#I forgot about the zip file but that's ready now too

[cesium-sheep]

okay the cross stitch pattern and instructions are as complete as they're gonna get. the only thing left to prep for kirb2k is the thousand kirbs print. (and the best of posts and the macarena kirb.)

also got tentatively scheduled with hematology, they said they couldn't see my referral processed in the system but they reserved an appointment for me anyway and said it should be sorted out tomorrow.

next is finishing craft fair stock (and percolating on what to do about christmas presents). taran should be here in a couple hours to just hang out and parallel play.

I do not feel well today. but I just gotta shoulder through and get the last of this done anyway. because I don't feel well any day.

[subwaysurf45]

Ghost Rider

summary: on a mission you drop and few flirty comments to Bucky,  he might not pick up on them but Steve helps him figure it out. 

pairing: Ghost Rider!Reader x Bucky Barnes. 

words: 2375

warning: fighting, violence, burns(?), sexual innuendos 

Masterlist!

the whole “demon with the skull on fire” look was kinda hard to keep hidden, not that you wanted to. You were recruited by S.H.E.I.L.D. after a fight, the Ghost Rider needed to be stopped but you had info on the real bad guys that made you who you were, you helped the Avengers with hunting. 

your performing days were over, after crashes and trauma you tried to hide away...like before, the head on fire thing was very memorable; but you wanted to forget. 

Tony and Banner worked together to find a face for you, and after sometime -and a little input to make your hair fire-red- you looked normal, for an Avenger. 

The team sat in the conference room, Cap was leading the discussion. He was going over the plan and all the different ways it could end and the proper ways to handle the multiple endings. 

Bucky was sat beside you, he always found a way to be near, not too close but just enough. “I like the face, forgot to tell you- I mean, I didn’t see the skull because you were in a cell and only Banner and Tony saw it but still...looks nice,” he whispered, you smiled and nodded. When you looked back to Steve, out of the corner of your eye you saw Bucky shake his head, he muttered  something to himself before listening in again. 

“Like the hair,” you whispered after a couple seconds so you didn’t get caught like school, Bucky had just cut the long locks to a nice trim. “looks strong and healthy, like someone could pull it.” you joked 

“Thanks, it really stays out of my eyes-”

“Buck.” Steve slightly raised his voice, “c’mon, man.”

“Sorry,” Bucky whispered before looking out of the corner of his eye to you, you felt like kids trying to be proper in front of the adults. Bucky flashed a smirk before really listening. 

*****

You were all in the quinjet, your combat pants were full of knives, you preferred knives rather than guns; it just happened like that. Bucky sat across from you, you tried not to look at him because of his intense stare you thought your new face was going to melt off if you really focused on it. 

Everything was ready, your uniform was set. or so you thought, Bucky stood and kneeled beside you, His nimble fingers going to your left calf to zip up an open pocket. His hand rested on your knee as he took one final scan, looking at your legs and pockets. His thumb swayed back and forth as he checked, as he stood he used your thigh to get a little push up even though he didn’t need it. 

“Wow,” he dusted off his own knee from the dirty floor, “great thighs, you should teach me your workout routine.” He smirked before going back to his seat, his tongue flicked up and rested on his tooth, he was really going for it. 

and you weren’t one to lose in a battle of flirty comments, the first thing that came to mind was blurted out with the coolest tone. 

“they make great earmuffs,” you winked, but Bucky just nodded, he didn’t get the joke and you were now wondering if that complement he gave you wasn’t supposed to be sexy, he just thought you were strong.

*****

You were all camped out by the building which was deep in the forest, everyone was in position. The rain was beating down hard, you could hear thunder from afar but you knew it was getting closer. You were slightly slipping up in the mud, your boot would get caught and would almost fall off. 

the earpiece was buzzing, everyone was confirming their status and what they saw. The tall trees covered the moonlight so you would have to rely on the earpieces way more than a typical mission. 

“west entrance, clear.” you whispered. 

slowly everyone worked their way inside, your door was open so you went right in. You did have a gun on you but you knew if anyone came to fight you’d switch to knives, but long distance needed guns. 

All you needed was files, this group had too much information. 

Bucky was on the second floor, he and Nat were getting files loaded on the hard drives. She was typing away while Bucky covered her six, he scanned around and around even though the building was extremely dead and quiet. It didn’t look dead, there were no cobwebs or any tipped chairs, it looked like an office that was in use. 

“this isn’t right, they would have someone protecting the files.” Bucky muttered and left Nat’s back, going to the doorway where he came in to look again. When he turned, she was there. “I have this feeling, I don’t know wha-aah!” 

You heard a scream from upstairs, you dropped what you were doing and headed up, gun ready to open fire. Nat was looking around and breathing hard. 

“what is it?” you asked. 

“Bucky- he was there- and then not there- they’re like assassins, they are so quiet.” She was paranoid, you’d never seen her like that before. “I have all the info, but we need to find Bucky.”

the earpieces were constantly running, everyone else was listening. “We have to roll out, we’ll get Bucky soon.” Sam said, “this place is freaking me out.” 

“We can’t just leave,” you shake your head, but Natasha was already leading you out.

As you reached the outside Natasha let go of her death grip, you shook off her hands and looked back to the building, something was wrong; there should be sounds of movement.

“It’s too dark in there and this won’t end well, I’m calling the shots and I say no.'' Steve put his foot down and towered over, you were a little shorter but the build of that man made you feel small.

You turned back and headed to the door, Steve tried to grab hold of you but he retracted his hand with a hiss. He looked at the palm of his hand and saw it was red, there were already pus bubbles forming.

“You burnt me?” Steve yelled.

You closed your eyes as Steve yelled nothing at you, you needed to help Bucky and you were going to do whatever you needed to do. Your head started to heat gradually, like boiling water. The fake couldn’t hold your heat, the jaw began to melt exposing the skull you used to sport; a little melted near your left eye. But what changed the most was your hair, like a bonfire it was big and tall; you were now taller than Steve. Red flames licked the air as the blue flames in the middle stayed almost still, a ball of light from the actual fire on your head lit around you, allowing you to see.

“I did burn you, third degree.” You sneered and walked to the door, “and if you’re gonna leave Bucky and make me save him, get me Steve’s bike.” You left them with the sound of the door slamming to echo around the vacant forest, it rang louder than thunder and rain.

You walked around, trying to hear for any sign of life. Your heart dropped when you heard a muffled scream, it had to be Bucky. Your feet stomped and echoed up the stairs and the screaming got louder and more despite, when you turned the corner you saw Bucky strapped by the ankles and wrists to a medical table, his eyes were wide with fear and his mouth was stuffed with some rag. 

“oh god,” you muttered and ripped out the cloth in his mouth. 

Bucky didn’t even give himself time to breathe, “ghost! It’s fucking ghosts- and they went through me- i can see your jaw bone- and then they could-your head in on fire- and then I’m tied- and- BEHIND YOU!” 

you turned and saw a ghost, your flaming hair swooshed and shot out sparks because of how fast you turned. The ghost had a knife in his hand, and three emerged from behind him. They were opaque and seemed like ghost zombies, parts of them were missing. 

There was a stand off for three seconds before the fighting started, and Bucky could barely see what was going on. You danced around the ghosts with ease and it seemed as though you knew what was coming, he wanted to help but as much as he tugged on the restraints he couldn’t break free. HIs body was about to give out, he was in shock and he was tired like everyone else; but being tied up made him remember his Hydra days and that was enough to make him become small. 

“I got you,” you muttered and untied him, the ghosts were gone. 

“how did you-...?” Bucky didn’t need to finish his sentence. 

“I took one of their knives and used it on them, they couldn’t die from our real weapons so I had to use theirs, it was easy.” you got him out and helped him up,  Bucky was putting most of his body weight onto you. 

“You’re warm,” Bucky tiredly muttered, he was about to pass out. 

“I know, I have fire hair,” you said with a smirk, the fire helped you out of the building. Just for safe measures you leaned down and allowed your hair to light the wall, the rain that was pouring outside would put out your fire and you’d just have normal hair but it would also put out the fire that would start in the building; you didn’t want it to burn the entire forest down. 

Bucky was about to collapse on you, his eyelids hovered and barely stayed open.  he looked sick, his face was green and extremely pale. 

“I-I need to sit..” Bucky slurred and fell against the bottom of the staircase, “I think they drugged me...” You tried to pick him back up again but he was heavier than you. 

“Buck, we gotta go,” you warned. 

he sloppy grin covered his face, “you’re cute when you’re stressed, I love it!” he sang, “you’re always so cute, I just wanna put you in my back pocket and take you everywhere with me- Oh! I could put you in my backpack and... oh that a good idea, good one, James.” Bucky giggled as he thought of taking you everywhere with him. 

“You’re definitely drugged,” you giggled and got him up again, when he protested you thought of staying for a bit longer but the fire you light was fast approaching, “Shit!'' you yanked Bucky up and headed for the door, only then did you notice a oxygen pipe running down the wall, “Bucky was gotta go!” 

you busted through the door and smiled widely at Steve’s bike waiting there for you, you carried Bucky over and put him on the seat and you got in front of him. 

“My butt is wet!” Bucky yelled like a child, it had been there for a while because of the pool of water on the seat.

“Hold on!” you yelled, the engine revved and as your feet left the ground the bike took off. There was mud everywhere, little potholes and murky water splashing up. you spotted a ramp-type-mud-thing near a tree and went for it. Bucky saw it too and grabbed hold, “Bucky!” you yelled. 

“What?” his voice was shaky. 

“That’s my boob!” you screamed as you went up the ramp, the building exploded behind you and Bucky forgot to move his hand, the loud noise made him hold tighter, “Ow!’ you grumbled as you landed, going at top speed. 

Bucky lowered his hand, “sorry, sorry, sorry, god i didn’t mean to, sorry,” he kept repeating himself, you could feel the blush radiating on his cheeks from behind you. 

“Never said I didn’t like it...” you muttered. 

“What did you say?” Bucky asked, but he didn’t get an answer because you were back with the rest of the group. 

You all went home, Bucky was wheeled to the medical ward to see what he was drugged with and you went to your room. 

*****

Steve was holding a laptop as he walked into Bucky’s room, he was still in a hospital bed in the med center, it had been a couple days and Bucky was feeling fine; it was a mix of shock and some random drug they never really identified. 

“Alright, I’m showing you something,” Steve’s eyebrows were knitted together, he opened the laptop and it had the audio recordings from the earpieces from the last mission. 

“Those earpieces save?” Bucky groggily asked. 

“Yes, and I’m showing you this.” Steve had pulled audio clips, “you and y/n need to stop flirting and actually do something, I can’t keep hearing this in my ear all the time.” he sighed and hit play. 

‘great thighs, you should teach me your workout routine’

‘they make great earmuffs’

Steve deadpanned to Bucky, Bucky just shrugged, “I didn’t know what she meant by that so I just smiled and nodded.” 

“Bucky!” Steve yelled, “where does your head need to be for her thighs to make earmuffs?”

“between her legs?” But was picturing a really fatal choke hold that Nat did once. 

“what else is between her legs?” 

“her- oh...” his face went from confused to red, “oh...!” Bucky bug eyes met Steve’s knowing face. 

“and you grabbed her boob, and just listen to what she says when you moved it.” Steve scrolled a bit and then hit play. 

‘never said I didn’t like it...’

“I was drugged, I didn’t know what she was saying!” Bucky cried, “I can’t believe it went over my head.”

“go talk to her!” Steve said. 

Bucky stood up and rolled his shoulders back, he walked out of the med center and to the rooms, and at one point he thought about turning around and wimping out but he held strong and kept going. Once he was at your door he knocked and you opened pretty quickly. 

“I-” he cleared his throat, “I was thinking about you,” Bucky said. 

“really?” you smirked. 

“ya... I was wondering if you had a pair of earmuffs I could try on?”

[aknosde]

Omnes Una Manet Nox

The chronologically first installment of my Reyna Swap AU, Alea Iacta Est // Reyna Avilla Ramírez-Arellano // Fluff & Angst, but minor on the angst // the night before Reyna disappears //  tw: mentions past minor character death // light swearing // 4.4k

ao3

—————

“That went well, didn’t it?” Jason asks with that familiar, absently intense energy. They’ve just descended the steps of the Senate after their monthly meeting with the consuls.

The two consuls, in their late thirties, oversee all of Camp Jupiter. Of course, the legion manages their own grounds and budget, under Jason and Reyna’s command, but the little oversight they do get is from the consuls.

Johnson was one of New Rome’s praetors, a few years back. He doesn’t care much about the legion, being from a legacy family and largely skirting his training and service, and he never ceases to make that known. Malhill is the one that always gets under Jason’s defenses. He’s good on policy, good on veterans, good on kids, everything that they could want. But he was the legion’s champion only ten years ago. A direct son of Apollo, a talented archer but an even better bender of light, a legion praetor, and he’s had his eyes on Jason’s career since day one. Reyna’s seen the way he eyes Jason whenever she and Jason are in New Rome, already pegging him for a consul position once Jason’s old enough.

“It went well, Jace,” she says. “Your mission plan is flawless, the only thing that could make them happier is if you’d go on it.” She regrets the words as soon as they’re out of her mouth.

Her remorse is tangible, visible in the line of his spine, the way he taps the place in his pocket where Ivlivs would sit if they were not inside the Pomerian Line, the subtle flick of his wrist.

Not for the first time, she thinks about Mount Othrys. Everything it took from her. Sometimes when she sleeps–not often, but enough–it plays over in her head. But something is always wrong.

She’s leading the charge, but suddenly it’s Jason next to her instead of Michelle. Or Jason and Michelle run into the throne room, but when she closes the door behind them it locks. She makes it into the throne room, slaying all of the Dracaena, but when she enters Atlas is holding Jason over his head, instead of fighting him hand to hand. On the good nights, Michelle isn’t dead when she bursts through the door, on the bad, she watches Michelle die. The one constant is Jason, gold ichor dripping down his face in a horrific mask. When she and Jason land the killing blow, together, she can always see it.

He doesn’t talk about it, of course. Not about Michelle, not about his election, not about the mountain. But she can see it weighing on him through the big things, like how he hasn’t been out of camp borders since the battle, and the small things, like how he glances up at the stars, as if one will come down and crush him any moment.

She rolls her right shoulder, feeling the ligaments shift, as if it will rid her of the thoughts, prepare her for a topic of conversation that often hits a little too close to home.

“Did you hear how Johnson pronounced my name? He’s even worse than you.” Maybe the small huff of a laugh Jason expels is worth it. “‘Miss Ramírez-Arellano,’” she continues, in a nasally imitation of the consul.

“I don’t say it that badly.”

“You say it like a white boy who didn’t know Spanish was a language until two seconds ago.”

“Ramírez-Arellano,” he says, better than consul Johnson, but she still hates hearing it. That girl is long gone, the only thing connecting her to Reyna is Hylla, and although Reyna loves her sister, she’s grateful for the distance that keeps Hylla from being a constant reminder.

“‘We were– were very, erm, dazzled, by your most recent proposition.’” She continues the impression until they are walking through the Praetorian Gate, Jason half hanging off her shoulder and giggling like they’re thirteen again.

He has a nice laugh. A friendly one. It seems to feed off of her volume, her effort, fluctuating the longer he goes. He shouts at her to stop several times, but he’s doubled over in armor, snorting, and all she wants to do is make him laugh like this forever.

It only gets worse on the steps of the Principa, when he decides a good revenge plan is to trip her. The building is dark like the rest of the legion. Two lamps, invisible under the light of day, flank the double doors, but the light is faint and barely makes its way to the stairs, washing everything in a pale yellow. She side steps his foot–his sneakers have reflective decals on them for the sake of the gods, he’s an idiot–but he’s shifted his weight so much that he ends up tripping himself.

They stumble through the doors, still chuckling, and make their way across the great hall as quickly as possible. They must have gotten a new tender for the Principa, because the lights are off like they forgot that people actually live here. Only two people, but still. The darkness makes the place unsettling, and now she’s counting on Jason to keep her occupied. A job he seems all too willing to fulfill as he runs through the next set of doors, still in full armor, clashing against the wood.

Upstairs is worse, she decides. The abandoned lounge reminds her of her childhood living room. Any moment her father could rise from one of the low couches, ready to scoop her up and throw her in her room, that crazed look in his eye.

Something clangs and she jumps.

“What the heck is this?” Jason’s whisper-shouting when she catches up with him in the hallway outside their rooms. He’s partially on the floor–hands keeping him from being face flat–and something is crinkling under his knee.

For some reason all Reyna can say is: “Did you just say ‘heck?’”

“Shut up,” he whines, and she wishes the lights were on just so she could see his ears turning red.

“Of course, farm-boy.”

He’s sitting back on his heels now, she can see the object’s dark outline as he holds it up, rustling in his hands.

“Seriously, what is this thing?” he asks, looking up at her.

“A bag with my old clothes,” she says, squinting. “I was going to see if any legionnaires need some.”

“And you have it by your door so you don’t forget,” he says, explaining for her. In the stress of running for office, of war, she forgot the ways in which they are attuned to each other. She forgot that she doesn’t have to explain and defend her every little action to him. It’s sad that it’s taken her almost two months to remember.

He sets the bag back down, nudging it into almost its exact spot, and hefts himself to his feet with a sigh. His brow furrows once he’s standing, looking out into the middle distance, but he sees the quirk of her brow and quickly explains himself, “We have that meeting with the centurions tomorrow after breakfast.”

Jason is a social person. A true extrovert. He hates being alone, working alone, and the quiet that comes with both. So what he’s really saying is that he has work left to do and wants some company. And who is she to deny him that? “Do you want to work in the main hall, office, or my room?”

He grins, clapping his hands and then raises his palms to the sky. “Bedroom, praise Fortuna.”

“Five minutes, Sparkplug,” she says, bumping her shoulder into his own as she sidesteps him into her room. His eyes follow her as she goes, like she’s his North Star, and damn him for making her heart skip a beat, because in the empty space Venus’ words always echo. She stomps them down, before her face can fall, before the hollow silence can fill the hallway, and in their place she jams a smirk. “If you’re lucky I’ll even edit your speech.”

As her door clicks behind her she can hear him groan, “I just prayed to Fortuna.”

She stands with her hands on her hips, briefly surveying her room to decide what to do first.

Being praetor has its perks, like private bath and bedrooms across the hall from her best friend and king sized beds, but it also means she is no longer in the practice of keeping her space ready for inspections. Her comforter is pulled up, but her bed isn’t made, files are scattered across her desk and on her dresser, and her wardrobe is wide open.

She decides on doing everything at once, which involves a crooked path across her room as she shucks off armor, not bothering with her armor stand, and changes out of the nice clothes she wore to meet the consuls. All the while she turns on lights, puts on sweats, makes her bed, and tucks away files.

Jason knocks on her door five minutes later, that ever punctual bastard, just as she’s zipping her hoodie over her tank top.

“Help me, Reyna,” he says, holding a typed copy of his speech out to her in both hands like some sort of trophy. “You’re my only hope.”

She snorts, snatching the pages out of his hands. “Nice reference.”

He cocks his head to the side, brow furrowed, and she bets if he were actually a wolf one of his ears would be turned as well.

“You just made a Star Wars reference,” she says, but he looks just as confused.

“What’s Star Wars?” He asks warily.

She swears to herself in Spanish, because otherwise he’ll tease her about the legion’s anti-swearing policies, collapsing dramatically back on her bed, and sighs. “It’s a movie trilogy, wolf boy.”

“Ah.”

Another thing she forgot, apparently, is how little Jason knows about basically anything outside of camp. He says he arrived when he was three, and wasn’t even allowed into the city until he was eight, which apparently means he’s never been to a movie theater.

By now he seems used to her telling him about the more innocent aspects of the mortal world, and at the very least takes his lack of knowledge in stride. If only he would watch the movies and shows she’s downloaded on his laptop for him.

When she looks up after reading his introduction he is sitting at her desk, picking at some invisible blemish while subtly putting highlighters away, and looking around her room.

“If you start cleaning I’m throwing you out.”

He grumbles to himself, but she makes out a yes ma’am somewhere in the mix, so she decides to throw him a bone.

“If you want to occupy yourself I have a speech about legion veterans you can fact check,” she says, faux casual, not that he can tell. He needs to do something before he starts picking at his nails instead of the wood.

“Sure.”

“It’s in one of the red folders.”

“Would that be the one on the floor under your desk or the one on your dresser,” he says, sounding far too cheeky.

“The one on my dresser, and stop pretending you’re better than me, asshole.”

He clutches his chest dramatically, walking to her dresser. “Better than the best? How could I be?”

“Mmmhmm,” she responds, half ignoring him in favor of his speech, aware of the ticking clock.

It’s truly impossible for him to stay awake past ten, a fact that is only proven the next time she looks up and he’s asleep at her desk, pen still in hand and a research paper opened on her laptop. No matter how often she reminds him that the regimented lights out of the legion no longer applies to them, he just can’t seem to break the habit.

“Jason.” She nudges his shoulder, extracting the pen at the same moment so he can’t smudge her speech.

His head jerks, eyes alert, but voice groggy when he says, “What’s going on?” All legionnaires wake up in a similar manner, but for some reason it only strikes her as amusing when he does it.

She hadn’t thought of what she was waking him up for, besides a need to do it, and her mind wanders to the Forum, wondering if her favorite café would still be open at this hour. She’s starving, she realizes. Their meeting with the consuls had been pushed back and they had had to skip dinner to make it.

She grins. “Are you hungry?”

“Uh, yeah. How did you know?”

“Roof s’mores?”

“Reyna,” he drags out the last syllable, fading it into a sigh. “That takes energy.”

“Okay, but–” She holds her hands out, weighing them. “Would you rather spend the energy to just walk across the hall and go to sleep, or climb up to the roof with me and roast us a couple marshmallows?”

Jason looks at her like is that a real question? which had been her intention. She folds her hands into a pleading gesture and pouts emphatically–he’s always more flexible when she acts a little silly. “Please, Jace. I got that cheap chocolate you like. I’ll even get the stuff myself, you can go straight up.”

“Fine.” He rolls his eyes and she smiles, satisfied, and already on her way out the door.

The praetorian kitchen reminds her of office break rooms on television, besides the fact that it looks perpetually unnatural, mostly due to the fact that only three people go inside–her, Jason, and the Principa tender–and it’s always pristine. The only things actually kept in there are coffee, tea, and of course: her and Jason’s secret stash of s’more supplies, buried in the back of the cabinet with the untouched bowls.

By the time she’s through the roof access door, conveniently placed to hide it from the view of anyone on the ground, Jason is already sitting by the dark spot of ash that signifies their pastime. Because, yes, they started coming up here long before either of them were elected Praetor.

He’s a dark outline against the night sky, sitting criss-crossed and looking down at the façades of the other legion buildings, and briefly she has the thought that somebody could make a painting out of this. She slides her old Camp Jupiter ID back between the lock and door jamb, willing the thought to disappear with the potential of the fire alarm going off.

She shivers as she sits next to him, nose wrinkling with the cold now that she’s fully vulnerable to the elements. Without a word Jason removes his sweatshirt and passes it to her.

“I’m already wearing one.”

“Mine is thicker, trade me.”

And because he’s Jason, she does.

It’s slightly big on her, his shoulders just a few inches broader than her own, and a forest green. On the back is a printed vine of purple flowers and a date. She recognizes it as one of the prizes of the Ludi Florae, or Games of Flora, from Floralia last year. The festival sits right between April and May, and last year’s was the grandest of all. Or so Jason says. Everyone had been anxious about Mount Othrys, and apparently all of that energy had been funnelled into the events.

