#WHY DID I CARVE SLURS ONTO MYSELF

[deadpogasm]

STOPPPP

[graces5169]

Title: Two pounds

Warnings: Cursing, slight angst

Word count: 3572

Summary: Sirius makes a bet with reader, if he can make her fall for him by the end of the year she owes him two pounds, if not he'll give her seventy five pounds.

Y/ns POV

"Hey love." I rolled my eyes at the voice.

Picking up my pace slightly in hopes to avoid him.

Though him being taller gave him the advantage, as seeing he was caught up with me in seconds.

"Sirius." I huffed. "Don't act so displeased to see me, you know you love me."

I scoffed making him place a hand to his chest, feigning hurt.

"So.. Hogsmeade, next week, why don't me and you go together?"

"Hmm.." I placed a hand to my chin to mimic I was considering his offer. A sudden light grew in his eyes as he believed the act.

"No." I gave a sarcastic smile before glaring his way and attempting to walk away. Though just like the last time he caught up.

"Please Y/n. You won't regret it I promise!" He begged. I wanted to laugh at him for his behavior knowing he gained his ego in ways like this. Girls begging and flirting until he finally agreed to take them out.

Though the irrational part of me couldn't help but swoon, he seemed sincere. However I knew deep down, he just wanted to get his run with me. I was just another quick fuck to him.

I couldn't help but consider his offer for real this time. If I did agree to go to Hogsmeade with him, it didn't mean I had to sleep with him. Which I wouldn't. Not on the first date anyways.

I mentally cursed myself for thinking such things.

Just a friendly date perhaps. Would there be such harm in it?

"Or..." Sirius trailed off breaking me from my idiotic thoughts.

"We could make this into a bet, friendly game if you will." He smiled sweetly.

I rolled my eyes. I knew something was up.

"Oh piss off." I slurred out and this time before having the chance to speed off, Sirius gripped gently onto my forearm.

"No! That's not what I meant." He insisted. Desperately pleading for me to forgive him with a simple look carved in his eyes.

"Fine I'll play. What's your "bet?" He beamed at me making my stupid heart (which by the way was now just begging to be torn apart) swell.

His soft but devilish eyes, his switch of a sweet smile and an enticing smirk, his intoxicating scent that reminded me of rain, was now all getting to me.

My head spun and I caught myself in the mistake of falling into his gaze.

I shook my head for a quick second as if I was resetting myself, or preparing myself to hear his words that were surely going to be meant to turn me into putty within his hands.

"If in the occasion I can make you fall for me, you will owe me two pounds, and if I can't I'll owe you seventy five." He shrugged as if it was nothing, which to be honest, to him it probably was.

My eyes widened to the size of saucers and my mouth hung open.

I tried to sputter out a response but that just resulted in me opening, then closing, then reopening my mouth again and again.

Some could say I looked like a fish on land.

"What?" I gasped.

"If I can-." I cut him off with a slap to the arm.

"No you idiot! I heard you, I mean- I don't even know what I mean but why, why would you do this?"

He rubbed his arm with a pout before showing off his signature smirk.

"I like you. If that hasn't been obvious." I shook my head in denial. "No! You don't like me you must just be confused."

He frowned slightly and made a bad attempt at hiding it. "I'm not confused about you. Not at all Y/n. Please just consider it? You won't even talk to me without finding cause to bite my head off, so why not do it while I hold money on the end of the line?"

My heart fluttered at the realization how close he was to me and how he held my shoulders within his hands.

He sent a quick smile and a wink before turning around to leave. Though before he could get away I gripped his wrist.

"How much time do you have?" I questioned, not entirely opposed to the wager.

"Say..... til the end of the year, seem fair enough?" I nodded hesitantly. I didn't know what, or why I was doing this for.

"Fine then. You've got yourself a deal Black." I nodded and stuck a hand out.

Immediately Sirius shook it.

His face held a smug look that all made me realize I'd definitely regret this.

"Starting on last name bases. You're not gonna make this easy are you Love?" I ignored the way my heart beat faster and reciprocated his smile.

"Not at all." I agreed. He nodded and ran a hand through his hair before walking off without another word.

Game on Sirius Black.

Two months later

Over the last two months, ever since the bet was placed between me and Sirius, he had started to begin a never ending streak of flirting.

I leave my dorm he's at the bottom of the girls staircase waiting to escort me to the dining hall or classes, I have a class, Sirius is always there to walk me, I have a run in with a Slytherin who passes a snide comment, Sirius is always there to stick up for me.

And alongside of all of him always being there, he has to pair it with his witty comments.

Whether that's complimenting my outfit or hair, or noting how gorgeous I look today, or telling me I'm smart and beautiful, wonderful.

You get it.

He is playing a never ending game of unfairness. Sure their were no rules or boundaries set in place but how can I not fall for him when he's always there?

It was to late to take back on the deal now, and no way would I cower out and tell him to back off even in the slightest.

He was making it impossibly harder every day, and unknowingly to him, he's always had the advantage considering my (not so tiny) crush I've had on him for, a counting of two years now.

Wherever there's Sirius there's a group of three other idiots.

The marauders as they call themselves. A popular quartet among the school which consisted of, James Potter, "Mr. Lover boy", Remus Lupin, "The kind nerd", Peter Petigrew, "The awkward blonde" and of course, Sirius Black, "The heartbreaker."

All of which had become closely acquainted with myself and I'd even considered the four my closest friends.

With Sirius following me around constantly that meant so did the marauders.

After a while I stopped minding and they even allowed me to join in on their pranks from time to time.

Remus and me constantly studied together and he'd even confided in me with as he liked to call, his "fury little problem."

James had come to me with the need for "advice" on how to get a girl, and he had totally taken, and accepted the role of playing a big brother to me.

Peter showed me his love for music and instruments, and even though he was quiet and shy he had to have hands down the best jokes within the group. He made me laugh the hardest much to the rest's dismay.

And of course. All of this came with the price of Sirius repeatedly projecting the words to "Not steal his girl from him" onto them. He had done of terrible job of hiding his jealousy whenever I'd hang out with the others.

It was honestly quite adorable to watch his pouty face complain about how he never spends time with me anymore because of his stupid friends hogging.

Despite that being an absolute lie, all of my time was spent with him, I still made extra time to hang out with him and enjoy his company.

Not that I'd ever admit he was actually good company.

Summer was approaching fast and James had invited me, Remus and Peter over to his house.

With a-lot of wasted parchment used to convince my parents to allow me to spend summer with them, they finally agreed.

Later

"Hey love." Sirius smiled and took his usual seat next to me in the dining hall.

"Hey guys." I grinned back to the four boys who oddly weren't in the common room to walk together to the dining hall per usual.

"Where were you this morning?" I finally asked.

Remus attempted to speak up but Sirius cut him off.

"Packing...." He paused. "Why? Miss me?"

I scoffed though couldn't help but feel the heat rush to my cheeks and the flush in my ears and neck.

Deciding to play along, I sent a smirk his way and got up, climbing around the table and sat directly on Remus's lap.

"No. But I did miss my favourite marauder." My voice toned as high and flirty as possible.

His stare made me shiver. Remus blushed heavily and attempted to keep himself from touching me at all, scared of the glare Sirius shot him.

I laughed which kept me from realizing Sirius had gotten up.

A loud squeal left my mouth as soon as I felt two hands on my waist lift me up and carry me off Remus.

"Moony you're dead." James chuckled through a mouthful of mashed potatoes.

Peter shot him a disgusted look and wiped the crumbs James spat onto him off his robes.

"Oops- m' Sorry." James replied, food still in his mouth.

"You think you're funny?" Sirius raised his eyebrows, his face and body way to close to mine for my liking.

"Maybe." I shrugged. My voice coming out hoarse.

"Get a room!" James whined covering his eyes along with the other two.

"Oh we will." Sirius smirked picking me back up and carrying me away.

My hands banged against his back as he threw me over his shoulder.

"Sirius put me down!" I demanded but couldn't hide the laugh that I let out. I could barely look up, but I managed and noticed the common room below us. We were walking up the stairs to the boys dormitory.

The sound of the door slamming behind us could be heard from the common room for sure.

I was thrown onto the mattress of Sirius's bed.

Eventually I propped myself up and pressed my back against the headboard and crossed my arms with a pout.

"Rude." He glared at my murmured statement and let out a dry chuckle.

"That stunt was rude. You're mine, not theirs." He whined.

My heart swelled but I ignored it. "Im not yours. The deal was you try to make me yours. So I'm still single and allowed to date whichever marauder or any other person I prefer."

I was teasing him now, purposely attempting to get on his last nerve.

"Yeah. Whatever." He muttered. "I still have another two months and I will make you mine." He smiled determined.

I couldn't help but raise a challenging eyebrow his way. "We'll see Black. Im still holding out on getting that money." I grinned playfully as he shook his head.

Scooting to the end of the bed. I stood up and walked closer and closer til we were face to face, inches apart.

"Goodnight Sirius." I grinned and pressed a kiss to his cheek. He sheepishly smiled and blushed before placing a hand over his cheek where I had kissed him.

It was within that moment I left his dorm, I allowed myself to realize that I was going to lose this bet.

Once to my own dorm, thankfully, Lilly was there.

"I lost." I whispered. Her head snapped up and she stared me in the eyes looking confused so I clarified.

"The bet between me and Sirius, I lost."

Lilly had knew of the bet since day one when we both agreed. Her being my best friend within Hogwarts, I told her immediately afterwards.

She had to have been the only person who knew of my crush on Sirius.

"I figured." She shrugged with a teasing smile.

With a huff of frustration I sat next to her on her bed.

She wrapped her arms around me. "I love him." I whispered, more to myself than her.

"I know sweetie. I know."

The fear was rushing through my bloodstream once again. He was a player. Or at least used to be. I still was scared of trusting him but I knew I could. And I knew I would.

Within a matter of time, if he'd still have me, I'd take him in a heartbeat.

Three weeks later

"James!" The voice of who I can only assume is James's mother has all five of us looking for the voice through the crowds of people.

A hand shoots up in the air "over here!" And we all walk towards it.

As soon as James sees his mother and father he runs into there arms ands stands there for a while in their embrace holding onto them tightly.

Once James pulls back he motions towards the remaining four of us where we were now standing.

Sirius doesn't waste another second and is second to engulf the two adults into a hug.

Me, remus and Peter had all been aware of Sirius and how he was living with the Potters.

I also knew how he considered them as his own parents.

And the sight of Sirius holding onto them so tightly with a smile so bright made me grin myself.

Once Sirius stepped back, James took the opportunity to continue his introduction of us.

"Mom, Dad, These are my friends. That's Remus, and he's Peter and than she's Y/n."

The woman who I knew as Euphima, pulled Peter and Remus into hugs first while the man, Fleamont went around shaking there hands.

Once Euphima got to me she grabbed me just as tight as she did Peter and remus.

"It's so nice to meet you ma'am, I've heard so many great things about you!" I smiled politely at her.

"Please call me Euphima! It's great to meet you dear! I was surprised once James told me you'd be tagging along." I scrunched up my face in confusion. Was that supposed to be a bad thing?

"Oh... why?" I tried to keep from looking to nervous.

"We'll it's just surprising hearing how you'd voluntarily want to spend more time with them, considering it's James and Sirius." She winked and I couldn't help but laugh, which caused James and Sirius to cross there arms and feign hurt.

"They sure are a handful, though they also are fun.... Most of the time, when there not to busy being annoying."

All four of them groaned in defense and started to argue back. Ultimately proving my point.

Euphima and me giggled at there reactions before Fleamont took her previous spot in front of me and shook my hand.

"So you're the Y/n my boy is always on about?" I looked at James who gave me the same disgusted look I wore. "Not me! Him." James exclaimed and pointed down the line to Sirius who was now looking at the floor blushing hard.

"Im reserved for my lillyflower. And her only." I smirked at James and than back at Sirius who caught my eye for a quick second.

"I suppose I am sir-." He gave me a pointed look which made me stop for a second. "Fleamont." I finished to which he nodded in approval.

"Okay! Well let's get going kids. Don't want to get caught up traffic now do we?" We all agreed by silently ushering our way through the platform and running through the pillars before finding our way to their car.

The entire ride had consisted of James telling his mom the entire way about his "progress" with Lilly. Which being her best friend I knew she had feelings for him just refused to admit to him. Peter counting every yellow car we had passed out loud and making sure to tell us about every single bird we saw when passing. Remus stared out the window while humming a chorus of different songs to himself.

And Sirius and me played rock paper scissors, me winning every round. All while bickering about dumb things.

Once arrived I allowed help and helped the boys with mine and their suitcases.

"Thank you again for letting us stay." I smiled at the two.

"No problem at all dear. We love that you all can be together over break." Euphima grinned back.

James took everyone up to his room while Euphima worked on fixing dinner.

"Hey James do you have a phone I can borrow?" He nodded and pointed down the hall to where a phone rested on a table.

"Thank you." I mumbled and walked over.

Quickly dialing Lilly's number, I put the phone to my ear.

"Pick up, pick up, pick-." "Hello?" Lilly's voice interrupted my muttering.

"Lilly I need your help! I need to tell him. I can't keep this secret any longer it's driving me insane. What should I do?"

"Y/n?" "Yeah." I confirmed quickly and continued to wait for her advice.

"Okay first of all calm down. Second of all, why won't you tell him?" Sighing, I answered.

"What if he changed his mind about me? There's no guarantee he kept feelings!" I exclaimed. Panic rising up my body and word's threatening to spill over.

She laughed through the other line. "You are oblivious. The boy is infatuated with you. He stared at you like James stares at me." My mouth went agape and my cheeks began to burn pink.

"He does not!" I ensured. "So does." She promised. "Look, Y/n, do you love him?" Without a missed beat I responded, "yes." "You only have mine and the rest of the marauders word to go off of, which I know is not ideal. But the only way you'll ever be sure is if you trust us. Hand him his two pounds and leave it up to him if he wants to move forward within you're relationship or if his feelings changed."

I sighed nervously. She was right. I had only there word to believe if Sirius loved me.

"Okay." A sudden boost of adrenaline hit my veins. "Okay?" She assured. "Okay!" I replied once more, enthusiastically.

"Good luck." The smile in her tone was evident. "Just know I'm gonna be endlessly playing matchmaker for you and James if this goes well." She scoffed. "I wouldn't expect anything less."

After saying our goodbyes, I hung up.

I sprinted to the spare room I was supplied with and dug through my backpack until I found my wallet, I pulled out the two pounds and shut my door behind me.

I knocked on James's room where all the boys were and opened it once I heard the "come in."

Wordlessly I stepped in, walked up to Sirius and placed out the money to him.

Confused, he reached his hand up from where he was sat and took it.

And with that I left the room just as quickly as I entered.

:

"Holy shit!" Remus suddenly said, Peters eyes widened a second after while James and Sirius still remained clueless.

"What?" Sirius asked staring at the money before glancing back up to the door where Y/n had previously exited.

Peter and Remus glanced at each other before

falling to floor in laughter.

"The bet you idiot!" Remus sputtered out. James eyes flew wide and he joined in on the hysterical laughter.

"Oh." Sirius smiled, still slightly confused. "Oh!" His eyes widened and his mouth went agape. To say he was smiling was now an understatement, he was beaming.

His eyes twinkled with happiness. The boy was overjoyed.

Quickly, ignoring the cheers and comments the rest yelled after him he ran to Y/ns room.

:

I paced back and forth. He was taking oddly long. I checked my watch, four minutes. Was Lily wrong? Had he lost feelings? Did he-

My negative thoughts were interrupted by my door swinging open. A wave of relief washed over me as I saw the shaggy black hair of him, with a smile so bright.

I reciprocated his grin. Wasting no more time, Sirius stepped closer and closer until I was backed up into the wall.

Tentatively, he reached his hand up to my face and cupped my cheek. "You've won, Sirius Black." I whispered. "It seems I have."

Before I could speak another word, his lips crashed down onto my own and our lips began to move in sync. The kiss was slow and sweet, it was everything I could've dreamed of.

His lips came off mine and he pressed his forehead against my own. "I love you Sirius."

My eyes opened as I gauged his reaction. His smile couldn't have gotten larger.

"I love you to." "My girl." He added.

"Yours." I confirmed before leaning back up and kissing him once more.

[jawritter]

Save Me

Summary: It’s hard to be the hero, especially when no one saves you. 

Warnings: Cannon level Dean Winchester depression. Mentions and hints of drug use, Alcohol abuse and excessive drinking, language, self loathing, maybe a hint of jealous!Dean? Dean’s in a very dark place in this fic, and it’s a tear jerker. 

Paring: Dean Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 2013

A/N: This fic was based on the song Save Me, by Jelly Roll. The lyrics are in Italics. This fic was also beta’d by @miss-nerd95! Thanks so much hun! Please do not copy my work! I hope you all enjoy this one! 

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**MASTERLIST**       ***BECOME A PATREON***

Somebody save me Me from myself I've spent so long Living in hell

Dean twisted the cap off of another bottle and downed the contents of the warm alcohol quick enough to make himself a little tipsy, and that alone felt like an accomplishment. He could hear Elieen and Sam in the room just down the hall from him, and honestly, it made him sick. 

It wasn't  that he disliked Elieen. In fact, he was the one that told Sam to go for it. She knew what they did, understood their lifestyle because she herself was a hunter and if Sam had a chance at being happy, who was he to tell him otherwise. It was more than Dean himself felt he’d ever have, or even deserve. 

He supposed this was the price of being the 'hero'. The guy who saved everyone's  ass. Why couldn't he be the one getting saved for once?

Eileen’s laughter cut through the silence  of the Bunker and drifted into Dean’s room where he pulled the covers up over his head to try and block  the sound. 

He was tired of living this way, but once he got drunk enough to not feel the lonely ache in his chest, he guessed it would stop mattering then. Then he could carry on with this shit-storm of a life he’d been reduced too. People thought Hell was lonely, turns out it was pretty much the same topside too.

They say my lifestyle is bad for my health It's the only thing that seems to help All of this drinking and smoking is hopeless but feel like it's all that I need Something inside of me is broken, I hold onto anything that sets me free

“Dean, you're getting too old to drink like that, man,” Sam said from his side of the table in the library where he and Eileen had taken up residence to look for another hunt. Dean hoped they’d fucking find one because he was tired of sitting here looking at them and just twiddle  his thumbs.

His liver desperately wanted him to find something to do with himself as well, not just keep on damaging it, and seemed to be screaming at him pretty loud this morning. 

“I’m fine, Sam. I quit the hard stuff a long time ago. I just need some sleep. Come get me if you guys come up with a hunt.” 

He got up and slid the chair back with more force than needed, but he hated it when Sam tried to butt in his life and tell him what he should and shouldn’t be doing. It’s easy to say shit like that when you don’t have to wake up to a cold bed every morning. 

Dean was just like everyone else. He craved companionship that didn’t come from some one night stand he picked up at a bar. He wanted a family, hell, he wanted to have kids someday. There goes that opportunity when you're in your forties and too damn broken to even get through the night without alcohol. 

“So much for being a good father figure,” Dean snorted to himself as he flopped down on his bed, letting the silence that stood in his room carve him deeper than any torturer from Hell could conjure up, or any wound his body had ever endured. 

Dean’s eyes drifted over to the almost empty bottle of Tennessee Whiskey on his nightstand, and he let out a huff. He would never tell Sam about the dime bag he kept in the hiding place under the floorboard of Baby for when things got really bad and he knew that he should stop doing this shit to himself, but it was the only relief he seemed to get sometimes. Today seemed like one of those days.

I'm a lost cause Baby, don't waste your time on me I'm so damaged beyond repair Life has shattered my hopes and my dreams I'm a lost cause Baby, don't waste your time on me I'm so damaged beyond repair Life has shattered my hopes and my dreams

Dean picked up his phone that was lying next to him on the bed, and somehow he started to dial your number, just like he’d done a thousand times over the years. It felt like a lifetime since he’d last seen you, but he always kept your phone number and would even dial it on occasion to just hear you say “hello” before he would quickly hang up. 

But he couldn’t do that to you, he couldn’t put you in the kind of danger his life seemed to be saturated in.  Besides there was no hope for someone like him, and if he thought he was fucked up years ago when he’d first meet you on that hunt in Wichita? Well, fuck if he wasn’t more in deep shit now than he’d ever been. 

Dean was sure you’d moved on by now anyway, he wasn’t going to waste your time on him. He was a lost cause. A shattered, broken shell of the former hunter when he was 28. Now it was all an act and a brave face until he could get stoned enough to get numb to not give a damn, because Dean fucking Winchester wasn’t allowed to feel. And as a result, he never did .

What if the night sky was missing the moon? And there were no shooting stars, to use wishing on you And all of my sorrows, I just wash them down It’s the only peace I've ever found. All of this drinking and smoking is hopeless but feel like it's all that I need Something inside of me is broken, I hold onto anything that sets me free

Dean didn't stop until he was tired of driving, but it was better than being in that Bunker with the couple fucking happy in love. He found himself in probably another state, but fuck if he even knew which one, they all looked the same after so many years on the road. A joint burning slowly in one hand, a bottle of cheap whiskey in another, and his back stretched out on Baby’s sleek, black hood. Nothing out there between him and all of his past years of regret but the stars, and the moon that shined out over the body of water he was parked in front of.

He was starting to feel the effects of his self-medication, and he knew he’d end up spending the night out here-which wasn’t much of a problem for him. At least it was quiet, peaceful even. That or he was just shit-faced enough to drown out the voices in his head that were screaming at him louder than usual that he would die alone, just like his father. Chasing his demons. 

If this little bit of pot and that little bit of alcohol gave him a little earlier out without having to actually pull the trigger? Well, fuck he’d take that too. He deserved nothing less than to die stoned, drunk, and probably in his own vomit. So much for being a hero. At this point though, he was pretty positive that heroes didn’t get saved. 

When the alcohol had run out and he had to lean against a tree to take a piss, he decided that he’d go crawl in the backseat and try to sleep it off so that he could play the hero one more day. That was, if he woke up

When he had flopped across the leather seats of the only real home he’d ever known, he pulled his phone out of his pocket and dialed the number he was pretty sure he’d never forget. It rang and rang until he was just about to say fuck it, and hang up when you finally answered the phone. 

“Hello?”

Dean’s breath hitched in his throat, and he knew that he should've just hung up but for some reason, he couldn’t. He couldn’t stand the ache in his own chest any longer.

“Hello?” your voice said again as one silent tear slipped down his cheek onto the leather seat underneath him.

“Y/N, It’s Dean… I-uh, I’m sorry to call you so late.”

You could have heard a pin drop as your own heart picked up pace, your mind racing a thousand miles a minute. 

“Dean? Damn it’s been years. I thought you were dead!” you tell him in disbelief, sitting down on the concrete steps outside of your little house. His face still was a clear picture in your mind, the night he’d left you felt like it was yesterday as it was all those years ago. 

“Not dead yet, Sweetheart,”  Dean laughed almost humorlessly. It was too late to hang up now, so he could either lie to her, or he could tell the truth, he could tell her how lonely he really was and how much he regretted the day he’d left her all those years ago. “I’m-uh… I’m thinking about coming by and seeing you for a few days. It’s been a long time, and I just… God Y/N, I just really want to see you again.”

Your mouth fell open in shock. You could tell he’d been drinking by the slurred speech, but it was almost as if you could hear the cry for help in his voice. 

“You know you're always welcome here Dean. I told you years ago, and it still stands today, you can always come home.”

Dean swallowed the lump in his throat as the tears started to flow freely down his face now. “So you never moved on? No, Mr Right?” Dean tried to sound like he was joking, but honestly, he just felt like he sounded weak. Still, he had to know. 

“No Dean, I told you-it was you, and it would always be you,” you said, drying tears of your own away with the sleeve of your shirt. “I still love you, Dean, I always will. No matter how dangerous you say it is.”

Dean was about to hang up and tell you it was a mistake, but you had to go and say that. The internal battle was still raging inside of him, but dammit if he wasn’t tired of fighting it.

I'm a lost cause Baby, don't waste your time on me I'm so damaged beyond repair Life has shattered my hopes and my dreams I'm a lost cause Baby, don't waste your time on me I'm so damaged beyond repair Life has shattered my hopes and my dreams

You talked to Dean until he had passed out with the promise he’d see you in the morning. He told you over and over again that you should hang up on him, that you should rightfully tell him to fuck off, but you refused to. So now you stood pacing the front porch of the address you had texted to his phone last night. Praying, hoping that you’d see that beautiful black Impala that haunted your dreams pull down your driveway. 

Some of the things that he’d told you last night that he’d been through were horrific and you knew he wasn’t the same man he was all those years ago, but you also knew he still had the same soul. He saved you all those years ago, and now, it was your turn to save him. 

You didn’t breathe easily until you heard Baby’s engine purr and saw her coming down your street. It took all you had not to run to meet him halfway, and when he got out of the car, he said nothing, just wrapped his arms around you and pulled you tight into him-like you were a lifeline, and if he let you go, he’d never surface again. Little did you know that it was exactly what he felt.

“You’re home Dean,” you told him through broken sobs of your own mixed with his. 

And he was. Finally, someone decided he might just be worth saving too, and he was glad that it was you.

Forever Tags: @deanwanddamons @rvgrsbrns @bi-danvers0 @onethirstyunicorn @i-love-superhero @akshi8278 @lyss-dw79 @magssteenkamp @lemondropirwin @squirrelnotsam @hobby27 @spnbaby-67 @mrsjenniferwinchester @defenderrosetyler @screechingartisancashbailiff @thecreatiivecorner  @aflamboyanceofgays @vicmc624 @busy-bee-angel-misska @justanotherwinchester @brilovesdeanwinchester @idksupernatural @lyarr24 @amandamdiehl @love-jackles-37-blog @miraclesoflove @waywardsistershy @emoryhemsworth @dean-winchesters-gardian-angel @softsebastian @tatted-trina6​ @deanmonandnegansbitch​ @hayleeharling​   @flamencodiva​ @coldmuffinbanditshoe​ @bxbyizzy​ @rain-dance-goblin​ @itmejado​ @supernatural3002​

[galvanizedfriend]

The Wolf Outtake

This is a little outtake, if you will, of The Wolf universe. It actually fits within the post-TW2 headcanons I've been writing to keep myself happy, so somewhere in S3. It's something that would never fit within the actual story because it's pure domestic fluff. lol I wrote this for @recyclingss, baby Eve's number one fan who yells at me when the child doesn't make an appearance and who’s also the biggest cheerleader this story’s ever had. 💖

This is set much later in the future, and you will notice baby Eve is actually more of toddler Eve here, but I've removed any specific context to make it so this would fit into any point of The Wolf post S2E14, I guess.

