#also I forgot my gloves and my metal ring got so cold that when I took it off it had burned the skin underneath

[snailspng]

i think you'd love the youtube video Fear of Cold by Jacob Geller. maybe some pngs based off it, too? it's a real good watch. wishing you well. thanks for hosting the best blog on here.

Thank you! Posted some cold/hypothermia PNGs for you (I hope they're not too creepy) <3

I did like the video, thanks for the suggestion. I took a night train from the northern part of Sweden a few weeks ago when the temperature was around -40° celsius (the coldest it's been here in 20 years). It was actually pretty scary.

[kasienda]

A Miraculous Reveal - Instagram

I forgot to post this here! Inspired by a prompt from @ladyofthenoodle. She also figured out how this one should end because she’s genius like that. Hope you enjoy! 

~~~

Marinette stared unhappily at the photo on her computer screen. Part of her thought she should be overjoyed at the revelation before her, but in the moment, she only felt frustrated. What was that stupid cat thinking?! Could he be any more obvious? If she didn’t know better, she’d think he did it on purpose.

“Marinette?” Tikki’s familiar voice called. “What’s wrong?”

The dark-haired girl sighed, and then gestured halfheartedly to the picture on her instagram feed. “Do you think I should be more mad at Adrien for uploading this picture? Or at Plagg for being difficult in the first place?” Tikki looked at the picture of Adrien sitting at his desk leaning forward to the camera with light from tall panes of glass windows lighting up his hair in a golden glow. As someone who collected all things Adrien, the picture honestly wasn’t the best Marinette had ever seen. His face looked washed out, and he had bags under his eyes. He just looked tired, and she couldn’t help but worry about him. Especially now that she understood that his plate of responsibilities was larger than she had ever imagined. The image was further spoiled by a random plain white sock floating upright in the air behind him. It was so stiff it could have been hanging from a clothesline.

Marinette observed Tikki carefully as the kwami considered the picture, watching for any reaction. At times, her kwami was amazingly expressive, but Marinette had come to learn the embodiment of creation could pull off quite the poker face when the need arose.

“I don’t see Plagg,” the red sprite finally concluded, her eyes furrowed together in seeming confusion.

“Really?!” Marinette scoffed. “That’s what you’re going with? I already know that kwamis don’t show up on camera, Tikki. What else could that be?”

Ao3 Link Ff.net

“Photoshop?” TIkki suggested lightly.

Marinette rolled her eyes.

“Maybe Adrien threw the sock backwards when he took the picture,” her kwami said.

Marinette crossed her arms over her chest, not remotely convinced by Tikki’s attempts to dissuade her.  “It’d be blurry, Tikki.”

“Not if it was at the height of its arc.”

“It wouldn’t be at this angle,” Marinette argued, pointing at the artifact. She didn’t like physics, but she couldn’t help pick up on some things being a superhero fighting akumas over the rooftops of Paris. “This is like it’s hanging upright. If it was flying through the air it would be bent and floppy.”

Tikki sighed, her mouth opening in search of another argument, but no words left her lips.

“You know who else might know that kwamis can’t be photographed?” Marinette asked rhetorically, and then answered the question herself. “Papillion.”

“Yeah, Adrien needs to delete that photo,” Tikki agreed.

Marinette laughed at Tikki’s sudden change in tune. “Oh, you think so?”

Tikki didn’t bother to respond to the “I told you so,” and Marinette found herself looking at the picture. His eyes were actually green. After her stint as Lady Noire, Marinette hadn’t been certain that her partner’s eyes were that vibrant shade of fresh spring grass. But they were, and for whatever reason that little detail made her feel like she knew him.

And of course, she did know him. He was Adrien. But now… She couldn’t help the giddy little smile that burst over her face as the reality of Chat Noir’s identity really sunk in, and she loved him even more.

“I’m glad that you’re happy,” Tikki observed softly. “That it’s him.”

Marinette twirled around in her chair towards her kwami. “Yeah, me too,” she admitted with a blush. “But goodness, he makes things so difficult sometimes! Why doesn’t he think things through?!”

“Let’s go yell at him!” Tikki encouraged, executing an excited dance in the air.

Marinette laughed. “Alright, then! Tikki, Spots On!”

…

Adrien lay back on his bed, one arm behind his neck supporting his head, and the other hand holding his phone up in front of his face, watching the likes and comments come in from his latest Instagram post. He didn’t really know why he always watched the reactions come in live. The constant notifications and attention from people he had never met had lost its joy and appeal ages ago, and yet, he still couldn’t help but check the recent post every few seconds anyway.

And this post was special. He had an ulterior motive.

“Do you think she’ll figure it out, Plagg?” Adrien asked, daydreaming of a certain Ladybug darting through his window.

“I’d say that’s a pretty good bet!” the mischievous cat like kwami said, snapping the t before phasing out of sight.

Adrien dropped the phone and looked up. “What makes you say…”

Ladybug stood in his window frame. Her blue eyes narrowed as they landed on him, and he wanted to hide from her obvious displeasure.  

“...that?” he trailed off. He leapt from his prone position on the bed, and slid forward, allowing his legs to hang over the mattress as he sat smiling at his mostly unexpected guest.

“Hi, Ladybug! What brings you here?” Adrien greeted brightly as if it was totally and completely normal to have a superhero standing in his open window. Which, if he counted himself, it kinda was…?

Her glare turned frostier, even as she jumped gracefully from the window sill to the marble floor. “Don’t play dumb, Chaton. It doesn’t suit you. Delete it now!”

“Delete what?” Despite her command, he figured it was in the interest of his survival to pretend he had no idea what she was talking about.

“The photo that you just posted to Instagram!” she growled.

He grinned. Ladybug had arrived within thirty minutes of him posting the photo. “So, you follow my Instagram?”

To his shock, pink flushed across her face. “That’s s-so not the point!” she spluttered.

His grin widened. “I always told you, you’d find my unmasked face irresistible.”

Her eyes hardened. “You need to delete that photo now, Adrien!” she barked harshly. “If I could figure it out, Papillion and Mayura can too!”

His grin evaporated in an instant. Shit! He hadn’t thought about that. He darted back to his phone that lay abandoned on his bed, rapidly unlocked it, and then swiped and tapped his way through the app. “It’s done,” he reported, all his bravado gone. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think.”

His partner’s form slumped in relief and she let out a frustrated sigh. Her resigned exasperation with just that dash of disappointment cut deeper than anything she had actually said. He had been needlessly reckless and for selfish reasons. It seemed so obvious now.

“It’s probably not gone, though,” he admitted softly. “I have crazy fans that screen cap everything. And repost stuff. I can’t control any of that.”

“It was only up for like half an hour. I can’t imagine it got too far or that most people will understand its significance. And it’s not the most flattering photo of you honestly, so hopefully less people felt the need to save it.” She flicked a piece of lint off her shoulder, not making eye contact. “How many likes did it have?”

“Around five thousand,” he reported.

“Five thousand?” she repeated in disbelief, her bright blue eyes as wide as the Seine. “I don’t think I could get that many likes in a year! God damn celebrities!”

“Ladybug could,” he told her confidently. “If she had an Instagram.”

“I’m not getting an Instagram as Ladybug!” she countered hotly.

“Why not?” he asked with genuine curiosity. “I imagine you could post some beautiful pictures of the city.”

“Because of stuff like floating socks!” she snapped back. She started pacing in front of his window in agitation. “I might not catch something in the background, and then I would give away my whole identity! I’m not willing to put my friends and family in danger for likes!” she lashed out at him.

His shoulders wilted. She was right. His father had a lot of resources and could probably protect himself even from a supervillain. Maybe Kagami too. But what about Nino, Alya, and Marinette?

“I-it wasn’t for likes,” he whispered, but the objection felt weak even to his own ears. He had only wanted one person to see it. Her. He just wanted her in his life. His actual life. Was that so bad? But his plan had worked better than he thought possible. She had figured out his identity. And that meant…

Knots formed in Adrien’s stomach as the implications sunk in. “You’re right. I didn’t think. Are-are you going to take my miraculous, now?” He wasn’t brave enough to look at her face. He hadn’t thought about the consequences at all. He hadn’t thought about the fact that other people, including his enemies, might recognize the properties of a kwami. Didn’t think about the fact that he didn’t know how to survive without the freedom of Chat Noir. No, he had only been thinking that Ladybug would understand the significance of the photo and if she “accidentally” figured out his identity, then she couldn’t be mad at him for telling her. He had only wanted her to see him and understand him. She was his partner. His other half.

He risked a glance up at her continued silence. She looked like she had been hit by a bus at the question. Her eyes were blown wide and her mouth hung open, and she still didn’t say anything.

“That’s the consequence, right?” he prompted when she didn’t respond. “Someone figures out my identity, I have to give up my miraculous?” He shrugged, trying to hold up a strong front. “That’s what Plagg said a few weeks back anyway.”

He slipped off the ring and held it out to her, his eyes burning with threatened tears.

Her gloved hands reached out, and he clamped his teeth down on the sob that wanted to tear out of his throat. Her gloved hands, which felt strange touching his bare skin, carefully closed his fingers around the cold metal circle and pushed it back towards him. He looked up at her in surprise. Her eyes glistened with her own unshed tears.

“Maybe I should take it. That was Master Fu’s rule, but Chaton…” she whispered, and then rapidly shook her head with her teeth pressed down into her lower lip. “I can’t do this without a partner.”

“You could find a new partner. One who is more worthy of your trust.”

She scoffed. “I can’t just find another partner! They don’t fall from the sky. And yes! I’m not going to lie! You drive me absolutely crazy sometimes! With the flirting and your stupid puns while I’m trying to figure out how to use a lucky charm! When you wouldn’t take no for an answer after asking me out for like the third time. When you fell for fake Ladybug just because you wanted me to love you even though it was so obvious she wasn’t real. And oh my god, you accepted Sass when you were already Chat Noir! Ugh!”

His shoulders slumped, and his eyes burned with unshed tears. When she laid it all out like that… maybe she needed to find a new partner. Someone who understood the responsibilities his power brought him, and would respect her boundaries, hopefully better than he had.

She dropped to her knees in front of him, and her red gloved hands gently took his own, and squeezed reassurance. She tilted her head down to catch his fallen gaze. And she smiled softly at him.

“But Chaton, you’re also the person who can figure out my crazy plans with almost no explanation, the person who has taken hit after hit for me. I’ve literally watched you die in my arms, more times than I prefer to think about. I have the nightmares to prove it. You talk me up and encourage me when it feels impossible to succeed.”

She gripped his hands harder. “Hell! I would have quit being Ladybug on the first day, if it wasn't for you. I don’t know how to tell you this, but I need you. No one else can even come close to replacing you. Not even if I trained them to fight because you do more than watch my back. You just know how to lift me up when my world has fallen apart.”

Hot tears slipped past his defenses as her words settled into his being, planting soft seeds of warmth.

“Please don’t cry,” she begged.

He wiped his tears away furiously. “Thank you, LB. it feels really good to hear you say all that. Sometimes, I’m not sure where I stand with you. Some days I feel like your best friend, and other days, that annoying weird kid you wish you never had met.”

“Chaton,” she crooned. “I care about you so much. I promise I have never once wished that I hadn’t met you. You have become a huge part of my life!”

“You too, LB! You’re the best thing in mine.”

She blushed and fidgeted. It was actually weird to see her as anything other than confident and focused. Her nervousness relaxed him, made him remember she was just a teenager like him.

“I love you,” he blurted into the growing silence. “You make me feel like I have value and a purpose. Like I’ve done something good, and that I’ve done it well. I don’t feel like that very often. And I know I’ve said it before, and I’m not expecting anything, but I just… I wanted to say it just once… as myself.”

“You love me,” she repeated, her form rigid as she stared at him with wide eyes as if she couldn’t believe it.

He laughed. “Yes! Why do you sound so surprised? I’ve only told you three times before!”

“But that was Chat Noir. Adrien told his friends he was in love with someone but he didn’t give a name. I’m the person Adrien is in love with.”

He placed a hand absently to his neck. “It’s not like I could tell my friends your name. It’d be dismissed as a celebrity crush.”

Then her comment registered and his green eyes shot up to her masked ones. “Wait! How do you know that I told my friends that?”

She glanced toward the window, and took a step back. “Uh… well, you see…” she stuttered. And that was weird. He’d never seen Ladybug so nervous, and yet, her body language tickled his memory with its familiarity.

“Do I… do I know you in my civilian life?”

Ladybug bolted to her feet. “Well, this has been fun,” she said rapidly, a nervous smile stretching across her face. “I need to get going now. Remember to be more careful with your social media accounts. See you at patrol tomorrow, Chaton!”

He darted in front of her before she could launch her yo-yo out his window, his mind awhirl. He had only told three people that he was in love with someone. Nino, Marinette, and Kagami.

None of them seemed likely to share that information with anyone else.