Reyna herself had been busy running for praetor. All she remembers from the festival is campaigning. And Jason, running up to her looking flushed, this sweatshirt thrown over one shoulder.

“Remember when I told you that you were the best, Jace,” she says sweetly once she is safely swaddled in his hoodie. He’s right–it is thicker.

Jason grins up at her, wrapping his hands around two marshmallows. “I may recall something along those lines having been said a long, long time ago.”

“Well, I just want to inform you that I retract that statement, because this sweatshirt is ugly and the cuffs are burnt.”

The electricity that had been slowly coursing over the ridges of his fingers flares for a second, and his hands fly open as if he was handed metal straight from the forges. “Oops.” Both of the marshmallows are burnt, but his lips are turned up in a poorly concealed smirk.

“I forget you’re a heathen,” she says primly, sticking her nose in the air instead of saying any of the less wholesome options at the back of her throat.

“Does liking burnt marshmallows make me a heathen?”

She pretends to mull it over for a second, extracting the rest of their supplies. “Yes. You have to buy the next bag because you’re mean and I say so.”

She takes the burnt marshmallow regardless, sandwiching it between her own chocolate and graham crackers. Jason takes three squares of the Hershey bar he likes for absolutely no good reason, and does the same. She shakes her head. He’s the fucking all American boy who sticks with the classics even when he doesn’t know they’re the classics. She has no idea how he does it.

They don’t talk while they eat, regrettably the silence reminding her of her childhood, no matter how hard she pushes against it. She looks up at the stars, trying to forget the cold kitchen, cold house, even in hundred degree heat. It’s times like this when the ring, and the chain she wears it on, weigh heavy on her neck.

It feels like a noose right now, just as much as it feels like freedom, like power, every other second of her life. Like a sentence, compelling her to pay for her crimes, to confess to them, to wreck her world so terribly that she would lose up from down and die. A fair punishment.

“What are you thinking about,” Jason asks a while after they’ve finished. She looks at him, sitting back on his hands, looking at her, not the sky. It’s dark on the roof, but the light from the street lamps seems to center around him. It glints off his hair, visibly blond even in the night, and pours into his eyes. They’re always so blue. So blue it looks fake. But they never cease to pull Reyna in. Sometimes she swears she can see lightning arc across his irises.

He’s always asking her questions like this. Innocent and curious, no ulterior motives, no goals. He genuinely wants to know. And if she doesn’t answer, he’ll drop it, because he always does. It’s not something she’s used to, even after all these years; this place she has in his mind, if not his heart. A place of utter respect. He doesn’t question her because he knows what she is thinking, and when he doesn’t, he accepts her. Would he still, if he knew what she did to her father?

She breaks his gaze with that thought. It’s too much. “My sister,” she says instead, and it doesn’t feel right to look back. Under oath, Reyna would say that Jason is the most important person in her life. Her best friend; the person she sees every day, talks to every day, eats with and works with. He is the closest thing she has to a family here. And she– And she loves him. Maybe as a little more than a friend. But talking about her sister while looking him in the eye feels too intimate, too intense. “She would like you.”

It is something to say, simply to say something, but maybe she isn’t wrong. There is something in Jason that reminds her of the Queen Anne’s Revenge, and not in the way that haunts her nightmares and twists her sheets around her until they become bonds she can’t quite break free of. Being on Blackbeard’s crew, that’s how Reyna learned hard work, in a way she never had before. It had instilled a drive in her, to change everything, to rewrite systems, to make something so beautiful it was unrecognizable. And perhaps Jason doesn’t have that same drive, but he knows the work. He goes out of his way to do it dirty and hard and long. He refuses to take the thousands of shortcuts he’s offered. And Hylla would admire that, she thinks.

“I had a sister,” he whispers.

For a second–just a second–she’s stuck. “What?”

“I had a sister.” He picks at a loose thread on his jeans for a moment, and that’s how she knows he’s serious, because he hates ripping his jeans more than almost anything else. He’s refusing to meet her gaze. “Thalia Grace.”

He says her name soft and tender. She can imagine him, standing over a hearth, cradling the name between his palms and looking at it the same way he first looked when he was gifted Ivlivs. Big, round eyes.

“That’s really nice, Jace,” she says, because he rarely surprises her, and for once she doesn’t know what to say.

He looks up at her, smiling tightly. His eyes are sad. Is that how she looks when she thinks about Hylla?

“You can tell me about her, if you want,” Reyna says when the moment becomes two, and then three, because Jason doesn’t bring up things he doesn’t want to talk about. But Jason also has his own ideas about debt, about worthiness, and it is clear to her that he told her about his sister in exchange for Reyna talking about her own.

He smiles at her. A real smile, if small. She feels warm, and it’s not from his extra thick sweatshirt.

“I don’t remember a lot about her, but… She had black hair. So dark, like the night. And her eyes, they were amazing. Bright blue, like a perfect sky. Sometimes I can see them, in this half-memory half-dream, and they’re so strong they look like how an electric shock feels.”

“Like yours,” she whispers, and Jason hums in a way that makes it frustratingly unclear if he heard her or not. She hopes not.

“When I was little,” he continues, after another moment of staring wistfully over the Twelfth Legion, “I used to imagine she was looking for me. That one day she would find me, here, be proud of me for– I don’t know what. Love me, or something. All that stupid shit.” He trails off again, picking at his nails, but she can’t bring herself to chide him.

There are things that she knows about Jason, true as the sun rising in the east and the pull of the moon on the tides and the sound of imperial gold on whetstone. She knows that he works hard, works with the public, flushes under the compliments of people older than him because he has never had a concrete parental figure. Not even one to hate, to fear, to mourn. She knows that he never trusts praise from these people because he knows his parentage, knows they know, knows that he is connected to his father in the eyes of these people in a way he doesn’t feel himself, and never will.

Truths of Jason that are pillars in her understanding of him, that were pivotal in their relationship. But like so many supports, they were never acknowledged. Truth has no need to be stated, and she has no compellence to state that which is unnecessary. He talks of Thalia, telling Reyna that he wants his sister to want him, to find him, and to love him not because he is a son of Jupiter, but because he’s him.

She doesn’t say, I don’t care about you because you’re the son of Jupiter, I care about you because you are my best friend. And she doesn’t say, I care about you because you listen to people, because you care about them and what happens to them so instinctively that I cannot understand it. She doesn’t say, I’m proud of you, and you should be proud of yourself.

She doesn’t say those things because he knows them, because they are truths, and truths do not need to be said.

But still, something must be done.

She– She’s always been bad at the physical things. She can do a handshake, a fist bump, but she has never been a hugger, no matter that Jason is. She’s never managed a hip-check, or a shoulder pat, or ruffled his hair in any way that wasn’t rough and meant to hurt.

But that doesn’t mean she can’t try.

She goes slow, leaning over slightly, feels the cool breeze breaking on her knuckles. Gently, perhaps more gently than she has done anything in her life, she takes his hands, detangles them, presses her finger pads against the bleeding bits where he’s torn his skin away. She closes her hands around his own, cups them in her palms.

He looks up at her, tears welled on his water line but nothing has spilled, and she feels his hands move in her own, feels him latch on, like when they were young and late for assignments, running across the grounds and refusing to leave each other behind. She looks into his eyes, wide. Electrifying. Just like she knew they were.

She waits for the moment to stretch and break, like moments oft do. Her last move is to give his hands a squeeze, hopefully reassuring, and he gives her another small smile and moves to wipe his eyes with the sleeves of her sweatshirt, the one he’s still wearing.

“We should probably be going to bed,” she says, because she doesn’t have anything else to say. He laughs, wetly, but in that way everybody laughs when they’re told something they already know. It makes her smile; it’s special when he does it.

Everybody isn’t wrong, she thinks as she and Jason part ways outside their rooms, Jason Grace is special. But not because he is the son of Jupiter. He’s special because Reyna had never wanted friends, and here he is, her best. He’s special because he does things, normal things, and they make her smile. He’s special because he does everything in his power to ensure he deserves the love he receives. And gods, she thinks, does he deserve it.

She slips off her necklace and gets under her duvet cover, curling up and fiddling with the cuffs of his sweatshirt. Chunks of the polyester-wool fabric are hard and melted from undoubtedly unfortunate rendezvous with electricity. She finds one, right where his thumb would rest, and rubs it between her own thumb and index finger as she falls asleep.

When she wakes up, she’s on a school bus.

—————

Others in this series: Amicus Certus in re Incerta Cernitur

[turinn]

4. I’ll walk you home please? ♥️♥️

CW: Smoking idk why i always write Rinne smoking but for some reason I do

It was getting dark outside as you looked through the paperwork for the next few months lives, though you'd hardly realised the time. There'd been so much of it, as you'd had to file for the entirety of Cospro- given that Ibara was stuck in that variety show at the moment. You'd had no issue agreeing to take over his workload when he'd asked. Actually, you'd been kind of honoured that he trusted you to- you knew how seriously he took his production work, the amount of times he'd stopped others from working with Eden more than enough evidence that he was reluctant to pass the gauntlet on to anyone else. That the Vice President of the company claimed to think of you as the sole producer he could trust had made you want to work as hard as you possibly could, and perhaps had led to you overworking yourself slightly. Well, more than slightly. It was late September, the sunset beginning well past the time you'd normally leave work, and here you were flipping a lamp on to see what you were doing better as the level of natural light got too low. The forgotten cup of coffee on the edge of your desk was cold by now, even the scent of it had faded, and as you signed the next form you felt a yawn begin to rise up. What time is it?

The clock behind you took you by surprise, gleefully telling you it was 7:30pm, when you'd been thinking it was much closer to 5. Suddenly the office you sat in felt almost cage-like, the discovery that you'd been signing papers for the better part of 11 hours making your work environment much less friendly. Producers didn't stay in the Starmony dorm, and the last bus your bus pass was valid on had left 20 minutes ago. If you had to walk home, you'd be better off leaving now, before it got too cold.

After switching off the lamp and locking the drawer the paperwork is stored in, you stepped into the elevator. The bright lights inside hurt your eyes a little after the low light of the office, but you simply bared it for the 70 or so seconds you were in there. The evening air was cool against your cheeks as you stepped out of the building, but not so cold as to be unpleasant. Streetlights illuminated Ensemble Square well, the trees that lined your path turned a strange yellow green from the glow. Sitting on one of the benches was a familiar figure, a cigarette clasped between his long fingers. The white hoodie he usually had tied around his waist was actually being put to use, and he seemed to have forgone his stupid headband, allowing his striking red hair to fall in his face. Your little crush on Rinne didn't help you right now as you tried to ignore him and just walk past, wanting to just get home, but you couldn't help but spare him a glance.

"Hey-hey, Producer-chan! What're ya doin' out here so late? Don't tell me ya just finished workin'!" He hopped up from the bench to chase after you, dropping his cigarette on the floor and putting it out with his foot as he went.

"Actually, yeah. I kinda of lost track of time." You mumbled in response. Your pace didn't slow.

"Damn, you're one hell of a worker bee, ain't ya? We sure are lucky to have ya helping us out." He grinned. It was a familiar grin, though the one he shot at you when he caught you alone felt almost different somehow. You could never quite place it, and always chalked it up to your own crush making you overthink things.

"Yeah, I guess. I really need to get home, Amagi-san, so-"

"How many times have I told ya to call me Rinne-kun? And don't worry, I ain't gonna make ya miss yer bus or nothin'! I figured I'd just walk ya to the bus stop, nice and friendly." The hand he clasped on your shoulder made your heart beat a little too fast, and you shrugged it off quickly.

"Well, actually, the last bus left some time ago. And it's quite a walk home, so we should really part ways here." You stopped walking at this. Rinne didn't seem deterred, though.

"You're walking home? Well, I can't let ya walk all that way alone. Wouldn't be right of me, as yer buddy or yer co-worker. 'specially not when it's dark and cold out. That'd just be plain irresponsible." You wanted to remark that Rinne was the epitome of 'plain irresponsible', but he'd already continued before you even finished opening your mouth. "C'mon, I'll walk ya home. No arguing! If ya say no I'll just follow ya anyway." You didn't doubt that for a second. He'd already carried on walking as soon as he finished his sentence, and you sped up a little to catch up with him, not sure how you'd make it all the way home without putting your foot in your mouth. Working with Rinne was fine, you could talk about work until the cows came home, and if you felt awkward there were three other members of his unit you could divert your attention to. But this was a different story entirely.

To your luck, he turned out to be just as talkative in personal situations as he was when he needed to shut the hell up and concentrate, and you managed to get most of the way without saying much more than the occasional "quite right" and "oh, sounds awful". That was, until a breeze blew past you, and you shivered, suddenly regretting not bringing your coat this morning. Rinne stopped in his tracks.

"Producer-chan, are ya' cold?" His brows were furrowed a little as he stared at you. You'd stopped directly under a streetlamp, and the goosebumps covering your arms were perfectly visible. Denying it would be kind of futile.

"Uh, a little. But it's not long till we get to my place, so don't worry!" You carried on walking, not noticing the way he shook his head in disagreement to your attempt to brush it off. It came as quite the shock when his hoodie suddenly landed on your shoulders.

"Ama- Rinne-kun?" He simply stared at you expectantly, waiting until you slipped your arms into the sleeves before he grinned and kept walking. The hoodie was soft, and still held Rinne's own body heat. It smelled like him, too, a mixture of the sort of citrusy cologne he wore and the slight lingering scent of menthol cigarettes. It was nice, though you hated to admit it, and you felt your cheeks heating up as you acknowledged that you were wearing the hoodie of your long time crush. Rinne continued to recount various stories and exploits as you walked, not acknowledging what had just happened, and you almost forgot about it yourself.

"Hey, this is my street." You piped up eventually, kind of expecting him to leave you here for a more interesting exploit, but he just nodded and asked which house yours was. Walking you all the way to your doorstep, he smiled at you. It wasn't the familiar, smug grin you'd seen on him a hundred times, not even the slightly softer one he gave you when it was just you and him. It was a genuine smile, and though you could read what it was, his eyes held something deep within.

"Producer-chan?" He piped up as you turned the key in the lock, causing you to turn around.

"Yes, Rinne-kun?"

Rinne, standing a few feet from your doorstep, walked forwards to close the gap, that unreadable smile still plastered on his face. A soft, chaste kiss was pressed to your cheek, his hand gently caressing the opposite one.

"You look cute in my hoodie." He whispered. He left you standing on your doorstep, flustered and confused, with the key still in the lock and his hoodie still zipped around you.

A few hours later, as you got ready for bed, you received a message on HoldHands.

From: Rinne Amagi

Are ya free on Saturday? You should wear my hoodie on our first date 💛

[hq-cuties-pls]

THE LOVE SCRATCHES SCENARIO WITH TSUKKI, SUGA, KAGEYAMA, IWAZUMI, AND AKAASHI? PLEASE AND THANK

We have decided to combine these two asks because there is a lot of overlap. Please enjoy the final hours before Haikyuu’s Return!~The Admins 

—–

Tsukishima: 

“Tsukki…” Yamaguchi shot him a wry smile from the other side of the club room. He nodded at Tsukishima’s back, indicating the mirror with a flicker of his eyes. 

“Oh, shit…” Tsukishima ran his hands over the deep, vivid scratches on his back. 

“You and ___ have a good time last night?” Yamaguchi shot him a wry look out the corner of his eye. His smile was borderline smug, and the way he ruffled his short bangs in the mirror was definitely an attempt to bait him. 

It worked. 

“I don’t think that’s any of your business,” he growled, yanking his practice shirt on with perhaps a little too much force. 

“Mm-hm.” Yamaguchi shrugged, taking a seat to wrap his sprained ankle. “Whatever you say.”

 Tsukishima had never been more thankful for getting in the habit to show up first for practice, because he didn’t even want to think about what Kageyama or Hinata would say about all this. He’d talked to you about it, but in the moment, when you were under him and arching beautifully and blissed out and delirious, well… let’s just say he was a little distracted. 

“When did you turn into such a shit?” Tsukishima tugged his shirt down as if in effort to further conceal his back, smoothing carefully over the tender bits. 

“Once I was made Captain. I never knew why Daichi-san and Ennoshita-san were the way they were. Now I know it’s less a sports team and more a colony of feral cats. But I’m getting used to it.” 

“That’s good.”

“Just like I’m getting used to you and ____ and evidence of you two getting frisky.” Yamaguchi kicked at his hip with his good leg. “Seriously, you need to cut it out. What if the children saw? What if Yacchan saw?” 

“If Yachi-san is in here, then that means someone has had a stroke and no one is paying attention to my sex scratches.” Tsukishima neatly dodged Yamaguchi’s attack. “Seriously, Yamaguchi, you need to stop with the protective Dad schtick. You’re worse than Sawamura-san.” 

Yamaguchi scowled; “Just for that, I’m encouraging Hinata to slap your back later. As hard as he can. And you’ll deserve it.” 

Suga: 

“BWAH! Su-suga-senpai! What… what happened?!” 

Suga absently followed Hinata’s gaze, reminded of the evidence of your weekend alone with him on his back. He shrugged, trying to pass off the minor wince of pain as one of his shit-eating grins; “Oh, nothing. A Kitten got to me, is all.” 

“A kitten?” Kageyama poked his head out of his sweater, looking almost comically innocent. Suga hated to ruin it… almost. “Did you get a cat, senpai?”

Suga shrugged, his smile sharpening as he fought the ugly cackles that threatened to come out; “You could say that…”

Daichi groaned; “Oh, my god, Suga, Kitten is ____’s pet name, isn’t it. Don’t you fucking lie to me, you pervert.” 

“Such language, Daichi!” Suga put his hand over his (bare) chest in a pretense of scandal. “And in front of the children!”

“Says the guy who came into practice with SEX SCRATCHES? Suga, we talked about this–no marks in front of the kouhai!”

Asahi chose that moment to chime in, rubbing at his eyes like he had a migraine coming in; “And there goes all pretense of plausible deniability.” 

Suga packed up his neatly-folded school uniform, zipping into his team jacket with a definitive and sharp movement; “Bold of you to assume I ever had deniability. Besides, I said nothing. Daichi’s the one who outed me as a deviant.” 

“You are a deviant.” Daichi shot a narrow look at him, even if whatever rage may or may not be coming from him was basically nonexistent. “Why are you like this?” 

“Have to maintain my status as the pretty one, don’t I?” Suga ran a hand through his bangs, checking the tiny mirror on the wall before sauntering out. 

“How did anyone ever think you were Karasuno’s angel?” Daichi called after him.

Suga answered with a shrug, followed by a wince–you’d really done a number on him, regardless of how satisfying it was to aggravate Daichi’s Housewife Instincts.

Kageyama: 

“Hey, Kageyama! Nice sex scratches!”

“Hm?” Kageyama peeked over his shoulder at the long, bright red scratches running down his back. He scowled. “Those aren’t sex scratches. They’re cat scratches.” 

“Oh wow, that was a weak excuse, even for you, King,” Tsukishima said, pushing his dumb sports glasses higher up his face. “Sure those are cat scratches, and Tanaka-senpai is top of his class.” 

“Oi!” It was Tanaka-senpai’s turn to scowl. “That sounded like disrespect, Tsukishima.” 

“It was disrespect, Tanaka, keep up,” Ennoshita-senpai added. 

“RIP Ryuu,” Noya said with a smirk. “Don’t mind, don’t mind.”

“I feel like we’re getting off topic,” Kinnoshita said. “Suga-senpai is going to be heartbroken he missed this.” 

“The baby is growing up.” Narita wiped a fake tear from the corner of his eye. “Kageyama went and got himself laid all on his own.” 

“What…” Kageyama blinked, unsure why the conversation was steering in this direction. ‘Laid?’ Like… laid down? Like a nap? “I don’t… yeah, I laid down at ____’s house and that’s how Tama got me.”

“Tama?” Hinata tilted his head, looking a bit like Tama when you opened a can of tuna fish. “Is Tama your weird pervy nickname for ____?” 

“No! He’s ____’s cat, you idiot!” 

“Ah.” Yamaguchi shrugged. “Seems he’s sticking with the cat scratches story.” 

“They are cat scratches!” 

“Sure, sure.” Yamaguchi patted his back, which just hurt… like a lot. “Come on, Kageyama. Get dressed. We won’t bother you about your…ah… “cat scratches” again.”

Kageyama scowled as he watched his teammates file out of the club room. Why did no one believe him about his cat scratches!? He’d have to ask you about it later…maybe you understood why everyone was laughing about it.

Iwaizumi: 

He should have known better.

He really, really should have known better. 

He’d even thought about it last night–he’d made sure you didn’t leave any marks that would show above the neck of a t-shirt, and he’d made a mental note not to change with the rest of the team.

A mental note that he completely forgot about until he’d gotten his shirt of and Oikawa let out a shriek.

“I-IWA-CHAN! MY EYES!”He dramatically slapped a hand over his eyes, covering them. “My poor, virginal eyes! How could you–no, how dare you besmirch this sacred space with your sex scratches!”

Iwaizumi closed his eyes, heaving a sigh and resigning himself to wait until Oikawa got it out of his system.

“Wait, sex scratches? For real?” Hanamaki said, and Iwaizumi groaned. Of course. Of course it wouldn’t be enough for Oikawa to see. Hanamaki and Matsukawa were like hounds on the scent, and once they got wind of it, they were never going to drop it. 

“Niiiice, vice-captain,” Matsukawa drawled. “She really got you good. Never took you for the kinky type, Iwaizumi.”

“MAKKI! MATTSUN! How dare you encourage this–this perversion in our sacred club room!”

“Ah, yes,” Hanamaki said, “The baked-in smell of sweat and dust. The pinnacle of sacredness, I’m sure.”

“The disrespect,” Oikawa said with a dramatic flair of his hand. “What about our kouhai, Iwaizumi? What kind of example are you setting for them?”

“D-don’t worry about us, captain!” Kindaichi said, though his cheeks and ears were bright, flaming red. “I mean, what Iwaizumi-senpai and ___-chan do in their spare time is none of our business, right?” 

“EXACTLY!” Oikawa shrieked. “None of our business. So he shouldn’t–shouldn’t make it our business by coming in here with his… his sex scratches!”

“Sounds like someone’s jealous,” Matsukawa said with a wicked grin.

“I–WHAT?! Mattsun, how dare you imply–I would never–I… you… GAH!” 

Oikawa, now red-faced himself, pulled his t-shirt forcefully over his head and stalked out of the room in a huff. As he left, he shouted over his shoulder–

“ANYONE NOT DRESSED AND ON THE COURT IN THE NEXT MINUTE IS DOING DIVING DRILLS!” 

Akaashi:

“Wow, Akaashi, your cat got you really good!” Bokuto said, staring wide-eyed at Akaashi’s bare back. 

Akaashi blinked twice, looking to the side and clutching his shirt in his hands. 

“Wait…”  Bokuto said, frowning. “You don’t have a cat. Did you get a cat?”

“N-no, Bokuto-san, I–”

“Oh! Does ___ have a cat?”

“No, she–”

“AKAASHI, WAS IT A STRAY?” Bokuto asked, grabbing Akaashi’s arms. “That’s really bad, you should go to the doctor! What if it had rabies?”

“Rabies was eliminated in Japan, like, 30 years ago,” Komi said, biting down a delighted smirk. “Don’t worry, Bokuto, I’m sure Akaashi is being safe. Right, Akaashi?”

“Y-yes!” Akaashi said, his cheeks flushing.

“Oh, so you went to the doctor?” Bokuto said.

Komi snorted into his fist, and Konoha slapped his hand against his forehead. 

“No,” Akaashi said, scrubbing a hand over his forehead. “Bokuto-san, there was no cat.”