Summary: Just random KC+baby moment in The Wolf. It's fluffy, domestic, features the child and Klaus' bitter feelings for Bayou wolves. Nobody asked for it, but I figured, after the WEEK we've all had, maybe people could use some fluff? Hope you guys enjoy it! :)

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Klaus doesn't even realize it's morning already until Caroline stirs next to him, making a lazy hum deep in her throat that pulls him out of his idle reverie. He blinks his surroundings back into focus; the fluorescence that had been filtering in through the windows last time he checked has now been replaced by warm sunlight. He didn’t even notice so much time had gone by.

Caroline rolled onto her side and was quickly lulled into blissful sleep after their late-night exertions. Klaus was distracted by the rhythmic rise and fall of her chest for a long time until his mind was ensnared by its usual culprits, thoughts trapped in the latest batch of torments and woes to take over the Mikaelsons’ lives. 

 When Caroline opens her eyes and offers him a slow smile, Klaus feels himself touch ground again.

 "'Morning," she slurs in that husky voice, still thick with sleep.

 "Good morning, sweetheart," he replies with a short grin.

 Caroline yawns as she stretches out her body under the thin sheet covering her modesty.

 "Did you sleep at all?" she asks, blinking sluggishly at him.

 "I'm well-rested, if that's what you're asking."

 "It's not." Caroline props herself up on one elbow to stare levelly at him. Some of that drowsiness in her eyes dissipates, disappointment panging through him for bringing her back to the harshness of reality so fast. This is why, sometimes, especially on those not-so-rare nights when he ends up not getting any sleep, he'd rather not stay in bed. It allows the reprieve that slumber offers Caroline to last a little while longer. "Is it about Elijah?" she inquires, a knowing look on her face.

 Klaus' eyes wander away from hers. "It's about everything," he states vaguely, but not untruthfully. 

 Caroline hums unconvinced. "While I know you don't need to sleep, I also know it spells nothing but trouble when you can’t. It’s never good when you spend the whole night thinking."

 "Well, not the whole night," he says with a suggestive leer. "I did spend a good portion of the time engaged in far more pleasant activities."

 She rolls her eyes at him, but her smile is more than a little satisfied when she leans into him. "You're not as smooth as you think, Mikaelson."

 "I beg to differ." Caroline chuckles, shifting under the sheets to press herself against his side, placing a kiss on his shoulder, then his neck, his jaw. Klaus snakes a hand around her back, pulling her closer still, feeling the familiar stirrings of heat in his underbelly. "Shall I prove my point?" he all but purrs.

 Caroline smirks against the corner of his mouth, her palm coming to rest on his chest. Klaus covers her hand with his, angling his face to take her mouth into a kiss. Her breasts pressing against his skin sends a tingle shooting through his body, and his other hand is already sliding down her spine, ready to guide her to straddle him, when lively conversation in the next room makes them pause.

 "Oh-oh," Caroline mutters. "I guess that means Mr. Wolfy is up early today."

 Klaus lets out a disappointed sigh.

 Eve doesn't cry so much when she wakes up anymore. Now, she either stays quietly in her crib until someone sees to her, or she starts playing with her toys. A social butterfly like her mother, she loves to engage in complex conversations with that hideous stuffed wolf Jackson gave her and her absolute favorite toy, the wooden knight Klaus carved for Rebekah when they were children.

 When he started to wake up to the sound of her talking to herself, he became worried, thinking maybe she was seeing things they weren't - which, in New Orleans, could mean a number of horrifying deals. But Caroline assured him that it is perfectly normal for young children to talk to inanimate objects, especially one who lives exclusively amongst adults.

 Apparently, it's good exercise for her imagination, or something.

 When Klaus is watching her, he will make a point to take part in her debates, always highlighting Mr. Knight's grandeur compared to Mr. Bog Scum. 

 "Sweetheart, this filthy dog here is the enemy. He wants to shroud you in flannel, carry you away to the swamp and bore you to sleep. Mr. Knight is here to save you from this stinky animal's claws."

 He's convinced one day she'll understand what he means.

 What’s most troublesome, however, is that Eve has started to attempt to climb out of her crib on her own. They always lock the other door to her bedroom when she's asleep, but the door connecting her room to Caroline's is always left unlocked for safety reasons. One of these days, Klaus thinks, their little wolf is going to catch mommy and daddy in very compromising positions. The idea mortifies him, especially because he and Caroline can get a tad carried away. They are a hybrid and a near-hybrid, after all. Too much energy and whatnot.

 "No rest for the wicked," Caroline speaks around a sigh before peeling away from him. Klaus watches her naked form with wistfulness as she climbs out of bed, his prospect of a lovely morning enterprise disappearing alongside the shape of her beautiful breasts as she shrugs on a fleece robe.

 Caroline vamps off to the en suite bathroom to freshen up a bit and then follows to Eve's room.

 "Good morning, sweet cheeks!" she greets their daughter sunnily. "Good morning to you, too, Mr. Wolfy!" Oh, for goodness' sake, Klaus curses inwardly. "And Mr. Knight!" Much better.

 Minutes later, Caroline returns with Eve, comfortable in fresh diapers, right on her heels, carrying Mr. Inconvenient and Mr. Knight.

 When she sees Klaus, she takes off towards the bed, her little legs getting more and more agile by the day. He pulls the sheets and covers up to his chest while she tries to hoist herself up. With ease, using just one hand, Klaus lifts her up and puts her sitting on his stomach.

 "Good morning, my littlest wolf," he says. "Where's my kiss?"

 His daughter leans down and smacks a loud kiss on his cheek, and then holds Mr. Fleabag close to him for a kiss as well. Klaus makes a face. "Not the dog, Eve."

 "Seriously?" Caroline says with a bored air about her. "You're antagonizing a stuffed animal now?"

 "This thing is a health hazard."

 "That thing has a cute little name, Mr. Wolfy, and your daughter loves him."

 "I refuse to treat a swamp dog as though it were a gentleman. Besides, I'm sure she loves Mr. Knight way more, don't you, love? Where's Mr. Hero?" She shouts something that sounds like Miter Nigh before pushing it onto Klaus' face. He cracks a proud smile at her. "There you go." He attacks her with tickles, and Eve bursts with sweet laughter.

 Caroline shakes her head at him, but he notices she's quite clearly biting back on a smile. "You're impossible."

 "I’m quite possible, I assure you," he replies smoothly. "Where are you going?" he asks when she starts tying her hair into a ponytail and taking clothes from her drawers.

 "Running with Marcel."

 "Oh, for goodness' sake," he protests. "Can you believe this, Eve? It's not even seven in the morning and your mother is willingly stepping out of the house to run. I sometimes fear she might be a psychopath."

 She scoffs loudly. "You would know, wouldn't you?" While she walks by him to go into the en suite, she slaps him lightly across the legs. "Stop telling my child that I'm a psycho, psycho."

 "How else am I supposed to explain this insanity? What kind of person runs for pleasure when there is an infinite array of far more gratifying activities to invest your energy into? Just now we were about to -"

 "Not in front of the small child, Klaus!" she chides from the bathroom.

 "She doesn't know what daddy is talking about, do you, love?" Eve giggles while he lifts her up above him, holding her like a flying superhero. "Blissfully clueless."

 Caroline steps back into the room, already in her exercise gear. Klaus lets out an infinitely despondent sigh. He would love nothing more than to get her out of those.

 "It's inappropriate conversation to have in front of the toddler," she remarks, putting on the smartwatch she bought recently to exercise with and measure her sleep patterns or whatever the bloody hell that is. She showed him all of this gizmo’s functionalities, swearing it’s the best thing ever invented by human minds. Klaus thinks it’s adorable, however incomprehensible, that someone with such close ties with the supernatural world would still be so impressed by technology. There’s literally nothing that cannot be sorted through magic. How is a watch that counts steps supposed to awe you once you’ve seen someone brought back from the dead? Caroline’s attachment to her humanity goes way beyond her empathy. "Besides, it was gonna be a quick activity because I'd go meet Marcel anyway,” she adds after a beat.

 "I can make you see stars in five minutes," he leers, a smirk growing on his face.

 Caroline whips her face at him with what is clearly an attempt at outrage but turns into something else when she can't hold her own smile. She can't deny him when his point was proved just the night before. Several times, in fact.

 "Shut up," she retorts simply. "Can you give her breakfast? I left chopped fruits in the fridge. You can wait about an hour after the bottle and give it to her as a little treat - not Fruit Loops."

 "She loves that thing."

 "Of course she does, it's pure sugar. That's exactly why we don't let her have it all the time. She needs to eat real fruits."

 Klaus rolls his eyes, sitting up in bed and putting the baby beside him. "Honestly, sweetheart, your mother sometimes..." 

 Caroline narrows her eyes at him. "You really love to make yourself out to be the cool parent, don't you?"

 "I don't have to make myself out to be anything, love. I am the parent who doesn't deny her the little joys of sugary treats. If that makes me cool, then you’ve only got yourself to blame." 

 "You're the parent who'll spoil her rotten, that’s what. Let's see how you'll feel when she's 16 and her boyfriend is climbing the balcony in her room in the middle of the night because she never learned how to take a no."

 "Oh, I would love for her suitors to climb her window in the middle of the night. It’ll be the last thing they do,” he says, smiling innocently at Eve.

 “You’ll be such a ray of sunshine when she starts dating.”

 “As per usual," he says with a bite of arrogance. "Hold the child so I can get decent, will you?"

 Caroline picks Eve up and keeps her looking firmly the other way while Klaus flashes out of bed and into the bathroom. He hears Caroline teasing her with “Where did daddy go?” and laughing at what he knows is Eve's extremely confused but astonished face. She thinks they're magicians. It's one of her favorite things, to watch as Klaus makes full use of his vampire speed to all but vanish right before her eyes. Modern technology has got nothing on him.

 There's something extremely heartwarming about his daughter's innocence. One day, she'll be old enough to understand why he can do the things he does. When that day comes, Klaus will cease to be a creature of magic and wonder, to become what he truly is: darkness made flesh. 

 He has never been ashamed of what he is, hardly ever had any qualms with filling the villain shoes, quite glad to do it, in fact, but he suddenly finds himself dreading the day when his child will figure out what it means to carry the Mikaelson name. When their family’s history will weigh down on her shoulders as it does on theirs.

 While making people cower in fear at the mere sound of his name has brought him an obscene amount of satisfaction and pride over the centuries, Klaus has to admit he's fascinated by the pure sparkle in his child's eyes. She's the first human being in a millennium who does not see even a fraction of monstrosity in him, no shadow, no taints, no mortal flaws. Not yet, anyway. All she sees is a funny man who makes her laugh and can hold her up with his finger, tells her stories about evil werewolves and keeps her safe and that's enough for her to adore him. Sometimes, he feels unworthy of such love. As though he's a fraud, deceiving his own daughter and taking advantage of her innocence.

 It still astonishes him that he should ever be capable of making something as pure and bright as that little girl. In a thousand years, Klaus Mikaelson has only ever brought misery and pain into this world. Eve is the first genuinely good thing he's ever done. Then, of course, she inherited all of that from her mother, who holds herself open for compassion and kindness even though she is herself in a symbiotic existence with her own beast. Caroline has taken control of her darkness in ways Klaus doesn't think he's ever seen a vampire as young as her do before. She truly is extraordinary, and every day he hopes, from the bottom of his withered heart, that Eve will turn out to be every inch Caroline's daughter more so than his.

 Klaus can still smell last night’s sex all over himself, so he takes a quick shower and puts on a pair of denims and a shirt and vamps back to the room again, just to surprise Eve. She gasps when he materializes next to her, flinching, and then starts laughing like a little maniac, reaching out to him. 

 "Remember," Caroline says as she lets Eve slide over to Klaus' arms. "Bottle, fruits. No Fruit Loops. I'll tell your other child you said hi."

 "A child who enjoys running has clearly learned nothing from me," he grumbles. “Hopefully I’ll do a better job with this one.” 

 “Start by not feeding her Fruit Loops,” Caroline remarks with a grin before she smacks a loud kiss on Eve's cheek and then one on his.

 When she’s gone, Klaus turns to look at his little wolf, watching him with those dark blues of hers as though she's studying her father. Sometimes he wonders if toddlers know more than they let on.

 "Do you want to do magic?"

 "Yes!" she practically screams, her face splitting with a wide, toothy grin.

 "Get ready, then. Are you ready?" She gives him an exaggerated nod. "Keep your eyes open. One, two..." And then he flashes out of the room with her.

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✨ Thanks for reading! :) If you’ve enjoyed this silly thing, please drop me a comment! Your reblogs are also much appreciated to help this reach more people. ✨

[thelittlestcheshire]

Self Para 008: I Don’t Pretend to Know the Challenges You’re Facing Word Count: 2024 words When: July 2020, in the early hours of July 19th during Ches’s birthday trip Note: I decided I’m going to queue up and post one of the old self paras I never posted, Feel free to skip it, since it’s a past event and stuff. TWs: Rape (mentioned / discussed), Anxiety Attacks, Alcoholism / Drinking, Hangovers, Vomitting, Death, suicide (not exactly but there’s a definite apathy towards the idea of death this as well so better safe than sorry), murder (her mother)

There was a loud thud as a purse landed on the suite’s floor as Ches stumbled through the front door. She knew she shouldn’t have gone to galaxy edge before closing for drinks, but she was desperate to feel good. Yet, no matter how much she drank today, she didn’t feel the happiness that tended to run through her veins. She felt worse and worse. Even the sight of the balloons in the living room from Emmett and his girlfriend didn’t bring any sort of joy.

It was her fault her mother died; she should have been here instead of Ches. And the more gifts she received, the more she thought back to why her mother was dead. If she hadn’t gone to get gifts for Jonah... it felt like the room was spinning as the thought came back. Wait, no, the room was definitely spinning.

“Hey Ches, sorry I needed to- fuck.” Zander had just come out from the living room, likely taking her up on his offer to hide, but his attempt to avoid people is forgotten by the time he reaches her. “Come on, let’s get you to bed.” There were two of him by the time he wraps an arm around her to support her. “It’s been a long night.” He starts to lead her to her bedroom, and it’s hard to keep her feet under her as they walk. But he saves her from crashing to the floor and manages to get her on the bed.

“It wasn’t a night.” She slurs at him as she rests her head against her pillow. “Sky and I, you know. Club 33.” She knew the look on his faces even through the intoxicated haze. She knew he wasn’t happy about this. “I’m okay.” She informs him, starting to sit up. The room begins to move again, and for a moment, she feels like she might just be sick. She moves quickly, barely making it to the toilet before she vomits. Zander quickly behind her to hold back her hair. “See, fine.” She gets out weakly as she flushes the toilet.

“Definitely not fine.” He disagrees as he smooths out her hair. “I’m staying with you tonight, at least until you feel better.” It’s obvious she had no say in the matter, and she doesn’t waste the energy to protest. She slowly gets up, nearly falling face-first as she attempts to reach the bathroom sink to brush her teeth. He’s there in an instant to keep her from tumbling. Perhaps he had a point. She accepts the assistance as she brushes her teeth and doesn’t fight him as he leads her back to the bed and messes with all her pillows to ensure she’s propped up on her side.

“I hate you.”  

The words just slip off her tongue. Not how she genuinely felt in the slightest. Zander doesn’t seem to take offense. However, he just runs his fingers through her hair. “I know, I know. I’m the worst. Time for you to sleep.” He whispers back to her. She frowns, but she shuts her eyes, anyway. She’s not sure how long it takes: perhaps it’s minutes, maybe it was hours, but eventually she falls asleep.

—

Opening her eyes felt like literally crawling out of a grave when she finally does wake up, the only light shining was from a phone beside her. “Turn that damn thing off. It hurts,” Ches grumbles, the man beside her laying on top of her blankets complies. “What time is it anyway?”

“4 am, give or take.”

Zander’s answer only causes her to groan as she fixes her pillows the way she likes them. “Shit. No wonder I feel like I was run over by a freight train.” She continues to adjust her pillows, settling into a comfortable spot as she rolls over onto her back.

“No, I think that’s thanks to Club 33.” Zander gives her a pointed look. How did he even know she’d gone drinking there? That she had a membership at all for that matter. “I could pay for the entirety of my college tuition with how much you’ve spent on this trip. Couldn’t I?” There was something about his tone that feels off, that despite his words, it wasn’t the Disneyland trip he was frustrated with at the moment. “You’re spiraling again. The fancy trip, the mass text about Leo, the drinking. Fuck, everything that’s occurred since you came back to Luxor. Spring break, prom, open house. What’s going on?” Of course, he’d notice things weren’t right. Her luck couldn’t get any worse, could it?

“It’s the tenth anniversary of my mother’s death.” The excuse slides off her tongue quickly. But even in the dark, she could make out the look on his face. He knew she was lying, and yet she didn’t change her tune. She couldn’t. After what happened with Lucy, she wasn’t going to tell anyone about that ever again. “Zander, that’s all there is to everything. Drop it.”

He opens his mouth as if he had something to say, but he quickly shuts up. After a few seconds where it looks like he’s not going to push, she takes a breath. But her relief is short-lived when he finally speaks. “Has anyone ever mentioned you crinkle your nose when you lie?”

“I do not!” She protests immediately. Did she really have such an obvious tell? “I’m not lying. That’s really all there is to it. Please.” The word sounds like a plea, and as she hears it, she can’t help but dread him picking up on it. She didn’t need to give him more to question when he was already treading into territory she couldn’t stand to think about. How could she discuss it again? She barely got through it with Lucy.

“Okay, I just have one more question then. Why is your father spending so much money on you lately? Taking the entire school to Disneyland, a suite just for you to hide in, him showing up to graduation. Your Club 33 membership cost could be a household’s entire annual salary, There has to be a reason he’s tossing money at you so aggressively.”

The question causes her blood to run cold. What was she supposed to say? That his father suddenly saw the error of his ways became invested in her life. The lie didn’t even seem plausible, let alone believable. The entire truth hurt too much to think about; she didn’t want to get into the reasons. The best she could offer was the truth, without any details. “He feels guilty.”

“About your mom?” Zander’s voice is so soft, and as the slight hint of guilt starts to leak into it, she can feel her heart starting to break. He was too good to her, too safe, and he doesn’t even hesitate as she moves closer to him on the bed and tries to crawl into his arms. As she starts to sob, he just accepts that right now she needed someone to hold her. “I’m sorry, Chessie. I-”

“It’s not about maman, Zan. When I was home I had to attend his dinner parties, and his VP, he-” She can’t even finish getting the words out as she starts to sob, as the panic sets in and she clings tighter to him. The thought of that evening made her wish she could carve off her skin as if it’d erase the memories of that night from her mind. The more she remembers, the harder it feels to gasp for air, and the faster she breathes as her eyes rapidly search for the nearest escape route.

“Ches, hey. It’s okay, you’re okay.” His voice is gentle as he starts stroking her hair again. For a moment, she goes completely still as she tries to remind herself this was Zander. “You’re safe, I promise. Nobody’s going to hurt you here.” She focuses on the sound of his voice as he tries to comfort her, and slowly, but surely, oxygen is easier to catch. The fear was still lingering; the urge to flee and never look back was overwhelming. “You don’t have to say anything, okay.”

“Look where not saying anything got me, Zander.” She snaps at him, the words just coming out suddenly. “He fucking raped me, and I have to- no, I’m expected to just stay quiet and move past it. Sometimes I’m not sure if the money is because my dad is upset it happened or to keep my mouth shut. You know, he was the one who made me drop the charges.” She still could remember that talk with her father. She could shut her eyes and picture it as if it was five minutes ago still, her father pacing around the living room in their penthouse looking almost as disheveled as he had at her mother’s funeral, practically begging her to let him handle this behind closed doors because he didn’t think she’d survive a trial. “Said he thought I’d kill myself if we went to trials, he handled it behind the scenes.”

“It’s out of love, either way, I think,” Zander says gently as if he’s not sure he’s supposed to speak at all. Honestly, Ches isn’t sure she wants him to talk either. The last time she’d discussed it, she hadn’t felt any better. In ways, she felt worse - guilty for burdening Lucy with something so heavy she couldn’t explain to anyone else.

“I know.”

The words are hard for her to get out, even if it’s the truth. She knew that her father loved her, even when it sometimes felt like he didn’t care nearly enough. Perhaps, in its own fucked up way, this was his way of showing he cared. Her father’s actions weren’t out of ill intent.

“I’m sorry that you’re going through this, you had a horrible year.” He wasn’t wrong about that, the more she thought about it, the more she realized seventeen had truly sucked. “But, you can’t destroy yourself in your attempts to cope. I can’t figure out how you got back without hurting yourself. That’s an issue.”

“It’s not a deal-breaker.” As Ches continues to calm down slowly, the realization she’s trembling begins to dawn on her. “I don’t care if I die, you know.”

“Well I do. Lucy and Avery do, and Elliot would be devastated, so that’s not an option, for starters. So this shit needs to stop.” Zander’s voice is firm, almost like when Logan had no other choice but to scold them. “I can’t imagine what you’re going through, but this isn’t the answer, Hailey.”

For a brief moment, she considers saying something about her first name, but she doesn’t. She was too drained to fight with him over it. The use could be tolerated for one night. “You can’t tell anyone, Zander. The only person who knows is Lucy.” She says instead as she pulls herself out of his arms to lay in bed again.

“And your therapist?”

“Doesn’t know anything either.” She shuts her eyes as she says the word. Of course, she didn’t go to her therapist about this; it felt too painful to revisit, too heavy to bring words to at times. “Just promise me, Zander.”

“I promise I won’t tell anyone.” She can feel him moving on the bed beside her to start to get up as he says the words, her arm quickly reaching out to stop him. “But, I think you need to talk to your therapist. And-”

“Okay.” She agrees. “But, can you stay? I don’t want- I can’t be alone right now. Please?” The boy stops trying to move at her confession, the admittance she needed someone there. “I think being alone is a bad idea, and I don’t think I can ask Elli to-”

“I’ll stay, as long you need me to.”

She doesn’t say anything as she moves her arm back to her side of the bed. For a moment, she wonders if he’ll question it, but soon the only noise is the sound of his phone unlocking as the two settle into a comfortable silence.

[upcloseandchaotic]

We’ll Meet Again

Sooo, surprise? I write sometimes. I don’t write a whole lot, but I figured I’d throw this out there. Enjoy <3

My first time posting a story on Tumblr, my first Y/N fic, and my first Marvel fic. Just out here trying all sorts of new things lmaooo

Disclaimer: Steve and Bucky are not my characters, but OC is. 

Characters: Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes, Y/N, and an OC. Implied Stucky x Y/N if you squint.

Triggers: Kidnapping, drugging, fighting, vomiting “Come on,” you whispered to your fiance, Thomas, as you slide your key card through the reader. The reader turns green and you giggled as you pull Thomas in behind you. He chuckles as he starts to walk around, looking at your new office.

You had just gotten a promotion at your job, making you the registrar at the Natural History Museum. You have been working towards this position for about 4 years now, so you and your fiance decided to sneak in after the museum closed to celebrate in your new office.

Thomas placed the champagne and the bag of food and supplies he had brought onto your empty desk and turned towards you, pulling you into his embrace. “Look at you, with your fancy new office,” he said, smiling softly down at you.

“Don’t forget the fancy new desk,” you add, “I paid good money for that fancy new desk.” 

“Oh yes, how could I have forgotten your giant, fancy desk.” Thomas cupped your face and gave you a quick peck, pulling back with a smile on his face. “That monster weighed a ton, I’m pretty sure I’m still sore from carrying it up the stairs here.”

You rolled your eyes and snorted. “You know, if you’re still sore you could just go home. As the doctor likes to say, rest is the best medicine. I’m sure I could drink all of this champagne by myself.” You snagged the bottle and twirled away, sending him a sly look.

“Don’t you dare!” he laughed, lunging for the champagne in your hand. You gasped quietly but twisted to avoid his attempt. This turned into a five minute game of chase around the office, around chairs, fake plants left behind by the previous owner, and various feinting attempts by both you and Thomas. Everything became silent though as the sound of footsteps started ringing in the hallway. You froze mid run, staring at the door of your office with baited breath. Thomas had stumbled but quickly recovered, crouching down behind your desk. As the footsteps got closer you dived behind your massive desk as well, ignoring Thomas silently laughing next to you.

The door opened and you and Thomas stilled, watching the guard’s flashlight flash on the wall behind you and swing around the office. You held your breath until you heard the guard’s footsteps walking away and the door close behind them. The tension you were holding in your body instantly melted away and you sagged against the desk, thanking the universe that you and Thomas were not caught. Thomas, on the other hand, was still shaking as he popped open the bottle.

“Thomas,” You hissed, listening for footsteps.

“Babe, it’s fine,” he said, rising from behind the desk after waiting to see if the guard would come back. He pulled out two champagne flutes and started to pour them. I shook my head but got up as well and started to pull out our food.

After setting up our dinner on the floor behind the desk Thomas held up his glass. “A toast to new beginnings and new possibilities.” You were a little confused but I lightly clinked my glass against his and repeated it softly.

You and Thomas ate dinner, chatting amongst yourselves as you ate. The champagne was a little dry, but did have a decent fruity flavor, so you soon found yourself having a second glass.

“This is really good,” you say as you take another sip, “Where did you get this?”

“Oh, you know, just the corner store near my place,” He offered, his eyes strangely boring into you as you put your drink down on the floor, “Is it good?”

“What do you mean? Haven’t you--” You looked towards the glass in his hand, and started to feel uneasy when you noticed that it was still full. “What’s going on?”

Thomas flipped his wrist over to glance at his watch. “Unfortunately, Y/N, you’ve got about three minutes before the drugs in this champagne knock you unconscious.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” You demanded, kicking the glass away from you as you scrambled back, horrified to feel an aftertaste on the back of your tongue and everything started to start rocking back and forth.

“Now, you could make this easier on yourself,” Thomas continued on, as if you hadn’t said anything, “I need some information, baby, and it would be easier if you would just give them to me.” He tilted his head and watched you flailed and fell to the side, still trying to push yourself away from him.

“Wha-- Thom, ” You tried to form the words on your tongue, but they all seemed to mash together as your tongue felt like it was turning into stone.

“It’s all for the greater good,” Thomas explained, crawling forwards towards you, ignoring your terrified squawk. Once he reached you he pulled you up and put you in your new office chair, spinning you to face your computer. You could feel the world spin around you and briefly closed your eyes in a desperate attempt to get it to stop. Your heart had begun to race and sweat started to form on your face and neck.

“You see, Y/N, I’m part of a big organization,” He calmly continued, tapping the start button on your desktop. You blinked blearily as the start screen came up, trying vainly to focus on what was going on. “We’ve decided that the world is a little too...reckless. Humans are so vain and fickle. They need to be controlled.”

You lean your head against the desk, nauseous due to the drugs and his evil villain speech. You weren’t even really sure why he was saying anything to you, you were only really understanding about half of what he was saying.

“We need an item in the collection here,” you heard. You leave your head against the desk but you try and focus as much as you can on what he’s saying, “and you’re going to help us retrieve it.”

