#Gunman blasted through door

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

dark and dangerous, m | jjk

pairing(s): jungkook x reader

you were the love of my life the darkness, the light this is a portrait of a tortured you and I is this the end? – up in the air by thirty seconds to mars

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; blind reader; hitman!au (basically John Wick universe; I was inspired by Donnie Yen's character Caine); violence + body disfiguration from violence; reader being forced + blackmailed back to service; tbh, many feels; smut (fem reader, choking / erotic asphyxiation, ink appreciation, a lot of sensual touching, slight D/s due to the situation, mild restraint, cowgirl); non-idol!BTS - retired hitwoman!reader x current hitman!JK; sub!JK; JK’s POV

--

He hadn’t seen her in a long time.

Time was a bitch.

She had defied it in some ways, as he knew she would. Pristine, glossy waves of hair cascading down her left shoulder. Longer than he had ever seen it. Gleaming skin, with that little mole under the right side of her lower lip. A little prefect imperfection under a perpetual faint smile. Blouse with a ruffled collar. Clean black longline trench. That was all he could see from this angle, above the bobbing heads of the packed train car. They were both forced to stand, along with many others. No free seats available. Her shoulders were forward, as if her hands were resting in front of her body. Not holding on to any railing, her back only vaguely leaning against the steel pole.

She wore dark-tinted glasses now.

Cat-eye-shaped, with silver accents. Actually, probably palladium. She had expensive taste.

The train approached a tunnel.

There was chattering, but mostly it was the low buzz of the general public. A mass gathered but not interacting. Passengers politely in their own worlds with the collective backdrop of a thundering train speeding through carved darkness.

The gunshot tore through the murmur.

Everyone began screaming.

He was standing in the corner of the train car, towards the door. Looking very much like a businessman ready to punctually take his leave, and suddenly he was one of the many flattened against the metal walls, crushed past the doors and into the train map. The mass became one. Earsplitting panic ricocheting. The awareness of being contained, confined, trapped, heightening and getting louder. He paid attention to none of it, instead narrowing his eyes and focusing on the way the crowd parted, right at the center.

Right where the woman in dark-tinted glasses was standing.

Her body was ever-so-slightly turned.

It must have been less than a second.

It was so fast that he barely had a chance to see the crouching man with arm extended, and then there was another blast of sound. The fear pitched, piercingly sharp. Instant, whirling black as she closed the distance. Long, thin, rod-like, rising. He finally found out what she kept in her hands in front of her body.

Thwack!

The sound cracked through the air as startlingly as the gunshots. Even faster, perhaps, because there was no hesitation. The untrained eye would be unable to keep up, but he was no untrained eye – one strike, onto the hand, where the delicate bone of the thumb was immediately snapped. The gun flew out of his hand and into the crowd, causing more alarmed screeching as people stampeded away from it, throwing themselves against the sealed doors. The disarmed gunman had no time to shriek. Two strikes to the arm and he was crumpling. Two more. Shoulder, head bowing as the body involuntarily cowered to protect itself and the last, side of the head behind the ear.

The gunman hit the floor with a crunch, groaning wetly.

The hysteria was racing towards critical level, but the train slowed and the doors burst open despite the mechanical reminder to stand back. No one noticed. No one cared. Flinging themselves out, scrambling over each other, clawing to be the first ones to escape. Crying, tripping, running, and then.

Silence.

“The doors are closing. Please stand back.”

The whirr reinstated after the doors closed and the train began moving again. A metal shell was oblivious to human terror.

The woman in dark glasses remained.

There was a gleam of silver towards the top of her cane. Something wicked hiding within.

Her hand shifted and snapped it shut.

She flipped the cane in her hand, the bulbous handle pointing downward.

The man on the ground grunted, shifting.

Crack!

Completely still now.

The gun was still on the floor, all the way to the other side of the car.

The woman stood in the middle. The cane in her hand flipped back to its correct alignment, the tip rapping the floor. It moved forward, to the body, poking it several times. Gingerly. Her lips twisted into a pout of discomfort, muttering something under her breath that sounded like, just one, the disrespect, and she crouched down, sweeping her coat aside.

Ping. Ping.

A familiar sound.

She stuck her hand out and calmly patted down the fallen man. There was a distinct tapping motion rather than a grazing along the body. Manicured nails, and then those nimble fingers flitted under the collar of the jacket her assailant was wearing. An exhale and she pulled, hard, plucking something from the body. A small metal disc, no more than a couple centimeters, with an engraving on it. It looked like a stylized ’S’ with flowers made of blade-like petals.

Her thumb ran across the surface.

“Fuck,” she spat.

Then she tucked the pin into the inside of her coat.

The woman in dark glasses stood back up and tapped the floor with the black cane again. This process had taken about a minute. The train was still moving, onto the next stop. The cane struck the linoleum, repeatedly, against the seats and the metal poles, the tinkering echoing in the cabin.

Stopped.

Shit.

The woman tilted her head slowly, then faced his direction.

“And here I thought you were stupid,” she said, her voice loud and clear, directed to the corner he was standing in. “But actually you were just being courteous to the disabled, hm?”

The black cane turned, silent, the stance of the hand holding it altering from exploratory to predatory.

He had two choices.

Talk or get his ass kicked by an expert of ass-kicking.

He settled on saying, “Not a warning shot.”

She froze.

Still wary and on high alert, but no longer an arrow pulled to the brink against the string of the bow. He saw the twitch of one of her eyebrows.

“You have got to be kidding me,” she hissed in icy annoyance. Her shoulders lowered and her head ticked back. The body language equivalent of rolling one’s eyes. The dark glasses remained though. “Why the fuck are you here? I’m retired.”

He didn’t move from his corner. The tip of that cane was blunt but he just watched her take out a man in five hits. That thing wasn’t made out of plastic – and he was pretty sure it was sheathing a blade. No thanks. “And still getting shot at.”

“I said I was retired, not uninteresting,” she retorted, stance relaxing. He let out the breath he had been holding. “Answer my question.” She rapped the floor sharply and his body immediately snapped to attention.

He should have listened to his superiors.

“Why are you here, Jeon Jungkook?”

Leave the information to be found. Do not engage with the target.

The last time Jungkook saw her, she still had sight.

He let out a soft sigh.

“The Elders are giving you a name.”

The dark tint of those sunglasses did nothing to hide the vicious distaste behind them.

“Tell the Elders to shove the name up their collective assholes,” she growled, but he was already walking forward and the cane was pulling back, poised at an angle at her side.

“I didn’t want to come,” Jungkook said, and it came out quieter and more helpless than he thought it would.

The anger in her expression wiped clean.

The Elders, his superiors, were not to be trifled with.

She tucked her tongue in her cheek as he reached into his suit jacket. It was made an unpatented combination of fibers, the latest in cutting-edge bulletproof fabric. Couldn’t really patent shit made for the general public to not know. He suspected her coat and slacks were made of the same material, which explained the pinging noise earlier.

Old habits die hard.

“I’m blind. Not stupid,” she muttered.

She held her hand out, but her face wasn’t quite in his direction.

He placed the black card with a series of raised dots.

She swiftly pulled it back, not allowing his hand to linger. Mashed it against the top of the cane. He noticed the orb-shaped handle was an intricately carved piece of silver metal. Vines? No, more like stylized lines of water. Or fire. There was a creature within those lines, inset, making it look like it was huddled within.

A bunny.

Her fingertip pressed into the black cardstock. Stopped in between, only halfway. Then pressed on even though they both knew the name on there. He couldn’t read braille but he could read her pissed-off expression pretty well.

She let out a huff.

“Really.”

It wasn’t a question.

“He betrayed us.”

“Like I couldn’t have told you that sooner,” she breathed out in a vengeful exhale. “I warned them. I warned them against taking that American snake’s money. They didn’t listen to me. Took my eyes instead. And now they gave me a name? You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.”

He really did not want to see her angry but there was no other reaction she could have.

The train was calling, indicating the next stop was coming.

Jungkook opened his mouth, a single syllable of her name escaping his throat.

The cane shot up and jammed into his chin. Bruising pain. Shut him up and made him jerk back, but she pressed forward, lowering her head, still not quite looking at him, and that was the worst, her not being able to look at him even though she was doing the equivalent of that.

Just…

Differently.

“Young gun,” she sighed, and the hole in his chest tore open a little more upon hearing the nickname she had for him long ago. Back when they were not quite friends on the surface, because this life that they chose didn’t allow for that, but friends nonetheless in the moments that counted. “If they sent you, that means you should stay away from me.”

“They didn’t send me,” Jungkook admitted and he could smell her perfume.

Sweet.

Familiar.

In the past, it had clung to his skin sometimes.

Her head tilted.

The train was slowing, announcement crackling up above. They would have to get off. Can’t be near a body with brain damage and a gun. He spoke softly to the thin air between them.

"I picked up the task with the last messenger was… interrupted. I happened to be closest.”

Silence.

There was the faintest tick at the corner of her lips. She removed her cane from his chin.

“Happened to be closest,” she echoed.

Her voice like smoke curling in the darkness.

“Hm.”

The train stopped.

The doors slid open.

She backed up and turned away. The cane tapped from side to side. Side to side, a rhythm and routine of finding the opened doors. The mechanical announcement called above their heads. He watched her stride away confidently, a stricken feeling in his chest, remembering something she used to whisper to him in the dark, I love looking at you, curling smoke all around them as scarred fingertips slid up his naked forearm.

She stopped at the exit.

“Don’t follow me.”

Walked out.

Jungkook followed.

-

“How’s your father?”

“I told you not to follow me.”

They were standing at a crosswalk and he was behind her. Not that close but close enough. She stayed close to the pole where repeated beeps indicated it was not safe to cross yet. Cars zipped by. For some reason, Jungkook found them unnaturally loud and violent even though he had never thought that about cars before.

“He’s fine.”

He glanced at her face but there was no expression.

“Still has dementia, still gambles and milks every cent out of the old folks in the retirement complex. You would think he would ease up once he’s struggling to remember the people in his life but, nope, he’s completely content with only knowing how to kick your ass in poker.”

There was a resonance of bitterness in those words but, also, a feeling long gone.

She ticked her head. “They keep him alive to remind me he doesn’t remember I exist. Least he pays his own bills with his habits.”

It was safe to cross now.

He watched the cane sway and tap. She walked calmly and with ease. Maybe even a swagger. It relaxed him as he fell in step.

“You do what you know,” he commented, his eyes darting, taking in his surroundings.

“I really try not to, young gun.”

They walked briskly along the streets. She turned this way and that, stopping once at a fruit stand to buy some apples. The merchant accepted the bills handed to him. She asked if it was enough. Jungkook saw it was more than enough. The merchant replied it was the exact amount. She hummed and stepped away before Jungkook could say anything. He hurried after, and she immediately turned and walked right into a laundromat.

The repeated thump-thump-thump of whirring washing machines and dryers radiated all around them as people fought with their duvets and swore under their breath.

“You overpaid,” Jungkook hissed, stepping closer.

“Such is life,” was her reply. She chuckled, tap, tap tapping away, hitting the edges of the machines but not a single person seemed to notice or care, too busy hurling themselves into the large cavities to yank out their sopping garments. “I do it sometimes just to see if they’ll correct me. They don’t.”

He frowned and made a mental note of the man’s face.

Just in case.

She held delicately to the bag of apples and shouldered her way into the back double doors.

Kept walking, through the back of the laundromat, into the alleys, and now the faces here were different. Keen, sharp gazes that ignored her presence but immediately narrowed upon seeing Jungkook, looking him up and down. Men and women, in musty coats and worn-out gloves with holes in them, backpacks and carts. A complete turnaround from his sharp three-piece suit and neatly parted hair. She breezed past, the apples rustling in the plastic bag, skimming her cane along the concrete, not quite looking exactly forward. Her head was slightly tilted; one ear closer to him.

“I told you not to follow me,” she chuckled.

“I see that,” Jungkook let himself say, calmly and without emotion.

“I don’t,” she quipped back.

There was a lightness to her tone that indicated there was no danger as long as he kept his hands to himself. He continued to follow.

Someone on his right reached out and shoved him.

The cane whipped through the air, swatting Jungkook’s left arm and pinning it to his body. He grimaced, feeling the solid stripe of pain, noticing her movement had stopped his body from colliding with another in this narrow alley. The woman to his left glared at him, grinding her teeth. The shove hadn’t hurt.

It was just disrespectful as hell.

What had been previous tense silence erupted into malicious sniggers.

Droning all around.

Jungkook gritted his teeth and pushed his anger down.

Her head jerked like a hawk.

“You know the rules,” she warned to the air. “You upset me and I will take your offering from the shrine and then there will be nothing to protect you.”

The sniggering immediately died.

Now the silence wasn’t tense.

It was fear.

She removed her cane from Jungkook’s arm and swung it in an arc. Slowly.

Stopping.

Jungkook didn’t have to turn his head. He heard the sharp intake of breath. Hard not to in the terrified hush. He didn’t say anything. He let her handle it. If he reacted, there would be cracked skulls. He had a feeling that the woman in dark glasses would be a lot more pissed at him if that was the case. He did not want to make her angry. It seemed like a bad idea.

She whacked the tip of the cane against the brick wall.

Everyone flinched.

Even Jungkook felt a muscle in his shoulder twitch, reacting to the loud, piercing sound.

She turned back around and continued walking.

No one bothered them after that.

They finally turned and stopped at a makeshift shrine in the middle of the maze of alleys. It seemed to be a clearing point. An intersection of sorts, where a group of buildings were sequestered awkwardly due to poor planning. Someone had created a structure in the middle of this chaos with a shingled roof and a statue in the center surrounded by a sandy pit of burnt incense sticks. There was a wall behind it, with strips of paper tacked on, fronted by tables overflowing with fruit and cellophane-packaged boxes.

She placed the bag down and it tumbled against a stack of oranges, one red apple spilling out of the plastic and hitting some pears.

Jungkook stepped up and corrected it.

She faced the papers. They flapped about like ducks crowding a lake, not in the wind but in the hot air blasting out a vent from of one of the buildings. She made a noise that sounded like disapproval and irritation mixed together. Turned and walked purposefully away, running her cane along the cracks of the concrete.

Jungkook followed once more as she stepped out, following a walkway between two buildings.

Stopped.

There was a door to their right, inset within the walls. Or, not a door. He frowned. Instead of a handle, there was an odd dent in this part of the wall that seemed to cave inward. She paused, tapping the cane along the ground. There was a hollow sound, and Jungkook looked down to see some metal tiles littered against the door. She stepped forward, treading along the otherwise meaningless metal sealed into the concrete. She slid the cane up in her hand, gripping below the rounded handle.

The orb made of swirls around a bunny.

She raised it and with surprising accuracy, within two taps against the door, slid the orb into the dent.

There was a whirr and a click.

The door slid open, a strip of light appearing on the ground.

She stepped inside.

Jungkook followed.

“What if you lose your cane?” he wondered out loud.

The door slid closed after they entered.

“There’s another way to get in, obviously,” she tutted. “All I have to do is bleed on it.”

A hollow silence.

They were in darkness except for the thin line of light at the bottom of the door.

“I…”

“Don’t need to talk,” she interrupted. “I need to shower and then pack some things. Wait.”

She stepped out of her shoes and placed the cane against the wall beside them. Felt along shoulder height, pressing switches. Stripes of light gleamed from above and below the walls, along the edges and sides. He had to pause to take it in. Black ceilings with brocade-patterned obsidian wallpaper where the designs were glossy compared to the matte background. A squishy-looking coffee-colored leather couch, a huge sound system bolted to the wall above an electric fireplace, bobbly blankets stuffed in a basket. No television, no coffee table. A large, empty space behind this area with a large set of dark wood armories along the wall. To his right, a kitchen with dark granite countertops that had similar notable differences than what he was used to. When she walked, she followed the lines of light along the ground.

“I’m sorry,” he called after her.

She stopped.

“I should have…”

“Shut up, young gun.”

She didn’t sound angry or pissed off.

She just sounded tired and that was worse.

“You couldn’t have done anything. This is the life we have.”

“I should have tried to find you,” Jungkook pleaded to that back, to that longline black coat and graceful legs. Dancer’s legs, he used to think, so nimble and quick that he could never keep up. He had been a little envious of how lithe she was back then. Aroused at how she always struck with such poise, something he wasn’t good at. He preferred brute force. Learned outmaneuvering from watching her move, often. It was addicting, watching her move, and he had found himself wanting more.

He hadn’t expected this would be the result.

She reached up in one smooth motion and removed her sunglasses. Placed them on the kitchen island.

The palladium on the edges of the dark lenses glammed.

“You wouldn’t have found me.”

She turned.

Starburst eyelashes surrounding white, mottled irises framed by twisted scar tissue.

A faint, emotionless smile.

“Can’t find a shadow when they’re all around you, Jungkook.”

-

He breathed in.

The bed smelled just like her. Her perfume, mixed with fabric softener, and there was that indescribable scent that could only be described as his perception of her. The smell that didn’t change despite the perfume, the smell he breathed in now with his back flat on the mattress, the smell that only he knew because its effect on him was different from everyone else. It was an experience. It was memories. It was…

Jeon Jungkook breathed in, laying on her bed as she showered.

He hadn’t asked. Probably should have. His arms were spread out with the backs of his hands touching the duvet. His black jacket and vest were draped on the pale chestnut-colored velvet armchair next the bed. At least he had kept his dress shirt and necktie on. He had thought about removing them. Letting his bare skin touch the folded duvet, even slip under to be against the sheets, but even he had a limit to his insanity.

He had thought about it though.

Maybe would have done it if she meant a little less.

He had missed her smell. He inhaled again. The last time he memorized it, she still had sight. It had been so long. Time was a bitch. His hands turned. The duvet was made of a cool, creamy linen. He closed his eyes, fingertips grazing the soft fabric, something satisfying about the wrinkled texture, organic, imagining their body lines pressed against it.

He bunched the fabric in his fists.

Let go, sighing.

For not the first time, Jungkook wondered how it could have been different.

He hadn’t missed the details. All of the furniture in this home had rounded corners. Lines of light streamed throughout every room, clearly indicating all the corners and edges of the walls. There were little speakers positioned discreetly, waiting for her command. No mirrors anywhere. No windows. Hole in the wall that no one was supposed to know was here, although Jungkook was sure the Elders somehow knew. Or guessed. Sometimes one didn’t need to have full information to cause enough disruption. He gritted his teeth even though he understood why she hadn’t been in touch.

The rage within him, from witnessing how she now lived, was beyond violent.

Careful there, young gun.

This was Korea but Jungkook was eager to introduce the Elders to the language of Columbian neckties.

You’re so reckless. I like that about you.

He was of the belief that he could handle the details later. The reality was that he was just very lucky to meet certain people in this business of killing for hire. People who saw something in him, whatever it was. Youth. Energy. Power. He was coasting a little because of his looks.

That was part of playing the game, too.

He liked playing the game. It had been a necessity once, and now he liked it. Because of ego. Because he had a natural talent for it. Because there was a time where he believed there were no rules – but the rules were always there, a silken web underneath his feet. In this business, one didn’t get to decide to work for the Elders.

The Elders decided when you worked for them.

Crossing paths was inevitable.

He had almost hated it. And then he met her. Same business. Different approach when it came to dealing with the cards that had been dealt. A moment that meant everything. Pivotal. Fate. Guns crossed and he knew. He knew the moment he looked into her eyes.

Jungkook turned his head and inhaled again, drenching his lungs with her scent.

Opened his eyes.

She was gliding into the bedroom, a long, dark maroon silk robe flaring out against her legs. Her hand was following the wall, three fingertips grazing against the black wallpaper. Skin gleaming, hair pinned in large, soft curlers, head tilted to one side. The silk clung to her shoulders, her breasts, her hips, and then she turned, facing the dresser.

Her hands lifted, finding the glided edges of the dark wood, stroking the intricate profile of inlaid silver.

“If I didn’t know better, I would be creeped out right now,” she chuckled.

He sat up.

“Do you know better?”

He didn’t know how he wanted that to sound, but those words escaped with an edge of uncertainty.

On the dresser was a plate with a perfume and a collection of faceted crystals. Her hand was dancing upward, following the surface, finding the dark glass bottle. He didn’t understand the meaning of the various stones, but for some reason he didn’t think they were there for a spiritual reason.

Those thoughts were confirmed as her other hand drifted over them, following the edges.

“You’re simple, young gun.”

She doused herself with sprays of spicy gourmand.

Exhaled, satisfied.

He could smell it from here and it made him ravenous.

“And not that subtle,” she added, smooth and biting.

Silence.

Neither of them moved.

Jungkook found that despite the carnal instincts eating up in the cavity of his ribcage, he wasn’t sure if he wanted her to turn around. Knotted lines and white orbs. He grimaced and hoped it was silent. Still, he didn’t look away from her back, his skin burning all over with festering shame and guilt.

She shifted her weight, accenting the delicious curve of her hip.

Dark silk molded to those body lines.

Yeah, Jungkook was sure that he didn’t want to stop looking.

“Are you supposed to be accompanying me?” she asked.

He could lie. “I’ve been assigned to be your eyes.”

She snorted.

He would have followed anyway, orders or not. The orders were there to both torment and annoy him. Well, the level of pain depended on how he felt about the situation, he knew. And that depended on how he could navigate this moment, right now. Currently the status was, not well. Her back still facing him after all.

“Stupid motherfuckers.”

“Yeah.”

He smiled despite himself. It was funny and familiar, her swearing. He noticed the pin with the lotus and the stylized ‘S’ in her hand now. She ran her thumb over it. There was a tension in her shoulders. He didn’t recognize that symbol and that bothered him.

“I thought you were retired?”

She hummed, tapping the metal against the wood. “I am. I got bored. Gotta pick up hobbies, you know.”

“I could pick up your hobby,” he offered.

She chuckled again, placing the pin down and sliding it to between white crystals. “Sadly, I think that fun will have to wait. I’m being called to service and all that shit.”

Silence again.

It was hard to know how much time passed though. Time almost didn’t seem real in within these walls.

She broke it.

“Don’t you want to get out?”

He took a moment.

“The Elders would have called you back eventually.”

He let that statement hang in the air.

“Tracking was never your strong suit.”

Yeah, it wasn’t.

“Now it’s not mine either.”

Jungkook winced and hoped she couldn’t hear it. Her head ticked. Sigh.

“My fucked-up eyes bother you?”

“No.” Shit. He said that way too fast. “I don’t think you’re ugly.”

“That wasn’t what I asked, Jungkook.”

Her words cut through him, razor-sharp and accurate. He withered despite not being viewed.

“You know the Elders suspected you might intercept. They’re old, not dumb.” He did know. He still didn’t say anything. He struggled to say it out loud, but she had no trouble. “They are testing you. They will manipulate you no matter how you feel about it. The best way to avoid those puppet strings is to feel nothing at all. You are putting yourself in danger.”

It was unbearable, saying nothing.

“What about you?” he asked softly.

A pause.

He saw he index finger bounce silently on the edge of the dresser.

Her head turned a little more, the curlers holding her hair blocking the side of her face. She reached one and, one by one, removed them. Pulling out pins. Setting them on the dresser. Pulling out the soft curlers, setting the cylinders on the flat side so they didn’t roll away. Locks of hair cascading down, falling, falling, framing shoulders and back.

