would happen when Jason woke up again - what he would say, what Jay might say, what would happen next - or at the possibility that Jason might never wake up again.

He was pulled from his thoughts by a soft sound from the bed. The significance of that sound pulled a relieved smile from him in spite of the churning feeling he felt in his stomach as he watched Jason begin to stir. He subtly shifted his grip around Jason's hand, lightly feeling for a pulse and feeling a greater measure of relief from the strong, steady beat he felt gradually quicken under his fingertips. After a minute or so, Jason's eyes blinked open once, twice, then stayed open, at which point his face immediately twisted in pain.

"Wha' happ'n?" Jason groaned.

"I was hoping you could tell me that," Tim responded smoothly. It took Jason a few tries to focus his gaze on him.

"I was… trackin' down a weap'ns deal an'… turned bad… got caught in th' crossfire as I tried t' break it up… an' then… I dunno," Jason recalled woozily, frowning slightly. He pulled his hand from Tim's and pressed it lightly to the wounds on his abdomen, hissing slightly.

"And then you somehow made it out here, broke into my apartment, took a little nap in my bed, and bled all over my sheets. Not to mention you forgot to take your boots off first," Tim finished, keeping his tone light and teasing.

Jason huffed a laugh, then grimaced and pressed his hand harder against the wounds. "Shit, man… don' make me laugh. Hurts." Tim rose smoothly and retrieved two syringes from the dresser and rounded the other side of the bed to fiddle with the IVs. "Sorry about the sheets, though. And the boots, of course," Jason finished, shooting him a wink that was nearly indistinguishable from a wince.

"Don't worry about it," Tim assured him, patting the hand just below the IV sites patronizingly, "I mean, you forgave me that one time with Freeze, so I'm sure I can give you this one."

"H-how generous of you," Jason choked out, clearly trying his best not to laugh.

"I've got some painkillers and antibiotics here for you, if you want them. No allergies, right?" Tim asked, waving the syringes. Jason nodded vigorously to each, so Tim carefully uncapped and injected them into the port he'd placed with one IV catheter for this express purpose. "I would have given you the painkiller sooner, but I wanted to make sure you'd wake up first."

The tension visibly drained from Jason's face and body within seconds of the painkiller going in. He let out a pleased sigh as he relaxed back onto the pillows Tim had propped him up upon. "No problem, man. I'm just really grateful you got me the good stuff. Oh, yeahhhh… that's the stuffffffffff." He practically melted into the pillows, a happy little puddle of high-as-a-kite Jason.

Tim snorted. "Yeah, I had to call in a few favors to get my hands on it, so you're welcome." He capped the empty syringes and set them aside. "Had to call in one for the blood too. You're lucky I had the rest of this stuff on hand here or we would have been shit out of luck and you would have had to take a ride in your least favorite automobile in the city."

"Hey, nah, I love the Batmobile - awesome wheels on the thing - I just can't stand the jerk who drives it," Jason explained drowsily, eyes slipping closed in spite of himself. "But thanks for not calling in big B or Dickie and the Demon Brat."

"Well, it was Damian who brought us the morphine and blood, so…"

Jason's eyes snapped open and he stared. "Wait, Damian did you a favor? Wait. He owed you a favor? How even…? What did you do for the demon for him to owe you a favor?"

Tim laughed, slowly rounded the bed, and sat down beside Jason once more. "Yeah, he owed me a favor, and part of the favor I did him involved not telling anyone why he owed me that favor, so, you know, I really like not getting stabbed and thrown from high places, and rather dislike having my grapple lines cut, so I'm gonna keep that one to myself."

"That's fair. But jeez…" Jason whistled. "To use a favor from the Demon Brat on me. Wow. I'm honored."

Tim grinned. "No problem, man." He was just about to stand and go in search of extra blankets when Jason's hand unexpectedly shifted from his wounds down to where Tim's hand rested on the bed, his chilled fingers wrapping around Tim's slightly sweaty ones with a firm grip.

"But really, Tim, thank you," Jason murmured seriously. "Thanks for catching the alarms I must have set off coming in here and a special thank you for not taking your time coming back and checking on them - coming back and checking on me. Thanks for patching me up." He paused, then smiled and squeezed Tim's hand, instantly rekindling the heavy churning feeling in his stomach that had fallen to the wayside during their easy banter. "Thanks for sharing your beds, particularly this one, tonight, with me. Means a lot to me."

Tim nodded and swallowed. "Y-yeah, no problem." He shot up from the bed, yanking his hand from Jason's abruptly. He fluttered for a moment before rambling out some words that might have conveyed a desire to find more blankets and get Jay some water, but probably came out too quickly to be understood, and then he fled the room. He took his time pulling the spare blankets from the main closet and filling a lidded cup - complete with straw - with water before he made his way back to the bedroom. He steeled himself outside the door, running what he planned to say over and over in his head.

"Here are more blankets and some water," he began as he walked in. Jason accepted the water silently, taking a few small sips before setting it aside. Tim draped several of the blankets over him carefully, then stood back from the bed. He sucked in a deep breath.

"Jay, I-"

"So where're you gonna sleep, Timbo? You got a couch in this place?"

"I uhhh… hadn't thought about it actually," he admitted. "No, I don't. I'll probably just make myself a pallet on the floor, to be honest. Plenty of blankets left."

Jason shook his head. "No, don't sleep on the floor, man. There's plenty of room on the bed."

Tim immediately began to protest, but Jason raised his voice to over him. "I'm serious, get yourself outta that suit and climb in. I can use all the extra warmth I can get right now; blood loss fucking sucks."

Tim wavered. "I don't want to accidentally elbow you in the middle of the night, or worse, kick you or something."

Jason scoffed, then fiddled with his nasal cannula with a grimace. "Like that ever happens. You're not a kicker, anyway. If anything you might snuggle me until my stitches pop, but believe me, I'll wake you up loooong before it gets to that, so stop stalling and get in. After all," Jason explained with a loopy grin, "we're not really sharing a bed if you're not in here too."

Tim rolled his eyes and sighed, but didn't argue it further. He had wanted to keep a close eye on Jay tonight, anyway. He quickly shucked off the remaining pieces of his suit and carefully climbed into the right side of the bed - ideally he would have liked to have avoided Jason's sore side, but with the IVs on the other side he didn't really have a choice - purposefully giving the injured man wide clearance. Jason huffed and dragged him closer, pulling him nearly flush against his side.

Eventually they settled in together, the sound of Jason's breaths growing slower and softer while the drip-drip of the IVs filled the silences in between. Before Jason could drop off completely and before Tim lost his nerve entirely, he sucked in another long breath and went for it.

"Jay?"

"Yeah?"

"You really scared me tonight."

A long pause. "I know. I'm sorry."

"I… I don't know… I can't…" Tim struggled and he felt Jason shift beside him in confusion. "I'm not sure what I'd do if you had…"

"Died. Again," Jason finished, his words reminiscent of the many jokes he often made about his death. There was no humor in his voice this time, only understanding.

"Yeah. I'd… It scares me, Jason. It scares me how much it scares me. I'd really hate it if something happened to you."

"I'd really hate it if something happened to you, too," Jason admitted softly.

Tim let the silence stretch, weighing his next words carefully on his tongue and in his heart before he whispered them to the ceiling. He wasn't even sure Jason was awake anymore.

"Jay, I think I like you."

The admission floated into the space above and around them and Tim felt an overwhelming sense of peace at having finally gotten the words past his lips, words that he felt were true down to the depths of his soul, a truth that had grown between them for months without him ever realizing it.

Jason wasn't asleep. The response he gave without pause echoed in Tim's head until sleep finally took him and then all the way through the night and on into the morning.

"I like you too, Babybird."

---

Part 6 >>

[weirdfetishes123]

Lend a hand - deviantart

"Okay guys, we need to come up with an idea for our display at the college fair. Now, I’ve got something I think could be pretty impressive."

I tried to concentrate on what Brad was saying, but as usual I kept getting distracted. It didn't help that he was wearing a particularly tight t-shirt today that showed every line of his lean torso. I had only joined the science club because he'd been at the booth during orientation and I had trouble saying no to his easy smile. I didn't even figure out what I was signing up for until I arrived for the first meeting. When I look into his eyes it’s like there’s only the two of us, like all of his attention is on me.

"How about it?"

I jerked slightly as I realised I wasn't just imagining his attention this time, he really was talking to me.

"Sorry, I drifted off slightly. I was up late last night finishing an assignment."

"I asked if you would lend a hand? You know, with the project. You and me?"

I fought to keep myself composed. Time alone with Brad? Of course I was in.

"Yeah, sure."

He grinned "Thanks man, I really appreciate it."

He seemed unusually excited about the project. I guess that's why he's president of the club, he's passionate about all of this

---

I wasn't meeting up with him till the night before the fair. It seemed rather last minute to be leaving the work, but I wasn't going to question a plan that was working out so well for me. If we ended up working late together to finish it, well, that was fine with me. Maybe it'd be so late he'd invite me to crash at his place, we're both going the same place tomorrow anyway. And oh dear, there's only one bed. I guess... No. I was getting way too ahead of myself. But then again, I had to wonder why he picked me to work with him on this.

The days in between kept on in that fashion. Rising hopes and vain efforts to be realistic. I drifted through my classes, taking in absolutely none of what I was supposed to be learning.

Finally the afternoon arrived, and I went to the address Brad had given me. It was a small house in the suburbs near the college. I smiled when I saw the decal in the window near the front door. “If you’re not part of the solution you’re part of the precipitate.” At least I knew I had the right address. My finger hovered over the doorbell, my heart hammering out of my chest, before I summoned up the courage to press it. Mercifully he answered the door almost immediately.

"Hey, buddy! Great to see you. Thanks so much for agreeing to help me out with this. Our display is going to be the best one for sure."

"It's no problem." I mumbled, with all the nonchalance I could muster "Anything for the science club, you know."

"Come through, I'll show you where we'll be working."

As we made our way through the house I took in my surroundings. Shelves on every wall were overflowing with beakers, containers of chemicals, textbooks, and assorted other supplies.

“Wow, this is some pretty intense stuff you’ve got here.”

“Yeah, my chem major is great and all. But what I really enjoy is applying what I learn. I’ve even been able to sell a few of the things I’ve developed. I’ve also been working on a special project lately that I’m super hyped to test out.”

He led me out to the back yard. There were tins of paint all about and an abundance of rope. I wasn’t too sure what we’d be painting though.