“I–wha?”

“You see, captain,” Komi said, slapping a hand on Bokuto’s shoulder, “when two people love each other very much…”

“It was ____, Bokuto-san. _____ left the scratches, okay?” Akaashi said, squeezing his eyes shut. “Now, if it’s alright, I suggest we start practice.”

Bokuto stared blankly for long enough that it became genuinely concerning. Akaashi could almost hear that weird, scratchy dial-up sound.

Konoha laughed; “I didn’t realize it was possible for a human being to Blue Screen, but wow, Bokuto continues to surprise.” 

A solid 15 or 20 seconds later, Bokuto exploded into the most brilliant blush ever seen in nature, sputtering dramatically as he tried to shove his head through the arm hole of his t-shirt. 

“Ah…” Komi said with a shrug. “And there he is. Really, Akaashi-kun, you should do something to protect his innocence. He isn’t ready for that.”

“My apologies,” Akaashi replied with a small smirk. “I’ll try to get ____ to be less…affectionate next time.”

Semi:

“I see you have been enjoying your… extracurricular activities, Semi,” Ushijima said in his usual near-monotone.

Semi stared back at him, his brow creasing. “I–I’m not in any other extracurriculars, though? Just volleyball. I mean–I am enjoying that, I guess?” He blinked in confusion, but Ushijima’s ever-stoic face gave nothing away.

“Eita-kuuun,” Tendou crowed, popping up over Semi’s shoulder. “I think Wakatoshi-kun was making a joke.” A catlike smirk spread across his face, and then one of his long fingers jabbed directly into the largest gouge you’d left in Semi’s back. Semi jumped, wincing at the pain, and then his eyes went wide.

“Oh–fuck.” Semi groaned, the memory of last night flooding back into his brain.

“Ahaha, there it is! Good for you, Semisemi. Make sure you put some ointment on those though, yeesh. Maybe tell ____ to trim their nails next time!” Tendou said before he pranced off to finish changing. 

Semi stared at Ushijima, who was–if he wasn’t very much mistaken–smirking. 

Ushijima Wakatoshi was smirking. 

“I keep antibiotic ointment in my bag, if you would like to borrow some,” Ushijima said simply, an almost-imperceptible twitch to his eyebrow the only indication he wasn’t utterly earnest. 

Oikawa: 

A low wolf whistle interrupted the typical chatter in the club room, causing everyone to fall silent. Matsukawa was leaning against the door wearing a wide, lecherous grin. 

“Wow, Captain, color me impressed. I really thought you were all talk, but you and ____-chan have been busy, haven’t you?”

It was clear what Matsukawa was talking about–Oikawa’s bare, pale back was ravaged, the bright pink of the scratch marks all the more stark against his fair skin. Oikawa blinked twice, his eyes going wide as saucers before he abruptly spun around, putting his back to the lockers.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Mattsun–”

“Well, Captain,” Hanamaki interrupted, “it would seem ____-chan has left some rather impressive marks…”

“THERE ARE NO MARKS,” Oikawa screeched, his face going as pink as the scratch marks curving over his shoulders.

“Come on, Captain,” Matsukawa drawled, “just yesterday you were bragging about you and ____’s escapades.”

“A gentleman doesn’t tell, Mattsun,” Oikawa said, his voice wavering as he sidled awkwardly along the wall. 

“Funny, because they say a picture’s worth a thousand words,” Hanamaki interrupted with a devilish grin, brandishing his phone. “And this one’s got plenty to say.”

“MAKKI!” Oikawa shrieked. Hanamaki darted out of the club room, and Oikawa lunged after him–still dressed only in his track pants. 

“Three… two… one…” Iwaizumi counted down under his breath, and right on cue a chorus of girlish screams broke out outside the club room, followed by Oikawa dashing back inside and slamming the door behind him. He fell forward against the wall, his head hitting the locker with a metallic thunk. 

“My life is over,” he moaned dramatically. 

“There, there,” Iwaizumi said, patting him firmly on the back right where the scratches were worst. “At least you had pants on.”

[skzsauce01]

Apologies in Advance

Description: Everyone in the company knows about the time their best chemist and best field agent worked on a mission together-- one of the worst done missions in JYP history. Needless to say, they don’t along. Despite that, you and Lee Minho are paired together again for another mission. Hopefully, history doesn’t repeat itself.

Warning: murder

Word Count: 6.4k

Pairing: reader x secret agent!Minho, enemies-to-lovers-ish

Lee Minho, the file clearly said. You closed the folder and reopened it, hoping the name would spontaneously change. To your disappointment, Lee Minho was still printed in bold, black letters.

“--meeting adjourned.”

Everyone but you got up from their chairs and left the conference room. Instead, you were staring at the paper in front of you, willing the letters to rearrange themselves into a different name.

“Y/N? You okay?”

The case officer and your closest work friend looked at you with concern, and you wanted to throttle her.

“Nayeon, you know I can’t do this,” you hissed. “Why did you assign this to me? We had an agreement!”

She shrugged. “Direct orders from the boss himself. You knew this day was going to come. You’re our best chemist, and he’s the best field agent in the business. In theory, you guys make a great duo.”

“That didn’t go so well last time, did it?” you bit out.

The first and only time you worked with Minho had gone horribly. One of the worst done missions in JYP history. The two of you were bickering about something, and it had quickly turned personal with him making a snide remark about how he couldn’t believe he, best in the business, had to work with a rookie with no almost no field experience. He was right, but you were fed up with his stuck-up attitude and promptly stormed off. Neither of you realized the target left the hotel until a call from headquarters reported that his car had been spotted by traffic cameras and why was he there? Long story short, a short pursuit and one vehicular manslaughter later, the mission was complete, and you and Minho limped out of the situation with several broken bones, still arguing.

Needless to say, you and Minho got along as well as oil and a match.  

However, direct orders are not to be ignored, so you could only huff and complain to Nayeon who was all but sympathetic to your plight. Minutes into your venting (“Did you know that his phone lockscreen is a picture of himself? What kind of egotistical person does that?”), she was called to another meeting. She left with a cheerful “Have fun!” and a promise to buy you lunch if you returned unscathed.

On your walk to your office, you skimmed the rest of the contents of the file. It seemed simple enough: be Minho’s arm candy at some fancy party tonight and kill the target in a discreet fashion. The only worrying part to you, Minho aside, was the window of opportunity. The target was a foreign businessman, and he would only be at the location for a few hours.

You had already finished reading the information about the target and started compiling a list of possible poisons to use when you arrived at your office. Upon your arrival, a black garment bag and a shoe box that weren’t there before greeted you. There was a yellow sticky note attached to the box.

“Good luck!” it read and was signed by Sana from wardrobe.

Word must have gotten out that the most dysfunctional team in company history was working together again.

You moved aside the garment bag and sunk down into your chair. Truth be told, you weren’t sure if you could face seeing Minho again. The disastrous mission was technically your fault because you had broken one of the most important rules of your job: don’t lose your cool. You had also succeeded in proving Minho right-- you were just an amateur and were not qualified for the mission. That bothered you the most. You pushed the thought of him out of your head and refocused on the task at hand-- preparing for the mission. The bottom drawer of your desk was filled with vials of different poisons, and after much deliberation, you selected tetrodotoxin and, as a backup, batrachotoxin. You unzipped the garment bag to find a black dress and a clutch. With care, you placed three vials of each neurotoxin and two syringes into the clutch. It was more than overkill, but it never hurt to be prepared. Then you reopened the file to review the mission.

As per the instructions, at seven o’clock you packed your uniform for the mission into an overnight bag, and a company driver took you to the ritzy hotel on the other side of the city. The company had made a reservation for the mission, and the driver handed you the card key for the room. The elevator ride up was quiet, and the gentleman who rode with you got off on the ninth floor. You were on the sixteenth and dreading the moment you arrived.

The elevator chimed, and you got off and walked down the hall to find room 1618. You timed your footsteps to the beat of your racing heart and found the gold number plate looking back at you in less than a minute. The card key easily slid in, but the door opened before you even reached for the handle.

“Hey, baby,” was the greeting you received. Lee Minho leaned against the doorframe and gave you an appraising look up and down.

You wanted to personally kill the person who designed this cover story. And maybe the director too for assigning it to you.

“Hey,” you replied back with the same sultry tone he used. You gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. “Did you miss me?”

“Of course I did,” he purred. He let you inside the room, and as soon as the door shut, he dropped his facade. “I checked out the room and hotel already. It's not bugged."

Thank goodness. At least you didn’t have to put on your persona for at least one more hour.

"I hope you got more field experience these past years. We don’t need another repeat of last time,” he said. He still loomed by the doorway and watched you carefully as you scanned the room. “I was out for months thanks to you.”

His tie was unknotted, and you resisted the urge to choke him with it. He was as condescending as you remembered. “I’m well aware.” You headed to the bathroom and called over your shoulder, “I’ll be ready before eight thirty.”

Without waiting for an answer, you went inside and locked the door. It wouldn’t take you that long to do your hair and makeup, but you intended to take your sweet time, so you could have minimal contact with him.

However, you forgot about the dreaded dress zipper problem. You were able to get it up a little bit more than halfway, but the zipper refused to budge after that. Already there were beads of sweat on your forehead, threatening to ruin your makeup.  

There was a knock on the door. “It’s almost eight thirty.”

Curses. “I’m almost done,” you lied. Why was this happening to you?

A few minutes later, you were still struggling with the same issue, and Minho knocked again. “It’s eight thirty, Y/N. We’re supposed to leave in ten minutes.”

You softly swore and reluctantly cracked open the door. Despite how much you despised him, you really needed him now. With a sigh, you called out, “Minho? I need help.” With one hand holding the front of the cursed dress, you stepped out and stood with your back facing him. “Can you zip me up?”

Minho choked on air when you stepped out, and he turned his head to the side.

“What?” you frowned.

“I was just surprised. JYP’s best chemist defeated by a mere zipper?” he teased.

“We’re in a rush here,” you said through gritted teeth. “I would appreciate it if you just simply do what I requested.”

“Prickly, are we?” he mumbled, but he did what you asked.

“Thank you.”

You disappeared back into the bathroom to clean up the mess you made and to grab your poison-filled clutch. When you emerged, Minho was holding his phone in front of him with one hand and tousling his hair with the other. So he was still full of himself. He noticed you staring, or rather glaring.

“Can I help you?”

“I’m fine, thanks.”

He sighed. “Could you put your personal vendetta against me away for tonight?”

“That’s rich coming from you considering the first thing you said to me today was a dig at what happened two years ago,” you spat out. “If anything, it’s you with something against me.”

“If I remember correctly, the first thing I said was, ‘Hey, baby.”’

“First thing coming from you, not your persona.”

“Fine. I’m sorry,” he said. He looked at you directly. “About everything. Now can you not screw up this time?”

You pressed your lips together. You had plenty of poison to kill him and the target at your literal fingertips. Instead, you swallowed the retort at the back of your throat and agreed.

“The car should be here now,” you tightly said. “Let’s go.”

In a normal setting, you would have left without waiting for a reply. But this was a mission, and you had to cling to Minho’s arm for dear life like the trophy girlfriend you were supposed to be. He looked as excited as you felt. The elevator ride down felt too long, and every little thing about Minho was bothering you.

“Why is your cologne so strong?” you muttered. “I feel like I have to sneeze every five seconds.”

“Your perfume isn’t that great either,” he shot back. “Did you purposely choose the worst smelling one?”

The door chimed and opened, revealing a lobby full of well-to-do people dressed in velvet and silk. Their eyes were trained on you and Minho, trying to discern exactly who you two were.

“Anything for you, babe,” you sweetly replied through a false relaxed smile.

There were whispers and pointing fingers, and you were suddenly aware of how intent the stares were. Most of your past covers involved you being a wallflower, so this was an entirely new experience.

Sensing your nervousness, Minho pulled you closer. Just as you were about to feel grateful, he leaned down a little and hissed, “Stop being so stiff,” in your ear.

So much for reassurance.

You gripped his arm tighter than necessary and dug your nails in. You doubted he would feel anything through his suit jacket, but it felt good to inflict some damage onto him. Still, you relaxed your body and pretended to laugh at his nonexistent comment.

There was not a car outside the hotel but a limousine. A middle-aged man dressed in formal wear opened the door for you, and you thanked him with a coy smile. He winked in return.

Goodness, you hated this cover.

Minho slid onto the seat beside you, and as soon as the door was shut, the ride to the party began. He kept one hand on your knee, and it burned. A perfectly appropriate act for a young playboy businessman and his trophy girlfriend, but not for two almost-enemies who wanted nothing more than to stay twenty feet away from each other. You could feel his heat through the thin fabric of your dress. Uncomfortable was a bit of an understatement.

You rested your head on his shoulder and whispered, “Could you not do that?” while subtly jutting your chin out towards your leg.

He smirked, and you wanted to dig your nail into the corners of his mouth and rip it off. “Sorry, sweetheart,” he said out loud. “I have to. I have a meeting tomorrow.”

The pout on your face was a combination of the cover and your own reaction. “Please?” you whined, using the highest pitch you could muster. You saw him wince, and you happily continued. “Please? I know you like the pufferfish at that restaurant.” You tapped your clutch.

Take the hint already, dang it!

The threat of a potential poisoning had no effect on him. You had to admire that; most people would comply with your demands almost immediately, but Minho wasn't "most people." Unfortunately for you, that meant you and Minho would be playing a perpetual game of tug of war.

There was a scowl forming on your features, but you quickly rearranged it into another pout. Your chin was starting to hurt from sticking your lower lip out so much. You dramatically sighed and pretended to concede. The rest of the ride Minho kept his hand on your knee, and you plotted ways to poison his food.

The driver announced your arrival at the location of the party, a mansion with tall windows and balconies across the walls and water features decorating the front lawn. It was beautiful. Too bad there would be a murder happening here.

The door on Minho's side opened. He stepped out first, tipped the bellhop, and held out a hand for you. You flashed your second coy smile of the night. This one blushed and looked away.

You linked your arm with Minho's, and the two of you began to make your way to the entrance while surveying the area. His cologne tickled your nose, and you inched as far away as you possibly could be. Unfortunately, any empty space between the two of you was deemed unacceptable by Minho.

"Could you be more obvious? I think everyone’s noticed you trying to escape me at this point," he whispered. He moved his arm to your waist and pulled you closer. "Play the pestilential part."

You slithered out of his hold and stood in front of him, pretending to adjust his tie. "Will do, darling," you said aloud, enunciating every word with a tight tug. You hummed, pretending to think. "Is that too tight?"

You were sure he was going to turn blue if he didn't loosen his tie in the next few minutes. But he only smirked and replied, "It's perfect."

If he ended up dying from a lack of oxygen, it would be his own fault, you reasoned.

Some guests stopped to introduce themselves, and Minho easily answered their thinly veiled questions of "So, who are you exactly?"

"An entrepreneur from Australia," he would breezily reply. The guests would praise his Korean, remarking how fluent he sounded for a foreigner. Minho would laugh and would launch into a story about how he fell in love with Korean culture after a trip here. "I saw an excellent opportunity to expand my business here. And there are other reasons of course." Here, he would give you a sidelong glance, and you would giggle and pretend to be flattered.

After the fifth round of introductions-- how were there so many businessmen named Lee Minhyuk-- you spotted the target. He slipped out of a limousine, and a horde of opportunists greeted him with handshakes and what you were sure was flattery. At this point, you realized you and Minho had never formally come up with a plan to kill him. There was a woman half his age by his side, and you recognized her as his new wife. No instructions were given how to deal with her; the only guideline was to make sure there were no witnesses.

"Ooh! Look at her dress!" you interjected during Businessman Lee Minhyuk #3's story about his latest trip to Malaysia. You pointed a finger at the wife and called your partner’s code name. "Daniel, baby, will you buy me one like that?"

Minho, thankfully, got the signal. "Sure. Whatever you want, babe," he nonchalantly replied. He pretended to do a double take. "Is that Yoshifumi Shido?" he asked Lee Minhyuk #3. "I didn't know he was going to be here."

Lee Minhyuk #3 started talking, but you tuned him out and kept your eye on the target. His wife's dress was fortunately a bright red, making her easy to spot in a sea of dark colors. She weaved in and out of the crowd, occasionally pausing to give cheek kisses to other women who you assumed were her friends. The target shook hands and made light conversation, but it was clear that he was in a hurry to get inside the mansion.

"We must get going now," you heard Minho say. "I wanted to talk to him about business."

Lee Minhyuk #3 nodded understandingly. "Of course. Pleasure to meet you."

Minho gave him one of his charismatic smiles. "It was all mine, sir."

You tried to link arms with Minho again when the two of you started the walk to the mansion, but he wanted you as close as possible. Your right side was flushed to his left, and you could feel every move he made. The burning sensation blossomed from your chest. It crawled up to your cheeks and down your spine until it spread everywhere.

"How's the noose around your neck?" you asked to distract yourself.

The tight knot around his neck had to be cutting into his esophagus by now, yet there was still no sign of visible distress from him. How was he not dead?

"I don't think your pathetic attempt even qualifies as one. Your lack of field work is showing," he said in a sing-song voice. He smirked and looked down to see your reaction but instead found that a section of your bangs fell from its pin.

“Wait,” he told you.

You were about to snap back an angry, “What?” when he turned you towards him and tucked in the locks for you. You looked up at him, shocked by his sudden kindness. He muttered something, and although you couldn’t quite make it out, you swore he said, “Lovely.”

“What?” you said, still incredulous.

“Let’s go,” he coughed.

There were too many people around now to make snarky remarks, and the both of you silently agreed to keep quiet. The two of you entered and momentarily stood by the front entrance. You rested your head against Minho's arm and pretended to be in awe of the chandelier and high ceiling when you were really looking at the people on the second floor balcony. There was no red dress in sight.

Minho, meanwhile, was scanning the first floor. From the way his brows were furrowed, he didn't see them either. He mindlessly took glasses of champagne from the waiters while doing so, and handed them to you. You were now juggling three different glasses and desperately trying to flag down another waiter. You could see Minho hiding a grin from the corner of your eye. Finally one of them noticed your distress, and you gratefully smiled at him while you placed two on the tray.

You sipped on your one remaining drink. "Can we go up to the balcony, baby?" you asked Minho. "I want to see the view from up there."

"Good idea."

Was that sarcasm or a genuine compliment?

You had to follow Minho from behind to the balcony since there was barely any room. There were crowds on the stairs, and you wondered how they hadn’t collapsed from the weight. Men and women were packed together like sardines in a can, and you said, “Pardon” and “Sorry” more times in those minutes than you had in the past week. Minho looked back occasionally to ensure you were still with him.

Fortunately, you and Minho made it to the balcony intact where he found a spot near the railing. The space was small, so you were forced to face him instead of the scene below you. You held your drink in front of you to create some sense of personal space, but he insisted on having one hand on your waist. Luckily, with more pressing matters at hand, you could ignore the burning sensation that had returned again.

“Any sign of him?” you asked after a few minutes of looking down at the main floor. You only saw tuxedoed strangers and dark dresses. No spot of red in sight.

“Not yet.”

Without warning-- or maybe you just didn’t notice-- he leaned dangerously close to you, and you tried not to flinch. You kept an amused smile on your lips, but your eyes told a different story.

“What are you doing?” you worriedly asked.

He whispered, “Apologies in advance,” in your ear before pecking you on the temple.

As you stood there, frozen by his affection, you didn’t notice him tipping over your glass of champagne with a sly hand.

You jolted back, but it was too late; you could already feel the cold seeping through the front of your dress. You stood there, gasping in both surprise and anger. This was a new low even for Lee Minho.

“Search for the target while you’re finding a bathroom. I’ll stay and ask around here,” he continued in your ear. Then he said out loud with false concern, “You okay, babe? You know you can’t drink too much.”

So, this was his grand plan. “It was just a little champagne,” you airily replied. You pressed the empty glass into Minho’s hands. “I’m okay. I’ll clean up in the bathroom.”

You stumble-walked through the crowd and down the connecting hallway. You weren’t even close to tipsy, but people had to believe it. You tried all the doors nearby, but none of the rooms yielded the target or a bathroom. There were, however, several drawing rooms filled with kissing couples. You left those as quickly as you could. As you furthered away from where the main party was taking place, there were more locked doors. You almost considered taking out a hairpin from your hairdo and picking the lock before realizing that the target wouldn’t even have been able to get in anyway.

“Miss, can I help you?”

You stopped tugging on the doorknob and looked to your right to see a waiter with a tray of hors devours.

“Do you know where the bathroom is?” you sheepishly asked.

If you were him, you would have been suspicious. But he must have had too many dealings with ditzy, champagne-drunk, rich people, so he merely showed you to the nearest bathroom which was inside a bedroom further down. You thanked him, and he left, presumably to get back to his job of handing out food and collecting dishes.

You left your clutch on the sink counter and blotted at the wet spot with a towel from a wicker basket before realizing that it did absolutely nothing. Then you tried with water, but you only succeeded in making the stain more visible. You sighed. Screw Lee Minho.

Luckily, it was a black dress, so the spot wasn’t too offensive. Just as you resigned to your predicament and were about to leave, you heard two pairs of footsteps and a door closing. The lock clicked.

Someone came into the bedroom. If you had to guess based off of the footsteps and your previous encounters, it was a couple. It would be awkward, but you could just hurry out, apologize, and get back to the work.

“Check the bathroom,” you heard a man say in Japanese.

Japanese? It had to be the target.

“There’s no one here,” snapped a female voice, also in Japanese.

That was definitely his wife.

“Just do it.”

“Fine.”

You grabbed your clutch and quickly climbed into the enormous bathtub at the far end of the room. If you laid yourself flat against the bottom, no one should be able to see you if they stood at the entrance. You were pretty sure she wouldn’t even go past the door frame.

You were right. You heard her heels approach the bathroom, but she quickly said, “There’s no one,” after. Her footsteps sounded farther away now, and you took that opportunity to get out your phone.

You messaged Minho the directions to the room.

You: They're in the bedroom. East wing, second floor.

Minho: Wife too?

You: Yes.

Minho: Omw

Minho: Are you in danger?

You: No, I’m hiding in the bathtub.

Minho: Is that sarcasm?

Minho: Are you hurt? Have they spotted you?

You: No! Why are you asking? Just get here quickly.

Minho: No reason. Text me if anything changes.

You frowned at your exchanges of texts. A proud field agent such as Minho wouldn’t be wasting time idly asking questions that didn’t pertain to the end goal. You shook your head at his skills and decided to prepare for the killing.

As you loaded up the first syringe of tetrodotoxin, you listened to the argument between the target and his wife. Yes, an argument and not a makeout session. It was a loud one with lots of shouting and accusations. You learned that the target and his wife’s marriage was on the rocks. He apparently was caught cheating with his wife’s sister. You were busy loading up the second syringe when you learned that said sister was possibly pregnant.

If only they weren’t going to die. You could have made an obscene amount of money from the blackmail.

Your phone, face up on your stomach, turned on with a message from Minho: “Get ready.”

You tucked your phone into the waistband of your spandex and positioned both syringes between your fingers. Then you pushed yourself up and out of the tub. When you glanced into the bedroom, you could see that the target was still being berated by his wife. You hid behind the door and hoped no one would notice the door slightly moving. Now all you had to do was wait for Minho to arrive.

The shouting suddenly stopped, and the target called out, “Occupied,” in Korean. He repeated it when Minho presumably persisted trying to open the door.

“Yoshifumi Shido! Is that you?” you heard Minho shout. What kind of stunt was he going to pull now? “I wanted to discuss my business plans with you.”

“I’m busy right now.”