She ran a hand through her hair, sighing, separating the waves with her fingers.

Messy.

“I told you. I’m retired.”

His lips parted.

“Not uninteresting.”

The side of her mouth curved upward.

“You shouldn’t have intercepted the messenger.”

There was something about the way she said it. Teasing rather than chiding. And yet there was still that hesitation. He let his eyes roam over her partial side profile.

“I’ve been in danger from the day I met you,” Jungkook finally admitted and he didn’t mean his physical self.

From what he could see of her expression behind her hair was an amused one. “Shit. You’re gonna make me blush, young gun,” she snickered.

Her words had the opposite effect. He felt his neck heat and instantly reached back to rub it, trying not to let it show. Well, she couldn’t see anyway. After a split second of consideration, he let out the low noise of embarrassment. Her head lifted, hair shifting. He saw the side of her mouth soften to a faint smile.

“I wonder how you’ve changed,” she breathed out. “Can’t appreciate you like I used to.”

He still couldn’t quite see her eyes. They were covered by curls of hair shadowing her temples.

Jungkook let himself say her name the way he wanted to.

She didn’t move, still life wrapped in deep scarlet silk.

“I don’t believe you.”

He could see it now, the subtle change in her demeanor. Sharpened. He had said the words with a smile and she could tell. Tone or volume or both. If possible, more frightening now. More deadly. More of a weapon, which was why, he assumed, the mutilation was done rather than an execution.

“You’re blind. Not stupid,” he reminded her.

Her head and body turned.

The way her hair framed her face, only half done. The slim openings of the robe securely tied at the waist, exposing thin white scars and the raised marring of worse ones. Retired, sure, but not that long ago, and still honed in muscle and movement. She wasn’t that much older than him. She just called him young gun to get on his nerves a little. Had seniority over him in this business and all that. Pretty easy to have seniority when one was given to the Elders as a child.

Payment.

He wasn’t always a good gambler. We all start somewhere.

Jungkook stood up.

Those clouded orbs found the source of blocked light at the end of the bed. It was a different feeling, being the focal point knowing the other didn’t have sight. Unnerving was the wrong word. He was just very aware that he was the target of her senses. With sight, he realized, he had an inherent level of complacency. There were a lot of intricacies in a single glance. The concrete details mattered less than the contrast between what he expected versus what he didn’t expect.

Ah.

Her lips curved into a dangerous smirk.

He admired it.

She moved forward, silent.

“You do seem to have put on more muscle,” she hummed. “Heavy.”

“You always reminded me to remember to eat while on the job.” The direction of his voice. His breathing. “You’ve learned more skills. Scary.”

She grinned. “I’ve had some free time. Wait till you see me dual wield.”

She stopped in front of him.

Raised her head.

Jungkook found he saw a lot more when he looked into her scarred eyes than he ever expected.

“You have changed,” she murmured.

A faint smile.

“Y… Yeah,” he breathed back, the ache in his ribs rattling.

It was different.

She reached up and forward. Fingertips grazing his shirt, then finding the tie. Following it with two hands, carefully. Seeing. He tried to stay still. Focused on her face, the little smile when she found the tie clip, muttering under her breath, oh, you’ve become a little more of a man, huh, and her body language, relaxed. Comfortable. Details he would have ignored given different circumstances.

What else had he missed all this time?

He was still lacking in some areas, he realized.

She was unraveling his tie.

“I hope you have learned how to tie a tie by now.”

He hadn’t. “Nope.”

A laugh. “You hate them anyway.” She folded it in her hands and held it to the side. “Hold onto it for me. I might need it.”

His skin tingled, the sensation traveling up his back. Lifted his hand and let it linger, brushing past her callused knuckles, taking the necktie from her. A contrast from their past. This was a measured ferocity compared to a fast-paced chase. He ran his fingertips along her wrist, trailing off her forearm. She smiled and he felt it everywhere, in his blood and in his nerves, his world alight once more.

Skin-to-skin.

She raised her hands again and followed his shirt placket, starting from the top.

“I like this cologne.”

“You said it was your favorite.”

“You really can’t be subtle to save your life, can you, Jungkook?”

She teased him as easily as she teased the buttons from their restraints. He bit his lower lip, sucking in a breath.

“I’m really trying to be patient right now,” he gritted out.

She smiled again.

This was her smile she only showed him.

He was sure of it.

His shirt was halfway unbuttoned now. She leaned in, locks of hair curling over her shoulders, spreading the placket open with two fingers. Breathed out. The heated air washed over his chest, and he closed his eyes, shuddering, ignited desire shimmering in his raging blood. She did it again, but this time with his name.

“Jungkook…”

His head tipped back, lips parting, the low sound of clawing lust bubbling in his throat. His hands came up, tensely resting on her silken shoulders.

The rest of the buttons came undone as he himself unraveled.

Her hands slid in, fingers spreading over his flexed abdomen. Cool, careful, seeing him. He gasped, struggling to keep still. Exploring his scars, known and new. His shirt peeled back, tugging out of his slacks as she touched him. Along his sides, his chest. His nipples, and she flicked one, making him hiss and flinch. They hardened as she rubbed them.

“Still like that, hm.”

“S… Shut up.”

Her palms over his pectoral muscles, fingers fanning out.

“Been working out, haven’t you?”

His breathing was shallow. “Gotta pick up hobbies, you know.”

A soft laugh. She gently knocked back his arms, pushing the dress shirt off his shoulders. Confines, he concluded. Her fingertips paused on his right shoulder. He looked down, body on fire. Her lips were parted, pink tongue dancing on the edge of for lips.

“You have tattoos.”

Oh.

That was right. She hadn’t seen yet.

“Hobbies,” he snickered.

She turned her head, fingertips hesitating.

Jungkook reached up and pressed her hand to his arm.

“Please. Look.”

It was a strange, intoxicating sensation. Being touched like this, guiding her along. He murmured under his breath, describing them one by one. She could follow, especially the newer ones or the ones that were done over his scars. She lingered by the tiger lilies on the inside of his forearm. There was a patch of black there. Amusement flitting across her features. Continued down, following the outline another tattoo, tracing the eyelashes.

She cocked an eyebrow.

“I think I might change that one. In light of… events.”

Her cheek tightened in mirth. Just more confirmation that she was alarmingly acute in sensing tone and meaning beyond words.

“You’re unbelievable.”

He froze, feeling her other hand sliding up his back as the one he was holding slid down to his knuckles, caressing them as her lids lowered. Lines of scars, across starburst lashes and across his spine, closer, her fingers lacing with his, her chin lifting.

That small mole under the right side of her plush lower lip.

“You have goosebumps, Jungkook,” she purred, dragging her nails down his back.

He closed the distance.

Her scent all around him.

Her taste.

The fervor seeped into him when their lips connected, ravaging his senses and his thoughts, body to body. Nights and days, culminated memories bleeding into now, into the ferocity of their kiss, her fingers claiming his back and his in her hair, tangled in the mess, clasped hands below them, squeezing tight.

He thought he would never see her again.

Never hold, never touch, never breathe in her breath.

He was afraid too. Afraid it wouldn’t feel the same. Afraid their euphoria was broken by interference and ego. Afraid he was wrong, abut himself, about her, about them.

But he wasn’t.

Jungkook could tell.

She let go of his hand and wrapped it around his throat.

“I missed your taste,” she whispered into his moan, in between nicks of teeth and feathery kisses. “You know what makes someone dangerous?” Her grip tightened, pulling him down to her, red silk slipping off her shoulders. “When they have someone to die for.” Her lips traveling over his jaw, to his gasping mouth, his blood flow slowing as her fingers pressed into the sides of his neck. “When they have someone to live for.” Ravenous kiss, making his eyes roll back and his air disappear, lightheaded as he touched the exposed skin of her upper arm, knotted lines of scar tissue from a previous gunshot wound under his fingertips.

She murmured to his open mouth, husky voice a caress.

“When they have someone to kill for.”

He pressed his forehead to hers, his erection straining against his slacks, pressing it into her naked thigh.

“You…”

Jungkook stared into her white eyes and she reveled in the darkness, basking in his shadows, seeing all of him with all her other senses.

“You made me all three,” he gasped.

Her grip loosened and the blood rushed back, making his eyelids flutter and fire crawl up his scalp.

A resolved sigh.

“We are one and the same, you and I.”

His hands following the memorized lines across her back. The dark red silk pooling onto the floor. Her hand between them, stroking him through his clothes, choking him again. Pleasure seeping down his tense thighs, up his clenched abs. The pressure winding within his core, his lips trembling against her calm, so close to the perfect imperfection of that mole under a silver tongue.

“Guns just waiting to be aimed.”

-

She held down his wrists bound by his necktie.

Rammed her hips into his and he hissed, back arching, bouncing on the mattress. Torn condom wrapper on the floor by their discarded clothes. Saliva drying on the inside of his hard thighs still tingling from bites. Her other hand pressed down on his chest, pushing him back into place. Fuck, so tight. So wet, constricting around his cock, the swollen head throbbing against her pulsing walls.

Her face was directed to the side.

Seeing with her ears.

He groaned, feeling her hips rock, building the pace deliberately, squeezing every centimeter. Fuck. He pressed his head into the pillows, black strands invading his vision. His own hair a mess. Whimpers threatening to break free. She raked her fingernails over his chest, teasing his hardened nipples. Toying with him. Rolling her hips as he thrust up, a vain attempt to fight back.

Her fingers fanned over his wrists, palm pressing down on the knot.

“I’ve missed your sound,” she shuddered, her hand on his chest sliding to his collarbones.

Her nail scraped against his Adam’s apple, sparking electricity through his veins.

“Just… fuck… choke me, please.”

The side of her lips twisted into a smirk.

“I’ll wrap my hand around your neck.”

So tight, with love.

Her grip closed in, causing the fire to prickle over his skin, up his cheeks and down his spine. Limited oxygen, heightened awareness, pleasure flowing to every core, bound at the wrists but finally free, losing himself to the sound of connected bodies and swirling moans, to the shock of firm, wet slaps between hips, to the scent of sex weighing down the air, soaking it, to the taste of iron as he chewed on his lower lip, whines leaking out between his teeth, deeper, harder, faster.

His vision hazed, edges smoking with black.

Her chin tipped down.

Clouded white.

He was exposed, torn open and ripped apart by that gaze that was no more.

He could barely force the words out, the ache in his ribs pooling down, down.

“Take… me…”

She breathed in, seeing all of him.

“Fuck, you feel good.”

She let go of his wrists and layered both her hands over his throat, choking him harder and fucking him into the mattress. Air gone, his eyes rolling back, vision black, power radiating in every thrust, and he felt her body weight shift downward, fingertips digging into the sides of his neck, hopefully leaving bruises, his resolve cracking, slick walls around him throbbing in their shared pulse, there.

“F-Fuck!”

He rammed his hips up and the orgasm shot through him in shattering bolts, through his burning muscle and his empty lungs, his cock jerking, and then – release – his voice returning in a hoarse moan, another wave slamming into him, another level, creating a ripple effect throughout his nerves that electrified him, burning, gasping, his spine locked in an arc, hearing her exhale his name in a wanton hiss, clenching, spasms, sweet and sticky between their thighs.

His tongue extended, tasting the air, their passion palpable and pungent.

His body was trembling so much he was sure she could feel it even through her hands flat on the bed next to his head. She raised one, tracing his trembling jaw. Ran the pad of her fingertip over his quivering lips. Her name came out in a weak rasp, hot and shaking against her touch.

And yet he wanted her hands around his throat again.

How he missed that feeling.

“Jungkook…”

She saw with her hands. In scent and sound. In previous knowledge, and she knew his body so well, his heat and his hunger. Bondage was temporary. Trust was forever. She could mark him in bites and in scratches, but her scars were in the cavity of his ribs, in his heart that still yearned and in hers that she kept from him to protect them from becoming tools against the other.

Jungkook was afraid.

But he had someone to die for, to live for, to kill for.

And that made him dangerous.

So the Elders could try to rip them apart, but he was sure now that they would go down causing irreversible damage.

She ran her hands over his heaving chest.

“I’m not doing this stupid assignment until I’ve made up for lost time,” she panted, warning sharpness to her tone.

He smirked.

“I was hoping you would say that.”

--

masterpost

[theplumsoldier]

aftermath [1]

summary: two intruders enter your home, seeking refuge. you'd think being stabbed was reason to deny them, yet you can't find it in you to turn them down

pairing: joel miller x reader

word count: 2458

warnings: vulgar language, mentions of blood, minor fight, reader is stabbed

series: aftermath

Ellie could barely feel her legs. It felt like she was balancing her weight on spaghetti, each step as wobbly and unsure as the last. Joel reminded her that snow would have made it much more difficult to hike through the mountain strip and that she ought to be glad that was no longer a problem they were faced with, however, Ellie was having difficulty seeing anything remotely positive in the situation.

It was not long after her latest complaint that they heard a faint, continuous sound. It was music.

"What the fuck?"

"Where is that coming from?" mumbled Joel. His old age had taken a toll on his hearing, so while he was focused on listening for the source of the stereo, the sound of Ellie sprinting off, made him frantically run after her. "Ellie!"

There was no stopping her. The music cured her of exhaustion, her step ending up matching the beat of the song as she got closer. Then she stopped, abruptly. Joel panted her name when he caught up to her, a warning, but he was just as quick to be mesmerized by the towering house and front of them.

It was by no means a fortress. There was no fence keeping infected at bay, there were no traps (at least none that Joel could find). But it did not exactly look abandoned either. The exterior was recently painted, only halfway done. A wood block stood sheltered in what appeared to be a brand-new garage attached to the side of the house. There was no car, however, and on the second floor, several windows were smashed.

Ellie appeared to have run the same analytic thoughts as Joel, only she had decided it was safe to enter. This time he was quick to hold her back, giving her a warning glance before positioning the rifle against his shoulder. He was not yet convinced it was safe, primarily because he could not tell whether someone lived there, or if someone recently had.

With slow but steady steps, they moved in stealth. Ellie moved to turn off the stereo, which, funnily enough, had begun blasting "Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go", but Joel stopped her. He motioned toward the kitchen and Ellie went to inspect. A pan, dirty from cooking. Grease coated the sides and Ellie picked up a piece of burnt chicken. It was cold but when she broke it in half, it was clearly fresh.

Her ability to analyze the situation made Joel feel proud.

Joel motioned for Ellie to get behind him and she swiftly did, pulling out her knife, putting on her meanest look, head silently bopping to the Wham! song spelling trouble.

They checked room after room, relieved and concerned they did not find anyone. Then they heard the floorboards creak in the room directly above them.

Ellie looked expectantly at Joel.

"Behind me."

Carefully moving up the stairs. Little did they know, their wariness was a nugatory effort, seeing as you were well aware of the guests.

The second they had opened the door to the house, you had been alerted by the gust of wind silently seeping through the upper floor. The draft pushing open the door to the room you were now standing in gave them away.

Listening to the footsteps, you noted there was more than one intruder, probably not infected seeing as they had no clue as to how to be quiet.

Neither did these fools, thought you. Everybody knows the best way to avoid creaking floorboards is to walk closest to the wall.

You took your stance, readying yourself for anything. The second your eyes caught sight of the tip of a rifle, you took a grip on the barrel. With the element of surprise, you twisted the gunman's arm so that his rifle aligned with the wall, and the tip of your sword poked the chest of the assailant, ensuring a distance between the two of you.

Quickly, you realized the element of surprise had been your best move. The man in front of you, fitting perfectly in place of the door. With your eyebrows furrowed, you peeked behind him, finding a little girl but not before she yanked a small knife into your side. Emitting a small grunt, you easily knocked her over with your foot behind her own and a palm shoving her backward by the face. All in a matter of seconds.

Shoving the rifle which had fallen to the floor in the predicament away, you stepped back to assess the situation. Looking down at the knife piercing your side, not bothering to take it out just yet, you looked back at the two intruders.

"What the fuck?" you yelled, your face twisting into such a contortion one would expect from a bewildered person, certainly not one of a woman with a knife tickling her insides.

Joel was apprehensive but having moved back away from the sword's tip, he spoke, lifting his hands to signal they meant no harm.

"Please, put 'own that thing--"

Then Ellie took over, an unappreciated cackle. "Is that a fucking sword?!"

You ignored the girl who was still on the floor, looking at your weapon of choice with a big grin of disbelief.

"Uh, what the fuck are you doing here?"

The girl got up. "We need a place to stay."

"No we don't," interjected Joel curtly.

You nodded in agreement waving your sword toward the man.

"What daddy said. This ain't a hotel."

You gave the two another look, deciding they were of no threat. At least the little girl wouldn't, the man, however, yeah, he could probably take you out with a single punch. But considering he did not seem to want to fight over a bed in your humble abode, you disregarded the two of them and walked out.

Your focus was now on the knife stabbing through your side. You carefully made your way down the stairs and retrieved a thread and needle, rubbing alcohol, bandages, and a cloth. You steadied yourself against the kitchen counter and inhaled deeply before moving to pull out the knife. You had done this before, the larger scar just a few inches from the wound being a reminder of it. It felt like some cruel joke, the universe having destined for you to only ever be stabbed in that particular place. Through your first time, you had learned there was no risk of internal damage at the wound site, only a nasty infection and an ugly scar would deform your skin as a result of poor treatment. It made you a lot more careful this time when cleaning and stitching yourself up. You felt only the warm sting of the penetration to be hurting and this knife was no barely any larger than a salad fork, so you had no fear it would have punctured anything.

You heard the man and the girl coming down the stairs, but you were focused on yourself for now. Ellie watched you at work, noticing how you pinched the area before poking through the skin as if she was trying to learn from you.

Joel nudged her, mumbling let's go before walking toward the door. She went to turn down the music instead.

"Ellie."

"Look lady, we need a place to stay. I really didn't want to do this, but if need be, Joel here will be forced to show you hell, okay? Ain't it right Joel?"

You turned to look at him, the entertained smirk twisting even more on your lips. Damn, he was fine. You almost wanted to test his patience. You chuckled before turning your attention back to your wound.

"You know, I'd kinda like to see that."

There was a certain quietness to the situation now. Your mind was fixated on cleaning up the wound properly, knowing from the last time an infection really was the dominant danger. Ellie had walked up to you, partly assessing the damage she had done while inspecting your treatment up close. She swiftly snatched her knife from the countertop, noting the wound could not be that deep as the blade looked as if it had been dipped only half its length.

Turning to look at Joel, she mimicked an expression that insisted they made an effort to stay. She was really tired.

At first, he merely gave her a look, no, not nearly tired enough to let his guard down in a stranger's makeshift abode. Now that Ellie had stabbed you, not a single thought managed to put his mind at ease.

They went back and forth like that until Joel finally gave in, dragging his hand through his patchy beard and he walked towards them.

"Look, ma'am--"

Promptly interrupting, you stated your name, not sparing him a glance but immediately wondering why you said that. Perhaps it was his honey-dipped voice that made you tremble or maybe it was the authority in his tone.

"I'm Joel, this is Ellie. And... yeah, she's right, it really would be nice if we could rest 'ere--just for the night, o' course."

Oh yeah. It was the gruff accent that did it for you.

"O' course," you mimicked, putting the needle back in a little pincushion, finally, and regrettably giving him a look--damn, even finer up close. "--It would have been another conversation if this lil' Ellie here hadn't stabbed me, wouldn't it?"

Ellie looked up, having already begun inspecting your home, and like someone blind, she apparently needed to touch everything in order to see it.

"Sorry," she shrugged and you couldn't help but roll your eyes.

"That's a terrible apology, from content to tone." Cleaning up after yourself, you threw the bloodied scissors into the sink. You took a deep breath, focusing on the pain in your side, ensuring that your stitching skills had not failed you.

Joel jumped in now. "To be fair, she was just tryna protect me. Can you blame a girl--"

"Yes, I can," said you and lifted your index pointedly at him, face stern though a hint of mockery glistened in your eye. "Could've at least given a shout or something."

"Hey, we didn't know anybody lived 'ere, 'kay?" Joel gestured like one would when attempting to de-escalate a situation. It only made you more annoyed with him, though. It was in your best interest, you figured, seeing as he looked like someone you would have a difficult time staying mad at.

You threw your hands in the air. "Oh, well, sorry my house isn't quite homely enough for you!"

Ellie quipped, "yeah, well, it's cold as shit."

"Ya think?" grumbled you, shutting the front door only to realize you had already decided on letting them stay. "The whole upstairs is even colder, so y'all will have to make do with this room. Also, I got just one house rule for you two. My bathroom, off limits. Finally fixed it. I don't care what you gotta do, it ain't gonna be in there. You gotta go, you go outside. Understood?"

Joel offered a curt nod as his answer and although Ellie had been quick to slump down on your couch, she was even quicker hanging over the backrest of it, gaping at you.

"You got running water?"

"What? No, shut up--now, stabber," you scowled at Ellie, "run up and close that door, and uh--Joel, get the fire going, yeah? Would hate to move around two frozen corpses in the morning."

You sighed, watching as they did as they had been told. Going for your jacket, you tucked in to venture out in the cold. In the colder.

"Where you goin'?"

Although Joel's voice was really just a coarse grumble, you couldn't help but melt into the depth of it. Chills.

"To kill some fucking babies--I don't know, chop wood or something."

With that, you quickly went out to blow off some steam. This whole situation was sending your mind into overload.

An unfairly hot man. A knife-wielding little girl. All up in your business now. Great.

Pulling on your gloves, you breathed out before you swung the axe above your head. Already working. You quickly felt a pain in your side, wincing. Too soon to be chopping wood. Got it, you thought even though you continued the second the pinch subsided. Another block, another pinch, less steam clouding your mind.

It had been long since you had even thought of human company. In your head, making up scenarios it had gone smoothly, sometimes you had even found yourself some happiness. But that's what daydreaming is, right? A cozy little state of make-believe. You had never been good with social situations. It took preparations and a structured day. No day-to-day planning. No spontaneous happenings. So you can imagine the turn it took when the Cordyceps suddenly meddled with your everyday life.

You could never again count on knowing what would happen next, and that was the worst thing.

Joel came out. You recognized his heavy steps as he got down from the porch, but you didn't dare look. One-to-one interactions were just as bad as group socialization.

Joel stepped up in front of you, though he left a few feet separating the two of you, lest you had no clue as to how to wield an axe. He quickly caught on, thinking medieval weapons might be your thing.

"That looks painful," he commented. Whether it was his low voice or the fierce cold making you shiver, you did not know. Your pride imputed the temperature.

"Got the fire going?"

"Yeah," hummed he, watching you closely. "Didn't wanna bother ya--jus' say thanks."

"Yeah, sure--whatever," you babbled, hoping the "sure" didn't give him any ideas. Didn't want them staying longer than necessary, right?

Stubborn as you were, you continued stacking blocks of wood, chopping one after the other. You would definitely have to look at the stitches when you had finished your passive-aggressive rage job.

When Joel finally decided to go back inside, you stopped for a second, peeking through your lashes. Even looking fine as fuck walking away. This next day would be challenging, you just knew it.

"Joel!" You had called out for him the second the thought entered your mind, desperate at the thought of spending as little time with him as possible, and yet, conflicted as you found yourself adjusting your stance over the wood chunk. Send him away. "You go catch me a rabbit. If you bring me two I might even cook something up for you guys, too."