“Fuh Ooh,” You slurred, opening your eyes briefly to glare at him.

“Now, baby, don’t do this. We haven’t even gotten to the part where I give you your options,” Thomas cooed, petting the back of your head softly. You go to jerk away but he just lightly grasps your neck before going back to petting it. You grunted indignantly, but decided not to push it. “As I was saying, I need the password to the system. You can either provide it to me, right now, or we can do this the hard way.”

“Nuh,” you growled, straining to push away from the desk. It worked, but you lost your balance and fell halfway out of your chair.

“Wrong answer, darling.” Thomas snarled, grabbing your shoulder and throwing you against the top of the desk. You cried out in pain and saw your vision fill with stars. “Come on now, don’t make me do this, Y/N.” You groaned but laid against the desk, breathing deeply to try and fight the drugs starting to drag you under.

“Oh no, no, no. Don’t you pass out on me now,” he chuckled. You gave a strangled scream as a knife was pulled out of somewhere and slammed into the desk right next to your face.

“Don’t worry about that, darling. It’s not a threat to you as long as you stay awake. You pass out and I’m going to have to keep you awake.”

Why did you drug me then, you thought, trying to pull yourself back from the edge of unconsciousness. Panting, you braced your forearms against the desk and pushed yourself up. Lifting your head from the desk left you dizzy, but the fresh air was starting to stave off the darkness.

“There you go, baby. I knew you could do this,” Thomas encouraged condescendingly. His tone reminded you of an owner praising their dog for sitting. He was just missing a dog biscuit. “Now, put your password in the computer.”

“Nooo,” You groaned, turning your head to where you thought he was and glaring.

Thomas clucked his tongue, fisted your hair in his hands and snapped you back, placing the knife to your throat. “You are reaching the end of my patience, Y/N. Password, now.”

You start taking shuddering breaths as you struggled to push past the nausea and hold back your fear. You were pretty sure that you were going to die in this moment, but fuck Thomas and Hydra. Even though he said you would not be harmed, you were pretty sure that none of the scenarios ended well for you; at least you could keep him away from whatever it was he wanted.

You were gearing up to tell him to fuck off once again when the door to your office exploded, allowing two giant men to run inside.

Thomas pulled you up and out of the chair, holding you against him like a human shield. Not that you were much of a shield, you thought to yourself. Your legs had as much sturdiness as cooked spaghetti, and you were starting to see two of everything.

Even though the man on the left’s face was half hidden in a rugged, but well-kept beard, you could see the fiery determination pull down his features. He took a quick look around and you watched as he evaluated the situation and the chances of this going in his favor.  In his hands was a blue, red, and white shield with a star on it. It was hard to determine the shade of gold his hair was, but you 95% sure it came to life in sunlight.

The other man’s face, on the other hand, seemed to have been carved out of ice and it had come to life. His long-ish brown hair was pulled back into a messy bun, his arctic eyes staring down the barrel of his gun and trained on Thomas, following his every move. The glistening of metal caught your eye as the moonlight seemed to reflect off what looked like the man’s metal arm.

What the hell did Thomas give me, you thought, blinking slowly a couple of times to see if you were in any way hallucinating.

“Captain America,” Thomas replied coolly, taking a second to gather you closer to him, “Asset.” You flinched as he hissed the name harshly in your ear. He pressed the knife closer to your neck and you gritted your teeth as you felt the sting of it lightly cutting into your skin.

“Copeland,” The golden haired man said, lowering his shield in front of himself to stand up straight. “Let her go.” 

“No, I don’t think I shall,” Thomas replied, taking one hand and patting your cheek fondly. You growled and turned to bite him, but that quickly turned into a whimper as he grabbed your chin and dug his fingers in. “Why would I give up my shield? As soon as I do we both know the Asset will just put a bullet between my eyes.”

“We have orders to take you in.”

“For some reason, I don’t think that the Asset cares about that order. As they say, ‘accidents do happen’.”

The man with the metal arm grunted quietly, “Can’t say it would be that much of a shame if something were to happen. But, I’ll back off with the gun if you just let her go.”

Thomas hummed, tapping the side of your cheek with his index finger, as if he was thinking about it. You closed your eyes and breathed in slowly through your nose. Your fear was making your heart race furiously. Bile started to climb up your throat, but you quickly swallowed it back;  you did not need to die because you decided to vomit on Thomas’ shoes.

“No, I think I’m going to stick with my decision.”

“You have no way out, Copeland,” Goldilocks growled, dropping down into what you assume is a fighting stance. “You’d have to go through us to get out of here, and then we have all of the entrances and exits covered with the Avengers. You will lose. Give us Y/N. Now”

“You underestimate the greatness of Hydra, Captain,” Thomas tutted, his hand dropping to reach into his pocket. He pulled something out and held it in front of you. Everything was still swirling together in your sight, but you squinted to get a better look at it.

It was a small glass ball that was filled with a glowing, rolling blue and white liquid. You felt chills run down your spine; even though it looked like something that came out of a Harry Potter movie, you were sure that whatever was contained in the ball was not good.

“What the fuck is that,” the man with the metal arm snarled, switching his gun to point at it.

“This is my Plan B,” Thomas crowed. He started throwing it up slightly in the air and catching it. As you watched you could feel the dread sitting in your gut like a pile of stones. “It was good to see you, Captain, Asset, but it is time for us to go.”

You watched, terrified, as he threw the ball up in the air and let it smash on the ground in front of the two of you. The blue mystery liquid quickly seeped out of the ball and opened up a vortex in front of you. You screamed and closed your eyes as you could feel it start to suck you in. 

Dual cries of “Y/N!” sounded around you as Thomas threw you forwards with him into the hole. The two mens’ cries faded away as quickly as they came though, because as you fell forwards into the space-color rabbit hole, the only thing you could hear was wind whipping past you and your prayers for a quick death.

After what felt like ten minutes of falling, you felt Thomas lose his grip on you and then your body crashed onto something rough, unforgiving and smelled like hot garbage. You gagged and pushed yourself up, groaning at the pain that was starting to flash through your body. Blinking rapidly to adjust to the light, you lifted your head and looked around. You could see some vague figures of people walking up ahead of you and cars on the road. You might not be sure where you were, but maybe someone would help you.

“HELP… HEL--” You cried, trying to push yourself towards the crowd. Before you could get any farther you felt someone grab the back of your hair and slammed you up against the wall. His hand was placed over your mouth in an instant, cutting off your cries.

“Not so fast, sweetheart,” Thomas snarled, “You need to shut up. Now.” 

“Hey! What’s going on!” 

Thomas and you turned your heads, watching as a short, thin blond man ran into the alley, shouting at Thomas to let you go.

“Get lost kid!” Thomas shouted. He let go of you and whipped around to face the newcomer. You cried out as you went sprawling on the pavement, your knees hitting the ground with a loud thud. You flinched and thought that that was going to hurt tomorrow.

“Leave her alone!” the guy cried, bringing fists up near his eye level. He kept switching between glaring at Thomas and looking down at you in concern.

Thomas grunted and swung at him, but the man was quicker and ducked out of the way. They kept swinging and missing between the two of them, but eventually the blond man managed to get in between you and Thomas, not allowing Thomas to get past him. Unfortunately Thomas started getting hits in, quickly driving the man up against the wall next to you. The man, knowing that there wasn’t much he could do, then started going on the defensive, blocking as many hits as he could but still fielding 75% of them.

“No!” you screamed, using the little energy you had left to start kicking at Thomas’ legs.

“You little bitch,” Thomas hissed, stepping away from the man to reach down for you. You screamed, still kicking and hitting him wherever you could reach.

“Leave them alone!” another voice called out from the mouth of the alley, shortly followed by the sound of someone running towards the three of you. The blond man seemed to get his wits about him and stood up, pushing Thomas farther away from you, towards the center of the alley. 

Before you could yell for the blonde man to run, a brunette man wearing blacks slacks and a white button up shirt came flying into view and immediately started to go after Thomas, who had fallen back and was left defenseless against the newcomer. 

You could hear the fight going on beside you but the blonde man crouched down beside you, cutting off your view of it. “Are you okay? Did he hurt you?”

You nod, closing your eyes as another wave of dizziness takes over.

“Where did he hurt you? Can you stand up?” The man’s blue eyes were soft as they scanned you over.

“I’m going to throw up,” you warned, rolling over towards the wall. He was quiet as you vomited up your dinner, pulling your hair away from your face and whispering that you were alright.

When you finished, you turned back and groaned as you pushed yourself up until you were sitting on your knees. You looked behind him and noticed that Thomas was laid flat on the ground, unconscious and the other man was wiping his bloody hands on his pants.

“You okay, Doll?” He asked, coming over to the blond man’s side and kneeling down.

You could feel your limbs start to shake and you shook your head, “I don’t feel well, but I’ll be okay in a little bit. I don’t know what’s going on, though where am I? What’s the date?”

“You’re in New York, it’s January 19th, 1935,” The blond man said softly, sending a confused glance over to the brunette.

You inhaled sharply, the date sending you reeling. Your brain was screaming that it was impossible, but the more you looked at their clothes, the people on the sidewalks and the cars driving around, the more you believed it.

You were from 2020, stuck in 1935.

“Where are you from?” The blond asked, a couple of minutes after you had gone silent.

“I’m from a city south of here, in a different state,” you whisper.

“Do you know how to get back home?”

“No… he kidnapped me. I don’t know how to get back.” At the thought of never being able to go back, you feel tears start collecting in the corner of your eyes and a lump settle in your throat.

“Don’t cry, Doll. We’ll figure it out. Until then you can stay with my family. It’ll be tight between you, her, my sister and my Pa, but we’ll make it work. We won't leave you out here,” the brunette sighed, grabbing one arm to gently pull you up. You lose your balance when you go to step forward and immediately the blond goes and supports your other side.

They start walking you out of the alley and you get onto the sidewalk before you realize something. “Thank you for helping me… but who are you?”

“I’m Steve,” the smaller blond man says, smiling up at you, “and that’s James, but we call him Bucky.”

Taglist: @what-just-happened-bro @babiiface95

[kohanayaki]

Jaime Lannister x Reader .:Fighting Chance:. Part 1

With his right hand gone, Jaime doesn't believe there's any way for him to regain his skill with the sword; his position in the Kingsguard is as good as finished. Luckily, Tyrion thinks he knows just the person to whip him back into shape- you.

Part 1   Part 2   Part 3 

You sighed softly as you swirled your second glass of wine around in your goblet, glancing around at the company you'd found yourself in. Today was but one of the many parties the royal family had planned in the weeks leading up to King Joffrey's wedding to Lady Margaery. 

At the moment you were sitting at one of the lavishly decorated tables with a group of soldiers. You were much too sober by your standards but having a fun enough time. You idly sipped at your wine and threw the occasional word in the conversation, but events like this were dull to you. Everyone around you seemed to put on such a heavy act it made you sick. You were hoping someone would come along that didn't feel so. . . hollow.

As you felt the space shift beside you, you turned to see an older man approach and sit in the empty chair next to yours- very loud and very drunk.

“Now what's a pretty little thing like you doing with a group of mutts?” he slurred, shooting you a shit-eating grin. 

Your eyes narrowed as the man slung an arm over your shoulders, his alcohol ridden breath fanning over your face and making you cringe.

“Hands off,” you said, your eyes narrowing.

The man only laughed and slid his hand down to your thigh.

“Well aren't you a feisty one? I wonder if you're the same way in the sack. Maybe I should fuck you over this table and find out-”

“Maybe you should move your fingers before you lose them,” you said, your tone deathly calm. Your words made the man recoil in shock which quickly turned into offense. 

“I beg your pardon? I am a knight of the Kingsguard,” he said incredulously. 

You forced your grimace into a sickeningly sweet smile as you turned to face him.

“Well then, with all due respect, Ser, kindly fuck off,” you said as you took another sip of your wine. 

The soldiers around you chuckled in amusement at your crass language. 

“You're going to let this little cunt push you around like that?” one of them goaded.

You didn't even take the time to acknowledge his comment but shot him a nasty glare as you cut away at the venison on your plate. 

“No. Looks like the bitch needs to be put in her place,” the man scowled, reaching for you.

His hand didn't get much farther than the edge of his plate before you grabbed it and twisted hard, pressing the blade of your dinner knife against the flesh of his wrist. 

Several of the soldiers stood immediately and drew their swords.

“Now now, what's going on here?”

You exhaled sharply through your nose as you reluctantly released your grip on the man, turning to face the unmistakable source of the voice: Joffrey Baratheon.

“A simple spat, Your Grace,” you said, putting on a smile, “Think nothing of it.”

“This crazy bitch tried to kill me!” the drunk man exclaimed.

“Well he did grab me,” you retaliated, unable to hold your tongue, “And threatened me with disgusting perverse acts. In response, I suggested he move his hand-”

“And nearly slit my wrist while doing so,” the man glared as he finished. 

“Completely warranted if you ask me,” you said under your breath.

You heard a faint chuckle from the high table and shifted your gaze to the man behind the King. He wore the golden armor and cloak of the Kingsguard, his hair matching the hue of the metal. He was handsome, that was for certain, but he seemed. . . maybe tired wasn't the right word, but maybe it was. The man looked exhausted. The hollows of his cheeks seemed sunken into the chiseled features of his face, a sort of emptiness in his dark green eyes. And yet there he was, in his golden garb before the royal family, his facade just a little less prominent than everyone else's. Something told you there was more to him. 

Meanwhile, the King looked between you and the drunk man with a sadistic glint in his eyes which settled on your form.

“Well then, it appears we have to resolve this issue somehow,” he said, “I thought this party was getting a bit dull, and I was right.”

The smile on his face was enough to send chills up your spine. It was cold and didn't quite reach his eyes, full of malicious intent. 

“You claim she attacked you and yet she claims you tried to defile her,” he said, pointing to the man and then you respectively.

The smirk on Joffrey's face turned into something wicked as he spoke his next words:

“A duel should put this to rest, should it not?”

An excited murmur spread through the crowd, the prospect of barbaric entertainment drawing their attention. Of course the King had no real intentions of settling this dispute. In truth, most women in Westeros were forced to endure far worse than you just had without anyone saying a word. The only reason he intervened at all was for his own sick pleasure.

“Will you choose a champion, Ser?” Joffrey asked the man beside you.

“I have no need” he said smugly, “I can fight my own battles, I'm not a woman.”

Hearty laughs and leers were heard in the crowd as he said that, unsheathing his sword and brandishing it drunkenly. 

“Let's have at it!” he shouted to the sky. 

Joffrey's smirk only widened as he turned to you.

“And you,” he said, clearly pleased with himself, “Since you are so bold and brave to speak out against this man, why don't you fight as your own champion?”

Laughter erupted throughout the crowd of men around you at the King's joke and your gaze darkened.

“Very well.”

The hall seemed to go silent at your words but you trudged onwards.

“I will fight for myself,” you stated confidently. 

Where there had been excitement before, there was now an air of nervousness. The man behind the King stared at you intently in something akin to disbelief but not without intrigue.

“Is she serious? She's just a woman,” you heard someone whisper.

“It was a joke, lass,” one of the soldiers called to you, “No need to get your pretty little dress dirty.”

“Don't be stupid, girl!” another shouted, “You'll get yourself killed!”

You saw the golden-haired man put a hand on the King's shoulder, a stern, warning look on his face.

“Your Grace-”

“Silence!” Joffrey seethed, slapping his hand away and successfully killing the chatter in the room, “If the girl wants her fight so badly, then so be it.” That twisted smile reappeared on his face as he acknowledged you directly, “Although I assume she'll need to arm herself first.”

A few obligated chuckles followed his statement which you quickly silenced.

“That won't be necessary, Your Grace,” you said.

You wordlessly knelt down to reach under the table where you were sitting before, gasps audible as you produced your sword in its scabbard. The head of a serpent was molded onto its hit, the intricate carvings in the thin, silver blade catching the light as you unsheathed it. 

“Valyrian steel?” you heard someone say in disbelief.

“Impossible,” Joffrey muttered, “There's only a handful of them left in Westeros.”

“Well I'm not from around here,” you said, downing the rest of your wine in one gulp and taking a step forward. The crowd parted like the red sea as you stepped into the hall's center.

The man only chuckled, twirling his blade in his hand. 

“You must have a death wish, girlie.” 

“What is your name?” you asked, feeling the familiar weight and balance of your sword in your hand. 

“Grag Brask,” he grinned cockily, “Remember it well, woman.”

“Well then, Ser Grag,” you stepped forward, a dangerous smile playing on your lips, “Are you going to stand around all day or are we going to fight?”

Joffrey seemed to recover from his initial shock, composing himself and raising his hand in the air. 

“Let the duel commence!”

Before the King had even finished his sentence Grag charged at you with a great yell, swinging his sword in a wide and predictable arc. He was a fair bit larger than you, but you knew you had the upper hand when it came to agility. You ducked under his blade with ease, promptly kicking him between his shoulder blades. He grunted in pain as he stumbled forward, one hand darting to the ground to keep himself steady as his own weight worked against him.

You wasted no time with an attack of your own, moving to strike him in the side. He narrowly blocked your attack and grunted as he felt himself be thrown even more off his center of balance. You swiftly went in for another blow, this time coming from above. Grag parried before your blade could come down on top of his head and pushed you away, putting some distance between you two.

You silently relished in his shocked and agitated expression as you twirled your sword around your wrist, looking around at the audience you'd accumulated. If it's a show they wanted, then you'd happily provide. 

Grag let out a growl, sounding much more irritated than his last, as he charged you again. You held your ground until he was less than a meter away before swiftly stepping to the side. However he surprised you by grabbing hold of your sword hand, twisting it in an attempt to disarm you. You delivered a harsh kick to his armored torso but his grip refused to loosen. 

You let out a sharp exhale as you tossed your sword from your right hand to your left, striking him in the side of his armor. Grag's eyes widened in surprise, attempting to block your swing. However he was unused to dueling anyone with a blade in their left hand and found the angle he had to reach awkward. A sharp clang! rang out in the great hall as you delivered another crippling blow to his torso, every strike sending him further and further back. 

Grag made one last feeble attempt at an offensive maneuver, aiming straight for your head. You parried the attack with your left hand easily, your body moving on its own muscle memory. You twisted your blade around his until the momentum pried it from his grasp, his sword skidding across the polished marble floor. 

He didn't have any time to react before you swept his feet from under him. He crumpled into a heap on the floor as you kicked him in the side so he was on his back. You placed your right foot on his windpipe, the point of your blade against his cheek.

“Yield,” you said.

“This isn't over,” he coughed out. 

Your eyes narrowed as you increased the pressure on his neck. He gargled pathetically as you did.

“Oh, I think it is,” you said, “I don't draw blood if it isn't needed, and it seems I didn't have to at all to beat you.” 

Your smirk widened as you leaned in closer to his face.

“Tell me, Ser Grag, have you ever been beaten by an opponent in a dress and corset?” you asked devilishly. 

Joffrey's expression was furious, clearly disappointed that you weren't in pieces on the floor. You shot an innocent smile his way. 

“Won't you call this off, Your Grace?” you asked sweetly, “This has certainly been entertaining but I'd hate to spoil a party with a death, no matter how tempting it may be.”

Joffrey looked like he was going to burst in anger at any moment, but Grag spoke before he could.

“I. . . I yield,” he said bitterly.

He gasped for air as your foot left his throat.

“Lords and ladies, the victor. . .” Joffrey glanced over to you with clear disdain as he trailed off, waiting for you.

“(Y/n), Your Grace,” you said with a smile.

The audience, once out of shock, erupted in applause. Most of them had never seen a woman fight in their lives, and taking down one of the head knights of the Kingsguard was no easy task.

Jaime watched you from the corner of the room as you curtsied playfully, sheathing your blade and brushing imaginary dirt from your dress. You fascinated him already. Your fighting style was unlike anything he'd seen in Westeros. You struck to disarm, not to kill, though there was no doubt in his mind you were capable of the latter. On top of that, you were proficient wielding a blade with your left hand. . .

He found himself glancing over at you again as you gave your gratitude to those who congratulated you. You weren't the traditional Westerosi lady, that was for sure- your words were crass, your temper hot, and yet your features were soft. Your (e/c) eyes seemed to light up as a little girl stared up at you in awe, jumping up and down as she praised your skills. Wisps of (h/c) hair had come undone from your braid in the fight and you gracefully tucked them behind your ear as you scooped up the child in your arms to ask her name.

“She could be useful,” a voice suddenly jolted Jaime from his thoughts as he looked to the side and then down at his brother. 

“When did you get here?” Jaime sighed, “And what do you mean 'useful'?”

“You saw her fight, she's no ordinary lady,” Tyrion said, “And I know you noticed her skill with her left hand. Given your current circumstances, she's an ideal teacher.”

“I don't need a teacher,” Jaime scoffed, “It's not as if my knowledge of the sword was cut off along with my hand.”

“No, but you certainly ought to learn how to connect that head of yours with your hand, because as we stand you can barely write your own name,” Tyrion countered. 

Jaime grumbled to himself, out of witty remarks in that regard.

And that's how he somehow found himself, the very next week, on a wide plateau above the water, waiting for you to arrive.

Tyrion hadn't exactly given him a choice once he confirmed these sessions with you, and the small bit of anxiety creeping up in his chest surprised him. He looked down at his left hand, clenching and unclenching it into a fist. Would he really be able to fight again? What if he completely made a fool of himself in front of you? He'd never even talked to you, your first impression was going to be him barely able to wield a blade.

He exhaled sharply as he took another deep breath in. What if there really was no helping him? He felt his gut twist, feeling conflicted. He felt like the most useless creature in Westeros at the moment, and yet the lingering trace of pride in him didn't want to reach out to anyone for help. He didn't want to be seen as useless as he felt- as everyone else said he was now. 

His head turned towards the docks as he heard footsteps approaching to see you and Tyrion. Instead of the embroidered dress he had seen you in at the party, you wore a simple pair of slacks and a flowy white shirt which you had tied at the waist. Your hair twisted around your head like a crown, the rest braided loosely to the side. Your sword rested against your hip in all its glory, and a burlap bag was slung over your shoulder.

You smiled at Jaime as you came to a stop in front of him and he felt his breath hitch in the back of his throat. Hell if you weren't beautiful. . .

None of this went unnoticed by Tyrion who looked between you two, making a point of clearing his throat before speaking up.

“Jaime, this is Lady (Y/n). Lady (Y/n), this is my brother, Jaime. Hopefully he can learn a thing or two from you.”

Jaime scowled inwardly, turning away slightly from you two.

“You flatter me, My Lord,” you chuckled, “I'm sure I'll have some things to learn from him as well.”

Tyrion nodded to you before turning on his heels and beginning to walk away. 

“Have fun,” he called over his shoulder, “And do try not to kill him, most of our family would like him back alive.” 

You grinned at his remark and turned your attention to Jaime. You had seen him a bit during your duel at the party, but you took a moment to study him more closely. His eyes appeared a brighter green in the afternoon sun, and you could see the faintest splatter of freckles across his tanned skin.

“Something you find interesting?” he asked, a small smirk playing on his lips.

“You're different than I expected,” you replied simply. 

“How so?” he asked, quirking a brow.

“I expected you to be. . . I don't know, taller? More handsome?” you said playfully.

“With two hands?” he chuckled, taking a light jab at himself. 

“Well, truth be told, I didn't know who you were when I saw you at the party,” you admitted, a bit embarrassed, “I only found out when Tyrion approached me afterwards.”

That surprised Jaime for two reasons. One, he hadn't even known that you noticed him at the party, and two, you truly didn't seem to know or care who he was.

“Like I said, I'm not from around here,” you said, going off his expression. 

“And where would that be?” Jaime questioned. 

“Wouldn't you like to know?” Your smirk widened as you stood in front of him.

“Oh, I would,” he grinned up at you, “Among other things, if you're up to sharing.”

Damn that smile. 

You forced yourself to hold your ground as you spoke.

“How about a deal? Each time you land a hit on me I'll tell you something about myself,” you grinned back. 

“You seem pretty confident that I won't be able to hit you,” Jaime said, feigning offense. 

“On the contrary,” you said, sliding your bag off your shoulder and dumping its contents onto the cobblestone. Two training swords tumbled out making Jaime look up at you.

“You're joking, right?” he scoffed, actually taking offense this time, “I haven't used a training weapon since I was nine.”

“Tell me something, Jaime Lannister,” you began, picking up one of the dulled blades, “Have you even attempted to hold a sword since you lost that hand?” 

That shut him up fairly quickly. 

“No,” he said quietly, begrudgingly picking up the weapon. 

“Let's take it slow,” you said, sensing his unease, “Although, I won't be going easy on you.”

“Wouldn't dream of it,” Jaime replied, sounding a lot more confident than he felt. Simply holding the weight of the sword upright in his left hand put strain on his wrist he hadn't felt since he was a child. It felt heavier than a sword ever had in his right, the center of its balance precariously placed.

“Defend yourself,” you instructed him, lunging at him with surprising speed. 

Jaime's eyes widened as he stumbled to block your attack, biting his lip as his wrist bent at an awkward angle to do so. You wasted no time going in for another offensive maneuver, sliding your foot in front of you and turning to strike him in his blind spot. Jaime grunted as the practice sword made contact with his ribcage and he fought to ignore the painful sensation. 

When he managed to turn to face you, you had already ducked under his arm, swiftly bringing the hilt of your sword between his shoulder blades and making him fall forward. Even as he knelt at the floor you didn't relent, and a sharp clang of metal rang through the air as he brought up his sword horizontally to block your downward attack. You really weren't kidding about going easy on him.

You backed away, letting him come to his feet but not waiting a moment more than that. You circled him like a predatory animal, observing his stance and body language. When his grip on his sword loosened slightly so he could adjust it, you sprang forward and delivered another harsh blow to his side. Jaime grit his teeth and whirled around, striking at you straight on. You avoided the attack with a simple tilt of your head, seamlessly shifting your weight to deliver a roundhouse to his gut.

Jaime reeled back as the air was knocked out of his lungs and he staggered back on the impact.

“I thought I told you to defend first,” you said, “How are you going to get the opportunity to attack if you can't avoid your opponent's?”

“I know that,” Jaime huffed, irritated, “I'm not a child, I'm the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, I know the basics of swordplay you so desperately want to reteach me.”

You lowered your sword and studied him curiously, an unreadable expression on your face.

“So that's what it is,” you sighed, “I know what you're thinking, 'How can this girl possibly be qualified to teach me? I have years of experience on her and I've managed just fine on my own until now. I've never needed any help. I'm a prodigy. If I had my right hand right now I'd be able to beat her with my eyes closed.' Well let me tell you something, Lannister, you don't have your right hand anymore, and it isn't growing back any time soon.”

You charged him again and he struggled to block you once more.