“I think you’ll really like it! Just hear me out!”

“I’m busy!” the target snapped.

From the tiny gap between the door and the wall, you saw Minho walk in. He must have finally picked the lock. He shut the door behind him, and the lock clicked shut again.

“Yoshifumi Shido!” Minho loudly exclaimed with his arms open. He began walking towards the target. “Didn’t you hear me?”

“I thought you locked the door,” the target roughly said in Japanese to his wife.

“I did!” she replied. She was confused, and her face was tinted red from screaming.

They bickered for a minute about whether she did lock the door or not. Their voices were hushed, but even you could tell they were both making accusations about each other. All the while, Minho stood in front of them with a patient smile, pretending he didn’t know what they were talking about.

Finally, the target ordered his wife, “Go fix your hair or something while I sort this out.”

Oh, how perfect.

The wife huffed in both anger and annoyance but complied. She snatched her purse from the bed and stormed away. Minho, seeing her leave, launched into his fake business plan. Through the gap, you carefully watched the wife approach the bathroom. You felt bad for her; she was innocent in all this. But there could be no witnesses to the crime.

You waited until she was just inside the bathroom. She was mumbling to herself, and she sounded like she was sniffling. You held your breath in fear of ruining your plan. Her back was turned, and she seemed focused on her thoughts.

Perfect.

Quick as lightning, you clamped your free hand over her mouth and dragged her behind the door. She tried to scream and flail, but you held her tight as you injected her with tetrodotoxin. At that moment, Minho started talking loudly to drown out the noise. He didn’t need to though. She stopped trying to scream and started gasping for air. You could see how dilated her pupils were. Seconds later, she suddenly convulsed and went limp. You placed two fingers on her neck, and sure enough, she had no pulse. You released your hold on her, and the body fell to the floor with a loud thud.

“What was that?” you heard the target say. “Kaguya?” he called.

“I’m sure it was nothing,” Minho replied. “Anyway, in the third quarter--”

The target apparently did care about his wife. He cut Minho off with a glare. His wedding ring flashed in the light, and you positioned the next syringe in your hand.

“Kaguya? Answer me!”

When there was no reply, he stalked towards the bathroom, Minho following close behind. You watched the target closely. He saw the red dress first, the skirt spilled onto the marble floor like blood. He rushed inside and shouted his dead wife’s name.

He never saw it coming.

Minho swiftly punched the back of his head. The target cried out and crumpled onto the floor. He was hurt but not dead yet. Minho pinned him down while you stepped over the body. The target, dazed but still conscious, threatened vengeance, begged for mercy, promised money, but his pleas fell on deaf ears. You injected the poison into his neck with no hesitation. He thrashed around, but it was useless. He was dead a few seconds later.

“No pulse,” Minho reported. He got up from the ground and turned to you. “We’re done here.”

“Finally,” you muttered as you gathered the rest of your belongings. You wrapped the used syringes in a hand towel and placed it in your clutch. Being discreet meant leaving no evidence behind. “Call the car.”

Minho, who already left the bathroom, called over his shoulder, “Later. We have to get out first.”

You turned off the light and shut the bathroom door. The maids-- you assumed this giant place had maids-- would be getting an unpleasant surprise tomorrow. Minho stood in front of the vanity mirror, ruffling his hair like he did in the hotel room.

“Are you done?” you asked. Not that you minded waiting for him, as long as he didn’t catch you watching the way he fluffed his hair. “Let’s go.”

“Yeah, lets go.”

You placed your hand habitually on his arm again when you realized your cover wasn’t as important anymore. You quickly shot a look at Minho. If he minded, he didn’t show it. Still, you decided it was better to walk on your own for now. You lifted up your hand, but he pressed it down again.

“Just a little longer,” he muttered. “We’re not safe yet.”

“Right,” you mumbled back.

The two of you walked out the door, and you locked it behind you. The hallway was empty, but you couldn’t help but feel that there was a person lurking around the corner. You got flashbacks to your first mission, and all you could think about was potentially being caught and failing.

“You’re being stiff again,” he whispered.

You relaxed your raised shoulders. “No, I’m not.”

“We’ll be fine,” he said, as if he could read your thoughts. “We’re JYP’s best team.”

You almost snorted. “‘Team’ is highly debatable.”

There was a giggle from around the corner, and both of you went silent. Minho’s whole demeanor shifted, and the lazy grin from earlier in the night returned. He slipped his arm to your waist, and you rearranged your own features into something more adoring. Then you heard footsteps coming down the connecting hallway.

A champagne-drunk young woman stumbled in front of the two of you. Still giggling, she sloppily pushed her hair back to get a closer look. Her eyes lit up as if she recognized you, and the anxiety of being caught came flowing back.

“Did you guys have fun?” she slurred, drawing out the ‘u’ in ‘fun.’ At your raised brow and possibly alarmed eyes, she smirked. “It’s okay. Wanna know a secret?” Without waiting for an answer, she leaned forward conspiratorially and whispered, “Everybody hooks up at these parties.”

Minho choked on air for the second time that night, and you tried to control your raging blush. “It-it’s not--”

“Don’t deny it!” she sang out. She stumble-walked forward to you and nodded to Minho. “He’s cute,” she said in a whisper everyone could hear. “Don’t mess it up.”

You opened your mouth to deny everything. “I--”

“We’re going to miss our ride,” Minho smoothly cut in. Thank goodness his head was working because you were pretty sure you were short-circuiting. “Nice meeting you,” he said before ushering you down the hall.

The woman only called out, “Byeeee!”

It was silent between you and Minho again. You placed the back of your free hand against your warm cheeks. The thought of being in a relationship with Minho was ridiculous, although you had to admit he was a little cute. That horrifying realization wasn’t the only part that made your head spin though. The sound of music grew louder, but that didn’t distract you from your swirling thoughts.

Don’t mess it up.

She was talking about the perceived relationship, but you were thinking about the cover. You almost did mess it up. You were so close to denying the woman’s claims, and you almost blew your cover. Again.

“I’m sorry,” you blurted out. Though right then likely wasn’t the best time; there were more people in the vicinity. “For almost… ruining the night.”

“It’s almost over anyway.” It was soft and assuring, so you decided to take it as an acceptance.

The stairs to the main floor were in sight. To your annoyance, there were still people congregating on the stairs, but at least they did not seem to be on the verge of collapsing. Minho pulled out his phone and dialled a number. Even with loud music playing, you could hear the keypad tones. He murmured into the device for a minute before sticking it into his pocket again.

“Changbin’s going to take us back to headquarters since he’s nearby. Chaeyoung needed a hotel room last minute for her cover, so HQ just gave her ours.”

“But we have our stuff at the hotel.”

“Chaeng already sent it back to HQ.”

You hummed a response, and the two of you walked down. There was a faint smile on Minho’s face, and you tried to keep one on yours. He made fake conversation with you, asking if you wanted to have pufferfish for dinner tomorrow night. You squealed with equally-fake excitement loud enough that turned several heads. You rattled off a list of non-existent outfits that you could wear, hoping that your rambling would be enough to fill the emptiness in the air.

You stopped talking once the both of you made it to the curb. There was no one outside; the party had only just begun. However, he made no move to remove his arm from your waist.

“You did better than I thought,” he said, looking directly at you. “You didn’t screw up.”

“This is a joint mission,” you replied, looking back at him. He meant it as a compliment, but after his previous digs, it didn’t feel like one. “It’s not dependent only on me.”

“You were the one that had to take him out. It’s mostly on you.”

“That’s not how joint missions work.”

“I’m the field agent here. Best in the business, mind you. I know how they work.”

“Then you should know that success depends on both of us.”

“The company knows I’m capable. You know I’m capable. It’s not my success that’s in question. It’s you that they’re worried about.” He brushed your cheek free of an eyelash and softly added, “It’s you that I’m worried about.”

“Oh,” was the only reply you could think of. You looked down at the pavement and noticed how the tip of your heels lined up with the cracks.

“I can’t protect you all the time. If something happens to you, I can’t save you. What would have happened if you got caught in the bedroom?” he continued. You swore he held you tighter.

You stood there, quiet. Everything he did and said tonight conflicted with everything from the first time you had worked with him. You thought he hated you, and you were sure you hated him. You felt him staring at you, and when you glanced up at him, and suddenly, you weren’t so sure.

“What?” you tried to snap, but it only came out as a whisper.

“I just thought you looked pretty in the moonlight.” He didn’t seem like he was teasing the least bit.

You were even more confused now. And you told him so. “I don’t understand you! Why are you being so… sweet now? You hate me!” You stepped out of his hold and pointed a finger at his chest. “Don’t tell me it’s for the cover either! Because we both know it’s a lie!”

“People change,” he replied. “Like how you’re better at field work and like how I have a greater appreciation for your skills now. You know why.”

“There’s no universe where you and I actually like each other,” you harshly laughed. “You hate me.”

“Maybe I do.” He reached out and cupped your face. You were too shocked to do anything but stand frozen. “I hate that you’re smart and pretty and funny and make me lose focus.” He traced your jaw with his thumb as he continued listing his reasons. “I hate that you make me deviate from my plans and make me worry about you. I hate that you make me feel weak whenever you’re around. I hate that you’re too stupid to realize it.”

“I have a PhD in Chemistry,” you breathed as he placed his forehead on yours. You could count his eyelashes and see the ring of black around his iris.

“I know.” His lips were centimeters away from yours. Just like he did on the balcony, he said, “Apologies in advance.”

You saw him twist his head a few degrees. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Changbin’s car’s headlights approaching and wished Minho would hurry. He dropped his left hand and slowly traced your jaw with his right. His lips parted and then stretched into a smirk.

“Just kidding!” he jeered.

Changbin pulled up, and Minho removed his hand from your face, his index finger drawing one final line before flicking your chin up. You inhaled sharply and recoiled at the motion.

“You’re not too mad, right?” he called as he got into the passenger seat. The smirk was still there when he said, “I’ll see you back at headquarters.”

The car sped down the street, leaving you at the curb. You could only watch the taillights grow dimmer. Your fingers twitched, and you felt yourself loading up your third syringe of the night.

You had plenty of poison to go around, and they all had his name on them.

~ ad.gray

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

I’m Always Curious Part Seven

Previous Part | Next Part |  Masterlist Notes: Not beta-read. I hope everyone is well :) Thank you to everyone that’s read/liked/reblogged/replied! I really appreciate it! Summary: Maybe it was naïve of me to hope that being back in our time meant that things would go back to normal. Well, maybe it was more naïve of me to think that my ‘normal’ hadn’t shifted within the last few months. 

I sighed, dropping my coat onto my bed. I was tired, and covered in more dirt, grime, and sweat than I wanted to admit, but I wanted to get this down before I forgot anything. “Lieutenant’s log... technical stardate 454118.1,” I rattled off, raking my hands through my hair, “I say technical as we are still in the year 1868. We’ve recently completed the first component of our mission and will soon be on our way to 1899. We’ve been ordered by Starfleet to observe the activity of the Leonid meteors in both years to confirm the conditions that they’ve occurred in. We took readings from the Earth’s surface in the midst of Leonid activity in 1868, which was... Breathtaking.” I thought for a few moments, remembering the Captain’s smile turned up to the sky, eyes shining bright as meteors zipped by overhead. I shook my head a little, drawing myself back to the task at hand. “Per the data recorded at the time, the rate reached a thousand meteors per hour at the height of the shower’s activity. We spent the night on Earth, as the increased activity around Earth’s atmosphere hindered transporter capabilities. Captain Pike made contact with the Enterprise at 0800 hours the following morning, and we were able to beam aboard with our equipment.” And we had. I’d been ready to call it a job well done, but Pike had turned to myself and Number One, this glint in his eye, and said, “What do you say we go have a look around?” Number One had declined for the purpose of ensuring the Leonid data transferred cleanly, and Pike had turned to me, brow raised. “Lieutenant?” He’d asked. His words from that morning had rung through my head: “When are we ever going to be here again?” And I couldn’t bring myself to say no. My curiosity had gotten the better of me.

The Captain and I had beamed down to Sandblossom, to a place just outside of town. “We’ll have to be quick,” He’d warned me. But it was everything I’d wanted. I was like a kid in a candy store, looking around. I’d stuck close to Pike’s side as we walked through town, looking into the general store, passing by the saloons and the undertaker’s; we’d been accosted by two missionaries trying to save our souls. Once or twice I’d started to stray too far from Pike and he’d caught me by the hand, laughing that as fascinated as I was, he wasn’t going to leave me here no matter how nicely I asked. It had been a twenty minute excursion - we made no time-altering contact, abided by General Order One, and then beamed back aboard the Enterprise. I hadn’t been able to wipe the grin off of my face while we’d been there, or when we got back. Pike had relieved me of my duty, and I’d just gotten on the turbolift when I’d spotted Number One. The look she’d fixed me with... Was so beyond its usual stern on-duty set. Her brow was furrowed deeply, lips pulled down with disapproval. It was like I was a child and someone had popped my balloon. “End log?” The computer prompted me, shaking me from my reverie. I cleared my throat, walking over to my window and peering out to Earth’s surface. “...End log,” I conceded. We’d be leaving that time and town behind, and it was better if I left everything about it behind as well - along with the warmth of Pike’s arm around me, and his hand gripping mine for just a few moments as we explored. These were isolated incidents. As I undressed and tossed my dirt-streaked shirt on top of my coat, I couldn’t shake the look Una had given me. I wondered if it was disapproval at encouraging mine and the Captain’s curiosity in a time and place that was more dangerous than usual. Time travel was tricky at the best of times; I was sure Starfleet wouldn’t be happy at the prospect of a Captain and one of his Communications officers going for a leisurely stroll for the hell of it. I groaned, scrubbing my eyes with my hands. I should’ve known better - it was impossible to pinpoint what Una was thinking, and I wasn’t sure why I was bothering to try anymore. --

Maybe it was naïve of me to hope that being back in our time meant that things would go back to normal. Well, maybe it was more naïve of me to think that my ‘normal’ hadn’t shifted within the last few months. Normal used to mean that I went about my shifts, occasionally receiving a request from the bridge to look at a recording or a file that had been sent to us from another ship; spending time with Spock and Una and Thira when we weren’t on shift; working through the occasional sleepless night alone in the gym. Normal now was...Astonishing. I was called on by Lieutenant Commander Thaleh more often - when I’d asked why, she’d cited my usefulness to the Captain while she was on leave. I hadn’t had the cheek to ask who exactly had reported on that usefulness: the Captain himself, or perhaps Number One. I had fewer sleepless nights, as my shifts felt twice as busy as they had before, but I didn’t dread them as I’d used to, because I rarely faced them alone. I had a regular sparring partner in the Captain now. I also found myself in his company fairly regularly outside of the gym: on the odd mission, as I had with Uthea C4, or the Anil crew, or the Leonids; now and again he’d dine with myself, Spock, and Una; I wasn’t called to his ready room to confirm report details as I had been when Thaleh was on leave, but sometimes at the end of my shift, I would go to the observation lounge that I’d gone to before with the foolish hope that I’d run into the Captain there - and I often did. -- By the time I was back on shift, we’d returned to our time. The crew breathed a collective sign of relief, congratulated each other on a job well done before it was business as usual. We’d be docking on Earth for a week for a full diagnostic of the Enterprise, as well as for observation of the most recent conditions of the Leonids. I had good intentions when we returned to our time. I hadn’t seen her since I was on the turbolift, nor had she sent me any message, but Una’s look had stuck with me. Somewhere, somehow, I had put a toe out of line. I had to straighten up. I had no intention of being in a command position the way Una and Spock were, but I could stand to conduct myself more professionally. “God, I’m beat,” Thira groaned as she collapsed onto the bed across from mine. I smiled at her. “Will you get to see your family while you’re on-world?” I asked. She nodded excitedly. “My mom’s gonna drive down. What about you?” I shook my head, and her smile drooped a little. “It’s alright, though, I won’t really have time. I signed up for a bunch of workshops and trainings at the Academy,” I added, waving off her concern. “Really? We’ve got a week of leave and you’re going to spend it working?” She asked, surprised. I shrugged. “I’ll have evenings off, mostly.” “Mostly?” She repeated, laughing, “Well, we’ll all grab drinks one of these nights to make sure you don’t overdo it.” I had good intentions when we got back to our time. I was going to straighten up, refocus on my work. That was why I had joined Starfleet -- I loved different cultures, languages. I loved being able to connect. I just had to be careful about how I connected.

[heresathreebee]

Dirty Water

Benny 'Borracho' Magalon x Robyn Banks (Black!OC)

Summary: Robb met a couple of shady characters calling themselves cops. Well it just so happens they are, and they're worse than she first thought.

Masterlist

Word count: 2.5k words

Rating/Warning(s): +16 Mature | kidnapping, mild torture, tied up, wanna be clear: IRL I do not condone hooking up with a person who kidnapped you or was complicit in kidnapping you, it just don't work out like that in reality

AN: so basically I'm gonna write and post this in whatever order I please, then go back and figure it out later. Since my brain has jumped back on the Pascal bandwagon, it's hard to focus outside of his body of work but I'm still coming back to this story with relative ease.

Just when she'd started to warm up again, a another shower of ice cold mop water was pitched over her head. Robyn sputtered and coughed, trying not to swallow the suds in her mouth or let them see her cry to keep the dirt out of her eyes. From the shadows that danced beyond her eyelids, she could tell the alleged cop who called himself Nick was crouching in front of her. 

"Last chance, sweetheart," the dirty cop said. "Tell me how you know Tony D'Onofrio." 

Fuck. 

Seven years ago, two federal agents walked in on officer Robyn Banks being sentenced to traffic duty. She didn't mind– she was fed up with the secrets her colleagues were forcing her to keep anyways. Maybe stepping down could help her clear her head, maybe give her time to compartmentalize those events and feelings. Only now could she say that the rest of her career was already out of her hands. 

"Those agents on that file? They approached me about D'Onofrio. Said he was my moby dick. Made a big deal about 'justice' and 'law and order' and 'the sanctity of the badge." Robyn spit more mop water onto the floor and continued, "I told them I didn't know what the fuck it had to do with me and they just sorta looked at each other." 

The blond man– Nick called him Z, she thinks– crossed his arms. "Quit jerkin us around, Banks, get to the fucking point." 

Nick held up a hand. "Easy, tiger. I asked for a story and that's what I'm hearing. Keep going, Robbie." 

Robyn scowled on the inside. "They told me he was my father. More like a sperm donor than anything, he probably didn't even know I was alive." 

"Now that is interesting," Nick purred. 

He cut the zip tie binding her arm to the rolly chair and handed her a towelette to wipe her eyes. She dared not reach for the tie on her other arm, lest her captors think she's pulling a move to escape. Instead she dabbed the sweat and mop water that soaked into the skin of her neck and face to pause and think about her next words. 

"That was the basis of the deal. I join their investigation undercover, see if I can get somewhere with my connection, and help them put one of the biggest crime bosses on this side of the coast away for good. In exchange, I get to call the shots, they'd put in a good word with my CO and elevate me to detective status instead of beat cop." 

"Thought you liked being a beat cop," the one in the silk flamingo shirt said. 

"Apparently nobody believes that." 

"So," Nick steepled his fingers beneath his aquiline nose in thought, "your end of the deal wasn't even your idea? How does that work?" 

"Sounds like she got something else out of it," the bald man in the white polo accused. 

Robyn glared at him, but she didn't contradict him. If she wanted to be listened to, she needed to stay calm. Stay calm, stay alive. Go home with the minimal amount of PTSD. 

"Do you want me to tell you what happened or not?" When nobody raised any more objections, she continued. "I agreed to their terms. Next I know, I'm climbing the criminal ladder, dropping bread crumbs about my parentage, two years goes by, yada yada yada, and then bam. I have a meeting with the heir apparent to the Italian mafia. 

"At that meeting I told Tony D'Onofrio he knew my mother and that I knew they had been dating around the time I was born–" 

"Conceived–" 

"Yeah that– he stared at me for so long I forgot how to breathe and then… he… believed me." 

A pin dropped somewhere in the empty parking garage. A dog barked wildly a mile away but could still be heard in the silence that followed. Robyn still couldn't believe he'd bought it either. 

"He just… believed you," Nick said skeptically. 

Robyn could do nothing but shrug. "I never got the details, I couldn't ask my mom about it and Tony never gave me any indication that he knew about me before that meeting. He just asked me what I wanted and did it." 

Nick dragged his eyes over her form, shivering and glistening, and then-- "what did you ask him?" 

Robyn felt her eyes gloss over as she tried to remember what mysterious force compelled her to say the exact right words. "I told him all I wanted was for him to know, to see him with my own eyes and know he was real. I said I didn't need any favors or special treatment. I just needed some closure." 

That was all. And the agents had been fucking furious with her. They had accused her of using them, of being a traitor and a spy for D'Onofrio or a mastermind cat-woman type villain and all manner of other terrible things. They were ready to pull the plug on the whole operation when Tony had offered her a better job. A job where she would come face- to- face with every schmoe on Tony's payroll. 

"Tony offered me a job 'running errands.' Not quite in his inner circle but higher in his ranks than I had any business being," Robyn said. "Most of the people doing these jobs were kids, easy to get around the city undetected and reliable. Now he knew I wasn't a kid but I guess he wanted to see more from me, put his best eyes on me to see if I was legit." 

Nick nodded and stood up (his knees popping like broken branches). He walked over to Murphy in the flamingo shirt and passed a few inaudible words between them. Robyn wasn't skilled in the art of lip reading, and failed to catch anything from Murphy except the word 'pointless.' It rubbed her the wrong way, sending a spark of fear through her that quickly dulled back into the numbness of being helplessly bound to a chair. She needed to finish this soon before she completely cracked. 

Nick returned to her side, chasing some pepto bismol with a flask of what smelled like tequila in it. "That's a very sweet story, Robbie, really it is. But… what I wanna know is why you're not in this file." 

"That's not what you asked me," she griped, then backpedaled into, "I'm trying to tell you why I'm not in the file. But in order to tell you that, I have to tell you what was left out of the file first. I'm getting to the point, I just… there's a lot of shit to sift through." 

Nick nodded like a patient father (yeah, right). "Just the good parts then." 

"Yeah," she nodded quickly, "just the good parts..." 

"The good parts, uhm. Well he did learn to trust me. I barely had to do anything just… let him try to kindle a relationship between us. I started calling him dad at his request, nobody bothered me or questioned me after that and I didn't abuse it, expect on the downlow giving info to the feds. He liked that about me– he liked me. We'd talk about my mom and he'd let his guard slip, started taking me to his meetings and asking me to deliver his important paperwork." 

"I let him think I was with him and documented everything I could for six more years." In truth, she had had some doubts. About putting him away and the vacuum of power it would create, about the dichotomy of good versus evil, about her career. In that last year, she had actually warmed to the idea of becoming a detective and getting to do work with her own moral backbone and not someone else's. "We made the arrest January 19th and put him away for a dime." 

Nick leaned so far forward in his chair Rob had to lean back. "This is the part where you wrap it up, sweetcheeks." 

Robyn gulped. "Gomer and Valentine pushed me out. They'd been acting really strange at the end, wearing these shit eating grins and looking at each other, and then they iced me out. Had me fired on the grounds that I was too close to the perp, used a fucking Christmas photo for evidence. There went the Italian mob's heir and seven years of hardwork, and I wouldn't even be mentioned by name in the case file. No testimony, no credit, just a dishonorable discharge and dumped on my ass in the streets." 

"Wow." Nick rubbed a hand down his face like he was the exhausted one. "That's quite the story, princess." 

He looked at each of his mates, every face stonier than the last. Especially the silent one's, the latino guy. Then he looked back at Robyn and smiled with a lot of teeth. 