“So, what do you need me to do?” I offered

“Chill out, we’ve got plenty of time.” He reached into a cooler and tossed me a can. “Have a cold one and I’ll explain.”

I didn’t recognise the branding on the can, but I shrugged and cracked it open anyway. I leaned against the wall and took a sip. It was unusual, but pleasant. Brad seemed in no hurry to explain himself, he just smiled approvingly at me. Approvingly and, I might have been imagining it, somewhat hungrily as well. I couldn’t think of anything to say to fill the silence, so I busied myself with downing the drink. As I finished it he sauntered over to me and placed his hand on the wall behind me. He was so close; our faces were barely a foot apart. I felt the empty can slip from my grasp and clatter on the concrete under my feet.

“You have no idea what you’re doing here do you?”

“I… uh…” Crap, I’m not as got at pretending to pay attention as I thought.

“It’s okay” He laughed “I see the way you get when you’re around me. That’s why I knew you’d agree to this project.” He took his hand off the wall and brushed a lock of hair back behind my ear before moving his hand to my shoulder. Steadying it. I felt his other hand move under my shirt and play across my abdomen. His head moved closer to mine, our lips barely an inch from each other. Then I felt something else in his lower hand, he was pushing it into my navel. My hands shot down to grasp at what he was doing. There was a hose trailing out from my shirt. His smile became even wider. He pressed harder on my shoulder, pinning me to the wall, as his other hand reached behind him. I heard a hissing begin. He released me and stepped back to reveal a large gas tank that was feeding the hose. It was labelled He2. I stood, dumbfounded, for a moment, trying to understand what was happening.

“What is this supposed to-“ I stopped abruptly. My hands were still wrapped around the hose and I felt it moving. I looked down and saw my belly pushing outwards. I yelped in panic and tugged at the hose but something was holding it in.

“I wouldn’t bother trying to get that out. I coated it with an adhesive of my own design. It’s not going anywhere without the correct solvent.” Brad looked incredibly pleased with himself.

I pushed down on my belly, trying to contain what was happening. It compressed briefly but sprung back, continuing its growth unabated. I looked and felt like I had swallowed a basketball.

“How is this happening to me?” I gasped

“Well. That can I gave you was the special project I’ve been working on. A mix of chemicals that gives flesh almost unlimited elasticity. There’s a number of applications I’m hoping to market it for, but the fair gave me the perfect opportunity to test out one of the more fun ones. A parade balloon is a great way to grab attention, but I couldn’t find one that was really suited to our club. So, I decided to make one from scratch.”

“A parade balloon?” I repeated, aghast. The pressure continued building in my belly. My hands were pushed further apart as the basketball doubled in size and continued to push outwards. I tugged vainly at the hose, but Brad had secured it well. I couldn’t get it to budge. My shirt had rolled up over the top of my belly and the waist of my pants was painfully digging into me. I could feel the swelling starting to spread from my belly to the rest of my body. My limbs were becoming harder to move and the top of my shirt was tightening around my chest. Brad took a few steps back and looked me up and down, admiring his handywork. As good as it felt to have him look at me with such passion I wished it wasn’t because he was using me as a human guinea pig. It also did nothing to quell my panic.

Seemingly having overcome the initial resistance of my body the expansion picked up steam. My belly pushed out past the size of an exercise ball, tearing apart the waist of my pants as it did. I couldn’t have reached the hose at my navel if I had tried. My chest was pushing out to join my belly and one by one the buttons popped off my shirt, whizzing away as they did. My thighs were the most affected part of my limbs so far and as they swelled, aiming to join the sphere my torso was becoming, my underwear gave way as well as the remainder of my pants. I was now wearing only shoes and tattered remains of my former clothing. I kicked off the shoes while I still could to avoid ruining those too. I was mortified to be naked in this state in front of Brad, but he seemed to be thoroughly pleased with the show.

My chest and belly were no longer distinguishable as separate entities and my arms and legs were being pushed to the sides by their engorging girth. I was starting to have difficulty maintaining my balance and I had to adopt a wide stance to stay upright. I could no longer look all the way down due to my chest pushing up towards my chin. My torso sphere had claimed my limbs halfway down to the first joint when I heard the most merciful sound. The tank’s hiss began to die away before ceasing completely.

“Oh thank, God.” I muttered

“Don’t get too excited. We’re far from done.” Brad walked back over to inspect me as my panic surged again. “Remember, I need to you be a parade balloon, floating over our stall. This isn’t nearly enough helium to get you off the ground.”

He was right. Even though I had taken a whole tank of helium into my body I didn’t feel any lighter than I did before. “How much more are we talking?” I asked. Surely I couldn’t fit that much more.

“Well, I worked from the idea of a 100kg person. It’s an easy number to work with and I’m comfortable you’re under that. For current elevation and temperature helium can lift a little over a kg per cubic metre. Of course, I’m not entirely sure how much pressure your body will exert so I had to factor that in.”

“I don’t need the maths. How big am I going to get!?” I spluttered

“The needed lift will take about one hundred cubic metres of helium. Or to convert it to the dimensions of a sphere, you’ll be about five point seven five metres in diameter.”

The thought gave me a head rush and I would have toppled backwards had I not bounced off the wall behind me. Brad walked a circle around me, trailing his fingers across my taut skin as he did so. They skipped and bounced along the surface, like they would over a balloon, even squeaking when they met resistance. He pressed down into my flesh at several points and tapped on others.

“Yes. Skin integrity is holding admirably, you still have plenty of give and I’m confident you’ll be able to take the required volume. There’s no reason we can’t proceed.” He said to himself in a detached manner.

“No reason? What about my-“ I stopped abruptly as he caressed my jaw, gently running his thumb over my cheek. Protests about my feelings or wishes died in my throat. The look in his eyes told me that this was going to happen regardless. I was in no position to fight back. And besides. I was terrible at saying no to him.

“You’ll at least put me back to normal after this though?” I begged

“Mon amour. What do you take me for?” He tousled my hair. “The serum will wear off after a few days. If I left you inflated your frame would no longer be able to take the pressure, but I assure you I will have you back to your charming self well before then.”

“Good to know you’ve at least spared a thought to my wellbeing.”

“Oh don’t pout. Now, lets get you to a clearer area of the yard for the next phase, you’re a little cramped against the wall over here. You’ll need much” he lingered on the word “more room than that.” He disconnected the hose from the tank and slotted the connector into to another, longer, hose. I tested my balance and blushed, contemplating how I must look. Taking wide, slow, waddling steps I made my way to the centre of the yard. I looked about and tried to estimate just how far 5.75m was. Contemplating that made me want to run far from here but the thought of running in my state made me laugh to myself. Escape was a distant possibility at this point.

Brad dragged the rope over to me. “We can’t have you floating away, so first thing we need to do is get you secured.” My thinking hadn’t got that far ahead. I added one more thing to worry about to the litany of anxieties racing around my head. I complied as he tied loops around my ankles and wrists. I tried to inspect the security of the fastenings but since I couldn’t reach across my massive body to test them I was limited to a visual inspection. He tied the other ends of the ropes to four stakes that were driven into the ground of his yard. He looked over and must have seen my suspicious expression.

“Don’t worry. I tested these. They will hold.” He grabbed the paint tins and a brush and dragged them over to me as he spoke. “I’m a very thorough scientist, and you’re very safe.”

I snorted, I don’t know if I’d ever felt more unsafe and out of control than I did at that moment. But I had little choice but to trust him.

“Now.” He announced “We need to get you dressed up. As much as I’d enjoy it our mascot can’t be a big naked man.” I blushed as he busied himself with the paints. “I had to tweak the paints as well. Painting you at full size would be a mammoth task. These paints however will stretch out with you as you grow.”

He got to work, starting with a white base coat. As he busied himself with his project I began to relax a little. Getting such thorough attention from Brad sent a pleasant little shiver down my spine. I almost forgot how bizarre my circumstances were and drifted back to the fantasies I had for this afternoon. Of course, every time I had the urge to itch or stretch I would get a shock back to reality. Eventually he was done with his decoration and he stood back to inspect me.

“Beautiful” He exclaimed. “Wait here one moment.” Where was I going? I kept the remark to myself as he dashed inside and quickly returned with a dressing mirror. I couldn’t see all of myself in it at one time, even at a distance, but he moved it about so I could get an idea of how he had decorated me. I also got a good look at my overblown form for the first time. I had been made up to look like a scientist, most of my body covered in a white lab coat. Across my chest had he had written “Bleakwood College Science Club.” My panic returned as I realised this meant he would soon be moving on to blowing me up again.

“We’ll have you floating high enough up that no-one will be able to tell how ‘realistic’ your face is.” He chuckled to himself, clearing the art supplies away from my immediate vicinity. He took a hold of the hose again and located a gauge and knob that were along its length. “This is connected to an industrial helium tank I procured for this purpose. Are you ready?”

“Does it matter?”

He shrugged, grinned, and twisted the knob. I immediately felt the pressure within me spike. This tank was flooding the helium into me much faster than the first one had done. I felt myself steadily swelling, my limbs being rapidly swallowed by my expanding form. As the bottom of… me? I no longer really had many distinct body parts to speak of at the point. As the bottom of my sphere pushed my feet apart and touched the ground I finally lost my balance and toppled forward, letting out a yelp as I did so. I was now completely spherical save for my hands, feet and head. As the sphere claimed the last of my neck I also lost the last of my mobility. With my head cushioned on all sides by expanding flesh I could only look straight down at the ground. Brad’s feet stepped into the top of my field of vision. I felt him take my head in his hands and soothingly run his fingers through my hair and across the back of my scalp. The pressure in my body had no where to go anymore but out and I felt my body pushing outwards in all directions. I could further track my growth as I was pushed further off the ground and Brad had to slowly step back to accommodate my size. Eventually he had to let go altogether and he took a seat on the grass to watch his creation.

The pressure built within me. The speed I was moving from the ground was slowing but I could feel that that was simply to fill my massive volume. The gas was pouring in at a steady rate and the painted globe that was my body stretched out before me. Each breeze that wafted through the yard rolled my form slightly, but the weight of the ropes on each my limbs brought me back to a neutral position. Balanced on the tip of my belly, looking down at the content little man who had conned me into this. When I was a bit more than two metres from the ground he checked the gauge and updated me on my progress.

“You’ve taken about half of the helium needed. I think we can speed things up a bit more at this point.” He gave the knob a twist and the gas started rushing in so fast it vibrated my taut skin slightly, sending tingles through my body.