“You know you need help but you're too proud to ask for it,” you stated confidently, “And more than that, you're giving up.”

“I'm not,” he countered breathlessly. He made a half-arsed attempt to take a swing at you which you easily countered.

“It seems you already have,” you said, your eyes narrowing. 

“Why are you even here?” he snapped, “If my brother offered you gold to work with a lost cause then I'll pay you triple and you can just leave already.”

That set you off.

In one swift movement you swiped his feet out from under him, grabbing his sword out of his hand as he tumbled backwards. He cursed under his breath and was about to counter with another evasive, witty retort when he froze as you drew your real sword, pressing the blade to his chest. 

“Your brother did offer me gold,” you said, “and I told him I had no need for it. So listen up-From what I've heard, your skill with the sword was unmatched. If you want to get back to that point it's not going to be easy, and it's not going to be fun either. But if you're going to give up before you've even started, then just walk away. Don't waste your time, and don't waste mine either.”

Jaime was both taken aback and slightly turned on by your demanding tone as you stood over him. He could tell you meant every word you said, and something told him that he could trust you. 

Your expression softened slightly as you sighed and sheathed your blade, staring at the uncertain man in front of you.

“You aren't a lost cause,” you said.

His heart pounded in his ears as he stared up at you, and that's when he realized: You weren't here to laugh at him like so many others had. You weren't here for gold or a shallow round in his bed. You were here to help him become the greatest fighter in Westeros once again. He knew what you said was true, this wasn't going to be easy or fun, but he was willing to work for it. You had lit a fire under his ass. 

He wordlessly reached down for the practice sword and took up a fighting stance, and you knew something had changed in him. 

“Alright then,” you grinned widely, readying your own weapon,

“Let's do this, Jaime Lannister.

[bxthharmon]

White Butterflies, pt i. || Hvitserk Lothbrok x Reader

Words: 1768

Warnings: Arranged marriage

Summary: Y/N struggles to adapt to the world she’s been forced into, but it’s not all as bad as it seems.

A/N: This quarantine’s giving me so much time to write lmao, this was inspired by a list of old wives tales i found :)

i | ii | iii | iv | v

This story doesn’t follow the plot, so you don’t have to know the story to understand it.

Just past the settlements and huts of Kattegat, a short way over the headland, above the waterfall in the stream that ran to the next bay, there was a yew tree. Salient due to the runes and markings carved into the trunk. The tree’s roots reached and ensnared the flowing stream, knotty and tired after hundreds of years of life. The top branches were so high that some of the younger children of the town believed it to touch the sky, and the older inhabitants, however skeptical, could do nothing to disprove it. Of all places in and around Kattegat, the seats provided by the roots of the tree were your favourite place. When you had first arrived, you had felt so despaired, your God could surely never reach you here, but you had let go of Christianity, and embraced the Viking culture.

You used to believe that God could reach you anywhere, if you needed Him. But when you had needed Him most, He turned His back on you. Eventually, after a month of feeling lost and broken, you found that your prayers had turned to your new home’s Gods. You prayed to Odin for knowledge, to Freyja for help in the unknown. You prayed to Frigg for children, but mostly to Vidar, the Silent  God of Revenge. Come to think of it, every God you knew of had entered your prayers in the last month, though only some seemed to hear. You had learned the ways of Kattegat quickly, Hvitserk putting it down to the help of Freyja and Odin. but you showed no signs of being with child, understandable due to the infrequency of… opportunities. And Vidar? You hoped that he had a plan for you, because you wished, more than anything, for revenge.

You watched the water swerve around the toe of your boot, flowing quickly around the sides of the leather and continuing their journey down to the fjord. You leaned your head against the trunk of the yew, looking through the branches, but unable to see the sun through the metres of thick pines. You closed your eyes, and tried to imagine what your father would be doing now.

He would be in a meeting - the war council, probably - planning an invasion or attack. He was always planning, and he passed the habit onto you and your brothers. The eldest, Geoffrey had his kingdom and his people to look after, as the heir. Arthur would run the matters of war; planning and devising wars and battles, strategy and fighting had always been his skill, with his taste for violence. He scared you. Your only younger brother, Theodore, would also be victim to a political marriage, but he was too kind for the ruthlessness of a court life, you had always thought. Your mother would be riding, or gossiping over her embroidery with her ladies in waiting.

The needle pricked your skin, causing a sharp sting to shoot through your finger. You watched the blood form a little bead, pretty and dark against your skin, before slipping down onto your cloth. The crimson darted out, over the shiny, cream fabric before another bead joined its invasion of your cloth, the blood seeking out the threads of your embroidery, staining your stitches too, making them an ugly brown.

“Y/N!” your mother scolded, “Go clean yourself up, you’ve ruined your work, as always.” she pursed her lips, inspecting your uneven stitches, “you used to be good at this, but look, your stitches are too small and tight now, they need to be more relaxed.” she raised an eyebrow at you condescendingly, as if it was the worst thing in the world. “Go now.”

You went and washed your hand and it stopped bleeding, but looking for an excuse to leave your mother’s company, you had ventured down the halls to the Throne Room. you pushed open the huge, oak door and slipped into the vast room. You walked down the stone path to the steps, and walked up. You stood before your father’s throne, towering and strong and massive over your eight-year-old self. You touched the cold metal arm, and the uncomfortable-looking wooden seat. You went to sit down, but your oldest brother’s voice cut through the hall. “Y/N!” he called, “You can’t, Father will be angry.” he looked at you angrily, “Aren’t you meant to be with Mother? Go to her,” he frowned, “Now.”

“Are you okay?” you opened your eyes, and were greeted with the sight of Floki, crouched on the other side of the stream, staring at you.

“Forgive me, Floki, I was thinking.” you said, embarrassed, and stood up abruptly, “Is everything okay?”

“Yes,” he said, still staring at you. He hadn’t even blinked. “What were you thinking about?” 

“Well,” you shrugged, gathering your skirts and hopping over the thinnest part of the stream, “more… remembering.”

“You still think of your old life?” he asks, not unkindly, but giggled unsettlingly.

“Sometimes,” you looked at him, and he led you down the path back to your new home, “It’s still new, all of this.”

“But you still pray to your false God.” he did not look at you, but seemed accusatory.

“Rarely,” you said, feeling melancholic, “Christ has no power here, I find myself praying to your Gods.”

He spun round so quickly you almost walked into him, “Our Gods will never be yours,” he bristled, “I have seen Christians betray us too many times before.” You wondered what he referred to. “The last ended up dead, by my hand,” he continued, “So do not make false pretences by our Gods.”

“I promise you, they are not false,” you wanted to explain, but could see it would be futile, so you walked the rest of the way to Kattegat in silence. You heard a bird calling from the North, sounding like a grouse of sorts. 

The hunts were your favourite part of the summer. Your father had always insisted on your attendance, despite your mother’s protests, due to your skills in archery. You spent the best part of your summers with your brothers and cousins, learning to track and kill animals (not officially of course - it wasn’t proper.)

It always involved the smaller kills - grouse and pheasants to feed the company until the boar or stag was finally killed. These were your favourite. A few would go out and find dinner. Your well practiced archery provided most meals and food for the noblemen of the company. This particular summer - that of your fifteenth birthday - you had gone hunting for grouse with your father. It was a rare couple of hours that you spent with only the company of your horses. You always remembered those sort of times.

A bird call - a repetitive “cuckoo, cuckoo” sounding every minute or so - had come from the north. You father stopped and put his hand on your shoulder. “Your mother told me once that a bird call from the North is an omen of great tragedy,” he paused as the bird called again, “And she’s never been wrong.” 

He started his horse again, riding towards a meal.

You thought of how your cousin had died that very evening - a snake bite in the woods, and hurried on, to where Floki waited for you at the edge-most structures of the town.

“Your husband asked for your presence at dinner,” he said briskly, “I wouldn’t ask why.” 

He giggled again.

*

Loud, drunk laughter filled the hall, fires blazing and cups full. Everyone in the town seemed to be crowded into the room, but you felt removed from it all. Your husband and his brothers were spread about the room, talking and chatting with various people, while you stood in the shadows, studying the lively interactions between the vikings. You watched how they argued and laughed and talked, pure, constant passion, each in their element, doing whatever they pleased. It was such a foreign environment, You couldn’t understand how these people were so free, but how you had been so controlled in your home country.

“Darling,” you turned to face Hvitserk.

“My Prince?” you greeted, with a discreet curtsey.

“Why are you always so polite?” he was slurring slightly, but still coherent.

“I’m sorry, My Prince, in my old home, it was improper to call anyone by any name other than their title.” you explained, flustered.

“Is that what this is?” at the obvious confusion in your face, he smirked, “Your home?”

“This is where I live now, so, by definition, yes.” you thought of the place that you used to call home. You thought of your brothers, Geoffrey and Theo, always kind, and Arthur and your parents, always proper, if proper meant cruel.

“My mother said home is where the heart is.” he swayed slightly, and you held his shoulders so he couldn’t fall, “Is your heart in Kattegat?”

“My heart is long gone,” you whispered, knowing he couldn’t hear, “I don’t know where it’s gone, or how to find it…”

He looked confused, hurt even, so you looked up brightly, “Come on, Prince, you should go to bed. You’re drunk.”

“No!” he laughed, “I’m just a little happy.” 

You wrapped an arm around his waist, and he leant on you, so you struggled your way to the door, passing pleasantries with Bjorn, explaining taking him to bed, and then found yourselves in the cold air outside.

You dragged Hvitserk to your hut, and sat him down on the bed. He sat there, happily oblivious, as you pulled off his boots and belt. You went to pull his top over his head, but he stopped you. “I have a wife.” he said, you laughed.

“Oh?” you smirked, “What’s she like?”

“She’s beautiful,” you had distracted him enough to start to help him change to his nightclothes, “she’s from a Christian place, but Floki says she’s beginning to believe in our Gods. I don’t think she likes me that much, but I want us to be happy.” he sighed, and you lay him down, pulling the covers over him, before joining him in bed, “I want her to be happy. She’s really clever, you know. She speaks Frankish and English, and Latin and our language. I think she’s sad, but I don’t know how to help her.”

You realised you were crying, but were distracted from your needless embarrassment when you were pulled into his side. You fell asleep slowly, long after the party had ended and everyone in the town seemed to be slumbering. It was the most peaceful you’d felt since you’d left home.

Home.

[breaking-shadows]

Breaking Shadows

Chapter 2

The angel left promising he would return soon. He left me alone, with my grandmother very much alive and her soul intact. 

I looked at the cuckoo clock mounted on the wall. It had been intricately carved to tell the story of Hansel and Gretel. Creepy, for a witch. The devious children who ate a witch out of house and home and then murdered her for all her generosity. 

The hands read nearly four-fifteen. 

I imagined sinking into the soft mattress of my bed and curling up in the duvet, but if that happened, I’d be there for the duration. I fell asleep on the sofa, wrapped in a dressing gown, to the low hum of the TV. 

The light of breaking dawn woke me before half six.

“Officers attended the scene in Cullfield, a suburb of New York City...”

I peeled open an eyelid. The TV continued to play to itself, showing American-looking police standing by a strip of bright yellow tape. 

“...the whole town was found massacred in what eyewitnesses have described as a bloodbath.”

Bolting upright, I grappled for the remote to turn the volume up, heart hammering against my ribcage. 

“Police have appealed for witnesses and urge neighbouring towns to be vigilant. We’ll have more on this breaking story as the information comes through. Now, here’s the news wherever you are.” The opening credits rolled for the local news. 

Footsteps sounded on the floorboards above. Gran was up. She must be feeling better. I switched off the TV and raced upstairs. 

“Gran!” I called. “Gran!”

I caught her leaving my room, eyes puffy and red-ringed, skin grey. The soft grey curls framing her face were wild. She gave a gasp, sucking the air from the room and fell back against the door. 

My feet stalled on the top step. “Are you okay?”

Her mouth bobbed struggling to form words that wouldn’t come. 

“Gran?” 

“Oh my – Riley!” she crossed the few steps between us and wrapped me in her arms, the scent of lavender triggering a dormant headache. One of her hands went to my hair, pulling my head towards her shoulder. Over and over she whispered my name.

Then she pushed me away, holding me at arm’s length. Withered hands cupped my face, her thumbs making downward strokes with her thumbs. She laughed through her tears. 

“What did you want me for?”

“Are we not going to talk about this?”

Gran released my face to wipe her wet cheeks with the back of her hand, sniffing away the tears as though they’d never been. “There’s nothing to talk about, Riley. I’m  tired, I must not have recovered as much as I’d thought.”

I wanted to tell her she’d be fine, that the illness wouldn’t be rearing its ugly head again, but then she’d want to know why. Even I wasn’t proud about how I’d gone about it, but seeing Gran like this again, well enough to be on her feet or nearly tumbling from them… I’d made the right choice. 

“Once more then, what did you want me for?”

What did I want her for? “The news. On the news, there’s something about a massacre in a town on the outskirts of New York. From the sounds of it, it seems like the whole town. I didn’t know if it merited checking out. It could be a coven.”

Gran looked thoughtful. “It’s possible. I have a meeting with our coven this morning, I will raise it, contact other covens there. Even if it wasn’t a coven, something like that may require investigation. Can you remember the name of the place?”

“No, I can’t. But it must be all over the news.”

A weak smile crossed Gran’s face, the one she gave me when I wasn’t being helpful. 

“Do you need me to come?”

“Ha! Don’t think you’re getting out of your studies that easily. Talking about school, unless you get a move on, you’re going to be late.”

“Fine. Am I still okay to go out tonight?”

Gran cupped my face in her hands. “Of course, of course. Go Riley, and live.”

I took a swig from the bottle in my hand, grimacing at the bitter taste. The shaped glass knocked against my teeth. Something had been off with Gran. Yes, she’d been ill, so ill I’d made a deal with a servant of death to save her soul. But still – 

“God Riley. You’re quiet. You’re here now, you might as well enjoy it.” Kat knelt on the blanket beside me. 

I could smell it as soon as Kat sat down, the stench of stale smoke burning my nostrils. “Please tell me you haven’t been smoking,” I coughed, wafting the fumes away with my hand. 

“Of course, I haven’t,” she said before diving into her bag. She plucked out a shocking pink aerosol can and sprayed it all over herself with a few squirts in the air for good measure. “Simon insists he won’t stop though, so until Channing Tatum becomes available, I’m sticking with him. Anyway, back to you, what’s up?”

I balanced the almost full bottle in the grass, the contents settling uneasily in my stomach. Once again, it would be easier to tell the truth. Although confessing to be a witch would throw up more questions than answers for Kat, and Gran would surely kill me for divulging our secrets. 

“I told you earlier I was tired, I didn’t sleep well.” Striking a deal with an angel in the early hours of the morning proved to be more time-consuming that I’d originally planned. 

“You’re seventeen,” Kat yawned. “You should be able to stay up all night and not feel its effects. But if you’re feeling shit, why don’t we find something to put a smile on your face? Where’s Will?”

I shrugged. “I haven’t seen him for a while. The last time I did, he was fighting his way to the front of the crowd.” I bobbed my head towards the fifty-deep crowd who were dancing and swaying in ways unsuited to the heavy metal band rocking it out on stage. 

Kat had spent weeks talking about this clandestine festival. She’d had to sneak out under the hooked nose of her strict mother, and I felt guilty for spoiling it. Now, with my ears ringing because of the constant din, I wished I’d stuck to the lie I’d tried after lunch. My boyfriend had barely looked at me, never mind spent any time with me, and I found myself disturbed by fleeting thoughts of the angel in Will’s absence. 

Smoke gathered, seeping into my pores choking my lungs. Makeshift fire pits sprang up everywhere in the clearing in the middle of Derwent Woods. Uneasiness prickled my skin. As a water witch, fire put me on edge, and probably affected me more than any of the nemocanes in attendance. Nemocanes were non-witches, those without power. 

“Do you want to go find him?” Kat tilted her head and fluttered her fake eyelashes. 

I’d known her long enough to know she wasn’t asking and before I knew it, Kat had pulled me to my feet. “Come on, let’s see if we can get Will to put a smile on your face. If anyone can, I’m sure it’s him.”

We delved deeper through the crowd, ducking, and weaving through twisting bodies and flailing arms, some of which smacked me straight in the face. The stench was almost unbearable, cheap perfume, the musty smell of beer all mixed in with sweat and smoke. 

“I can’t see them, can you?”

“They’ve got to be here somewhere,” said Kat. She craned her neck to scan the crowd. “Tell you what, if you go to the right, I’ll go this way, and we’ll send the other a text if we find them. Okay? Great.”

“Kat, wait!” But the mass of bodies had already swallowed my friend, bottles of alcohol raised in the air, the crowd singing as loud as their voices would let them. 

Fighting my way in the direction Kat told me to go, I was confronted by one unfamiliar face after another. They swam before my eyes and merged into one continuous blur. Heat rose in my face. Sweat coated my forehead, droplets running down the length of my neck. I tugged at the stiff collar of my denim jacket, but the more I did, the more it closed around my neck like a vice.

More limbs struck.

The fire was overwhelming.

I fought for air. 

My hand raced around my neck in a frantic motion. The contents of dancing bottles dripped down onto my hair and face. Gran would think I’d drank a brewery. 

I forced my way to the back of the crowd, pushing through people as though they were water and I was desperate for the shore. Breaking out into the open, I inhaled as much fresh air as I could, letting the space subdue the rising panic within. 

The constant roar of the band was the only reminder of where I was and the only thing stopping me from falling to my knees and making a spectacle of myself before most of the year twelve and thirteens. 

A glint of white flashed through the trees ahead.

Then another.

My blood turned to stone. 

Then a hand clamped down on my shoulder, and I spun, blood throbbing.

“Where have you been?”

“Nowhere.”

I looked back towards the treeline. 

“You okay? Riley?” Kat’s voice was muffled and far away. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” 

“I’m not sure I haven’t,” I mumbled. 

“What? Doesn’t matter. Come on, I’ve found the boys.” Grabbing hold of my wrist, Kat pulled me through the crowd where I couldn’t help but look back.

Ghosts – a definite possibility and harmless in most cases. Demon – more likely and more deadly. I looked around at all those gathered. Shit, so many. It would be a bloodbath. 

“Here they are,” Kat thrust me forward. 

Will and Simon had worked their way right to the front. Lyrics flew from their mouths delivered out of tune between swigs of beer. As soon as Will’s eyes found mine, he stumbled to me with a lopsided grin on his handsome face. I felt a pang in my stomach as another face popped into my head.

Mentally, I told it to piss off. 

“W-w-where have you been?” he slurred. His hands were all over my back, moving lower and lower. Will leaned in read to place a kiss on my lips. Reaching back, I stopped his hands travelling further but welcomed the kiss I’d waited all night for. 

Despite tasting that wretched alcohol, my heart leapt. Worries of dangers lurking beyond the trees evaporated. I’d probably imagined it anyway. Reaching up, I ran my hand through his short dirty-blond hair. 

“We need more time together,” he said, lips pressing against my ear. “Alone.”

I tensed. The meaning was as clear as ringing bells and set in my insides like concrete. I plastered a smile on my face. After all, it was what I wanted, wasn’t it? Having pined for him for the last four years with not one sign I was even on his radar, I was determined to make the most of being his. 

Somewhere, screams pierced the deafening music. 

“What was that?” Will asked, pulling away. 

I ignored him. With my body as still as stone, I looked to see what had caused panic to roll through the crowd. People fled in all directions, frantic limbs flying. I’d stood still long enough to feel the loss of Will’s body heat and watch him leave to join the dispersing group. 

Nausea surged when I realised they were running away from the treeline where I thought I’d glimpsed something other. 

Shit. 

The music cut off and a loud crash sounded as the musicians abandoned their instruments. 

“Will? Kat? I spun on the spot desperately trying to find my friends. I battled against the onslaught of bodies, the only one going towards what made everyone else flee. 

The screaming was terrible. It punctured my mind until I couldn’t think straight.  A tall blur of blond hair and white t-shirt barged my shoulder and knocked me to the ground, not bothering to stop. I hissed at the sharp pain in my hands. Lifting them from the grassy field, thick blood trickled from a jagged wound across my palm. The fragmented remains of a glass bottle lay hidden in the glass coated in my blood. Black in the moonlight, the droplets slid down my hand and into the grass. 

Shadows emerged from the trees, the stark darkness of the woods bleeding into the clearing. They moved in quick, sharp jerks barely touching the ground with their stick-like limbs. The only creatures I had ever seen scurry like that were spiders. 

Demons. But what kind, I didn’t know, had never encountered them in any of my witch studies. My pulse drummed in my ears as all other sounds died. They drew closer, the pale white of their skin stretching over thin, sharp bones like a translucent film. Two pointed pincers bulged out of the side of their head and around the front of their faces. Fire danced in their feline-like eyes. 

The only one left in the clearing, I pushed myself back onto my feet. Only me and a dozen of these things. I grimaced at the throbbing in my hand, and took calculated steps towards the demons, taking care not to trip over the abandoned debris strewn over the grass. 

There were seconds left before they reached me. Would flooding the clearing work? Should I send out a jet of water to blast them back? Quick. Decide. 

“Are you going to make a half-arsed attempt to get away or just let them kill you?”

I whirled on the familiar voice to find the angel standing there. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“Saving you.”

The untamed black hair grazed his shoulders. He held my gaze steady and sure, his lips slightly parted. Something registered on his face and a darkness bloomed in his widening eyes burning with such intensity that the night sky with all its stars and wonders paled in comparison. 

I blinked the image of him away and clicked my tongue. “Save yourself.” With that, I sent three demons skittling with a low jet of water. 

“There’s too many of them, we’ll never make it. Come on,” Rafe reached back and grabbed my wrist to pull me with him.

Not that I wanted to admit it, but he was right. We barrelled across the grass heading for the stage. My much shorter legs struggled to keep up with his longer strides. Even in frantic escape mode, Rafe moved with grace while all my energy was spent trying to stay upright. 

He glanced over his shoulder. “They’re gaining on us. Hurry!”

“Can’t you sprout your wings and fly us out of here?”

“No.”

“Why the hell not?”

“I’ll explain if we survive this.” 

I groaned as he increased his speed dragging me with him, my thighs and calves burning. 

“I need to get to the coven.”

Each penetrating stab reverberated across the ground, and the closer they got, the more their screeched pierced my ear drums. Rafe stopped when we reached a black and silver motorcycle propped up by a short leg at the side of the stage. 

“Hop on,” he said, throwing his leg over. With a kick of his boot, the leg flicked up and the engine roared into life. He looked at me once more. “What are you waiting for?”

“There isn’t a helmet,” I hesitated. 

Dark amusement flickered in his eyes. “Seriously? We’re getting chased by demons who I know want to kill us and you’re worried about where the helmet is.”

I could have explained. I could have told him why the sheer thought of getting on that bike was giving me palpitations and shortening my breath. But I didn’t.

“Safety first,” was all I said. 

“Get on the bike, Riley.”

I stopped myself throwing up. “If we die now, I’m betting it’s down to a lack of safety equipment and not shiny demons with excellent cheekbones.” I hitched up my long skirt and jumped on. At first, I didn’t know where to place my hands and settled on the thin strip of leather between us. 

“Here,” he reached round, grabbed both my hands, and pulled them around his waist. My injured hang stung. My chest crashed into the solid wall of his back.

“I need you to hold on,” he shouted over the noise of the engine. 

Gripping tighter, I brushed the contours of his stomach muscles. Heat bloomed on my cheeks and I was thankful he couldn’t see the fire in my face.

We sped away and the creatures gave chase. 

“Head for Valestone,” I called. “We’ll be safe there.”

Rafe drove straight into the forest. I wondered if he hoped the trees would act as an obstacle to slow the creatures down. Derwent Forest was thick and known for the dense canopy capable of blocking most rays. Especially now, as midnight fast approached, everywhere was black except for the small distance illuminated by the bike’s headlamp and the smouldering fires left in the clearing. 

“Do you know what those things are?”

“Arachna demons. Half human and half spider. All of them female.”

“They can’t be.”

“Female or demons? Hang on!” he steered left, avoiding a row of tree trunks. The bike weaved in and out of trees effortlessly navigating root laden paths as though he’d driven this way a thousand times. 

Daring to look back, my loose hair lashed my face like gilded whips. Somehow, my faux daisy headband stayed in place. A good thing for Rafe because if it flew off, I’d make him go back for it. Demons be damned. 

“They’re getting closer!”

“They can’t move that quick. These are new ones emerging from the undergrowth.”

My head snapped back to him. “Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

“None of this is about making you feel better,” he called back, swerving again. 

We hit an emerging root. My hands wrapped tighter around him to stop myself from falling off, but he jumped the bike and landed them back on the ground on the other side. 

“You okay back there?”

“Yes,” I said into the rushing wind. It whistled as it sailed by my ear.

A volcano of dirt and greenery erupted ahead. Rafe jammed on the brakes and skidded, landing at an angle. Two white pincers grappled out of the ground. He paused for a beat before flying off in the direction we faced.  

“Not much further now,” he called back. 

In the distance, the shadows of the forest faded paling to navy blue and lighter still as we neared the edge of the forest. I felt easier knowing we would soon be out. I’d have to wake my grandmother and summon the coven to deal with the demons – Arachna, Rafe called them. How strange I’d never heard of them before. 

We broke out of the boundary of the forest and slammed into the village. The closed lichgate of our village’s Norman church lay ahead, the church on our right, silhouetted against the sky. The interior was nothing more than an illusion created for any tourists making their way to Valestone or visitors from nearby towns. Witches in our coven could see through the magic veil like it was a splash of oil in a puddle. 

I gave a little yelp as Rafe spun the bike, landing parallel to the forest with the church behind us. He twisted the key and the noise died. 

“Well that’s something new,” he stared up at the sky, scanning across the span of the village. 

Following his gaze, I smiled, knowing what had piqued his interest. “It’s a protection dome for the coven. Powered by the High Witch.” When I spoke, my head felt like it was submerged in water, my words muffled, and ears blocked. 

And still the creatures came, their skin shining like a pearl in the moonlight.

“Here they come.”

One creature placed a pincer across the boundary marked by a row of uniform trees. As soon as they did, electric flashes surged up the offending limb until it covered the whole demon. It crackled, steam rising high before its body went limp and slumped to the ground, lifeless. Two other demons scurried up to the dead body, trying to nudge it alive with a pincer but when it didn’t move, they retreated in a hurry taking the whole horde with them.

“Nothing that intends harm can enter.”

“Impressive. I might need a word with your High Witch.”

I dismounted; my attention fixed on the smouldering mass of flesh. “I’m not so sure about that,” I said absently. “A servant of death seeking her out about a protection dome might freak her out.”

“Point taken.”

I turned to smile at Rafe. “Nice bike.”

He rubbed the back of his neck and threw his leg over the motorcycle to stand next to me. 