A smirk tugged on the corner of his lip and Joel made a quick salute, accepting the challenge.

Great. Now you would be free of his alluring charm for a little while.

[ruins-of-gods]

In compartment 98A12K12 of frame 127, there is, between the Dagron family's possessions, inherited through the centuries, a suit of armor worn in the worst days. Most of the time, the ship is calm, the world placid. Sometimes, it is broken by naval gunfire and the roar of distant AA guns, the blast of the general quarters klaxon...

But for the most part it's quiet, interrupted only by the inquisitorial detachment ensuring readiness and checking for corruption in their door to door.

Sometimes, though, there is the Jump. The Jump happens every so often, it isn't a regular jump. Regularly the ship is calm even if there are voices or whispers and the inquisition team has to come by with the autoguns afterwards. But every so often there is... The Jump.

In those times the family brings out their suit, encrusted in seals and blessings. It is flak armor that has taken the appearance of carapace, with so many scrap pieces lovingly moulded and painted into shape by ancestral hands.

In the madness of the Warp, during those hell hours where the gellar fields run thin and physical law becomes suggestion, this grants it power. But they don't know that. All they know is that for the last century, the one who wears it has skin of adamant and may be marked with the double headed eagle.

The honor it brings is a strange thing, codified in myth now that all those who remember its true history have fallen. All agree that, for a time, it was passed down from father to daughter, from mother to son. Armsman Karo Ludevic wore it, that much is known - his name is still inscribed on the nameplate beneath the aquila on its chest, and the great scar that mars its shoulderplate can come from little else than the daemonette he is said to have fought hand-to-hand. The old voiders say that his bravery granted him the title of Sergeant-at-Arms, and that it was his survival that showed to all the armor's holy might. But occasionally, in the bleak hours when they've been off-shift too long and the claustrophobia begins to eat at them, they whisper that the chip mark inside its helmet is the remains of a stubber shell, put through Karo Ludevic's head when the Inquistorial Detachment learned of what he'd begun to do after his experience, and what he'd begun to hear and see even outside the Warp.

Who bore it next, none truly knows. Some say it was Alenia Ludevic, Karo's daughter, who saved the Ludevic line from utter extermination when a World Eaters incursion party breached the ship. Others say that Gunman Nolan Tamoor bore it in the brutal Battle of Frame 449, and that with his dying breath he slew the raving leader of the cultist uprising. For a time, the old voiders say, huddled over their cups of gyn, their eyes focused on things that are not the present, it was lost in the Dee-Pree, when a warp predator dragged a claw down through Frame 127 and depressurized it in its entirety, and two thousand good voiders, man, woman, and child, were lost to the vacuous madness of the Immaterium. It was only when the breach was located, almost a century later, and repaired while the ship took on crew, that Faros Dagron found it in its cabin, sealing a gash in the floor with its bulk, the skeletons huddled in a corner all that remained of those it had protected.

From then on, the Emperor's Armor, as Faros lovingly called it, became his family's symbol, and its most treasured possession. Faros Dagron made Sergeant-at-Arms while wearing it, and then Chief Petty Officer, defending Frame 127 in a grueling two-week-long siege against a genestealer invasion. He wore it during the hideous Five-Decade-Jump, and when warp madness took him in his sleep his daughter Kenna Dagron bore it in his stead, and swore that his name and his bravery would not be forgotten. She defended his name and his honor for her entire life, all brutal forty-three years of it, and when she fell at last it was in defense of a corridor filled with some hellish, stinking gas that caused worms to rip themselves from the orofices of those that breathed it. Five hundred yards she walked down that corridor, as her fellow soldiers told it, with only that armor and her faith in the Emperor to protect her, as she lost one eye and then the other and had to find her way to the gas-release by hand. But find it she did, and as she collapsed choking blood across the deckplates, the great pumps pulled the gas from that forsaken place, and reclaimed one more corridor in the name of Dagron and the Emperor.

Her son Rorick Dagron wore it next, displaying the award his mother was given upon its plating alongside its ever-growing collection of medals and seals. In it he saw out the last of the Five-Decade-Jump, standing at his fellow voiders' side as they fell with volleys of lasgun fire. In it he led the Charge of Compartment 98A33K415, and in it he stood with roaring fury before a scuttling, hideous thing that belched madness from its maw. He firmly believed he would die before the Jump was ended, and he raised his twin children Othello and Olaris to be comfortable wearing it, so that they could carry on his name and that of his family. But somehow, by the Emperor's grace, he was alive when the ship pushed back into realspace, hailed as one of the heroes of Frame 127, tired and wounded but somehow, blessedly, breathing.

He was given his own cabin in reward for his service, and he dedicated a part of it to a shrine to that armor, and to every myth and voider's tale he could find of its might and glory. He vowed that it would not be forgotten, and that it would stand as his family's proud symbol until the day the ship was destroyed. And he vowed alongside that his family would always be worthy of this gift the Emperor had granted, and that each Dagron who fell within it would add to its history and glory, another soul for this temple to the Emperor's might.

[paragonrising]

@torntruth liked this for a starter (for diana!)

According to plan – it was something that Carol was seriously beginning to doubt actually existed. She tried to think of the last time anything went according to plan, and found herself annoyed by the realisation nothing came to mind. Just endless examples of good intentions gone bad, and the right decisions proving to be catastrophic.

Her fist collided with a gunman’s face, sending him careening through a wall and out of sight. This was one of the last cells of Hydra, and their desperation was evident. Every man and woman who could hold a gun was trying to stop her from reaching… something.  Carol kept on the war path, checking room after room until she found herself heading in the right direction. The biggest clue? Now there were security checkpoints with reinforced doors. When she got to the last door, it resembled more-so the entrance to a high-security, futuristic vault. Round, with heavy pistons locking it in place, countless datapads and consoles linked to it.

“Wow,” Carol murmured, “probably a nightmare to install…”

Pieces of the vault door flew into the connected room that had the appearance of a lab. Countless computers running numbers and algorithms she hadn’t a hope of understanding. To the left there was a wide set of stairs that led down to an area with some sort of machine: metal rings sat on the ground, wires connecting to a platform it sat on. It was surrounded by statues and relics from ages ago. Egyptian, Greek, Mayan…

“Ah, Captain Marvel,” a tall, thin man stepped out from behind a pillar. “I was wondering who they’d send. I thought perhaps Star-Spangled Man, but it seems Fury instead sent his lucky star.”

Carol flashed a bitter smile, “Becker, you’ve been busy. How many museums did you rip off for the display?”

“I assure you,” Becker replied through a chuckle, “all legally obtained.”

“Uh huh,” she didn’t believe him.

“Do you like my invention?” He asked, arms raised in surrender as he approached. “It would have changed the tide.”

Carol gave him a look.

“Truly,” Becker continued, unabated by her glare. “At full power, it could summon a god true to the ideals of Hydra.”

“I don’t think there’s a god with their head that far up their ass,” Carol snarked, earning a sigh of annoyance from Becker.

“Your arrogance blinds you to the prospect of a better world,” he sighed, “shame.”

She wasn’t sure exactly what he’d struck her with, but it sent her flying backwards. Carol rolled along the ground, coming to a halt with her back against the door she’d blasted through. Blinking through the haze as she hauled herself to her feet, she watched Becker march towards the machine. She rushed forward, blasting him away from the control station.

Despite her attempt to stop him, Becker reached the keyboard before her attack struck, triggering the start up.  The machine began to wind up, rings lifting slowly, sparks arcing between them as spun. Carol didn’t have time to address it, Becker was attacking her relentlessly, a strange red mist whirling around him to protect him from the brunt of her attacks.

The rings picked up pace, causing an uncomfortable hum filled the air. The console opened up to reveal a simple, black tablet. Becker knocked Carol backwards and ran for it.

“A god worthy of Hydra—"

Carol rocketed towards him, slamming her shoulder into him, toppling him. Cosmic essence swirling around her fist, she shattered the tablet with one swing, earning a mournful bellow from Becker.

“NO!”

And then–of course–the machine went haywire. The rings spun so fast they vanished, golden light enveloping the area, blinding Carol. There was a powerful burst of air, carrying a strange power that blasted away Carol’s radiance and knocked her onto the ground, forcing the air from her lungs. She wheezed, sitting up looking around to see the once pristine lab room was in shambles. Everything was destroyed, and Becker… well he was gone.

“Great,” she grumbled, wincing as she hobbled to her feet. “Next time I’m just going…to…”

There was a woman where the machine used to be. Tall, dark hair, and not what she imagined when Becker spoke about a god for Hydra. She’d imagined… someone else. Someone more…

Monstrous?

“Listen, if you’re here to enslave the human race, just go home. Save me the headache.”

[mythea-arts]

Sixth Moon - A Trigun Fanfiction

Vash The Stampede / Original Female Character

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Book 1 - Meteor

⚠️ Warnings ⚠️ :

Angst, Violence, Gore, Panic Attacks, Mental Breakdown, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Anxiety, References to Depression

✨️Summary✨️:

Space Year 0097

Vash definitely did not expect a girl to fall from the sky right in front of him.

Making it his responsibility to find her a place to stay and to maybe uncover some of her lost memories and mysteries on the way, he lets her tag along. But things always go wrong for Vash the Stampede and she stays in his presence far longer than anticipated.

How is he supposed to handle the friendship they soon start to share?

Updates: Mon/Fri every week

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Chapter 1 - Making wishes on shooting stars- wait. Is thAT A GIRL?!

Vash just wanted to eat his sandwich, when the bandits rolled into town.

He sat at one of the tables the shop had set up outside at the edge of town, when the car drifted around the corner. Some really ugly guys looking out of the windows, while waving their revolvers and another on the top with a semi automatic rifle in his hand.

And he might have been able to save his sandwich, if it wasn’t for the little boy playing a few feet away from him. Tugging the young child under his arm he dodged the car at the last second, jumping to the side.

The tables and chairs of the shop went flying through the air. And so was his extra cheesy double cheese and ham sandwich.

To say he was annoyed would have been an understatement. Wasting precious resources, endangering a child and taking away his snack? This turned serious really quick.

They were heading towards the city's bank.

Bringing the sobbing child over to it’s parents after checking if he was unhurt and accepting their thanks with a smile and a wave of his hand, he turned and headed for his newfound enemies of the day.

It took him not one, not two but exactly half a minute to make the bandits flip, shoot at him, blasting their own car in the process and emptying their magazines into the wall that he was hiding behind. After berating them for their reckless behaviors and letting them get him a new snack, they were taken into custody by the town’s sheriff.

Word spread fast in the small town and within half an hour he was celebrated in the saloon, drowning beer after beer with his new buddies and two really nice looking lady’s swooning around him.

A tie around his head, which he did not remember having there when the party started, he had stumbled out of the saloon, arms in arms with Marvin. Or Melvin. Or was this Viktor? His new best friend!

It was already dark. The day had passed and Vash needed to leave soon, before his bad luck caught up to him and some other kind of disaster hit the town. One he couldn’t stop as easily.

He was bringing Viktor or Melcom or Vincent towards what the slurring man was pointing at, assuming it to be his home. Vash was sneaking across the town's square when he started hearing the shouts from behind him, wondering where he went and starting to search for the gunman. After knocking at the door and leaving Marco with his not so happy wife, he started his walk back to the inn he was staying at.

A shabby looking house with even shabbier rooms and beds that were barely better than a rock. But neither did he need more nor did he deserve much of an upgrade. And the other sites to crash in this city were out of his budget anyway.

Before he could turn around the last corner on his way, he heard voices in front of the building. The women from before were there, wondering why such a skilled and pretty shot like himself was staying in this hutch. They wanted to take him back to the saloon and let him sleep there. In their company one might add..

Not in the mood to deal with them and already feeling a growing headache, he slipped back into the shadows of the night. It was an offer he would have loved to take in another life. A shame really.

And so he wandered around for a while, the chilling air of the night surrounding him. Maybe he should just take a moment to himself- he had been running from town to town without much of a break the last few months. He had heard some rumors back in November and tried to follow his new lead without much preparation.

It was the end of space year 0097 and he had picked up, that a certain Dr. William Conrad might still be alive and working with plants building his riches under a pseudonym. So he had set out in the direction of Octovern where a Plant had been saved by the hands of an incredibly talented specialist last year, who seemed to know just a tad too much about lost tech for him to be a normal man. It wasn’t the first time he had a lead like this - but it was his best till now.

The night might have been chilly, but the sky was quite the sight tonight. All five moons were visible to some degree and a worm swarm was glowing in the distance.

Vash decided to head for one of the rock formations just by the city and spent some time admiring the view.

Settling on a part of the cold stone, taking in the view in the opposite direction of the buildings.

He was almost dozing off, the tie still hanging over his face, when he saw a small spark.

As if the night sky decided that it could be even more mesmerizing, a shooting star flew over the sky, flashing and twinkling a little and then vanishing.

And then another. And another.

Shooting stars were rare. Normally the moons would shield the planet's atmosphere from most of them if they were not already gravitating towards the suns. To have all of them hanging in the sky and seeing the twinkling of those small rocks burning bright, while they were crashing onto Gunsmoke - had he seen something like this before in his long life?

Yes, yes he did.

His mind was wandering, torturing memories from the great fall flashing before his eyes. Falling ships, burning bodies screaming for their suffering to end.

It was branded into his mind for all of eternity. A pain he would endure.

Thoughts of the townspeople and their laughter suddenly appeared, cheering and praising him.

If only they knew-

The shower of sparks continued on, while Vash lost himself in his head.

Until a shooting star appeared right in front of him, that was brighter than any he had ever seen.

Its body and ray of light were tinted in a soft blue hue, letting the moons and stars appear dull in its wake. Sparks of color surrounded the night sky around it, barely visible and easily mist. But Vash saw and watched in awe.

Destructive thought pushed back into the farthest corner of his mind, he took in the sight before him.

What was this meteor made of? The way its color seemed to shift every second, breaking and forming the light around it? Some kind of diamond? He remembered how those would form light anew and left people in similar awe.

With his chest still hurting and and his eyes fixed on the wonder before his own eyes, he started to wish. A thing he had told children about - wishing upon a falling star, hoping for a brighter future. But never did the man do it for himself.

What could he wish for after all?

Absolution? Salvation?

A brighter future for plants and humans alike. A life for all of them on this deadly planet. Some kind of eternal peace?

He closed his eyes and wished for all of it.

And when he opened them up again, he was taken aback by how much closer the meteor had gotten. It had passed the atmosphere and its glow was almost blinding him.

With a squeak he stood and took off.

The falling star was heading directly towards him.

But running only did so much.

The impact behind him still reached his body and he was thrown head first right into the next dune.

It took a few tries to free his head while his tie was lost in the sand. Standing up again he shook his head, adjusting his hair and trying to get as much sand out of it as possible. Dusting off his coat as well, he turned around.

The rock formation was completely gone, but the crater itself was a lot smaller, than it should have been. It spanned only 100yarz, a meteor this size shouldn’t even have made it to the ground. There also weren’t any signs of fragments, that should have fallen all around him.

But all of this was forgotten, when he spotted the glowing center of the circle. It still sparkled and shifted in colors one could only imagine, illuminating the area around him.

Vash was drawn to it. And so he descended down into the crater, trying not to accidentally step into the still flickering flames upon the ground.

The light dimmed slowly.

And when the man reached its center, the glow was gone completely.

But no diamond or piece of metal from space lay before him.

Yet it still left him stunned and unable to move further.

It was a young woman instead.

She was laying on her back. Her straight silver hair was spread out on the ground around her. And if it wasn’t for the situation they found themselves in, she might as well have been peacefully sleeping.

He took the last few steps towards her and crouched down, checking her for any injuries. But there were none. She seemed to be totally fine with not even a single visible scratch. And while she was more or less clothed, the fine white fabric didn’t hide much of her slim body.

Contemplating what he should do in this weird scenario, he got a little closer to her, leaned over just a tiny bit and stretched out his hand to feel her pulse, when suddenly her eyes snapped open.

The girl inhaled sharp and deep, as if she had held her breath for minutes.

For a second she just stared up, then her head turned and she looked at him.

Her big green eyes widened further, her lips parted slightly.

And they just looked at each other for a moment, unable to move a muscle.

One moment became two.

And just as Vash had caught himself and started blinking rapidly, thinking of what to say, the girl on the ground took another deep breath-

And screamed.

“WHAAAAAAAA-!”

She pushed him with a force her small body shouldn’t possess and scrambled a few feet away from him, just to sit with her legs drawn close to her body and enclosing it in her arms. Her lips started quivering and the man knew she would start to cry any moment. Her orbs were trained on him in fear.

“Ahh~ I am sorry!”, he started, “I didn’t want to frighten you!” His trademark smile was back on his face, open hands raised upwards beside his head.

His words made it worse as she started trembling. Her hands gripping the burned sand around her lower body, trying to hold onto something. Anything.

“I- What-?“ At least she spoke the same language. He counted that as a win.

“Just concentrate on breathing for a sec, yeah?” An advice he had given hundreds of people in his life, while they were at the verge of a breakdown.

The girl blinked two times and then started breathing loudly through her mouth. For a second she seemed surprisingly collected - and then her tears started flowing anyway.

Her eyes wandered from his form for the first time, mustering the hole they were sitting in. Then her eyes shot upwards towards the sky and she looked even more distressed as she counted the moons above them. She turned around, searching, but seeing nothing new behind her, she quickly turned her attention back to Vash.

Her lips were quivering, when she muttered: “I don’t know what’s going on…” A soft voice, the perfect contrast to her scream from earlier.

“Well- I was just watching the sky when you…fell…?” He gestured wildly. How could he explain what he had just witnessed with her believing it and not panicking more?

“Like a shooting star-“ He really wasn’t good at this. “You almost hit me! Haha!~” Vash scratched the back of his head with one of his hands while laughing nervously. This was the weirdest thing.

The young woman looked like someone had just tried to hit her.

“Like a shooting star….?” At least the absurdity of the situation had made her stop crying for now.

“I was really just checking on you, when you woke up…” Nothing made sense.

She looked at her hands, then back towards Vash while shaking her head frantically.

“…how?” He almost didn’t catch that.

“Don’t ask me! I am just as confused as you are!”

Her eyebrows drawn together, she looked at the ground while thinking. Her hand started rubbing her sides - she must have been cold. No wonder. It was a rather chilling night and she had nothing on herself to keep her warm whatsoever. It was strange enough that the fabric surrounding her did not burn off, but right now there wasn’t really anything normal.

And then it occurred to him: she was not safe at the moment.

Half the town behind him was probably already asleep or drunk when he went up here, but the crash was not just extremely bright, but also loud enough to be heard for a few isles. It was only a matter of minutes before some townsfolk would appear at the edge of the crater.

And he wasn’t keen on finding out what would happen if they discovered a girl that fell from the sky. Sadly humans tended to do more harm than help when they didn’t understand what was going on.

“Mind if I help you stand up? We should really get you somewhere warm!” It wasn’t a lie, but it definitely didn’t fit the urgency in his voice.

“I guess-“, was all she could answer.

Vash then stood up and was in front of her crouching and trembling body within only three long strides of his, reaching out his hand for her to take.

She hesitated another second. Then she took it in her own and was lifted on her wobbly legs. Testing if they would work, she buried her bare feet in the sand. Seemingly happy with the result, she stretched her legs in front of her one after the other and took a step. Her being able to walk on her own was great news at least.

While she adjusted, he noticed her height. In a normal crowd Vash would hover above most heads, being taller than the usual man in these lands by the size of a head. Woman barely reached his shoulders, mostly not even his chest. But her? Without shoes she reached the tip of his nose. Seeing her so small and frightened on the ground, he would never have guessed that she was this tall-

Her hair was just past her shoulders in length and with the moons shining on it, the silver top of her head still looked to be glowing.

“Where to?”, the girl asked. She looked at him and tilted her head. What a cute gesture. Wait, had he started staring?

“Out of this hole first! There is a city nearby.” Vash gestured to the edge, where some rocks were still standing. Maybe they could give them some cover? At least until he was sure no one was trying to check on the site of the impact. It would be smart for the people to wait until sunrise…right?

When she didn’t start to walk and just continued to stare, he added: “Ladies first?” He raised his free hand and scratched the back of his head again. “So I can catch you if you trip?” Wait. His free hand?

And indeed: He was still holding her hand in his real one.

To make things even worse, he began to look down awkwardly - not really wanting to let go. And before his brain was working again and telling him to just drop it and act as cool as possible, the girl spoke up.

“I need both of my hands then.”

“Yeah! Sure!” He let it drop, as if he had just touched a hot pan. As pretty as the silver haired person in front of him was, this might not be the best place for a flirt.

Her face was a lot more controlled now, not showing what she was thinking at all. Instead she purposely raised one of her eyebrows, taunting him. He surely was an expert at making an ass of himself.

With one last glance at him, she turned around.

It was not an easy climb out of the crater. How did Vash get in so fast without losing his footing and rolling down? Or maybe he did and couldn’t remember because he hit his head? It did make sense. The blonde occupied his head with other random thoughts and mustered his left and right, just so he wouldn’t look right in front of him at the ascending woman.

And as if she had felt his current struggle, another snide remark fell.

“If you look at my ass, I will make sure you tumble the whole way back down. Savior or not.”

For someone who was absolutely terrified and at the verge of crying moments ago, she sure wasn't holding back now.

“I would never!” He exclaimed, adding a shocked gasp and holding one of his hands in front of his mouth for the effect.

Reaching the edge and climbing out she faced him at first, and he could see her mouth opening, ready to retort something. But she didn’t. Instead her eyes trailed further to the right, away from him and the hole in the ground.

Vash hurried up.

And then he saw the townspeople too. About a dozen of the were walking towards the pair with fast striddles. And while he knew, that they were just curious right now and wanted to look at whatever had fallen from the sky right in front of their homes, he did find some guns in their hands.

Within a split second, he decided to improvise. Not that he ever did anything else.

“Ahhhh! Good to see you guys!~” His best singsang voice would have to do. He laid a hand on the upper back of the girl beside him. She would have to forgive him for touching without asking. “I just found her! Seems like she was hit by some debris and fell down there! Ha!~” He mentioned downwards with his index finger. Hopefully she wouldn’t notice how nervous he was right now. “I will take her to the doc right away!~” He pushed her slightly and gave her a reassuring smile.

Hopefully the people wouldn’t ask questions-

A man he remembered to be friends with the local sheriff closed the distance between the group and themselves and mustered them.

“Won’t hold it against ya for sneaking away with a pretty lad like that.” The blond could feel her tense under his hand. She had caught on. “But I don’t think I have seen you around?” The older man turned his attention towards her.

“Uhm yeah. I just arrived today.” Well - she wasn’t lying.

“Hah! And already snatched the towns savior! Wish the girls back when I was young were like that!” His laugh sounded like he was choking on his spit. “Get her checked before you take her home, you casanova!”

Vash shared a quick laugh with the guy and they bid their goodbyes. The fact that the whole town was intoxicated and unable to think properly was making this a lot easier than he had thought. The mob had moved towards the edge, one of the guys he remembered drowning a glass of whiskey with rolled downwards. Another tried to help and tumbled in right after. Three women were betting who would be able to get out again first. No one cared for them right now. Good. Eventually there would be questions for her, but not tonight. He could figure something out after getting her somewhere to rest and warm up.