Only halfway? I thought. I’m not airborne yet, but surely I can’t fit twice as much gas in me as I have now?

But I kept expanding and, just as Brad had predicted, my body kept accommodating more. I could feel the lightening effects of the helium now and soon I felt my belly start to lose contact with the ground. I started to rise, slowly at first but picking up pace, until I was abruptly stopped by the ropes around my wrists and ankles and settled into a new neutral position. Brad was absolutely beaming. He jumped to his feet and pumped his fist.

“Yes! You look freaking awesome!” he crowed, before looking down at his gauge. “I left a fair bit of slack in my calculations to ensure we’d have enough lift. So, you’ve still got a ways to go my wonderful volunteer.”

“Why don’t we stop now?”

“Well, what else am I going to do with the rest of the helium? And besides, bigger is always better.”

He was now occupied in an exuberant celebratory dance, so I didn’t bother arguing with him further. I just had to hope that the tank would run out soon. Fortunately, at the gush he had left it on I didn’t have to wait too long. Though I’d guess he had pumped me up another ten or twenty percent just for his own amusement. As I felt the gush slow to a trickle and then stop I breathed a sigh of relief. Brad confirmed on the gauge that the tank was empty, then winched the ropes down a ways before disappearing under me. He let his fingers trail along my underside as he walked to my navel. I felt him tinker with the hose before appearing again, trailing the end behind him.

“There we go. All sealed up. We wouldn’t want you to spring a leak.” He slapped my firm underbelly for emphasis.

“What now?” I wondered

“Well, first thing in the morning I’ll take you over to campus to install you for the big day. In the meantime, you’ll have to spend the night out here. Of course, I wouldn’t want anyone to see you up close and see how I’ve achieved this little display. And I wouldn’t want you to get any ideas about calling for help either. So, I’m going to have to let you go a bit.” He released the winch on the ropes and I went shooting up into the air. Far further than where I had been before. For a few moments that felt like minutes I thought he had let the ropes loose, but I soon jerked to a stop. The wind at this height cause me to sway at the end of my tether. From my vantage point I could see him laughing and waving up at me before heading inside.

At least my time as a balloon would give me plenty of time to contemplate some revenge schemes for what he put me through. I hoped the science club would appreciate my display at least.

---

The fair came and went, and I watched it from my vantage point up in the sky. We won an award for our display and Brad told the rest of the club I’d done so much work on it I’d been too exhausted to come to the fair itself. Brad kept his promise and deflated me once the fair was done. He offered to buy me dinner to make up for my ordeal. I told him it was a start.

[haxorus-imp]

Alien Affections - Villainous/Reader - Chapter 11

You actually don't mind being hurt. . . . Okay, you do. But, being injured sure did have its' perks. You've been waited on hand and foot by 5.0.5 for a while now. You even tried to be polite and attempted to preform self-care by yourself a few times. But, even if you said 'no ', 5.0.5 would still attempt to help you anyway. So, you just gave up after a while and let the bear take care of you. He would get you a drink when you were thirsty, brought you breakfast in bed, painkillers when your wounds would start to become painful again, help you to the bathroom when you needed to do your business, and so on. What did you do to deserve this bear? You blinked and laughed at the joke that popped into your head. 'I guess, that means he's a. . .CAREBEAR!' You snorted, mentally. Holding in your laughter, before cringing at the abdominal pain that arose due to your contained laughter. The bear even brought in a portable TV and a remote! The bear had left some time ago to do some chores around the house. Leaving you to your own devices. But, you couldn't get into some of the shows that were on. I mean, there were plenty of channels, but it was mostly stuff that was product placements or evil history documentaries. Flipping through some of the channels, you at least found a few that were interesting. There was one that was similar to the cooking channel 'Chopped ' back on your home planet. Except it was with villains' minions and they were cooking for bragging rights and prize money.

It seems harmless at first, but most of the contestants were assholes. So, it was hard to root for any of them to win the competition. Oh, yeah. There was also a high chance of them getting hurt on the 'cooking equipment ' they were given to work with. Which was along the lines of motor-operated steak knives, steamroller-looking meat flatteners, and grinders that had cylinder-shaped pressers with spikes on them. A contestant could loose a finger or a limb in one of those machines! Does the person who runs this show care about safety?! 'Apparently not.' You mentally huffed as you watched the TV screen. It was dangerously worrying, yet eye catching at the same time. You guess that's why it's called 'Killer Kitchen '.

You mentally shrug.

Looking at the people on the screen, you couldn't help but pity some of them.

It must be a sad life living as a villains' minion, to which their entire life means nothing to their boss. If you die, they'll just replace you with another sorry down-on-their-luck sap. Like a cog in a great machine. All of the death, work, obedience, and risk that they give to their boss...and for what? Money? Power?

Is what they're working toward really worth their lives? Just knowing that if you get killed, someone else will replace you and take your place. Forever replacing the pieces that break loose or fizzle out of commission.

It was a sobering and depressing thought.

I mean, look at yourself! You got mauled by your own 'boss ' and you're now bedridden for who knows how long.

The ass hasn't even come to apologize! You huffed and shook your head. You don't expect him to.

He's a villain. They don't feel anything. No compassion. No love. No friendship. No regrets. Villains thrive on greed and power. Willing to walk on others for more progress to their goals. Most are wicked individuals that plot criminal acts of violence, heist, or destruction. Some have even suffered so greatly, that they can't bounce back from the life they chose. Or...in some cases, it chooses them. You sat back, drowning out the TV while you're at it, and looked at your bandaged upper torso. You looked similar to a mummy from the waist up. Covered in gauze and padded bandages. You haven't looked at the wounds yet, but you could tell that they were bad if you needed this much medical aid. Even now, you could still feel the faint stinging in your shoulder from the bite that Black Hat gave you. That was easily the most painful thing on your body at the moment. Stiffly moving your body, you adverted your eyes and observed your room once again. Pictures and objects of various things decorated the wall. Pictures of Black Hat himself, which made up most of the pictures on the walls, much to your personal discretion.

Medieval weapons hung on some weapon racks that dotted the room. Battle axes, war hammers, maces, morning stars, and the like. A potted fern in the corner next to the windows. You couldn't really tell if it was real or fake from your position, but it looks healthy none-the-less.

You then looked at the ceiling. Remembering back home that you made some glow-in-the-dark paint for your room and you painted a galaxy on your ceiling. A piece of artwork that would vanish when the lights were on and it would appear when the lights were turned out. It helped you sleep at night back on your home planet.

I mean, this room looks pretty...bleak. You should probably personalize it!

You should probably ask Black Hat if you could change it to your liking before you do anything though...or do it anyway without his consent.

It's your room as of now anyway. There were some things you would like to change to fit your personal taste. Move some of the weapons around...maybe add a little bit more equipment? Replace the paintings with some of your own pictures and choices of art.

Something awesome for the vanity...maybe a few more plants? Maybe a newtons' cradle for your vanity as well? Some posters...and some technology!

The longer you looked at your room, the more decorating ideas flowed into your mind. At least you weren't bored.

Yet, the large painting of Black Hat next to the bed kept rousing your suspicion from time to time.

Sometimes, you kept thinking that the Black Hat in the painting was in another posture that was different from the last time you looked at it. Or that the eyes would shift into a different position every time you turned away. You would even catch it staring at you a few times. Though, you kept brushing it off as delusions from the pain and medicine. Doesn't make it any less creepy, though. You might take that thing down foremost than anything else in the room. You suddenly focused your attention to the sound of the door to your room opening.

At first, you thought it was 5.0.5 returning from his chores, but you were surprised to see instead of the bear, it was Flug. He was coming in through the door with a tray that had rolls of new gauze bandages, some rubbing alcohol, and anti-bacterial pads. You hummed in acknowledgement.

Looks like it's time for your wounds to get treated. Which will probably be painful, you surmised. Flug noticed your awake state, and waved at you. Balancing the tray on one hand as he closed the door with his foot. "Oh! Good day, (Name)." He greeted. "Are you ready to get your wounds cleaned?" He asked, walking over to the side of your bed and sat the tray down onto one of the nightstands by your bedside. You shrugged. "I don't really have a choice. It's needed to make sure my wounds stay nice and clean of infection." You coughed, voice still a little raspy. But not as bad as what it once was hours before "Well...yes. You don't." Flug scratched his neck as he pulled over the chair from the vanity desk in the opposite corner of the room, just across from the potted plant. He began to prepare the bandages as he started to ask questions about your health. "How do you feel?" He questioned, pouring some rubbing alcohol on a sterile cleaning pad in the meantime. "Well. If I'm honest, like crap really. My wounds are still stinging and it hurts to breathe in deeply and laugh." You sighed. Flug nodded in response. "Black Hat really did a number on you. Your abdomen was bruised a deep purple. So, I'm not surprised that you're having issues with breathing and laughing." Flug stated, motioning for you to sit up slightly. You complied and hissed when your abdomen creased, Flug nodded and reached over for a pair of scissors on the tray.

"Do you remember anything after the attack?" Flug questioned, steadying you and he began to use the scissors to cut and remove the gauze from your torso. You shook your head. "Not much. I....think I went into the hallway? Then there was a long blurry moment with muddled movements and muffled voices. That's all I can remember mostly." You replied, shifting slightly to allow Flug to cut and remove the gauze on your shoulder. "Well, I'm not surprised. Your brain had probably shut down from the excessive pain responses it was getting during that incident. Quite normal." He peeled back the bandages, revealing the stitched up bite wound.

You visibly cringed at the view of the stitches going across your triceps. It looked agitated, with redness around the inflicted areas and the stitches that gave it the appearance of professionally woven cloth. Despite the obvious horror that was the wound itself, it was necessary for you to heal properly. Well, seeing from Flugs' obvious hum of approval, that is. "I'm surprised you made it to the kitchen in the state you were in. You looked like a walking bleeding corpse! You even freaked out Dementia and scared 5.0.5 for the rest of the night! Poor bear didn't sleep until he was sure you were okay." Flug reassured. You winced as he used the pads to clean the bites' stitching. Which stung, as you predicted earlier. That wound was definitely going to scar. At least Flug had the intellect to use close-sewn and smaller stitches so that it doesn't leave a too obvious scar. But, it will still be visible on your body.