And Ladybug definitely wasn’t Nino.

He had seen Ladybug with both Marinette and Kagami. But… his lady was clever. She might have tricked him. And of those two, only one of them made sense.

“Marinette?”

Her face fell into her hands. “Tikki’s going to kill me.”

Warmth burst in his chest like a firework going off. Adrien felt like he was floating above the ground. He was just that elated. He knew Ladybug’s identity. And the girl behind the mask? She was amazing! And she was already his friend.

He stepped forward and seized her in a hug. “It’s you!” he laughed, giddiness spilling from every fiber of his being.

She didn’t reciprocate. Instead, she remained frozen in his embrace - awkwardly patting his shoulder. He immediately let her go and backed away with an arm to the back of his neck as his nerves caught up with him.

“Sorry,” he muttered, heat blooming in his face. “I am so excited to know that you are Marinette, I… I got carried away.”

“H-how can you be s-sure that I’m Marinette?” she asked, pink spreading from her mask to her ears.

He smiled fondly at the suddenly very familiar stutter. “You know I can see the resemblance now, right? It’s really obvious. Plus, who else could live up to Ladybug, but Marinette?”

She fidgeted and turned away from his gaze. “Y-you can’t tell anyone.”

He rolled his eyes and took another step towards her. “I know how the superhero schtick goes.”

She crossed her arms across her chest and glared at him. “Really? Have you already forgotten why I came to visit you today?” And here she was all Ladybug righteous fury.

He blushed. “I only did that because I wanted you to know who I was. No one else. And trust me to guard your secret better than my own. I know you have a family to protect.”

“You say that like you don’t,” she observed with a frown.

He shrugged. “I mean, I guess I have my father. But I hardly ever see him. So does it count?”

Adrien immediately regretted saying that as an awkward silence descended upon them. A silence that he had no clue how to fill.

“I’m sorry, Adrien,” she finally whispered, and then she took a step forward and her spotted arms encircled around him.

“What for?” he asked in surprise. He stood frozen uncertain and amazed at this turn of events, before he let his arms wrap around her petite form and his chin rest on her shoulder.

“I just… I don’t think I ever understood why having a connection with me as Ladybug was so important to you,” she whispered in his ear. “I didn’t realize that it would be just as difficult to make friends in your civilian form as it would be as Chat Noir.”

He pulled back a little, but just enough to take her hand and bring it to his lips. He kissed her knuckles as he always did. But unlike usual, she didn’t pull away or rebuff him. In fact, her cheeks blazed red the way Marinette’s often did in Adrien’s presence.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“F-fine,” she stammered, snatching her hand out of his hold like she had been burned.

“You just... usually pull away sooner. And your face is all red,” he pointed out, gesturing to her cheeks with his free hand.

She punched him in the shoulder. And it hurt more than he was willing to admit. He wasn’t transformed at the moment, but he tried to play it off.

“You don’t have to be a jerk about it!” she admonished him.

“What are you talking about?” he asked, his eyebrows furrowed in genuine confusion.

“You’re making fun of me,” she whined.

“I swear that I’m not.”

“Then why do you keep teasing me about being embarrassed?” she shot back.

“I… you’re embarrassed?” he asked. “What on earth would you have to be embarrassed about? You’re amazing!”

“You know who I am! You can remember every time I’ve put my foot in my mouth or embarrassed myself horribly in front of you with every attempted confession,” she spoke rapidly, her hands waving around wildly. And he found himself smiling softly. This behavior was all Marinette. And he loved it. Then her words registered. His eyes widened, and time froze and he felt as alert as he did facing an akuma. He could see her hands fidgeting nervously, her heaving chest as she struggled to replace the air she had just used, the faint pink still staining her cheeks, and her blue eyes darting away in self-consciousness.

“Confession?” He tried to keep the hope out of his voice, but he failed.

Her eyes widened before her face fell into her hands again, as she mumbled incoherently into her palms. And god, this blending of Marinette and Ladybug right in front of him was making him dizzy. He stepped forwards again and gently pulled her hands from her face, revealing swirling orbs of blue that peeked out from under her dark eyelashes.

“I’m the boy? Me?” He asked. Her blush darkened, but she gave a slight nod. He laughed in absolute delight. “I’m the boy,” he repeated, but this time it was a revelation and not a question. If he felt like he was floating before, he was flying now. And he was never going to come back down to earth again.

“Me. Adrien. I’m the boy you love,” he rambled, a grin as wide as the Seine stretched across his face. “You rejected Chat Noir-me for Adrien-me.” He was never going to stop smiling.

“Adrien,” she whined, over enunciating all three syllables of his name. “Stop looking so pleased with yourself!”

He shook his head. “But you love me. Ladybug loves me.”

She blushed yet again, and offered him a gentle smile. “Yeah… I guess she does.”

He caressed her cheek and leaned into her space. “May I kiss you?”

She nodded.

His right hand cupped her while his left slipped his fingers between hers. His lips pressed into hers. Just a touch, lingered there for a moment relishing in the gentle contact. She felt soft, warm, and tasted sweet like fruit-flavored candy.

It wasn’t his first kiss.

But it was the first kiss he could remember.

He pulled away to see her face still lost in the contact. Her eyes were closed with her head angled up, and she had the smallest smile. Warmth bloomed in his chest at her expression.

Posting that picture had been the best idea he had ever had.

Unless of course, Papillion figured him out. That would lead him straight to Marinette whether or not the villain had cause to suspect she was Ladybug.

His stomach turned to ice.

No… he wouldn’t let that happen. He would protect her. He was Chat Noir, and Chat Noir always protected his partner. He always did whatever needed to be done, whether he had to sacrifice himself or just simply created a distraction.

His eyebrows shot into his forehead. That was exactly what he needed to do!

“I have an idea!” he exclaimed.

...

Ladybug refused to open her eyes. She wouldn’t recover if she opened them only to discover that the last two minutes had only been a dream.

This wasn’t her first kiss, and it wasn’t even her first kiss with Adrien. But the first one had been in the middle of a battle with no time to savor the moment. This is the kiss she would choose to cherish in her memory.

He pulled back, and she tried not to chase him, but she wasn’t ready for him to go.

“I have an idea!”

Her eyes finally blinked open at the excitement in his voice. “An idea?” she asked. “F-for what?” Why was she still stuttering?!

His meadow-green eyes were vibrant, and he still held her hand. The contact was grounding her even if the gloves of her suit remained between them. “To solve my floating sock problem. We need a distraction. Can you detransform?”

Her eyebrows furrowed. “What? Why?”

“Please?” he begged and somehow his eyes got wider and softer, and his lower lip trembled in an over-exaggerated pout. She was going to have to work on her resistance to that look. “We could do this as Ladybug and Adrien. It might even work better at solving the sock identity vulnerability, but it would do that by putting your identity more at risk if we show any public affection in our civilian identities. It’s better to do this as Adrien and Marinette.”

“Spots off,” she whispered. Chat Noir was the person she trusted most in the world.

The familiar buzz tingled down her form, and Adrien was staring at her like he’d never seen her before all over again.

Her face and neck blazed in sudden embarrassment. “What?” she asked, looking down at her fingers.

“I just… it really is you,” he whispered, his voice filled with awe. “I mean, I knew that, but… but now, it’s real.”

Tikki took that moment to flutter up between them. “Marinette, what are you…?”

Marinette waved her off. “Not now, Tikki! It’s too late. I’m sorry!” She turned back to Adrien. “What did you have in mind?”

He grinned so brightly. Seriously, she was going to get sunburned from his smiles, and reached a hand out to her. “Come here,” he directed as he pulled her into his arms. It was terrifying how good it felt to be held in his arms. She felt hot and cold, vulnerable and safe, nervous and loved. And she felt it all at once. It was quite the heady experience.

Then he touched their foreheads together and she got lost in his eyes, which beamed with absolute adoration all directed at her. Heat pooled into her cheeks at the intimacy of their unwavering eye contact.

She chided herself. They had been in far more intimate and compromising positions in their suits. But right now, they were without their masks. And she felt so much more vulnerable.

But also giddy with joy.

After only seconds had passed, Adrien pulled out his phone, and snapped a few pictures of them, but his eyes never left her face until after he finished. Only then did he glance down at the screen to view their results.

“What do you think?” He asked, swiping through the burst of shots as he turned the screen to show her.

Looking at the pictures, Marinette couldn’t breathe, let alone speak. The only thing more powerful than seeing Adrien’s love sick eyes focused intently and unerringly on hers was seeing her own expression mirroring his own. She brushed his hand away and went through the pictures herself more slowly, tears threatening to drop from the corner of her eyes when she landed on her favorite. In the image, Adrien was smiling like a child tasting sugar for the first time in its life, while Marinette looked dazed like the world had just been turned upside down, which it had, but in the best possible way.

She had to clear her throat before she could speak. “This one,” she said, handing the device back to him.

“I like this one too,” he agreed as his fingers flew across the small touch screen, setting up a new Instagram post. He turned the final result towards her, so she could read the caption.

Spending the afternoon with my new girlfriend.

“What do you say? Are you ready to become social-media-official with me?” he asked with a smirk. But his free hand was rubbing the back of his neck.

The nervous tick threw her, and she realized he wasn’t just creating a distraction. He was also asking her out, and he was nervous. Somehow that calmed her.

She bit her lip and nodded again. And suddenly he was kissing her again, and she hoped that she never got used to the sensation. It was perfect. Even though she disapproved of his recklessness, part of her was really glad that he had posted that picture if it meant she could have a dozen more moments like this.

When he pulled away, he buried his head into his phone once again. She frowned at how quickly he was distracted, and looked over his arm to see what he was adding to his post.

When I kiss her, I feel so dizzy I see spots.

“Adrien!” she scolded, slapping his arm. Was he seriously going to risk her identity for a stupid pun! He laughed, and immediately deleted the sentence. “Okay! Okay! How about… the princess of my heart?”

“Totally over the top cheesy!” she screeched, trying harder to wrestle away his phone.

Before she succeeded, he hit the “share” button. Then, he immediately surrendered the device to her, and pulled her back against his chest, his chin resting on her shoulder as they stood cheek to cheek, looking at his phone, which was already lighting up and buzzing with dozens of notifications. Marinette watched in abject fascination. This was almost unfair.

Within two minutes, Marinette’s cell had started ringing, and over the next five minutes, Alya had called fourteen times and left four voicemails. Exasperated, Marinette texted her back.

I’m trying to make out with my boyfriend. Quit interrupting!

That ought to get her to shut up.

Sure enough, Alya sent her a squealing emoji in response and then there was silence.

Within ten minutes, the new photo had exceeded the five thousand likes of the deleted picture. Congratulatory and heartbroken comments poured in almost faster than Adrien or Marinette could read.

Another five minutes passed, and the newly formed couple jumped apart at the sudden pounding on Adrien’s bedroom door.

“Adrien, would you please open this door right now and explain how Ms. Dupain-Cheng came to be in your room without going through the front door,” Nathalie called from the other side of the wooden barrier.

“I guess that’s my cue to leave,” Marinette whispered, stepping away from her new boyfriend - she had an actual boyfriend - and towards the window.

Adrien immediately grabbed her hand. “Actually, it might be better if you stayed?” he said nervously. “I may not have thought this entirely through either… as this photo is obviously in my room. It’s easier to explain sneaking you in here than is explaining where you disappeared to.”

“Adrien!” She hissed. “What am I going to do with you?”

“Hopefully love me forever?” He suggested with an exaggerated grin.

“Adrien!” Nathalie yelled through the door.

Marinette laughed. “You might want to open the door before your father's assistant gets akumatized.”

“You’ll stay?” he whispered, his trembling eyes the only sign that he was scared to face the dragon on the other side of his bedroom door alone.

She nodded, and threaded her hand through his. “You and me against the world, right?”

“The world plus Nathalie. She’s scarier than the rest of the world,” he said cheekily even as he unlocked and opened the door.

God, Marinette was completely in love with this dork. And she was going to have to put up with him, his ill-thought-out-over-th-top schemes to impress her, and his stupid smug smirk for who knew how long.

Maybe forever.

But then again, maybe none of those things were so bad.

[diyunho]

The Joker x Reader - “Ghost Driver” Part 2

When The Joker says you’re his, it means you’re essential to him because he needs your services for his own gain; it literally has zero affectionate connotations. Turbo is The King’s Ghost Driver and although she’s a legend, her life is far from perfect.

Part 1

Four Days Afterwards, 7:47pm

“Good evening, madam. I am tonight’s entertainment,” Frost blurs out as soon as you open the door and instantly regrets his pun. “Sorry, that was stupid to say,” he apologizes.

The reason why you look puzzled is not his joke, but another motive: you never saw Jonny wearing anything else besides a suit or military gear; the fact that he’s standing in front of you wearing a pair of shorts and a t-shirt is quite intriguing.

“Hi,” you move aside so he can come in.