When they were a few yarz away from the bickering mass, the girl piped up.

“Casanova, eh? Wasn’t so off with my comment then?” A sly smile graced her lips, but she looked ahead.

“Well, what can I say? My dashing looks have won over the hearts of many fair maiden!” If it made her feel better, he would gladly play along. Walking in silence under tense circumstances wasn’t something he particularly liked.

“Must be quite the curse.” The girl brought the palm of her head over her heart. “Did you come out here to hide?” She was jesting, but it wasn’t that far from the truth. Not that she knew.

“I thought so. But it seems like beautiful woman just appear all around me out of thin air.~”

“Ah! So it is a recurring thing?”

“Yes. They fall for me all over.” The girl beside him snorted. It was good to see her loosen up a little. Vash watched her while they took the last few steps to the cities border.

“Are you feeling better?”

Her face fell slightly, but a soft smile was still gracing her features.

“Not really. Just trying to cope for now.”

“Thought so.” His steps slowed down while he was searching for the right words. “I will get you to a doctor for now. Just want to make sure that you don’t have a concussion or worse- “

“My head does indeed hurt-” Instinctively she rubbed her left temple with her fingers.

“Why didn’t you say so?” He had only been able to check for visible injuries. If he had known that she was in pain, he wouldn’t have let her walk the whole way-

“You didn’t ask.”

The man felt bad instantly. It should have been in the forefront of his mind as soon as she had calmed down a little.

“Sorry about that!”

“Don’t be.” For the first time since they had started walking, she looked up to him. “I can handle it. And you are-” The green-eyed woman stopped walking while her voice trailed off. She took a moment to think. Then suddenly her sparkling orbs gazed into his own, with an intensity that reminded him of the light he had wished upon earlier, as she spoke up again. “Thank you! Even if there isn’t much you can do… your presence really helps right now.” She paused and tilted her head, her eyebrows drew together slightly. “May I ask your name?”

“Oh! Sure! The name is Vash!” He was bewildered that he hadn’t introduced himself yet. “And helping is just what a man of love and peace like myself does!” Proudly he pointed at himself and remembered her calling him savior back in the crater. He blushed. He really didn’t do much till now and her words still made him feel good about himself?

“And what may I call you?”

She smiled and started to answer.

“I am- I- Uhm… Huh...”

Her eyes widened, and it looked like she was searching for something. She gasped for air, then let out a choked short laugh.

“What a great question!” She said.

The girl hid her face behind her hands and started shaking it.

“I think it’s Luna? But…” Still hiding herself, she peeked through her parted fingertips. “Yeah… uhm so… I can’t really remember…anything else?”

“Oh.”

[aonemanarmy]

The flash of a monstrous form flickered over the gunman's form as Sephiroth watched him. It was as if he were catching glimpses of another dimension parallel to their own where the trapped beast was trying to break through and claim their reality for its' own. Yet, try as it might it appeared that whatever monster Hojo had chained within Vincent was unable to free itself, the ex-Turk too battered and broken to continue on even if he wanted to do so.

Emerald eyes briefly darted over the strange orb of materia in his hand and watched the color shift and change within it. Whatever materia it was it appeared to react quite strongly to Vincent, but its' use was hardly of any real concern to him now as he stowed it away in an open slot in his armor for later consideration.

He was ready to leave things at that when he noticed Vincent reach out a bloodied hand as if he were trying to touch him. Sephiroth wondered what was on the man's mind in that moment lost within the throes of pain and blood loss. Did the ex-Turk really think that after all that happened that he was capable of convincing him to spare the human scum that had tormented him? He truly was naive if he thought that were the case and Sephiroth felt disdain at the mere idea.

Without bothering to utter another word the SOLDIER turned on his heel and made his way out of the basement to take revenge upon the world that had wronged him.

***

At long last the time had come.

Sephiroth stood at the foot of the large steel doors gazing up at the familiar name that practically beckoned him to cross that final threshold to meet his destiny. On just the other side of that door he would finally be able to meet the woman he'd spent his whole life searching for, the one he'd thought that he would never be able to see. But now that was about to change and he could at long last look upon his mother's face and know what he'd been robbed of his entire life.

Reaching out his hands he threw the doors open with a jarring level of force, the groan of metal echoing throughout the reactor's interior. With that barrier gone Sephiroth at long last gazed upon his mother, who stood before him hidden behind an expressionless mask of steel. Her 'body' was woven into the shape of a limbless, disembodied torso strung aloft by a series of cables and piping in a mockery of seemingly angelic wings.

Hojo clearly retained his sick sense of humor.

At the macabre sight Sephiroth didn't feel revulsion, rather, he felt a growing sense of anticipation. He knew that just beyond that steel form was his mother and that once they were able to meet face to face then they would never be separated again and finally he would have someone that truly cared for him.

“Mother,” he called softly, stepping into the chamber almost reverently, not even noticing the reek of mako and formaldehyde that wafted around him in a blast of cool air. “I have come.”

The Protomateria had what looked to be a double swirling galaxy inside it, the blue light at first glowing at a steady pace; a soft sky-blue hue. The unique power it held churned within the orb; Sephiroth's touch seemingly affecting its flow that was akin to the Lifestream.

A pool of crimson lay beneath the gunslinger, his vision slowly becoming blurred. As painful as the wound was, his face was considerably placid. The length of torture at the hands of Hojo had rendered him familiar with pain, having been a candidate for testing just how much agony a human body could handle. Regardless of his extreme tolerance, it didn't stop his body from convulsing as it naturally was trying to spare his life. But what life was there to save when it had been consumed by the beasts now dominating him on a cellular level? He already knew this to be the case those many years ago when he first learned of his altered body. Part of him was content as he lay wounded by Sephiroth's blade; a sort of retribution had been paid. While Sephiroth couldn't out right end Vincent's life, he had granted Vincent a portion of his suffering. Though artificial, it served to comfort the gunslinger. Return to me all that you have endured.

All the times I could have dried your tears, or rendered a hand to aid-- nothing but silence.

It is my lot; my burden to bear.

You will rage. You will destroy-- to fill your hollow heart.

Because when pain is all you've ever felt, it no longer hurts.

And when the day comes, I will be there... to show you mercy one last time...

To grant you what has been robbed from me.

As Sephiroth drew closer, a surge of power sped through his veins, causing Vincent to shudder and cough up more blood. A figment of another beast cloaked his body-- the form of a terrible monster with sharp edges covering his body, a crown of thorn-like protrusions, wings of a demon, and eyes that glowed amber. The gunslinger couldn't respond. The monster had been triggered, but Vincent was powerless to control it. Chaos had stirred. The Protomateria flickered in Sephiroth's hand as the beast's image slowly faded away; the wound had stopped bleeding. With the Protomateria out of him, he no longer had control over Chaos; but this was something Vincent was still not privy to. Delirious from blood-loss, and the last bit of his energy being spent as Chaos had attempted to awaken, Vincent's vision waned. A figure stood above him; long hair-- beaming down at him with familiar facial features. His mother... There she stood. Her long hair tied back in a gold sash; her lab-coat complimenting her form. A tear was rolling down her beautiful face. Vincent lifted a weary hand, reaching upward to wipe away the tear.

"Lucrecia...." Eyes finally fell shut, and his hand met the ground beneath him, his body finally succumbing to the trauma. Though in a deathlike state, his Chaos genes would sooner or later reawaken him-- unable to be fully obliterated. Never allowed to know true peace. But perhaps it was only a matter of time for the both of them.

[poppadom0912]

Losing

Characters: Connor Rhodes x Reader, Will Halstead, Maggie Lockwood, Kim Burgess

Warnings: Medial treatment, blood, shootings, and death

Summary: After an accident at your workplace, your husband is faced with the thought of losing his family.

A/N: This is going to be quite long and maybe mess with your feelings. Hope you like it!

*****

So, here's how it went.

It was a normal morning, there was nothing out of the ordinary. You woke up with your husband in bed with you, both of your alarms going off at the same time despite your different jobs. The two of you got ready separately as one showered and the other made breakfast, being out the door in no time.

But, with five minutes to spare, Connor rubbed your belly that was ever so slightly sticking out but with the clothes you wore to work, you couldn't tell you were pregnant. Having a hushed conversation with the life growing in you, Connor whispered for them to not bother you and that he loved the two of you very much.

And with the quickest peck on the lips, another sneaky one on your cheek, your husband was driving away as you made your way down the street towards your friend who drove you to work.

Despite your speed walking, you had been 'late' according to her and that resulted in her speeding down the road towards the high school the two of you taught at.

It was an honest miracle that she didn't crash, that you made it in one piece at the school because at the speed she was driving, you wouldn't be surprised if she crashed.

Fast forward three hours and you’re teaching your third class of the day, a bunch of sixteen-year-olds cramped in a class learning literature was an absolute blast.

Once again, you did this five days a week and had a routine, each class a different one but it was still there. So, when you were mid-way through collecting last lessons homework and you heard that familiar shrill, your heart dropped and so did the papers in your hand. (Don't worry, it all fell onto the table so there was no mess to clean up.)

Chairs scrapped along the floor in sync as all your students stood and made their way to the back of the classroom, you watching as they huddled together, whispering as you shut all the windows, pulling down the blinds and locking the door.

Covering the small window on the door, you did a quick headcount of all your students, whispering the numbers under your breath.

Yes, this could easily be a drill but with all the other shootings happening all over the country, you could never be too sure.

You continued counting in your head as you verbalised reassurances to the students who were shaking, watching as the others tightly gripped phones and hands.

Finishing your headcount, you realised there was a missing student and due to your mom brain, it took a student tugging on the bottom of your dress, you bending down so they could whisper in your ear for you to remember that there was a student missing.

One of the girls started her period in class and you allowed her to leave, going to the toilets to sort herself out but she never came back.

Patting their head lightly, you harshly swallowed and let your eyes sweep over your students sitting on the floor, all crammed together as if each other’s presence provided safety.

In this moment, all your training went out your head and all you could think about was your missing student.

You loved all your students will all your heart, as you taught them over their four years of high school, they practically became your children. You had a relationship with them that not only could you be their teacher, but you could also be a friend, listening to all the drama and maintaining the perfect amount of banter in and out of class.

Just the thought of one of your students being out there, if there was an actual gunman, you couldn't even fathom the thought. What you would do to get that student back, 'safe' in the classroom.

You felt your heart start to palpitate.

Typically, at this point in time, everyone would be notified that this was only a drill and that everyone could go back to their lessons, but nothing had happened. Silence was still enveloping the room and you all you could hear was loud beats echoing in your ear.

Making one of the hardest decisions in your life, you decided to stay put, remembering that your students were smart, even if they were 16, they were smart enough to know what to do when school was put on lockdown.

And, you were pregnant, putting yourself out on the line like that meant putting your baby on the line. If something happened to your baby, you would never forgive yourself.

Remembering the life growing within you, your hands shakily found its way to your stomach, feeling the bump that wasn't as big as it should be for a woman slowly nearing her due date. The fact that you weren't big wasn't a surprise according to your doctor. You were less than a month away but with constant reassurances your size wasn't a problem, your worries, for the most of it, disappeared.

Anyways, back to the current situation, you crouched down, fitting behind a table, back towards the door so you could face all your 16-year-olds.

Once again, you let your eyes skim over your students, letting them become misty as you saw some texting parents and struggling to hold in tears.

Shit. Connor.

Your husband had no idea, absolutely oblivious to your current predicament. He was mindlessly going about his day, saving lives as a trauma surgeon does.

Inhaling a shaky breath, you knew that Connor would flip his shit when he found out but that was a problem for future you, present you was needed here.

Just as you were about to sit down properly, your phone went off, making the entire class jump at the sound of your ringtone that sounded like every other ordinary ringtone.

Wincing, you looked up, pushing yourself on your toes that were starting to ache from sitting in this position for so long, finding your phone vibrating as its screen went from black to blaring in the dark classroom.

With much contemplation, you let it ring out and remained where you sat but when it went off for a second time, you bit your lip and went to grab it, being fast and going back to where you sat with the students.

Making sure you didn't make too much sound, you mindlessly answered the call without checking the number or name, putting it against your ear.

"Please tell me you’re not working today."

The familiar voice of Kim Burgess met your ears, bringing tears to your eyes as you shakily exhaled a breath that you had been holding for far too long.

Ever since you and Connor started dating, he had introduced you to the village otherwise known as the first responders he called family. And, soon enough, they became yours too despite not working in any of their departments.

"Well, I won't say that, but I can tell you that I'm staring at an almost full class of 16-year-olds." Your tone was meant to be light-hearted but came across more sarcastic than humorous. No one could blame you when your coping mechanism was humour.

Kim sighed, making the line go static for a second before you could practically see the frown on her lips, furrowed brows as she pinched the bridge of her nose like the disappointed mother she was.

"Listen Kim, if you’re calling me about work then you gotta be straight with me right now." You whispered into your phone, keeping your eyes trained on your students who were taking note of anything that moved. "This isn't a drill, is it?"

You weren't even whispering, trying to be quieter so the teenager didn't hear. Scaring them would only make the situation much worse than it already was.

"Y/N." Kim said your name with such a force that it felt like she was your mentor in a movie giving a motivational speech that would result in you winning the competition that was the plot of the movie. "Intelligence is outside the school but we're not too sure how long it's gonna take to get inside, so promise me you’re going to stay where you are."

Your jaw ticked, not in frustration but at the fact that there really was a shooter roaming around the halls.

"Navya Patel, she left for the bathroom. The closet toilet that's working is near history which is on a different floor." You let the woman know about your missing student. "Kim, if anything happened to her..."

You could finish the sentence, if you said the words aloud, her peers would hear and that was a recipe for disaster, Kim knew how you were going to finish your sentence.

"Y/N, we got this." She repeated with a good amount of grit that would engrave her words into your mind. "I'll see you soon."

And with that, she hung up, getting back to work getting the shooter out of the school.

Licking your lips, you completely turned off your phone, gently placing it face down on the floor where it wouldn't be in the way.

You could feel several pairs of eyes looking at you desperately for answers, the answers that as a teacher, you always had.

Gosh, you’re so glad that you didn't teach pre-schoolers.

Suddenly, snapping out of your thoughts was the sound of a person walking down the hallway.

At some point, you weren't too sure when, but you could put a name to whoever was walking down the halls. Fast, squeaky meant one of the hyper-active boys, a bunch of small steps meant that one big friend group, clacking of heels meant one of the higher up teachers and the shouting that came along with some steps could literally be anyone.

But these steps, maybe it due to your mom brain and your anxiousness, but you couldn't familiarise yourself with it, never had it ever been so nimble but harsh and quick at the same time.

Sucking in a sharp breath, you let your eyes flicker to the door, looking at the handle and due to the lack of light in the classroom, you couldn't see nor remember if you locked it.

Lightly tapping the student closest to you, you whispered in their ear the question of if you closed the door but when they shrugged, replying with they were too busy getting to the back of the classroom to watch you, you felt your heart rate pick up.

If the steps that were echoing down the hallway was the shooter and your door wasn't closed, you were fucked, your students were fucked. If anyone got hurt today, that was never-ending guilt over your head.

Better to be safe than sorry.

It was a saying that Connor, as a doctor, often found himself working by, going the extra mile, sometimes, just so they never missed anything out. Like, there was several times patients experienced chest pain and there were no reasons why, but he always would go and order an EKG or something like that, you can't remember.

As quietly and swiftly as you could, you got up on your feet, hunched back as you went around the tables to get to the door, your new height meaning no one could see you.

Safely arriving at the door, you rested your back against it and stared down at the lock, breathing a sigh of relief when it was locked.

Just as you were going to go back to your students, you watched as a shadow loomed over you.

The window on the door was a small square and now being at your normal height, your head was visible through it. But you covered it with some students work who graduated and left two years go.

Obviously, the paper wasn't thick enough and with the lights of the corridor, it was now practically see-through meaning that the person now standing behind the door, could see you and if, if you turned around, you would be able to see them.

Your breath hitched.

The figure didn't move, frozen behind the door making you hold your breath so that it would look like you weren't a living thing but fast forward two minutes later and you had to breathe again.

And that's what set him off.

His hand immediately latched to the door handle, shaking it with such vigour that you could feel the movements against your hips.

It was one of the fastest movements in a while, the sound catching your students off guard, all their eyes snapping towards the door handle since they had been watching your every move once you had gotten off the phone.

Trying your best to control your breathing, you kept repeating that everything would be fine over and over, as if it would be.

But fate had other ideas.

The person must've given up, letting go of the handle as it stopped moving against you. Despite this, fear coursed through your veins, not knowing what that meant. You didn't want to get your hopes up.

Just as you thought you were safe, you lurched forward due to the sudden impact of the door pushing against you.

It felt like whiplash, but your thoughts were still perfectly orientated as you pushed yourself with all your weight against the door that he was banging at.

Due to your sudden movements, some of your kids screamed, watching as who you guessed was the shooter, tried to get into the classroom.

Your breathing became frantic, the shooter relentless in his attempts to open the door. He must've had something sharp on him as after several jabs, he created a hole in the wooden door right at your lower back, the cold metal meeting the soft cotton of your dress.

Masking the pain, you turned your head towards your kids, ordering them to hide under tables or in the far cupboards, wherever they could hide, just in case the shooter was successful.

Some with much but others with little hesitance, obeyed to your orders as you watched as they tried their best to hide, the shooter continuing with his efforts, the pain in your back increasing as you were reminded of the growing life within you.

This wasn't fair.

Inhaling deeply, you could hear a masculine voice chuckle under his breath, relishing in his achievement.

Was it too late to say that you hadn't heard any gun shots today?

You let a lone tear slip as you felt the man’s hand squeeze through the hole he made, feeling your back before finding the handle, which he did with struggle due to your body pressed against the door.

Whispering sweet assurances to your baby who was totally oblivious to what was happening in the outside world, you were comforting yourself more than anything.

And Connor. God, Connor had no idea, and this morning could've been the last time he saw you, the last time he talked to you, the last time he kissed you; the last time he said I love you.

It was at the thought of your husband that you let another tear slip, and another and another to the point you were silently crying, sniffling and unable to wipe them away. Your kids didn't need to see you crying because they were looking up at you and if you cried, then what did that show?

Blowing out air, you clenched your jaw hearing the door unlock. There was no way in hell he was laying any hand on your kids.

Watching as his hand turned, pushing the handle so the door opened, you moved forward so you were no longer leaning against the door. You watched as the door creaked open, yellow lights bleeding into the grey classroom, looking for when he stepped forward.

That when you lunged, finding his black shoes that were surprisingly clean, pushing him out your classroom and into the empty hallway.

You caught him off guard, that was for sure but a man that was taller, heavier, and more armed than you, not forgetting the fact that he also wasn't pregnant meant he had the upper hand.

And so, the attacks started rolling in one after the other as you started to comfort yourself, repeating that everything would be fine as you closed the door behind you, not wanting your teenagers to witness the brutal attacks of the shooter.

Your hands immediately went to your abdomen, shielding your baby from any oncoming attacks, your eyes screwed shut as you clocked at your mind screaming at everything to stop.

Gasping in pain, you felt him back away slightly as you moved away from the door, leaning against the brick wall not too far away from the lockers, using it to support yourself as your vision started to blur.

Prying your eyes open, you struggling to focus on anything. Your breathing was shallow and all you could hear was high pitch ringing, making you wince.

Due to your vision that wasn't clearing, you couldn't see as your attacker brought out something from his belt, just bigger than his hand but it could've been anything.

It took you a minute to register what he was going to do, but then you remembered he was the reason the school was on lockdown and your students were inside trembling with fear.

A shooter isn't a shooter without a gun which they shoot with.

By the time you connected all the dots, it was too late.

Two shots resonated through the halls, followed with retreating footsteps and the thud of a body falling on the floor.

And that body just so happened to be yours, falling against the wall, slowly dragging down the bricks, leaving a deep crimson as you lost feeling in your legs.

Everything went numb, your head resting against the bloody wall as your hands shook, struggling to decide where to go, eventually deciding to put pressure on one of your wounds, remembering what Connor had said to you a few years back one night when neither of you could sleep.

The shots must've been pretty loud, catching the attention of people you couldn't name making you think the worst, trying to move yourself as you didn't want to be attacked again.

Ignoring the tingling sensation that started to spread around your body, your eyes dragged to the commotion down the hall, finding blurry figures tackle a couple of dudes dressed in black.

Attempting to blink, when your eyes opened, you found yourself tearing at the sight of familiar figures, despite their blurriness, their voices brought you some level of comfort.

Feeling something cold trail down your lips, you ignored the metallic taste and let yourself smile, or try to at least, your lips perking up since smiling itself was too painful.

The woman had brunette hair, a shiny badge secured on her waist, quick on her feet as she made her way towards your pale figure. Her scent washed over you and it was at that moment you were able to hear anything besides that irritated high pitch ringing.

You were aware of her questions as she moved your hands, putting pressure where you previously were, wincing at how hard she was pushing down.

Kim tried to convince you that everything was fine and that you were okay and for some reason, when you heard that raspy voice that could only belong to one Sergeant, you started to believe her.

But then your eyes suddenly felt too heavy and knowing that you were safe, knowing that your kids were safe, you let go.

*****

Connor smiled. Maggie was standing beside him, one hand on her hip while the other held her almighty phone, talking with Will with that snarky tone of hers.

It had been a good day and that wasn't something he liked to say a lot as a trauma surgeon because as soon as he thought or voiced that it had been a good or slow day, karma immediately hit him in the head, calling him stupid.

Just as he was going to join Maggie as she jokingly criticised Will, her eyes caught sight of texts popping up on the device in her hand and soon enough, they all caught the blaring lights and deafening sirens coming from the ambulance bay.

Looking at the two men standing with her, she jutted her head towards the paramedics pulling out a stretcher. "Doctor Rhodes, Doctor Halstead, baghdad."

Snatching a pair of latex gloves each, the two doctors rounded the nurse’s desk and grabbed onto the stretcher that was being wheeled in.

"Alright, what've we got?"

As soon as Will asked, pulling on his gloves properly as he, on instinct, checked for a pulse.

Before either man was going to ask for any further details on the victim, Connors eyes found a diamond ring that was reflecting in the bright lights of the ED, familiarity washing over him like a wave.

His eyes snapped up to the victims face and his grip loosened on the stretchers side. His legs went on, ignoring as he registered the face.

"Y/N?" Connor barely whispered; it was a miracle Will even heard him

Will's head snapped towards Connor, looking at him incredulously before looking back at the woman lying unconscious before recognising the face of his co-worker’s wife.

And all of a sudden, everything just got much more real.

Keeping his eyes on you, Connor continued pushing the stretcher into the trauma room, ignoring the sympathetic eyes of everyone starting to gather around him.

"Transfer on my count." Connor looked up for a split second at the medical personnel in the room.

Yes, there was a rule that you couldn't treat family but with Connor being the trauma surgeon on call and also the only doctor available, besides Will, no one had a choice but to let him do his job.

As Will started to cut off your dress, he harshly swallowed at the sight of the gunshot wound but when his eyes trailed over your body for any sort of artificial wounds, his eyes locked onto the second wound profusely bleeding despite the mounted layers of gauze.