You hummed when Flug mentioned the lovable ursine. "5.0.5 is such a sweet creature! He's been taking care of me all morning. He even got me a TV!" You pointed to the television, which was now on another show, the other show having gone off. "I see that." Flug noted. He cleaned your shoulder and asked you to roll over so that he could doctor the wounds on your back. You wished that you could see the claw marks going down your back, but at the same time, you don't think you'll be happy to see the wreckage that's now permanently engraved on your skin. But, hey! Now you don't have to get tattoos to show how badass you are! You were bitten by an alien and lived to tell the tale! However, people might just think that it was just a shark bite. Which is still cool, but not as cool as you could hope for it to be. You couldn't wait to show your friends! And your family! And...your internet friends...and...your coworkers.

. . .

You suddenly feel more homesick than ever. Thinking about your parents and your friends that you have back on your home planet.

Waiting for you...missing you! Your home! Your accounts! Your belongings! You start to feel worried at the thoughts and possibilities that began to eat at your mind. Visions of your face on 'Missing!' and 'Have you seen me? ' signs being put up by your distraught parents made your heart feel like it was breaking and that it was as heavy as a bowling ball in your chest.

Your poor parents...they must miss you so hard...wondering where you went. You've been gone for nearly a week. A week you've been missing. Your parents have probably figured that you've been kidnapped or you disappeared without a trace. You couldn't bear those haunting thoughts that were swirling in your mind. "Hey, Flug?" You asked, hissing slightly when he placed the pad that was soaked in rubbing alcohol onto your back wounds. "Hmm?" He hummed in interest, dressing and cleaning the inflicted areas. "Do you...think you could. . .nah. Nevermind." You muttered. "Can I what?" Flug questioned, his curiosity piqued. 'Can you find a way to send me home?' you mentally repeated. Sorrow eating at your insides, yet your face remained unchanged. If you tell him now, you might never get this opportunity again. Stall too long, and the window to your home planet might slam down and never pop back open again.

I mean, you have been bellyaching about missing your home for about a few days. Would it get annoying if you keep saying that you missed them?

You should...just keep this to yourself for now.

"Can you find time to stargaze with me sometime?" You asked, changing the phrase from your mental statement. Flug was so surprised from your question that he jerked a bit in shock. You seemed to process what it sounded like and coughed slightly. "I-If you have the time that is! You know, as friends!" You followed with as quickly as you could. "I-I-I...uh! S-sure?" Flug stuttered. "A-Ah, great!" You awkwardly laughed. Welp. That was awkward. You just hoped that would cover for the thought you were thinking of.

It appeared to have worked, as Flug went back to doctoring your wounds without any further conversations.

That's okay.

You need time to think anyway.

-- Now that you got hurt, you're wondering if you're really as safe as you previously thought you were. If you died out here. . .would your family miss you? What about your friends? Would you just be another unsolved missing person mystery? Would your friends and family searches be in vain? Just another closed cold case? Are they trying their best to find you? Has anyone noticed?

You visibly winced at the thoughts. "Hey." Flug said, as he sat on the unoccupied side of the bed. He was looking at you with those goggles of his. Strangely not crinkling the bag that they were strapped over. "(Name). I know you have something on your mind. You're being very quiet and distant again." Flug stated. You attempted to cover your thoughts with a reassuring smile, but it seemed that Flug wasn't buying your facade. "You can tell me, (Name). I won't tell Black Hat or anything." He offered. You still remained quiet, though you dropped your false facial facade. "Is it about...your home again?" Flug asked, looking straight out the windows. You hummed in agreement. "I...I know you said that it wasn't my fault. But...I can't help but feel like it is. That I ripped you away from everything you ever known. I'm actually surprised you didn't jump out of the crate and attempt to run away like a scared deer. For being so far away from home, you're quite calm about all of this." Flug huffed. "Now look at you. You're hurt. I-...I didn't find out why Black Hat attacked you so severely. I tried. But, it didn't come through the way I had...planned it to." Flug muttered. You shrugged, figuring that it was a failed experiment. "It's fine, Flug. But, yeah. I'll admit, I am...having homesick thoughts again. Thinking of friends and family and whatnot." You rasped. "This journey is great, don't get me wrong. But, now that I'm injured. I realized that I am the weakest human on this planet currently. I'm soft and easy to rip open." You answered. "If I had to guess why Black Hat attacked me so severely, I personally think Black Hat gets off on hurting people. Maybe my skin was just so easy to rip into that he couldn't stop himself." You huffed. "That doesn't mean that he gets a pass, though! I still want an apology at least!" Flug just nodded as he faced away from the windows and back to you once again. "I won't lie. I thought that as well, even when I started to 'work ' here." He replied. You blinked. "Hey, Flug." He tilted his head slightly at you. "When we go stargazing some night, will you tell me how you built that gamma ray gun? That thing was awesome! I can't believe you built that! It was truly amazing!" You stated in awe. Flug looked suddenly flattered, as he reached up to rub his neck. "I-I...I guess? I mean, it's sorta complicated. But, I-I'll be glad to share some information." He answered, looking away flustered. You laughed. "You dork, we're both nerds. I'm an engineer, remember? If I could take back some things from here, then I can prove that aliens exist!" You grinned at him as he looked back. "And I'll make sure everyone knows your name on my planet." You snuggled deeper into the covers, wincing when you scrunched your stomach in a little too much.

Flug looked at you with a slightly confused expression. "Know my name? Why?" Flug asked, slightly confused. "Well, I wouldn't have the prowess to make them. Only you can do that. Because you're so great!" You said, smiling at your friend. Flug looked away. "It's amazing really." He mumbled. "I wouldn't have thought I would meet an alien either. Yet, here I am. Talking with one. That apparently now wants to take something back from here and scream my name to anything that has ears back on their planet." Flug laughed slightly and placed his gloved palm onto his bag-covered face. You grew flustered at the accusation. "It's just for credibility!" You shrieked, lightly kicking his butt from underneath the covers of your bed. To which he stood up, laughing as he did so. "Sure it is." He waved it off. "Well, I got to get back to the lab. Black Hat is probably gonna drop by and deliver some prompts today." He said nonchalantly, as he walked around the end of your bed, picked up the tray from your bedside, and headed to the exit of your room. "Bye, Flug! See you later." You waved him off as he opened the door. He looked back at you, if he had his true face showing, you would'ave guessed that he would'ave been smiling. "Bye, (Name). See you later." He finished and walked out of the room, softly closing the door behind him. You felt better after your visit from Flug. He was just a nice guy to be around! Unlike your boss. Who's a stuck up piece of shit. Speaking of which, you glared at the large painting on the wall.

Funny. It looked different again! This time, the Black Hat in the painting had a disgruntled look on his face, the one visible eye looking off into the distance. You squinted at it in suspicion. "What are you staring at, you ugly thing?" You snapped at the picture. Huffing and sitting back in the bed, you tuned back into the portable TV. Which was currently playing a show that looked similar to 'The price is right ' from your home planet. And when you got bored of watching TV, you would go back to planning the layout of your room. Completely missing the movement of the eyes shifting to look at you on the painting. -- Black Hat was currently sitting in his office counting the money he managed to make off of the gamma ray gun and spybots. A decent haul, but it could be better. WAY better. Black Hat hummed when he rolled his eye into his head to tune back in to watching his underlings roam about the manor through all of his paintings and personal little 'windows '. The first minion he found was Dementia, as she was in the living room, scaling bookshelves and digging around in personal archives.

She was even chewing on...?! He thought 5.0.5 was chewing on the furniture! He'll punish her for that later, make no mistake about that!

Peaking in through another one of his 'windows ', he saw 5.0.5 back in his maid outfit, to which he didn't understand why the bear even HAD  that outfit, and was cleaning the hallways and decorations.

It was pretty boring to watch 5.0.5 clean, to which he just changed his view point to a few more hidden 'windows ' that were littered throughout the manor. But, it wasn't until he changed back to the guestroom that was currently housing an injured you, that he was suddenly interested. Flug was in there as well, nursing the wounds that he inflicted on you with rubbing alcohol and redoing the bandages. Seeing the wounds again made Black Hat grin. It wasn't his intention, but the marks did look nice on you. It felt like he marked his territory in a way. On an alien no less!

While not his ideal thoughts of 'space property', the unintentional harsh lesson he delivered onto them was...delightful. He chuckled to himself.

Yet, Flug should only be in there for as long as he needs to be...why is he sticking around them so much?! Black Hat snorted slightly, staring through the 'window ' with a burning eye and gritted teeth. Yet, even if the view was disgusting, he kept watching.

Upon further speculation, it seems that his engineer and his scientist were getting rather...chummy with one another. They were talking about recent events and seemed to be. . .making friends with each other?! Black Hat felt like getting sick at the thought of two of his underlings getting into a relationship that was more than professionalism would allow to be standard. They even asked Flug if he would like to go stargazing with them! Oh, how sickly sweet. Black Hat flicked his forked tongue out of his mouth, still smelling the blood that lingered in his office. Even after it had long since been cleaned up by himself. Still intoxicating as ever. Sweet and metallic. The best combination for blood. Then, Black Hat refocused his vision on the guest room, tuning back in when the two of them started to talk about the engineers' family.

Aw~! They miss their home and family! How pathetic. Black Hat didn't expect Flug to get along with this newcomer so well. Especially not now. They're even cheerier than before. Black Hat held back a retch. He HATES them. He will also NEVER apologize. To anyone for anything! He felt his powers manipulate the expression on the painting as he observed you and Flug joking around and talking about certain things. It was probably showing the disgruntlement on his legitimate physical features. Not a surprise to himself, really. He does it all the time when he longs to scare someone out of their skin! Ah, those types of expressions are the priceless ones to behold. It's what he LIVES for! When Flug left, he noticed at how his little engineer would look over to the painting at some points in time. What he DIDN'T expect, was them snapping at the painting and calling it an 'ugly thing '. He gritted his teeth slightly at the insult, shaking his head in disgruntlement. Black Hat rolled his visible eye forward, revealing his jet black slit pupil once again, and turned his chair around to face the rose-tinted window. His mood thoroughly dampened. Though, when he looked outside, he caught the view of dark clouds brewing over the city. Black Hat waited for a few minutes and heard the distant sound of thunder rumbling across the sky in the distance. He grinned in delight.

Stormy weather was always the best time for picking on his minions. It has the right atmosphere for pulling tricks. Especially if there was a blackout during the storm! They're completely unexpected and cause great unease~! 'Oh...how unfortunate would that be~? ' He thought, as a wicked idea came to him. Black Hat grinned ominously at the thunder outside grew ever closer. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Next> <Previous ~First~

[lunarlooroo]

Prompt by @kawaiireinacita : Also, building off the ficlet where Heather reveals her pregnancy, could you do one that follows Heather's pregnancy in moments up to her giving birth (in Sev's POV) with him being all overprotective and a whole lotta angst and fluff?