"I do have some questions though, if you'll let me." Sure like I have a choice. "Now it wasn't public knowledge you were in on the investigation, but I find it hard to believe your dad's lackeys didn't know it was you who turned him in. And what I find even harder to believe is that they'd let you live for it." 

Robyn said nothing. There was a part of her that didn't quite grasp it either. When she had arrested him, when she'd slapped the cuffs on him herself and read him his Miranda rights, after the shock of her betrayal wore off, Tony had congratulated her. 

"I'm proud of you, kid. You may be a narc but at least you got your head straight. You got guts, kid." 

As far as she understood it, his last order as the leader of the mafia was not to harm her in any way. Nobody bothered her. They still knew her face on the streets, sent glares her way but never touched her. One of his underlings had come to her place and suggested she skip town permanently just to be safe. It was not a courtesy she ever expected from anyone let alone a man with a reputation for high profile robbery and murder. 

She didn't know what to expect. "I guess he really did love me." And Nick left it at that. 

~

Robyn was unbound, blindfolded, and dumped right back onto the street those so called cops had snatched her from. Her legs shook as she walked the last block to her place, utterly miserable and in desperate need of some sleep. Maybe tomorrow she could figure out what the fuck her life had come to. She showered (and cried) and picked up the half drunk beer from her fridge and brought it out on her front steps, taking a sip of the flat beverage and wishing it was something stronger. 

People passed below her on the streets, never once looking up. The traffic never disappeared but it did lull this time of night. She didn't mean to– barely noticed she was doing it– but she found a pack of cigarettes in her overcoat and lit one up. 

"Next time," she promised herself. I'll try to quit next time. 

Just as she was beginning to ease the tension that had been weighing on her all night, a man climbed the steps to her building and pointedly slowed down to a stop a few feet away from her. She chanced a glare at him and found him no stranger which was somehow infinitely worse. 

"Fuck off," her nerves got the better of her, "I told you everything, can't I at least get some sleep first?!" 

The man lifted his hands in defense, carrying a bottle in a brown bag in one of them. He was, well, he was the handsome one. The Cuban with the neck tattoo and broad shoulders. His eyes seemed a lot softer now Despite the dark setting. 

"Swear on my life, I'm not here for Nick." He took a single step up, waiting to see how she'd react, and when she didn't run, he took another and set the covered bottle down next to her before backing off. Still skeptical, Robyn carefully unwrapped the thing, revealing an expensive looking wine label. Dark red. "It's an apology," he explained with his hands in his pockets, "Nick thinks he's this big, clever actor but he can be a real bully when he drinks." 

Robyn gave him the 'do I look like an idiot' eyebrow and he had the decency to look at his feet. "We could really use your help with this, Banks. Nick forgot to mention the part where Tony was put on parole for good behavior. He'll be out tomorrow." 

"He what." That's just the thing isn't it? The case that ended her career permanently and he just got to walk off after only serving two years of his sentence. That was the real crime here. Robyn gritted her teeth, gripped the neck of the bottle and squeezed. She started shaking it like it was her criminal father, or the weasel federal agents who took her credit, or the dirty cops who kidnapped her tonight. 

Borracho looked concerned. "Do you need a corkscrew or– " 

Robyn shrugged off her jacket and looked him dead in the eye as she wrapped it around the base of the bottle and gently banged it on the porch step until the cork exploded into the air (along with a third of the bottle's contents but whatever). Borracho raised a hand to protect his face from the spray, and turned away to hide a silly grin. 

"Nevermind," he said, shaking the excess drink off his hand. "Listen, if he calls you about anything, please let us know." 

He pointed to the bag, which had a phone number on it. "Don't let your work be in vain." 

"You try that line on everybody?" Rob was feeling a little facetious in the face of mercy, over tired from the revelations, and pissed off by these fucking pigs. "Your good cop, bad cop routine needs some balance. Did you know I was kidnapped today? Now this wine is a start but you'd better step it up, good cop." 

He started to walk away but she called out, "I got Nick, Z, and Murphy. Clocked 'Gus' by the name written on his underwear. Which one are you?" 

"Benny," he threw back, and disappeared into the nighttime traffic. 

"Benny," Rob scoffed. "Cute ass." 

Robb drank the equivalent of two glasses, then passed out from exhaustion. She slept dreamlessly and tried to forget last night had ever happened. Benny, in the meantime, returned to the office where his crew was huddled around a phone receiver. 

"Don't appreciate you throwing me under the bus, B," Nick growled from his seat. 

"Shup up and drink this," Benny pushed the glass of raw eggs closer to his boss' hand, a so called 'hangover cure'. Nick shrunk back a little.

"Told you she'd be sweet on him," Z elbowed Murphy in the ribs and ignored his protesting 'um actually I said that.' 

"Wouldn't call her sweet," Benny said, grunting as he took up residence at his own desk. "She looked like a feral cat." 

Nick laughed. "Yeah well don't go getting mixed up with that pussy, B, we've got work to do." 

It was gonna be another long night for everybody. 

[marvelous-imagines-for-all]

Spencer x BAU x Sister

Requested? Yes! 

“Can I request something platonic for Spencer Reid in Crimnal minds? Maybe where he has a younger sister that's around 5 or 6 years old and for some reason she has to stay at the office with Spencer for the day and he's hesitant because he thinks she will just cause a scene but everyone loves her?”

Author: Jade:)))

A/N: So this is definitely the longest imagine I’ve ever written (Over 2k), but I loved the idea and I got carried away with it. I also have no idea if it makes sense but I hope you all enjoy!

The team had barely checked into work when Hotch called them into his office for a brief meeting, no one knew what it was for, but they noticed the absence of Spencer’s presence. 

“Is there another case? You said today would be a paperwork day.” Emily inquired, looking down at Hotch who was seated at his desk.  

“It is. That’s not why I called you here. If you haven’t noticed, Spencer is running late. He called me ahead of time to notify me of this. Something came up and he has to bring someone in with him today.” Hotch paused, taking notice of everyone’s shifted behavior. Confusion was evident on the faces before him. “Although this is out of the ordinary, I expect nothing less from any of you today. You will continue to work and not create any scenes about the situation.” 

“What’s going on?” Derek asked, worrying filling his mind about Spencer. Who was he bringing in? His mom? Everyone knew how much his mom wasn’t a fan of the “government’s work”. Or maybe it was a girlfriend? But that didn’t make sense. There was no reason for him to have to bring her here even if he did have one. 

The team was dismissed and they went back to their desks, waiting for Spencer to arrive. 

Back at Spencer’s place, Spencer was distressed to say the least. Today was Monday, and it wasn’t until he had woken the little girl up despite her protests that he forgot she didn’t have school. Some teacher work day thing. Spencer was at a loss for how he forgot, but it didn’t matter at this point. He didn’t have time to call a babysitter, not that he really trusted them anyways. 

Now he was gathering items in a backpack for the little girl. Coloring books, a couple of barbies, a book, and a stuffed elephant, her favorite one. Spencer had already prepared a lunch for her moments earlier, it was sitting on the counter waiting. 

“Skye, are you ready?” Spencer called from the living room, searching for his keys. He was already late to the BAU and even though he called in advance, he hated being late. “Skye?” 

After the second call the little girl ran into the living room, hairbrush in hand. 

“I need help!” Her lips formed a pout as she looked up at her older brother. Spencer looked up to see his sister’s hair half in a tangled mess. No matter what he did, he could never seem to get her hair under control. He wanted to tell her that he could fix her hair later, that they didn’t have much time or that her hair looked fine. But he decided against it since he knew she would argue and he definitely did not have time for that. Kneeling behind her, her took the brush from her hand and combing it gently through her hair. 

“We’re going to my work today, which means that you need to be on your best behavior. You know what that means, right?” Spencer paused his actions, waiting for a reply. Skye nodded her head furiously. He smiled at her eagerness and continued to brush her hair. “My friends will also be there. They’re super nice, but you still aren’t allowed to go anywhere without letting me know, you understand? I can’t lose you.” 

Skye nodded again before turning around to face him, “I understand.” 

Spencer smiled and placed a kiss against her forehead, “Then I guess we’re ready to go.” 

Walking into the BAU was a task in itself. Skye claimed her hands were full; one arm wrapped around Mr. Pebbles, her stuffed elephant, and her other hand holding on to Spencer's. So Spencer was left with one arm to carry his bag, both of their lunches, Skye’s backpack, and the files that Spencer had collected on the way up to the elevator. 

The elevator ding was enough to attract the team’s attention. Everyone’s eyes moved down to the little girl who was slightly ahead of Spencer, practically dragging him into the bullpen as she looked around amazed. Spencer directed her to his desk where he hastily dropped everything onto his desk. Skye was too busy staring at Derek, who was approaching the scene along with the rest of the team behind him.

“Hey, kid, who’s this little lady?” Derek smiled down at her and she instantly smiled back. She already liked him. 

“This is, um, she’s my little sister. She doesn’t have school today and I couldn’t call a babysitter so I brought her up here. After confronting Hotch first.” Spencer chewed on his lip, not sure how to continue. 

The team examined Spencer for a moment. They always noticed the bags under his eyes, but they assumed it was just lack of sleep from nightmares, not from dealing with a kid. The random pen marks on his hands? Those were just supposed to be his random scribbles to get a pen to work, not markings from a kid at home who was drawing. The way he knew how to talk to kids? It was assumed it was just all the knowledge he had. Not that he had experience. 

“My name is Skye.” Skye broke the silence, and the group turned their attention to her, whose eyes solely focused on Derek. 

“Hey, Skye, my name is Derek! I’m a friend of your brother’s. How old are you?” 

Skye bounced on her feet as she held up her hand, “I’m 5!’

Derek laughed at her and the team knew in that moment they couldn’t be upset with Spencer for keeping it a secret. 

“How could you not tell us you had a little sister?” JJ nudged Spencer softly, a smile playing on her lips. 

“She’s adorable!” Squealed Penelope as she joined the conversation with Derek. Spencer felt himself blushing, he wasn’t expecting such a positive response. He wrapped his arms around himself and shrugged. 

“I don’t know, I guess safety and privacy.. I told Hotch for work reasons, so he understood my household situation.” 

“Well I don’t think you’ll have to worry about her safety anymore. She’s about to have the whole team wrapped around her finger” Emily spoke and shot a smile at Spencer before she went to go introduced herself. 

An hour passed and Skye hadn’t caused any trouble. She stayed seated next to Spencer and played with her dolls. Occasionally asking him to name a location for her dolls to pretend to be, or have him play as Mr. Pebbles for a few minutes. He didn’t think twice before agreeing, not thinking of the teasing Derek would give him later. 

“Where does Mr. Pebbles wanna go?” Skye thought out loud. Spencer glanced over from his computer and smiled. Her hair was already starting to stick up in places despite his efforts to comb it down earlier. 

“Elephants can be found in 37 countries just south of the Sahara Desert. Maybe you should take him somewhere warm.” 

JJ walked by, setting a file on Derek’s desk and then onto Spencer’s. Overhearing the conversation she interjected, 

“Like the beach? It’s warm there!”

Skye looked up with much wonder in her eyes as a grin broke across her face, “The beach! Yes!” 

JJ and Spencer exchanged a smile as the child went on pretending to take her elephant to the beach. 

A little while later, Skye had insisted that Derek needed his help completing paperwork. Spencer objected at first, saying that Derek needed to focus on work but Skye swore that she would be on her best behavior. So now Skye was seated on Derek’s leg and had colored 2 pictures for him. She was currently writing his name on a paper since Derek teased that he didn’t know how to spell his own name. Spencer couldn’t help but laugh at the sight of Derek trying to fill out paperwork around the child in his lap. 

“Derek starts with a D! And this is how you write a D..” Skye stuck her tongue out in concentration, slowly writing the letter on the paper in front of her for Derek to see. He took his eyes off his files to watch the girl and smiled. 

“Are you sure that’s how you do it?” Derek teased, tickling her sides. A loud squeal left her lips followed by a laugh. 

“Yes! That’s how you write it. Spencer taught me and he’s always right.” She smiled proudly, looking back at her brother who smiled right back. 

Lunch time rolled around and Skye claimed that she wanted to sit with the girls, who happily accepted her. She shared her grapes with Penelope who had not so subtly given her multiple pieces of candy in exchange. 

“I got candy!” Skye held it up for Spencer to see. 

“Yes, you do. But why don’t we space out the pieces so you don’t get sick from eating them all at once?” Spencer stood next to her chair pushing her hair back out of her face, attempting to run his fingers through her locks. It was even more tangled than earlier and he knew it was gonna be hard to brush through later. 

“Ah, come on, genius. We know a few pieces of candy won’t kill her.” Garcia smiled, winking down at the little girl. 

“Of course it won’t. You have to eat approximately 262 fun sized bars of candy in one sitting for it to have a deadly affect.” This statement earned eye rolls from the ladies and a not so quiet giggle from the little girl as she zipped the candy up in her lunchbox. 

“So Skye, what’s your favorite thing to do?” Emily asked, eating the meal she had picked up at the beginning of the break. 

“I like drawing!” Skye looked up at Emily, her legs swinging under the table, “And Spencer gets me a lot of coloring books. There are some in my backpack, I can show you!” 

By the end of lunch time, each of the women had been assigned a coloring sheet to color. Hotch had reentered the building from his meeting and Spencer pulled Skye back to his desk, worried that Hotch would think she was causing too much trouble. But much to Spencer’s surprise, Hotch walked to his desk with a soft look in his eyes. 

“So I hear you’re Miss Skye, is that correct?” 

“Yeah, I am!” Skye sat up straight at the mention of her, something Spencer always told her to do to make sure the person knew she was acknowledging them. 

“I wanted to say thank you for coming in today and helping my team with their work. You make an excellent helper.” Hotch lifted his palm and smiled as the girl gave him a high five, “Keep up the hard work, Miss Skye. I’m counting on you” 

“Yes sir!” Skye saluted Hotch before turning her attention back to Spencer desk where she was helping Mr. Pebbles recite the ABC’s. 

Soon the paperwork filled day that everyone had dreaded coming into work for ended, and it went better than any of the team had expected. Skye had the team wrapped around her finger and they all knew it. Spencer walked to the Elevator, hand in hand with Skye who was smiling and waving at the rest of the team.

“She is just too cute” Emily remarked, smiling at Skye who had finished waving and was now talking up a storm with her brother in the elevator. 

“She is the most pure thing to ever step foot in this building, if anything happens to her I might literally die. Auntie Garcia can’t have that happen!” Penelope looked around with her eyebrows raised, confirming she was serious. Derek laughed, 

“I can’t have that happening either. But don’t worry. Spencer’s been taking good care of her. And now that we know about her,  we can help.” 

“I know exactly what we’re going to be helping him with.” JJ chortled besides Derek. 

“What are you talking about?” 

“Oh please, did you see that girl’s hair? Lord knows what he’s doing to try to keep that mane contained.” JJ smiled as the group laughed in agreement.  

Back in the elevator Spencer smiled to himself, knowing that this would not be the last time that she gets to visit the team.

[hardladyheart]

Assertive (Clint Barton x Reader)

A hand was placed over your mouth, keeping you silent so you weren't found. The mission was easy: find the files and return back to base as quick as possible. Fury just forgot to mention the small detail about the amount of guards in the place.

Agent Barton removed his hand from your lips, knowing that you had calmed your breathing back to normal. He stuck his head out from your hiding place, looking to see if anyone was around.

You nodded at him as he tugged your jacket to let you know it was all clear. With a deep breath, you went to the right as he went to the left hallway, both leading to the same office. If one of you didn't make it then at least this way the other had a better chance.

Considering there were so many guards around only moments ago, you became suspicious. With ease, you removed your gloves, ready to defend yourself if necessary. Your steps were quiet as you walked down the hall stealthily, not even your clothes making a sound.

Your eyes met a pair of blue as you reached the door of the office. You smiled, calming your nerves at seeing him safe. First, you looked to the door then back to Barton, waiting for a nod to go ahead. Once he knocked his arrow, he gave you the signal and you quickly turned the knob and pushed the door.

In the office stood at least ten of the guards, guns at the ready. Before Clint could even tell you to get down, you blasted them with water, hard enough that they smashed through the back window and to the ground far below. The alarms blared throughout the complex, letting everyone know that there was an intruder.

"I could have gotten them with my arrow," Clint complained, running over to the desk and wrenching out the drawers.

"And we'd still be in the same predicament when the explosion busted the window anyway. Come on, we don't have time for this," you told him, your back to the wall so you could turn your head quickly to see if anyone was coming. Clint handed you the folder which you then placed into your bag and zipped it up.

"We need to move. Now!" The archer pulled you by the arm and down different hallways, men running and screaming after you.

You had reached a balcony, but it was too late, you were surrounded. Armed men circled the both of you, guns aimed and ready to fire if you went to attack.

"Can you swim," you asked to Clint quietly.

"Yeah. On three. One. Two. Three!" Barton pulled you over the balcony and into the waters below, and thankfully missing the rocks.

You were deep in the water, but you pulled him deeper so the gun fire was easier to miss. The two of you swam as fast as you could, but slowly, Barton needed air. You turned and took his cheeks in your hands before you locked your lips with his and gave him air.

When you were finally far enough from the building, you swam to the surface, Barton taking a big gulp of air. His brow furrowed as looked at you, swimming closer. "How did you do that?"

You leaned your head to the side, showing him three gills on your neck. Clint's fingers touched them lightly, causing you to gasp. He pulled his hand away with a slight look of concern.

"Sorry, did I hurt you?"

"N-no, it wasn't that," you stammered, a blush darkening your cheeks.

Hawk smirked, touching your neck again and making you shiver. "Good to know."

Clint only had to wait a few minutes after he pressed a button on his watch to signal for pick up. The two of you were pulled onto the jet, someone handing both of you a towel to dry off.

The time on board the jet was fast, landing on the carrier for everyone to get off. Tasha stood outside, taking the folder from you to take it to Fury, allowing you time to go and change clothes.

As you were changing, you couldn't help but think of what Agent Barton said or the way he touched your neck. You let your thoughts of the sexy agent roam as you brushed at your hair. The thoughts were definitely pleasant, but you shook your head to erase them, there was no way that was going to happen.

Fury congratulated you and Barton on a job well done before dismissing you for the day. The rest of the day ran smoothly as you went on your regular schedule of exercise and supper, not seeing Clint anywhere.

You finally went back to your room, sliding your key card in the slot to unlock the door. Before it completely closed behind you, someone stepped inside. You turned, wide eyes, at seeing your partner from today's mission in your room, a dark look to his features.

"What are you doing here, Barton?"

"I wanted to say thanks for saving my life today, without you helping me underwater then I would have died."

Each step he took towards you made you take a step back, your heart beat quickening. Your bed hit the back of your legs and a knowing smirk rose to his lips. Trying to crack a joke, you said, "You know, I'm starting to think you were turned on by my gills."

"Oh, it wasn't the gills, more like how you reacted to me. I can even see it now, your skin flushing, I can hear your heart racing." Clint pushed you against the bed, your knees buckling to make you sit.

Hawk caged you between his arms, a growl rising from his throat before he kissed you deeply. You kissed back, wanting it for a long time, your hand wrapping into his shirt. He pushed you back against the mattress, a hand rising to touch where your gills were earlier. you could help but moan as you tried to pull him closer to you. With a bite to your lip, he stopped kissing you long enough to turn out the bedroom light.

[queerbutstillhere]

For @unknownunseenunheard

- You can't come over tomorrow.

~ what do you mean? "Can't"?

- Gotham is on quarantine. Mandatory. Only medical personel allowed out. Hell, even the JL grounded us.

• I'm seeing can't, but hearing "help me please"

- guys. This is serious.

• for you, maybe. Timmie, we can't get sick from Covid. Kon is alien, and my metabolism is just too fast for it.

- Bart..

~ he's right, Tim.

- Do not encourage him, Kon.

- you two are not allowed to come.

Tim sighed, staring at his laptop monitor. He had been stuck in quarantine for three days now. Alone in his apartment. He could probably suit up and hightail it across town to get to the manor if he wanted, but bring quarantined alone sounded far more appealing then bring quarantined in the manor with his siblings. Dick would probably drag him into nightly board (read: bored) games, Bruce would be constantly trying to bond, Damian would probably never stop insulting him. Duke and Cass would probably be fine, but Duke was easily roped into Dick's shenanigans, and Cass had that habit of creeping up on you.

No. Tim would survive being stuck alone, working on case files and reading news headlines. Today's news was singing the praises of Wayne Enterprises for their massive donations to research centers, the city, and for them paying for housing and healthcare for homeless. They were also praising Bruce for personally paying for the Covid testing and for paying for food and housing costs for those who couldn't afford it. Bruce had enough money to do so, so he might as well, right?

Amusingly, Tim had seen a headline from Star City about Red Hood and Arsenal highjacking a supply truck full of toliet paper and medical supplies and redistributing it among the poor and homeless, as well as stealing from some stores and making care packages for the homeless.

But now, his idiot boyfriends, severly upsetted by the fact that their Thursday date night had been cancelled, were texting and calling him non-stop, trying to convince him to let them come, finding out if he needed anything ("do you have food?" "Yes, Kon." "I'm talking real food, Tim. Not some Rice Krispies and a few boxes of cereal." "Conner."), and constantly fretting over him. Did he mention they kept whining about missing date night? Well they did. Even the suggestion that they could still hang out with each other didn't appease them. ("But we need our Robin! Our birdie!")

Tim Drake was a smart man. He was a good detective. If he had been at the manor, he'd probably be working with Bruce to develop faster testing, or figure out cures. But what Tim forgot, is how truly, truly, dumb his boyfriends are.

So he really shouldn't of been surprised to hear his door open on Thursday evening.

But yet, he was.

He shot up off his sofa, spinning towards the door. He hadn't changed in a day, and probably hadn't showered in three. His apartment was a mess and honestly he didn't remember what he had for breakfast that day. But yet he grabbed the nearest thing to him, an empty metal waterbottle, and brandished it as a weapon.

"Oh, I'm so scared," a chipper voice said, with a laugh.

"Bart?!" Tim exclaimed, half in shock and anger.

Standing in the entry way of his apartment was Bart Allen and Conner Kent. Conner was carrying several bags of groceries, and Bart had a couple jugs of milk and juice.

"What are you two doing?!" Tim hissed, glaring.

"Uh, visiting, duh?"

Bart zipped to the fridge, putting up his jugs, and then dumping a backpack that Tim hadn't noticed earlier onto the floor.

"Bart," Tim said, his tone dropping.

He noted Kon was also carrying a duffel bag. The man just smiled and then turned to walk into the kitchen.

"Nonono, I know what's going on here, you two aren't staying."

"Why not? We can't get it, and you're just gonna . . ." Bart motioned at the messy living room. "Besides, what if we quarantine ourselves with you."

"Well, because! Because. . . " Tim scowled at him.

He was starting to lose his energy to argue. And he was getting pretty lonely.

"And also, now if you need something, one of us can just zip over to metropolis and pick it up, or go do laundry at Clark and Lo's," Kon called from the kitchen.

"And if you do get sick! You'll have us to look after you!" Bart exclaimed, zipping over and kissing Tim before he could protest.

Tim glared at him, then at Conner, who had moved to the doorway. They both just grinned at him.

"Fine. Fine! You can stay!"

Bart whooped and kissed Tim again.

"Okay, first things first. You need to take a shower, man," Bart told him, wrinkling his nose. "Or else no cuddles."

Tim, touch starved as always, found himself immediately hating that idea.