“Did I wake you up?”

“I fell asleep watching a movie,” Y/N smiles at his comfortable attire. “No big deal. Did Mister Joker send you?” the subtle question indicates you want to find out the reason for his visit.

“No... I was just thinking… maybe we could… and it’s entirely up to you, no pressure… maybe you would want to go and watch the fireworks with me. I have food and sleeping bags, plus an ice chest with drinks in my truck.”

You seem confused.

“Mmmm, you know what? Forget about it. That was completely idiotic to suggest,” Frost realizes that asking a freshly divorced woman to get out of the house after she was kidnapped and starved into her ex’s basement only four days ago it’s not the most brilliant idea he ever had.

“You had me at food and fireworks,” you wink at his insecurity. “The drinks sealed the deal. I’m confused on one detail: do I have to change or can I come in my PJ’s?”

“PJ’s are perfect.”

“Awesome!” you grab the keys from the coffee table. “Where exactly are we heading?”

“Fire Creek Hill, it’s one of the best spots to enjoy the view,” Jonny replies.

“Isn’t that closed to the general public?” Y/N inquires and his logic makes you laugh while exchanging your socks for flip-flops.

“I doubt we’re considered the general public. I had to pull some strings though,” he admits, overjoyed you actually agreed to accompany him.

Not that he shows it in any other way besides the invitation he barely mustered the courage to extend towards The Joker’s Ghost Driver.

*************

9:03pm  

“Oh, it’s starting!” you excitedly nibble on your Alfredo pasta.

The first fireworks bloom in the distance and Frost opens the cooler, pointing out the goodies he salvaged from the liquor store.

“Pick your poison: we have a bottle of premixed margarita, wine, whiskey, tequila and…,” he fumbles around,”…try to contain yourself: water!”

“You definitely bought some of my favorites , including the food. How did you guess?” the bubbly Y/N smiles.

“I pay attention,” Jonny mentions. “So what’s gonna be?”

“Margarita please,” you hold the plastic cup and can’t help snickering as he pours the liquid.

“What?” he suspiciously bites on his cheek.

“Nothing really… I was imagining you without the beard,” you decide not to keep it a secret.

“Damn!” Frost snorts. “I had it for years; didn’t consider shaving because our employer would freak out. Stop giggling, it’s not funny! He totally would!” Jonny elbows you.

“I bet you have a baby face underneath all that facial hair; if you shave I can promise a new nickname will arise: Baby- Face Frost.”

“Shut up!” he chuckles at your quirky proposal. “Yet I can’t deny it has a certain ring to it.”

“See what I mean? It might work!... Oh my God, that’s a huge one!” you gasp, distracted by the sparkling night sky. “What are they celebrating? 150 years since this piece of crap town was founded?”

“Apparently,” Jonny sighs and watches Y/N bundle up in the sleeping bag.

“Thank you for the feast,” your tone changes to a serious one. “I didn’t have this much fun in the back of a truck in a long time. Go ahead, laugh!” you pout at his reaction. “I’m aware how it sounds like; I didn’t mean it that way!!!”

“Still funny as hell!” Jonny is getting a kick out of the conversation.

“Psst! Hey, Casanova!” The Joker’s mop of green hair pop up from behind the car’s high railing.

“Mister Joker!” you get startled by his unexpected presence.

“Boss, what are you doing here?” Frost utters in disbelief.

“Why aren’t you answering your phone, huh?” J ignores his henchman’s inquiry.

“It’s in the glove compartment, sir. I’m enjoying the…”

“Pardon me for interrupting your date,” The King of Gotham huffs.

“We’re not on a date,” the attempted explanation gets cut short.

“Sell it to whoever wants to buy it,” The Joker growls at Jonny’s words. “I had to follow the signal from your cell and trace your location; what a marvelous bonus to find my Turbo also!”

The eerie grin makes you finally speak up:

“Do you need help with anything Mister J?”

“Do I?” he plays dumb. “Probably.”

Why does he have to ruin the night? Frost reflects, annoyed.

Nobody knows, but if he could spend ages in your company, he believes it would be an eternity well spent.

And The Joker had to ruin it.

Goddammit!

“Can you patch me up?” J takes of his jacket, revealing a blood stained shirt.

“What happened?” you and Jonny jump off the vehicle.

“I got myself in a little bit of a situation,” he grumbles. “It’s a clean wound; the bullet came out on the other side.”

“We should take you to the doctor, boos; you need stitches!”

“Thanks for your concern, Doctor Frost,” The Joker sassily remarks. “I’ll go in the morning.  I have more important matters to take care of tonight.”

You peel off his garment and assess the damage; he can’t hold it in:

“I bet you wanted to do this after I texted you my nudes, huh?”

You have to admit he caught you by surprise with his statement and the best solution in this situation is to cooperate:

“Been dreaming about it quite often.”

“Ha! I knew it!” The Clown cracks up. “Were you dreaming about it during your date?” he teases more.

“We’re not on a date,” you frown at the blood gushing from his wound.

“Interesting,” J expands on the subject. “At least you two have one thing in common: you’re both delusional.”

Frost rolls his eyes without J noticing and you signal him:

“Can I please get the whiskey? I need to disinfect this.”

“You have whiskey on your date?! Excuse me, non-date,” his majesty’s obnoxious temper emerges again.

You don’t engage for the moment, just open the bottle that Jonny gave you and splash a generous amount on the laceration.

“Jesus Christ!!!” The King shouts. “Be gentle woman, I’m fragile!!!”

“Sorry Mister J,” you mutter and Frost is certainly approving your tiny revenge scheme. “Can you please turn on the lights on your car? It’s getting dark and I can’t see what I’m doing,” you address The Joker’s sidekick. “Do you have a first aid kit in your vehicle Mister J?” you gesture towards his SUV parked a few feet away.

“I should,” a demented smirk flourished on his lips. “In the trunk!”

“Take a seat in the grass Mister J; I’ll go get it,” you urge the patient.

“Boss, are you sure you don’t want me to take you to the doctor?” Frost offers and instead of obliging your request, J pursues your steps because he doesn’t want to miss Turbo’s reaction.

“It’s fine, I’ll survive until morning time.”

You lift the trunk and gasp, stunned: your stellar ex-husband is tied up in there, duct tape over his mouth, clearly enjoying the repercussions of a confrontation due to bruises you can discern at a first glance.

“Oops, forgot about him,” The Clown yawns, bored.

Adam starts wiggling and mumbling whilst you can’t react.

“The fucker shot me!” your employer hisses. “Had the nerve to try killing me when he’s the one sleeping with MY girlfriend!”

“What’s the plan, sir?” Jonny intervenes, worried at your stunned attitude.

“The plan is simple: since Y/N is intimately acquainted with our guest, I’m willing to work out a deal. I don’t wanna to be accused of not listening to my associates.”

Adam keeps struggling and you finally reach and remove the duct tape.

“Honey, honey please!” he immediately rambles on, panicked. “You know I was joking about your weight, right? You don’t have to lose a few pounds! I admit locking you up in the basement was a huge mistake, ok? OK…? I’m sorry! I swear I’ll never cheat on you in the future. We can work things out, can’t we?” a glimmer of hope alleviates the somber perspective of his imminent demise once you begin searching his pockets.

He has the false impression you’ll untie him when in the matter of fact you are hunting down for his house keys so you can reclaim all the items you bribed him with when he signed the divorce papers.

Bingo! Treasure attained.

“So do you know him or not?” The Joker taps his fingers on the cold metal of his gun.

You take a deep breath, place the duct tape on Adam’s lips and sneer:

“I never saw this asshole in my life!”

“The lady has spoken!” J slams the trunk, unnerved. “Frost, you can go home; Y/N will take me to the warehouse on 8th street: she can borrow a car from there and split. I’ll send someone in the morning to bring it back.”

“Boss, we can leave your SUV here and I can drive you both…”

“DID I STUTTER?” The Clown growls, unhappy with Jonny’s shenanigans.

“No sir.”

“Mister J,” you distract his menacing temper. “Do you want me to bandage your injury now?”

“Nah, you can do it at the warehouse.”

More fireworks illuminate the skies and none in the small group is watching them anymore: the show is over for everyone involved.

You wave at Frost and hop in The Joker’s car as he positions himself in the passenger’s seat; you can tell something is off, besides the obvious of course.

If you’d have to speculate, you would say that his behavior is of a man who wasn’t hurt just physically, but on a different level he doesn’t understand yet: J went after your ex-husband alone when he doesn’t take unnecessary risks; enough proof to indicate he loved Ella and sought revenge for her betrayal without any of his team’s help.

You wonder what he did to the woman: did he kill her? Or worse?... You won’t dig to find out regardless.

The truth is you are The Joker’s Turbo and the statement works in reverse too: he is your Joker who undeniably needs cheering.

And you always deliver. That’s why you’re his.

That’s why you appreciate he made an effort to compromise on Adam’s predicament even if he didn’t mean it.

You steadily drive on the trail until you arrive to the main road, then suddenly accelerate with a specific purpose in mind. You take a sharp turn on Morrison Avenue, already at 100 miles per hour.

“What are you doing?” J bitterly enunciates.

“Why am I your Ghost Driver Mister Joker?” you reply with a question.

“Nobody can catch up with you.”

“Yup, the car to catch up with me hasn’t been assembled. Here they are, Gotham’s finest!” Y/N boasts at the lights glistening behind. “They always have a nightly patrol on Morrison Avenue ready to catch law un-abiding citizens,” you exclaim and J’s smirk widens at your proposition. “What do you say we make them work for their donuts, hm?”

“That’s my girl!” The King gives his blessing while Turbo speeds up the street in a frenzy.

************

11:58 pm

You barely returned to you apartment after the random factors which cut your rendezvous short when the cell chimes: a message from Frost.

“Did you make it home safe?”

“Yes,” you text.

“I’ve been busy. Wait, I’ll send you a picture.”

Downloading picture…

“Holy… shit!!!!!” you yell at your phone because the image depicts a portrait of a freshly shaved Jonny Frost.

“Do you like it?” the sentence appears on the screen concomitant with a knock at the main entrance.

“Who is it?” you drag your feet on the carpet.

“Me.”

As soon as you are standing in front of him, Frost hides his nervousness the best way he can; and he’s not a nervous individual per se.

“I thought you might want to take a closer look…,” he enters the hallway and you slowly lock the door behind him.

You don’t say anything, just touch his face and he pecks your wrist, confessing a secret he kept bottled up for years:

“Do you know I’ve been in love with you from the first second I saw you?”

Y/N doesn’t have to calculate in order to whisper:

“That’s a long time.”

“What’s the verdict?...“ Jonny insists. “You approve the change?”

“Yes,” you kiss him and he holds you tighter, thinking that if he could spend ages in your arms, it would be an eternity well spent.

 Also read: MASTERLIST

You can also follow me on Wattpad and Ao3 under the same blog name: DiYunho.

[shih-coulda-had-it]

74 ,96

74 (Huddling for Warmth) & 96 (Scars) | [Nanahiko]

Timing their investigation into All for One’s operations in Hokkaido for winter?

Absolutely terrible idea all around. Who suggested that?

Nana hauled Sorahiko from the river with her arms locked around his waist, teeth gritted against the biting chill. He shivered violently and clutched at Nana for support in standing upright. She did not have the opportunity to stop moving and marvel at the wintry landscape, or break down and punch the frozen earth to reveal their mole.

It was paramount that she get them to the rented cabin. The closest hospital or clinic was at least three hours away on foot, and Nana didn’t trust herself behind the wheel in these conditions.

She made a note to send Chiyo a gift basket; being forced to study the emergency first-aid scenarios was turning out to be more helpful than anticipated.

With brisk efficiency, Nana made it to the crest of the floodplain. Sorahiko couldn’t get a comprehensible word out yet, but at least he seemed aware of their surroundings; Nana didn’t even struggle on the way to the cabin.

“In we go,” she said with forced cheerfulness, wrenching the door open and dragging her ice-cube of a best friend inside.

It was a two-bedroom, one bath affair, with the living room, kitchen, and genkan all in one place. There wasn’t much in terms of furniture, but there was a fireplace with a working chimney, so Nana couldn’t complain too much.

She flicked the switch. It remained dark.

“B-b-blackout?”

“Eh,” said Nana, flicking the switch repeatedly, as though increased force would spark the power back to life. The fireplace was the safety net. Nana knew how to light a fire, but she would rather have the electric lights humming away with the generator warming the space. “Eh-h-h-h-h.”

“Nana,” Sorahiko said piteously.

“I know,” she soothed. “Keep moving, okay? And try and take off your gloves and cape. I’m going to get the fire started, and I’ll help with the rest of your gear.”