“Yeah, it’s not mine. Some idiot left it next to the stage with keys in the ignition. An idiot I’m very grateful to, but I’m just going to leave it here. Are you going to be okay?”

“Yes. I’m going to wake my grandmother with the wonderful news that half of the neighbouring town have witnessed and were nearly eaten by demons. Some possibly eaten if I don’t get a move on.” I studied the gash across my palm, flecks of dried blood formed a boundary around the open wound. 

“Are you hurt?”

I snatched it away, hiding it by my side. “Just a little scratch.”

“Show me.”

“I said it’s fine.”

Rafe sighed and held an upturned hand. There wasn’t a moment of hesitation in my mind and before I knew it, he was cradling my hand in his almost reverently as he ran a calloused finger tip down my palm. 

My breath bated. He smelled of soap. Clean, like rolling in freshly washed linen. I couldn’t look at his face. 

“When you get home, I want you to properly clean the wound.”

“My Gran will have a poultice of witch hazel leaves and bark. She’ll sort it.” I would have sworn I saw a ghost of a smile on his lips. 

“And I’ll come back tomorrow to heal it when I have my powers back.”

My head snapped up. “What do you mean? Is that why you couldn’t fly? Have you lost your powers?”

“So many questions, little witch.”

I cocked my head to one side silently demanding answers. 

“Angels are given a day off, if you will, every ten thousand souls they collect. Today is mine, but you live the day as a mortal. No powers, no wings.”

“You had a day off and you decided to creep around a teenage party? Not that you look much older than we do…”

At that, Rafe chucked. “Get going, or someone is going to find themselves at the mercy of an Arachna demon.”

“I need my hand back.”

A hint of colour stained his cheeks, but he dropped my hand as though the contact burned him. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

Rafe nodded in reply. 

I kicked my legs into gear. I made it to the end of the lane before the urge to look back became too much. He should’ve gone, but he was still there, lounging against the stolen bike, watching. 

It took everything I had to move away. 

Chapter 1

[just-jordie-things]

Life Of The Party - Peter Parker

word count: 6579 warnings: swearing, and an almost broken hand summary: (y/n) Stark and Peter Parker are best friends, but he keeps his life at the Avengers Compound and his life at Midtown High separate.  Very separate. Until (y/n) convinces him to bring her to a party.

“So how come I haven’t got to meet any of your friends?” (y/n) asked nonchalantly as she took one of the chinese takeout boxes from the lab table.

“Because” Peter replied lamely, too focused on tinkering with his suit.

(y/n) rolled her eyes, knowing he was full of shit.

Being Tony’s daughter, she was homeschooled by the best tutors, until she was old enough to teach herself, and she technically graduated last year.  However, it also meant that the only glimpse into the real world of high school she got, was through the things that Peter would tell her about his experiences at Midtown.

“Come on,” (y/n) pleaded, mouth full of noodles.  “You could at least bring Ned around here again”

“No way,” Peter chuckled, and took one of the various boxes of food on the table.  “I bring him one time and he passes out as soon as you and Tony walk into the room”

(y/n) smiled fondly at the memory.  She’d loved getting to meet Ned, Peter talks so much about him, she had squealed with delight as soon as she’d seen him in the common room with Peter.  Ned, however, collapsed and blacked out.

“I thought it was kinda sweet,” (y/n) shrugged, picking past the vegetables in her carton.  “I was flattered to have someone pass out over seeing me”

Peter gave her a bored look, and she giggled, bashfully staring down at her food.

Since Peter Parker had become a recruit a year ago, him and (y/n) Stark had gotten along very well.  She’d call him her best friend, but he was also one of the few people her age she actually knew.  She was allowed to leave the compound as she pleased, but most of her time was spent holed up at the tower.  In the lab, in the training room, hanging out with the other Avengers, she enjoyed it there.

Since befriending Peter, however, a switch seemed to have gone off, and she suddenly was much more curious about regular teenagers.  He made her wish that she’d gone to a normal school, made normal friends, and wasn’t raised in a celebrity lifestyle.

“You think your friends wouldn’t like me?” (y/n) asked, half sarcastically.  “I find myself to be charming, funny.  I think your friends would think so as well”

“Of course they’d like you,” Peter said.  “You’re my age and you’re more popular than the Kardashians-”

“Never compare me to them again” (y/n) commented, pointing a threatening chopstick towards him.  Peter put his hands up in apology.

“And,” He continued.  “You’re pretty and wicked smart.  I think if my friends knew that I was actually friends with you, then they’d kill me to get to meet you.  And I mean legit kill me”

(y/n) giggled, and cocked her head to the side as she watched him ramble.

“You think I’m pretty and smart?” She teased, and Peter knew she was messing with him, but he could feel his neck and cheeks heat up anyways.  “Where’s my ring?”

“Yeah yeah, shut up” He muttered while she laughed so hard she nearly choked on her lo mein.

“Then at the very least, you could let me come be your wingman,” She said, and Peter furrowed his brows, looking both confused and repulsed by the offer.  “What?” She asked innocently.  “I’d be great help, and I figure you, yaknow, need the help”

“You’re ridiculous- I-I don’t need a wingman, (y/n)” Peter said, leaning back in his seat across from her and picking around in his takeout box with his chopsticks.

“Mhm.  Sure” She replied disbelievingly.

“(y/n), come on,” Peter chuckled.  “What are you doing?”

“I’m trying to convince you to let me meet your friends for once,” (y/n) pleaded.  “I’ve met Ned, I know you have other friends, and it’s high school, isn’t someone throwing a party every other weekend? Let me come with you”

“You think I go to parties?” Peter snorted, and she giggled at the sound, shaking her head a little.

“You don’t want to go to a party with me?” (y/n) asked, quirking a brow, and Peter groaned at how easy she could manipulate his words.  He swore she got it directly from Tony.

“It’s not you-”

“Sounds like it is,” She said, feigning a hurt expression.  “I’m about to start taking this personally, Parker”

Peter gave her a half hearted glare, but it was hard to hold when she was returning the look so adorably.  Brows furrowed and bottom lip stuck out in a pout, she was the cutest.

“You really want to go to a party?” Peter asked defeatedly.  Despite his let down tone, (y/n) lit up and excitedly nodded.  “Fine… I’ll see if there’s anything going this weekend” He muttered.

(y/n) grinned, getting up from her seat and leaning over the table to hug Peter excitedly.  Still holding his food and chopsticks, he wasn’t able to hug her back, but she barely gave him the chance as she pulled away.

“You’re the best!”

“You manipulated me” He replied, stuffing a piece of chicken in his mouth.

(y/n) beamed at him anyways, before going back to tinkering on his suit with him.

“I’m great at small talk too.  ‘Hey, I'm seventeen year old billionaire, and my dad’s Iron Man, care for a drink?’”

They laughed together as they finished dinner and his upgrade. ___

“And then I told her I’d take her to a party” Peter grumbled.

“That’s great!” Ned exclaimed, before seeing the wince on Peter’s face.  “Or… not?”

Peter pushed his lunch tray away from him, before dropping his head in his hand and groaned frustratedly.

“Dude! Bringing (y/n) to Flash’s party this weekend would be awesome, why are you all grumpy?”

“Because, being friends with (y/n) is like…” Peter sighed as he moved his hands around trying to figure out the right words.  “It’s like my secret”

“No, Spider-Man is your secret,” Ned chuckled.  “Being friends with (y/n) is your one way ticket to people not messing with you anymore”

Peter shook his head, mumbling something that Ned couldn’t hear.

“What?”

“I said shedoesn’treallyknowaboutthtat” He muttered in one mess of slurred words, and Ned furrowed his brows, still unsure of what his friend was saying.

“Peter I can’t hear-”

“She doesn’t know about that!” Peter said a bit too loudly, and earning a few pissed off looks from his peers at other tables.  “I didn’t tell her that stuff” He said quieter.

“You didn’t tell her… that everyone hates you?”

“Dude,” Peter mumbled.  “Not cool”

“Okay maybe not everyone, but does she think you’re popular? How did you even manage to convince her-”

“No she doesn’t think that,” Peter rolled his eyes.  “She thinks I’m just a normal guy with a couple friends,” He shrugged.  “It would’ve been weird to tell her about-”

“Flash” Ned and Peter muttered at the same time.

“It’s embarrassing,” Peter sighed.  “It’s not like I want to hide it from her, I just… I didn’t want her to think I’m… lame”

“Peter, (y/n) thinks you’re the coolest,” Ned chuckled.  “You should bring her to the party.  Flash is throwing one this weekend, and as much as he hates our guts, if (y/n) Stark came with us…”

“What if after she sees what it’s really like… what I’m really like… she doesn’t want to hang out with me anymore?”

“I really doubt that’ll happen Peter,” Ned said, and just then the bell rang, signaling the end of the lunchtime period.  The boys gathered their things, and threw out their trays on their way out of the cafeteria.  “Pretty sure that no matter what, she’s still gonna like you Peter.  You’re overthinking for nothing”

Peter shrugged limply, grasping the straps of his backpack tightly while weighing the pros and cons of bringing (y/n) to one of Flash Thompson’s parties.

“You could always tell her about it before you go” Ned suggested, before heading off to his own class.

Peter shook his head, unsure of what he should do. ___

(y/n) was tinkering around with her father’s suit, which was normal for her, and he had yet to find out about it.  She had a knack for adding more protective protocols to it’s tech, but she was too nervous to come clean about her work with her father.  He didn’t like other people messing with his things.

Realistically, he probably wouldn’t mind.  She was only looking out for him, trying to add the years back onto his life that he’d been losing on every mission.

“You look like you could use a smoothie,” A voice called, and (y/n) looked up to see Natasha Romanoff walking into the lab, kicking the glass doors shut behind her.  There was a smoothie in each of her hands.  “Luckily, I brought you one”

(y/n) chuckled as Natasha held both glasses out, letting her choose which flavor she wanted.

“Thanks, Nat” (y/n) said sweetly before taking a drink.

“So,” Natasha sighed, and pulled up a stool across from the table (y/n) was working at, plopping down and drinking her smoothie while watching (y/n) tinker with the Iron Man suit.  “What’s this I hear about you going to a party?” The question was asked innocently, but Natasha smirked and arched a knowing brow.  “With Parker?” She added slowly.

(y/n) laughed bashfully, shaking her head.

“Maybe, we’ll see,” She answered, pulling her goggles over her eyes as she saudred the chest plate back in place.  “Peter said he’d see if there are any this weekend”

“He’s really taking you, huh?” Natasha hummed, smirk still carved onto her face.  “Wow”

“I really hope so, it sounds so fun, and I’ll get to meet his friends” (y/n) beamed, quickly and easily reprogramming Friday to cooperate with the new Dad Armour protocol.

(y/n) was pretty proud of the names she’d come up with for every upgrade she secretly made.

“I can’t wrap my head around you wanting to meet Peter’s friends,” The assassin across from her chuckled, and took a sip of her smoothie.  “He’s a band geek who goes to a school made for geeks”

(y/n) shrugged a shoulder, before ordering Friday to put her father’s suit back in it’s case.  It’s autopilot sent it there right away, and (y/n) pulled the goggles off her face.

“I think it’s cute,” She said, smiling as she drank from her smoothie.  She had the confidence of her father, but the bashful parts of her mother shone through in the blush on her cheeks.  “And I barely get to see Peter outside of the facility”

“Mm… so it’s a date then?”

“What?” (y/n) whipped her head up to stare at Natasha in surprise, while the woman just laughed and set her drink on the table.  “No, of course not, we’re just-”

“You’re just friends, yeah yeah, heard that a thousand times, you’re hardly the first ‘friend’ in denial about her real feelings” Natasha waved a dismissive hand.  “Why do you want to go in the first place?”

“Because I want to hang out with Peter and meet his friends,” (y/n) shrugged.  “And I want to see what a high school’s party like.  Does everyone usually get as drunk as they do in the movies?”

Natasha laughed, shaking her head and making (y/n) giggle as well.

“You’re no stranger to alcohol, I remember the Christmas party” She teased.  (y/n) shrugged, and stared down at her smoothie as she spoke.

“I just want to spend more time with him,” She said softly.  “Get to know him better, you know? I could tell you every single mission he’s been on and every night of patrol he’s done, but I want to know Peter, not Spider-Man”

“You’re a sap, Stark,” Natasha said, and raised her glass so that (y/n) would clink her own against it.  “Hopefully you figure your shit out.  Peter’s head over onesie for you”

Although her face went red at the comment, (y/n) shook her head as though convincing herself Natasha was just teasing.

“It’s not a onesie,” (y/n) replied, deciding to ignore the comment altogether and change the subject.  “It’s actually-”

“I actually don’t care,” Natasha said bluntly.  “I just wanted to scope out where you and Peter stand.  You know, relationship wise”

“Nat-” (y/n) sighed, only to be cut off.

“You two are too cute to just be friends,” Natasha said, going back to sipping on her smoothie.  “No reason why you can’t figure it out”

“Lots of reasons, actually,” (y/n) said defeatedly.  “Number one being my dad would never be okay with it.  I’m his daughter, and Peter is his prodige.  And my dad is…”

“Crazy?”

“No-”

“...bat shit crazy?”

“I was going to say protective,” (y/n) said, giving Natasha a pointed glare.  The ex-assassin just shrugged and took a drink of her smoothie.  “And besides, we’ve been friends for a year and… nothing’s happened.  Don’t you think if he liked me, he would’ve made a move by now?”

“No,” Natasha snotred.  “Of course not, this is Peter we’re talking about, he’s probably too nervous or embarrassed”

(y/n) gave her a half smile, and stared back down at her drink.

“And I bet Tony would be fine with it because he knows Peter so well, he trusts him”

“I don’t know…” (y/n) thought about how her dad might react.  The idea of dating Peter wasn’t all that foreign, it had definitely crossed her mind once or twice or a thousand times.

Her phone went off on the table, and she eagerly picked it up seeing a notification from Peter.

[ spidey-petey ] : party on friday at 6, you still in?

“That Peter?” Natasha asked, already knowing it was from the smile on (y/n’s) face.

“Yeah,” (y/n) answered, typing back her reply.  “We’re going to the party on friday”

[ little starky ] : definitely still in!!

“So the date is set,” Natasha winked as she stood up from her stool.  Before (y/n) could protest, the woman was waving and heading back out of the lab.  “Let me know when you need help picking out an outfit” She called, and shut the door behind her.

“It’s not a date” (y/n) muttered to herself as she began to clean up her work area.

[ spidey-petey ] : okie dokie then, i’ll pick you up at 5:30ish?

She smiled to herself as she sent back a thumbs up.

Alright, so maybe she harbored a few more than platonic feelings for the boy. ___

“Where the hell are you going?”

Tony’s voice was more than confused as he watched his daughter walk past him in the common room, wearing a pair of skinny jeans and a black tanktop that had Nat written all over it.

“To a party,” She told him, pulling out her phone to check the time.  5:30.  “With Peter.  I told you about it, remember?”

Tony’s brows furrowed as he stared at his daughter.

“I honestly thought that was a joke”

(y/n) gave him a playful glare, but Tony just shrugged.

“So… is this a date? Should I be giving him a talk-?”

“Oh my god, Dad, no,” (y/n) laughed, shaking her head.  “It’s not like that at all.  I just wanted to hangout somewhere that wasn’t the lab or a literal battle field”

“Mhm,” Tony hummed unsurely, narrowing his eyes at her.  “When will you be home?”

“Don’t know, does it matter?” She asked.  

Tony had never set a curfew for her before, and it wasn’t uncommon for her to sneak into the compound at one in the morning after a ‘I Can’t Sleep’ patrol.

Tony grimaced at the question, and (y/n) smirked back at him knowing she’d caught him in an awkward spot.  He could either admit that he didn’t want her to go out with Peter Parker, of all people tonight, or he could say he didn’t mind how late she stayed out and blindly let her go to an unknown party, with a boy.

“Maybe,” Tony answered, crossing his arms over his chest.  “Who else is gonna be there?”

“Ned, and Peter’s friends from school,” (y/n) told him, suddenly lighting up like a christmas tree.  “He’s finally letting me go meet them, and-”

“Mr Stark, Peter Parker is in the lobby, should I let him in?” Tony’s receptionist said through the comms, and before Tony could speak up, (y/n) slammed her hand on the button to reply.

“I’m coming down, Joan!” She said excitedly, and was running out of the room, forcing Tony to have to run after her to the lobby.

Peter had his hands stuffed into the pockets of his khakis, looking a little nervous like he always did, but he smiled when (y/n) ran in and gave him a big smile.

“Pete!” She squealed, shoving her phone into her pocket as she hugged him quickly.  “I’m so excited-”

“Hold on, hold on!” Tony jogged into the room, pointing a finger between the two and giving Peter a look that made him instantly step away from (y/n) a bit.  “There will be rules”

“Dad-” (y/n) groaned, but Tony didn’t let her finish.

“Rule one, Happy is driving you tonight” Tony started.

Happy groaned from where he stood at Joan’s desk, rolling his eyes, but other than that not outwardly complaining.

“Rule two, if you come home drunk,” Tony said, pointing at his daughter.  “I reserve the right to kill you” His finger moved to Peter, who nodded and shrugged.

That was pretty much expected.

“And rule three, no funny business.  I mean it” He threatened, and Peter’s cheeks went pink with embarrassment.

“Got it, Dad, thanks,” (y/n) said with annoyance in her tone.  Tony could be… a bit over the top.  “I’ll keep in touch” She said, grabbing Peter’s wrist and dragging him with her to the door.

Happy looked at the two teenagers that were walking out to his car, before giving Tony a very, very tired look.

“You’re really letting her go, huh?” He asked, and Tony narrowed his eyes, looking out the large panel windows to see (y/n) and Peter talking excitedly.  Well, (y/n) looked excited, Peter looked like an anxious wreck.

“She can take care of herself,” Tony said.  “It’s Peter I shouldn’t be letting go”

Tony wasn’t blind, he knew that Peter had heart eyes for his daughter.  And if he didn’t trust them both so much, he probably wouldn’t have let them go.  A little (long) talk with Natasha had also helped him to be more open to the idea.

“You think it’s gonna go bad?” Happy asked, fumbling for his keys in his pocket.  “I think she’s gonna ruin him”

“I think she might already have” Tony said, watching skeptically as (y/n) was waving around her hands trying to get her father’s and Happy’s attention so that they could get going.  Peter was smiling at her antics, and he was probably blushing too.  Eventually (y/n) resorted to flipping off the men inside, and suddenly Peter was looking away and pretending he hadn’t seen it.

Happy gave Tony a look that just screamed, ‘teenagers.  The worst’  before heading outside, much to (y/n’s) delight.

“Your old age is starting to slow you down, Hogan” She teased.

“You take years off my life, Stark” He muttered back. ___

“Wow…” (y/n’s) eyes were wide as Happy pulled up in front of the house of the party.  

She could hear the music inside from the car, and the place seemed to be overflowing with people.  Students with red cups and bottles of soda and beer in hand all throughout the front yard.  Some of them were dancing, some of them were making out, but most were just mingling and having a good ol’ drunk time.

“Jesus Christ this is my nightmare,” Happy grumbled, putting the car in park and turning in his seat to look at Peter and (y/n).  “If something happens and you need to be picked up-”

“I’ll call you” (y/n) answered with a sweet smile.

Happy was like that cool uncle that was mean and swore he hated kids, but loved you unconditionally and would do anything to keep you safe and happy.  He always looked out for (y/n), while she was growing up, he was family.

He supposed he could extend that care towards Peter.

“Alright kid.  Be safe”

“Will do!” (y/n) said, before excitedly getting out of the car, pretty much jumping out.  She would’ve run straight inside if she hadn’t been too nervous to go in without Peter.

The boy followed after her, and shut the car door.  Happy drove off right away, not wanting to watch all the wide eyes and shocked expressions that Peter and (y/n) were about to get.

“You’re the best!” (y/n) told him, giving him a short lasting side hug as they headed inside.

“Yeah… well…” He shrugged, stuffing his hands into his pockets.  “Let’s just go find Ned” He suggested, and (y/n) agreed delightedly.

She wasn’t blind to the looks that she was getting.  It was obvious that everyone knew who she was.  There were a few whispers, a few awkward waves, but so far no one had said an actual word to her.

“Peter! (y/n)!” Ned said excitedly, eyes lighting up when he saw that he’d brought her.  “I wasn’t sure if you’d come!”

“Hi Ned!” (y/n) greeted, a beam on her face as she hugged him graciously.

Behind her back, Ned excitedly mouthed ‘you brought her!’ to Peter, earning an eye roll before (y/n) pulled away.

“It’s so good to see you!” She said, squeezing his shoulders.  “It’s been forever! Cool hat”

“Thanks, it gives me confidence,” Ned shrugged sheepishly, and (y/n) giggled.  “And I’ve been telling Peter that we should hang out more” He added, earning a quick glare from Peter before (y/n) put her hands on her hips and narrowed her eyes at him.

“I told him that too,” She said, and gave Ned a playful smile.  “It turns out he doesn’t like hanging out with me”

“That’s not-” Just as he was about to refute it, she was smiling and laughing at him, and he could tell he was joking.

“Jeez Pete,” She teased, poking his arm.  “Lighten up, it’s a party”

He gave her a tentative smile, and pulled his hands out of his pockets to cross his arms over his chest.  Being in Flash Thompson’s house always gave him the same uneasy feeling.  A reminder why he didn’t go to his parties.  And speaking of reminders-

“Well well well!” A loud voice yelled over the music, and their three heads turned to see Flash at his makeshift DJ table, microphone in hand.  “Penis Parker wasn’t lying about his Stark Internship after all!”

“What the hell did he just say?” (y/n) muttered to Peter, but he looked away from her narrowed eyes and crossed his arms tighter.

“And Penis brought a girl!” Flash went on, grinning madly and pointing to (y/n).  “Not just any girl, (y/n) Stark!”

The few people that weren’t high out of their minds or blackout drunk turned heads excitedly to see the famed daughter of Tony Stark standing there.  It was clear that the didn’t understand what she was doing with Peter Parker and Ned Leeds.  (y/n’s) bashful look turned to disgust when she realized they were murmuring about what she was doing with them.

Flash set his microphone down, rubbing his hands together eagerly as he made his way over to them.

“Wow! The real (y/n) Stark huh?” He said, looking between her and Peter.

“In the flesh,” (y/n) answered, narrowing her eyes skeptically at the greasy haired boy in front of her.  “And you’re…?”

“Flash Thompson,” He held his hand out to shake hers, and she politely did so, as much as her gut told her not to touch this guy.  “It’s a pleasure”

(y/n) hummed, pursing her lips as her eyes scanned him up and down.

Ned and Peter caught this glance, and already knew that Flash irked her.

“So, you must know Penis from his internship?” Flash said, a sly smirk on his face as his eyes wandered to where Peter was standing, just a bit behind her.

(y/n) looked over her shoulder at Peter, a similar smirk on her face as she winked at him.  And before he could silently beg her not to, she was already looking back to Flash, and putting his hand in a death grip.

He winced before trying to cover his pain with a smug look.

“Did you call Peter, Penis?” She asked him, voice dropping an octave from it’s usual sweet tone to something more threatening.

Peter recognized it as her field voice, the way she’d usually talk when in her suit and fighting criminals.  Never before had he heard her use it without a mask.

“W-well- well-”

“Look, Flash Thompson, I could break your hand right now if I wanted to,” She squeezed tighter and he let out a whimper.  “But of course I won’t, because I’m nice like that” She gave him a tauntingly cute smile, and he nodded anxiously, visibly gulping from her tight grip on his hand.

“O-okay” He whimpered out.

“But you’ll apologize to Peter, right?” She asked, cocking her head to the side.  “You know, that way I don’t have to break your hand and then later send my friend, you might know her, she goes by the name Black Widow? To shove that lame microphone up your-”

“Okay okay I’m sorry! I’m sorry Peter” Flash said, eyes wide as he started to yank his hand away from (y/n’s) death grip.

“Uh- it’s- it’s fine” Peter mumbled, placing a hand on (y/n’s) shoulder and making her step back, and release Flash’s hand.

The boy sighed in relief, holding his now bruised hand in his free one, and giving Peter Ned and (y/n) a fearful smile.

“Nice to meet you” (y/n) said sickeningly sweetly, and waved her fingers at him as he hastily made his way back to his DJ table.

“Holy shit that was so badass, I almost cried” Ned said, and (y/n) giggled shrugging her shoulders.

“Seems like a prick” She said simply.  She gave Peter a look, and he knew that she would bring it up again later to him.

“He is!” Ned replied.

“How about we get drinks?” Peter suggested, desperate to get out of the pool of tension he was drowning in.

The three made their way to the kitchen, and while Peter and Ned grabbed beers, (y/n) took a can of soda.

“Don’t you have life… a chauffeur?” Ned asked, and (y/n) shrugged as she pushed the tab through the can to open it.

“Yeah, but I don’t drink around big groups of people anymore” She said, and Peter chuckled.

“Because of the christmas party?” He asked, and she nodded, giggling with him, but was blushing from the memory.

“Wow… the Avengers have christmas parties?” Ned asked excitedly.  “That’s awesome…”

“Yeah, (y/n) got so wasted at this years, that she-”

“Peter!” (y/n) hissed before he could spill the secret.

“Aw come on, tell me!” Ned pleaded.

Peter looked to (y/n) hopefully, and gave her his best puppy dog eyes.

She was a sucker.

“Fine.  Tell him”

The next few hours were spent telling dumb stories about what it’s like at the compound, and (y/n) got to know Ned a lot better.  Peter loosened up and started enjoying himself more, and (y/n) got to enjoy a night as a real teenager, not as Tony Stark’s daughter.

They had been standing in a hall, a bit more secluded from the rest of the raging party.  It had gotten to that point in the night where if you weren’t blackout drunk, you’d already blacked out, or you’d gone home.

Ned had left the hall to wait in the long and-getting-longer-by-the-minute line for the bathroom, leaving (y/n) and Peter up against opposite walls, sipping their drinks and listening to the distant pop music playing in the living room.

“So…” (y/n) hummed, circling her soda around in her can.  “Why didn’t you tell me about that Flash guy?”

She didn’t seem upset, like Peter had expected.  He’d been waiting for the blow of her angry voice when she’d realized he’d been lying to her.  Instead, she sounded hurt, and confused.  Which felt worse.

“Because… it’s lame,” Peter said, shaking his head and staring down at his half empty bottle of beer.  It was his second one, and every time he took a drink of it he remembered why he hated beer.

Her brows knit together as she waited for him to continue, because that was not enough of an explanation for her.

“I didn’t want to tell you that people at school pick on me, (y/n), do you know how embarrassing that would have been?”

“What-?” She still seemed confused, and leaned off of the wall to stand a little closer to him, trying to hear and understand him better.