Shouting out orders, ignoring the fact that this was family, Will was stopped himself as he was telling a nurse what drugs to administer, hearing Connors next words.

"Give me the ultrasound."

Connor held his hand out, his heart hammering in his chest as he pushed the wand against your abdomen, repeating to himself under his breath that you'd be all right.

Watching the black and white appear on the machine, everyone's eyes watched closely, silence consuming the room.

First of all, no one knew of any pregnancy and for the news to be spilled due to your traumatic injury, only furthered everyone's shock.

Maggie approached the open trauma doors, her face unreadable as she too watched the scene unfold.

Refusing to believe his ears, Connor moved the wand around, pushing down just a little harder, blinking several times so the mist in his eyes would go away.

His breath hitched as the room remained in silence.

Just as he was going to move away to address your wounds that he was still unaware of, he heard an echoing thump that resonated through the room.

He must've gotten whiplash from how fast he looked up at the machine. Maggie let her chest fall in relief as Will let his eyes close before ordering for a different drug than what he asked for before.

Ignoring the collecting sweat on his forehead, Connor handed one of the nurses near him the ultrasound wand and moved further up your torso, lifting the several layers of gauze that now looked like one due to the amount blood loss.

There was one lodge in your ribs, no signs of any exit wound while the other was dangerously close to your uterus.

And despite hearing both beating hearts, it dawned on them the inevitable.

Only one of you were going to make it but with both your lives being in the hands on your husband, you both were going to make it, you both had to make it.

With his raised voice, letting everyone around him know of his next actions, he looked at Maggie who had already ordered up for an operating room.

"Let's move!"

Everything passed by in a blur, moving around and out of the ED, into the elevator where he felt the all the eyes on his figure, his hand gripping the gurney's railing with such force that he felt numbness.

The doors opened, allowing everyone to move into the quieter corridor, moving towards the OR already prepared for surgery.

"Thank you everyone, I'll take it from here."

One of the trauma surgeons who had been working at Med longer than Connor suddenly stepped in, lightly grabbing the bottom end of the gurney.

"Excuse me?!" Connor looked at the man with a fury that no one had seen before.

"I've come off my break and you know the rules Rhodes, they're in good hands." The surgeon assured the younger man, watching as Will gently moved him away from you.

"No, no, no, no." Connor mumbled frantically, fighting against Will's restricting arms.

"Connor, Connor." Will looked his friend in the eye, the emotions running so wild that Will felt it too.

"No Will, that's my wife and child!" Connor said through gritted teeth, pointing at your body that was being wheeled away, his voice filled with a fury that made Will falter.

"Y/N and your baby are in good hands, okay?" Will paused, waiting for any more brash actions from Connor but he only let his hands limply fall to his side. "Come on, let's sit down."

*****

Connors eyes were now red from all the tears, now resting on his knuckles as his elbows were leaning on the plastic arms of the waiting room chairs.

Will had left his side once, only for the seat to be filled by Maggie who told April to take her spot until further notice.

Having the charge nurse by his side, Connor let his tears fall, no longer finding it possible to keep in it. No one was watching besides Maggie and the few people passing by but crying relatives was a normal sight for all of Med's employees.

As the surgery went on, Maggie firmly remained at Connors side, forcing him to eat and drink a little once the tears dried.

"The baby, we were going to tell you." Connor whispered; his voice hoarse despite his tears being silent. "But we kept putting it off and then we figured we preferred the privacy, promising we would tell everyone on our anniversary next week."

Maggie's fingers locked with his, holding it firmly. Actions spoke much louder than words. What was she supposed to say to a man who was waiting for the news of his families death, knee jumping up and down impatiently as he, again, combed his hands through his now unkept hair.

Maggie looked up as the doctors and nurses, one by one, exited the OR you were in, Connors head snapping up hearing the soft footsteps leaving the operation room.

The two of them stood up, Maggie rubbing Connors bicep comfortingly as they stepped forward, Connors eyes filled with nothing but desperation and hope.

The surgeon who took over him, surgical cap and scrubs still on as he approached them, monotone expression meaning neither of them could try decipher the news.

"Your wife couldn't handle everything all at once, we're going to give her a bit to rest before we continue." The surgeon paused, looking at Connor with a newfound emotion.

Despite knowing deep down that you could come out completely fine, Connor let his mind wander and think the worst.

Breathing? Heart beating? Working brain? Connor no longer had any of those as reality sunk in.

"But, I'm delighted to inform you that your daughter, even though she's premature, is doing perfectly fine."

A baby girl.

Before Connor could ask anything, the surgeon beat him to it. "You want to come meet her?"

Nodding his head, not trusting his words, Connor and Maggie followed the surgeon to the NICU where they stood in front of glass doors, finding a pink bundle in a cart labelled 'Baby Rhodes'.

With watery eyes and a wobbling smile, Connor was stuck watching your daughters chest rise and fall, not being able to look away from the baby that was yours.

Licking his lips, Connor glanced at Maggie who was reassuringly rubbing his bicep, her smile small but it was just what he needed.

Now all he needed was for you to pull through.

*****

You didn't wake up till another five days later, being put into a medically induced coma that only increased Connor's nerves.

Miss Goodwin had given him time off, both to look after your newborn baby but also start preparing himself for any bad news.

He hoarded any doctor and nurse who was working your case and after many, many tries, he was fully informed and despite everything making sense medically, he was impatient and was starting to lose it.

Five days felt like five months, the wait being so long that slowly, the doctors in the ICU were making your husband aware that he may need to let go.

But he wouldn't, no matter how much the cost was, he would do anything just for you to wake up.

He spoke to you daily, updating you on anything, even the lousy drama the nurses from the ED stirred up. He swore that when he told you the news of your healthy daughter being discharged from the NICU that your fingers twitched.

Currently, Connor was fiddling through a baby guide that you jokingly bought for fathers day while you were pregnant. Your unnamed daughter was taken by Maggie who said Connor needed a break and this was the least she could do.

Suddenly, interrupting the continuous beeps of the monitors, you started coughing around the tube in your throat, eyes screwed shut.

Jumping up from his seat, Connor pressed the nurses button and despite itching to extubate you, he had to wait for your primary doctor, which would've been him if there was no relation between the two of you.

Following the nurses, Will pulled on his gloves, approaching you slowly before he said hello to you, explaining what he was going to do.

Despite the extreme discomfort that came with the extubating, your throat felt dry, eyes heavy as you blinked to get used to the scene in front of you.

The disorientation was painted clear on your face but when your eyes fell on Connor standing behind Will, you felt yourself tearing up.

Everyone was starting to think the worst, maybe you had amnesia which could difficult depending on its severity, or you were in pain somewhere they weren't aware of.

"Connor." Your voice was hoarse and raw, your lip perking up slightly at the sight of your husband.

Swallowing back a sob, Connor nodded, lips drawn into a smile that no one had seen him wear in a very long time. His hand clutched yours, kissing it and keeping it there.

All of his emotions were overwhelming but he would keep it to himself till it was just the two of you.

After a few cognitive tests, ruling out any complications and making sure you weren't suffering from amnesia and so on, Will cleared you, allowing the room to empty before he expressed his own relief in your consciousness.

Your eyes dragged to your husband who was staring at your open eyes, it very so surreal and-

Why was your stomach so flat?

Even though your pregnant belly wasn't as big as it should've been, it was never completely flat. You could remember everything but had yet to be informed of what exactly was your medical state.

Before you could even voice your concern at your discovery, Connor realised where your attention lay and beat you to it.

"Nothing bad happened." He shook his head before smiling. "Your daughter is currently being hoarded by the lovely docs and nurses of the ED."

You felt like crying.

"A little girl?" You felt like crying, smiling up at your husband through your tears. "You named her yet?"

Connor shook his head. "Wasn't going to do it without you." He said, leaving out the fact that he should've when the suggestion was brought up just in case you didn't wake up.

Letting out a breathy sigh, you settled into your pillow, closing your eyes in relief. "I'm still so tired, and I've slept for how long?" You joked, mindlessly fidgeting with Connors fingers.

"Where's all that from?" You opened your eyes, looking over at all the flowers, cards and the occasional balloon sitting in the corner of the room, Connor following your line of sight, huffing out a chuckle.

"You seem to have accumulated a fan club." Your husband proudly stated. "And I'm the head of it."

"Is that so?" You humoured him but before he could reply, you were interrupted by the familiar faces of what looked like half the ED, one of them holding a small bundle, a tuft of dark, dark brown hair standing out from the white blanket.

Your greeting was just about audible as you too notice of the baby, smiling at all of Connors friends who were also yours by now.

Gently, your daughter was placed into your arms by Maggie who helped you hold her, fixing the position of your elbow.

This all felt so surreal but with those blue doe eyes staring up at you with all the curiosity and innocence in the world, your heart soared and you felt a sudden instinct to protect her from any harm in the world.

Ignoring all the harm of the situation, but there was definitely going to be a long conversation about the shooting with you that would consist of scolding from Connor about putting your life on the line while you justified your actions by using your students.

But for now, it would be just you, Connor, your baby and the friendly company of Chicago Med's village.

[ejzah]

Where It Hurts Most, Part 5

***

Kensi pulled to a hasty stop in an alleyway across from the location Fatima had texted them. Sam and Rountree pulled in just behind them only a few minutes later, but every second felt like an eternity. They retrieved tactical gear from the Challenger’s trunk which they handed over to Kensi and Callen.

Moving quickly, Kensi strapped her vest, thigh holster, and an MK18 on and then strode towards the garage, ignoring Callen’s quiet word of caution. It wasn’t exactly like the one Deeks was held in before (personally, she hoped the original was leveled to the ground), but it was similar enough to induce a wave of revulsion and fear.

The rest of the team followed her lead without question, automatically getting into position around the sliding metal door.

“On my count,” she whispered, quietly counting down from three. Callen blasted through the lock and Sam pulled the door open. Kensi went through first with Rountree right behind her.

There was a hallway which turned down to the right, moving quickly but almost silently while Sam and Callen headed in the opposite direction. When she was about halfway down, a man stepped out of the doorway at the other end, armed with an automatic rifle. In the second before she shot him, Kensi recognized him as one of the men who attacked Deeks.

She stepped through the doorway, taking out the next gunman who barely had time to lift his weapon.

It was a largely open space, with few places to use as cover besides the remnants of some kind of mechanical equipment and second, smaller door on the opposite side. A bullet whipped past Kensi, ricocheting off a metal container before finding a home in the crates behind her.

She spotted the shooter tucked behind a large metal dolly in the second before she ducked behind a freestanding metal shelf. Rountree appeared from the right and fired, hitting the man in the shoulder.

“Figured you might want him alive,” he explained, hurrying forward to grab the gunmen’s weapon. He hauled the man to his knees, twisting his arms behind his back. Kensi spared him a brief glance. He looked younger than the others and was quietly panting in obvious pain as blood leaked from his wound.

Kensi headed for the door across the room, and yanked on the handle, finding it locked.

She turned back to the young gunman, keeping her rifle visible. Rountree held him upright, his grip tight and no doubt somewhat painful.

“Is Marty Deeks in there?” she demanded, gesturing to the door. He nodded once, his expression growing slightly malevolent. “Does Kessler have any traps waiting for us?”

“Why don’t you go in and find out,” he spit out. Anger rising again, she reached out and squeezed his injured shoulder and he gasped loudly, letting out a whimper when she didn’t let go.

“I don’t know,” the man growled, inhaling sharply through his nose. “The man’s a lunatic, but I’m pretty sure he wants you alive.” He nodded at Kensi. “He talked about you all the time.”

Releasing him, Kensi wiped her hand on her jeans, and gave the man a disgusted look as she turned back towards the door.

“Stay with him.” Rountree didn’t question her as she swung her MK18 around to her front, unceremoniously shooting through the bolt and lock. It the door opened with a creak, revealing the dim interior.

She held back a gasp as she saw Deeks. He was near the back of the room, tied to a chair. Her anger flared again at the sight of him bound, a sheen of sweat of his forehead as Kessler held his head at an unnatural angle. He had a knife firmly pressed against Deeks’ throat.

“Kensi, I hoped you would find us, but I wasn’t expecting it to be this soon. I’m impressed,” he said, smirking at her, and she steadied the rifle, lining it up directly with Kessler’s temple. “Saving the damsel is distress again. How typical.”

“Shoot him, Kensi,” Deeks encouraged her, his voice strained. She saw blood on his forehead, but forced her eyes away. She couldn’t afford to be distracted right now.

“I wouldn’t do that Kensi, or I just might slip and slice Marty’s neck right open.” He pointedly let the knife dip lower, making Deeks still completely. “By the time you reach him, he’ll have bled out.”

Kensi caught Deeks’ eye, saw the barely contained fear there, and let the barrel drop a few inches.

“Good choice, Kensi,” Kessler praised her, his voice almost playful. “Now put your weapon on the floor.”

Slowly, she dropped to her knees, holding Deeks’ gaze the entire time. He nodded once in understanding, urging her on with the single movement. As a smirk spread across Kessler’s face, Kensi pulled the trigger.

Dark satisfaction filled her when Kessler screamed and fell to the floor, clutching futilely at his exploded kneecap. She strode forward, pausing a moment to kick the knife out of his reach. He growled and attempted to crawl away, making it a few feet before he collapsed and passed out.

Then she was kneeling in front of Deeks. She cupped his face, her hands trembling.

“Oh my god, baby.”

“Get these off me, please,” Deeks begged, his desperation leaking into his voice as he tugged at the ropes and zip ties. His movements were sharp and jerky, a haunted look in his eyes.

When she stood to retrieve her pocket knife, something metallic caught her eye. Her gaze skittered over the box, her stomach heaving slightly when she realized there was a drill among other horribly familiar objects.

“Don’t worry, he didn’t get a chance to use them. He was too busy grandstanding.” Kensi wasn’t at all mollified by Deeks’ reassurances. She forced herself to stop looking, to stop thinking about what their presence implied. Whatever Deeks might say, she knew Kessler liked to play and toy with people.

Crouching down again, she cut his wrists free. Deeks immediately jerked his arms away the second they were free. He winced slightly when she gently took his right hand and peeled his sleeve pack, revealing a mess of shredded skin and blood.

“Deeks,” she breathed, letting her fingers hover but not actually touching.

“I guess I, uh, panicked a little,” he explained hoarsely, shrugging a little. She could only imagine how terrified he’d been as Kessler undoubtedly threatened him with the worst memories Deeks possessed.

“I’m so sorry it took so long, Baby.” She moved her hand to his cheeks, running her fingers over his temple, his cheek, the swollen area around his eye.

“It’s not your fault.” Deeks shook his head and lowered his head, hair flopping across his forehead. “I’m just glad he took me instead of you. The things he said-” He broke off with a shuddering breath.

“It’s ok,” she assured him, cupping the back of his neck. “Just breathe, Baby. You’re safe now.”

“I know,” he whispered, eyes slightly glazed as he caught her eye. He started to speak again, licked his lips, then unexpectedly lurched towards her.

She caught him, his knees landing heavily on the concrete. Deeks’ arms wrapped tightly around her and Kensi returned his embrace. She pressed her forehead to his, feeling the fine shudders running through his body.

When Sam and Callen found them a few minutes later, they were still kneeling together on the floor, desperately clinging to one another.

***

A/N: Yay, they got Kessler! I think one more chapter after this to wrap it all up. Side note, I know nothing about automatic rifles. I merely used a guide I found for weapons used on the show.

[jeromesxreader16]

Such a Joker (54)

Part 53 Here!

~o0o~

"Who are you?" Bruce's voice booms through the study. He stares at his newly crafted parents with confusion, and shock. His mind must be going in circles. "Well, look who decided to join us," Martha speaks to her boy. "Hello, champ." Thomas follows.

"Master Bruce!" Alfred pops in with a tray of tea and biscuits. Bruce looks at his friend in shock. "Alfred, how did you..."

"Look at the state of you. What have I told you about rolling around in the muck?" Bruce stares at everyone, Jeremiah and I hide away watching for the time being.

"Alfred, what's going on? Who are these people?"

"Whatever do you mean, Bruce?"

"We're your parents." Silence from the billionaire boy Bruce Wayne.

"Right. Well, let's get you spruced up. After all, we have guests."

Jeremiah pulls us both out with smiles. His hand around my waist and his other raising a glass. "Welcome home, Bruce."

"Jeremiah. You're alive." Bruce's eyes travel to mine.

"Well, you didn't think Selina could kill me so easily, did you? Or that I'd ever leave my wife and my unborn sprees? I just had to put you off my scent until I could finalize my... project." Jeremiah pinches Martha's cheek. Bruce lunges for him before Alfred stops him. "Manners, Master Bruce. Let's not be rude to our guests."

I look to Bruce with a slight smile. If I play along I might be able to stay safer if I play the victim. I smile kissing Jer's cheek. "Especially when we come bearing gifts." I present the bomb to them all on the table. "Oh, Mrs. Valaska. A cake. How exceedingly kind of you. Is it Italian meringue?" I look back at Jeremiah with a smile, about to burst into laughter. He shrugs his shoulder. "Sure." Bruce strides towards me with fury, until Jeremiah pulls out the trigger.

"Now, now, Bruce, you come any closer and I blow up Wayne Manor, with all of us inside of it. I have a dozen more of these, uh, Italian meringues sprinkled throughout the house." Bruce glares at me with ill intent. "What did you do to Alfred? And who are these people?" I roll my eyes leaving Jerimiah's side and plopping on the couch. "Ah, glad you asked. Come."

Jer strolls over to look at Wayne's personalized smiles with Bruce. "Mommy and Daddy dearest were just an innocent couple I kidnapped based on... bone structure and, um... build. Just a touch of plastic surgery, and voila... Waynes. Alfred, I nabbed in the Green Zone." Bruce waves his hand in front of their faces, connecting the dots.

"They're hypnotized."

"Well, I'm afraid there was no room for improv in our script. Today is a... very important day, Bruce. Just look at the way they're dressed." I walk around Martha, admiring her pearls. "I like these, J." He hum. "I'll get you some just like it, love, but these ones are important for tonight." I giggle and kiss his cheek.

"It's the night my parents were killed," Bruce says with sadness.

"And I'm giving you the chance to experience it all over again."

"Why?"

"Isn't it obvious? Bruce... this...this was the most important day of your life. And I didn't get to be a part of it. We didn't get to comfort you on your big day. We need to rectify that." I stretch my arms out, planting them on my swollen belly. "Alfred, is dinner done? I'm hungry."

Jeremiah nods looking at Alfred. "Chop-chop. We're on a very tight schedule. My wife needs to eat." Alfred bows his head. "Of course, Mr. Jeremiah."

Jeremiah pulls out a chair for me in the dining area. Very comfortable and quaint! Jeremiah passes me a plate full of fruits and toast. "Alfred told me such great tidbits about your childhood. Any jam, darling?" Jer paused to ask me. I shake my head, kissing his cheek. "No love."

He nods, "Anyways, yes, How you used to eat here, in the kitchen, when it was just you and the family. My, how... homey and intimate. That's exactly how I'm raising my children."

Alfred walks over with Jer's food. "Grilled cheese and Branston pickle sandwich, Mr. Jeremiah. Master Bruce's favorite. My influence, though Thomas did add a dash of aioli for extra flair." Jer looks at Bruce with judgemental eyes. "Oh. Come on, Bruce. That's a weird favorite food for a 12-year-old."

"I'm playing your game," Bruce says smacking the plate off the table. "Now let Alfred and these people go. They're innocent."

"I'm sorry, Bruce, it's just... it's very important to me that I get every detail exactly right. Speaking of which... the final touch. What was it like... losing your parents that night? I lost my family, too, Bruce. The wound still hasn't healed. I... think about it often." Jeremiah falls into his thoughts, trailing off.

"None of this is real. You're trying to manipulate me. It will never be real." Jer smirks seeing the despair and sadness on Bruce's face. "But you are thinking about that night. That's all I need. I just want to be connected to you. I offered for you to be my best friend! You could've been the godfather to my children. But I've realized if we... can't be friends... then we can be connected in other ways."

"How?" Bruce asks frightened.

"You'll see. In time." Jeremiah looks at his watch humming. "I'm sorry to cut tonight short... but... your parents and I have a very important date ...with destiny." He laughs as we stand up and disappear with the Waynes. "You might want to find your faithful butler and leave. Quickly." as we rush out of the home Bruce struggles to find his butler.

Jeremiah runs through the tunnels, dragging me behind. "Exhilarating. Isn't it love?" I grab the wall as we near the end. "I... I need to slow down." His face smooths and he presses his hand to my back. "Aw, my love, I'm sorry. Giving you a hard time today?" His hand comes to my stomach and the twins kick excessively. "When you're around." I laugh leaning onto the soft fabric of his blazer. Jer looks down at me with sad eyes. "This is dangerous. You shouldn't be here." I furrow my brows. "You brought me along!" "And it was foolish of me. Gents, for the rest of the night, keep my wife safe. At safe blast range."

~

"Jeremiah!" Bruce calls in the theater. "Show yourself!"

The screen starts running a film. "Ol?! Hola, Bruce." Jeremiah swings in the frame on the big screen. "Well, here we are, the theater where your mommy and daddy took you to see The Mark of Zorro. Ha-ha! I had heard you were obsessed with this man as a child. I wonder what was it

that intrigued you so? Was it the fact that he struck fear into the hearts of his enemy?" Jeremiah in his costume fights off his enemies on the screen.

"En garde! Take that, you villain."

Jer looks into the screen. "Perhaps the movie was a bit too effective. Isn't this the part where you became frightened? When you asked your parents to leave? I wonder what would have happened if you hadn't done that. If you had conquered your fear. Maybe your parents would still be alive."

"Well, on to the last and final stop down memory lane."

~

Bruce runs out of the theater in a sprint. He stops in his tracks when he sees Jerimiah and I. "Stop! Stop! That's far enough, Bruce."

"Jeremiah. You don't have to do this."

"But I... I do. You see, I-I came to this realization. I realized that no matter what I did to bond us, some random gunman in an alley would be the man who you were tied to the most. The man you saw when you closed your eyes. I want to be the star of the show! Jeremiah says dramatically. "So if I can't have you as a brother bonded by love, then we'll just have to be bonded by hatred." Bruce huffs at him in anger. "And you think killing two people that look like my parents will do that? It won't."

Jer tightens his grip on me. "Well, then it's a good thing I already put a bullet in both of their fraudulent skulls." I look up at him with furrowed brows. "You said-" "Oh, you're both confused. How sweet." I look back to the couple with their backs facing us. "Jer, who is that?"

"You're wondering if I already shot them, then who's this lovely couple?" I jerk away from Jerimiah in an attempt to see the two. "No."

"Thomas, Martha...why don't you turn around?" Tears well in my eyes. "Jer, why?" He looks down at me with venom. "It's always been a roadblock, darling. Even for Jerome. With Jim in the way. No family of ours will survive. So why not have some fun with it, huh?" He winks at me. "No! You- you can't. These kids need him." "They need me," Jerimiah says with a smirk. "And so do you, doll."

"See, Bruce throughout our little adventure, fate brought to me James Gordon and Leslie Thompkins, and I thought to myself, why not... why not kill the man who you think of as your second father figure? And your dear, dear, dear friend Lee Thompkins. And when I do, finally, you and I will be bound together. Because you see...reunification with the mainland hangs on by a thread. Those fireworks go off and toxic chemicals rain down onto the city, and the government...cuts us adrift for good." I let a tear fall. "Jeremiah, please. Don't" He hold me tighter, never letting go of his hold.