"Also, we need to clean this place up. So, you go shower and brush your teeth and stuff, Kon and I will clean up and start supper!"

Tim huffed at him, but obeyed, heading towards the bathroom, stopping by Conner first to give him a quick kiss.

He went through the bedroom first, snagging some clean clothes, and then went into the bathroom, he quickly stripped and showered, making sure to clean his hair throughly, he shaved when he got out, and quickly brushed his teeth as instructed, because frankly, he didn't remember the last time he had done that. When he got back out, admittedly feeling a little better, he noted Bart and Kon's bags on his bed. He just sighed and shook his head, walking back to the main room. He could already smell the tomatoey scents of Italian food, and wondered what all those two had actually brought with them. There was some form of pop music playing, and he could hear Bart happily singing along to it, Kon chiming in occasionally with the choruses. Tim chuckled and looked around the living room. They had cleaned up trash and dishes and fixed the pillows on the sofa. The curtains had been opened, and a candle was burning on the coffee table. Tim walked over and leaned against the kitchen doorway, watching Bart dart around and cook, while Kon washed dishes.

"This that hot girl bummer anthem. Turn it up and throw a tantrum~" Bart sang, doing a little dance as he darted from the fridge back to the stove, throwing a few things into a sauce.

"What are you making?" Tim asked softly, but they both heard him.

"Hey! He's clean!" Bart announced cheerfully. "And I am making lasagna! Max's special recipe."

Tim hummed in response.

"So are you two going to eat me out of house and home by the end of tomorrow, or?"

Kon shot Tim a smirk. "Depends."

"Ugh, Kent! I meant food!"

Conner laughed, rinsing one last dish before drying his hands, walking over and pulling Tim up against him.

"I never said that wasn't what I meant, did I?"

"No. . . But with you there's always some kind of innuendo."

Kon huffed in mock annoyance, before ducking his head and gently kissing Tim a few times.

"I missed you," Kon mumbled lightly, his hands sneaking up Tim's soft cotton shirt that may or may not have belonged to Kon at some point.

"I missed you too," Tim responded instinctually, not really realizing exactly how true that was.

"Then why didn't you let us come sooner?" Bart's voice asked and then he was slipping between their arms, sandwiching himself between them.

Tim laughed, giving the pouting Bart a few kisses.

"Because I didn't want you guys getting sick."

"Tim we literally can't."

"Did you confirm that?"

"Yeah. I called Lex and asked. And you know as well as I do that Bart can't get sick from these things."

Tim sighed, looking down at Bart, then up at Kon. "Well either way, it's too late now."

While their dinner was cooking, they finished cleaning up the apartment, got the two of them moved into the bedroom properly, and then fell in a tangled mess on the sofa to wait for dinner. They ate while watching a movie, and Tim did have to admit, the lasagna was really good. After their movie, they played some video games, and then Kon left to do a little patrolling for Tim while he worked on some cases and Bart just did whatever it was Bart did.

It was lucky the three of them were huge cuddlers, because otherwise they would not have fit in Tim's queen sized bed. Not with Kon's huge shoulders. After Kon got back and showered, Bart had to literally steal Tim's laptop, and then Kon had to carry him to the bathroom to get ready for bed.

As the three of them laid in bed, a few minutes later, more focused on lazily kissing then actually sleeping, Tim decided that if he was going to be quarantined anywhere, being in his apartment with his amazing, dumb, loving boyfriends couldn't be the worst solution. And it was, by far, preferable over going to the manor. So he would happily keep his mouth shut and let them fret over him. Because he loved them. And they loved him.

[1989dreamer]

Chapter 21 of Looking for a Place to Call Home

Still not editing before posting.

Still on AO3.

Thanks for reading

                                                                                                                    ~ * ~

Derek wakes up screaming.

He’d been dreaming that he was back in New York and that she—that Kate—had been torturing him again.

He can still feel the glide of her knife as it skimmed him, the skin peeling back, exposing his twitching muscles.

Without realizing it, Derek shifts into his delta form, scrambling off the bed and under it. He whines high in his throat, more human than wolf.

The lights come on almost immediately, and Laura and Cora crawl under the bed with him while Isaac tries to explain what happened to Boyd and Erica.

With his sisters by his side, Derek shifts back. “Just a nightmare,” he tells them.

Erica sits next to him and pats his back. “That’s okay. You’re okay. We won’t let anyone hurt you anymore.”

Boyd nods his head in agreement, and Derek wonders at the contentment he smells on him.

“You’re safe here,” Erica continues. “Do you want to talk about your nightmare?”

Derek looks at his sisters. “No. Not really.”

“That’s okay too.” Erica lets Derek burrow against her side, seeking comfort. He’s glad that she’s staying behind with him and Cora while Laura, Boyd, and John go to New York.

He is also grateful for the small mercy that he isn’t going with them. He isn’t sure that he would be of any help to them. He wasn’t kept in the same compound. The hunters he ran away from are not the same ones that abused his sisters.

Erica is a solid weight beside him, her arm around his shoulder, the chemical smell of her medication as comforting as her warmth. Secretly he hopes that she and Boyd decide to keep them, even if Laura is technically old enough to be his and Cora’s guardian.

He wants the stability that will come from living in a house, from having actual meals, and if Erica has her way, school. Derek wants all those things, but above all, he wants Laura to find her daughter. He wants to put their damaged pack together, like a puzzle with missing pieces. They’ll be stronger together. Even with Peter—if Peter can escape the murder charges.

“Think you can go back to sleep now?” Erica asks. Derek realizes that everyone else has gone back to bed now. Even Isaac is tucked in, his blanket pulled over his head.

Even though he doesn’t quite feel ready, Derek nods. Erica kisses his forehead.

“I’ll check on you in a bit,” she promises. “Do you want me to leave the door open?”

There is a nightlight in the hallway. She’s offering him a source of light so that he can still see. Except she’s forgot that he is a werewolf and doesn’t need the nightlight.

He nods anyway.

Isaac is already blocking the light from the overhead. He won’t mind the nightlight.

Derek watches as Erica switches off the room’s light and leaves the door wide open as she heads back to her room. Then, he climbs off the bed and pads across the hall to his sisters’ room. Laura lifts the blanket and he crawls between them.

In the three years that Kate had him, there was nothing Derek missed as much as his family. He’s glad that he still has his sisters. And if Peter gets away with the murder he’s committed, then he’ll have Peter too.

                                                                                                                    ~ * ~

Ramirez slams her head down on the table, the third time in an hour. Kincaid startles awake from where he was leaning against the wall.

“Sorry,” she apologizes. Kincaid grunts, moving to sit next to her.

Stiles spares them a brief glance before turning back to his work.

The list they’ve been studying isn’t long—only about seventy names—but they’ve been researching each one, trying to match faces with names. So far, they’ve made it through about fifty-five names and all they have is a tree of the deceased, all Hales in some way, and a few of the arson investigators. Most of the paperwork has been signed off by either Stiles’ dad, early in the investigation, or Sheriff Lahey.

The difference is marked.

Where his dad made little tick marks and initialed on every line, Lahey only signed at the bottom of the reports.

“Deputy Stilinski, sir,” Ramirez says, and Stiles lifts his tired eyes to her. “Look at this.”

She thrusts a stack of papers under his nose. Kincaid snores gently, leaning on Ramirez, while Stiles flicks through the papers.

“This is an insurance investigation.” He checks it against the arson investigative report and then checks the signatures on both. The arson investigation has been signed by the fire chief and his dad while the insurance investigation has been signed by Lahey and a new name, Garrison Myers. “Is Myers listed anywhere else?”

Ramirez points at to his name on the manifest. Number seventy himself. “It looks like he joined late.”

Stiles finds Myers’ card tucked away in a box of evidence. “He’s an insurance fraud investigator.” There’s only a number and a slogan on the card. Stiles makes a note to call the number in the morning. For now, he knows they need to call it a night and pack it up.

“Up to driving home?” he asks Ramirez. Kincaid is definitely down for the count, slumbering still. She shakes her head. “Neither am I. We can bunk here for the night and resume the search tomorrow.”

And tomorrow, he fully plans on meeting with the Hale children to see what they know.

Stiles puts the evidence back in its boxes and shoves them onto the shelves while Ramirez gently wakes up Kincaid. They head for the bunk room, and Stiles locks the evidence room behind them.

The bunk room is barely used, many of the deputies preferring to head home after their shifts, so it’s a little musty, but Stiles doesn’t care. He crawls onto the top bunk, Kincaid face-plants on the lower one, and Ramirez flops on the only cot.

Stiles is so tired that he hopes to drift off quickly, but his mind keeps buzzing, zipping from thought to thought in a way he hasn’t had to deal with since college.

Great. Looks like no sleep. He rolls onto his side and tries, unsuccessfully, to organize his thoughts.

Myers was investigating the fire for potential insurance fraud, which makes sense since the arson investigators determined the cause to be unnatural. But, the house was supposedly abandoned, so who would be collecting insurance on it? And how did they link the burned house with the murdered Hales? Why did they think Derek, long thought to be the only survivor, had set the fire and-slash-or murdered his family?

Before his untimely passing, Lahey had implied that he had evidence that Derek was involved. Why? Was he trying to cover something up? Is that why he’d brought in Myers to look into it?

Hopefully Myers will be able to shed some light when Stiles talks to him tomorrow.

And they still need to locate Deaton.

Stiles isn’t holding his breath that the former veterinarian is still alive. Peter Hale is an efficient killer. He’s already proved it three times. What’s a fourth?

When sleep won’t come even after breathing deeply and clearing his mind, Stiles climbs down and heads to his desk. He might as well research Garrison Myers and see if he’s investigated any other cases in Beacon County.

The night shift desk officer, Myrna Walsh, a deputy even greener than Kincaid, nods at him when he drops into his seat and he nods back at her. When his computer is fully booted, he enters Myers’ name and phone number into the Sheriff Department’s search log.

Six cases come back. Four closed and two on-going. The house out in the preserve is closed with a verdict of arson. Guess when the cops find the bodies of ten people with obvious non-fire related wounds, there’s no way to call it an accident, and Myers agreed by closing the insurance fraud investigation in favor of the insurance company not paying out.

There’s a photo attached to the Hale file, and Stiles downloads it, tapping his fingers as he feels an energy spike cresting in his veins.

He opens it and freezes. It’s Lahey in his Sheriff’s uniform, talking to a man. Stiles zooms in on the other man’s face.

It’s definitely his John Doe.

And if the picture is correct, then his dead John Doe is Garrison Myers.

It’s… Stiles doesn’t actually know how to feel about it because on one hand, now he knows who Peter Hale killed, but on the other, more pressing hand, valuable information regarding the Hale murders likely died with Myers.

Stiles saves the picture, labeling the people in it for Ramirez and Kincaid to look at tomorrow. They’ll have to looking into Garrison Myers and if he’s been reported missing yet.

He scrubs at his face, tugging at his hair. “Crap.” He can’t tell if the investigation is going well or not anymore.

It doesn’t feel like it is. It actually feels like Stiles is playing with half of a deck of cards that keeps exploding every time he thinks he makes progress.

“Fuck this,” he decides out loud, muttering angrily to himself. He needs sleep desperately.

Myrna waves him over as he stumbles back to the bunkroom. “Deputy Stilinski?”

“Yeah, Myrna?”

“This came for you today.” She hands him a thick envelope encased in an evidence bag. It doesn’t have a return address, and the flap is already neatly slit.

“Been examined?” He can see where it was dusted for fingerprints. He’s not holding his breath for evidence. It’s been that kind of case.

“Yeah. Nothing useful.”

“Contents?”

“Coded letter. For your eyes only, but I’m sure whoever sent it realized that more than you would see it.”

Hence the code. “Obviously.” Stiles weighs the envelope, the kind important ‘do not bend’ documents are sent in. He shakes his head, heading for the evidence room. He puts on a pair of gloves, grabs some evidence bags, and sits down at the table, spreading out the contents of the envelope.

There are seven pages, written back and front in code, all sealed in Beacon County Sheriff’s Evidence bags and initialed by Detective Benjamin Votsky, the only California state detective who lived in Beacon Hills and operated out of the Sheriff’s Department.

There is also a bagged single sheet of notebook paper with his name on it. Stiles picks it up first.

Deputy Stilinski, it reads, I am writing to you to confess my perceived involvement in a homicide. I want to make it perfectly clear that I knew nothing of what was going to happen nor how my knowledge would be applied to this heinous crime.

It has only recently come to my attention that someone I spoke with nearly five years ago used my answers to her simply fascinating questions in order to perform that most horrible task.

I am not stupid, Deputy. I know I will likely be charged with accessory to murder even though the things we talked about were purely hypothetical—until she went and proved my hypothesis into a theory. Therefore, I have opted to 1) encode the information I am revealing and 2) not reveal myself until I can be guaranteed that I will not be charged with any crimes. The key to the code is simple, Deputy. It’s Mischief in its true form.

Stiles sets aside the page. He has a feeling he knows this person if “Mischief in its true form” is the key. Stiles assumes that the anonymous letter-sender means that the key is actually his birth name.

He finds a piece of paper and writes down in block letters his full birth name, shoving it into an evidence bag and sealing it, scribbling his initials on the seal. He then carefully puts all the pages back into the envelope in its evidence bag and carries it all back to the front desk.

He hands it to Myrna, along with the paper with his name. “Give that to Detective Votsky. That word,” Stiles points at his name, “is the key. Tell him to find me when he’s done.”

Votsky used to be a deputy under Stiles’ dad’s terms as sheriff. He’d made detective right before the shake up, so he’d managed to skirt the firing. He also has a specialty in codes, which is probably why he was given the evidence first.

“Will do. Hey, Stiles?”

Stiles pauses. “Yeah?”

Myrna looks at him kindly. “Get some rest. The case won’t get solved any faster if you’re not able to see something because you’re too tired.”

“Sure,” Stiles says. What else is he supposed to say? He knows he needs sleep. He’s just having trouble shutting off his brain. “Thanks.”

He walks away before Myrna can give him any more futile advice. He knows she means well, but there’s a reason she’s on the front desk now instead of Kincaid.

He climbs back into his chosen bed in the bunkroom, cramming his head under his pillow to block out the snores of Ramirez and Kincaid. Surprisingly, he manages to fall asleep in minutes.

                                                                                                                     ~ * ~

MP, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21

[seb-owns-these-tatas]

Mission Report (Bucky Barnes)

Characters: Bucky Barnes x You

Summary: The Winter Soldier has trespassed inside your apartment before and he had no other choice but to do it again because you are his mission.

Warnings: Mention of blood? Choking? Murder? Not your usual save the fragile princess kind of thing? Typos or wrong grammars. The Russian words are probably not right because I used Google translate and it's the only thing I could use. Hahaha. 😅 

Words: 2,152

A/N: BUCKY BARNES FOR Y’ALL! Or should I say, The Winter Soldier, aye? Heehee! Tell me what ya’ think about this! Heehee!

Disclaimer: GIF and pictures used are not mine, only the edits are and the whole one shot of course. Plagiarism is a crime.

"Mission report, November 1, 2000."

Bucky just stared at the hydra soldier holding a red book in front of him. A stern smile accenting his face that screams The Winter soldier's nightmares every night, It was malignant and soulless. He was just a human walking on earth with no soul.

Just like him, the difference was his soul was lost wandering. Waiting for it to come back to a body who had a big, youthful heart back in the 1940's.

"Ready to comply, Soldat?"

Bucky grunted as a reply, his chapped, bloody lips in a straight thin line. Something sparked his dead heart inside from the moment he had heard the date of his mission. He shook that spark of light igniting inside of him, his brainwashed mind has set his decision straight and had no other plans than to follow their orders and kill.

He tightened his fist as he sat on the electric chair where he was wiped, sweat washed the sins stuck on his shirtless, scarful body. Ready to gain another mistake or sin that he had no other choice than to follow.

"готовы соблюдать," (Ready to comply,) The Winter Soldier spoke very low, his voice raspy and deep from not talking a lot. The hydra soldier had an evil, lopsided smile. He was smiling like he knew what was about to happen next.

"I want you to kill the woman, nice and slow. Torture her the very best that you can. Just like how I asked you to do, but you've failed the first try, Soldat." He gave out a throaty chuckle, before his smile fell and The Winter Soldier knew he had to comply and get his mission done with no more mistakes.

"Try not to fail this time," and Bucky knew not to fail for the tortures to stop even just for an hour.

The winter soldier did everything he could, his trespassing was perfect, nobody has seen him enter the small apartment, the time was right for a bloody murder, yet from the moment he set those soulless eyes of his on a woman who was devouring a triple chocolate cake with her leg up on a bar stool she was sitting on in the middle of her kitchen, he was stuck hiding behind a wall while watching her eat it all.

Bucky hasn't notice that she was talking on the phone with somebody while binge eating, he fixed his stealthy trance, deeply breathing inside his mask as he concentrated on the woman who made his controlled mind shake with his next plan. "Steve isn't my type," Y/N chewed on her cake, crumbs falling on the huge plate. Tucking her hair behind her ear before grabbing on the bread knife, swiping some of the chocolate frosting and licking it off. "I told you not to hook me up with some superhero! I'd rather die with twenty cats than lose a husband because he was busy saving the world!"

"Come on, Y/N. Fine, how about Sam Wilson?" Nathalie, your friend who works in your small cake shop answered back with a teasing tone. She had been one hell of a bug, telling you that you needed a man in your life and that you needed a little bit of a thrill.

"The Falcon? oh, god. Stop with the superheroes!" You laughed, giving kitten licks on your knife. A thought came into mind and it was bothering you a lot, creating a doubt inside those sweet heart of yours. "How do you even know those guys personally when you're working on cake shop with me?"

Nathalie shut her mouth for a second, "Hold your horses there, Ma'am." She uttered breathlessly, her voice more raspy. You were jealous of her voice, it was damn sexy to begin with. Why weren't you even blessed in that department? "You've accepted my rèsumè, it's not like I'm the lucky charm in that cake shop of yours that's located miles and miles away from the city. Do you people even have wifi?"

You heard a knock, you thought it was from your door but when you brought your head up to take a glance at it, the knock repeated and you realized it was from Nathalie's line.

"You're lucky you aren't here right now. When are you coming back from your vacation?"

You licked your lips that held lots of frosting and it tasted sweet. Yet it turned sour from the moment your friend decided to open her mouth, "I dunno, Y/N. When are you going to move on from the face of your murderer and try to accept other guys in your life?"

Her response made you zip your lips in a tight frown. "When are you going to forget him?"

"Nat, all I can ever remember is his face. How can I even forget about him when I dream about him every damn night?" You sighed exasperatedly, tugging on your roots a little hard. She gave out an audible sigh either, as you hear a door open on the other side of the line.

"You're kinda nuts, Y/N. Believing on love at first sight over your murderer. Didn't you remember he basically choked you alive in your apartment? Still, you couldn't forget about him?"

"Bucky seemed he needed to do it," You whispered too low but Nathalie was lucky to hear what you said because her ears were  sharper than a normal person's hearing. You were slowly remembering the incident that happened before, and it was making your breathing turn deeper with every scene that was coming back. Oh, the memories.

"Bucky? How did you even--Natasha, I swear you forgot to give the files to Tony and--" She loudly shushed the interruptor before speaking again, "Who told you his name, Y/N?" Another set of voices came from Nathalie's line. You were confused from the sudden interruption and you had your brows cinched together as you truthfully answered her.

"He kept repeating that name under his breath like it was his mantra when he was choking me alive. So, I just assumed his name was Bucky?"

"Y/N--" Your phone was snatched away from you. You heard your phone fall on the floor with a crack. The whole world became silent and so was your heart beat. You had no time to glance back because a large hand roughly grabbed onto your hair, painfully pulling at your roots as you were suddenly forced to spun around in a full 360 degrees.

The winter soldier grabbed your neck, wrapping his rough bionic fingers around your throat as he slammed your back against the dining table. You felt the pain shoot up your back, crawling all over your body. Your eyes bulged out of your eyesockets when you stared into his soulless eyes for the second time. It was him again. The beating of your heart seemed to be erratic, basically running mile after miles.

You thrashed against his hold, trying hard to wrench his fingers away from your neck. The Winter Soldier tightened his hold, making you cough out the air trapping inside your lungs.

His cold, dead heart skipped a beat as he was trapped inside the beautiful color of your eyes. What was happening to him? He let out a savage growl, feeling his heart pump so loud after years of darkness. You quickly reached for his face, snatching off his black, half faced mask and throwing it towards the end of your kitchen. That bold, risky action made him wrap his flesh fingers around your sneaky hands, slamming it down the table with an aching thud that made you whimper.

"B-Bucky...Bucky," You managed to croak out, feeling him go still. His dark, cerulean eyes bore into yours with a hopeless, desperate gaze. His gorgeous, soulless face was now vulnerable for you to see, even the windows to his eyes were opened and vincible, seeing the wounds planted inside his heart.

He breathed out ragged, deep breaths. Groaning out the confusement he was feeling. Bucky. The name rings a bell. He knew he heard it somewhere. But, was it really a name?

The Winter Soldier shook his head, snapping himself out of his daze. His insane mind was spinning crazy. Suddenly forgetting what he was ordered to do.

"отчего?" (Why?) He roughly sputtered beneath his breath, more to himself. His voice deep, rough and dry from not talking too much. The eyes of the man hovering above you looked too lost to even call him a man because he looked like a ghost, or a man with no soul.

"B-Bucky? T-That's your name, right?" You managed to croak out from how tight his fingers were around your neck. Veins started to form around his temples, he appeared to be triggered and frustrated. He was starting to breath deeper from the moment you said his name, even tightly closing his eyes to control himself. Trying hard to remember what he was for HYDRA. He was an asset, just a mere weapon. "Y-You're killing me..S-Stop..stop.."

The Winter Soldier could feel your pulse rate slowly fading, your body growing weaker and when he saw the tears fell from the side of your eyes, looking so helpless and desperate to live..He loosened his hold around your neck. The human inside of him trying to act what's right and moral.

He was certainly in conflict.

When you felt his fingers let go of your throat, you quickly took the chance to take a hold of his metal hand. Replacing it with yours to caress the hand mark and pain away. The Winter Soldier piercely stared on his own bionic hand, looking like he despised the metal hanging on his body.

"I know you remember me, Bucky." You gulped, hands shaky as you reached up and stretched your arm to cup his jaw. He flinched and held his breath. His instincts telling him that his body was ready for the pain you planned to give because he hurt you.

But, you didn't. Y/N would never hurt him.

"Bucky. My name's Bucky,"

"That's a nice name, beautiful even. Just like you."

"But, I hurt you. I'm a bad person. There's nothing beautiful when I'm involved. "

"It's because you had no other choice,"

"I do have a choice, and it was to save you,"

"They call me their asset, they call me the Winter Soldier and it's right to be scared of me because I am too,"

His heart knocked against his chest, and another. For the first time, with just a single thump. The voices, your voices echoed inside his brainwashed head. He felt alive and human, even for just a second his thoughts weren't filled with his nightmares.

There was finally a growing flower in the middle of a dead, dried up field. A boat for a stranded human on an isolated island and a sunflower in a field full of roses.

Yet, A mission is a mission and the Winter Soldier inside his head knew better when Bucky didn't. It was a defense mechanism rather than plomping him on the electric chair as he was forced to forget the face and name of the woman who he fell in love at first sight. The daughter of the woman whom he killed by strangling her in her sleep at exactly November 1, 2000.

"Нет, я их актив." (No, I am their asset.)

He knew he was a weapon and he immediately became one when he stabbed the palm of your hand with a knife. The Winter Soldier needed the blood to save you both, and he did because he finally got to save himself.