“I wasn’t going to tell you, (y/n) friggin’ Stark that I get made fun of all the time, that people call me Penis Parker- god this sounds ridiculous even now”

(y/n) shook her head at him.  “What, you think cause of my dad that I’m so shallow I wouldn’t like you?” She asked, trying not to sound as offended as she felt.  “Peter, you know me better than anyone, you know that I don’t care-”

“It’s not like that” Peter sighed, and her irritated expression fell to a softer one.

Someone brushed past them in the hall, and (y/n) stepped forward closer to Peter so that they wouldn’t rudely walk in between them.

“What’s it like then?” She asked quietly, peering up at him from under her lashes.

“I didn’t want you to think I was as… well as lame as everybody else thinks I am,” Peter said, arm gesturing out towards the living room.  “I just… you genuinely liked me without knowing all that stuff and I didn’t want you to see- well, that and realize that I am not as cool as you somehow think I am”

(y/n) felt her heart break into two, brows drawn together as she looked at him sadly.

“And by the way, it was only partially because you’re a Stark.  You were already so cool to me before I even met you and then after meeting you, you were even cooler, and I couldn’t believe someone like you would ever want to hang out with me.  You might be surprised, but I don’t get asked to parties that often.  I don’t even know why you still want to be here after Flash made it clear that nobody likes me”

“Peter…” (y/n) sighed, and she swore she’d start crying if he kept talking about himself like that.

“The thing is, (y/n), is that it doesn’t matter that no one at Midtown likes me, or that my only real friend is Ned, because you liked me.  And that was like- the seal of approval to me, that’s all that mattered,” He went on, and suddenly her broken heart was stitching back together at the sweet words.  “I don’t know,” He sighed and shrugged his shoulders.  “I don’t know what the hell you’re doing with me,” He chuckled, and finally looked down at her, seeing her staring up at him with an adorably awestruck look on her face, like she was hanging onto every word he was saying.  “You’re as cool as they come,” He told her, eyes flickering between hers as he tried desperately not to shy away from her gaze.  “I mean, you’re a genius, you would’ve outshined at my school, and it’s for geniuses.  You put Banner to shame, and he’s got seven PhDs.  And you’re badass, and scary as hell when you’re out on the field, and I guess threatening bullies you’re scary too.  I don’t know how you manage to pull that off because you’re the cutest littlest thing when you’re just being yourself, and yet you almost broke Flash’s hand tonight,”

(y/n) let out a broken giggle, not wanting him to stop talking the way he was, but she couldn’t help it. Her heart was swelling and she felt full.  She had no idea that Peter had thought all of these things about her.   Maybe Nat was right.

“And Jesus Christ you’re so goddamn pretty? You’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever met- and probably will ever meet, I mean, realistically speaking- inside and out you’re just absolutely stunning,”

The young Stark’s breath hitched in her throat, and at this point she wondered if Peter even realized what he was saying, or if he was just rambling like he does when he gets too passionate about something.  Either way, her stomach was doing backflips.

“You’re just this- this perfect being.  But somehow there’s got to something that’s off about you because you’re still here, with me,” Peter chuckled humorlessly, eyes wide as he glanced around them, realizing they were the only two people in the hallway.  

For a split second, he thought maybe they were the only two people in the world.

“And I just… I don’t know what the hell you’re still doing here, why you haven’t left yet-”

(y/n) cut him off before he could start talking poorly about himself again.  Leaning up on her toes, her hands reached out and clutched at the collar of Peter’s blue sweater and pulling him downwards so that their lips would meet in the middle.  She kissed him as passionately as he’d spoken, pouring every last feeling she’d harbored for him into it.

The kiss had startled Peter, he’d sooner expect her to call Happy and ditch him where he stood than to kiss him.  But he wasn’t about to complain, so instead his hands firmly grasped her hips and pulled her flush against him.  Capturing her lips in his own, he did his best to memorize every last detail of this moment.  How her lips tasted like cherry cola, soft and sugary against his own.  Her hands had his shirt in fists, like she would lose her balance if she wasn’t holding so tightly to him.  She leaned in close against him legs in between his and chest pressed into his.

When they finally parted, she pulled back agonizingly slow, eyes fluttering open, and Peter swore they sparkled a little bit.

“Peter Parker,” She murmured softly, “Is the sweetest, prettiest, coolest boy that I know,” She told him, the both of them adorning rosy cheeks.  She let go of his shirt to wrap her arms around his neck.  “You’re such an idiot sometimes, but there’s no way in hell I’m leaving”

Peter grinned down at her, his eyes crinkling as he took her face in his hands, tucking back her loose strands of hair.

“I like you a lot” He told her, and she leaned her cheek into his warm palm.

“I know,” She giggled, and he laughed with her until they were both just two idiots giggling in the hallway.  “You gave me a whole speech- where did that come from?”

“The heart,” Peter teased, and she shook her head at him.  “And also the two drinks I had” He added.

“Uh huh,” She hummed, leaning up so she could kiss him again.  “That’s what I thought” She mumbled before her lips met his softly.

One of Peter’s hands slid into her hair, cradling the back of her head as their lips met delicately a few more times.  He leaned back against the wall, lazily pulling her with him, and (y/n) giggled in between small and sweet kisses.

A year of sitting in the lab with this boy, a year of fighting side by side, how had she not kissed him sooner?

“Woah, hey guys,” Ned walked back into the hallway, only a tiny bit surprised to see (y/n) wrapped up in Peter’s arms and their lips locked.  “What’d I miss?” He asked, laughing at himself while (y/n) and Peter pulled apart.

“Thanks, Ned” Peter groaned, but (y/n) smiled between the boy, swatting at Peter’s arm softly.

“So, what else is there to do at parties?” She asked, changing the subject. ___

After winning not one but three rounds of beer pong, ordering a shit ton of pizzas in Flash’s name, and dancing like no one else was around, they called it a night, and (y/n) called Happy to come get her and Peter.

They chilled outside on the curb, overheated and exhausted from the wild night they shared.

(y/n) pulled her knees up to her chest and leaned her head against Peter’s shoulder.

“Thanks for bringing me tonight,” She said sweetly.  “It was a lot of fun”

He smiled down at her, wrapping his arm around her shoulders and tugging her closer against his side.

“I’m still trying to figure out if the best part was Flash puking up pizza and rum, or (y/n) almost breaking his hand,” Ned laughed, and (y/n) chuckled with an affectionate roll of her eyes.  “Probably the hand thing, that’s the coolest thing I’ll ever see”

“You should really come by the facility more often,” (y/n) told him.  “If you think that’s cool, you should really watch Steve work out”

Ned and (y/n) laughed while Peter nudged her side with his elbow.  She gave him a teasing wink in response.

When Ned’s ride came, they both hugged him goodbye, and (y/n) made both Peter and Ned swear that he’d come by more often.

Peter and (y/n) sat together for a few more minutes before Happy pulled up.  He didn’t look all too happy about picking up two teenagers in the middle of the night, but he politely let them pick the music and asked about their night, even sounding semi-interested.

The ride to Peter’s apartment complex was nice.  They took turns making sarcastic remarks, and Peter’s hand held (y/n’s) the whole drive.  Occasionally his thumb would tap against the back of her hand to the beat of the song.

When Happy pulled up outside of the building, Peter squeezed her hand before saying goodnight, and was already stepping out of the car when (y/n) pulled on his wrist so he’d lean back in through the door.

Happy turned to see what was up just as she’d leaned up to kiss Peter.

“Goodnight” She said sweetly when she pulled away, and Peter grinned back at her, his face pink as she shut the door and he headed up to the building.

As (y/n) got settled back in her seat, she caught sight of Happy gaping at her.

“I am not telling your Dad,” He told her before she could explain herself.  “That one’s on you, got it?”

(y/n) giggled and nodded her head in agreement, knowing Happy did not need the extra talk that Tony.

“Alright, Hogan, I’ll tell him” She told him.

Tony would take it well, right?

We’ll see.

___

taglist: @writings-and-stuff​ @rofromtheashes​ @tomshufflepuff​ @steve-avengers-rogers​ @vibhati123 @dark-night-sky-99​  @hollandhours @drakonwild​ @imofficiallyobsessed​ @fussy-and-a-writer-sometimes​

xoxo ~jordie

[brainsdivided]

Shattered Hearts and Broken Dreams - Chapter 4

13 September 2293

The Colorado river flowing between the carved cliffs with Hoover Dam holding back Lake Mead was a sight to behold. The final frontier of Legion territory.

Despite Joshua’s unfortunate history with the Mojave region, he was thankful to be back. Ezekiel’s condition had quickly collapsed within the days it took to reach the Mojave.  No longer able to walk much anymore, the boy had to be carried most of the day. To help free his arms, Joshua made a makeshift harness that strapped the boy to his person. On his back, the boy suffered quietly from his illness.

Having approached a ferryman on the river, he handed him a few coins before they got to move across in the dead of night. As the raft slowly moved across the river, Joshua softly whispered to Ezekiel, "It isn't far from here anymore, son." Genuine concern about the boy's deteriorating health was visible in his voice. He reached behind him and clasped Ezekiel’s blistering hand in his own.

"It hurts so badly." He whispered, his energy so far gone that he could barely muster out a cry. Blood stained his clothes and his skin was discolored in patches of red and his skin seemed to radiate heat from the fever that was brewing.

Joshua nodded and turned his head to the side to look at Ezekiel, "I know, son. I will do whatever I can to help save you. The clinic is less than a day from here and surely they will be able to help you, God willing." Despite the bandages covering it, Ezekiel could tell that the face was one of desperation.

Weak and exhausted, Ezekiel’s speech began to slur, “Those stories… the ones from your book and your teachings… God led me to you, right? That makes you my blessing. Remember when I said that uh...." He thought out, trying to string together his words so that they didn't come out botched, "You bein' my blessing and helping me, you'll have your answer? Maybe you'll get something out of this, as God intended, right?"

"I already got all I need out of this, Ezekiel. The only thing that matters from here on out is that you get to live to see another day." Joshua acknowledged that Ezekiel had become more willing to listen to Joshua’s teachings. Though he tended to mix up information and wasn’t entirely able to retain some lessons, he knew that the fear the boy felt was valid. The lessons were a way the pair could feel a little more comfortable should the boy not survive the trip. 

Ezekiel smiled weakly and sighed, resting his head on Joshua’s shoulder. “I’m not ready to die.”

"You won't die, don't forget about that. As long as you have hope and the Lord on your side you will survive.”

The boy’s optimism was dwindling, and he couldn't think of much else to say. He could only think of the things he used to do when he lived in Goodsprings. He merely mumbled out in his feverish state, "You're the greatest godfather an orphan could have."

Joshua gave the boy a pat on the head and leaned the side of his head against Ezekiel’s. Some strands of Ezekiel’s hair had begun to dull and cling to Joshua’s hand.

The balding and blistering scalp was gently groomed by Joshua, who did his best to comfort and soothe the child until they arrived at the other end of the river.

When the raft reached the other side of the river, the older man exited the raft and continued to walk up the banks and into the Mojave.

Ezekiel hesitantly picked up his head and stretched his arms. He gazed at the distant neon lights of New Vegas brandishing themselves against the night sky. He knew he was so close to sanctuary but it felt so far, as death lingered around him.

Coughing and sputtering could be heard from the boy, nothing unusual. Ezekiel's stomach pooled blood and he refused food and water now too sick to eat or drink. As he spit up blood, his body blistered from the terrible combination of radiation and whatever other diseases he might’ve picked up. Every now and then he'd pick up his head only enough to spit off to the side of Joshua. Even still, he’d occasionally make a mess of himself and Joshua’s vest.

Joshua knew there was very little he could do. Whenever Ezekiel fell ill, he’d do what he could to comfort him. Very soon, this would all be over... one way or another.

After wiping his mouth on his arm, Ezekiel’s voice grew raspy "I know it's obvious but man... I feel like I look like shit. And feel like it."

"Don't give up yet. The clinic is not too far. Just try to rest for now."

"Josh, the day I give up is when you give up on me. You're all I have left." His little voice croaked from behind.

"And I won't give up on you." Joshua looked straight ahead and sighed. "We're coming by Camp Golf soon."

It was often difficult for Ezekiel to breath. They come out raspy and strained, "I feel so tired, but I can't fall asleep. What if I don't wake up?"

"You will wake up. Just sleep. The doctor will know what to do, son."

There was a bit of silence before he whispered, "Have you ever seen someone die right in front of you? How do you think they felt?"

"Of course I have. I could see what they felt in their eyes. Regret. Every time it was just that, regret. And some... some pleading to know the answer to the one question they always ask... why?" Joshua looked down and sighed

"Should I feel regret? Should I feel the need to know why? I don't feel those, but I feel grateful and scared. Also a lot of pain, but otherwise alright."

"Everyone I saw die was in battle, son... you won't die that way. I will make sure of it."

"I just don't know what to expect to feel if the implant doesn't work. When do I know when I should stay close to you even when the doctors tell me not to move?"

"It will work. I promise. And I will always stay close to you."

Ezekiel smiled until his head felt fuzzy. When part of his body drooped in Joshua’s arms and went limp, he raised his voice in alarm, "Joshua? My arm and leg… I feel numb.”

"You’re having some sort of seizure, like the doctor said. It will be okay. I promise."

The static within his limbs subsided within minutes, but it left a twisting pain in Ezekiel’s limbs. He groaned in pain.

"We will be there, soon. For now, I will be on the lookout for chems to help ease your suffering... I am sorry, son." Joshua hurried up.

The pain in Ezekiel’s body spread to his chest and head and he sobbed softly. His cries were weak and his lips quivered.

Joshua pushed on as much as it hurt him to allow this boy to suffer. Still, he tried talking. "You know, in my tribe, in my home, we used to say that of all people, those who face their challenges and work through them end up being the happiest and become better people. I believe in it and I know you will turn out well when you grow up."

"I'm gonna kick the Legion's ass for this.” 

"See? That's the kind of motivation I want to hear! You're not letting radiation kick your ass, you have shit to do!" 

Ezekiel’s hazy eyes widened with shock and he smiled. 

Not too far ahead a campfire flickered with figures walking around nearby. Joshua knelt down onto the ground and removed the harness, setting Ezekiel onto the cool pavement. As Joshua promised that he’ll be right back, he wrapped a blanket around the boy to keep him warm.

Ezekiel watched his guardian walk up to the figures with ease. He could hear Joshua speak, too quietly to understand what was being said though.

The talking turned into arguing. Arguing turned into shouting. Shouting turned into a man drawing his firearm. The man, the only one of the four properly visible, was wearing makeshift armor made from gecko pelts. Raiders. It had to be.

The boy's heart rate quickened and he fumbled with his own pistol as he cried out for his uncle. 

Joshua raised his hand to tell the boy to quiet down as the man slowly walked closer to him. "He the one who has the caps? In that case.. I don't need you anymore." The gun was raised and pressed to Joshua's head. In one swift motion Joshua moved aside, aimed the gun at one of the men's comrades and forced it to fire, knocking the man over and the gun from the other's hand, allowing Joshua to pull out his own and start blasting. In mere moments he turned the one that had just threatened him into paste. A moment later, the two behind that one were shot as well. Four bodies were on the floor with two shots each. When the deed was finished, Joshua made his way back to Ezekiel picked him up, carrying him to the campfire. 

"You were right, the NCR doesn't take care of their land. Are you hurt, though? I saw them put a gun to your head." Ezekiel checked over Joshua's bandages to be sure.

"I'm okay. I've killed men much more competent than these rookies. Let's see if they have any med-x to help you. They are often on chems."

While Joshua searched the bodies and duffel bags for medicine, Ezekiel clung onto his guardian. "I have to worry about you."

"No, you really don't. I just-" Joshua froze in place, pulled out his pistol and shot behind him. One of the bodies' heads splattered open. "One was still alive."

Ezekiel stared in awe. "You really don't leave any survivors. I thought I had seen something. I could've shot it" he pouted. He drew out his own gun, determined to fire again at an enemy before Joshua does.

"Put the gun away. You can't shoot in this condition."

"But I have to protect you too. You've done so much for me"

"I can take care of myself, son."

"No one should worry about their own survival when you have someone else and yourself to care for. I have to care for you too." He looked at him with determination in his eyes as he holstered his gun and rested his chin on the vest.

Joshua gave his head a gentle rub for a few minutes, then he continued looking for items to use. Shuffling through a bag resulting in some much needed success as a couple med-x syringes fell out onto the ground. “Alright… The pain will be gone for a while."

Ezekiel perked his head up. With the adrenaline from the encounter wearing off, the burning pain in his body began to flare. He braced himself for the needle.

Joshua set the boy down on the ground between his legs and prepped Ezekiel’s arm. With one quick plunge, the needle was pushed into his frail arm, releasing the strong pain killer.

He sighed in relief as the pain melted away and he glanced over at Joshua and gestured to the city. "Bet you never thought you had to feel like the city of sin would be our holy grail, huh?"

"Oh shut it, you." Ezekiel could hear Joshua laugh a little.

Ezekiel smiled and gave a lighthearted laugh as he tried to stand on his own. Using his guardian as support, his knees were wobbly and his stance was poor. "Oh, you liked that joke?”

Joshua smiled and picked Ezekiel up, holding him close to his chest. The change would give the older man’s back a break and it gave the sick boy a greater sense of comfort, provided they didn’t run into any more danger. 

Resting his head against Joshua’s neck, Ezekiel inquired softly, "Will they ask if you're a ghoul, too?"

"Of course they will. And I'll tell them what they want to hear. The NCR would kill me if they knew who I am, and who I was. Caesar's Legion would do the same."

"Maybe they wouldn't kill you if they knew you were playing caregiver to the Courier's kid."

"They don't care about the Courier. He was merely a tool for them to get where they need to get. This world... it is not as nice as you may think, boy."

Ezekiel looked at him with confusion. Such a naive child thought the world of his father and thought that the Mojave loved his father for all of his deeds. "But... What did he tell you about himself? About the things he did?”

"Oh, he did those things. But you need to understand one thing: here in the wasteland and out there in Shady Sands, none of it matters. They are just out to get what they want and they will walk over corpses for it. They are the other side of the coin of civilization, the corruption of man personified. It matters not what you do, they will take what they need and leave you to the crows."

"Maybe some people would care though..." Ezekiel looked sorrowful at the thought of his father's work being taken advantage of and taken for granted.

"There are good people, yes, but you still cannot trust them. Behind a facade of gold the devil may hide. It takes a long time to see the true nature of a man, the soul reveals itself only when you are dying or when you are free to kill others."

Ezekiel contemplated the cryptic words and tried his best to make sense of them in his own mind. He nodded as though he fully understood but Joshua knew that he was too young to truly understand. 

Joshua held the boy close to him, his determination to repay the courier who helped him long ago drove him to walk through the night. Ezekiel drifted off to sleep in his arms and Joshua silently prayed that they wouldn’t run into any more trouble. For he didn’t know how much longer the young boy could hold onto life. Every day it seemed like Ezekiel was getting worse. Every day as Joshua watched Ezekiel grow weaker and lose more of what made him human hurt him. Never before had Joshua experienced being so close to a child in a way that made him feel like he had been missing out on something his whole life. He tried to shoo the feeling away, knowing this is no time to become attached. If Ezekiel dies, he thought to himself, he believed that he would see the world a bit differently. Tonight, Joshua pushed through the soreness in his body to continue without rest if it meant that Ezekiel had a higher chance of living. Tonight, he promised he’d continue to repay his debt.

[misc-headcanons]

1st Place Prize: NS.FW Scenario (Law/Reader) 1/2

For @hyakira, a scenario involving Law and a rival/enemy Reader stranded on an island together. I decided to make it a two-parter: this one is the setup, and the next piece will be the smut! 

Like love, an intense rivalry can make you do some stupid things. You and Trafalgar Law had been taking shots at each other’s ships one minute when an intense storm had flown both of you wildly off course. Not wanting to miss an opportunity to beat the bastard once and for all, you had ordered your crew to pursue the Polar Tang before they managed to escape underwater. Your second-in-command pleaded for you to reconsider. “We need to focus on escaping, Captain! We’ll find another way to track him down, but–”

“Fine,” you snapped, catching one of your other crew members as they slid across the rocking ship; they were a hair’s breadth away from falling over the side of the deck and into the icy waters below when you reached over and yanked them back behind the banister. You angrily shoved him and your second-in-command in one of the indoor cabins before rushing to your quarters, your hand clenching around your sword’s scabbard. “I’ll just go after him myself.”

Inside a hidden compartment under the floorboards was one of your secret weapons–a small but sturdy Waver originally made in Skypiea, perfect for solo missions. You still couldn’t believe you’d managed to steal it from Mad Monk Urouge and survive after encountering his crew a few months back. It was worth it though, especially in times like these. You dragged the Waver out of its hidden compartment and onto the deck of the ship. The torrential rain immediately soaked through your clothes and chilled you to the bone, but the sight of the Heart Pirates’ Jolly Roger caught your eye and lit your chest on fire; he was not getting away this time.

You positioned yourself on the Waver and leaped into the sea, determined to follow the Polar Tang. It hadn’t gone underwater and it looked like the ship was headed for a nearby island that was across the horizon. As you followed behind them, a strong tidal wave launched the ship forward, tossing Law overboard. His crew quickly tried to change the ship’s course to turn back for outside to the outdoor deck to assess how stuck they were. Law’s second-in-command–a large bear Mink you vaguely remembered was named Bepo–was desperately trying to call out to his captain. Law yelled something at him as he used his Devil Fruit to switch places with random pieces of driftwood, seemingly ordering the others to get out of danger and leave him behind. Bepo reluctantly agreed, and Law found himself alone on the beach. Perfect.

You stealthily rode up to the beach, going slow enough to avoid having the Motor Dial rise over the sound of the rain to give away your presence. Once you made it onto the sand, you hid the Waver behind a few large bushes and spied on Law. He was still alone underneath a large tree, and you thought you could ambush him from behind if you were quiet enough. You made a few steps towards him when you noticed him wrapping his left arm with a spare bit of gauze kept in his jacket; he had sustained a nasty cut that stretched from his left shoulder to his chest, ending a few inches past his left pectoral muscle. Your eyes widened as you watched him wince in pain, and your fists clenched; an injury like that wouldn’t kill him, but it’d definitely impact his ability to hold a sword and fight for a while.

“Are you kidding me!?”

Law flinched at your sudden outburst and rested his hand on his sword’s handle. When he recognized your face, his grip on his sword slightly tightened. “Where’s the rest of your crew?” he demanded. “There’s no way your ship could have passed us, so you can’t have landed here before we did.”

You scowled and walked forward, crossing your arms. “The rest of my crew didn’t have the guts to follow me,” you spat. “But I’m not dying before I get a chance to beat you.”

Law rose up to face you, and blood started to seep through his gauze. “Come on then,” he replied. “Once you’re out of the way, I’ll be able to see what repairs the Polar Tang needs.”

You rolled your eyes and put a hand on your hip. “I can’t fight you now,” you replied heatedly. “Not when your arm’s injured like that. It wouldn’t be a fair win!”

Law raised an eyebrow. “That implies I wouldn’t be able to defeat you with this injury,” he replied with a slightly mocking tone. “I never struck you as the honorable type.”

“Fuck off.” You groaned and sat down under a large palm tree with a huff. “And now my crew and my ship are…God knows where they went to escape the storm. I finally get you alone and I can’t even fight you.” You sigh and run your hands through your hair. “…Aaargh!”

You toss a large rock next to you onto the sand, and it lands with a strange thump; it sounded like it had hit something hard underneath the sand. Curious, you get up and find where the rock had landed. After scooping away a few handfuls of sand, you found a large wooden crate buried under the sand. “What the hell…?”

Law followed behind you, wondering what you’d found. He assumed this island was abandoned, considering the overgrowth and brush that made up the rest of the island around them. He knelt down and peered at a few words carved into the top of the crate. “Property of the Rumrunner Pirates,” he read out loud. “Fuck prohibition and fuck the King of Drybone Island.”

You managed to open the crate and find a large number of bottles stacked inside–rum, whiskey, bourbon, beer, and a few bottles of red and white wine. “No way…” You reached inside and pulled out a bottle of bourbon to show Law. “Well, at least this hasn’t been a complete waste of time.” You dangled the bottle in front of Law, and he reluctantly took it from you. The two of you settled under another nearby palm tree and you uncorked the bottle before taking a large swig. After you wiped your chin, you handed the bottle to Law.

“After all the years you’ve spent chasing me, I’m surprised you’re fine sharing a drink with me,” Law remarked. He drank a bit and winced as he felt the liquor burn in his chest.

You laughed and took the bottle from him to have another drink. “I’m surprised you’re cringing like a choir boy having his first sip of wine,” you teased. You took a few large swigs without flinching. “Never figured a pirate like you would have such a low tolerance for alcohol.” “A pirate like me?”

“A Supernova,” you said, already feeling a bit lightheaded from the bourbon. You gestured wildly with one of your hands. “A-A captain of the Worst Generation, The Surgeon of Death! There were even some rumors I heard about you becoming a Warlord soon…” You sighed and took another drink. “I saw your wanted poster and I instantly knew that you were gonna be the next Pirate King. And I only want to fight the best.” You handed the bottle back to Law. “And now I can’t fight you, and we’re both stranded on a random island with nothing but some palm trees and a crate of booze.”

Law leaned back and took another drink. “So you only started this rivalry after seeing my poster? With how relentless you were in following me around, I would’ve thought there was more to it than that.”’ A ghost of a smile passed on his lips. “Your instincts on who’ll find the One Piece are spot on, at least.”

“Well, it was more than just that,” you said defensively. Your words were starting to slur a bit, and Law smirked. “You’re just…so…” The warmth of your cheeks from the bourbon intensified as you tried to explain why you were so fascinated with him. “Agh, I dunno how to explain it. I just wanted to fight you so I could get you off my mind for once.” You scowled at the ground. “I mean, I’m a pirate captain too. I’ve got so much shit to think about, but you’re always in the back of my head. And I figured once I fought you, it’d stop…”

Law blinked and tried to wrap his head around what you were saying. Making coherent thoughts seemed a bit more difficult, thanks to the bourbon. He found himself staring at you, watching your lips move as you talked about him. His mind started to wander. How long has she been trying to fight me? Feels like forever. And this is the longest conversation we’ve had. He saw you blush and describe how he was always on your mind and felt a strange feeling stirring in his chest. There were a few times aboard the Polar Tang where he’d have strange dreams about you, usually after the two of you clashed: you’d be fighting fiercely, he’d disarm you and grab your arm, and the two of you would stare at each other silently before he kissed you roughly. When he’d wake up, his boxers would be uncomfortably tight and he’d hastily justify the dream as being a random wet dream; nocturnal emissions were just part of being a man his age, but he wondered why they’d only ever come about after encountering you again.

Law noticed that you were still talking and tried to snap back to reality. He wasn’t used to feeling this unfocused. Maybe he had a concussion from being thrown overboard? No, he didn’t exhibit any other symptoms… He was silent as you continued talking and he took a few more swigs.