Jer pulls me to the car, shoveling me in. "Dad!" I scream over his shoulder.

"I had Jervis Tetch hypnotize them so that they'll wake up the moment these beautiful pearls hit the ground. I want you to see them realize what I've done to them as life drains from their bodies. Never forget, this is all for you, Bruce." Jerimiah hops into the car with me, closing the door as we speed off. I stay silent. Sitting alone. "Aw, darling. Come on now. You know I had to. A wife can never live a life with two sides. You'll understand one day." He kisses my cheek while looking out the windows at his destruction.

"You know... I always liked him." I look up across from me to see Jerome. "He got on my nerves, but he always kept it interesting, didn't he, doll?" I push a smile out on my lips, nodding. Jerome leans over and kisses my forehead. "Cheer up love. Look down, look at our kids. Give them a laugh for me. Keep that one in check." He winks before setting back and vanishing.

I shake my head pushing all the nerves back in my mind. "Jerimiah, love? Where are we going?" He smiles grabbing my hand. "To the finale." Rounding a corner I see the big illuminated letters of ACE Chemicals. The inside reeking of strong odors.

"Jeremiah! Face me!" Bruce's echoed scream bounced through the factory. "Here, Bruce," Jer calls loudly. I stay behind pipes, hidden away safely as Bruce runs after my mad husband.

"Jeremiah! This ends. Tonight."

Both gentlemen on the metal walkway above the vats of acid. Bruce hits Jerimaih making him stumble against the railing. "No, Bruce. Now it begins." Bruce kicks Jerimaih down the catwalk, towering him. "You feel it.

The connection between us. You do. Don't you? Bruce, you feel it." Bruce punches Jeremiah as he continues. "Tell me you feel it."

"You mean nothing to me."

Jerimiah's head butts Bruce before getting to his feet again. "Why don't you understand?" Jer grabs Bruce pushing him against the railing, causing it to bend. "You need me. I'm the answer to your life's question! Without me, you're just a joke...without a punch-" Jerimiah throws his hand at Bruce, but Bruce moves at the right time causing Jer to miss. His arm follows through in the wind, his body hitting the railing hard causing it to break and Jerimiah to fall into the vat. "NO!" I scream running over. Bruce tugs me back as I try to reach down into the vat. "(y/n), no!" I cry holding to the broken railing. "No... no..." I lower my head into my hands. They're both gone. I'm all alone now.

An ambulance rolls up fishing out Jerimiaha's body from the vat. "Miss." I continue to watch as Jerimiah's body is laid on a table and carried away. "Miss." I look up to see a nurse with worry-filled eyes. "I need you to come with me. You've been surrounded by hazardous chemicals. We need to make your child is okay." I nod numbly. Passing Bruce, keeping my head down. "(Y/n)," Bruce calls. "Let me follow." I nod without a word.

~

"Well, Mrs. Valeska. You're set. Two healthy twins." I nod standing. "Where is-" "Room 204. He's unconscious." "I don't care." I stand walking to the locked room, two guards on each side. "I'm his wife," I say before entering. In the bed, Jerimiah lays still, wrapped up in bandages from head to toe. I feel my tears well up with tears. "He did it to himself, doll. Nothing you could've done." Jerome kisses my shoulder, wrapping his arms around me. The ghostly feeling so comforting. I lay hand hands on his feeling the cold skin. "I wish you were here." "I know, but someone else is." The door opens and none other than my father walks in. "Dad." "Oh, my god." He covers his mouth, tears welling up, as he wraps me in his arms. "You're okay." I cry into his shoulder.

Selina and Bruce arrive in the room. "I can't believe he's still alive," Selina says with hatred, but I can't blame her. "They've been doing scans, and he has no brain activity," I say never taking my eyes away from Jer. "So, he's no longer a threat to you. To anyone." I turn around walking away from the room. "(Y/n)," Dad calls out. "Come home with me, honey. You need to be-" "Okay. I'll meet you there." I continue to walk out the doors into the dark night of Gotham, a quiet night. 

[gaddaboutgriffon]

Well rip the reader’s hearts out why don’t ya. … well let’s continue.

Danny could feel it. He didn’t know who but he knew that this was going to be he last day in the lab. Maybe it was that His heart had stuttered more today than it Evers has since he reincarnated into this awful place.

He wished he could hear his little brother one last time. Let him know he isn’t going to be in pain anymore soon. With that wish came the memory it has been almost two years since they moved Kyn-El. He had stopped trying to sing and even whisper out to his brother about a year ago. Maybe they moved him again and now he is close enough to hear Kon-el hopes. He will sing one last time as a goodbye.

——————

Connor scowled as he stood on the edge of a roof next to Robin and Impulse. They snuck out of mount justice because Batman and Superman were in another argument about big blue was neglecting him. Connor stoped caring a while ago, but it still is better to be away and pretend he couldn’t hear them.

Bart was on his sixth hotdog and Tim was muttering about some drug ring case in Gotham. Connor sighed and tuned them out. Choosing instead to listen to all the mixed together background noise of this city and to other five in 50 mile radius.

Then he went rigid. It was faint but he heard it. His brother singing. It stopped and for a second he thought he had imagined it. Then a new verse started. Connor zeroed in on the direction and jumped. Bart and Tim startled but where soon at his heels as He rushed at full speed leaping over buildings that where in the way. They stopped asking what was wrong when he didn’t answer the first five times and instead focused on keeping up.

Connor was only vaguely aware they were following. His focus was solely Kon-El’s voice. It sounded so weak. He put on a burst of speed he didn’t know he had. Soon they were out of the City and heading into a decommissioned and abandoned nuclear plant. He ran past startled scientists that officially shouldn’t be there. He smacked guards aside not even feeling the bullets shot at him. He ran through the tunnels not on the buildings plans, deep underground. He was so close! Kon-El’s voice was so close now!

A green laser barely missed him but the effect of the kryptonite that powered it still caused him to stumble. Now he had to focus on dodging, but with each blast the kryptonite radiation in the hallway got worse. He was almost cornered when Impules zoomed in, dropped Tim off, and hit the gunman.

“Superboy! What is going on?! You know we capjust charge in without a plan!” Tim yelled at him. But Connor wasn’t listening to that, the singing had stopped. He almost started to panic that he had lost him when heard a whispered, “Superboy?”

A tear escape as Conner responds, “Kon-El! It’s Kyn-El! Keep talking I am almost to you!”

Behind him Bart looks to Tim, “Kon-El? Wait isn’t that his brother we have been looking for?!”

“Shut up! I am trying to listen!” Connor snapped. Kon-El still hadn’t responded. So Connor started listening for heartbeats instead. There wasn’t the usual rhythm he remembered but there was one that was painfully unsteady. That had to be him.

Connor took off down the hall taking turns that brought him closer to it. Then Kon-el started to whisper about stars like he had when they were young.

In moments Connor was pounding on the massive thick steel door that the voice was just on the other side of. He was making dents but being weakened from the kryptonite laser he wasn’t really making much progress. Soon Tim was next to him and starting to hack the controls for the door. As soon as it was open Connor was inside undoing the restraints on his brother.

“I’ve got you! You’re going to be ok! I’ve got you! I’ve got you.” Connor said tears streaming down his face as he picked up and held the thin, pale, and broken boy he has always imagined as being tall and strong as Superman.

Bart was by the door wide eyed and a hand over his mouth. He has been from a dystopian future but the state Kon-el was in was still worse then anything he had seen.

Tim stopped out of his horror and put a hand to his ear listening to Batman announce the leave has arrived on the scene. Tim directed them to a defendable position while they wait for extraction.

After that it is all a blur to Connor as he holds his ill brother close whisper all the assurance and comfort he can. The adult hero’s arrived at some point and guided them out, but when they tried to take Kon-el to put him on a stretcher, Conor nearly broke the jaw of Green Lantern who got between them. Then realization that they were giving medical help that Kon-El needed caught up in his brain and he stopped fighting.

Connor was in the waiting area of the League contracted hospital for three days. No one could convince him to leave for anything. His friends brought him food and water that he barely touched as he sat and listened to the medical staff work. After the fourth day someone must have slipped a sedative into the food. Because he woke up in his bed at mount justice, and found out he had been asleep for a full day. After that he had to admit not taking care of himself was not helping Kon-el.

It took six days before Kon-el was moved from ICU and into the recovery ward. Connor was by his side every day. He was on the mend, and Connor was telling him all the adventures he had been on and things he had seen. He tells his brother that he had found it what Kon-el really meant and was going to start calling him Dan-El (which we will pretend means Second chance for the house of El.) and his human name will be Danny. It brings a small smile to realize that he has come full circle and is Danny once again.

Ya’ll have fun with it from here.

Like Conner, Danny was a clone of Superman. However unlike Conner, Danny was not designed to replace him. Instead he was created as a test dummy. Day in and day out, he was subjected to various injections, toxins and experiments. All for the purpose of one day using them on the real deal. Danny quickly lost track of the days and the pain as he slipped into mental oblivion. That is until one day, his brother comes busting through a wall.

[haus-seeblick]

Suptober Day 6: “Who Brings a Gun to a Cemetery?”

For Day 6: Cemetery Boys

Rating: General Audiences; Ship: Pre-Destiel; WC: 3,219

POV Outsider (Original Male Character); full tags on AO3 or below the cut.

Summary: Jerry Wallace has seen a lot of satanic rituals. A lot. Candles and daggers, pentagrams, hoods and chanting; you name it, he’s seen it. As the head of security — and only guard — of Sullivan Cemetery, he’s bound to have run into the occasional devil worshipper. It doesn’t even faze him anymore. There’s not much Jerry Wallace hasn’t seen.

In which: Jerry Wallace encounters Dean Winchester, supposed Satanist.

On AO3 Here (or read under the cut!)

Full Tags: POV Outsider, This poor cemetery guard doesn't know what to do about Dean Winchester, Dean seems insane, BAMF Castiel, Early Seasons Dean and Cas, Pre-Relationship Dean and Cas, Pre-Friendship Dean and Cas, somehow they still manage to flirt though, POV Character is briefly threatened by Dean Winchester but it all ends OK,Humor

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

Jerry Wallace has seen a lot of satanic rituals. A Iot. Candles and daggers, pentagrams, hoods and chanting; you name it, he’s seen it. As the head of security — and only guard — of Sullivan Cemetery, he’s bound to have run into the occasional devil worshipper (and worse. People dig up graves for really unsavory reasons). It doesn’t even faze him anymore. There’s not much Jerry Wallace hasn’t seen.

But tonight, as he sweeps his flashlight back and forth across the dewy grass, making his rounds and sipping on his steaming coffee, something stops him short. He narrows his eyes and cocks his head to listen. There’s a scuffling sound up ahead, from just outside the Bennett mausoleum. It sounds too big to be any of the usual animals. Humans, then. Jerry sighs. He was hoping for a quiet night, so he could make himself comfortable under the lamp at the cemetery entrance and read the book his teenage son, Andrew, had lent him. Cemetery Boys, it’s called. Jerry finds it fitting.

A man’s rough voice rings out from around the corner of the mausoleum. “Dammit, Sam, you can’t give me any hints?”

Jerry blinks at the audacity. Who sneaks into a cemetery at night and doesn’t even try to be quiet about it? He decides to give these particular satanists a little scare, just to teach them a lesson. He switches off his flashlight and gently sets his precious cup of coffee on top of the nearest headstone. Time to have some fun.

He sneaks on silent feet across the grass, clutching his flashlight tight in hand and deciding which tactic he wants to use. The reliable old jump scare? Flashlight beam to the face and an earsplitting yell — it’s worked well on thrill-seeking teenagers in the past. Or the more tricky option, creeping around and making ghostly sounds to unnerve the trespassers so thoroughly that they leave? More time investment, but also more amusing in the long run — Jerry decides on Option Two.

The wall of the mausoleum gives him excellent cover to start his performance. He sidles up along it, to the very edge. The intruders are just around the corner, and it sounds like one of them’s rummaging around in a bag of some sort. Jerry rolls his eyes. Probably some weirdos with spray paint, here to deface the walls of the mausoleum with symbols that take ages to wash off. Jerry opens his mouth and is about to emit his first long, ghostly moan, when the same voice as before pipes up again.

“Picking the lock didn’t work, Sam, I’m telling you, it’s gonna take longer. You gotta hold her off.”

The other person — Sam — doesn’t reply, though. Jerry furrows his brow. Who’s being held off? He decides to get a better picture of the scene before initiating his plan. Very slowly, he pokes just the right side of his face around the corner. The front of the small white building is washed in moonlight, the nearest lamp a ways down the path.

There’s a man crouched outside the mausoleum, maybe in his late twenties, from what Jerry can tell in the low light. He’s wearing an oversized leather jacket over a patterned shirt, with jeans and sturdy-looking boots. His short hair is spiked a bit in the front.

He doesn’t look like a satanist. Jerry stays very still, breathing shallowly and watching.

The man has both hands in a medium-sized duffel bag, rooting around. The contents of the bag are clanging and thudding. With a triumphant exhale, the man stands up, crowbar in hand. Jerry balks. This is already a step beyond chanting and spray paint. Again, nothing he hasn’t seen before, though.

What Jerry couldn’t see while the man was crouched, that now makes itself clear, is that he has a mobile phone pressed between his shoulder and ear. As the man advances on the door with the crowbar, he barks into the phone, “Update, Sammy. You still kicking?”

Jerry can’t make out Sam’s muffled response, but it obviously displeases the man, because he whacks the crowbar against the mausoleum door with a frustrated growl. “Watch your back. Figure out what the hell I’m supposed to burn!” He flips the phone shut and stuffs it into his jacket pocket.

This is getting stranger and stranger. Jerry watches as the man goes to town on the mausoleum door, an offense that Jerry would usually be more inclined to stop from happening. Something about this man, though, about the way he carries himself and the way he talks, is holding Jerry back.

He’s very glad about his decision to stay put about ten seconds later, when the man drops the crowbar to the ground with a clang and pulls a gun out of his jacket. Jerry doesn’t even carry a gun. His heart starts beating and his palms prickle with sweat. He didn’t sign up for this. Who brings a gun to a cemetery?

The man steps back a couple feet, points the handgun at the lock, hunches his shoulders, and fires. Jerry barely has the wherewithal to throw himself back around the corner and press his hands over his ears before the shot goes off. He feels it reverberate through the wall, twice, as the man fires again. Fully out of sight now, Jerry gingerly lowers the zipper on his jacket and reaches into his chest pocket for his radio. He needs to call this in. This is way above his pay grade.

“Dammit!” the man yells. The gun must’ve been ineffective. Jerry mentally pats himself on the shoulder. He requested upgrades to all mausoleum locks after a series of break ins last year, and it looks like the security company came through.

Jerry hears the keypad of the mobile phone beeping as the man punches in a number, then there’s muffled ringing. Jerry uses the sound as cover to pull his radio out and to inch his face around the corner again so he has a visual of the scene.

The man’s phone rings and rings. With another frustrated yell, the man slaps it shut and paces back and forth in front of the door, one hand running through his hair, the other still holding his gun. After a few moments, he stops in his tracks. He’s facing Jerry’s direction, silvery moonlight throwing his cheekbones in sharp relief. He looks like a respectable young man, really. Jerry wonders where he lost his way.

There’s a set of complicated emotions working their way across the man’s face. His eyebrows are pinched in concentration, eyes squeezed shut, lips moving as if he’s talking to himself. This lasts about ten seconds before he throws up his hands and glares at the sky.

“Oh, come on!” he shouts. “Get your harp-toting ass down here! Castiel!”

Jerry, who prides himself on never swearing, thinks: What the fuck.

The man is obviously disturbed. He needs a doctor. Jerry glances down at the radio in his hand, and presses the emergency button. He can’t afford a conversation with dispatch; the man will overhear. This will at least get someone out here.

When Jerry looks back up, he twitches. There are now two men in front of the mausoleum. The newcomer is wearing a long trenchcoat and standing stiffly. He’s facing away from Jerry, looking at the gunman, sensible shoes planted hip-width apart. His messy dark hair blends into the shadows.

Where on earth did he come from? Jerry darts his eyes around. The mausoleum is on a slightly raised part of the cemetery, visibility clear in all directions. Even if the trenchcoat man had approached from the opposite side of the building, Jerry would have seen him.

“Cas,” the gunman says, voice heavy with something like — relief, perhaps? His tense posture relaxes slightly and he claps the trenchcoat man on the shoulder. “You took your time,” he accuses. “Can you open those doors?”

The trenchcoat man, Cas — is this Castiel? Jerry cannot keep up — turns slightly to regard the doors.

“This is why you prayed to me?” Cas’ voice is deeper than the gunman’s, rougher. He speaks like a robot. “Heaven is at war, Dean. You call me to help you break down a door?”

Jerry’s brain is spinning. Are these… actors? Cosplayers? He learned about cosplayers from Andrew. Some of them do have very elaborate costumes. Jerry squints at Cas’ back. This doesn’t look like a costume, though. Cas looks like a tax accountant. Like he should be at home with his family at this time of night.

“Sam’s in trouble,” Dean’s saying, an ever-so-slight pleading edge to the words. “I gotta get in here, Cas, or he’s gonna meet a real bad end. I know you’ve got the mojo, come on!”

“I do not exist to do your bidding,” Cas replies. He strides over to the doors, though, trenchcoat flapping around his calves. “I do not serve you.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. You’re a warrior.” Dean’s hovering at Cas’ shoulder. “Can you blast ‘em?”

Cas lays a hand on the doors, long fingers splayed against the metal. Jerry glances down at his radio again. The red button is flashing, indicating that he’d called for help, but he can’t hear any sirens yet. He hopes they send enough officers for two grave-desecrating weirdos.

“Stand back,” Cas says. “And tell the man behind the wall to stand back, too.”

“What?” Dean’s head whips around.

Jerry hastily pulls his head out of sight, heart racing. Oh, no. He’s seen enough. He can ID these two for the cops later. He doesn’t need to be on the scene.

He turns heel to run, but makes it only two steps before a hand grabs his collar and yanks him back. The air is knocked out of him and he yelps, feet scrabbling on the pavement as a strong arm drags him around the corner. He lands on his butt in front of the doors, palms scraping on the ground. He quickly raises one over his head in surrender.

“Please— please, I have a family!” He keeps his eyes averted. Dean’s boots are inches away from his legs. “Don’t hurt me, I won’t say a word, I promise!”

“You the guard?” Dean crouches down in front of him. Oh, lord, the gun is trained on Jerry’s face. He whimpers and nods.

“Great. Give me the keys to the doors. Stat.” A palm appears in front of Jerry’s chest, held out in expectation. He hesitates. Isn’t that aiding and abetting?

No way. He’s at gunpoint. He nods again, fervently, and fumbles in his pocket for his ring of keys. His hand shakes violently as he drops them onto Dean’s outstretched palm. He sneaks a peek up at the men.

“Cas,” Dean says, tossing the keys to the trenchcoat man. “Figure out which one it is. I’ll deal with him.”

Cas catches the keys. “So, you do not want me to break the doors?”

“No— just—” Dean closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, lips pressed together. “Just unlock them.” Cas scowls, but begins slotting the various keys into the mausoleum lock.

Dean turns back to Jerry and waves a hand in front of his face. “Hey,” he snaps. Jerry meets his eyes, conscious that he must look utterly terrified. He hopes it’ll appeal to any sense of humanity in this gun-toting lunatic.

“Whatever you think I am, I’m not,” Dean says, quickly and gruffly. “I’m not some pervert tryin’ to get my rocks off with Sleeping Beauty in there. I haven’t got time to ease you in slow, so here it is: ghosts are real. There’s one after my brother. I can gank it, but I gotta burn some hair or somethin’, something keepin’ it here. That’s all. Once Cas opens the doors, I’ll be in and out. We don’t have to get nasty. I’m even saving your doors from gettin’ blasted, as a favor. ”

Jerry picks and chooses what to process of that. “You have a gun pointed at me.”

Dean glances at the gun, like he’s just now realizing he still has it trained on Jerry. He lowers it. “Sorry. Had to let you know I’m serious. You gonna let me do my thing, or we gonna have a problem?”

The police will be here soon, Jerry thinks. It’s not my responsibility to stop this maniac.

“No problem,” he says. Dean nods once, satisfied, and in that moment, the lock clicks. The doors swing open heavily. Dean springs to his feet and races toward the mausoleum.

“Awesome, Cas!” he shouts, slapping a palm against Cas’ chest as he passes. Cas looks after him, a bemused expression on his face.

“I don’t know what to burn!” Dean hollers from inside.

Jerry is so far past trying to understand any of this. He nurses his scraped palms, huddling on the cold pavement and thinking of the book Andrew gave him. He wanted to finish a few chapters tonight so they could talk about them over breakfast tomorrow. He hopes he gets the chance.

Jerry is tough, but his eyes sting a little as he thinks about it.

“Dean is a good man,” Cas suddenly says, in that mechanical way of his. “Righteous. He won’t harm a human.”

Jerry stares at him in disbelief. There’s nothing he can say to that, beyond “Okay.” Cas just nods, and turns to gaze into the darkness of the mausoleum. There’s a lot of scraping and clattering echoing from the room inside, as if Dean is dismantling the place. He probably is, Jerry thinks miserably as the sound of breaking glass reaches his ears.

Dean comes storming back out of the room, assorted items piled in his arms. Jerry recognizes the doll that’s usually propped up behind the glass of the Bennett daughter’s crypt, and a locket that hangs behind the mother’s. A whole array of other personal effects that Jerry spends his nights guarding also end up on the pavement at Dean’s feet. Dean dives into his duffel bag, pulling out a can of gasoline. He douses the whole pile in the acrid-smelling stuff — Jerry’s nostrils sting and he coughs, scrabbling a little farther away. Dean pulls a lighter out of pocket and flicks it several times, cursing when it doesn’t ignite.

“Allow me,” Cas says, stepping forward. He pauses. “Close your eyes.”

Jerry throws an arm over his eyes without a second thought, just catching sight of Dean doing the same. His jacket sleeve does very little, though, to shield his eyes from the brilliant blue-white light that rips through the darkness. It feels like a bonfire, there one moment and gone the next, leaving the tips of Jerry’s hair singed. He cowers, eyes pressed shut, heaving huge breaths.

“Damn, Cas,” Dean says, voice tinged with awe. “Thanks for the assist.”

Jerry lowers his (slightly smoking) arm and peers at where the pile of belongings once lay. It’s completely gone, reduced to ash, just smoldering dust on the pavement. How on Earth—

In that moment, Dean’s mobile phone rings. He frantically plunges a hand into his jacket and rips it out, flipping it open.

“Sammy?” he asks sharply, pressing the phone to his ear. The voice on the other end mumbles something and Dean sags in relief, dragging a hand over his face. “Close call, huh? Yeah, glad it worked.”

Jerry tunes out the rest of Dean and Sam’s conversation. His eyes travel from the smoking pile of dust, to Cas (who’s standing motionless, staring at Dean), to the open mausoleum door, to his own hands, trembling in his lap. A light catches his eye off to the side and he follows it, realizing it’s his radio, abandoned on the pavement, red emergency light still blinking steadily. He gazes at it like a lifeline.