He made a small agreeable noise and slowly, painfully shed his cape. Nana removed her own boots and gloves, then staggered over to the fireplace and peered at the stacked bundle of wood, the firestarter, the poker—aha, she thought, grabbing the handheld lighter.

Sorahiko grumbled to himself as he wrestled with his gloves. Nana parsed out a few words, like, ‘stupid’ and ‘freezing’ and a fervent ‘I hate Hokkaido’ that was muttered under his breath several times over. It was a strange relief to hear him mouthing off; it was a weight off her shoulders, seeing the little flame catch onto its fuel and burst into life.

“Ha!” Nana cheered, and left it to burn, turning around in time to catch Sorahiko crumpling against her.

“Fire,” he cheered into her collarbone. She maneuvered him flat on his back onto the wooden floor, as close to the fire as she dared, and started peeling Sorahiko out of his gear.

It was like peeling shrimp. Like parting the sausage meat from its casing. Like picking out a ripe tangerine and jamming a thumb into its core, thinking that it would be an easy snack, except the thin skin hadn’t yet separated from the flesh, so time was devoted to scrabbling the peel off.

Nana was hungry.

“We’re gonna make a nest,” she relayed to Sorahiko. “All the sheets and blankets and pillows, just for you to burrow yourself into. And then in the morning, we’re going to get hot tea and miso soup and a train ticket straight home.”

“Hot springs,” he said.

“Hot springs,” Nana echoed, a few seconds late. “Yes. Hot springs. You… you wanted to visit the hot springs?”

“Stress relief.”

“That makes sense.” Two gloves off. The boots, surprisingly, went easier. He was lucky that water couldn’t leak through the soles; they were lucky, she supposed, given that Nana probably would have panicked and shoved his feet in the fire to melt potential icicles. In any case, it unnerved Nana to see his bare hands and feet.

The belt was a little fiddly, but Nana’s dexterity was nothing to scoff at. What finally made her pause was, well, the whole jumpsuit.

“I need you to roll over.”

He rolled over.

Nana exhaled sharply and committed: she unzipped the suit from the neck all the way down to the small of his back, her eyes drawn to the slope of his spine and the contracting of muscles as unmarked flesh was exposed to air.

Sorahiko didn’t scar easily. Where the history of his injuries remained, they tended to be on the front.

“You’ve got underwear on, right?” she said, aiming for levity. “Skin-to-skin contact is supposed to be the most reliable route to getting warm again, but I think we’ll be blurring boundaries if your junk meets my junk bare. Which it wouldn’t, because I have a sports bra and underwear on.”

Sorahiko groaned into the floor. Not an especially sexy groan, just one of resignation.

“That better be a yes.”

“I’m wearing boxer-briefs,” he said to the fire. “Please get the blankets.”

“Right!” She got to her feet and bolted for the bedrooms. It took two trips, bundling pillows into blankets and sheets from each bedroom and then lugging it all to the central area. The first return, Nana caught Sorahiko wiggling his way out of the suit, legs sticking in the air as he shoved the rubber composite past his thighs.

After laughing at his plight, Nana retrieved the rest of their building materials and tomorrow’s clothes. They situated the nest a meter away from the fireplace. First the thin sheets were stretched out, then a comforter, then a half-ring of pillows, and as Sorahiko nestled in under the second comforter, Nana tossed their clothes in too.

“You know,” she said, “it’s a good thing that water doesn’t actually soak into our jumpsuits. We’d be in the danger zone of hypothermia if that was a thing.”

“I’m lucky my head didn’t get submerged,” he responded, his voice muffled. Only the top of his fluffy silver hair was visible.

“It would be pretty tough getting in bed with you, if you had the sniffles.”

Sorahiko peeked over the comforter, pale eyes following her step everywhere except the nest. She hadn’t joined him yet because she had the presence of mind to gather their gear and leave it in a pile by the genkan.

Also, because Nana needed to muster the willpower to slide under the covers and face the possibility of clinging to him like a barnacle for the rest of the evening. She shifted her weight from side to side. Goosebumps were rising, and not just because of the cold.

“If you press your cold feet to my shins, I will scream,” Sorahiko threatened.

“Pot, kettle,” she said, and Nana crawled under the covers. It was not the pocket of warmth she’d been anticipating; she scooted further in until she bumped into Sorahiko, and at that point, she sprawled on top of him like a sea star.

“Feet!”

“Deal with it!”

A great deal of squirming ensued. The result of the scuffle still had Nana’s chest pressed against his, their legs tangled, and his hands loosely holding her by the waist. So overall, Nana was pleased, and she luxuriated in the unspoken victory.

Sleep, however, was not coming as easily.

As steady as their breathing was, Nana knew Sorahiko was awake. She tried to unfocus; she could do nothing more about their situation. All that was left was to rest and wait for the morning.

The fire crackled. Sorahiko shifted beneath her, and finally Nana propped herself up, hands folded under her chin, eyes tracing the angles of Sorahiko’s face, softened by their flickering light.

“Did you know,” she said, “I forgot we had some matching scars.”

“First and only time I stayed on the ground for close-combat,” he responded. “Yours healed up better than mine.”

“My abs are made of steel.” The familiar boast elicited a familiar laugh, one that rumbled pleasantly through Nana’s bones.

“What’s that make me?”

“Some softer metal,” she teased. “Gold? How do you feel about gold?”

“Gaudy,” Sorahiko pronounced, but his hands tightened at her waist. “Also, way too valuable. Downgrade me to something cheaper. People still use tin, right?”

“Tin,” Nana echoed. “Like, a tin-man.”

He squinted past his beaky nose at her, rightfully suspicious. “... Yes?”

“Does that make Dorothy me or Toshinori?” Over the sound of his splutter, Nana continued, “Do you need some oil for your rusted joints? Oh! Are you looking for a heart?”

“Tin doesn’t rust,” Sorahiko said, ignoring her last remark.

“It’s about the continuity, Sorahiko.”

“And you’d be the Cowardly Lion. Toshinori’s the kid who keeps landing himself in messes.”

“The Cowardly Lion?” she protested. “What!”

She could see him smirking. “Go to sleep now,” he said, his eyes deliberately snapping shut and his body easing the tension away. “Nighty-night.”

Nana huffed, but relented. It wasn’t that grave of an insult, to be labeled as the Cowardly Lion; she vaguely remembered Dorothy’s friends as wanting things (or wanting to be things) they already were. The brainless Scarecrow was already smart, the Tin Man was already empathetic, and the Cowardly Lion was already brave.

So! Sorahiko had given her a compliment! It was just like Sorahiko to deliver one that sounded like an insult.

Rebelliously, she turned her head, resting her ear right over his steadily thumping heart.

“You don’t need to look for a heart,” she mumbled, snuggling as close as possible, despite their bodies having reached an optimal temperature already. Nana needed to say it out loud, because Sorahiko was simply terrible at reading between the lines when it came to this. “You’ve got mine now.”

[inkrabbit]

I haven't posted much, but I have been writing little snippets here and there when I'm not doing something else. So I decided to gather all the snippets I liked and put them together to show what I'm working on, and what I want to eventually work on. Most of these are stories I have planned for WD: Legion, but a couple are for my own personal works.

Unnamed Prison Love Story

Of course the other inmates had liked her. Most of them hadn't even seen a woman in years. But apparently she had more to offer them than just a pretty face to stare at. Everyone had said how nice she had been, talked softly and treated them with respect. She let them vent and talk about whatever they wanted, and she was a lot more lenient than any guard would ever dream of being. She would remove their cuffs and set it on the desk next to her chair, and she would sit only a few feet away. She pushed every boundary she could, and she took every chance with the inmates. She even argued with the guards who told her otherwise.

Sitting before her now, he finally understood the excited rumors he heard in passing. A calm and serene vibe had filled the warm room, and for a moment, he almost forgot he was trapped in prison and would soon be escorted back to his small, cold cell. She had kept a smile on her face, spoke softly and respected his boundaries when he didn't want to talk about a subject. She made him feel safe and acknowledged, encouraging him to talk about his day or how certain things made him feel. She made him feel like he was more than just another number in the system.

What's more, the woman was free. She didn't dress in the finest threads, opting for shirts that displayed band names he had almost forgotten, and her hair was never pulled back like it should've been. Another boundary she pushed; a test for him. To see if he would lunge at her like some of the others would try, use her hair to their advantage. But why would he? Sitting across from him, a notepad in hand, she didn't ignite anything violent inside him. If anything, she calmed down whatever fire stayed lit.

She became his breath of fresh air, and he found himself almost anxious for each session with her. The sweet scent of her perfume would always make his head spin as it filled the room. He had considered asking her once before in the beginning what it was, but the Devil on his shoulder had forced him to stay quiet. Back then, he had hated the woman and would refuse to talk, figuring she was just as bad as everyone else and that these little “therapy” sessions were just a way to find any weaknesses he had. But she never seemed exhausted or irritated by his silence. She gave him time, sat there with her soft smile and blank notepad and told him they would talk whenever he was ready. He never intended on giving in, but the one day he had gotten blood on his hands, he heard that change in tone.

The soft voice turned to concern, but she didn't throw accusations at him like he had expected. Oh no, she had actually asked him what the other inmate did to make him upset. The adrenaline that coursed through him had calmed down and he had finally opened his mouth. Not once did she interrupt him. She sat there and listened, scribbled down whatever she seemed important, and went back to listening. And when he was done, fists clenched and his body barely shaking at the rage that threatened to rise up, she finally moved. Slow and almost hesitant, testing the waters. He watched her carefully, how her rings shone in the bright sunlight that poured in through the windows, silver bands with various symbols. He let her approach him, and he let her take a seat on the old couch with her. Her touch was gentle and warm when she took his hand in her own, admiring his bruised and busted knuckles, flecks of dried blood decorating the skin that hadn't been properly washed.

“You did what you felt you had to,” she told him softly, “Maybe you overdid it. Maybe you should've stopped sooner. But you stood your ground for what you believed in. There's nothing wrong with that.”

It was the first time he had looked her in the eye, and he had immediately gotten lost within them. The feeling that quelled his rage had scared him, a certain type of vulnerability that made it seem like the woman could read his deepest and darkest thoughts. And yet, a part of that excited him.

WD: Legion – Dark AU – Love Path

“Daniel!” Sabine’s steps are hesitant as she walks forward, gun trained on the Irishman sitting on the edge with his back to her. He’s fiddling with something in his hand, a soft light illuminating his glove.

“Don’t suppose you found her on the way up?” he calls back, not even picking up his head.

“Who are you talking about?” He hadn’t mistook her for one of his members, had he? No, she was certain he recognized her voice. He had easily picked her out before.

She flinches when he starts to move, fist closing around the item in his hand as he slowly curls his legs back and lifts himself up. It’s the first time she’s seen him actually hunch over, and those once cold hazel eyes are alight with an emotion she’s not certain of. Still, there’s a slight smile that’s pulling at his lips, but it’s not the normal confident and smug grin she’s grown accustomed to.

“I always thought Dalton was a right idiot for liking you,” Dan laughs softly, “Didn’t understand what he felt until I experienced it meself...”

Dalton’s name leaves a bitter taste on her tongue, but she’s still focused on the man standing before her. The way he’s speaking isn’t normal, a distant tone in his voice instead of calm and velvety. Her eyes flicker over to his wrist, a silver bracelet glistening in the dull light that surrounded them. That was new. From what she knew, the only jewelry he wore were the piercings he had in his ears. He seems to perk up at this, extending his left arm and showing the bracelet off.

“She gave this to me. I’m guessing you didn’t hear?” She furrows her brows. Hear what? “Met a young woman that actually liked me. Made me feel... something. Enough to actually try and get help. I even stepped down as leader from DedSec. Let Jeremy take over.” This was news to her. From what she knew, Dan still led the group. Guess that wasn’t the case anymore. “She’s disappeared again. I thought Jeremy had something to do with it, but...” He opens his hand, tossing the item out. It was an optik, still glowing as it clattered to the ground. “I only found this when I got up here. I take it you didn’t see anyone on your way up?”

“No,” Her response draws a soft but sad chuckle from him. His step forward forces her to take one back.

“Well come on, then!” he calls out, raising his voice and straightening up, outstretching his arms to the side. She can tell he’s doing his damnedest to look normal, but that faulty smile on his face is throwing it off. It all looked wrong and out of place. She has gotten so used to doing the cocky and manipulative man. “Don’t think I wanna stick around if I can’t find her. Medicine and “fixing meself” don’t mean shite if I’m doing it for nothing.”

Something Stupid – 50's Love Story

“Did you want anything while I'm out?”

Of course he knew the answer, his second-in-command, Luciano, having been annoying him about pancakes all morning. But the look on the younger man's face was priceless, honey colored eyes widening as he stands from his crouched position. A bright smile spreads across his face as he wipes away the dirt on his hands, standing straight before his leader.

“You're finally gonna get me those pancakes?!” he squeals, “I just want those with extra syrup.”