“And I know it sounds stupid, being so focused on you,” you continued. “But…The more I fought you, the more fun I was having. I was…exhilarated. Yeah, that’s the right word–exhilarated.” You giggled and reached to grab the bottle from Law. “That’s a funny word. ‘Exhilarated.’ ‘Ex-hillll-ahhh-rayyyy-teeeeed…’” You stumbled and fell forward, and Law’s dulled reflexes still managed to spur him to action; he caught your arms and the bottle fell into the sand. You two were closer than you’d ever been, even when your swords had clashed so many times before. The two of you stared silently at each other, and Law’s breath hitched–for once, this wasn’t a dream.

You bit your lip as you tried to push out the stream of lewd thoughts entering your mind; the two of you were so close. He stared up at you, trying to keep his composure as he thought of what to say. “You…” He took a deep breath. “You want me out of your system, right?”

You nodded wordlessly.

“I…I do too,” he confessed. “I keep having these dreams. About you. And–” He looked away and felt his cheeks burning. “You’re distracting. And since you’re distracted by me, it’s just logical that we…We move on from it.”

His grip on your arms relaxed, and you leaned forward slightly as your arms sank into the sand on either side of Law’s body. You shifted your hips and slowly sank down until you were resting on top of him. You leaned down and roughly kissed him, and the muffled moan that came from his lips was filling you with a warmth that definitely wasn’t from the bourbon. The two of you pulled away, panting.“Then…” You slowly lifted your shirt and tossed it into the sand. “Let’s move on.”

[nekojitachan]

Armies. Neil and Andrew on a mission. But I need to see protective Neil. Like that scene in the elevator when Andrew got shot but they weren't actually a ''thing'' yet, and now they are 😏. Please??? 😘 Let this day end with a smile

Okay, hopefully this meets what you wanted? It’s protective Neil/Abram enough? I’ve actually been thinking about Armies and the boys on a mission, so…

Uhm… warning for swearing and obviously the boys doing not quite nice things (it IS Armies). And I did a little quick research, but I’ve never been to Crimea so…. please forgive.

*******

Andrew shoved a fresh stick of gum in his mouth to fight offthe urge for a cigarette (plum-flavored, they’d have to hit up an Asian grocerystore whenever possible or hope that Lloyd sent them farther east than westernRussia sometime soon); at the moment, he was bored and wasn’t that impressedwith Sevastopol.

It may have something to do with the bastard who was eyeingAbram up like a piece of meat for the last couple of hours.

They were at some fancy benefit held at the Black Sea FleetMuseum, and of course Abram (or Leonid, as Mr. ‘Soon to have his eyes carvedout with a caviar spoon’ was concerned) appeared breathtaking dressed in aconservative black tux with his auburn hair darkened for the mission andeyes masked with green contacts. Andrewhad plans for his husband when they got back to their hotel later, to peel offthe fancy suit and muss up the barely tamed loose curls… but until then, he hadto prevent his husband from being bundled up and sold off to the highest bidderwhile they investigated who was attempting to sabotage the gas pipelinesfeeding out of Ukraine into Europe, casting blame on the country through whichthe pipes traversed.

Things never were simple, when it came to Abram.

Andrew had yet another caviar and crème fraiche coveredcracker as he pretended to wander around aimlessly, attention divided betweenAbram and the various conversations taking place in the room; his Russian wasgood enough to understand everything being said, but he still had enough of anaccent that he couldn’t pass for a native speaker, unlike Abram. Here and therewere pockets of Ukrainian, which he mostly understood, but the language wasn’tfavored at an event with pro-Russia sponsors. Where a good bit of the attendeeswere in the Russia military, even if they weren’t in uniform.

He kept shoving crackers in his mouth or sipping the decentchampagne the servers handed out, doing his best to avoid the very good vodkasince he was on the clock. Whenever he was pressed to speak, he mumbled orslurred so as to seem rather affected by all that champagne and vodka, and wasignored soon afterwards.

Or so he thought.

Perhaps he’d paid a little too much attention to Abram and Mr.Gouged-out Eyes. Perhaps he’d hovered a little too close when he’d heardmention of the Soyuz pipeline. All he knew was that one moment he debated if hehad enough room for another caviar cracker (they were delicious) and the next, twolarge ‘gentlemen’ who screamed FSB agents appeared in front of him as ifsummoned out of thin air – it was the close cropped hair, the barrel chests andbroad shoulders which gave the impression of barroom brawlers, the dourexpressions, the poorly hidden holstered guns (because what did they have tofear?) which always made them stand out.

“Are you enjoying theparty?” one of them asked, his accent clearly marking him from Moscow andnot Crimea, his pronunciation too urbane and northern for the area. “What do you think of it so far?”

The one on the left didn’t even try for pleasantries whileAndrew gazed up at them and grabbed a cracker. “Who invited you? I haven’t seen you around before.”

It was clear they wanted him to speak and were moments awayfrom demanding his identification papers (which he had, and decent ones at that…but not good enough to stand up to FSB scrutiny). “Bad appetizers,” Andrew mumbled as he held up the cracker, thencovered his mouth as if trying to not to vomit. He muttered something about thebathroom before he spun around and walked away hunched over, doing his best toappear sick to his stomach.

It bought him about four seconds, but that was enough to gethim safely out of reach before his Russian counterparts started yelling andgave chase.

He hated to leave Abram behind, but if the two goons wereafter him, then Abram was safe (well, other than dealing with the potentialhuman trafficker on his own… which was no contest, really). Andrew nearly raninto a server with a full tray of appetizers (ooh, some type of blintzes,dammit) which he hit to knock into the air (what a waste); that bought him afew more seconds, which he put to good use shedding the stuffy black jacket ofhis tux as he burst outside the museum.

Why the hell did it have to be so damn cold in Crimea?

It had been a bit too much to smuggle guns into the event,but he had his knives, which he used to take out one of the soldiers stationednear the rear exit. Someone tried to be a clever bastard and shoot him while hedid that, but he didn’t spend a couple of hours each week practicing throwing knivesfor the hell of it, and took out that soldier, too.

Unfortunately, that ate into his lead, which meant he didn’tquite make it to the alley across from the museum when one of the FSB agentsmanaged to get a lucky shot on his left thigh; it was clear that the bastardwanted to take him in alive for questioning, since it was barely more than a fleshwound meant to slow him down. Andrew grit his teeth as he stumbled into thewall as the pain and the shock washed through him, thrown off his pace for aprecious couple of seconds.

Part of his mind focused on the map of the city, of where hecould go to lose the agents, of the nearest safe house, of various allies and…and part of him focused on getting the bastards as far away from Abram aspossible, of making sure his husband was safe. Determined to do his job(protect Abram), Andrew swallowed a grunt of pain as he clenched a knife in eachhand and forced himself onward.

He got about six loping steps before someone shot at hisfeet. “Stop, or the next one will be in the back,” an agent called out in accentedEnglish. “We just need you able to talk, nothing else.”

Dammit, it just wasn’t his night, was it? Wishing he’d hadsome more vodka after all, Andrew tightened his grip on the knives and hopedthat he’d be fast enough to take out the agents (were there just two of themstill?) as he prepared to turn around – only to flinch when there was the soundof a gun being fired again.

Except there wasn’t another bullet ricocheting near his feetor piercing his flesh that time, and someone behind him cried out. He spun around in time to watch one of theagents from the museum fall to the ground while a soldier stumbled back intothe wall with a knife embedded in his throat, followed by a blank-faced Abramshooting another soldier the same time he shoved a knife in the remaining agent’supper right chest.

“Don’t,” Abramsaid in Russian as he knocked the taller man’s own gun aside and held what mustbe a ‘borrowed’ weapon near his left temple. “I’m not in a good mood right now, not after you shot my husband. Do youhave any idea how much he’s going to whinge about the damn thing?” Despite his light tone, that one cruel smileof his which set the Hatfords and their people on high alert had crept onto hisface.

Andrew sheathed one of his knives and limped over to the twomen, having to step over a dead body along the way; it wasn’t often when Abramdid the ‘heavy lifting’ during work like this, but he was still at the top ofhis game whenever necessary.

Dammit, Andrew hated times like these, hated when he’d messedup and Abram could have been hurt.

“Come on, babe, I’m not going to bitch half as much as youdo about the damn grout,” he said as he reached out to wrap his hand around theback of Abram’s neck to give it a gentle squeeze. “Now are you going to gutthis asshole or shall I?”

“You’ll regret this,” the agent insisted as sweat poureddown his flushed face, as predictable as ever, “you’ll be broken into patheticpieces once-“

Abram made a tsk’ing sound before he smashed the gun intothe side of the asshole’s face to knock him out, then let him slide down ontothe ground. “You going to be okay long enough for Artem to get here and helpclean this up?”

Busy removing his bowtie to use as a makeshift bandage,Andrew gave a slight shrug. “I’m heartbroken about the damn blintzes, but otherthan that, I should survive.” He wouldn’t even need any stitches, as far as hecould tell.

His husband gave him one of those looks which usually predated a grab for a bottle of gin andrants about prats (it was an idiot Brit’s sign of affection, Andrew just knewit) then rubbed his face. “I’m about to shoot you myself,” he muttered while hekicked the unconscious FSB agent twice, and hard at that.

Andrew might believe that threat if his husband didn’t thencall Artem, their colleague in Sevastopol, and bitch him out in Ukrainian to getthere as quickly as possible with some help… and to make sure there were somechocolate bars in the med kit.

He may not be fluent in Ukrainian as a certain polyglotbastard, but he knew the important words.

*******

I must admit, that was rather fun. Did it help end the day with a smile?

[dammitadolfnomorecake]

CSUAPR prt 50 start? Not sure on my chapter numbers anymore, but yay for sex!

The world outside their bedroom was dark when Lance woke. Shuffling off to the bathroom, he returned to find Keith still snoring softly. He’d really fucked up. He’d let everything get too much for him, then broken down. Considering the bathroom light was the only one on in the cabin, other than their bedside lamp, he’d missed decorating Keith’s cake too. He’d missed the whole afternoon. Climbing back into bed, he wriggled in an attempt to get comfortable as he lay facing his husband. Keith was so beautiful. His soft silky hair mussed by his pillow, drool dried in the corner of his mouth. He wished he could hold him. Have Keith’s back up against his chest. His face buried against Keith’s nape, as his husband burrowed into his hold. He missed the way Keith would roll over in his hold, the sheer amount of affection in his eyes as he smiled up at him. He missed him. And showering. Quiznak, he missed showering where he could wash Keith’s hair. He missed watching the suds running down his husband’s toned back. The way Keith would melt as he massaged his scalp... He loved him so fucking much. Keith had lost muscle mass while in his coma, a tiny bit more fat sat on his stomach. If you hadn’t spent hours simply tracing Keith’s form with your eyes, you wouldn’t know. You also wouldn’t see the small hesitations Keith made now as he tried to figure out his own strength. Keith’s eyelashes fluttered, a puffy sigh escaping his lips as his hand moved. Blinking half a dozen times rapidly, Keith scrunched his eyes tightly, then proceeded to wrap his arm around him as tried to get closer than Lance’s stomach allowed “Mmm, babe?” Reaching out, Lance brushed Keith’s fringe from his face. His husband was so handsome. Keith could have had his choice if anyone in the universe. Opening his eyes, Keith blinked those gorgeous purple eyes at him, Lance’s face was full of love “I’m here. You go back to sleep” “Nooo. Not until you tell me why you’re awake...” “I was watching you sleep. Thinkin’ ‘bout how pretty you are” Keith ducked his head, yawning through his nose as he slid his hand up to Lance’s hip “You’re the pretty one. Very pretty” “No, babe. You are. I love you” Keith frowned at him, his hand moving from Lance’s hip to his shoulder “What’s wrong? You don’t smell very happy” Lance hummed. The only thing unhappy about the situation was that he couldn’t cuddle his husband “I’m fine. Scouts honour” “Then why do you seem so sad?” He wasn’t so much sad as he was missing how things used to be “I’m not. I was thinking about how much I love you. I miss holding you” “That just means I get to hold you” “I know. I miss it though. I miss washing your hair and holding you when you wake up” “Babe...” Lance sniffled softly. There might have been times he wanted to shoot Keith in the foot, but he was so incredibly fortunate to have the man for his partner “You’re so beautiful, Keith... I love you so quiznakking much” “Hey, you’re the beautiful one. What’s going on here?” “I just... I love you and I’m so grateful. I don’t know how I could made it through any of this without you. I’m... I’m really... I couldn’t think of anyone else I’d want by my side for this” Keith’s smile sent happiness flooding through his veins “You don’t need to look so sad. You’re my pride and joy, Lance. You’re my husband... and that... that makes me so fucking happy” Lance felt himself blush, wishing his stomach wasn’t in the way. He really wanted to kiss his husband. Keith’s pouty lips were so damn kissable. Trying to settle his racing heart, Keith whispered his slight nudge “Babe?” Lance swallowed, he wanted to kiss him. He really wanted to kiss him “I want to kiss you” “Then kiss me” He would if they weren’t in such an awkward position “You’ll have to come to me... because I can’t reach you” “Oh, babe... here, come here” Rolling onto his back, Keith moved to kiss him. The kiss was deep, full of meaning. Lance’s eager to return it, to show his husband how important and irreplaceable he was. Between his legs grew wet, as the kiss morphed into a desperate need to feel some much more. To feel the heat of Keith’s skin, to watching his face as he fell apart. As the kiss broke, Lance let out a shaky breath “Wow” “Wow” Keith echoed his breathy statement, hair falling down to frame his face as nuzzled at Lance’s cheek. The sensation tickled his skin, the Cuban smiling as he tucked Keith’s hair back behind his ear “I want to have sex” Keith snorted softly “You do?” “I want my husband. I want to feel you... I feel like my heart’s going to explode if I don’t...” “We can’t have that” Why didn’t Keith get it? Why didn’t he acknowledge how strong he was? How wonderful he was... He wanted to forget the pain of Keith leaving that night. He wanted to wash away the pain he’d carved onto Keith’s heart “I’m serious, Keith. I’m so in love with you that I don’t know what to do anymore. You’re my everything. You’re my partner. My partner in crime. My accidental husband that was tricked into a union with me. You keep me sane and you pull me back from the edge like it’s as natural as breathing. I’m sorry I couldn’t bring myself back. I couldn’t fix me...” “You don’t need fixing. I love you. You’re allowed to have feelings. You’re allowed to have bad days” “But today’s your birthday. I want you to have the happiest birthday ever. You’re my world, Keith. My lover and my husband. I want to feel you... I want to spend this now having sex with the man I treasure. Happy Birthday, babe” Slowly and sweetly Lance fell apart under Keith’s hands. His husband’s lips upon his body like a ravenous wolf upon a bone. His hands never seemed to stop moving, a kiss or touch, neither here nor there, but both “and” and “and not” at the same time as tried to catch the fleeting feelings of fingertips or lips only for it slip away before he could catch it. The unique sensations only Keith could strum to life stripped away his bullheadedness. Long caramel legs wide as he lay exposed, Keith teasing him to the point he felt he was going to crumble if his husband didn’t let him come. With a shallow thrust, he was drowning, gasping for air as his hands clenched the blanket beneath them. Rolling his hips slowly, the muscles in his legs undulated, body clenching around his husband, drawing him deeper into his sopping wet heat, only Keith... Keith knew how to play him. His thrusts kept shallow, he reduced him into a babbling mess, words of love slurred into words of need. Keith would oblige, thrusts hard and deep until his toes started too curl and all language lost form, then would edge off, remaining only ever so slightly buried inside, teasing him into this trembling sweaty mess. Reaching for his husband’s hand, Keith stared down at him with hooded eyes, his hand taking his as he slid from inside of him. Crying out in loss, Keith kissed his palm, nuzzling softly as if they weren’t lost in the heat of sex. Forming words with his kiss swollen lips, Lance couldn’t comprehend them. Their position changing as Keith moved from between his legs, an arm finding its way between his back and the blankets, Lance left dizzy as he went from being beneath his husband to straddling his lap in the space of a few moments. Now the one gazing down, Keith kissed his hand again, a hand on his hip the support offered as Lance rose to sink back down. Whimpering his husband’s name, Keith rolled up, the position finally giving him everything he needed. Trying to ride Keith, he could barely lift his body to find his rhythm, hand torn from Keith’s to balance himself as he rode his husband unashamedly. With curved back and bared throat, his vision mister red. Orgasm finally tearing through him as came in hard jolted bursts between them, cum dripping from the bottom of his swell, soaking his crutch and pooling on Keith’s stomach. Keith stretching him wide as he swelled inside, flooding him as his chanted his praises. He loved this man. He loved him... Legless and unable to stand, keith fetched a cloth to clean him down with. Wiping him clean, his husband pressed kisses to the places the cloth passed over. All Lance wanted was to cuddle with him now, but Keith was too good to him. His husband cleaned him down, helped him back into his sweats then to the bathroom. Hunched from the fire running through his back and legs, Keith sat him on the toilet, fetching paracetamol and heat pads for him. That had meant his husband had to wake Curtis to ask for the paracetamol. Measuring the dose, his husband apologised, Lance didn’t want apologies. He loved him. He loved being close to him. He didn’t regret having sex with him, the sex it’s self wasn’t the problem. It was sitting in his husband’s lap for as long as he did. Making sure he was comfortable, clean and heat padded in the right places, his husband supported him back to their room. Keith stripping off the top sheet then fussing him under the covers before spooning around him. It was a nightmare free night for them. Lance waking after Keith. His husband’s hand against his belly as their twins slept. Wriggling against him, Keith kissed his shoulder. His husband’s dick was poking against his arse, Lance mentally snorting as how eager Keith was despite the night before “Good morning, sleeping beauty” “Mmm... morning... seems like I’m late to wake up” “Nah, you’re fine. How are you feeling?” “Happy” Placing his hand on Keith’s, Keith nuzzled into the spot he’d been kissing “Good. I was worried you’d be sore from last night” “‘m ok. Are you ok?” “Yeah. Yeah, I think I am” Sliding Keith’s hand down, his husband took the silent invitation, rutting up against his arse as they reached the band of his sweats “Babe?” “I want it... like this...” “You sure?” “Yes, birthday boy...” Keith was slow and gentle. Aroused before he woke, neither of them lasted long. Laying in a tangle of limbs, and a very protruding stomach, their twins seemed to think it was time to make their presence known given their parents were awake. Handsy and cuddly, Keith was going a little crazy as he nuzzled and kissed him. Tickled by his husband’s fringe, Lance’s giggled “What’s so funny?” “If I told you, you wouldn’t show me mercy” “I might. It’s my birthday... I can be generous” “Your hair’s tickly” Leaning further over him, his husband’s hair draped across his face. Laughing, he shoved Keith back “What happened to being generous?!” “What did I do?” Playfully teasing him, Keith knew damn well what he did “You know what you did... It’s assault with a long dead mullet!” “That’s nice... it’s my birthday and you’re picking on me” “I will when you’re tickling me!” There was a pause before Keith poked his belly “Hey, babe...” “Yesss?” “I love you” “I love you, too. You’re such a dork” “Again, it’s my birthday. What happened to the Lance who was telling me how much he loved me?” “I slept it off...?” “And you’re really alright? Last night was... it was pretty full on. We haven’t done edging like that...” They hadn’t done edging that like since he’d turned into this... with an over active pair of watermelons in his stomach “Babe, you’re worrying too much... I don’t want you to worry. I don’t want you to feel bad for us enjoying... that... I love you” “I know you do. That’s why I don’t want you to feel like you can’t say no” “You have no idea what my libido is like... seriously, I could go again right now” “You wouldn’t be able to walk” “At least I wouldn’t be a horny wreck... seriously, please. I love you. I... I like... this. This... us. I didn’t think... I didn’t think I’d ever want something like this after what happened. But when I’m with you, I feel like I can do almost anything. I might have been a bit emotional last night, but I swear I’m ok” “A bit? You looked ready to cry before we started” “That’s because...!” Keith nipped at his shoulder, Lance knowing he’d have to explain, but it wasn’t always easy to find the words to explain emotions and feelings. Sometimes the right word simply didn’t exist “Because?” “Because... I love you. It hit me last night, all over again. All the support you give me. How alive you make me feel... how beautiful you are. I mean, like, neither of us are perfect, and this is probably the longest we’ve gone without fighting, but like... I couldn’t ask for a better husband and sometimes I feel like I can’t say that, even when I do... like... I mean... I just love you” No one had ever called him “Eloquent” and meant it... He’d said “like” far too many times for his liking. He couldn’t help the rush of love or the rush of affection he felt when Keith would smile at him. That private little smile that seemed to say far more than his words could. Nuzzling into him, Keith sighed “You say it everyday, babe. Don’t forget that” “Sometimes I don’t...” “You don’t always have to do the actual say. The three of you make me so quiznakking proud” “Even with sweats half down and your dick up my arse?” “Yep. Especially with your sweats half down and my dick up your arse. It’s going down now” “I wasn’t sure that was a setting...” Keith slid back slightly before thrusting forward, the drag felt too damn good. Squeaking, Lance blushed. Kissing his below his ear, his husband was a shit “What was that?” If this kept up they’d never end up getting out of bed for the day. His husband had to detach and stop his “pervy octopus” ways “I have to pee” “Then I guess we’ll have to finish in the shower” * Keith was a the happiest he could possibly be as they walked into the living area. Sitting on the kitchen counter were a small pile of wrapped gifts, Krolia stood in front of something blue she seemed quite proud of, with Korra on her shoulder. Curtis was at the oven, a small stack of pancakes on the plate to the left of him. Beside him, Lance came to a stop. Nudging him softly with his shoulder, his husband smiled at him “Sorry, hard kick. I’m ok. They’re super active now” Lance’s scent was tinged with sadness, his eyes misty “You sure?” “My ribs are being bashed. Let’s get you your birthday breakfast” “Ok. Do you want to cuddle on the sofa with me while we eat?” “Yeah. That sounds good” Lance took the lead, leading him into the kitchen to stand by Curtis “You’ve gotten better. Minimal burning around the edges... and look at those bubbles!” Curtis rolled his eyes at him, Keith wrapping his arms around his husband as he rested his chin on Lance’s shoulder “You’re not funny. Yes, you can take what’s there. The butter’s already on the table. Happy Birthday, Keith” “Thanks, Curtis. Those look great” Curtis waved his egg-flip “At least someone appreciates my pancakes. Keith, you forgot to return my paracetamol last night. You’re forgiven because it’s your birthday, but next time can you try to remember please?” Keith’s “No problem...” overlapped Lance’s “Aw, babe. Everyone wants to pick on you today”. Curtis shook his head, he probably didn’t want to know “Take your pancakes and sit down already. I’ll bring more over when I’m done” “Thanks, Curtis. You’re the best” Trying not to let Lance go as he shuffled along behind him, the slipped past Curtis and into range of Krolia. Grabbing his arm, they were both jolted back as his mother leaned in to kiss his cheek “Happy Birthday, Keith” “Thanks, mum. And thank you, Korra” His little sister’s eyes were open, staring at him as he kissed her forehead. She looked happy. Happy and chubby... and maybe a bit confused “We weren’t sure that you were getting out of bed today, were we Korra? Your big brother certainly kept us both waiting” “It’s my birthday, I’m allowed to sleep in” Krolia side-eyed him, then lifted Korra off her shoulder, nuzzling and kissing her chubby cheek she seemed so happy to have her. Keith felt a stab of jealousy. Happiness and jealousy... “Don’t you listen to your big brother. He wasn’t sleeping at all... but he did give us time to decorate his cake, didn’t he, baby girl. Luckily Curtis baked it yesterday. It gave us time this morning, yes it did my darling” The blue thing he’d noticed on the counter turned out to be a dark blue frosted cake. His mother had whipped up some cream to pipe along the top, the bowl and bag sitting next to the cake. Keith’s brain ticked over. The previous days walk where they’d been allowed out for over an hour. Lance covering his moment of sadness with that little white lie he knew he was telling. Lance and Curtis had talked about his birthday. They’d planned the cake together. Seeing it assembled, Lance must have realised whatever he’d had planned was no longer possible. Having talked to Shiro the previous afternoon, Shiro has agreed that too many people face to face would most probably be bad for Lance’s mental health. Pidge was still making the trek to see them in person, bringing with her their presents to him and setting up the TV for a face call. Coran had wanted to come see them in person too, but understood that Lance might not be up for visitors. Shiro wasn’t completely sure if he was coming to visit or not, meaning it’d be a surprise for all of them to see what he decided to do. Miriam had been right, and having forgotten that his birthday was coming up, he’d also forgotten that Lance always wanted everything to be perfect for the people around him. In a way it was good that he’d forgotten or he would have been stressing over his husband’s mental state further the closer they got to today. Kissing Korea’s cheek, Krolia held her out to him. Letting go of his husband, Keith took Korra into his hold. His little sisters hand tightening around the bunched fabric of his shirt with her tiny fingers “I’ll be done in a couple of ticks. I must say, I’m quite proud. I know I didn’t bake it, but I haven’t turned it a complete mess yet. Curtis got photos of Korra helping. They’ll look great in the album Lance got for you” “Mum! It’s supposed to be a surprise” “Oops. I’m out of sync with your Earth customs. Last time I was doing this, you were just a small babe. Now eat your pancakes and relax” Lance cut their pancakes for them. His husband feeding him bites as his sister slept on his shoulder. Keith wasn’t exactly sure how to feel about his mother making him a birthday cake. On Daibazaal it never would have happened. Here she was acting like it was the most natural thing in the world. Then there was Lance and Curtis to consider. He didn’t know if they’d planned to decorate his cake while they slept or if the three of them were going to attempt to decorate it together. Teleporting back from wherever he’d been, Kosmo’s whole body started wagging at the sight of pancakes. Sitting beside Lance, he whined until Lance finally looked at him, then used his biggest, widest, puppy-dog eyes on him. Sighing, Lance plucked the top pancake off the pile, rolling it up before passing it over to their fur son “I don’t know if you deserve it. You haven’t wished your father a happy birthday yet” Kosmo didn’t care. His tail only thumped harder as he got up to place both paws on Lance’s leg and nudge at his arm “These are for you father. You’re going to get fat” Yipping as if insulted, Kosmo turned his face away. Picking up the knife to tackle the next pancake, Kosmo broke his false huff lunged in under Lance’s arm, tonguing up the side of the stack as he closed his jaws around the edge and teleported over to munch down on his stolen treat in front of the unlit fireplace. Sighing, Lance threw the knife down on the plate. The clattering sound startling Korra who started to cry. Patting his sister’s back, Keith didn’t know what to do. Shooting a pleading look to Lance, his husband was quick to hold out his hands “You should be able to handle one crying baby, Keith” Ignoring his mother, Keith passed Korra to Lance who took the little girl up in his arms. Placing her on his shoulder, he patted her back softly as he bounced her while hushing her softly. His husband melted his heart all over again. He wasn’t sure how to soothe his sister, yet Lance wasn’t shying away from her cries. Rubbing his cheek against her head, he kissed her beanie as she continued to cry, though not as loud as it had been “That’s a good girl. Yes, it is. I know. That big bad knife scared you, baby girl. Yes, it did. Don’t worry, that knife isn’t going to scare you anymore... shhh... there’s a good girl... I know... I know. It’s your big brother’s birthday today. You can’t even talk yet and you sound just like him. All bark and no bite... you’re probably exhausted my little princess. It’s barely breakfast and you’ve had to serenade us, as well as be completely adorable” Calming Korra down, she drifted off to sleep on Lance’s shoulder. Keith simply staring at the pair of them, wondering if Lance knew what he was doing to his heart. He was so good with children. He didn’t get angry or annoyed with her, instead he was all gentle smiles and love with his little sister. Catching him staring, his husband scrunched his brow “What?” “You look good like that” “Holding Korra? She’s doing all the hard work when it comes to looking good, but you make it look so easy baby girl. What your brother doesn’t know is that having a baby in the house involves a lot more screaming than one short song. When you have a baby you can’t return them to their parents because you are their parents” “You’re still better at this than me” “Keith, babe. You saw the size of my family at Christmas. If you’re not good with babies, then you’re screwed because there’s always some kid around” Keith felt a momentary stab of pain. Yeah. He’d seen Lance’s dozens of relatives... and while he’d in care he’d come across a small child or two, but he didn’t know how to “Dad”... Reaching out, Lance placed his hand on his knee “You’ll get there. You got me through withdrawal. You got me through peopling. You got me through losing Allura and losing everything else. You’ll get through being a dad, because we’re a team, right?” There was a huge difference between a screaming Lance and a screaming baby. Smiling sincerely at him, Keith wasn’t able to stop himself as he surged forward to steal a kiss “I fucking love you” Lance snorted, both of them casting a quick glance to Krolia who seemed lost in the world of cream piping, then back to each other. Lance ducking his head slightly “I love you, too. Do you want to take her back? I need to change” Why did Lance need to change? His husband was better dressed than he was “Are you...?” Lance gave him a sigh, careful to lift Korra off his shoulder and settle her down on Keith’s “I’m leaking. I didn’t think to put nursing pads in my bra” Sliding his chair back, Keith got a good look at Lance’s wet chest. Arousal rushed to pool in his belly, his husband detecting the change in his scent “And this is why we can’t have nice things. I’ll be right back” Lance coming back drew out to 20 minutes where his husband hadn’t returned. Enough time had passed for Curtis to be bringing more pancakes over to the table “I’ll take her, you go check on him” He hadn’t needed to say anything, they both were worried over Lance not coming right back. Not confident in passing Korra, Curtis took her off his shoulder, Keith giving him a nod before heading off to find Lance. Finding Lance wasn’t all that hard. Their bedroom door was open, and sticking his head in he found Lance sitting on their bed, staring down at a small blue onesie that had been part of the pair gifted by Lance’s grandmother “Everything ok, babe?” “Yeah. It fell out when I went to grab my pads out. I was thinking about how small babies are” Walking over to their bed, Keith sat himself down next to his husband. Resting his head on his shoulder, the onesie seemed tiny “Do they come that small?” Lance snorted “Yeah, babe. What happened to Korra?” “Curtis is having cuddles. You’ve been gone a little while” “Had to clean up, then I had to pee, then I to grab my nursing pads out and change my shirt... it’s so much effort” Keith laughed softly, as long as Lance was alright that was the main thing “You’ve gotten so lazy” “I’ve gotten huge. I’m nearly out of clothes you know. If I get any bigger this stomach isn’t going to fit my shirts” “I don’t mind you being shirtless” “In front of Curtis?” “Maybe not” “I had the feeling you’d say that... I prefer wearing shirts, especially now” “Bad body day?” Lance nodded “It’s harder to have a good one. Sorry, it’s your birthday...” Nope. He wasn’t having Lance beating himself over this “It’s fine. I want to understand. Did you and Curtis plan that cake for me?” Lance started folding up the onesie so the small lamb on left breast of the tiny garment was upright “You really notice everything, don’t you?” “If mum...” “Your mum wanted to. I kind of figured that it’d happen with how long I slept for last night... We were going to surprise you in the morning. But it’s fine, she’s your mum and Korra helped too. It’s a nice memory” “You’re not sad?” “A bit, but today is about you. I want you to have a really good birthday. I mean, it’s better than last years...” “Yeah, well, no ones trying to kill us now. Plus, we’re going to be dads soon...” Trying to inject enthusiasm in his tone failed when Lance turned to him, his husband placing the onesie in his lap “You are going to be an amazing father. I know you’re scared, I’m scared too. I’m terrified something will go wrong at the last moment. That I’m going to drop a baby. Or that I’m just going... that I’m not going to be able to cope after giving birth. But you. I know you’re going to smash it out of the park. Because everything you put your heart and soul into doing, you always smash it out. You’ve always been a fighter, babe. You’ve got this” “Do I?” “You do. It’s like when you became Black Paladin. You didn’t think you could do it, but I did. Until Blade work got in the way...” Hadn’t Lance given him enough shit for it at the time? “I remember missing a certain Razzle-Dazzle routine...” “And I remember missing my only friend... I’m going to get depressed if we keep talking about it. My point is, you’re stronger than you let yourself believe. I love you. They’re going to love you” Cutting himself off to take a breath, Lance pushed that smile he disliked to his lips. Keith letting him get away with it simply because his husband realised he’d stepped on one of his own triggers so had promptly tried to move past it before he became stuck on it. Lifting the onesie, Keith traced over the embroidered sheep with his thumb “I’m scared of how small they’re going to be” “Me too... I hope they look like you” “No. I hope they look like you” “Are you kidding me? You’re the whole package. With your stupidly perfect hair and those eyes... I can’t say no to those eyes. Plus, you’ve got a nicer nose than I do” “What’s wrong with your nose?” “I like yours better?” “I think you’re cuter” Lance rolled his eyes at him “We’re going to get stuck here with you not admitting you’re gorgeous as you call me beautiful, and then, before we know it, your birthday is going to be over. Come on, Daddy Keith...” Plucking the onesie from his hand, Lance sat it down in the bedside table. Keith taking his hand as he stood “Alright, Daddy Lance. You’re still beautiful” “You’re an idiot. A soppy loved up idiot” “Mhmm... your idiot though” “Yep. And I’ll shoot anyone who says otherwise in the foot” “Babe, you can’t shoot everyone you don’t like” “We’ll have to agree to disagree” Keith knew he shouldn’t encourage Lance when it came to shooting people. His husband may act like he had no problem with it, especially with the number of people he’d killed, but he knew that the weight of what he’d done weighed on him heavily. If Lance did shoot someone else, then part of him would break beyond repair... Still, it was nice to know his husband was as possessive of him as he was of Lance. Lance loving and wanting him was the best present he could ever ask for. “There you two are. We thought you might have gone back to bed!” In their short absence Krolia had finished decorating the cake. The pile of pancakes were half gone. A broke plate lay on the floor, and Kosmo was nowhere to be seen. Having moved his presents to the kitchen table, Keith supposed it was a subtle hint to open them. Trying to pull Lance into his lap, his husband smacked his grabby hands away “Nope. You need to unwrap your presents, not me” “Can’t I do both?” Lance pouted, hands on his as he stared down at him “Aren’t you two worn out from last night and this morning?” Lance immediately blushed deep red, trapping his bottom lip in his teeth in embarrassment. Keith shot his mother a glare that Krolia shrugged off. Curtis hadn’t told them that they were being too loud... so why must he suffer the embarrassment of his mother doing so “Muuuum. Not cool” “You were up quite late...” Pointing at her with his right pointer finger, he grabbed Lance’s hand with his left hand. His threat deadly serious “If you say one more thing about our sex life, I’ll be taking my presents and my husband, and we’ll be spending my birthday in our bedroom” “Relax, I’m only teasing you both” “It’s ok, Keith. Open your presents. Krolia already told you mine, so save that one for last” He’d wanted to open his husband’s first, purely because it was from his husband. He was annoyed his mother had ruined the surprise, but he’d be lying if it hadn’t spiked his curiosity over what could possibly be in the album. Having all this attention on him wasn’t unpleasant, yet it also wasn’t all that pleasant. He didn’t know what facial expression he was supposed to make, or what he was supposed to say “Fine, move your chair and sit next to me” “You’re such a big baby” “Yep. Now sit down next to me” “Only because it’s your birthday, and I’m feeling generous” Keith laughed lightly at the way Lance threw his words back at him “Oh, merciful husband of mine, won’t you sit beside me” Wrinkling his nose, Lance poked out his tongue “Too far. You ruined it. Scooch over so I can fit?” “Deal” From Curtis he received a mug. Curtis looked slightly apologetic, but it did have Red on it, so it was instantly elevated above a normal mug. He’d also brought him a new black leather jacket with red trimming on the inside pocket. The choice screamed Lance more than Curtis’s shopping style. Lance had probably been going to gift it to him, then told Curtis to do so. Curtis didn’t know his sense of taste with clothing... which was pretty much “if it was clean and it fitted, it’d do”. His mother had a new Luxite blade for him, three colours woven into the design. Purple for Krolia, pink for Korra, and aqua for Kolivan, to remind him of his family on Daibazaal. Korra had gifted him what looked like a Kosmo plushy, and a “best big brother shirt”. Krolia insisted that he wear the shirt, while holding his sister on his shoulder and his new blade in his hand so she could send a picture to Kolivan. Keith was already in position before he thought to object to being bossed around. Lance found it all funny, his objections died in his throat as the sight of his husband’s smile. Knowing he was biased, his best presents came from his boys and his husband... and Curtis. Confined to the cabin, Keith had no idea when Lance and Curtis had had time to plan their presents... even when the third one taking Lance by surprise. Sliding what he knew to the album from Lance towards him, when he’d picked the present up, there’d been a second beneath it with Curtis’s neat handwriting across the tag. Drawing his brow, Curtis laughed at his facial expression “It’s for both of you. It’s also from Shiro. I may have also added to your present Lance...” Lance leaned past him to reply to Curtis “Should we be worried?” “Not really. You don’t have to open it right now, if you don’t want to” “Is it dirty? Or wrestling related?” “Lance, not everything I touch is wrestling related” “No... sometimes you touch Shiro” Curtis spluttered, the poor man covering his face with his both hands as he leaned heavily on the table “Babe, I think you broke him” “I think I broke him too. Open it already, I want to know what’s inside” “I want to open yours first” “Spoil sport” From Lance it was a beautiful album, a little clumsy where he’d decorated the from by hand in diamanté’s spelling out “Our Twins”. Inside was photos of Lance at various stages of his pregnancy. His baby bump as it grew, as well as the ultrasound photos, and a small pocket for the drive containing the videos. Flicking through, he could tell the last few photos were taken by Curtis. There were photos of Lance’s growing bump, Lance napping, Lance sleeping with his belly showing, and naturally photos of Kosmo and Lance. Some were of the pair of them both sleeping, some where of Kosmo resting with his head on Lance’s swollen stomach as Lance rubbed the spot between his ears. In one he had his paws on the bump with his tongue lolling out as he gazed up at Lance “I hope you don’t mind. I know you weren’t in the mood for photos when I picked you up. Some of them came from Marco, that lifted off the security feed in the outpost. Most of the selfies I lifted from your comms when you were sleeping after you told me you wanted to make Keith an album. In the album I’m gifting you, it’s got photos from the tour. So it’s not just of you. Shiro helped by providing the coordinates to match where they were taken. Miriam also sent through copies of photos from Christmas” Unlike his husband, he wasn’t quite so quick to cry, but he felt incredibly overwhelmed seeing Lance’s pregnancy progression carefully displayed with love and care. They’d received so much support from their friends. Keith had no way of ever paying them back for what they’d done for them. Pulled into a tight hug by his husband, Keith buried his face against Lance’s neck. On the night of the explosion, he could have lost all of this and he’d never have seen his boys born. He’d never been able to hold Lance again. See him smile or laugh. He never wanted to be in a situation like that again. He didn’t want his husband worrying that he’d never come home. That he’d widow him with two young boys to raise. He wouldn’t be going on another mission. Not when he had the future with Lance that he’d always wanted right in front of him. He didn’t know what he’d do as he transitioned, only that it’d be something low key and something that wouldn’t take him from his husband’s side. He wanted to give Lance everything he could “Keith?” “Let’s do it... let’s get married again... When we’re here, back on Earth with them... I want to do it. I want everyone to see you...” “Babe, we don’t have to get married again. I’m happy with you. I liked our first marriage” “I’m happy with you too... but we can... with everyone. With Mami and Jorge... and all your family... That big white wedding you always wanted. It might take a while, but I want it. I want you” “You’re an idiot. You’ve already got me” “I love you... I love them...” “I know you do. I know, babe. You ready to open your presents from our boys?” “I want to stay like this a little longer” “Ok, whatever you need. I’ve got you” From his boys he was gifted cheesy gifts that were so Lance. A tiny shirt that said “I asked my dad, but he told me to ask my father”, another saying “stuck in an infinite loop of dad jokes”. Lance had also found him a pretty blade made of metal he couldn’t recognise, tilting it small dots appeared. He wasn’t exactly a rocket scientist in intelligence, so didn’t realise the whole blade was decorated with small galaxies and stars. Curtis was quick to scold him as all weapons were supposed to be kept in a safe, where as Lance had to have had that in his possession since his arrival. His husband shrugged it off, entirely unapologetic for his gift. It seemed to Keith that most of the weaponry he had been collecting now came from his husband rather his own desire to seek it out. Lance paid ridiculously close attention to everything he said. He’d mentioned liking a pendant he’d seen at a market stall on one of the planets they’d toured. Sure enough, it was carefully and loving wrapped in the small pile, though now from their boys instead of his husband. It was thoughtful and completely Lance’s style to spoil him, despite his husband being the one who deserved to be spoilt rotten.