“Is that— Did you—” Dean’s voice is suddenly closer, right next to Jerry, and he quickly looks up. Dean’s looking at the radio, too. His phone is closed in his hand; he must be done talking to his brother.

“The cops coming?” Dean demands, gesturing at the radio. Jerry doesn’t want to let on, he doesn’t, but faced with this strange, complicated, definitely violent person, he can’t hold out. He nods.

“Dammit,” Dean mutters. Just then, the first siren wails in the distance, growing louder by the second.

Finally.

Dean groans and rushes over to his duffel bag, throwing the can of gasoline back in and grabbing the crowbar off the ground to toss that in, too. “Leave the keys, Cas,” he snaps at the trenchcoat man, who still has Jerry’s key ring dangling from his fingers. Cas drops the keys on the ground.

“Can you zap me to my car?” Dean hoists the duffel over his shoulder and faces Cas. “I won’t make it if I run.”

Cas steps closer to Dean, until he’s right in front of him. Their noses are just a few inches apart. Jerry, with nothing else to do but wait for his rescuers, watches them. Dean takes what looks like a shaky breath. His eyes flick down to Cas’ mouth. “You gonna stare, or you gonna help?” he asks, but it comes out small, a weak attempt at bravado.

Cas reaches out and places his hand over Dean’s left shoulder. “I’ll go with you,” he says, deep and measured, and in the next second, they’re gone. Just gone.

Jerry could swear he heard the flapping of wings. He sits there, numb, staring at the spot where they vanished.

Eventually, the yellow beams of flashlights dart across the front of the mausoleum and voices break through the fog in Jerry’s brain. A hand lands on his shoulder. “Sir, are you all right?”

He’s saved.

There’s a lot of questions from the responding officers, a lot of Jerry having to recount what he saw, picking and choosing details — which of course renders his story utterly implausible — and a lot of nobody believing him; there’s a breathalizer test — humiliating — that of course comes back clean (whether that’s better or worse for him, Jerry’s not so sure), and a round of paperwork, and finally, finally, Jerry is allowed to go.

He stumbles down the cemetery path in a daze, passing his long-cold cup of coffee, still perched on its headstone. He snags it and throws it away in the trash can at the cemetery gates. The officers said they would lock the mausoleum and the security station; Jerry was supposed to go home. He stops briefly at his station, though, to grab Andrew’s book.

He’s not quite ready to go home yet. He’s not sure what to say.

Jerry makes himself comfortable in the front seat of his car, overhead light on, and cracks open his book. He starts to read.

[spacetimewraithwrites-archive]

Last Line(s) Tag

I was tagged a couple days ago by @zmlorenz, thank you!

this is coming from Thriving: Meridian, obviously, almost directly after the snippet in today’s NaNo update (tw violence, guns):

Soldiers of some kind, fully dark and phasing in and out of solidity, aiming strange weapons into the screaming crowd, opening fire. There were dozens of them, and they looked as if someone had taken a vague description of Consortium operatives and molded an inaccurate, shadowy representation of them.

Thrive immediately snapped out a blast of force, knocking back an entire group in the midst of phasing out. He did it again, knocking another group away, and their attention diverted to him. He deflected their weapons fire from Warren and himself with a shield.

"Gimme a gun," Warren shouted. He caught a rifle thrown to him by a security officer taking cover behind a large bench next to them. "Thrive, go!"

They both ran into the atrium, Warren picking off the ghostly figures a few at a time. Thrive lifted stones from a cluster of planters, melting them down and forming long blades with them on the way to his hands. He cast one into the side of a long-range gunman, summoning it back to his grasp in tandem with driving the other blade upward into an intruder's ribs. He swung at a phaser's head and his arm went through, but he recovered in time to send a blade into a sniper aimed down at them from the second floor.

He put up a one-handed shield and Warren kneeled behind him, firing off three headshots, stomach rolling with each body that disappeared into thin air. "If this isn't the Emmuli, then it's too good a copycat."

Thrive looked over his shoulder to find the sentries holding their own near the door. "In all my dealings with the Emmuli, I'd never seen anything like this before."

"No, not like this. They were way fucking worse. In fact, these guys suck compared to the Emmuli, and now that I've said that out loud, I really wish I didn't."

tagging @drippingmoon, @ashen-crest, @drabbleitout, and literally anyone else who wants to give it a shot!

[honeypiehotchner]

i knew you (Bucky Barnes soulmate au) -- part five

This part is allll action but that’s what you need to pay attention to (that sounds so vague and cringe-worthy,,, anyway). Enjoy! xx.

Warnings: a lot of h*ckin’ words lmao, but other than that just the same violence in the movie, angst (of course)

Bucharest, Romania.

You recognize some of the city from your dreams. You didn’t think it was possible to dream about what your soulmate is currently seeing because if that was the case, you can’t imagine what you would’ve seen through The Winter Soldier’s eyes. But when you recall a third building from your dream, you think it’s less of a coincidence than you originally thought.

The plan is simple. You and Steve are to go into Bucky’s apartment, wait for him (or find him already) there. Sam is standing guard outside, but he’s already said he doesn’t think he’ll be able to do much. It’s one man against whatever forces get called in. It’s not looking to be in Sam’s (or your and Steve’s) favor.

Unfortunately, you think he’s right.

The end goal is to bring Bucky in alive. You desperately want to run away with him and disappear to some place where no one has orders to shoot him on sight, but you know that isn’t possible. Despite your confidence in Vienna not being Bucky’s fault, Steve still wants to do the right thing and bring him in. Even if he might be considered a criminal doing it.

Stepping inside Bucky’s apartment nearly suffocates you.

You’ve had dreams about this place. Multiple times. 

You spin slowly in a circle, taking it all in. When you saw it in your dreams, it wasn’t this vivid. The bed wasn’t a small twin because you both fit on it. And newspapers weren’t taped to the windows. Because in your dreams, those aren’t needed. No one is watching the two of you there.

That’s how you want things to be. 

Through the radio -- that Sam bitched about connecting you to -- you ask Sam if he’s got anything.

“Not yet,” he replies. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” you shrug, then you freeze. Your back is to the doorway, but you feel Bucky when he enters the room. You don’t hear his footsteps and you imagine he wanted it that way, but you feel his soul just the same. There is no hiding one’s soul from its counterpart.

You turn around slowly, keeping your movements controlled. You don’t know who you’re about to meet. You know it’s Bucky, but…

“Heads up,” Sam comes through. “German Special Forces approaching from the south.”

“Understood,” Steve replies. He turns to look at you, realizing how quiet it’s gotten, only to find you standing in a staring match with your soulmate.

You should say something. Anything. But you can’t think of a damn thing right now.

After all this time, he’s standing here. The hat over his head only makes you want to take it off so you can run your fingers through his hair. He’s layered in so many clothes, most of them baggy. Hiding in plain sight is easier than some think, and he looks like he’s mastered it. No wonder you couldn’t find him for two years.

“Do you know me?” Steve’s voice breaks the tense silence, slicing right through the air.

Bucky’s eyes move from yours to Steve’s. His expression remains blank, giving away nothing. “You’re Steve.” He nods to the notebook in Steve’s hand. “I read about you in a museum.”

Sam’s voice comes back through. “They’ve set the perimeter.”

“I know you’re nervous,” Steve presses on. You feel useless standing here, saying nothing. Rendered speechless by the mere sight of your soulmate. “And you have plenty of reason to be.”

Finally, you find your words. “You’re lying.” Bucky’s eyes snap back to yours. “I can feel it.”

“You can feel it?” Bucky asks incredulously, the first emotion he’s shown since he saw you.

You nod. “I’m your soulmate.” 

Your voice shakes as you say it. Somewhere along the past two years, you had worked up the perfect fantasy in your head. The one where he’d recognize you immediately, hug you tightly, and say how glad he was to see you after all this time. The one where he’d turn to Steve and thank him for keeping his promise, for finding you.

But in every single fantasy, you never predicted what he says next.

“I don’t have a soulmate,” he says firmly. “I don’t know who you are.”

Before you have time to let yourself be upset over that, Sam’s voice returns. “You guys better hurry up with whatever the hell you’re doing.”

“Shut it, Sam,” you bite back.

“I wasn’t in Vienna,” Bucky says, looking at Steve. “I don’t do that anymore.”

“I know you don’t,” you murmur, causing Bucky’s attention to shift back to you. “I know it wasn’t you.”

“What do you mean you know?” Bucky asks again.

“I told you,” you try to keep your voice even, but you can feel his lies. You don’t know why he’s lying. You know these circumstances aren’t ideal as a first meeting, but neither was D.C., and you still dealt with it. You’re not asking him to kiss you right now. You just want him to admit he recognizes your face. “My name is Y/N. I’m your soulmate. Steve is your best friend. You made him promise that he’d find me, and he did.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Again, Sam interrupts the conversation. “They’re entering the building.”

“Got it,” you reply. Now isn’t the time to talk to Bucky about this. You can be upset with him for lying later -- and figure out why he’s lying, too. Not right now, though.

“Listen, the people who think you were in Vienna are coming now,” Steve gets the conversation back on track. “They’re not planning on taking you alive.”

“That’s smart,” Bucky replies without hesitation. You feel it in your chest. His acceptance. “Good strategy.”

“I’m not letting you die,” you hiss, nearly adding you son of a bitch at the end.

“They’re on the roof. I’m compromised,” Sam’s frantic voice comes through the radio.

“This doesn’t have to end in a fight, Buck,” Steve says, near pleading.

You listen to the footsteps circling all around, your hand already pulling out your gun.

Bucky slips off his gloves, revealing his metal hand. “It always ends in a fight.”

“Five seconds.”

“Shit,” you curse under your breath, seeing shadows outside. You’re caged in. “Goddamn it.”

“You pulled me from the river!” Steve argues. “Why?”

Bucky’s answer is full of lies. “I don’t know.”

“Three seconds.”

“Yes, you do,” Steve counters, clearly as fed up as you, but there’s no time left to argue.

Your heart is pounding, and despite Bucky’s insistence that he doesn’t know who you are, you still don’t feel so panicked that you want to shut down. You’re ready for the fight. Especially if it’s for him.

“Breach! Breach! Breach! Get the hell out of there!”

Grenades launch through the windows. You smack one right back out the shattered glass with the side of your gun, hearing it explode midair. Steve hits another with his shield. Bucky kicks the last over to Steve who covers it just in time, controlling the blast.

Bucky grabs you by the shoulders and wrenches you away from the window, just in time to miss a gunshot. His wide eyes stare down at you, almost like his reaction was involuntary. You’re grateful nonetheless, but there’s no time for exchanging thank yous.

You turn and kick the table, the added support from Bucky’s arm sending it flying and blocking the door. 

Men swing in through the broken windows, firing rounds as fast as their weapons will let them. Bucky handles one, watching in bewilderment as you handle the other. Yours is knocked out cold in seconds thanks to Steve’s shield.

Another comes in through the back door that Steve takes care of, but not before Bucky starts trying to run, shoving the guy out onto the roof.

“Buck, stop!” Steve pulls him backwards by his arm. “You’re gonna kill someone!”

In such a quick movement that it makes you gasp, Bucky has Steve pinned to the floor. He punches the floorboard directly next to Steve’s head, pulling out a backpack.

He’s been planning for this day. Probably since the first day he moved in. Ready to run. Your other dream makes sense now. In it, you’re always chasing after him, but in an open field. It always ends the same, with him catching you in his arms. But you know reality won’t play out that way.

“I’m not gonna kill anyone,” Bucky says, looking up at you, for what reason you aren’t sure. He tosses the backpack out the door without looking.

“What the hell?” You say, mostly to yourself.

Another guard comes through the window, and once again, Bucky grabs you and hauls you over to him. This time he holds you into his chest, using his metal arm to block the bullets before Steve covers you both with the shield. Too much is happening for you to register the way he’s protecting you again, but he stops doing it before you can even blink.

Bucky sends Steve flying out the window on top of one of the men. 

You give him a look and yell, “Seriously?!” but you’re cut off when his eyes widen, catching sight of the other gunman coming inside.

Bucky shoves you behind him, using his metal hand to block the bullets until he can knock the guy down. You kick the other in the chest, and Bucky finishes the job with a cinderblock.

“Damn,” you mutter, your train of thought ending when a gun outside the door begins shooting the hinges. “Fuck!”

Bucky moves you behind him again, his arm steadying you when he realizes he pushed you a little too hard. His eyes are apologetic, but given everything he’s said to you, you think you might be fantasizing again.

Bucky shoves the door forward when they try to break it down, effectively taking down three guards with it. He shields you once again when a man breaks through the ceiling, firing at Bucky. 

“If you don’t know me, then why the fuck are you protecting me!” You yell, shoving Bucky away angrily. He barely moves, but it’s enough for you to start firing at some of the guards. Not headshots, because you aren’t that cruel, but enough to slow them down.

Bucky ignores your question and grabs onto the man still hanging from the ceiling, using him to swing down. He looks back up at you, almost remorseful, but you glare at him.

Steve returns in time to crush one of the radios a man was using to give information on Bucky’s whereabouts. He grabs you around the waist and jumps down to Bucky’s level.

You elbow the guy in the back of the neck as hard as you can, and Bucky’s expression is grateful.

You must be seeing things.

Guards are flung in every direction. Steve catches one from falling all the way to the bottom, giving Bucky a stern look as he throws the man back into the wall. You almost laugh at Steve’s “Come on, man.”

While you’re busy fighting and firing, Bucky jumps down the middle of the damn stairwell like an idiot. You hear him scream when he catches his arm on one of the railings, pulling himself up to the floor.

You kick another guard in the chest, knocking him out cold when his head connects to the concrete wall.

You run down the steps as fast as you can, narrowly avoiding shots and firing some of your own over your shoulder. You reach Bucky’s floor just in time to see him jumping from the window.

“Son of a bitch,” you curse. Heights are not your thing. They’ve never been your thing. And Bucky just jumped who knows how many stories down to the roof of the adjacent building.

Guards are closing in on you. Steve is occupied with another group. You don’t have any other option.

“Oh, fuck it,” you cuss, running forward, giving yourself no time to think about it before you jump.

Your legs flail as you soar through the air. You search the roof of the building down below and see Bucky’s backpack, but you don’t see him.

“Shit!” Your feet barely connect with the side of the roof before Bucky is catching you, rolling with you in his arms, but careful not to crush you with his weight.

“Are you out of your fucking mind?” He yells, shoving you off of him.

“Are you out of yours?” You fire back with just as much venom, elbowing him in the ribs. “Why do you keep protecting me? I thought you didn’t know me, huh?”

“I don’t,” Bucky grits out, grabbing his backpack.

From above you see a shadow. With what feels like natural instincts, you tackle Bucky to the ground, resulting in a very pissed off look, until he sees what just landed on the roof.

“A cat?” You mutter. “What the fuck is going on?” You raise your gun and fire, but the bullet ricochets. “A bulletproof cat. Great.”

Bucky growls and throws you off of him. “Stay behind me,” he orders.

“Fuck off,” you hiss.

Yet another fight begins. 

Whoever the person is, they aren’t interested in you at all. Their focus is entirely on Bucky, which leaves you hiding behind some sort of pipe system while you wait for Sam or Steve.

“Southwest rooftop,” you say through the radio. “Bucky’s fighting some...cat.”

“Cat?” Sam calls back. “What the hell?”

“About to find out,” Steve mutters, and seconds later you feel his bodyweight thud onto the roof.

But then, as if there isn’t enough going on, a helicopter comes overhead.

“For fuck’s sake,” you groan, staying crouched and firing up at the copter’s tail rotors. “Sam? Little help?”

“Got him,” he replies, and a few seconds later, the helicopter is literally kicked out of the way.

You straighten and keep firing, worsening the damage, but unfortunately not enough to knock it out of the sky. Bucky manages to throw the cat off of him, giving him enough time to do more jumping, which only makes you more pissed off with him. 

Does he just love parkour or something?

“He jumped, Steve.” You start running toward the edge and Steve joins you a second later. “Are we?”

Steve nods. “Hang on,” he says, grabbing you around the waist again before he jumps from the roof. 

You squeeze your eyes shut, only opening them when you feel the two of you hit the ground.

“You okay?” Steve asks when the two of you break into a sprint.

“Fine,” you mutter, seeing Bucky up ahead, but then, just like that, he disappears, having jumped again. “I’m not cut out for this!” You scream, holding onto Steve again as you both sail down onto the busy street below.

Running like it’s the only thing you know how to do, you mentally punch Bucky in the face a thousand times for acting the way he is. How can he protect you one moment and swear he doesn’t know you in the next? Talk about hypocrisy.

You follow behind Steve, swerving to avoid hitting cars as you run after Bucky.

“Stand down!” The police yell through the speakers on their car, the sirens only adding to your stimulation and pissing you off further. “Stand down!”

“Ready when you are,” you say, nodding to Steve. 

The two of you split up. Steve crashes into the windshield of the car and it screeches to a stop. Wrenching the door open, you shove the driver out, hopping in and locking the doors. Steve punches the rest of the windshield out of the way before sliding in, and you literally floor it.

Weaving in and out of the cars, you smack the sirens off in annoyance. This is not how you saw yourself spending today. Or how you saw seeing Bucky again turning out. This is ridiculous.

And the fucking cat. Who the hell even is that?

Speak of the devil, he latches himself onto the back of the car. 

“Seriously?” You mutter, swerving as best you can, but it’s hard in a tunnel, and you’re not trying to cause any wrecks with innocent citizens.

“Sam, we can’t shake this guy,” Steve calls out.

“Right behind you.”

But you don’t know how far behind he is, so you start some more counter measures when you see more police cars speeding up next to you. Even slamming the car into the others doesn’t knock the cat off, and now you’re pissed.

Up ahead, police are coming at you from the other direction. You spot Bucky jumping to the other side, and upon realizing the only thing blocking it is barrels, you swerve and take the same route.

Bucky loses time when he steals a motorcycle, giving you enough time to catch up to him, but the goddamn cat is still on the back of your car. And you’ll be damned if that guy gets to Bucky first.

Somehow, the cat manages to crawl over the car and attempt to latch onto Bucky, but Bucky fights him off just enough before Sam swoops in and grabs him — finally.

But the cat puts up a fight, nearly dragging Sam down. An explosion happens ahead, caused by Bucky, no doubt, and you see Sam fling the cat directly into it.

It isn’t enough.

With the rubble everywhere, you can’t drive anymore, so you and Steve abandon the car, jumping over large chunks of concrete. Steve speeds ahead, tackling the cat and pulling him away from literally clawing Bucky’s eyes out.

Bucky seems more pissed than pleased to see you, not that you can be bothered to care right now.

Steve holds his shield, keeping the cat away from Bucky. Sirens wail and close in on all of you. Bucky, much to your annoyance, steps forward to put his body in front of you, his metal arm crossing over your body in protection. The action would warm your heart had you not just jumped off buildings for him.

A silver Iron Man suit appears from the sky, landing in front of all of you, both hands raised and ready to fire. “Stand down. Now.”

Steve puts his shield away and raises his hands. You do the same, dropping your gun to the floor. They’re probably going to take it anyway.

“Congratulations, Cap, Y/N. You’re criminals.”

“Who the hell are you?” You ask.

You don’t get an answer before men are storming forward and practically throwing Bucky to his knees. You’re shoved away by one of them and you hiss when your arms are wrenched behind your back. Bucky jerks himself out of their grasp, only to punch the guard that was rough with you. The guard lays unconscious on the ground with a broken, bloody nose, Bucky’s chest heaving as he’s shoved back to the ground.

You’re too stunned to resist arrest.

[aceofwhump]

Hi! First I just wanna say u just found your page & I love it alot! Can u please tell me which h5o episodes have Danny whump? Thanks in advance! ☺️

Aww thanks so much!! Omg yes I can! I love Danny whump so much. These are the episodes with the best/most Danny whump in them:

1x01: Danny is shot in the arm, blasted backwards out a window, and you see him getting it bandaged in an ambulance.

1x04 (and continues through the next couple of episodes): Danny tears his ACL and has to walk with cane

1x08: emotional whump when he finds out his ex HPD partner Meka was murdered

1x23: He’s poisoned by sarin while examining a dead body, and later collapses and is rushed to the hospital, all the while having a very difficult time breathing and convulsions.

2x15: MAJOR EMOTIONAL WHUMP AND ANGST. An old friend of his is murdered violently and then Grace, his daughter, is kidnapped by his ex partner from Jersey whom he put in prison. He threatens her life, he threatens Danny’s life, essentially holds him hostage and forces him to do what he wants. Danny gets held at gunpoint, handcuffed to his steering wheel, forced to shoot Stan (his ex’s husband). Danny is very visibly distraught during the whole thing. Shaky voice, heavy breathing, on the verge of tears, sweating, begs.

2x22: Gets kidnapped, bag put over his head, handcuffed to a chair, told the plane that Steve is on is in danger (reacts the same way as when Grace is kidnapped (2x15) very emotional response. love Scott’s worried acting), slapped once. Escapes with a little help.

3x03: Held at gunpoint, stranded in the ocean on a leaking dinghy with Steve. Visibly shaking after being in the cold water. Panics slightly and you learn Danny has a fear of the ocean/water because when he was a kid he got stuck in a really bad riptide and panics and his best friend swam out to help but got caught in and undertow and died. In a deleted scene, Danny tows the boat (like Steve does) by putting a rope around him and swimming towards land (can be watched here). Coast guard rescues them but then arrests them both. They get put in handcuffs. 

3x06: When the suspect he’s chasing is killed, Danny is forced to stay completely still while the bomb squad is called to disarm the motion-activated bomb. Steve refuses to leave his side and Danny recounts some painful memories to him of how his previous partner (the woman his daughter is named after) was killed after the two of them were captured and beaten up by thugs. Specific whumps include major emotional whump, fear, grief, remembrance of September 11, 2001 (danny was in New York City at the time), hit in the head with the butt of a gun, tied to a chair, beaten up (punched many, many times, once so hard he falls over in his chair), hair grab and used to manhandle him, punched in both the face and the gut, defiant, sassy in the face of danger, threatened with having his hand chopped off as well as being shot, watches his partner get shot and die and is unable to do anything about it, forced to stand completely still otherwise a bomb will go off and kill him. 

3x10: Danny is shot in the arm while on a camping trip with Steve and a group of girl scouts, one of which is Grace. The scout leader takes the bullet out of his arm while they, and the whole group of girl scouts, are trapped inside of a supply container. So no anesthetic or numbing agent. The scout leader is a trauma nurse so she knows what she’s doing. There’s a great wince when he moves his arm after she takes the bullet out.

4x06: learn about Danny’s claustrophobia. He won’t go in the cave so Steve goes alone. Later on he hesitates before following Steve and Chin down a very narrow passage.

4x19: Danny is knocked unconscious, his leg is trapped under a large piece of cement, he breaks a rib or two, battles his claustrophobia, and a piece of rebar is imbedded in his stomach when the parking garage the team is investigating collapses from an explosion. Steve frees his leg, coaches him through his panic, removes the rebar and splashes bleach over the wound to clean it before packing it with torn pieces of fabric and duct taping it together. Danny groans, bites his tack vest to stop himself from screaming and shows great pain face. Lots of wincing and groaning and putting a hand to his wound

5x04: major emotional whump. Danny's brother is killed 

5x16: He’s stabbed in the stomach after a fight with his girlfriend’s jealous (controlling) ex-husband, and is taken to the hospital.