So, I know it’s been a while since my last prompt ficlet, but my exams are finally over, so yay! I’ll hopefully be returning to my schedule of one per week, so please be patient if you’ve submitted a prompt and it hasn’t been written.

 Now, this is gonna be a long one, to make up for my long absence. Hope you guys enjoy! I think I got cavities just writing this. Please let me know what you guys think!

First Month:

Severus exited the en suite after his shower, towelling his hair meticulously. Heather was still abed and he was amused to see that she had burrowed into the warm space he had left when he woke. Her eyelids lifted just a little when he walked over to the wardrobe.

“Mmh, this is a nice sight to wake to,” she slurred as she reluctantly sat up, stretching. Her nightdress slipped a little over her shoulder, revealing tempting bare skin.

“Indeed,” he agreed. It wasn’t often he that his wife remained asleep even after he left the bed. She was quite a light sleeper, like himself, and they usually woke within seconds of each other. Her movements were sluggish as she hauled herself off the mattress.

It had been a tiring week, with a flurry of sudden orders due to an emerging strain of Wizard’s Flu. They’d spent hours upon hours frantically trying to adjust the potion to tackle the illness. They couldn’t rest yet, however, as they needed to produce more of the rapidly-diminishing stock. They had sent the formula to the other apothecaries as well, but supply was still being far outstripped by demand.

Severus lowered his head accommodatingly as Heather padded up to him and brushed an affectionate kiss on his cheek. He smiled fondly, reciprocating the action. She caressed his torso, sighing, before extricating herself from his hold to go wash up. They had work to do after all.

Grimacing lightly, he started dressing himself for the day. He was certainly not relishing the thought of dealing with frenetic parents arguing over the small supply of potion they had. It was a difficult brew, taking the better half of the day for one cauldron which would only yield 8 doses. Understandable, given that this particular strain of flu was remarkably aggressive. Already the children’s ward at St Mungo’s was filled to bursting, with other wards opening up to take in the excess. Fortunately, it seemed that those of age were quite immune to it.

When Heather emerged, fresh from her morning ablutions, she was frowning. Concerned, he asked, “Is something the matter?”

She wrinkled her brow as she retrieved her own clothes and put them on. “Not exactly. I just feel sort of…off today.”

“Are you ill?” He immediately stepped up to her and tilted her face up, as if he could see any sickness she had by looking closely. Would she be the first adult to contract the accursed flu? She had certainly had worse luck than this.

She shook her head and smiled comfortingly. “No, it’s not the flu. I’m not feeling sick, just- just, off-kilter, I suppose that’s the word. I’m sure it’s nothing. Maybe I’m just tired.”

Worried, but trusting that she knew herself best, Severus nodded. “The moment you feel unwell, please see a healer. Merlin knows what would happen if you somehow managed to get infected by the flu.”

“You worry too much,” Heather teased, laughing. “I’ll be fine. We’re too busy now for me to take a break just because I feel a little odd.”

Severus knew the stubborn woman wouldn’t let herself rest even if she were dead on her feet. Not when there were so many children in need of their help. He would simply have to keep a close eye on her for now.

~~~

Second Month:

Glaring daggers into the man’s back, Severus had to restrain himself from breaking something. Warren Brookes was the bane of his existence, he was sure of it.

Now, Severus did not want to be the type of man that forbade his wife from talking to other men. He refused to be that brutish. Heather was hardly one to lay back and placidly take someone else’s orders, in any case. She was her own person and could do what she wished. Just because they were married did not give him the right to control her actions, no matter what many of the older generation Purebloods thought.

However, he was a veryjealous man, and he absolutely loathedBrookes. How could he not, when Heather lit up every time the man stepped into the shop, when they shared little inside jokes he was not privy to, when she seemed to be hiding something from him?

At this point, Severus was half-convinced she might be having an affair with the dastardly man, if not for the fact that he knew she was loyal enough not to stray – and cunning enough to conceal such things better, besides.

Nevertheless, he did not interfere. He knew Heather was not one to make friends very easily. Oh, she was generally well-liked, but she was wary of new people and slow to trust. He would not ruin this for her, no matter how much he disliked Brookes.

Not only that, he did not wish to upset Heather, not when she seemed to still be recovering from her brief illness. She claimed to have recovered entirely already, but she still had the occasional bout of poor appetite and lethargy. They let as soon as they came, however, which he wasn’t sure was worrying or relieving. At least she was getting enough nutrition in between these episodes, having seen her down three hearty servings of cottage pie the night before.

Perhaps the stress of having Heather unwell was making him more paranoid, seeing things that weren’t there. Perhaps Brookes was simply a good friend, one whom Heather had just ‘clicked’ with. Perhaps there was nothing to be concerned about.

Perhaps.

~~~

Third Month:

Severus came to consciousness slowly. He was lying on his back, with Heather tucked up against his side and her face turned into the crook of his neck. It was comfortably warm under the duvet and he could feel Heather’s slow, even breaths against his skin.

Thankfully, it had been a peaceful night. No nightmares from Heather. He was glad, as his wife sorely needed the rest. She had been having them frequently in the past few weeks, something she said was due to the hormonal fluctuations in pregnancy.

Pregnancy.

He still found it difficult to believe, and some part of him still expected to be rudely awoken from this dream to find himself in Hogwarts’ infirmary, learning that Nagini’s venom had more hallucinogenic activity than previously thought.

All his life, he would never have imagined that he could have this. A warm home, a loving wife, and now, a beloved child on the way.

Thinking again of how Heather had broken the news to him, his mouth tilted downwards in a chagrined frown. How could he have believed her capable of infidelity? He was still angry with himself for it, mostly because he had hurt Heather with his wild imaginings. He had done her a disservice with his lack of faith, and he could only hope to make it up to her every day going forward. Because she had stayed, which was more than he deserved, truly.

The darling woman would surely berate him for such thoughts.

He slid a hand down to rest on her abdomen, where their child lay safely within. There was a noticeable bump, though nothing that could not be easily hidden by robes. It had been a marvellous day when they realised she was showing. Though he felt that every single moment was very much a momentous achievement.

Suddenly, it felt like if his life held any worth, then it was to protect this dear little one. Protect the both of them. Not that Heather normally needed any protection, for she could take care of herself more than well enough. Pregnancy was difficult on the body, however, and a sizeable portion of Heather’s energy and magic would go into nurturing the foetus.

Unconsciously, his hand began stroking circles into Heather’s skin. She shifted a little, humming lowly. “S’nice.”

“I’m sorry, did I wake you?” He frowned. Heather needed all the rest she could get.

She shook her head. It felt almost like she was nuzzling into him, as her face was still pressed to his neck. He couldn’t help but smile at the feeling.

“M’fine. Don’t worry so much.” She groped around blindly, eventually managing to find his hand and link their fingers right above the bump on her stomach.

Severus closed his eyes, basking in the intimacy and contentedness.

“Hey, Sev’rus?” she asked. He made an enquiring noise in reply, to which she giggled lightly at, feeling the vibrations. “What do you think about starting to tell people?”

He thought about it for a while. It was a good time. They were soon leaving the first trimester, where the danger was highest. “If you would like to.”

“Yes, I think it’s time. The baby’s growing rather quickly, and soon I’ll be too large to hide. I’d really rather we be the ones to tell people than my stomach.”

“Of course,” he agreed. There was little he would not agree with Heather about these days. “Though it would be amusing to let people know that way as well.”

“Could we tell Hadrian first?” Her voice had gone very quiet, as if he could say no to such an innocent request.

“Whatever you want,” he promised. “I assume you would like to inform your twins next?” He felt her nod.

“Then maybe we could tell Minerva?” She pulled away then, but only slightly, so she could look up into his eyes. She was grinning in excitement at the thought of sharing the news.

“Yes, that would be acceptable.” He could see the twinkle in the old cat’s eyes now, something she had no doubt learnt from Albus’ meddling portrait.

“Then…” she trailed off uncertainly. He squeezed her handed encouragingly. He would do his best to accommodate her every desire. “Could we tell Sirius and Remus? Maybe have them over for dinner?”

Even that.

Sighing, he bent slightly to touched his forehead to hers. “I suppose I could, if that is what you want.”

Beaming, Heather leant up to peck his lips chastely. “Perfect.”

~~~

Fourth Month:

Heather was vomiting into the toilet again. Severus held her hair back as he rubbed her back soothingly. Her morning sickness had not abated with the beginning of the second trimester, instead increasing in intensity. She insisted that everything was fine, however. It worried him greatly, and he was this close to simply carrying Heather to Brookes’ clinic for a check-up. Indeed, he was thatworried.

He had a warm washcloth ready once she was done purging her lunch. Gently cleaning her face, he then picked her up and brought her to their bed. It was a testament to how nauseous she felt that she made no protest at the treatment. She looked frightfully pale and small on their sheets, and for a moment all he could feel was dread. She looked close to simply fading away.

“Please, let’s go see a healer,” he all but begged. Heather was stubbornly insisting that morning sickness was a normal symptom, but this just seemed like too much. She didn’t seem to be getting any nutrition, with how much she was throwing up.

“I’m fine, Severus. I’ll just rest for a short while.” The words were barely out her mouth before she was nodding off.

His gaze hardened as he came to a decision. If he could not persuade Heather, then he would bring someone who could.

With purpose, he strode to their floo and threw some powder into the fire. He called out his intended location and waited until a familiar face came into view.

“Molly, I have a request to ask of you.” The Weasley matriarch was sure to be able to talk sense into his obstinate wife.

The older witch looked rather surprised at his words. “Oh, Severus! What is it that you need? Is it Heather?”

He nodded. “Yes, her morning sickness has gotten much worse recently, and yet she refuses to see a healer. I would appreciate it greatly if you could talk some sense into her.” Heather might listen to Molly, if only because of the woman’s sheer amount of experience in this area.

Molly frowned in disapproval. “That girl, much too stubborn for her own good. Step back, I’m coming through.”

He had no time to say that Heather was currently indisposed before Molly stepped out of the floo.

“Now, tell me more. You say her morning sickness has been bad?”

Severus explained the situation to the woman, emphasising the increased lethargy and episodes of vomiting. She had a thoughtful expression on her face, before asking to see Heather. They both went up to the bedroom where Heather was still resting and Molly’s eyes widened upon seeing her.

“How far along did you say she was again?”

“14 weeks,” he stated, bemused.

“14? Hmm, I see,” Molly muttered, eying Heather’s abdomen critically. “When was your last check-up with Healer Brookes?”

“Three weeks ago. We are due again in two weeks, but I have been trying to persuade Heather to go sooner.”

“Well, I think I know what is happening here.” Molly turned back and gestured for him to walk out of the room with her. She then closed the door behind her and looked at him with her hands on her hips. “I think it’s best you get an appointment with Healer Brookes as soon as possible, just to make sure.”

He clenched his fists, darting a quick glance at the door. “What is the problem? Is it serious?”

At that, Molly let out a soft chuckle. “Don’t you fret too much. I wouldn’t exactly call it a problem. Though it israther serious.”

“What is it?” he asked again, not enjoying the cryptic words.

“Oh, don’t worry. Heather isn’t in danger. Just go see the healer and ask for a more detailed scan. He’ll be able to confirm it. If that girl is still too stubborn to listen, just get the healer to come for a home visit.”

He agreed to her words, forcing a thankful smile onto his face as he escorted her to the fireplace. Molly patted his arm fondly.

“Well, take care, you two. I’ll need to get going. This is more knitting than I expected, but I’ll get it done with a little effort!”

Without getting to ask about the puzzling statement, the woman disappeared through the floo.