"прости меня, Y/N." (Forgive me, Y/N.) He harshly whispered to himself, remembering how you screamed and cried that night. Even painfully watching how the blood was dripping from the palm of your hand.

He tried to save you. He did even if it pained him to see you hurt and wounded and it was all because of him.

"You're my mission, why do you have to be my mission?"

REBLOG, LIKE OR COMMENT YOUR FEEDBACK FOR THIS ONESHOT OF MINE! HEEHEE! We’re close to reaching 200 followers and I’m so shookth how y’all manage to love what I write HAHAHHAHAHA jkjk. 

XOXO,

(TATA) SEBASTIAN’S POTATO BITCH

[1-800-hellraiser]

(Just a P.S.A, this is more of a 'father and daughter' type thing, in this oneshot, you're 15. MAPs are disgusting. Thanks for coming to my TED talk.)

Requested by: no one 

Pages: 7.5

Words: 2,733

Genre: fluffyyyyyyyy

Associated song: Daddy Issues - The Neighborhood

!TW! Mentions of family issues, mental and emotional abuse, blood, murder and some swearing.

<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3

"And if you were my little girl, I'd do whatever I could do. I'd run away and hide with you, I love that you got daddy issues." 

​​​      Throughout your life, you were a good kid. You followed directions, you were kind and friendly, everything a parent could ask for in a child. Except, your parents were different, your parents hated you. They would call you names, manipulate you and put you down. You obviously hated it, so, one day you snapped. You killed your family, you didn't feel guilty.

     Now, you live in a mansion with a bunch of serial killers, some human, most not. They are your family now, and you're glad to call them that. One being in particular that makes you feel this way is Hoodie. He was the first one to take you to Slender's mansion. Since then, you've been training to becime a proxy, just like him. 

     You see him as a father figure, you never said anything about it though. You don't want your relationship with him to be ruined. You're scared that if you tell him how you'll feel, he'll abandon you. The only  one who knows about this is Slender, since he's the only one (other than Hoodie) that you trust in the mansion with this information. 

      You have a big day ahead of you today. You go on your first mission with Hoodie. You've been living in the mansion for about six months, those months have been used as training months. Now, you're ready for you're first misson as a proxy. You're excited, but also very nervous. What if you mess it up. What if the target gets away. What if you lose Hoodie.  What if you lose his respect. What if-

      "Good morning Y/n. You have to get up to get ready for the mission. You've got thirty minutes, I'll be waiting downstairs." You turn in your bed to face Hoodie. You take your hand from under your covers and give him a thumbs up. He chcukles at your action and closes the door. 

   After Hoodie leaves, you roll to the edge of your mattress and sit up. You raise both your arms above your head and stretch your back. You get up and pad over to your dresser. You open up the first drawerbto get undergarments and socks. The next drawer, you pull out your f/s (favorite shirt). You open the second to last drawer to grab some denim jeans.

   You walk over to the bathroom built into your room. You put your clothes on the edge of the sink, and grab the towel that you used yesterday. You gently turn the handle to adjust the temperature. Silently taking off your pajamas, you toss them on the floor. Making a mental note to get them when you get put of the shower, you step into the shower. 

    You step out of the shower and grab your towel. Wrapping the towel around you, you pick up your pajamas with a dry hand, then toss them in with your dirty clothes. You pad back in to the bathroom and dry yourself off. After you dry off, you style your hair how you want. After that, you put on some deodorant and start putting on your clothes. 

    "Damn, this smells good." You comment to yourself  about your body fragrance. You look in the mirror above your sink. You twist and turn a bit, then put your hands on your hips confidently. "I look like a boss ass bitch," You comment at your reflection. You walk out of the bathroom and grab your combat boots that are put neatly next to your bedroom door. 

    Sliding on your boots and tying them tight, you grab your weapon of choice. A simple aluminum baseball bat. You also grabbed your plain black zip-up hoodie, and headed downstairs. You try your best to walk down the stairs as quietly as you possibly can. You don't want to wake anybody up. Especially Jeff, you rather not get stabbed today. 

   Silently stepping off the last stair, you gently speedwalk to the living room. The living room is also close to the kitchen and the front door. The only thing dividing the kitchen from the living room was a counter. Bringing yourself back from the decor of the murder mansion, you turn to see a smiling Hoodie. He doesn't have his mask on yet, which suprises you greatly. 

   Hoodie always wears his mask, even if its unbearably hot outside, or when he's sleeping. You don't understand how its comfortable, but you learned from living with a bunch of serial killers to just not question it. "You ready to go?" His soft tone brings you back from your thoughts. You just simply nod and walk out the door with him. 

   The pastas and proxies don't normally have to use cars to get to their destination, but there are rare occurrences where they do. Only on missions that take more than an 45 minutes in walking time. This one was not an exception, just driving to this person's house will take you and Hoodie about a hour and a half.  

  The only car the pastas and proxies have is this big white van. Dubbed 'the candy van' by Jeff and BEN. Because of it's nature in media, you can see why the name sticks. You hop into the passenger seat and make yourself comfortable. You silently stare out the window into the vast forest that surrounds you.

  ��You see why Slender put the mansion in the middle of a forest. Even if most of the inhabitants are stuck there, at least they have a beautiful view. You're torn away from your fixation on the forest by the revving of the ignition. You steal a glance at Hoodie, then relax into the questionably stained seat of the van. 

   The car ride was full of you seeing Hoodie become more, how do I put it, talkative? Yeah, he told you a lot about his past, you knew some if it, but not all of it. You feel honored to have this information and trust. So, its only fair you tell him your story as well right? You told him everything, everything from the nitty-gritty, to your favorite memories with friends. Mini road trips are magical. 

    Hoodie pulls into a rocky drive way at an unknown l youocation. The little GPS on his phine still showes about a five minute walk to the destination. He takes his phone, turns it off, and slips on his ski mask. He glances over at you, you are spacing out at the forest in front of you. "You okay?" His voice cuts through the air like a knife. You blink a few times, trying to get your train of thought back on track. "Yeah, I'm good, I just spaced out," You explain sheepishly.

   Hoodie nods understandingly. You both hop out if the car parked in the dense forest area, and make your way to the victim's house. "So, what's the sitch Hoods?" You ask, not knowing the plan because you and Hoodie forgot to talk  about it on the way there. But it was worth it. 

   "A woman by the name of Annie Butler has been sticking her nose where it doesn't belong. She's finding out way too much. So, we have to take some files of hers then kill her." You nod, hyping yourself up to do this. Admittedly, you are a bit anxious, but that won't stop you from gaining more of Hoodie's trust and respect. 

   You are hoping you don't fuck this up big time. You cant lose the bond that you and Hoodie have, it's way to important to you. You give a gentle sigh and keep walking with Hoodie.

  Eventually, you arrive at the house of the person of interest. The house is white and the trim is a robins egg blue. It looks like the house of the traditional nuclear family, but with a bit more, suspicion. You start walking towards the house through the drive way before Hoodie grabs your arm.

   "We gotta go around back to break in, she'll see us comming up the driveway." He informs, you blush, embarrassed about not thinking about that.  You follow Hoodie around to the back of the house. Annie has a very nice white patio with a glass table and five black metal chairs with white cushons on top. She has a medium sized firepit adjacent to the patio near the backdoor. 

   "I think we should sneak in through that window." You say, pointing to the window next to the patio. Hoodie nods and you both start to walk over to the window. Once you reach the window, you slide up the protective  screen and pull up the window.

   Luckily, this lady is dumb enough to leave her windows unlocked. You set your butt on the windowsill and stick one leg in, then your torso, then the other. Hoodie follows in suit as you stand in the garage. You see the door that leads from the garage to the house and go to open it. Unfortunately, this lady is smart enough to lock the doors.

   "What dumbass doesn't lock their windows, but locks their doors?" You say, Hoodie chuckles softly at your jab. You smile and fish around in your pocket, you grasp the cold metal and pull out a bobbypin. You pick at the lock for a while before hearing a small 'click'. You try the handle again and the door opens this time. 

   You and Hoodie both sneak into the house, you do not see Annie yet. "I'm going to go check the kitchen, you check the living room," You give Hoodie a thimbs up and tou both ho your separate ways. You silently pad over to the doorway leading into the living room and peak inside. 

   The living room walls are painted a light grey. There is a black couch on one side of the wall, and a flat screen t.v on the other. In the corner between the couch and the wall is a house plant in a modern, porcelain plant pot. Above the couch sat a few picture frames with pictures of what looks to be Annie and her family. You give a slight smile, she looks so happy in the photos. You see no sign of Annie.

   You meet Hoodie at the foot of a stairwell. It probably leads up to her room. "This stairwell leads up to Annie's room," called it. You and Hoodie walk up the steps, being as quiet as humanly possible. You both see two doors "Her door is the left one" Hoodie states nonchalantly. You silently step towards the eggshell white door. You take a deep breath, and roughly shove the door open. Bat in hand, you speedwalk into the room, Hoodie right behind you. 

   You see Annie sitting at a desk with a monitor on it. She flinches into her chair and whips her head at you and Hoodie. "W-who are you, and what are you doung in my house?" Annie gets up from her chair and stumbles backwards a bit. "You know too much, we can't have that, we know what you know." Hoodie states reaching for the handgun in his hoodie pocket. 

   "S-STAY BACK", Annie shouts, pulling a meat cleaver from under her pillow. You chuckle lowly, "Do you really think we're afraid of you, Annie?" You seer, she gives you a look of shock and horror. "How do you know my name?" She questions, you laugh in her face. "Oh dear Annie, we know every little thing about you~" you laugh and step towards her menacingly. She stumbles backwards and falls on her butt, she scoots as far away from you until her back hits her bed. 

   You tilt your head to the right, signaling Hoodie to go get her files. You slowly and menacingly step towards Annie, every step you take your bat hits the floor with a solid 'thunk'. Your standing toe to toe with Annie's shaking form, you raise your bat. "P-please don't." She whimpers, her arms blocking her face. You chuckle and get ready to swing the bat.

   "Too late, sweetheart." You say as you bring the bat down as hard as you can onto her head. Blood spews all over everything. Annie lets out a scream as you bring down your bat once more on her head. She lets out a gurgle as blood drips down from her bashed in skull, out her nose, and her mouth. Hit her with your bat right in her temple to make sure she's dead. Once you know she's dead, you lean on your bat, and try to wipe spewed blood off your s/t face. 

   "You got the files?" You turn to Hoodie, he holds up a thick manilla folder. "Ok, let's go." You say, as you start to navigate to the front door, Hoodie follows in suit. You both find your way out of the house, and take a trail through the forest to get to the van, so you won't get noticed. You finally get to the dirty white van and you hop into yhe passenger side. 

   Almost as soon as you both get on the road, you pass out. Who knew bludgeoning someone to death with a bat could knock the energy out of you. When Hoodie sees you passed out, he smiles and chuckles softly. It's normal for a new proxy to clonk out after their first mission. 

   Once you and Hoodie got home, it was about 5:30 pm (17:30). Hoodie gently shakes you awake. "Y/n, you gotta get up, we're home now." He whispers gently to your sleeping form. You stir and slightly open your eyes, you blink and sit up straight. You yawn and stretch a bit. "How long was I out for?" "About 45 minutes." Hoodie informs, you nod, grabing your bat and getting out of the van. 

   You and Hoodie proceed to walk back to the mansion. "Hey kid, you did a great job today, I'm proud of you." You smile, still sleepy and out of it. "Thanks dad." Hoodie stops in his tracks, you turn back and let what you said sink in. "UH, I meant thanks Hoods, eheheh." You say and speedwalk as fast as you can to the mansion. 

  As soon as you enter the mansion you haul ass to your room. You shut the door and run into your bathroom. You sit in the toilet seat, trying not to hyperventilate as you flip your shit. You just called Hoodie dad, you're royaly fucked. You start toncry a little before you hear a knock on your door. You stop everything you're doing.

   "Y/n, please come out, I need to talk to you." You jear Hoodie's soft voice call from your door. You sigh, fuck it. You get up and trudge to the door. Your shaking hand grips the knob and turns it slowly. Your door creaks open to reveal Hoodie. "I'm so sorry for what I said I didn't mean to say  it out loud I don't want you to think of me any less and I would like to forget this ever happened." You spew out, flinching back when you're finished. Hoodie frowns underneath his mask and puts a hand on your tense shoulder. 

   "It's ok Y/n, I never knew you thought of me that way, but, It's okay." He almost whispers. You start to shake again, Hoodie sees this and engulfs you in a hug. He gently rocks you back and forth as you let out muffled sobs of shame. "It's okay honey I'm here, I'm here." 

   "Love is just a history that they may prove, and when you're gone, I'll tell them my religions"

[diazevan]

v. gunpoint 

This one is pretty long (4.8k) and is easier to read on AO3.  This work was inspired by an episode of the X-Files. (Monday, 6x14)

Warnings: Shooting. Temporary Major Character Death. Descriptions of a dead body.

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

Tony cradled Peter in his arms, he brushed his fingers across his cold cheek and muttered soft promises as he slowly rocked back and forth. He knew he was already gone but he couldn’t let his heart go there. Peter was different. They could save him. Bring him back. They had too. He couldn’t die like this. 

They’d only gone into the bank to deposit May’s paycheque that wasn’t a hard job.  It’s a normal day-to-day task. A trip to the bank.  You wait in line, do what you came for, and leave. It’s boring, it’s a part of life.  Tony couldn’t remember how they got here. He was dazed. The world around him didn’t make any sense. The shooter’s name was Jack. He had a gun and a bomb. What he wanted was self-explanatory but it hadn’t gone according to plan. He wanted to get the money and get out before the cops arrived. Peter got in his way and paid the price for that act of heroism. Tony wasn’t quick enough. He didn’t save him. “We’re gonna be alright, kid....” He muttered softly as he brushed a hand through Peter’s curls, “You and I. We’re gonna be okay.” He leaned down, pressing a kiss against his forehead, “You’ll see.” “Stop talking.” Jack threatened, pointing his gun towards Tony. “My kid is bleeding out, Jack!” Tony bellowed, “You can’t tell me what to do.” “Yes, I can…” Jack hissed, “I’m in charge.” “You’re in charge…” Tony nodded, “So, what are you gonna do now?” “Walk out of here.” He shrugged, “They won’t shoot me.” He gestured to the bomb strapped around his front, “Not with this.”  “They don’t know you have the bomb.” Tony told him, “They can’t see you! So, they don’t know.” “They do.” Jack said, through gritted teeth, “They do know.” The front door crashed open, and a team of police stormed in, guns blazing, “No!” Tony screamed, he pulled Peter closer to his chest, as Jack flipped the switch and they were enveloped in a flash of white. 

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

Tony burst awake, he leaned forward as he let out an exasperated sigh, he locked his hand in his hair. He was sitting in the backseat of his car. Shit, he couldn’t remember the last time he fell asleep like that, because he never did. 

When he slept, if he did at all, it was either in bed with Pepper or on the couch with his kids.  If he was falling asleep in the car, then he was really overdoing it.  He felt someone prodding him in the arm. He looked up. Peter was the culprit. The kid was staring at him, with wide-eyes, and a mischievous grin, “You having fun?” Tony asked, raising one eyebrow.  Peter snorted as he stopped poking him, “You’re so old.”  “What did you just say?” Peter’s smile grew wider, “So, you’re nodding off in the car and you’re going deaf too?”

“Kid, you’re not too old to be grounded, you know?” Tony leaned forward, tapping the back of Happy’s chair, “Pull over here, please Hap. We can walk.” “Sure thing, boss.” Happy pulled the car up on the curb, Peter jumped out first, “Thanks, Happy!” “No problem, kid.” Tony playfully nudged Happy’s arm with his fist, “You’re the best, Hap.” He climbed out and closed the door. Happy sped off like there was no tomorrow. Tony turned, wrapping an arm around Peter’s shoulders, as they headed down the street, “Why’s he not coming with us?” Peter asked. “He’s got a date…” Tony bounced his eyebrows up, “With May, remember?” “Uh, uh.” Peter squirmed away and plugged his ears with his fingers, “Shut up, shut up, shut up! That’s so wrong.” “Wrong?” Tony scoffed, “You already call him ‘Uncle’ Happy.” “Because Morgan does!” Peter exclaimed, holding out his arms to amplify his point, “It’s not an excuse to date my aunt…” He stuck out his tongue, “Eh, gross.” “They’re happy together.” A look of betrayal etched over Peter’s face, “Why would you say that?” “Okay, I’ll stop.” Tony buried his hand in his back pocket and pulled out one of his cards, he slapped it into Peter’s palm, “Here. You pick up lunch, I’m gonna grab a paper.” “Wow.” Peter backed away, “You’re so old.” Tony narrowed his eyes, “Watch it.” Peter skipped away, chuckling as he went. Tony started to walk over toward the newspaper stand but was stopped when a firm hand wrapped around his wrist, stealing his attention, “Stark.” An unknown man muttered quietly. Tony snatched his wrist back. The man looked like he was sleeping rough, and Tony felt guilty for pulling his hand away when the poor guy probably only wanted a few dollars. However, for Tony, being defensive, was an occupational hazard. “Yes?” “You know me..” The guy stuttered, “Well, you should. Um, uh, I’m David.” He looked over his shoulder, like he was afraid of something, “You need to go home.” Tony stifled a laugh, “Pardon?” “Go home, now.” David pleaded, “Don’t go to the bank. Grab your son, and come back tomorrow instead.” Tony’s heart leapt up into his throat, “How…” The public knew about Peter, but only in a professional capacity. The world thought he was simply Tony’s intern. Tony had only recently entered a co-adoption with May, but that wasn’t being made public for another week, “How do you know about Peter?” “You adopted him.” “Yes, but that’s not public until next week.” Tony hissed, “So, I’ll ask again, how do you know that?” “Just trust me.” David didn’t falter, he stood strong in his plea, “Don’t go to the bank.” He hurried away, leaving Tony with more questions than answers. Peter walked over, holding onto a singular hot dog, he’d already scoffed his own, “Who was that?” “No idea.” Tony said, Peter held out the hot dog, “You eat it, I’m not that hungry.” “Uh...okay.” Peter turned, “Come on, I’ve gotta deposit May’s cheque before she kills me.” 

Tony walked beside him, “Let’s use an ATM.” He didn’t believe David’s warning but he wanted to be cautious, “The banks gonna be rammed.” Peter tried to answer but his mouth was full, he’d demolished the hot dog like he hadn’t eaten in years. This morning, he had two stacks of pancakes that Pepper made. The kid’s metabolism was truly insane, “Don’t talk with your mouth full.” They turned the corner towards the ATM, Peter pulled the cheque out of his backpack and leaned over, pressing the side of his machine, “Eh. Out of service.” He groaned, “I thought tech would be better in 2024. Guess not.” Tony looked over his shoulder, he knew there was another machine close by,  “We can see if the one around-- “ When he turned back, Peter was gone, “Kid?” “I’ll be quick!” Peter called back, he was heading up the steps, into the bank.  Tony felt dread swallow him whole as he charged after him. “Peter!” He shouted, urgently, but with his voice low.  Peter was waiting at the back of a queue, Tony stopped beside him, “Why are you being so weird?” Peter asked, tilting his head to his shoulder. “Weird?” Tony’s voice involuntary went high-pitched, “I’m not being weird.” “Yes, you are.” Tony cleared his throat, “I’m not.” “So just old, then.” Tony rolled his eyes, “No.” Peter squinted, “...Senile?” “Kid…” Tony was about to mock him in retaliation but Peter’s smile dropped, and the colour drained from his cheeks, as he frantically started looking around the room, “Hey, Peter, what’s wrong?” Peter looked at him, his eyes widened in alarm, “Are you okay?” Peter shook his head. “Customers, face down!” A man bellowed from beside them. He was holding a gun up, waving it around, with an inexperienced trembling hand. Some of the customers screamed, while others muttered under their breath, they all complied, getting down onto the floor, “You know what this is!” He was wearing a dark green parker, it was zipped up to the top. It was June, so it didn’t take Tony long to work out what he had hidden under there.  Tony pushed Peter’s shoulder, “Get down, kid.” Peter listened, for once, he got down on his front, leaning his head to the side to watch on. Making sure he was ready to jump in if it came to it. Tony stayed on his feet, he crushed his panic button on his watch. Alarmingly, it didn’t work. It failed. That was impossible unless this shooter was ridiculously clever and had a way to jam the network. “Shit.” Tony dropped to his knees and lay down beside Peter.  Peter tapped his fingers on the floor in morse code. S-P-I-D-E-R-M-A-N. Tony shook his head in response, Peter nodded.  “Money, in the bags now!” The guy screamed, “No alarms!”  Tony flinched as the robber’s footsteps got closer to them. From now on, Tony would always have his nanotech suit prepared. Ever since, he retired, he never brought it out. In light of celebration, he forgot that the world was still such a dark place.  “Stark.” The man roared cheerfully, he reached down, grabbing hold of Tony’s shoulder in an unforgiving grip and pulling him to his feet. He reached over, pressing his fingers into Tony’s cheeks, holding his face in his hand, “I’ve hit the jack box today, haven’t I?” “Have you?” Tony mumbled. The man released his cheeks, and Tony extended his jaw to numb the sting. “You’re retired.” The man brushed down Tony’s jacket, “No suit with you, and I’ve jammed the signals.” “Yes.” Tony raised his eyebrow, “Well done, not many people can jam my tech. I’d say almost no one. Who helped you with that?” “Like I’d tell you.” Tony turned his eyes to the side, Peter hadn’t moved yet, but he knew as soon as the man made the wrong move, the teen would be up on his feet in no time, “Okay, buddy. I’ll give you whatever you want if you let everyone go first.” The man bent down and grabbed Peter’s arm, dragging him up onto his feet, “What are you doing? “He with you?” He barked. Tony knew there were two ways to play this. The man wanted to use Peter as leverage, as a bargaining chip to get what he wanted. Tears filled Tony’s eyes, as he shook his head. The guy sneered, “Liar.” He locked an arm around Peter’s chest, and pressed the barrel of his gun against Peter’s temple, Tony’s stomach flipped, and he had to bite down on his lip, “You’re gonna listen to me, or the kid gets it, you hear me?” “Okay, okay.” Tony held up his hands in surrender, “I’m listening.”  Tony didn’t like how calm Peter was. He was almost emotionless. It hurt to admit that seeing his kid, straight-faced, unafraid of a literal gun held against his head, was worse than the day he’d disappeared, begging to be saved. This was either a bravado, or Peter wasn’t scared to die anymore.  Peter grabbed the man’s wrist and with an effortless swing, threw him over his shoulder, down onto the ground. Tony let out a loud squeak; when Peter wasn’t in the suit, he often forgot how strong he was. “Come on, kid.” He beckoned, holding out his hand.  Peter leapt over the man, who was gagging as he forced air back into his shocked lungs. Peter looked dazed like he hadn’t expected that he could do that. It was Peter’s hazed mind, that stopped him from seeing what happened next. The man grabbed his ankle, and Peter stumbled. Tony leapt forward, reaching out, ready to ball his hand around Peter’s backpack to pull him to safety.  It was too late. The man pulled the trigger, and the bullet hit Peter’s chest, at close range. “Peter!” Tony slid over on his knees, catching Peter in his arms, as he crumbled to the ground. “Hey, hey.” He cried out frantically, as he brushed his fingers against Peter’s cheek. Peter didn’t speak or even mummer. His eyes were half-open, and he kept blinking, slowly. He wasn’t with it, he was lifelessly staring down, as he desperately gasped for air, “Kid?” Tony pressed his hand against the wound, his throat cracked as blood covered his palm, “Kid, look at me, please.”  The man got back onto his feet, cocking his gun, holding it in Tony’s direction.  Tony wanted to kill him but knew he had a duty. An oath Peter had taught him when they first met. When you can do the things that I can, but you don't...and then the bad things happen...they happen because of you. Tony had two jobs, keep Peter alive, and save everyone else in that room. He wasn’t going to do that with violence. Tony looked up, “So, what’s your name?” He asked as he stroked his fingers through Peter’s hair, “I’ve gotta call you something.” “Jack.” “Okay, Jack.” Tony spoke gently as if he was talking to a rebellious child, “He’s still alive but I’ve gotta get him out of here. You don’t wanna be a killer, do you? You just need cash.” Jack gritted his teeth, “You know nothing about needing cash.” “Perhaps not. But I can help you, if let me save my kid, please.” He pleaded, blinking tears away as he rocked forward. Jack said nothing. “Did you blip, Jack?” “Yes.” “And life is different now, isn’t it?” He asked, “Everything feels wrong. Out of place.” Jack stepped forward, shaking his gun, “You don’t know what it’s like!” “This is Peter.” Tony said hastily, as he pressed his fingers against Peter’s neck, “He’s my kid. He blipped, and I...I only just got him back. I don’t wanna lose him again.” He choked on a sob, “Have you got someone you love? Someone you can’t lose.” “My best friend.” “Best friend, hey? I’ve got two of those, James Rhodes and Happy Hogan.” He smiled falsely, to give Jack a sense of security, “They’re great. I bet your friend is great too. Would he be happy…” He trailed off, “..If he knew you were doing this?” “I’m doing this for him.” Jack spat, “He needs…” “Help. I can help him.” Tony promised, “If you let everyone go.” “No!” Jack unzipped his parker, revealing the bomb strapped around his front, “No one leaves! “Okay, okay.” Tony strained as he went back to threading his fingers through Peter’s hair. “Peter’s only seventeen, and he’s got a best friend too, Ned, who loves him very much.” He explained, “You understand that, don’t you, Jack? How much you love your best friend?” Jack jumped around, throwing a tantrum. Tony had obviously hit a nerve, “Shut up!” “Tony…” Peter choked out. An invisible weight hit Tony’s chest, stealing his breath, as he looked down at his kid, “Hey, baby. You’re alright.” A gut-wrenching gargle escaped passed Peter’s lips as Tony bounced him, back and forth, “Pete?” Peter’s eyes rolled back, and he grew limp in Tony’s grip, “Kid?”  At first, Peter’s breathing was unrhythmic and violent, then his breaths grew longer, but further between. The violence quickly slipped away, replaced by two peaceful breaths, and then, there was only silence. “Peter?” Tony whimpered, he cupped his cheek, “Please don’t do this to me, bud.” He brushed his fingers through Peter’s curls, “We’re gonna be alright, kid...You and I. We’re gonna be okay.” He pressed a kiss against his forehead, “You’ll see.” “Stop talking.” Jack spat. “My kid is bleeding out, Jack! Don’t you fucking tell me what to do.”  “I’m in charge!” “You’re in charge…” Tony shouted, “So, what are you gonna do now then?” “Walk out of here. They won’t shoot me.”  “They don’t know you have the bomb! And you’ve jammed the signals, so they can’t call! They don’t know what your plan is!” “They do. They do know.” The front door crashed open, and a team of police stormed in, guns blazing. Jack flipped the switch, and Tony welcomed the darkness that followed. 