“You're lucky I'm gettin' 'em at all,” Lighting up a cigarette, Kazimir turns his heels, headed for his car. “If that's all, I'll see you later. Gonna see if Nick is gonna cooperate this time and give us that protection money.”

“Good luck!” Starting up the engine, he waves goodbye to his friend and pulls away from the old compound, keeping the window rolled down as he takes a drag from his cigarette. There was a little diner the gang frequented that was a few minutes away. The food was average, and he hated how stubborn the owner was with the protection fee, but there was one waitress in that establishment that made it all worth while: Aurora Rossi, a beautiful Italian woman with the personality of a saint. She had treated the gang just like she would any other customer, and she indulged in the small conversations they had dragged her into here and there. He stayed quiet most of the time, knowing if he got too rowdy himself he would lose control of everyone, but he could never take his eyes off of the woman.

The parking lot is thankfully empty as he pulls in, parking in a spot closest to the door. He wouldn't be long; he knew the workers there hated him and his crew, always desperate to make them leave quickly. The little chime of the bell atop the door rings in his ears as he enters the diner, eyeing the staff. He can see them talking among themselves, scared eyes flickering back and forth between coworkers and himself. He was used to this treatment, especially in this little restaurant. No one ever wanted to help him, and if it weren't for the fact they all had a job to do, they probably would've went running.

Oh, but there's his little angel he had been dying to see, her red lips curled back in a genuine, friendly smile. He leans against the counter as she approaches, hands folded in front of her.

“Did you need to look at the menu, sir?” she asks. Her sweet voice makes his heart flutter, but he maintains his cool, shaking his head.

“Just a couple things to go,” He watches her dig out the notepad from the pocket of her apron, sliding the pen out of the metal spirals. A small smirk forms. “Nick also in today?”

“Not today, sorry. He should be back tomorrow though!” Ah, so the old man was hiding from him. Nothing new. They would come back day after day if they had to for that money. But for now, he loses himself in those green eyes, purring out his order and watching her hastily write it down. Pancakes with extra syrup, a ham and cheese omelet, some coffee to go; the list goes on and she stops him occasionally to ask for any sides, how he'd want the toast to be or how the eggs were supposed to be cooked. He knew the gang's order by now. There weren't many who hung around him and the compound they worked out of, but he preferred it this way. He had a group of members he considered close and actually cared about, and the rest ran the odd job for him when he couldn't be bothered.

Aurora rings him up and he makes sure to pull the twenty dollar bill out of his pocket, holding it between his index and middle finger as he hands it over. She looks hesitant, eyebrows raised as she inspects it, and Kazimir chuckles when she asks if he's sure.

“You deal with enough here, sweetheart,” he coos at her, “You deserve to be compensated.”

“Well, that's why I get paid,” Sweet as ever, but he finally coaxes her into taking the money, and she won't stop thanking him as she tucks it into the pocket of her apron. She gives him the estimated time it would take for the food to be ready as she disappears back into the kitchen, and Kazimir takes a seat on one of the stools at the front. He looks around the old diner, the light peach colored walls almost looking white in the afternoon sunlight, and the teal accents popping. Heaven's Diner was known for its bright but calming colors, and the staff were friendly to everyone except Kazimir's gang. Then again, he didn't blame them.

He listens to the soft music playing from the nearby radio, some blues band he didn't know the name of. It's calming, but not something he's used to. Maybe he had just gotten so used to the rock and roll that would play throughout the compound. Still, the music doesn't drown out the clanking of kitchenware in the back, and the occasional barking order from one of the chefs. He rests his elbows on the counter, lacing his fingers together and hooking his thumbs under his chin to keep his head up. Hazel eyes slip shut as he drinks in the ambiance. It was always nice when the diner was empty. He didn't have to deal with the judging looks, or the sour remarks thrown his way from some holier-than-thou old patron. The funny thing was, all of the staff workers would agree with the customers about how horrible he was. Aurora was the only one who never judged him, and had shown a hint of defense when anyone would bring up the gang.

“It's none of my business what they do. I just come here to work,” Those responses were the only time he had ever heard the woman lost her natural bubbly and friendly attitude, her tone turning firm as she would end the conversation there. Maybe that was why he liked her? She never judged them, and never shied away from taking their orders like the other waitstaff had many times before. In fact, Luciano had joked about how she was their personal waitress many times before. The group loved her personality just as much as he did, and they always made sure to leave a tip that went well over that old twenty percent rule. They normally left before they could see the look on her face, but Kazimir had caught her reaction through the window a couple times. A look of surprise that soon turned to excitement, and he cherished those memories.

When Aurora finally returns, she has little to-go boxes piled up on top of a tray with the drinks on the other side. She always was careful bringing everything out, and it's something he appreciates. He knew some of the waitresses would “accidentally” spill drinks on themselves in order to receive larger tips, but his little waitress would always take her time and set everything down gently. Maybe that was another thing he loved about her? Her dignity and pure attitude. He watches her pack them into a bag and slowly load up the drinks in a cup holder. She's slow, diligent, making sure nothing is lopsided and won't move. He can't stop the smile forming on his face as he watches her. A part of him hated how the woman affected him, wiping away that permanent scowl on his face and making his whole body feel lighter than normal. He takes the bag from her, his fingers brushing her as he hooks it around his arm before grabbing the cup holder. She stands before him just like every other time he would order his food to go: a sweet smile on her face, hands folded in front of her as she makes sure he has everything, occasionally smoothing out her apron if she felt a wrinkle in an odd spot.

“Have a good day, sir!” she calls out to him as he makes his way for the door, and he turns his head just enough to shoot a smile back at her. The bell chimes again as he opens the door and walks out, unlocking his car and sitting everything in the passenger seat, even going so far as to put the seat belt over his items so they don't fall on his way back. One last glance inside the diner, and he almost feels disappointed when he sees Aurora has disappeared. Well, he would be back tomorrow to talk to Nick anyway. Maybe he could find an excuse to get the woman's attention as well?

Unnamed WIP

By the time he pulls himself up and trudges to the bathroom, the stinging pain in his throat has faded. He looks at himself in the mirror, his neck and cheek bruised, and his eyes dark. He looks horrible, but he supposes it's not a surprise. What the Kelleys did to him – what the woman just did to him. There's no doubt his body is littered with bruises and cuts, but he can't bring himself to look again. It already caught him off guard when he had bathed in that freezing water. He didn't want to be reminded of the abuse.

The spacious bathroom in itself is cute, albeit bland. White tiles were devoid of any imperfections and dirt, and the bar of soap seated atop a colorful orange dish seems brand new. He leans against the counter, bringing his hands forward and admiring his wrists. They're still bleeding, drops of blood dripping into the sink and staining the once spotless white surface. Hesitantly, he reaches down to open the drawers, stopping once he sees a first aid kit placed in one of them. He's slow to bring it out, the ache in his wrists forcing him to move like a snail.

Everything's new when he opens it. Had the woman just bought these? He picks up the peroxide that was laying inside, tearing into the protective coating and unscrewing the cap. One more seal and it's open. Taking a deep breath, he grabs the bottle and splashes the contents onto to his left wrist, making him cry out. It stung as the cuts started to bubble, white foam covering his skin and dripping into the sink, mixing with the blood. His body is shaking, but he forces himself to douse his right next. It almost feels worse, and he has to hold onto the counter for support, his knees buckling underneath the pain. Deep breaths, anything to calm him down. He sets the peroxide on the counter, picking up the bandages next. He wraps it around his left wrist first, then the right. It stings, but in some odd way, he feels better. The bandages are soft against his skin, comforting and the only thing that feels secure.

He leans against the counter, lips pursed as he focuses on the blood and foam slowly rolling down the drain. He's lost as his body slowly stops shaking, mind blank and eyes stuck. He listens to everything going on around him. That soft hum of the light bulbs above, the beating of his heart, the sizzling in the drain as the excess peroxide runs down. Finally, he moves, turning his wrist to admire it. Blood easily shows up, a stark contrast against the white bandages, staining the area red. Why did any of this have to happen?

He glances to the side of the bathroom, a luxurious bathtub installed, the tiled walls surrounding it shining in the bathroom's light. It seemed so welcoming, the thought of a hot bath, but he can't bring himself to indulge in it. Not yet. He's too tired and too lost in his own thoughts about everything going on. So instead, he moves to the door, flicking off the light and crossing over the bedroom. The bed is soft as he lays down, trying his hardest to keep his weight off of his wrists as he lays on his side. Suppose this was his little home for now. He was scared to know what he was listed as. No doubt the woman would tell him soon enough.

WD: Legion – This Time, I'm staying – Beginning

“Arthur: the one that got away. What does that mean? The one that got away?”

“It's about losing someone you don't want to. Human stuff.”

“Am I… getting away?”

No matter how hard he had tried, that conversation replayed itself over and over, and try as he might, he couldn’t make it stop. It was like a busted record player, stuck in a loop and it was driving him crazy. The snippets he could remember before he was shut down, the thoughts of where he’d go and that fear he finally felt. It was all disgusting, to feel that weak and vulnerable. And yet… he craved more. To finally understand what the operatives felt – what they went through on a daily basis. He had heard them laugh and he had seen them smile. The fading fear in their eyes as they would return from being kidnapped, and the anger in their voices whenever they would pick fights. He wanted to finally understand.

It wasn’t exactly a request on his part, oh no. One of the operatives had caught his attention one day after they had figured out the truth, conjuring up all sorts of ideas. Make a body for Bagley, sort of like the androids and let him roam freely. At first, he had scoffed at the idea, hurling insults his way, but when the concept came up again, he gave it more thought. He was always sending out the operatives on missions, guiding them through everything. Sometimes they couldn’t even complete them properly, either being apprehended or landing themselves in the hospital. So with a bit less hostility, Bagley let the man continue.

Bradley was to be used as the base model. Same facial structure, eye color, body build – the works. Give him back the life he had lost, and the first thing that came to mind was Arthur. Perhaps, after he learned how to act more human, he could track the man down and see why he was so important to him in the first place.

WD: Legion – This Time, I'm Staying – Finding Arthur

“Down, boy,” He watches Dan reluctantly release the man and move back to stand by his side, though his pistol is still drawn. A soft sigh escapes Bagley's lips as he scans the Kelley's optik, just to be sure. Arthur Evans – Johnny Kelley's second-in-command.He knew he was right, but had hoped that he had made some sort of mistake somewhere. Still, he doesn't feel the connection he had hoped he would. Anything that would jar his memories and give him a hint of what he had with the man before Skye Larson had taken it all away from him.

“Who the fuck are you?!” The question is directed solely at Bagley, Arthur's blue eyes wide and looking horrified. Oh, the thoughts that must be going through his head right now.

“I'm Bagley!” he announces proudly, jabbing his elbow against Dan's rib when he hears a soft chuckle. He had a whole speech prepared before this, but looking at Arthur now... had he chosen the right words? He knew how complex human emotions were, and he knew how hostile the Kelleys were. And yet, the curiosity he saw in the man was enough for him to make his decision. “Dan, step outside, will you?”

“And let ya stay in here with this fucker?” he counters. Instead of replying, Bagley just shoos him away, and he's pleasantly surprised when the Irishman takes his leave. The moment the door closes, he steps forward, extending his hand.

“None of this is making sense,” Arthur whimpers out. It's not the tone, or even reaction, he was expecting. He seems dazed, confused, and almost scared. “Just who the hell are you?!”

“I told you. I'm Bagley,” He cocks his head. Had the man not heard him the first time? “I think you know me better as Bradley Lar-”

“Don't,” There's the hostility he was expecting, the hateful look as he grit his teeth. “You don't deserve to say his name!”

“Fine. Since you want to act as a child,” Bagley extends his arms to the side, showing himself off. Arthur is watching him carefully as he turns around, showing off his body and clothes. “I'm Bagley, DedSec's definitely-not-stolen, highly-advanced AI assistant! Do you know who created me? Skye Larson! And do you know whois my neural template?”

“Bradley Larson...” There's a moment where everything goes quiet and still. Before he can say anything else, Arthur is wrapping his arms around him, pulling him into a tight embrace and burying his face in the crook of his neck. It startles him, the feeling of Arthur's breath tickling his neck. He awkwardly brings his hands up, resting them on his back and stroking like he had seen other operatives do when they were consoling someone. This was supposed to make humans feel better right?

“You bastard...” There's a wavering in his voice, something Bagley can't detect. He only realizes the man is close to crying when he pulls back, tears filling his eyes. “You left me, you know that? Planned the wedding and fucking left...”

“I didn't mean to,” he tells him softly, “Or rather, Bradley didn't mean to. I'm still trying to figure this out. I just-”

Arthur is pressing his lips against his, something Bagley easily recognizes as a kiss. This was meant to be a sign of affection, right? This was good, right? He's slow but he finally pushes back against the man, his hands traveling down to rest comfortably on his hips. He knows there's something he should be feeling right now; positive he should be feeling as desperate as Arthur is acting. There is something deep inside him that feels like it wants to awaken, but for some reason he can't make it come out.