5x18: After murdering the man who killed his brother (5x04), Danny is arrested and taken to a Colombian prison where he’s beaten up and kicked around by the inmates (and guards) before Steve and the team manage to rescue him.

6x05: hurts knee in tough mudder competition 

6x18: shot in the arm, makeshift bandage put around it, later has a nicely bandaged arm in a sling

7x08: not exactly whump but this episode is when he’s chaperoning Grace’s formal and it gets attacked by terrorists and he’s held hostage and tries to protect everyone.

8x09: poisoned, gets weak and sick, pale, sweaty, laying under a blanket while Steve tries to take care of him, unconscious

8x10: GREAT WHUMP! Danno gets shot by an unknown gunman while the team is in quarantine due to the previous episode. Gunman puts a bomb on the door so they’re trapped inside and Danny is bleeding out. Pain, blood, collapsed lung, difficulty breathing, delirium, Steve uses makeshift oxygen mask and forced to perform surgery on him, a tension pneumothorax, carried bridal style by Junior, actually medical surgery, hospital room scene.

8x11: Danny still recovering from his injury in the previous episode

9x12: Major emotional angst when Grace is in a very serious car accident

10x14: Is in a bad car accident with a woman he just met and she’s severely injured and he’s covered in blood and it’s very angsty and good

10x22: Honestly one of the best Danny whump episodes. He’s kidnapped, held in chains suspended from the ceiling, beaten, shot, bleeds out, is barely rescued by Steve, taken to the hospital and almost dies. 

[gumnut-logic]

Who do you save, John? (Bit 6)

Bit 1 | Bit 2 | Bit 3 | Bit 4 | Bit 5a | Bit 5b | Bit 6

It is so nice to be able to just sit and write without having to rush off to work ::sighs contentedly:: Having said that, man, this fic is tense. I don’t need caffeine, writing this has me strung tighter than a bow. I hope you enjoy.

Warnings: Blood (but nothing major)

For @5hadow-alpha​ cos they wanted Shopping and a Tracy brother. You got more than one, and I got more than I expected. Fic isn’t quite out of control, but wow, it is going places I did not expect in the process.

-o-o-o-

Alan’s arm hurt like hell.

But he wasn’t paying it any attention.

At some point Gordon had edged just a little closer, just enough to brush up against his hand. It was a simple reassurance and Alan could appreciate it.

But Alan’s attention was caught between Virgil and John.

Dad was holding his stricken brother like a child.

Alan could hear each struggling breath from here. There was too much blood on the carpet.

Far too much.

He itched to help Virgil. To save him.

But he couldn’t.

Time was slipping through the blood drying on his fingers.

It made him want to scream.

He couldn’t even do that.

So, he turned his attention to John.

His space brother stood ramrod straight in the middle of the room attempting to blast their assailant with his eyes.

John had always been the quiet one, the odd one out of their five. Sure, Virgil had his own brand of quiet, but John’s was as solitary as the stars he chased.

Alan had always admired him. Despite being different from the rest of the family, John never apologised for it. Alan suspected that somewhere in their eleven year age gap, something had happened to his star brother that had wrought the steel under that facade. Perhaps forced him to accept himself the way he was and leverage the advantages.

In any case, John was John and Alan loved him for it.

The fact they were both technically geniuses didn’t hurt either. They shared smarts at least. But while John sought energy from solitude, Alan was much more energised by people. He could operate alone, but he preferred to be with others.

And he loved being with John.

Okay, it was hero worship. Just a little. He had to admit it. After all, John lived where Alan wanted to explore. John knew so much and they could speak space for hours.

And had many times when Alan was little, laid out on the grass in their backyard, staring up at a clear night.

John may have preferred to be alone, but he always had time for Alan. Now, as an adult, Alan could appreciate that gift his brother had given him so many times, so much more.

“John.” Scott was vibrating in his corner, eyes darting between Virgil and John even more than Alan’s. “I think-“

“Nobody cares what you think, Commander. You’re not in charge here.”

“Timothy, or whatever the hell your name is, this has gone far enough.”

The gunman arched an eyebrow at Alan’s father. “So, you think you’re in charge, too. Honestly, do you idiots even realise the power your brother has?” His eyes latched onto Alan’s father. “How you’ve gifted him the ability to play god? Neither of you are in charge. So, shut up or I’ll shoot the both of you.”

“But that would ruin your test, wouldn’t it?” John’s voice was ice calm and just as cold.

Timothy turned back to Alan’s space brother. “Maybe you are as smart as they say you are, Voiceman.” A glare. “Now choose.”

John’s eyes flicked around the room, catching each of his brother’s and his father’s.

A groan from Virgil. “No…” And the engineer was attempting to sit up.

“Virgil, stay still!” The words fell sharply from Alan’s lips and were backed up by the rest of his family as their father tried to hold him back.

“Oh, for the love of-! Don’t any of you know how to shut up?!” Timothy took several steps closer to Alan’s fallen brother. The gun pointed directly at Virgil. Painfilled eyes stared up at the man. Timothy’s finger twitched. Alan opened his mouth to scream.

On the far side of the room, John’s tablet, put aside while he changed clothes, let off a chime. “John, are you dressed yet? Can I see?”

Eos.

Alan’s heart lurched as John didn’t hesitate. “Eos! You are the Dawn!” His space brother knocked the gun aside and the whole room jumped as it went off, digging a hole in the floor beside Virgil’s foot.

The tablet pinged acknowledgement.

Timothy whipped around and grabbed John. John was taller, but Timothy obviously had strength and training and before Gordon or Scott could take more than one step forward, John’s arm was wrenched behind his back, bending him awkwardly, and the gun shoved at his throat.

“What did you do?!”

A brief flicker of pain passed over John’s face before that familiar calm settled again. “What I always do – what has to be done.” He groaned as Timothy yanked harder on his arm and with one shot, narrowly missing Gordon, destroyed John’s tablet with a bullet.

“John…” Virgil’s voice was whisper quiet and ending in another groan.

“Virgil!” His father admonished the prone engineer, but Virgil was inconsolable, struggling against his hold.

Timothy ignored them, jamming the gun so deep into John’s throat, the astronaut choked. “Choose, you asshole! Who lives and who dies, or this building comes down on all of us now!”

-o-o-o-

“Eos! You are the Dawn!”

The words hit her hard.

Emergency level threat.

John and/or his family members were in danger and in need of her assistance.

Her response was immediate.

She flooded the building’s digital infrastructure with herself, clawing through the optical cables seeking as much information as she could gather.

John’s tablet gave her a little, but its signal died almost immediately. Its camera was useless, but its microphone gave her just enough to hear her father’s voice before it cut out.

Her father was in pain.

A tendril shot out across the other side of the world and alerted Kayo.

The security officer swore, dropping her suspect as Eos pulled a sitrep from the scene.

Communications within the suit shop had been manually severed and cloaked. Her assessment earlier had been passive. Now active and aware of the issue she was able to dig beneath the benign code to find programs running that were absolutely not.

Why had John forbidden her from prying?

An alert was sent to Lady Penelope’s residence. A full status feed churning through the connection.

Eos’ electric fingers sliced through alien code and disrupted it, triggering an alert to IR security.

Kayo was already alerting Gerald, chief officer on site. IR security moved.

Except for one.

Eos’ eyes were everywhere. Lightning fast she pinpointed each member of the team as each responded to Gerald’s update and command to report.

The man outside the door. The man trusted to stand guard on the Tracys. His vitals reported elevated heartrate and he was refusing to acknowledge commands.

Thunderbird S was nearing a redline as the craft tore across the Atlantic.

FAB1 was airborne, Parker swearing colourfully.

And still the security officer did not respond.

She infiltrated his comms, pulling recordings. She pulled video from cameras. Faster than any human, she pulled his history, his recent activity, his recent movements.

She watched him meet with one of the tailors’ assistants two weeks earlier. There was no recording of conversation, but there was a data trail.

She tore through the assistant’s personal computing devices.

The protection written into his files was professional and a challenge. He wasn’t any kind of assistant at all.

While simultaneously gathering information from the disabled security system, updating Kayo and Penelope, and burrowing through electrical infrastructure desperate to find a connection of any kind with John or any of his brothers, she identified Timothy Wilson, ex-marine, millionaire as the ‘tailors’ assistant’ who had spoken to Anthony of IR security two weeks earlier and passed on a computer program and what was likely a plan that resulted in the blackout of communications she was currently battling.

The camera in the foyer focussed sharply on the man whose heart was now redlining almost as much as Thunderbird S’ engines.

Spread across so many systems, multitasking with the sole aim to locate and secure her father, she stared down at this man who had obviously betrayed him.

Kayo was yelling at her as she crossed the coastline of England.

But Eos was the Dawn.

-o-o-o-

Next

[dccomicsimagines]

Valentines Proposal - Bart Allen x Reader

Requested by Anon -  Hey can you write a Bart Allen x reader about Bart and the reader celebrating Valentine's Day and Bart proposing to the reader

***

Bart vibrated through a wall and zoomed to knock over the gunman. The gunman grunted when he landed on the floor. Bart quickly tied him up against one of the pillars before grabbing the bomb in the center of the mall. 

“You have about thirty seconds to get that bomb out of range.” Bart grinned at the sound of your voice in his ear. The comlink buzzed slightly due to the speed Bart was moving. 

“Crash, sweetheart.” Bart chuckled,  racing out of the city in a flash and into a wide open field. He dropped the bomb, spinning to escape before it blew. 

You gasped in his ear. “Bart, you aren’t going to make it.” 

Bart’s heart skipped a beat. “I’ll be fine.” He heard the bomb go off behind him. The shock wave was gaining on him. Bart tried to move faster. If he couldn’t escape the blast completely, he’d have to be far enough away to not be killed by it. 

The wave caught him, throwing him into the air. Time slowed. Bart closed his eyes. He was going to feel the mode. “Bart!” Your voice filled his ears. He hoped it wouldn’t be the last time he would hear it. 

***

Bart moaned, trying to open his eyes. They felt glued together. “Take it easy. You’ve already crash the mode once today.” Your beautiful voice filled his ears. 

“(Y/N)?” Bart croaked. He tried to lift his arm to wipe his eyes, but it was weighed down to the point he couldn’t move it. “What happened?” He felt a warm cloth wipe his eyes and finally he could open them to see your relieved smile. 

“You got caught in the blast.” Your voice was soft. Bart studied your face, drinking it in as if he was lost in the desert for a week and you were the first water he found. “Luckily, you just broke your arm and leg. Both were healed before we could set them, so we had to rebreak both. We’re in the Watchtower right now.” 

Bart hummed. “I’m not feeling the mode. Shouldn’t that hurt?” 

You laughed. Bart smiled at the sound. “You’re on painkillers, but you’ll probably feel it soon. Your metabolism is wearing it off.” Bart winced. A bit of pain from his arm came to his attention.

“I love you.” Bart reached up with his good arm to touch your cheek. You turned to kiss his palm. 

“I love you too.” You pressed a gentle kiss to his lips. “Go back to sleep. You still have some healing to do.” 

Bart yawned. “How can I sleep when you’re...” In an instant, he was fast asleep. You shook your head, not at all surprised. 

***

Jaime stepped out of the shower and wrapped a towel around his waist when his phone rang. He sighed, recognizing the ringtone. “What do you want, ese? Aren’t you supposed to be resting?” 

“It’s Valentine’s Day! How could I rest?!” Bart’s panicked voice made Jaime frown in concern. “I need your help, hermano. I’m totally feeling the mode.” 

‘The Impulse is overreacting. Ignore him,’ Scarab ordered. 

“Hold on, what’s wrong? You didn’t set the house on fire again?” Jaime pinched the bridge of his nose. A wave of exhaustion went through him as Scarab growled in disapproval. 

“No, how can I set fires when my arm and leg are still in this stupid plaster crap?” Bart snapped. Jaime heard him tapping his foot against something at super speed. Each thump gave Jaime a bigger headache. “I had plans for Valentine’s day with (Y/N) and I need you to go pick something up for me.” 

Jaime left the bathroom to go get dressed. He put the phone on speaker. “If it’s something weird, I’m never speaking to you again.” 

Bart paused. “Something weird...No, I wouldn’t have you pick up something like that. I mean, with these stupid casts I can’t do much of that anyway.” Jaime blushed. “But does that mean you’ll pick up what I need you to?” 

“Sure, fine.” Jaime smirked when Bart cheered. Scarab sighed.

“Crash, hermano. This is great.” Bart’s voice cracked over the phone from how loud he was. “Okay, so I’ll text you the address. It will be under my name, so just pretend you are me.” 

“No one is going to think I’m you.” Jaime chuckled.

Bart sighed in exasperation. “Why do you do this to me? I’m already feeling the mode since I can’t move with these stupid casts.” 

Jaime finished getting dressed and took the phone off speaker. “Just text me the address, Bart. I’ll pick up your thing.” 

“Thanks. I owe you one.” With that, Bart hung up. Jaime shook his head as the text came a moment later. 

‘You may regret this, Jaime Reyes.’ Jaime rolled his eyes. 

***

Jaime’s jaw dropped. He was standing outside of a jewelry shop. Glancing down at his phone, he realized he had the right address. “Oh my god.” 

‘It appears the Impulse has plans to perform a marriage ritual with the (Y/N).’

“Probably.” Jaime ran a hand through his hair. He grabbed his phone to dial Bart’s number.

“Hi Jaime,” you answered cheerfully. Jaime choked.

‘Do not tell the (Y/N) the secret.’

Jaime cleared his throat. “Hello, (Y/N).” He pulled the phone away to check that he had called Bart. “I called Bart.” 

“You did.” A laugh filled Jaime’s ears. “He’s asleep. Bart is determined to heal enough to get the casts off by tonight. He’ll probably do it.” 

“I’m sure he will.” Jaime glanced up at the jewelry store again. Bart was such an idiot. “So...can you tell him I called?” 

You paused. “Yeah, I’ll tell him. Can I help?” 

‘Do not ask for the (Y/N)’s assistance.’

“No, I’m good. It’s not important.” Jaime chuckled nervously. “I’ll see you later.” 

“Yeah, see you.” You hung up the phone. Jaime sighed, running a hand through his hair. 

‘Good job, Jaime Reyes. You did not ruin the Impulse’s surprise.’

Jaime rolled his eyes. “My god, Bart. Why the hell didn’t you tell me I’m going to pick up your engagement ring?” 

‘I told you that you would regret this.’

“Shut up, ese.” Jaime headed into the store, his hands deep into his pockets.

***

Jaime showed up at the Watchtower an hour later with the ring burning a hole into his pocket. Why did he get himself into this?

‘I told you so.’

“Shut up.” Jaime sighed. He blushed slightly when Green Arrow and Black Canary glanced over at him. A sheepish smile crossed his face as he hurried away. 

Jaime headed back to the medical bay. He could hear Bart whining from down the hall. “That idiot.” 

“(Y/N), I need to get out of here!” Bart laid in a bed with his leg and arm elevated. You stood by the foot of his bed with your arms crossed. 

“Bart, you need to rest. Your arm and leg are not healed enough to take off the casts. Give it another hour.” You turned to the doorway where Jaime stood. “Hey Jaime. Can you get Bart to calm down for me?” 

Jaime swallowed hard. The ring in his pocket grew heavier by the second. Bart’s eyes widened, a grin growing on his face. “Hey (Y/N).” He cleared his throat. “Bart.” He glared at Bart. Bart flinched at the sight. 

“Keep an eye on him for me. I have to go check on something,” you said, giving Bart a warning look. You patted Jaime’s shoulder as you left.

“Bart, what the hell? You couldn’t have told me I was picking up your engagement ring?” Jaime hissed, crossing the distance between the two of them in a second. 

‘Jaime Reyes. The Impulse’s heart rate is increasing.’

Bart bit his lip. “Keep your voice down. I was going to pick up the ring myself, but then I got hurt and I couldn’t get there.” He vibrated with nervousness. “I have so much to do. I was going to propose tonight, but then...this.” He glared at the cast on his arm before he started vibrating faster. Suddenly, he gasped in pain.

“Hermano, don’t vibrate out of your cast. You’re still healing.” Jaime sat down on the edge of Bart’s bed. He gently inspected the cast. 

‘The cast is still in place.’

“But how am I going to get ready?” Bart glanced toward the door. “It’s Valentine’s Day. I have to propose today.” 

Jaime sighed. “Why does it have to be today?” 

“Because today is the day...we first kissed.” Bart blushed. “I’m feeling the mode now.” Tears filled his eyes. “Please, will you help me, Jaime?”

‘Do not make eye contact, Jaime Reyes.’

“I...” Jaime looked at the top of Bart’s head, but he felt the puppy dog eyes digging into his soul. His eyes slowly drifted down to meet Bart’s. “Okay, fine.” He sighed. So much for an easy day.

‘Told you so.’

Jaime growled. Bart’s face instantly brightened. “Thank you. This is so crash. I can’t wait.” He pawed at Jaime’s pocket to get the ring. “Let me see. Is it perfect?” 

He opened the box with one hand, grinning at the beautiful ring inside. Jaime sneaked a peek. “Yeah, it is.” His heart melted. Who knew Bart had him wrapped around his finger?

‘I did.’

“Shut up,” Jaime mumbled under his breath. Bart was too over the moon to notice.

***

Around eight o’clock that night, you and Bart were finally heading back home. His casts were off, but his leg and arm still hurt. 

“Take it easy,” you warned for the hundredth time. Bart ran up the stairs of your apartment building.

“I’m crash, (Y/N). Stop worrying.” He waited at the top for you to join him. A quick kiss was pressed to your lips. You tried to stop yourself from smiling at him, but you couldn’t. 

“I’ll do my best.” You took his good hand, squeezing gently. “You really scared me, you know.” 

Bart sighed. He looked you in the eye, frowning at the tears that threatened to fall. “I know. I’m sorry.” He pressed another quick kiss to your lips. “I love you. What a start to Valentine’s Day.” 

You laughed. “If our Valentine’s Day was normal, I’d be concerned.” Bart pulled you down the hall. “But we still have enough time to make something of Valentine’s Day.” 

A chuckled escaped Bart. “That we do.” He unlocked the apartment rather loudly. You frowned, wondering if something was wrong. 

“Bart? Did you do something?” You put your hands on your hips. 

“No.” He chuckled, opening the door slowly. “Go on.” Bart stepped aside. You narrowed your eyes at him before peering inside. 

“Oh my.” There were rose petals on the floor. You followed the trail into the kitchen where a candle lit dinner sat on the table. “Bart, how did you do this?” You couldn’t believe your eyes. 

Bart hung back, closing and locking the door behind him. He glanced into the living room to see Jaime climbing out the window. “Thank you,” he mouthed. He gave him a thumbs up. Jaime just nodded and flew off.  “What can I say, sweetheart? I’m magic.” He followed you into the kitchen. You turned to kiss him hard on the lips. Bart gasped before kissing you back. 

“I don’t know how you did this when you were supposed to be healing.” You ran your fingers through his hair. “You crazy little speedster.” 

“I love you.” He kissed you again before leading you over to the table. “Let’s eat. I’m starved.” Pulling out a chair for you, he stole another kiss.

You shook your head as you took your seat. “I still can’t believe you did this.” 

Bart grinned. The pain in his arm and leg went away. He joined you at the table, ready to eat the food Jaime had prepared. 

***

“Are we ready for dessert?” Bart grinned after he zoomed around to clean away the dirty dishes. 

You nodded, getting up from your seat. “I just need to go get something first.” You kissed his cheek when he stopped next to you. “I’ll be back in a second.” 

Bart watched you go, vibrating in excitement. You heard him zooming around the kitchen. Glass shattered a second later followed by an ‘oops’ from Bart. You shook your head, used to his messes by now. Besides, it would be cleaned up before you got back. 

You went into the bedroom and closed the door behind you. Quickly, you went to the bookshelf and pulled out the fake book. Inside was your wrapped present for Bart. After Christmas when Bart found the presents and unwrapped them early, you resorted to hiding your gifts.  He never suspected the fake book.

Tucking the book back into place, you left the bedroom to find Bart throwing away broken glass from the fallen plate. He smiled at you sheepishly. “Sorry, I felt the mode and it slipped from my hand.” 

“It’s fine.” You kissed his cheek and took his hand. “So what’s for dessert?” 

Bart’s eyes went to the wrapped present in your hand. “Oh, you’ll see.” He pulled you into the kitchen and sat you down at the table. “Close your eyes.”  

“Not another surprise?” You placed the wrapped gift in your lap before doing as he said. Bart paused to study you, fingering the ring box in his pocket. How could he be so lucky? Finally, he willed himself to move, taking out a heart-shaped cake decorated with little candy hearts. 

He set it in front of you and took a deep breath. “Open your eyes.” 

You opened them, gasping when you saw the cake. A smile pulled at your lips, but fell when you saw the writing on all the candy hearts. “Marry me? Why do they all say...” You turned to look at Bart only to find him on one knee beside you. “Oh my.” 

“(Y/N), I’ve been in love with you since I first met you.” Bart grinned, struggling to keep the tears out of his eyes. However, a tear slipped down his cheek anyway. He pulled the ring out of his pocket. Your heart skipped a beat. “I picked today of all days because today was the day I found out you loved me too. Would you do me the honor of marrying me?” 

A shaky breath escaped you. “Bart.” You put your hand to your chest. “Yes. I’ll marry you, silly.” You leaned forward and kissed him hard on the lips. Bart kissed you back, melting into you. 

He pulled away a minute later, panting. The ring in his hand felt heavy as he slipped it on your finger. You studied it. A smile felt glued to your lips. Your cheeks were starting to hurt. “It’s beautiful.” You laughed. “How did you do all this when you had broken limbs?” 

“I might have got Jaime to help me out.” Bart blushed. “He was crash about it though.” 

You thought back to earlier and Jaime’s phone call and visit suddenly made more sense. “Wow, I didn’t even suspect.” A wave of uneasiness came over you as you glanced down at the package in your lap. “Well, I kinda feel silly now.” 

Bart cocked his head. “Why? Oh, are you having second thoughts already?” He jumped to his feet. “You can’t be feeling the mode already!” 

“No, no, no.” You grabbed his hand to pull him back to you. “Calm down. That’s not what I’m taking about. I’m so happy you asked me, Bart.” You bit your lip. “It’s just that...well, you can open it.” You handed Bart your package.

Bart laughed, ripping into the paper like a wild animal. You smiled. He loved presents so much. “Woah, are these Valentine underwear?” He held up a pair of boxers with pink hearts all over them.

“Yeah, I mean.” The blood rushed to your face. “I just thought it be something cute, but I didn’t expect you to propose and get me this beautiful ring.” You bit your lip. “I told you it’s silly.” 

“No, I love them.” Bart kissed your lips passionately. “Should I model them for you?” He wiggled his eyebrows.

You laughed. “I suppose you could, then maybe we can see how I look with just this ring on?” Bart shook in excitement before scooping you up and zooming you off to the bedroom. You giggled madly, screaming from the thrill of it. The heart shaped cake sat on the table, forgotten for now.