~~~

Fifth Month:

When Severus saw Heather come into the laboratory, he quickly put his cauldrons under stasis and threw on a protective bubble while he was at it. He had immediately ceased brewing anything that could remotely harm babies or pregnant women after learning about the pregnancy of course, but one could never be too cautious.

“Heather was there something you needed?” He crossed the room to put an arm around Heather’s waist, supporting her weight. She rolled her eyes and swatted his arm to get him to stop.

“Oh, stop that. I’m pregnant, not an invalid, I can walk perfectly fine on my own. I just came to brew a potion.”

Staring dolefully at her, he tried to convey his disapproval through his eyes.

“Don’t look at me like that! I’m going out of my mind with boredom! All I’ve done today is wake up, have you walk me to the bathroom then down the stairs, eat the breakfast you cooked then sat in the living room reading a book that you insisted on bringing to me! Now all I want to do is brew something. Anything. Surely there’s something we need to stock up on?”

“It’s not safe,” he tried to reason, “What if something happened?”

“Nothingwill happen,” she said, exasperated, “Warren said that I could brew so long as I didn’t use any of the ingredients on his list. And you all but threw them out that very day. Thankfully Fred and George agreed to store all that in their labs for now. They were worth quite a lot, you know.”

He gathered her in his arms. “Nothing is worth as much as you and the children.” Healer Brookes had confirmed that they were having twins – and sons, at that – at their last booking, proving Molly’s suspicions accurate. Brookes had explained that morning sickness tended to be stronger in multiple pregnancies and increased the dose of potion for the nausea.

Severus hadn’t thought it was possible to be so deliriously happy, yet nervewrackingly anxious at the same time. He had been using a fork yesterday and briefly wondered about chucking them all out because they could pose a danger. It had long gone past ridiculous by now, but for the life of him he could not seem to stop worrying.

“You sweet-talker you,” Heather cooed, smiling. “But don’t think you can distract me. I’ve been itching to brew, and nothing you say is going to stop me.”

“But-”

“Nothing!” she said loudly, evading his hands with surprising agility for someone in her state and heading to an empty workbench. Her equipment was levitating towards her to line themselves up obediently for her use. He hovered over her the entire time, worried about her overextending her magic, about her getting too tired, about her accidentally slipping up and causing an explosion. She was only making a simple Muscle Tonic – something she had learnt in fourth year – but stranger things had happened.

“You know,” she said, efficiently chopping up some ginger root, “this isn’t exactly difficult or dangerous. I’m sure I’ll be fine managing this on my own.”

Grimacing, he acquiesced and returned to his own work. He still kept half his attention on her, however, in case she needed anything at all. A sharp noise of surprise had him immediately going to check up on her.

“What is the matter? Have you hurt yourself?” He skimmed his hands over her arms to look for any cuts or burns.

“I’m fine!” she assured, batting him away. “I just accidentally bumped against the table. I’m not used to all this extra luggage in the front.” She patted her stomach fondly, as if underscoring the danger of this endeavour to Severus.

“Perhaps you should go have some rest. I will finish this up and get it to you as quickly as possible. Has your back been bothering you again?” He summoned a chair for her to sit on as he tried to coax her away from the workstation.

“Honestly, Severus, you’re overreacting! I feel perfectly alright! Now, just go back to what you were doing and leave me to- Oh!” Heather startled, hands flying to her abdomen as she hunched over slightly. Her face was a picture of shock.

Severus’ anxiety rose several notches and he urged his wife into the chair. “Heather, what’s wrong? Are you in pain? Should I floo the healer?” He was frantic with worry at the thought of something harming his wife and children.

“Shh! I’m trying to focus!”

He was all but vibrating in place, staring intently at Heather as she focussed on the baby bump. After seconds that felt like hours, he started to speak again when his wife lit up with a beaming smile and grabbed his hand to place where hers had been previously.

“What is-”

“Just hush and feel!” she said excitedly.

Frowning, he nevertheless quieted and tried what she said to. After a few moments after feeling rather foolish, he felt it.

Just a slight flutter. The barest hint, really.

It was almost enough to upend his entire world.

“That is…” he trailed off, awestruck. He looked up at Heather again, then quickly looked back down at her stomach.

“Yeah, that’s one of our little ones kicking,” Heather whispered, as if unwilling to shatter the moment by speaking too loudly. Then she jumped slightly. “And oh, looks like number two wants some attention too!” She gently guided his other hand to the other side of her stomach, where another hand or foot was nudging insistently.

He opened his mouth to say something, but found himself lacking the words. There wasn’t really any way something so trivial could describe the depth of his emotions at the moment.

Heather’s smile was soft, understanding, and he knew she was feeling the same.

~~~

Sixth Month:

“Say, Severus?”

Severus made an inquiring sound, looking up from the novel that they were in the middle of. She was sitting between his legs, with her back to his front so he could support the growing weight around her middle. The book was in her hands and he was reading over her shoulder. It was one of the few positions that soothed the annoying ache in her back.

She leant back so that her head rested on his shoulder and she could look up at him. “Do you think we should start thinking of names?”

He pondered over that. “Do you have any in mind?”

“Not exactly,” she said, slowly, “but that’s why we should start thinking about it!”

He raised an eyebrow at her knowingly. “I suppose you would like to name them after those Weasley twins of yours?”

Smiling sheepishly, she said, “I have thought of that, yes. But only if you’re okay with it!”

“I shudder to think of what sort of role model they will be to young, impressionable children, but I suppose that there are worse people to be named for.” The dratted twins had grown on him over the years. ‘Like fungi’, as they liked to put it. They were also unquestionably Heather’s closest and dearest friends. “We may as well name them godfathers while we are at it,” he tossed out casually.

“Really?” Her eyes widened. “You’re not just saying that for me, are you? Because I want you to be happy with this decision too.”

Despite those words, Severus could tell his wife quite favoured his suggestion. It was fortunate that he did as well. Fred and George Weasley were two men he could count on to protect and love their children, if not to provide a good influence.

“I am quite certain. However, if I find out that they’ve armed our children with any products that are not appropriate for their age, they will be the ones left bawling like infants.”

Laughing, she said, “I’ll be sure to tell them that.” Then she gasped. “Oh Salazar, I’ll be telling them they’re godparents! They’ll flip!”

Severus cleared his throat. “I believe you mentioned names?”

“Oh, yes!” She shook her head to get her focus back, “I really haven’t any solid ideas, but I was thinking that their first names should be their own, while their middle names can be Fred and George.”

He nodded. “Acceptable. Much less confusion this way as well.”

“Uh huh. This way they wouldn’t feel like they’re stuck in the shadow of someone else. They can be their own person. And they’ll be loved no matter what.”

Severus tightened his arms around Heather as she said this and buried his smile in her hair. Yes, that sounded perfect.

~~~

Seventh Month:

Severus had one of Heather’s hands in his grip as Brookes waved his wand over her gravid form. A parchment of results was produced from the tip of the healer’s wand.

“Well, how’s it looking Warren?” Heather asked, craning her neck to try and peek at the words.

Brookes hummed, making a few notes with his quill. “Everything seems to be in order. Nice strong heartbeats, positioned correctly, growing at a good pace. How are you feeling?”

“A little tired, but otherwise alright. My magic’s gotten a tad wonky, but you mentioned it would happen.” She laughed, likely thinking of the way everything she’d picked up yesterday getting spontaneously turned bright purple. Severus smirked in amusement at the memory. One of his black robes had been a victim of the incident, but it was simple enough to return all the items back to their original colour.

“And you’ve been getting enough rest?” he added, eyebrow raised expectantly.

“I’ve made sure of it,” Severus said, ignoring his wife’s narrowed eyes. She could be annoyed all she wanted, so long as she did not overexert herself.

“Good, good,” Brookes nodded, “any pains in your stomach?”

“No, just a lot of kicking.”

“Brilliant!” Brookes then grew sombre. “Now, there’s something I have to discuss with the two of you.”

Immediately worried, Severus stiffened in his seat. Exchanging a glance with Heather, he asked the healer, “Is there a problem?”

“Well, it’s nothing serious,” Brookes reassured, “It has to do with the delivery. If all goes according to schedule, it should happen in about ten weeks. The babies are growing well, as I said. However, I am concerned that Heather’s pelvic bone will be too small to accommodate the birth.” The man brought out a diagram and pointed to one of the images. “See this? This part is the widest part of a baby’s head, which will have to pass through the pelvic outlet here,” he moved to point to another image. “With the babies’ current growth trajectory, however, I estimate that they will be too large to pass through Heather’s pelvic bone.”

Heather gasped and looked down, clutching her stomach. Severus frowned, knowing where her thoughts were likely heading. Her childhood had done a lot to stunt her growth. Neither of her parents had been short people, and were it not for those deplorable muggles, Heather would have ended up more well-built than she was.

“Is there something that can be done?” Severus asked the healer.

The man gave a comforting smile. “Yes, fortunately. There is a spell we can use to soften her pelvic bone temporarily. That way, it should not impede the delivery. There are also other options, such as vanishing the bone entirely, but that is not the first-line option we would choose as her pelvic organs and muscles might be damaged.”

“And this procedure is entirely safe for the babies?” Heather asked.

Severus shot her an exasperated look. Trust her to only ask after the children’s wellbeing. “This will be safe for Heather as well?” he added.