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

Tony shot awake, gasping for air. He was in the car on the way into town, with Happy and Peter. Yeah, he was seriously overdoing it lately. “Are you okay?” Peter queried, nudging Tony’s shoulder, with concern reflected in his eyes.  “Yeah…” Tony nodded, “I’m fine.” Peter snorted a laugh, “You’re so….” His face crumpled, and he dotted his eyes to the floor. “What?” “Sorry…” Peter chuckled, “...That was weird.” “What was?” “I don’t know.” Peter shrugged, “Just a sense of Déjà vu.” “I get you, kid.” Happy commented, “Every time I drive you two around it’s a sense of Déjà vu.” “Very funny, Hap.” Tony said, monotone, “Pull over here, please. We can walk.” “Sure thing.” Happy pulled up onto the curb. “Thanks, Happy!” Peter leapt out of the car, Tony followed swiftly behind. Peter let out a gentle coo and skipped over to a dog that had been left tied to a lamppost outside a newsagent, “Aw, hello. What’s your name?” He asked as he knelt, the dog jumped up, greeting Peter excitedly.  “Stark.” A man muttered as he tapped Tony’s shoulder. “Do I know you?” The question sounded foreign in Tony’s mouth because he did know him, he just didn’t know why.  “No.” The man sighed, “Whatever you do, don’t let your son go into the bank today.” He hurried away, as quickly as he appeared, “What?” How did he know that Peter was his son? That wasn’t public knowledge yet, “Hey!” “Who was that?” Peter asked, reappearing at his side. “I don’t know.” Tony turned, and unzipped Peter’s backpack, taking out May’s cheque. “What are you doing?” Peter asked as Tony zipped the bag back up.  “You go and get lunch.” Tony handed over his card, “I’ll deposit this and meet you outside.” Peter bounced back on his heel, “Cool beans.”  “Cool, what now?” Tony asked as Peter skipped away, “Huh, teenagers.” Tony cautiously walked up the stairs into the bank. He didn’t know why he was on edge but something was happening, something he couldn’t explain. Peter was right, it felt like Déjà vu. Tony joined the back of the queue and his mind turned to the man outside. How did he know Peter was his son? And why didn’t he want Peter to go into the bank? Why did Tony recognize him? Nothing was making any sense. “Everyone on the floor now!” A man ordered from behind. He had a gun, he was inexperiencedly waving it around. He had a bomb too, Tony could tell by the parker he was wearing.“You know what this is!”Tony wasn’t shocked, not as much as he should be. He knew this was going to happen, how did he know that? “Shit.” Tony cursed under his breath when he realised his panic button didn’t work. “Stark?” The man sneered, he strode over, keeping the gun held up. “If I knew you were here, I wouldn’t have done this.” He gestured to the room, civilians were down on the ground, while the bankers were stood, waiting to be ordered around. “You’ve got me.” Tony told him, “Why don’t you and I get out of here? I can give you everything you want if you let all these people go.” “No.”

“I’m offering you...anything you want,” Tony said. The man didn’t react, “What’s your name?”

“Jack.” “Okay, Jack. What do you want?” Jack raised his eyebrows, and grinned, “I think you know.” “Money? Of course.” Tony clapped his hands together, “Let everyone go, and we can talk.” Jack stepped back, “What is that?” He gestured to Tony’s prosthetic arm with his gun. “This.” Tony pulled the sleeve down. Jack recoiled. Tony knew why, the arm was painted the same colour as the Iron Man armour, it would look pretty intimidating to a criminal.  “Take it off!” Jack barked. “I can’t.  It’s not part of a suit. It’s a prosthetic arm.” Tony explained, “I lost it in the final battle. Do you know that? And my kid’s designed it, that’s why it looks like this. It’s harmless.”

“Take--” The door swung open, and Peter walked in, holding a paper bag with their lunch in. He had his earplugs in, he used them to drown out sounds when he was experiencing sensory overload. It meant that his fight or flight reflect was dampened, he hadn’t sensed the danger when he entered. Tony leapt forward in an attempt to disarm Jack, but he was too late. Jack pulled the trigger.  Tony heard Peter’s lifeless body hit the floor before he turned to see, “Peter…”  Peter was curled up on the floor, his lifeless eyes stared forward. Blood poured from underneath his head. Tony pressed his arm to his mouth as he retched, “Peter!”  Jack turned back, wide-eyed, “What?” Tony stumbled over to where Peter lay. “No.” Tony looked over his shoulder as Jack unzipped his jacket to reveal the bomb underneath. “He’s got a bomb..” Tony muttered like a mantra, “He’s got a bomb, he’s got a bomb.” Jack flipped the switch.

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

Tony jumped awake. He was safe, in the back of his car, with Happy and Peter, “Woah, Mr. Stark.” Peter held out his hand grabbing his shoulder, “You okay? You fell asleep. You know, like an old man.” “Yeah, I guess I did.” He rubbed his temple, “Wow, I’m overdoing it.” He tapped the back of Happy’s chair, “Pull over here, Hap. We can walk.” “Okay, Boss.” Happy pulled over. Peter opened the door, and bounced out, “Thanks, Happy! See you later.” “See you, kid.” Tony jumped out, he stopped Peter by placing a hand on his shoulder. He quickly unzipped Peter’s backpack and took out May’s cheque. Peter turned around, with a raised eyebrow, “I’ll take this to the bank. You go and save us a table at McDonald's.” “...Alright.” Peter turned and hurried away.  Tony headed over towards the bank, a man reached out, grabbing his arm, “Stark.” “It’s you.” Why did he say that? He’d never met this man before, or had he? The man’s jaw dropped, “You know me?” “I…” Tony trailed off, “...Think so. Don’t know why though.” “I’m David.” He introduced as he released Tony’s arm “We do know each other, we’ve spoken every day, for the past four-hundred-and-thirty-six days.” He explained, “This day. Today. It’s never tomorrow. It’s always today.” He pointed over to the bank, “You and Peter go into the bank every time, and you both die. My best friend, Jack, he kills you. Every time. No matter what I say. Sometimes you listen, but you go in anyway. Play hero. Other times, you’ve told me to beat it.” Tony’s forehead creased, “How can I trust you? You could be making this all up.” “But you know me.” David told him, “It’s getting inside your head like it’s in mine.” “I need proof.” “Your son.” David sighed, “Did he bring his suit with him? It’s in his backpack, right?” Tony stepped back in horror, “What?” “It’s taken me so long to figure it out.” He admitted, “Why would you adopt some random kid from Queens? I worked it out, he’s Spider-Man. You met because you’re both heroes.” Tony’s blood boiled, “If you ever lay…” He couldn’t tell if this man was truly trying to help him, or if he was threatening Peter. He knew who Peter was, that made him dangerous, right?  “I won’t.” David interrupted, “I just want this to be over.” He pointed to a car parked on the sidewalk, “I’m going to get in my car, if you want to know more, just ask.”  Tony watched him walk away. Curiosity twisted its spindly fingers around his wrist, and pulled him away, into the bank. He hovered in the doorway taking in the scene. He noticed a man, hunched over the desk, scribbling down on a piece of paper. Tony didn’t know why he knew but that was Jack.   “He’s got a bomb, he’s got a bomb, he’s got a bomb,” Tony muttered.  Faint outlines of memories Tony shouldn’t have crossed his mind, and he hurried back outside, scrambling for his phone.   “Tony? What’s up?” Peter answered with his usual exuberance “Listen to me, kid.” Tony said, urgently, “This isn’t gonna make any sense but I need you to put your suit on." “What, why?” “Just listen, please. Put the suit on. On the road Happy dropped us off on, there’s an old car...a Volvo, I think. It’s rusty, looks like it’s falling apart. There’s a guy in there, grab him, and bring him to the bank with you.” “I don’t…” Peter blurted, “...understand.” “Just do it, okay?” Tony pleaded, “He’ll know what it’s about.” “Okay, I’ll be there as quick as I can.” He heard Peter hurrying around, “Love you.” “Love you too.” Tony hung up and skipped back into the bank.  He cautiously walked over to where Jack was stood, he placed his hand on the desk, and Jack flinched, looking up at him with piercing eyes, “Jack, right? You know who I am, and I know who you are.” He started, “I don’t want anyone in here to get hurt.” He gestured to the door, “If you walk out of that door, right now, I won’t come after you. You have my word. Change your mind, you’re better than this.” “I am this.” Tony shook his head, “You don’t have to be.” “There is no other way.” Jack turned, holding up his gun, “Everybody down! Now! You know what this is!” Everyone screamed, and threw themselves to the ground, doing what he said. Tony heard the door creak open. Peter rushed in, hidden behind the Spider-Man costume, with David by his side. “Jack!” Tony called, “Ask him!” He gestured to David, “What does he think?” “David.” Jack breathed, shocked, “Get out of here, now!” “You’re hurting him, you know?” Tony barked, “Everything you’re doing. He’s lived this day, over and over again. We all have. Hundreds of times, and we all die. If you loved him...you wouldn’t keep doing this.” “Shut up.” Jack spat, “Stop...talking…” Peter shot out a web, and it attached to Jack's wrist, he tugged on him. Jack was quick, unzipping his parker to reveal the bomb. Tony held out a cautious hand, “Spider-Man, stand down.” Jack pulled on the web, dragging Peter closer, “What are you gonna do now, Spidey?” He asked, “We don’t need people like you anymore! This city needs people like me! Who fight for the people we love.” “You don’t love me, Jack…” David sighed, tears swimming in his eyes, “If you do this. You say we’re like brothers but Stark’s right...You’ve made Stark watched his kid die hundreds of times!” Peter turned, Tony couldn’t see his face past the mask, but he could imagine the horror in his eyes, “This isn’t you.”  “I’m doing this for you!” Jack screamed. David shook his head, “I don’t want you too.”  “Tough…” Jack turned his gun in Tony’s direction and pulled the trigger. David leapt in front, the bullet hit his chest and he fell to the ground, boneless. Tony hurried to his side, as Jack fell to his knees, dropping his gun. Peter webbed his hands behind his back, as Tony rolled David over, “Hey.” “This never happened before.” David choked out, his eyes rolled back, and his body stilled. Tony looked up at Peter, with teary-eyes, because he remembered. He knew he shouldn’t but he did. Every day, every hour, every second. He watched his kid die over five hundred times and that's enough to drive anyone insane.

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

Tony found Peter, out of his suit, sat on a wall, a few streets down from where everything happened. “Hey, kid.” He tugged on his shoulders dragging him into a hug. He rubbed circles against his back, “How are you doing?” “Okay.” Peter squeaked, Tony, leaned back to look him in the eye, “You?” “I’m okay too.” He hopped up onto the wall, Peter leaned against his side, holding his arm. “So, we were in a time loop?” “Yes.” Peter brushed away tears with the back of his hand, “And you figured it out?” “I think we all did….” Tony sighed, “In a way.” “Yeah, something felt off.” Peter agreed, “How long were we in it?” “About a year and a half.” “Wow.” Peter sighed, in disbelief, “How did he do it? David. How did he turn back time?” “He was inhuman.” Tony dipped his chin to his chest, “He just didn’t know it. The loop broke when he died.”  “It’s not your fault, you know?” Peter squeezed his arm as he tucked his head against his collarbone. “I know,” Tony sniffled, “You... died.” “Not really.” Peter reassured him, “I’m still here, aren’t I?” “Yeah.” Tony pressed a kiss against Peter's hair, “Let’s keep it that way, hey?”

You can follow this month of scheduled Iron Dad Angst on AO3

[coffeebruha]

Quick little fluffy sick Victor fic

The weather finally broke. Winter was here at last. My neighborhood started to become beautifully adorned with multi-colored LED lights and festive lawn displays. Though the cold chill in the air sent my spine a shiver, my heart felt warmed by the holiday spirit. I happily walked into LFG with my tote filled with goodies for my favorite Scrooge and a few for Goldman as well.

“Good morning, Penny, I see you’re in a good mood as usual,” Goldman greeted me in the elevator.

“Of course! This is my favorite time of year! Have you seen the boss man yet this morning?”

“I spoke to him on the phone earlier. He said he was running a bit late, said he had somethings to do before coming to the office. But he...”

Excellent! This will give me enough time to prepare my surprise for Victor. Goldman noticed the sparkle in my eye become brighter and changed whatever he was going to say next.

“No. No, no, no, no! I know that look! Whatever you’re planning cut it out! I really don’t want to poke the bear today, Penny!”

“Oh, come on, Goldie! Where is your holiday spirit,” I winked as I walked backwards out of the elevator.

However, instead of looking way cool, the heel of my boot caught on a dip in the tiling and suddenly I lost my balance. Goldman reached out and grabbed my arm a tired look on his face.

“Lord help us,” he mumbled, while steadying me. “Fine, but you have to be out of here before he gets in!”

I laughed and rubbed the back of my neck. Goldman got settled at his desk and began immersing himself in work, sorting through different files. I smiled at him as I placed a tiny pre-lit tree on his desk.

“Thank you, Penelope. I hope for your sake and mine that the boss is in the holiday spirit too. And remember you have to be out of his office before he gets in!” Goldman smiled, as I finished draping festive garland around his desk.

I opened Victor’s office door and giggled to myself. Then, like one of Santa’s elves I danced around the room while decorating, bring a much needed pulse to the other wise cold office. Just as I was hitting the high notes to All I want for Christmas a’la the queen, Mariah, Victor walked in. I heard an exasperated sigh.

“Just what do you think you’re doing,” a deep baritone voice startled me.

I spun around and smiled.

“Ta da! I am bringing some holiday spirit to brighten up my favorite Grinch’s office.”

I was quite pleased with my handiwork. Victor’s eyes slowly examined each decoration with a hard to read expression then silently made his way to his desk. My eyes followed him looking for a hint of something, but he got right to work.

“Do...you...like it,” I finally spat out. Little to no response usually meant he liked something, but I couldn’t help feel something was off.

I studied Victor’s face. His usually well pressed appearance was not as crisp as usual. His fierce eyes were glassy and his cheeks were slightly flushed. I was so lost in my analysis that I hadn’t realized how close I got to him. I could feel heat radiating from his body.

“You’re sick,” I exclaimed.

“It’s nothing. Are you planning on gawking at me all day? I seem to recall giving a project to a certain someone to get done by next week.” He spoke without removing his eyes from his laptop, fingers flying as he responded to a few emails.

“It is in your inbox,” I said as I placed the back of my hand on his forehead.

Just as I suspected. His skin was a blaze and clammy.

“You are sick!! You’re always up my butt about taking care of myself, yet here you are with a fever!”

“This company did not get where it is today by coincidence. I don’t have time to take off.” He looked me dead in the eyes, said what he needed to say and then went back to work.

“But you could be running the risk of infecting your staff with whatever bug you have,” I protested.

Victor let out an annoyed sigh.

“I called Goldman this morning to tell him to cancel all my meetings and let everyone know that I am really busy today and not to be bothered, but it seems he forgot that part.”

A timid knock on the door broke our intense staring contest.

“Come in,” Victor growled.

“I am so sorry, sir! I told her to be done and gone by the time you got here!”

“Stop groveling. It’s fine...”

“He is sick,” I interrupted.

Goldman’s jaw dropped slightly and he looked confused and terrified, his eyes darting back and forth to me and Victor. I could tell he was unsure of what to do or say. So, before Victor’s sharp tongue could cut us both to shreds I exclaimed:

“Victor, let me take care of you today,” my voice dripping with determination as I stomped my foot on the ground.

I swear I could hear crickets and the slight squelching of Goldman’s blinking. Then,

“Fine! I know you well enough by now that once you get an idea in that thick skull of yours it is hard for you to drop it. Goldman, I will be taking a sick day. I will continue to work from home. Call me in emergency circumstances only.”

Victor grabbed his coat.

“Let’s go.”

I was super excited. Perhaps I will get to see a more vulnerable side of Victor. The CEO walked out and I gave a thumbs up to Goldman as I walked out behind Victor. The car ride was quiet enough for me to hear the rattling in his chest. A light sheen of sweat made him glow like a Greek god.

“Do you have medicine at your place,” I asked.

“No.”

“Can we stop by the store before we go home?”

Victor took a quick glance at me and the corner of his mouth curled.

“Sure.”

I zipped from isle to isle gathering all the things that brought me comfort when I get sick. Lemons, honey, NyQuil, green tea, orange juice, chicken broth, rosemary, and garlic cloves. Victor quietly and sluggishly following behind.

“Do you have a thermometer,” I asked looking up at him.

He shook his head, taking the bundle of items from my arms and carefully laid them in a cart. I ran over and grabbed a digital one. I looked over the cart once more checking things off my mental list, feeling pleased with my selections we headed to the check out.

“You know I have most of this stuff at home, dummy.”

“Well, I can use the stuff you already have and you can consider this as a replacement for what I use! I think that’s everything. Let’s go home and get you in bed!”

Victor didn’t even try hiding his grin this time. At the check out Victor was ready to pay, but I got my card in before he could even get his out. He grabbed the bags and we made our way to his car. When we got to his condo I took his coat. The heat released from his body made me gasp.

“Go get changed into some comfy clothes and get in bed! I will be there is just a second.”

He kicked out of his shiny dress shoes and into a pair of white slippers. As he got changed I began preparing my go to drink while I am sick. Hot water, half of a lemon, and two tablespoons of honey. After the drink was made I broke open the thermometer and slid a cover over the tip.

“Ahem, are you decent,” I announced, before walking in.

“Yes.”

His usual strong booming voice seemed muffled. I walked in and smiled. He looked so cute all bundled up in his giant king sized bed. I sat next to him and gestured him to place the thermometer under his tongue. He obediently complied.

“101.2!! Yikes! OK this will not do! We need to break this fever. Here drink this. I am going to get you some medicine.” I tucked him in and without thinking I kissed his forehead. The heat on my lips brought me back to reality. Oh no! Should I just walk out and act like that didn’t happen. I pulled back quickly. Victor’s brows were raised, but his glossy eyes were still half lidded and followed me out of the door.

I gently slapped my blushed cheeks. What the hell was I thinking! Perhaps I should just give him his medicine and leave? But I told him I was going to take care of him. Why do I always do this stupid stuff around him? I scolded myself the entire way to get the medicine and back. I handed him the carefully measured cup of thick liquid.

He threw it back like a shot and his upper lip curled, handing me back the tiny measuring cup. I inspected it.

“Ah ah, there is still a little left.”

He sighs and took the cup downing the last little bit.

“Good boy.”

Victor raises an eyebrow.

“You’re quiet bold today.”

My cheeks burned and I opened my mouth to protest.

“I like it,” he said while rustling down farther into his blankets, cutting me off.

“Do you usually go to work when you’re sick like this?

“I don’t get sick very often, but to answer your question, yes.”

“Well not as long as I am around! If you’re not going to take care of yourself then I will have to do it for you!”

I wasn’t sure if Victor was clearing his throat or chuckling.

“You get some rest, ok?”

“Are you leaving?” There was disappointment in his voice that broke my heart.

“Of course not, silly. I will be here. I have my work laptop, so I will be just over here getting some work done in case you need anything.”

He smiled.

“Good.”

With that he closed his eyes and a few moments later his breathing evened out and his lips parted slightly. The furrow in his brow gone, he was now sleeping soundly. I smiled and patted myself on the back getting right to work. A few hours into my work, Victor started snoring and whimpering. I got up and checked on him. His brows twisted and the corners of his lips frowning deeply.

I brushed his hair away from his drenched forehead. I should get him a cold rag for his head, I thought. So that is what I did. When I came back to his room he had kicked the blankets off. He was so adorable. I wondered if this is what he was like when he was little, as I put the blanket back on him and the cold rag on his forehead I heard what he was saying.

“Ma...mom...” he whimpered.

“You miss her a lot huh? I understand. I miss my dad all the time and even more so when I am sick. But it is ok. I am here with you and I promise not to go anywhere.”

I gently kissed his cheek, but when I pulled back his eyes were blearily fixed on me.

“Dummy, keep kissing me like that and you’ll catch my cold and then we’ll both be sick.”

“Well then we we’ll just have to take care of each other then won’t we?”

“Thank you, Penny.”

I was surprised and quiet proud of myself.

“It has been a long time since I’ve had anyone care for me like this. Thank you.”

—My MC is named Penelope so I just used that name.