WD: Legion – Even if I Die Tonight – Ending of Chapter 9

When the doors open, he follows her down the hall and in front of her flat, waiting patiently as she unlocks the door and flicks on the light. He nearly jumps when he sees Michael groggily sit up, eyes squinted as he looks at them. He finally smiles brightly after a few seconds, waving at Dan.

“Didn't think she'd be bringing you over!” he laughs out, “You guys couldn't have gone next door? It's late.”

Dan can feel his face heating up as he follows Rabbit to another room, the woman yelling at her friend to stay quiet. She tries to ease his nerves, telling him to not listen to him as she sits him down on the bed. The room smells exactly like her perfume and he can't help but look around, laying his jacket on the covers next to him. Just like the rest of the flat, there isn't much. A couple dressers and the bed he sat on, along with a bedside table that held a small, porcelain lamp. However, he can see the stack of books piled up across the room, though it's hard to make out the titles.

“You read?” he asks, catching her attention. She's over by the window, and he can hear things clanking around. Did she store items in a mug?

“Sometimes, when I can actually focus,” she responds. He's surprised to see a small pair of scissors in her hand as she walks back over. Just like last time, her touch is gentle as she cups his face, using her thumb to pull his lip ever so slightly. A soft warning and he hears that little snip as she cuts the thread. There's a little bit of pressure he almost doesn't even register, and once she's set the thread on the bedside table, she cut the remaining stitch.

“Do you read?” The question catches him off guard and he looks up at her. She's not smiling at him but her eyes... oh, he could easily get lost in them. There's a sort of serenity in there, overpowering other emotions he couldn't quite explain, but it drags him in and all he can do is nod. “What do you like?”

“History, mostly,” This seems to make her perk up, and he's pleasantly surprised to hear that was her favored subject. He can't help but smile, especially when she takes a seat next to him on the bed. Their conversation carries on about books, what subjects they prefer to read, and what they like overall. He's not surprised when they don't share many stories, but it's still interesting to listen to. She brings up being interested in psychology, but scoffs when he asks if she ever read any good books regarding the topic. “They're all a load of self-help bullshit.” He can only chuckle. He never really was interested in psychology himself, but she did make it sound interesting; knowing how the human mind worked, what made people tick. He supposed he saw the appeal.

He doesn't stay too long, guilt setting in that he's keeping the woman up so late. Grabbing his jacket and standing up, he follows Rabbit as she walks him out, and he can only laugh when she picks up a pillow to hit Michael when he makes another comment regarding the two. Still, they both wish him a goodnight as he exits the flat, and he can hear their muffled voices on the other side as he closes the door. He shakes his head, though he can't pull the smile from his face as he works on unlocking the door to his flat and slipping inside.

He brushes his fingers over his lip, an odd feeling of relief washing over him when he only feels skin and doesn't come in contact with that damned thread. With a small smile, he makes his way to his room, shedding his clothes and kicking off his boots. Hesitating for just a bit, he makes his way over to the dresser, pulling open one of the drawers and peering inside. He tries to bury the feeling of surprise that comes over him when he sees his gun is still tucked beneath some clothes, sitting right where he had left it.

Shutting the drawer, he moves over to his bed, crawling inside and underneath the blankets. He's not too tired; not enough to the point he'll fall asleep as soon as he head hits the pillow, but he also doesn't have enough energy to find something to pass the time. So instead, he settles on closing his eyes, letting his mind wander here and there. The new job, the hope of getting Bagley back, the newly taken out stitches, the smug look on Michael's face and the peaceful feeling Rabbit radiated. Before he knows it, he's fast asleep.

[honeycombme]

Chapter 2 (AO3 Link)

You had been assigned and trained your entire life for the moment you were bought, for the ceremony, the Tryst. Expert on sex, love, scents, food, drink, companionship...you never imagined in your wildest dreams you'd be escorted away from all you knew by two gruff Storm Troopers. Maybe there was hope, maybe it had all been for nothing. All you knew is that you needed gin, and you needed it right now.

You read the card again, betrayed by your emotions. It was heartfelt and also robotic. And...kitten? You didn't know why gravity left your belly about this man you’d never seen nor met before, but you welcomed the feeling. Eyeing the gift as if it were a trap, you went for it. Unwrapping gifts was not foreign to you as suitors came by in masses, gifts in tow, praying they could buy the loyalty of a courtesan. You enjoyed the game, it was a little sad that you belonged to someone you didn’t get to play with.

The paper bound to the gift box ripped easily, the sound of it tearing into the eerie silence of space. You lifted the lid of the box to reveal more gift wrap. As soon as you peeled it away, you were graced with the sight of ivory lace, straps, fabric. You lifted the piece from the box and held it up in front of you. It felt luxurious and smelled of black currant and vanilla. Lingerie was your forte, and you relished in each and every fiber of this new prize. You smiled to yourself, this Armitage fellow was certainly a gentleman, and wealthy at that. You bit your lip and walked around the bed, laying the garment gently against the comforter.

Just as you had hoped to lie down and sort through your thoughts, the doors whirred open and a woman in all white appeared at the door of the room. Her steps were light and nonthreatening, but she was quick.

“Inoculations, madame,” she squeaked, “it’s required.”

Your feet carried you towards the woman, glad there were no steely cold hands gripping your arms and guiding you through the ship. You exited the room, walking down familiar bland hallways until you reached the medbay.

“Sit please, I will begin at once. You require a chip, which arm do you prefer?” She snapped on gloves.

“Uhh...a..chip? I’m not su-”

“It is required, of all of us. People complain less when it is the left arm.” She grabbed your wrist as another worker in the medbay approached with an medical device in his gloved hand. She swiftly retrieved the device placing it against your forearm. There was a small hum in the machine when you quickly felt a searing pain. You squirmed to get away, hissing through your teeth when the gentleman who gave her the device placed his hands on your shoulders, steadying you. You looked to anyone, eyes wild like an animal who had just been led into a trap. As soon as the pain came, it was gone.

When the woman removed the device, you held your forearm up to examine it. There was a blinking light beneath your skin, turning all the colors of the rainbow in tune with your heartbeat which had certainly quickened with the anxiety of your situation. You felt a tear escape your right eye, quickly wiping it away and returning to your normal composure.

Everything had happened so quickly. You were starting to truly feel less than the specimen you were only hours ago in the warmth of your flat. The confusion you felt about your treatment sent a small ache to your head, or maybe that was the foreign device you’d just been assaulted with.

“Is that all, miss?” you breathed.

“Afraid not; however, my job is done here. They are waiting for you in gynecology.”

You felt sick. You absolutely abhorred the gynecologist. Throughout your training, you had been examined once every 3 months; wrung through each and every medical procedure you could think of. Your womb ached at the remembrance of your intrauterine device placement, the barbarity of the whole procedure ringing through your nerves. You let out a shaky breath as another woman in all white appeared around the corner, beckoning you toward her. You stood and followed, preparing for the worst.

When you rounded the corner, the woman was waiting outside a room with her arm outstretched towards the private room. You squirmed a bit, you were quite laced up to be in this position, garter belt strapped to your waist like a weapon. You were instructed to remove everything below the waist, given a few moments alone. You sat on the cold medical bed going over all the questions you were going to be asked in your head, relishing the last few moments alone. When the woman entered, she shut the door without saying a word and washed her hands.

“Don’t be afraid,” she said sweetly, “I promise this is just a standard checkup.”

When she turned around, she was smiling at you in the way someone does when they feel helpless pity. You smiled back, relaxing a bit.

She ran through some questions, examined your heart and lungs, checked your reflexes. You discussed birth control and any previous conditions. Once she performed the pelvic exam to verify your birth control, she sat back and looked to you as you situated yourself once more.

“He’s not a bad guy, you know. He’s got a temper, a bit peaky at times...but he’s actually quite nice to us here. I’m confident you will be fine while he’s away, just keep away from the command center…”she confided.

“Thank you...what’s wrong with the command center?” you asked.

“Well, there are some officers there who could...well, i shouldn’t say too much but….just don’t wander anywhere near there. My name is Evylyn. If you should ever need anything, just ask for me. Oh! I almost forgot, General Hux would like me to give this to you, in case you can’t find anyone to show you around.” She handed you a sort of metal block, the weight of it pulling your aching forearm downwards. She pressed a small button on the top. It lit in a blue hologram of the ship with an option for directions as well as all the ships spaces and amenities. Your eyes lit up as you twirled the hologram, a rainbow dot flashing in the medbay portion.

“That’s you,” she pointed at the blinking dot. “General Hux has given you access to many amenities not available to faculty or other officers on this ship, including more private dining and drinking areas. Your chip will allow you entry into these spaces, including your private quarters. He hasn’t given me a time when he will be back, but I am certain he will contact you with this device whenever he is available to do so.” She smiled at you once more, “is there anything i can help you with before I release you?”

You huffed, “I could sure use a drink, Evylyn.”

“Ah, I imagine it would be as easy as asking the map,” she winked. She stood, placing your report next to a computer. “You’re all set, don’t hesitate to call on me if need be.” She smiled one last time, and exited the room.

You sighed, pressing the small button on the metal box. The room was cast in blue as you tried to find a directory to anywhere you could get a drink. The layout of the dining quarters didn’t support a bar, and neither did the galley. You whispered, “where the fuck can I get a drink?” The hologram zipped through its own directory, searching the map room by room when it landed on a space with winding stairs. It blinked as if to answer your question. You smiled, feeling hopeful that this may not be the worst place to be.

You quickly dressed back into your lingerie, strapping everything together as perfectly as you had before you left your planet. After fixing your hair in a small mirror, you exited the room and the med bay entirely. You entered the passageways, feeling a slight draft tickle your calves. The click of your heels muffled by the sound of marching in the near distance. The marching was closer as you tried to head back to where your room was, a bit anxious you might encounter more storm troopers. And you did.

As you rounded a corner, there was an entire detail of troopers with blasters marching behind a masked officer; a tall, broad man whose mask contained illuminated cracks which were stark against his all black uniform. Your eyes widened and you turned to pursue a different route, hoping to avoid running into them. You kept walking calmly, turning back to catch a glimpse of them once more. As they rounded the corner in the opposite direction, the man in all black had his sights on you. He kept his gaze on you until he had completely turned the other direction, never breaking composure or step. You turned your head forward once more, furrowing your brows. Maybe this is the type of person Evylyn wanted you to avoid. You shook the thought and continued forward, hoping to find a way to get back to your room.

[iamthegaysmurf]

SMURF!!! Hi :) Prompt: “I’m seriously not that drunk.”

Both of these prompts were pretty similar, so I worked them into the same story together.

So, uh…  This one sort of got away from me.  It’s…  a lot longer than these little prompt fills are supposed to be.  >.>

Also, I know this probably isn’t what @haught0pocket and anon might have originally had in mind when they gave me these prompts, but I hope it’s still okay…  : /  

And, uh…  there might accidentally be some Feelings™ involved.  #whoops

((Set roughly a month after the events of 3x03, but before the beginning of 3x04.))

———-

Dolls has been gone for almost a month.  Alice has been gone for nearly six.  They haven’t seen hide nor hair of Bulshar since that day up on the cliff.  Everyone is on edge, and they’re all dealing with it in their own ways.

Some of them more predictably than others.

“Can you get that for me, Nic?” Waverly mumbles when her phone rings, not even looking up from the dusty tome she’s been squinting at for the past three hours.

“Sure, baby.”  Nicole rubs at the back of her neck as she pushes away from the table where she’s finishing up the day’s reports, rolling it until it cracks.  “Waverly’s phone,” she answers, unable to keep the weariness out of her voice.

“…Officer Haught?”  Doc sounds confused on the other end of the line.  “I was not expecting to speak with you this evening.”

“I’m here with Waverly, Doc,” Nicole says, slightly amused at how the new technology still trips him up sometimes.  “Is everything okay?” she asks, concern slipping back into her voice.

“Ahhh…  Well… I believe that might depend on your definition of ‘okay’.”

“What did she do now?”  Nicole groans and pinches the bridge of her nose, trying to fight off the migraine that’s been building all day.

“I am afraid to say that it might be time for Miss Waverly to come and collect her sister.”

Nicole glances over at Waverly, who’s still hunched over the grimoire, scribbling furiously in her notebook every few seconds.  Looks like she just drew the short straw for the babysitting tonight.

“Gimme ten minutes, Doc.”

“Officer Haught?”  Doc pauses, and Nicole can hear shouting in the background.  “I think it would be best if you made that five.”

Nicole ends the call and slumps back against the table.  It’s been a long fucking day and this is definitely not what she had in mind for tonight, but after watching Waverly for another minute, it’s pretty clear they won’t be heading home any time soon anyway, so she guesses a rowdy Wynonna it is.

“Hey, baby,” she says quietly, not wanting to startle Waverly.  She leans forward and presses a kiss to her temple, waiting for any indication that Waverly has heard her.  After rubbing a few soothing circles along her back, Waverly finally turns, fully focusing on Nicole for the first time in over an hour.