“Yes, it is quite safe. We use this quite often for small witches with large foetuses, such as half-giant children. Complications occur only in 5% of deliveries, most of them resulting in the mother requiring additional treatment. But they are quite easily resolved.” The man then handed them a pamphlet containing information on the spell and procedure. “Here, all the information you need is written here. You can both take this home and read it carefully. If you have any questions, I’m just a floo call away. Of course, we can also explore other options if that is what you wish.”

Severus took the leaflet, knowing he would be scrutinising every word in it, as well as looking into other sources to corroborate the information. The determined look in Heather’s eyes told him she was of the same mind.

He would not do anything to risk Heather and their children.

~~~

Eighth Month:

“SEVERUS!” Heather shouted, causing him to drop whatever he was holding to find her. His heart was beating out of his chest as images of Heather collapsed on the floor flashed through his mind. He slammed through the door of their bedroom to find Heather…staring at him over a catalogue?

He slumped in relief, striding up to his wife to place a fierce kiss in her hair. “You frightened me with your shout. I thought there was an emergency.”

“This isan emergency!” Heather waved the magazine in her hands frantically, “There’s only a month left till the little ones arrive, and I just realised that we haven’t bought anything at all! We need diapers and bottles and blankets and clothes – well, I know Mrs Weasley’s been knitting up a storm but she can’t possibly have made up two entire wardrobes – and toys and oh Merlin, we haven’t even set up the nursery-”

“Heather-”

“I cannot believeI haven’t prepared for this at all! I’m usually so much more organised than this! This pregnancy has really messed with my brain. Just the other day I forgot the ingredients for a Boil Cure. Can you imagine? A Boil Cure. Wait,” she shook her head, “I can’t get distracted. We need to go shopping now! There’s so much we need to get!”

Severus put a hand on Heather’s shoulder. “Calm, Heather. Breath.” Seeing her take a deep inhale, he nodded. “Good, now listen. Healer Brookes recommended that you get as much bed rest as possible. I do not think he would approve of a manic shopping trip at this point. If there is anything we need to get, we can look through the catalogue and get them owl ordered. Incidentally,” He coughed, averting his eyes. “I have prepared some things for the children’s arrival, so you do not have to worry about the nursery.”

“Wait, you set up the nursery already?” she asked incredulously, “How did I not know about it?”

“You have been rather distracted, love.” It might also have been the ward he had put up at the door to the nursery. Perhaps he had made the confounding element of it a tad toostrong, if Heather had forgotten entirely about the baby preparations. “Come, I was just putting the finishing touches on it.” He helped her off the bed and walked her to the next room. The door was still ajar from his panicked rush out of it.

He had had the room painted a calming blue, with white wispy clouds scattered all around, giving the impression of being in the sky. White carpeting lined the floor, soft enough to protect vulnerable young children from falls. There was a changing table, shelves for books and other items, even a rocking chair. The centrepiece of the room, however was the large ornate cot.

“This looks absolutely amazingSeverus! I can’t believe that you did all this!” She spun in a slow circle, taking in the entire room.

He reached down to pick up the plush lion he had dropped earlier in his haste. Making a show of rolling his eyes at the thing, he put it on the shelf. “I had some help. Molly told me the essentials. Your twins helped paint the room. Many of our friends gifted us various toys and books. And your brother…he helped me with the cot.”

He gestured for her to observed the cot more carefully. She was clearly confused, even as she ran her hand down the polished wood grain. As she looked closer at the designs on the bars, her eyes widened in shock.

“We made a trip to Godric’s Hollow and found that the cot remained mostly intact despite all these years. It took some work, but we managed to restore it to its original state.” Well, mostly. He traced the prancing animals with his eyes. A proud stag, a gentle doe, an excitable dog, a howling wolf. There used to be a tiny rat as well, be Hadrian had gladly blasted it off the wood.

“This cot was gifted to your parents by your paternal grandparents, you know. They’d had it custom made when Lily was pregnant with you. Then they personally charmed it with protective spells of all kinds.” He motioned towards the runes running down the sides of the cot’s legs.

“Oh, Severus…” Heather sounded overwhelmed a she continued to stare at her childhood cot. It was the very same one that her brother had been in when Voldemort attacked. Suddenly, he realised that this might not be a reminder she wanted around their children.

“If you dislike it, we can look through the catalogue and find another more one which is more suitable,” he said, worried that he had upset her.

“No!” she shouted suddenly. She stepped closer to the cot, almost protectively. “This one is perfect.” Then she smiled, her eyes shining. “You and Rian did a wonderful job with it. It looks brand new! And I can actually feel how strong the protective magic is in it.”

He sighed, relieved. “I am glad you like it.”

“I love it, thank you.” Heather hugged him, burrowing her face into his chest, a position made slightly awkward by her stomach. But it only served to make him smile. It felt like they were cradling their children between the both of them. She then looked up at him, a tender expression on her face. “I love you.”

He blinked a few times, suddenly feeling like there was dust in his eyes. “And I you.”

A sudden kick between their bodies made them smile. Heather grabbed his hand to put on her stomach. “And Papa and Mama love you, little ones! We can’t wait to meet you!”

~~~

Ninth Month:

“How about Francis and Grant?” Heather asked.

He shook his head immediately. “I had an uncle named Grant. Horrid man. Drank too much, hit too much, resembled Tobias too much. And I simply dislike the sound of Francis.”

She hummed, crossing using her pencil to cross out the options in her notebook.

“Fenris and Gordon?”

He shuddered. “One word. Greyback.”

Heather grimaced and cancelled the word forcefully. After a second, she also made another notation. Good, he didn’t like Gordon either. Heather took a few moments to breathe deeply and exhale slowly.

“Okay, then what do you think of Fenix and Griffin?”

Severus shot her a look. He let that be answer enough.

She rolled her eyes and continued. The little minx didn’t even make a show of striking the names off, likely because she had only said them to annoy him.

“Fine. Felix and Glenn?”

He paused at those. Considered. “Perhaps.”

Smiling, Heather nodded and circled the names.

“You should lie down. You look rather tired,” he admonished.

“I’m-”

“If you say ‘I’m fine’ or any variation of the phrase, so help me Salazar, I will restrain you to the bed.” Rather than be intimidated, the woman raised an eyebrow at him, daring him to try. It was an empty threat and they both knew it. He looked away, conceding the point.

“Warren said it would go faster if I sat up,” she said.

Severus narrowed his eyes. “Whatwould go faster?”

She sighed. “Labour, of course,” she said curtly. Her forehead wrinkled a little, a sign of her discomfort that he had up till now not registered.

He straightened in his seat, alarmed. His arms rose up to hover uselessly around his wife. “Labour?You’ve been in labour this whole time? For how long? Why did you not say anything? We need to go to the healer!”

She huffed. “Oh relax, Severus. It’s still the early stages. The contractions are still quite far apart. Warren will just send us back until there’s more progress.”

“He won’t, if he wishes to retain use of his limbs,” he growled.

“It’s too early to do anything,” she reiterated, “I just have to wait it out.”

“But you are in pain.” He felt utterly useless. He knew the process of delivery, of course. Brookes had explained it to the both of them weeks ago. Knowing of it and actually witnessing it happen were two rather different beasts, however.

For lack of something better to do, he supported Heather’s waist and massaged her back gently. She had an amused grin as she patted his hand comfortingly.

“Now, what about Flynn and Gerard?”

They continued to lobby about possible names. As time passed, Heather’s voice grew fainter and fainter. She even managed to doze off every so often. Severus got increasingly anxious, wondering when exactly his wife would be willing to go to the healer.

It must have been hours later when suddenly, Heather angled her head to face him. “Okay, I think it’s time.”

He was absolutely clueless to what had prompted her to say so, but he did not argue. Carefully, he helped her get to her feet and supported her as they made their way to the floo. Within moments, they were in the foyer of Saint Mungo’s.

How she was so calm about the whole situation, he had no idea. He was going out of his mind in worry, and there she was, humming in between her contractions as they were brought to the maternity wards.

Healer Brookes appeared just as a particularly strong contraction made Heather curse a little. Perhaps it was pure coincidence, perhaps some sort of innate healer’s instinct, but that was the moment when Heather’s waters broke.

What happened thereafter was a blur. Severus vaguely remembered mediwizards coming in to assist with the delivery, Heather’s faced scrunched up in pain, her hand gripping his just thisside of too tight. That hour or so was definitely one of the most terrifying of his life. Which was quite an achievement, considering what he had done during the wars.

At the end of it all, however, as he cradled his recently expanded family in his arms, what he felt was beyond words.

“I’m not doing that again for another few years,” Heather announced tiredly, even as she smiled adoringly at their newborns. “Voldemort’s Crucioshad nothing on that. Frankly, I’m now convinced that the spell was created by an angry mother to try and simulate the pains of childbirth.”

The delivery had been difficult on Heather’s body, even with the greatest efforts of the healer. He was in utter awe of her persistence and strength. “Thank you,” he whispered fervently, stroking her cheek which was slightly pale from the blood loss.

She sighed. “You silly man. I couldn’t have done this without you. Quite literally.” Then she looked back to the two infants lying on her chest. Neither of them was able to tear their attention from the little ones for long. “I think I know what to name them.”

“Anything you want,” he promised. She had done all of the work, after all. He was quite willing to give her whatever she wished.

“This one,” she said, caressing their firstborn’s downy head, “will be Galen Fred Snape. And this one,” she continued, resting a gentle hand on their other son’s back, “Finian George Snape.”

“It suits them,” he agreed. Heather beamed in joy, tilting her head up to ask for a kiss. He acquiesced readily.