[uncrownedwords]

Trauma,

Let me paint a picture, a story in your mind. Trauma like a friend, has come to story time. With it , bring those flashbacks of the ones you'd rather hide . With it brings you forward all your petty lies behind the pride. A story left to tell for it's been hidden far to long;

Starting with a plane ride , and ending with one too. The day we picked you up the sky was just so blue. I thought this was a good thing,and boy I was so wrong for the trauma that consumed me --- would go on for far to long. You painted this pretty little picture of derangement in your head of how our life would be together as you stitched your thread together using my very soul, no noticed as you unraveling me at every point you could.

Compliant was I ever with the things put in my drinks you lied and told me , it was all just in my head as the flashes of me naked now fill my nights with dread. You claimed you where my master, you claimed you where a God, you claimed so many things you wanted without asking and reworded it as love . You forced my affection to feed your ego in this world of make belive. So scared was I, yet I stayed so hopeful that your promises of change where valid and authentic.

The moment you where angery the world stoped making sense, as your hands found my face over and over again. So bruised and so broken the ER was a home . So many lies that never unfolded as they saw the bruises you left scattered across my skin like a coloring book. Lies I told to save my life as you watched from the chair across the room . To busy would the cops have been , with what I was wearing to contrate on the purple way my skin tented after every time I disappointed you.

So mad where you with everyone's happiness that you took it out of me. Damaging my mind and my body in your pillaging drive to claim what was never yours.... Your name was their carved into my skin ... where you left it knife in hand. , where you left me on the bed in the dark alone, when you where done with your master plan . You gave me panic attacks and disguised it as love . As your fingers traced every mark in adoration of the ways in which you could unconsentually hurt me.

You stole every password, every shread of my identity, every inch of my existance hung on the balance of your every whim like the puppet I had become on a string waiting to be used whenever you saw fit to force my compliance. You reworded everything onto everyone else for the way you told us all the blue sky was purple in a hope to convince the world and yourself of the unfathomable horrors you claim to have blocked from your memory with the 7 plus other people you swore occupied your head. Still I belived you could change and such was the trauma , of every inch of my sanity slowly slipping away .

You took my peace of mind and the safty of home as you forced my phone into your hands and changed everything you could to block the outside world from me and me from the outside world. Because of you I'm scared to be in the dark for to long by myself, because of you I'm scared to go out at night or trust anyone at all , I guard my drinks closely , I watch what I eat and I try to hurry up in the shower so the water does not trap me in my own mind. Which attacks itself in constant fear of your return.

Somedays I dont pick up my phone at all because I can't bare one more alert, as you hack into things yet again. Screen shoting my words to send back to me in anger mophing me into a robotic version of myself only made to agree with you. So paranoid am I of technology as I block you on every form of media known to man yet you still find ways to torment me again and again. Because you tried to drown me in a tub and call it a baptism I'm scared to stay alone in the bathroom for to long. The sad thing is I know why I have these fears and still I see your face haunting me every second of the day . Because of you I am afraid of my own shadow and the thought of someone touching me alone is enough to drive me into panic.

Because of you I wake up screaming in the middle of the night and freak out enough to turn every light on in the house and hide under my bed. You duck taped my body and covered me in slurs as you dumped cold ice water all over me until I was drenched and still you didn't stop nothing was ever enough as you took pictures of me and sent them to your friends as you raped me and had no regret because of you I'm scared to have sex. Because of you I'm scared to even exist anymore. You took a chunk of my sanity the day you pushed me off the bed because I looked like a 'dead fish' after you assulted me.

The fear that never left my eyes as you shouted and screamed how stupid and worthless I was and how I would not amount to anything . The fear that never left my eyes when you punched me in the face and knocked me unconscious in a rage that two other people saw but yet you claimed you couldn't rememebr until they called you out on your bullshit. A fear to even use my bank because you forced me to give you the passwords and took all my money on the grounds I couldn't be trusted . Because you called and pretended to be me and closed my accounts .... there was never justification in your actions . In your financial, physical, emotional, mental , sexual or identity abuse because of you I have Trauma. There is no apology that can fix the mess you made as you tried to tell me you wished you could change, only to admit you where lieing in an effort to control me again. Which drove me insane.

You started drugs and forced every second of my 2019 to be as miserable as it could be , using our rent and car money to fuel your secondary needs as if the Meth you took was far more important then our need to survive. You hurt so many not just me but everyone else around us. Because of you I am afraid . Afriad to do the things I normally would have never been afraid to do . I'm scared to leave the house in fear of you being there again . You swore to me I would never be anyone elses as you created a fantasy I was forced to play along with for survival only to be thrown off guard as you knocked me unconscious and choked me so hard I turned blue . The cops and doctors never sided with you. All MY friends never sided with you. You ruined every inch of my sanity but yet you where insistent on taking more. This Trauma was never enough for you.

This is my voice, this is my statement from the nightmares, the terror filled dreams , the way I wake up screaming and crying and shaking like a leaf. Because the PTSD you caused is like a plague one of which spread to many different things as month after month my Stockholm got worse until I was so oblivious to your constant abuse. You caused me so much pain. Pain I couldn't handle as the doctors admited me for fear I may take my own life.... because of the trauma I endured. The trauma you spread over every part of our lives.

Anytime I was happy --- a road trip to a friends , three chances and at each turn you broke into my accounts... at each turn you dramatically lied to get your way for me to return. You threatened to kill anyone that stood in your way of getting to me. Yet still you saw no derangement in your illusions.

Trauma defined as a deeply distressing or disturbing experience. That is all you are now as my words flow off the pages that is all you are now an experince --- a bad one with some good points an experince a lesson --- I had to learn to become stronger yeah I'm scared but that wont change how far I've come . I wont be afraid of you anymore. I refuse to let it define me because you hurt me , you broke every inch of trust sure. My hope though is one thing you will never have... never take and never betray like you did so much else.

You were wrong once you are nothing like him, the man who hurt us so badly that we United in solidarity .... you became him in your own self involved Prophecy--- I refuse to accept the blame for your mistakes. I refuse to cover up your false truths and ignore the fact that you ... need help. Help I can not provide but this is over now , said and done they know your flaws everyone and though I didnt use a name people have heard my story of the days in which my fears cause me the most worry. Trauma is everywhere and that's okay right now. My wounds will heal both mental and physical, but you'll always be the one who hurt another human being.

The end.

[sidhewrites]

Untitled #1

Potential triggers: Grief, death, mentions of amputation

The last time we came to this moon, the glass spires were still standing. They refracted the unfiltered sunlight, sending rainbows and shadows dancing across the rock faces. I had to stop and admire, even as my team took bets on what we’d find. What skeletons, what lost treasures. Technology? Unlikely, but Fitz still held out hope. She dragged me by the hand, dreaming of the rewards coming her way.

Rewards she didn’t live to see.

Wastrels and transients still land here now and then. I can see their ships’ camouflage. The smallest of metallic glints bounce off the sharp edges, rusted and worn, tanks long emptied of fuel. I should feel bad for them, I know. They’re all stranded on this hunk of rock, pulling further and further away from its planet, without any hope of ever going back.

But at least they have a place to go. 

A spire base glimmers on the horizon, taunting me. Quel paws at their phone, trying to pull up readouts and see if there’s any residual heat over there. But the signal is faulty at best, so even if it did find something, it wouldn’t be able to do anything with the readings. They curse.

“What did you expect to happen?” 

“Shut up.” They held their hand up, fingers spread wide to give the phone a better signal. Nothing.

 “The satellites don’t reach this place. Just give up, and let’s go.”

I should have more patience for her. She’s trying, at least. It’s more than Sonda does. He’s less useful than a mannequin at this point, stuck in a window so that it always looks like somebody is home. 

Suppose we should be grateful to him. He’s kept us from being robbed. Fitz was the practical one anyway, She made sure we chucked anything that stopped working, and Sonda hasn’t worked in ages. Maybe I’ll bring him back a quartz electrode, see if he can use it. He’d like that, or he would have once.

Quel folds up the phone screen. They make a few gestures with their fingers, setting the ship’s alarms and a timer, before shutting it off.

“That one then?” Quel asks. An old spire base glimmers in the distance. There’s got to be something to scavenge there that the transients haven’t gotten to yet.

“Don’t see why not.”

“After you.” They wave me forward. I hate going first.

We make good time. The spire rises up on us with hours to spare, reflected sunlight warming the air to almost tolerable conditions. Chunks of glass litter the ground, some as large as a house and some small enough to fit nicely onto a ring. I pick one up the size of my fist, turning it in the light to admire the way it glitters. It’s such a pretty thing. No wonder this place was so popular back then. I could just imagine it, rich families and honeymooners and business folk from all over, coming from everywhere to sit in a penthouse and look out at the colorless landscape, rendered in vibrant technicolor through fifteen feet of superheated sand made beautiful in a dying star’s corona.

Beautiful. Absolutely beautiful.

I chuck the damn thing as far as I can. Something shatters. It’s a wonderful sound.

“That necessary?” Quel lifts a brow ridge at me. 

Yes it was. I grumble wordlessly their way, and move on.

Getting in used to be hard. The solar micropanels kept the towers running without any upkeep, and that meant automated security systems and massive, motion-detecting doors that refused to slide open for us. With only the base remaining, still a good fifty feet high, I can’t imagine anything electric would have survived this long.

Quel puts a paw on their hip, head tilted at the doors, intricately carved and six feet thick. There’s no breaking through the aperture ourselves, not without the same firepower that took off the rest of the tower and scattered it across the landscape. “Well?”

“I’m thinking.”

There were a few holes here and there and I glanced over to Quel. They had dwarfism, and might have been able to crawl up to and through the nearest shattered viewport, if not for their people’s instinctual fear of heights. I could do it if this were three years ago, but I only have two of my hands left. One of the stumps still gets phantom pains.

Sonda would know how. If I could get him to come over here and look, he’d have a plan. It probably would involve the transients, trading some filters or snacks or contraband, and have them tell us the secrets of the place. He used to like people, could sweet talk his way into getting whatever he wanted.

Quel has the tech, even half of it is satellite-run. They’re scanning the glass spire again, trying to get the phone to receive any signal. If they can get that running, we can look for weak points. But it’s a pretty big if.

I just have guns. I am a gun, more or less. There’s too much artillery and metal in me to be anything else. Fitz was the first one to see past that. She saw the use in everything and everyone -- and helped me accept that I was the latter. Took the military out of my head and put a real brain there instead. She was a problem solver, and a damn good one at that. She liked puzzles and impossible odds and bad beer. She believed in people, and in being good for the sake of being good, and in the simple satisfaction of getting your hands on an expensive piece of shiny.

We need you, Fitz. 

I need you.

“Stop that.” Quel’s voice cuts through, and they’re suddenly much closer to me than a moment ago.

“I said I’m thinking.”

“I can tell. Try thinking about how we’re getting in.” They’re harsh enough that I get defensive.

“I am.”

“Fitz isn’t here.”

I don’t know why they’re so angry at me. As if I’m somehow lesser for missing her -- especially when Sonda can’t even cross a room on his own anymore. Quel loved her just as much as I did, probably still do.

“It’s not my fault.”

“Which part?”

I hate this. I hate having to talk to them. Neither Quel nor I have ever been much of a conversationalist, and that’s why we worked so well together. Only the necessities were discussed. Never this -- these complicated emotional things that required a novel to even start to explain.

“All of it.”

None of it is my fault. I’m still barely a person. I still can barely make decisions for myself, and Fitz put me in charge. Me, when Quel had been around years before I showed up half-dead in their escape pod. Before I cut my phone out of my palm and tore the reciever from my eye. 

Fitz liked projects. So Fitz liked me. Quel has always been their own person.

I don’t move when they hit me, a solid square punch across the jaw. My head is turned by the force, but I stand still. I let them hit me again, unmoving, as they call me horrible things. Slurs that I was taught only so I could learn never to use them.

I am tired of thinking for myself. I am tired of pretending Quel’s grief hasn’t been quietly building all that time. I let them hit me, and then, maybe, I’ll tell them to think of a plan.

It’s my fault, they tell me, over and over, in mixed languages, not caring if I understand.

They’re wrong. It isn’t my fault. Nothing could have been done. 

We were being pursued and needed more time. The door aperture was closing anyway. My forearm was forfeit the moment I reached in and ignored Fitz’s orders to run. She’d taught me not to do everything I’m told, and so I told her I wasn’t leaving without her. I think I knew she wasn’t getting out of there, 

I wind up on the ground, blinking back spots as Quel stands over me, their sweat dripping onto my face.

“Are you done?”

They spit on me.

“Good.”

I stand up. I look at the spire again, and then at Quel. Some vindictive part of me wants to make them climb up to a viewport for what they did, but it’s not my call to make anymore. I wonder if I had delayed Fitz’s own escape by insisting on a heroic rescue of my own. I’m done trying to think. 

“Orders, Captain?” I ask, and wait to be told.