“Hey,” she says, almost like she forgot Nicole was even there.  Her eyes crinkle up around the edges as she smiles and leans into another kiss.  “What did I miss?” she asks, rubbing at her tired eyes.

“That was Doc on the phone,” Nicole says, rolling her eyes.  “Looks like I’ve gotta go and pour your sister into my backseat before she ends up in my holding cell again.”

“Oh…”  She glances back at the book and her notes, chewing on the end of her pencil for a moment.  “I guess I can work on this again later…”

“No, baby.  Don’t worry about it,” Nicole says, rubbing her back again.  “You keep doing…  whatever it is you’re doing.  I’ve got this.”

“Are you sure?” Waverly asks, plainly feeling guilty that Nicole is shouldering the burden of Wynonna for her.

“Of course,” Nicole answers simply.  “We all have our parts to play in this thing together, and this is something I can do.”  She leans forward and kisses Waverly’s forehead.  “Maybe I can stop by Mama Lou’s on my way back and pick us up something for Dark Lunch.  How does that sound?”

Waverly giggles at their nickname for middle-of-the-night meals when they can’t afford to sleep, but her eyes go wide when her stomach growls loudly enough to echo in the empty office.

“Uhh… yeah.  I guess that sounds pretty good,” she admits sheepishly.

“Done.”  Nicole grins and steals a proper kiss this time, then gathers up her jacket and gloves and secures the door behind her, locking Waverly safely in and the rest of the world out.

There’s no snow at the moment, but a thick layer of frost covers the ground, normally undisturbed at an hour like this, and it crunches loudly under Nicole’s boots as she makes her way across to her cruiser.  She knows that this is hitting Wynonna the hardest out of any of them, but watching her sink back into the whiskey-soaked recklessness from before, after having been sober for so long, makes the piece of her heart that’s now permanently reserved for her reluctant new sister ache like someone’s squeezing it just a little too tightly.

She wishes there was something more she could do.  But if routinely picking her up from the various local bars and making sure she gets home safe is what she needs right now, then that’s what Nicole will do.  Anything to prove that she’s here for her, and that she’s not going anywhere.

The commotion is already spilling out into the parking lot when Nicole pulls up outside Shorty’s.  Luckily, the regulars don’t seem to be in the mood for much trouble tonight, and the majority of them scatter as soon as she steps out of the cruiser and they catch sight of her uniform.  She shakes her head and rolls her eyes as she heads for the door.  In a small town like this, some things will never change.

“Ossifer Haughtie!” Wynonna slurs from atop one of the tables in the corner the second Nicole sets foot inside the saloon.  “Getchyer Haughtpants up here an’ help me show ‘em how it’s done!”

Oh, boy.  So it’s gonna be like that tonight.

Nicole glances over at Doc, who raises an eyebrow and shrugs a shoulder and tips his hat like she’s your problem now.  Nicole massages her temples against the inbound migraine, but nods at him and starts shuffling toward Wynonna’s makeshift stage.

“Time to go, Wynonna,” she says calmly, holding out a hand to help Wynonna down off the table.  Wynonna bats it away and continues to dance with her whiskey bottle in hand.  She keeps going until she stumbles, nearly toppling off the table altogether if Nicole hadn’t been there to catch her.

“I might be slightly drunk…” she admits with a snort as Nicole takes the whiskey bottle from her hand and throws Wynonna’s arm around her own shoulders so she can hold Wynonna up.  Her other arm goes around Wynonna’s waist, trying to keep her on her feet.

“Understatement of the year,” Nicole mumbles as she begins half-dragging Wynonna toward the door.

“It’s gettin’ Haught in herre…  so take off all your clothes!” Wynonna starts singing at the top of her lungs, drawing forth a round of cheers from the patrons still remaining in the bar.

Nicole looks back over her shoulder and nods at Doc as she pulls Wynonna out into the street.  The rabble from earlier has completely cleared out, and they have the entire sidewalk to themselves now.

“I am gettin’ so Haught,” Wynonna continues singing, her voice ringing out through the empty streets.  “I wanna take my clothes off!”  She starts trying to shed her leather jacket.

“If you do that,” Nicole interrupts, grabbing the jacket and sliding it back up over Wynonna’s shoulders, “you’re just going to give yourself pneumonia.”

“So what?” Wynonna mutters darkly, pulling free from Nicole’s grasp.  “It already hurts to breathe.”

That hits Nicole like a knife to the ribs, and Wynonna stomps away a few paces into the alley next to Shorty’s, suddenly much more steady on her feet.  She takes out her frustration on the nearby dumpster and then leans back against the cold bricks that line the side of the building.

“Come on, Wynonna,” Nicole says, her brow furrowed as she follows after her.  “You’re drunk.  Let’s get you out of here.”

“I’m not drunk!” Wynonna bites back, punching the dumpster again, and Nicole is surprised to see a slight dent left behind in the metal from the impact.

“Wynonna…” Nicole admonishes.  “You smell like a distillery.”

“I’m not saying I didn’t have a few drinks, Officer Fun Police.”  She lays the sarcasm on thicker than usual, but Nicole notes that the slur is completely gone from her speech.  “But most of that,” she gestures at herself, “is from Cecil Wright spilling a bottle of Varmint all over me when I was trying to get to the jukebox.”

Nicole folds her arms, raising a skeptical eyebrow.  To her credit, Wynonna doesn’t flinch under the inspection.

“I’m seriously not that drunk, Nicole,” she says, her tone serious as she straightens up.

The use of her first name rather than another Haught pun drops some of the tension out of Nicole’s stance.  She thinks Wynonna might be telling the truth.  Which makes this whole thing even more confusing.

“Then…  then why?” she asks, waving her hand and gesturing from Wynonna to the bar and back.  “Why the big show?”

Wynonna’s shoulders drop and she slumps back against the bricks.  She’s silent for a moment, but then she looks back up at Nicole, and Nicole can see the cracks spreading across Wynonna’s carefully constructed façade.

“Sometimes it’s just easier that way,” Wynonna shrugs.  “If people think I’m shitfaced, then they don’t try to talk to me about…  about…”

She can visibly see the lump forming in Wynonna’s throat.  Wynonna wipes hastily at her eyes and turns away, picking at the cut on the back of her knuckles from when she punched the dumpster a minute ago.

Nicole reaches out and takes Wynonna’s hand in her own.  Wynonna starts to jerk away, but Nicole doesn’t let her.  She turns her hand over and examines the cut and the bruise that’s quickly forming around it.  Reaching into one of the cargo pockets of her uniform pants, Nicole pulls out an antiseptic wipe and some gauze and begins cleaning up the laceration.

Wynonna hisses at the sting, but she doesn’t pull away, and together they stand there in silence, alone in the alley while Nicole shows off her first-aid skills.  It’s the way their friendship has always been.  A little unorthodox, but it works for them, and Nicole would never give up this strange bond they share.

“I’m still giving you a ride home,” Nicole finally says when she finishes, tossing the used gauze in the dumpster.  “I believe you,” she adds quickly, before Wynonna can argue again.  “But you still don’t need to be driving tonight.  Especially on your bike.”

“I don’t want to go home,” Wynonna protests.

“Wynonna…” Nicole sighs.  “You can’t go back in there.”

“I didn’t say that,” Wynonna snaps.  It comes out a bit sharper than perhaps shemeant for it to.  “I just…”  She kicks an empty beer bottle and they both watch as it skitters down the alleyway before shattering against the far wall.  “I just don’t want to go home.”

“Did something happen, Wynonna?” Nicole frowns, wondering if she needs to gather up the crew for some demon ass-kicking.

“No…” Wynonna mutters, looking anywhere but at Nicole.

“Hey.”  She reaches out and places a hand on Wynonna’s shoulder.  “Talk to me, Earp,” she adds softly, with a gentle squeeze.

“The ghosts,” is all Wynonna says.  

It’s non-sequitur, to say the least, but it’s the thread that Wynonna has chosen to pick up, and Nicole is patient enough to wait and see where it will lead them.

“Sometimes they’re louder than the voices in my own head.”  She looks down at her boots awkwardly.  “Sometimes even the whiskey can’t drown them out.   Daddy and Willa.  Curtis and Shorty.  Fish.  …Dolls.”  She nearly chokes on a sob, and Nicole feels the pieces of her heart shattering, the shards slicing into her lungs and stealing her breath.  “Alice.”

“Oh, Wynonna…”  Nicole can’t help but pull Wynonna into a hug, and to her surprise, Wynonna doesn’t fight it.  Instead she collapses into her arms, here in this dirty alley with no one else around to see her.  “Alice isn’t…  She’s safe, Wynonna.”

“She isn’t dead, Nicole.  But she’s gone.  And it’s all my fault.  Just like the rest of them.”

Nicole doesn’t know what to say, so she just stands there, holding Wynonna in her moment of vulnerability, until the sobs die out into sniffles and she suddenly pulls away like she’s just been burnt.

“Haught, I swear to god if you—”

“I know nothing,” Nicole cuts her off, holding up her hands in mock surrender.  Wynonna narrows her eyes, but Nicole doesn’t shrink away from the scrutiny.  “You can trust me,” she says, pouring every ounce of earnesty she has into the simple statement.  She’s surprised when Wynonna nods once in her direction.

“Okay.”

“Okay?”  That was not the response she was expecting.

“Okay.”

“So, uh…”  Nicole clears her throat as they both start pretending like none of that ever happened.  “Why don’t you stay with us at my place tonight?  The guest bedroom is already made up.  You’re welcome to it.”

She’s half expecting an argument, but Wynonna seems to mull it over for a few seconds and then shrugs.

“Probably wouldn’t hurt to have someone keep an eye on you two.”  She pats Peacemaker where it’s nestled against her hip and dares Nicole to tease her about any of this.

Nicole snorts, but slings an arm around Wynonna’s shoulder anyway.

“Sure, Earp.  Whatever you say.”

They head back to the cruiser, the banter flowing freely between them now, and Nicole is rather relieved that she can open the front passenger-side door for Wynonna rather than having to wrestle her into the back seat.

“Oh.  I, uh…  I promised Waverly some Dark Lunch from Mama Lou’s before I left to come and get you,” she says as she climbs into the driver’s seat.  “That alright with you?”

“Shit, Haughtshot.  I could murder a stack of pancakes right now.”

[sgtbradfords]

Nothing But Time

Characters: Clint Barton, Natasha Romanoff, Steve Rogers, Tony Stark

Summary: Clint Barton and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Year.

Warnings: Language, Angst, Suspense

A/N: Takes place after Endgame. Certain things did and did not happen. For the sake of this AU Clint’s family doesn’t exist. 

 >------------------>

Clint Barton stepped off the Quinjet, his left arm clutching his right side, his face covered in dirt, a cut on his hairline dried in blood, a slight limp in his walk.

“Told you that you couldn’t take them all on by yourself.”

Clint rolled his eyes, “Yeah, yeah, yeah. Even though I was in the circus, doesn’t mean I am flexible.”

“I’m just saying, if you would have let me help...” Said Natasha in a sing song voice.

“We wouldn’t be in this mess.” Clint stopped just before one of the doors to the newly completed compound. “You had plenty of men on you too, so I guess we’re fair.” He shrugged, holding the door open.

Clint walked on down the hall before turning right towards Medical.

“Agent Barton! What can I do for you today?” a feminine voice asked as he opened the door.

“Hey Carly.” He said casually as he jumped up onto the examination table. “I took a good graze to my right side and probably need some glue for my head. I also wouldn’t mind a few painkillers please?”

“Oh, is that all.” The doctor said sarcastically as she popped on a pair of gloves. “And here I thought you were just making a social visit.”

“Natasha should be down here soon, she got pretty banged up too.”

The doctor looked at her new patient for a second, before nodding her head. “Let’s see what the damage is.”

After getting glued back together and having his side stitched, Clint was back to being temporarily pain free and, on his feet, taking the elevator up towards his apartment located on the base. He got off, walking down the hall before stopping at the fourth door down. He balanced his go bag in one hand, placing one of his left fingers on the locking mechanism of the door.

“Nat?” he called out, setting his bag down onto the floor, making a mental note to unpack it after their debrief. “Natasha?”

He walked into the bedroom, seeing a few shirts scattered on the floor, he came to the realization she was probably down in Medical, being stitched up by Carly.

“Agent Barton, Agent May requests your presence in the conference room on the third floor in thirty minutes.” FRIDAY’s voice spoke overhead.

“Ok, thanks’ FRIDAY.”

Clint grabbed a change of clothes, heading to the bathroom to jump in for a quick shower to wash away the grime of the mission, being careful of his freshly dressed injuries.

He jumped out, drying off before getting dressed, putting all the necessities into the pockets of his jeans, writing out a message on the refrigerator before walking out the door. He hopped back onto the elevator he was on before, slipping his phone out of his pocket to check the time.