At that very moment, everything was just perfect.

~~~

Bonus, one week later:

Twin cries pierced the calm night, startling both Heather and Severus awake. His wife turned to look at him balefully, uttering three words that made him reconsider his words one week ago.

“It’s your turn.”

Hope you guys enjoyed that! The second month one was in the same time period as a previous ficlet and the mention about inviting Sirius and Remus over for dinner in the third month refers to another ficlet as well.

I know I copped out a little for the birth scene, but I didn’t really wanna get into graphic details.

[goblincas]

Entry Level Angel | Ch 2

On AO3

No doubt, Cas had infiltrated a business casual wonderland.

The pearly, spit-shined walls were bearing down on him, their surface nearly as glossy as the lapel pin of the nearest corporate crony. Only a handful of attendees seemed to have spotted Cas; admittedly, it was hard to tell just how many that was, given the vacant overtone of their glares. They’d initially sneered down at him, but soon fell into muted giggle fits, erupting one-by-one.

Clearly, there were some conflicted-as-hell emotions at play— and Cas's arrival was the catalyst, it seemed.

One woman abruptly quieted, ran her palms down a perfectly pressed blouse, all before melding back into the swarm. Then, a separate, male flockmate tried his hand at the same move. Although, his joints were tragically under-oiled, missing the easy elegance of the gesture. In any case, they all lost interest pretty damn quickly. Then, they were off, sucked back into the many-suited mass.

Cas stayed oh-so still. Kept silent. He blinked slowly, hoping to cast the fog from his mind. He would certainly benefit from some old-fashioned deduction, right now.

So, where the hell was he?

Alright, two working theories: Either he was nabbed by a fundamentalist cult, or he’d been forcibly inducted into a secret society of smarmy, wannabee lawyers. Not that Cas would have been of much use to them, given his lone degree in middle grade education, plus his utter inability to feign indifference during an argument. Maybe there’d been a mix-up on the roster?

Anyhow, Cas could hardly feel his feet. He was actually pretty numb below the waist, altogether. Was he even wearing shoes?

Yet— as Cas tried, finally, to step forward, the scene was swallowed by a sharp blue light.

From white,

to blue,

to black. And, he was consumed.

⁂

The stream of sunlight hit Cas's closed eyelids, visible even before his other senses joined him in the waking realm. Morning rays flickered across his face— if anything, their caress felt strangely tangible. Cas could feel the heat carefully needling against his cheeks, never penetrating the skin. Instead, warmth clung to him like a strategically loose layer of Cling Wrap. Sticky, almost.

Seconds later, Cas jerked upright. He noted that he’d been lying horizontally across his mattress, blankets bunched up beneath his back, calves protruding over the side of the bed.

Huh.

Finally, with the force of a mental joyride gone wrong… it struck Cas. He was all but smacked to a screeching halt— and, somehow simultaneously, sent into overdrive. “Wait, wait, wait—”

At that, Cas practically flung himself in the direction of his mirror, wobbly legs be damned. Hardly hesitating, Cas lifted the fabric of his shirt, exposing his bare abdomen.

And it was exactly that— bare. Colorless.

Normal.

Truly, Cas couldn’t say he had ever been witness to a less interesting abdomen.

He squinted at his own reflection, as if challenging himself to unveil the truth… which, was surely being concealed in plain sight. Right? Still, there were no visible changes. There was no internal blue glow, his flesh as dim as ever.

As vivid as the previous night had been— and despite how much Cas wished it had been an exhaustion-induced haze— there were no lingering clues as to whether it had even happened. At least, nothing concrete enough to be considered a valid “clue.”

Still, just to be sure, Cas decided to go through with that Curses4U™ search; after all, he’d been rudely interrupted, the first time he’d tried. Despite the slew of relatively specific keywords (“bright blue glowing lit up abdomen torso passed out”), no results seemed to fit his case closely enough to warrant further research. Already, he’d hit a wall.

Unless, maybe this really is all because of The Moss?

Yeah, he’d have to ask Charlie about that, ASAP.

As it would turn out, a trip to the kitchen didn’t offer much insight, either. Groaning his frustration, Cas shuffled over to the sink, honing in on the windowsill-dwelling houseplants. There was a modest trio, all potted herbs.

All belonged to Dean, believe it or not.

Whenever Cas had met his now-best friend several years back, he’d never have pegged him as a plant-ternal, green thumb type; a conventionally rugged man, whose entire put-on persona practically radiated “unresolved daddy issues.” Nonetheless, Cas and Dean hadn’t lived together very long at all, before the countertops and windowsills of their apartment were just teeming with flora. As it turned out, Dean was a devoted plant dad.

Plus, Dean could always use the herbs when he cooked, which was yet another semi-surprising hobby of his. Really, bonding with Dean had given Cas a free crash-course in the dangers of preemptive stereotyping— seriously, who would have guessed that Mr. Beer-Over-Therapy was a Vonnegut fanboy? Certainly not Cas's past self.

Live and learn.

Ahead of Cas, sprouting proudly from a matte black pot, were basil leaves.

“Hello,” Cas grumbled, supposedly addressing the basil plant. “I swear to all that is holy, your father better not panic if I tell him what’s going on. He can be a very paranoid man, but I’m sure you know that already. You are under his care, after all.”

The response was silence, as expected.

Without a doubt, Cas was going to need a better, more sentient distraction.

⁂

“Hey, Charlie, can I ask you a question? It’s going to sound… borderline nonsensical, but I swear, there’s a good reason.”

Gently shutting the freezer door, Charlie swiveled around to face the breakfast bar. Cas was leaning back against the surface, a hard edge pressing into him from behind. Which, stung far less than Cas was sure it should have.

Charlie’d shot him a text thirty minutes prior, letting Cas know she’d be stopping by for a check-in, in between her array of moving-related errands. Cas would continue to babysit The Moss for another day or two; still, she’d felt that a wellness check would be smart. Cas had to agree with her, there. Because, hey, it wasn’t as if he had any experience caring for magically enhanced, possibly inadvertently cursed moss. Speaking of—

“Sure,” Charlie replied, leaning back against the fridge. She flashed a grin. “Maybe I’ll tease you about it, maybe I won’t. We’ll see.”

Cas huffed, rolling his eyes. Even then, he couldn’t help but smile, matching his friend. Her warmth was infectious; although, it was largely superficial on Cas. Really, he was too stressed to broach any comorbid emotions. Which, sadly, seemed to include the pleasant ones.

At risk of worrying Charlie and making himself appear even less capable of handling the situation, Cas made sure to keep his voice level. Steady and clearly unbothered. “Well, it’s… actually pretty complicated. But, I suppose it boils down to: Is it ever possible for enchanted plant materials, no matter how benevolent, to backfire and have negative side effects on their surroundings? Like, almost, giving someone a magical allergic reaction?”

To Cas's dismay, Charlie slid into a frown, furrowing her brow. “Yes, I guess? Maybe? Is something wrong?”

Cas deflated. “Not exactly,” he said, although he knew it sounded like a stone-cold lie the moment it slithered out of his lips. So, he amended. “At least, it isn’t anything truly debilitating. Just incredibly strange, I guess.”

Charlie nodded, sucking on her bottom lip. “Got it. So, what’s up?”

“Well…” Cas paused to cringe. Okay, so, what was the least alarming way he could go about explaining himself? He really should have prepared a script. Dammit. “Nothing too bad. Food hasn’t had much of a taste, I’ve had trouble sleeping, my skin is apparently impervious to boiling hot liquids—”

“Woah, woah, hold up. Really? Cas, seriously, what the hell happened?”

Cas sighed. “I spilled hot coffee on myself. And, essentially, it just slid off my skin, without leaving any kind of burn, or causing me any pain. Only, that happened— wait, shit. That part happened before you even dropped off the moss.”

Brows nearly embedded into her hairline, Charlie spoke slowly. Understandable, since Cas was beginning to act more like a spooked animal by the second. “Cas. You know good and well that that’s not normal, nor is it okay. At least, if you didn’t intend for it to happen,” she said. “And, yeah, I highly doubt my fucking moss would have such a dramatic effect. Christ. You do know that I use this stuff as a base for caffeine-substitute charms, right?”

“I know, I know.” Cas dug his palms deeper into the edge of the countertop.

Charlie nodded, but narrowed her gaze. “Is that everything that’s been going on? Or, is there totally more that you’re totally avoiding telling me about?”

At that point, Cas had only the flimsiest grasp on his resolve. Charlie could certainly come off as threatening, when she had a reason to. “Possibly,” he muttered.

“And?”

“And, last night, I’m pretty sure my entire abdomen was glowing blue. Like, as if there was a fluorescent light bulb shoved up into my ribs. Then, I may or may not have fallen unconscious, until this morning. Maybe,” Cas explained, seeing as there was no way he’d get out of that conversation without confessing, lest Charlie crucify him against the wall of his own kitchen.

Charlie was practically gaping, by then. She took a few overly cautious steps toward Cas, lowering her voice considerably. “Cas Novak. I’m sorry, but that is so not okay. Seriously, that sounds like some kinda curse, or something! You really should—”

“I’ve done some research already, if that’s what you’re suggesting. I couldn’t find anything. At least, nothing involving my exact combination of symptoms. Clearly, if it’s a curse, it’s not an especially common one.” Cas shrugged.

Charlie huffed in response. “Well,” she said, “Freakish stomach light aside, have any of the more minor symptoms been causing you enough of an issue? Like, didn’t you mention something about a low appetite?”

“Food not tasting of anything,” Cas corrected. “Although, I guess I don’t have much of an appetite, either. I haven’t eaten since… two days ago, maybe.”

“And you’re really not hungry? Like, at all?”

Cas shook his head. His shame was palpable. “No, I’m really not.”

“Cas, this sure as hell doesn’t sound healthy. You—”

With his most impeccable timing to date, a bathrobe-clad Dean decided then to stagger into the kitchen, clearly still sleep-dazed. He only allowed the new-found silence to hang in the air for a moment, before cutting through it, himself. “Hey,” he grumbled, then cleared his throat and headed toward the fridge. “You Cas's co-worker? The mossy one?”

“Oh, uh. Sure, that’s me. I’m Charlie. I was just stopping by, to… check on the moss. Yeah, that’s all,” she said, obviously struggling to reorient her thoughts after the abrupt change in topic. The air was still so heavy, yet Dean seemed entirely unaffected by the pressure. Praise be to the sleepy, oblivious bastard.

“M’Dean. Hey, Cas, you eaten breakfast yet?”

“Oh! Um, I ate a small snack after waking up. I could go for breakfast, now, though.”

If Cas didn’t know any better, he’d say that Charlie was attempting to slice into his squishy, heat-resistant flesh with her stare, alone. Frankly, if the razor-sharp shame that Cas was struck with said anything, Charlie wasn’t too far off from her goal. A cocktail of daggers, concern, and curiosity— it was practically pouring from Charlie’s eyes, dousing Cas over the head like several consecutive jugs of ice water.

How acceptable would it have been for a grown man to call “taksies backsies” on an entire conversation?

Well, in any case, that was certainly the last time he took initiative over his own well-being. Cas would, instead, steal a page from Dean’s playbook: Never ask for help, no matter how desperately you need it.

He would thank his friend later for setting such an enlightening example… whether or not Dean might appreciate Cas's latest self-help philosophy.