“Barton.” Tony Stark acknowledged as he stepped onto the elevator. “You going for a new look or something?”

Clint looked down, noticing his mis-matched shoes. “You just learning how to shave Stark?” Clint laughed, gesturing towards the abrasion on the side of the billionaire’s face.

“I’ve been meaning to talk to you, I’ve made a prototype of a new arrow I want you to try out in the range, their more durable and hopefully less prone to cause problems in the field.”

“Yeah, I had a few things I wanted to run by you, I will swing by later? I’m on my way to a debriefing right now.” Clint said as the elevator dinged, the car arriving to his destination.

“You know where to find me.” Tony mocked saluted.

Clint slowly walked on down the hall, knocking on the proper door before letting himself in.

“Agent Barton please come in, have a seat.”

Clint hobbled over, falling down into one of the office chairs surrounding the oval table.

“This is Agent Melinda May. Initiating debrief for case number Delta 9-5-7.” She stated as she wrote something down onto the paper laying in front of her, Clint already knowing that there was an audio and visual recording happening. “I have with me Agent Clint Barton who was the lead on the mission. Clint, the floor is yours.

“Agent Clinton Francis Barton, agent identification number 6-1-6.” Clint stated before going into the details of the mission he was assigned.

An hour later, Clint walked out the door and back down the hall, keeping his head down as he analyzed the past hour.

“Hey.” He heard a familiar voice say.

Clint looked up, a smile on his face as he looked at who was propped on the wall. “Hey Nat, I assume you seen my message on the fridge. You fixing to head in for your debrief?”

“Waiting on your slow ass to come out Barton.” She joked.

“But it’s a nice ass. Met you in the cafeteria?”

She shook her head, pushing off the wall. “I’ve got some things to get caught up on. “I’ll meet you at yours in a few?”

“Sounds good.” Clint told her, pushing the door open for the stairs. “I would tell you to have fun but we both know it sucks.”

Clint walked down two floors and into the hallway, his sights set for the cafeteria. He walked through the door, grabbing a to go plate to take back to his apartment. He stood in front of some fruit, staring at the variety.

“Hey Clint.” Bruce Banner said as he stood beside Clint. “You ok? You’ve been standing here for almost five minutes.”

“Hey Bruce. I’m just trying to decide what I want to eat, I can’t decide between Cantaloupe or Watermelon. I want Watermelon but that just makes you use the bathroom a lot and I don’t want to keep Natasha awake by being up and down all night.” Explained Clint.

Bruce stared at him for a second. “Yeah… I don’t- I don’t blame you.”

“I think I am just going to get both.” He shrugged as he reached for the tongs, putting some of each into his plate. “I’ll catch you around Clint.” Bruce said as he walked away. Clint extended his hand to put the tongs back, the metal falling to the counter before the ground.

“Dammit.” Clint muttered, reaching down to pick up the metal. He picked it up, handing it off to a worker behind the counter.

He grabbed his two containers of food, heading back down the hall to the elevator. He took the car up, pressing the button for his floor as the doors shut.

“Agent Barton, Mr. Stark is asking if you will be participating in Movie night tonight.” FRIDAY’s voice echoed in the car.

“Ahhh shit, I forgot about that.” Clint muttered. “Tell Stark that Natasha and I are probably staying in for the night, I will get with him tomorrow about those arrows.”

“Yes, Agent Barton.” FRIDAY responded as the elevator doors opened and Clint limped into the hallway.

He had just walked through the door when he heard his phone going off. He pulled it out of his pocket, seeing it was Tony he ignored it, letting the phone continue to ring as he placed it onto the coffee table knowing that he was probably going to give him a hard time for skipping out on movie night but he had just come back from a mission and was pretty tired.

Clint walked into the kitchen, grabbing him some silverware and a sport drink out of the fridge before he settled onto the couch, flipping on the television as he opened his Styrofoam container.

“Did you get me anything?” he heard a voice echo down the hall.

Clint jumped, letting out a yelp, not realizing he wasn’t alone. “Didn’t realize you had made it up!” he yelled as he stuffed a bite of food in his mouth.

“I was taking a shower.” Natasha told him walking to the end of the hall, wringing out her wet hair with a towel, eyeing the food before heading back towards the bathroom.

“Your debrief was quicker than mine.” He pouted. “I thought you had some stuff to catch up on?” he asked loudly.

“I can do it tomorrow.” She shrugged walking back into the room, grabbing an egg roll off his plate.

“Hey!” he cried. “That was mine!”

“Not anymore Barton.” She smirked, settling down onto the other side of the sofa, tucking her toes under his leg.

“You suck.”

Natasha laughed, wiggling her toes as Clint rolled his eyes.

The rest of the night was peaceful, catching up on one of the recordings they had saved on the DVR. Clint got up, changing his clothes into something more comfortable before unpacking and repacking his go bag, setting it down next to the door. Natasha laid her head onto his shoulder as he sat back down before both made the silent agreement to go to bed, exhaustion from the mission and events of the past few days taking its toll. Clint closed his eyes as his head hit the pillow, looking at the red head across from him as sleep quickly overcome him.

Clint pulled on his rope that was attached to the hook, his cheeks red from the cold, but his breathing hard from fighting. He was determined to end this, he would be the one to fall, not her.

“Damn you.” He said, looking at her as they both struggled with the weight of gravity. He checked his line one more time, seeing they were out of line before using his free hand to reach out for hers. He almost had her, his gloved hand within inches of grabbing the hand he was already clutching, the tension in the line making things difficult as he felt his grasp begin to loosen.

He glanced down at her. “Let me go.” She whispered.

“No.” He choked, tears filling his eyes. “No. Please no.”

‘She can’t do this.’ He thought.

She nodded her head. “It’s ok.” She whispered, studying him one more time before using the rockface as her leverage to pull her wrist from his grasp, allowing her to free fall.

Clint jolted awake, his body tense and sweaty, his breathing harsh, his head splitting in pain. He looked over at the other side of the bed, seeing it empty, causing his heartrate to increase.

“Nat?” he called out, putting his bare feet on the cold floor as he opened the bedroom door. “Natasha?”

Silence followed as he looked around the apartment before walking out the door, thinking of where she might be as he walked to the end of the hall, taking the stairs up three floors. He pushed back the door, the cold chill of the fall air knocking the breath out of his lungs as the sun shone on his face.

“Natasha?” he asked again.

“I was wondering how long it would take you to find me.” She smiled, her feet dangling over the side of the building.

Clint looked at her, puzzled. “Tash, what are you doing?”

She looked out over the Hudson River. “I didn’t want to wake you.”

Clint moved slowly, propping his upper body against the top of the ledge. This was their go to spot for when they couldn’t sleep, when they needed to clear their heads.

Natasha turned her head. “Are you ok?”

Clint studied her for a second. “Better now.” He gently smiled, taking her right hand into his left as he turned and watched the sunrise, the heat warming his face as he closed his eyes.

“Clint? Clint? Barton!” someone yelled.

He opened his eyes. “What?” he asked, turning his head to see Steve Rogers, Natasha no longer by his side.

“I’ve been talking to you for the past few minutes, you were mumbling about something. Are you ok?”

“I’m fine. Wish everyone would stop asking me that.” He gruffed, turning to walk away, stumbling over his footing. “I’m heading down to the kitchen.”

Steve looked at his team member’s retreating figure, concern written on his face.

Clint lazily walked down the stairs, heading to the floor above his that was the common place for all the Avengers. He pulled open the door, walking past the living room and into the kitchen, grabbing him a mug and fixing him a cup of coffee.

“Morning.” Stark mumbled, rubbing his eyes as he brushed past Clint, reaching for his own mug. “Never have kids. Morgan kicked me out of my own bed last night. Again.”

Clint chuckled “For a seven-year-old she does have a nasty kick.”

Tony glared at the archer, “I wonder who she learned that from.” He said, gently blowing onto the coffee before taking a sip.

Clint stood against the counter, looking innocent as Bruce walked in, holding a stack of papers. “Tony. I think I finally found the designs for that thing you had asked me about a few days ago.”

Tony took another quick sip from his cup before setting it on the counter, picking up the first paper from the stack as Clint began to open and close drawers.

“Merida? You looking for something?”

“Yeah the bottle of ibuprofen, my head is killing me this morning.”

Tony walked over, grabbing the bottle that was sitting on the counter, handing it over. “I would say so, this bottle hasn’t moved in years.” Clint screwed off the cap, pouring a few pills out into his hand before popping them into his mouth and washing them down with another sip of coffee.

“Anyone seen Natasha?” Clint asked.

Bruce and Tony shared a look. “Clint, are you feeling ok?

“Fine.” He shrugged, looking around. “Before I forget, I was talking to Natasha a few nights ago about the arrows and realized she hasn’t had any new upgrades to her widow bites, and with her birthday coming up soon I thought I would surprise her.”

Both men looked at Clint before Bruce spoke first “Clint… There’s no easy way to say this but-“

“Stark. Banner. I need to borrow you for a moment.” Steve stated, gesturing for them to move into the living room. “Somethings not right.” He said once he was far enough away, keeping his voice low to prevent Clint from hearing.

“Yeah Cap, I gotta say that color of shirt does nothing for your hair.”

Steve ignored him. “Somethings up with Clint. I walked out onto the roof this morning and he was just standing there, talking to himself, not making any sense.”

“You’re kidding! I’ll call the psych ward, tell them that we have a human on our hands.” Tony stated sarcastically.

“No, this is different-“

“I think Steve’s right.” Bruce spoke up. “Last night in the cafeteria, he mentioned something that he hasn’t talked about in a long time, he- he mentioned Natasha.”

Steve looked upset while Tony looked shocked. “He- He mentioned her? Like how?” Steve asked.

“He said he didn’t want to keep her awake.”

While the other men were conversing, Clint was pulling ingredients out of the refrigerator and cabinets to make breakfast when he glanced over at one of the barstools.

“Pancakes or Waffles?” he asked.

“French Toast.”

“Tash. Pancakes or Waffles?”

“French. Toast.”

Clint sighed. “There is no winning with you is there? French toast it is.” He said pushing the ingredients to make a batter, to the side.

Natasha raised her hands in victory as Clint laughed, “See? Compromise.” She told him as he warmed up the griddle before looking in the cabinet for a loaf of bread.

“тебе повезло я люблю тебя.” He mumbled. (You’re lucky I love you.)

Natasha smiled. “Do you want to spar later? We haven’t done that in a few weeks.”

“Sure, I do love kicking your ass.”

“My ass? It’s your ass that’s going to get kicked Barton.”

“Wanna bet Romanoff?”

“Clint?” Bruce asked as he entered the kitchen. “Who are you talking to?”

Clint furrowed his brow. “What do you mean ‘Who am I talking to’, I am talking to Natasha.”

Bruce looked at him for a second. “Clint… Natasha’s not here.”

“Yeah she is.”

“Clint…” Bruce slowly stated, not sure how to approach the topic. “There’s no easy way to tell you this but Natasha is dead.”

“No…” Clint told him, his heart rate increasing “Natasha is sitting right there.” He gestured, glancing over to where she was sitting on the barstool.

“Clint, Natasha died on Vormir three years ago.” Steve commented, leaning up against the wall.

Clint’s breathing accelerated. “No-No she- No she didn’t.” He shook his head, glancing to where she had been sitting.

“Tony?” He asked the billionaire that stood across the kitchen. “Did Natasha put you up to this? Is this some kind of joke?”

“Clint, Romanoff died three years ago. Something happened on Vormir while you two were getting the soul stone, the only thing you told us was a soul for a soul.”

“No.” Clint repeated the word as he began to pace back and forth. “What do you mean she- she’s dead?”

“Clint, you need to calm down.” Steve said, taking a step forward.

“Calm Down. Calm Down? You think I need to calm down, after you just told me that my partner is dead!” he said, his voice raising with each word.

The other three men stood there, “Clint, there’s something bigger going on here.”

“SHUT UP!” he yelled, swiping his arm at the items on the counter, sending the breakfast items flying as Tony, Steve and Bruce ducked. “She can’t be dead.” He stated, pacing the floor with his hands behind his head. “I jus talk- talked to her. She sleep in my roo-room las ni-nigh.”

“Clint?” Bruce took a step forward, just in time to catch the archer before he fell headfirst into the counter. “Tony!” he exclaimed as he lowered Clint to the floor. “Throw me that blanket off the back of the couch! Steve, get this stuff out of the way. FRIDAY, I need you to contact Medical, tell them where we are, and that Barton is having a seizure!”

Both men broke into action, as Bruce done what he could as they waited for Clint to come out of the convulsion. “FRIDAY, I need vitals.”

“Agent Barton’s heart rate is 136, and his oxygen level is at 84 percent.” She informed him as Clint’s body stopped thrashing.

“What the hell?” asked Tony.

“I don’t know. I think there is more going on here than what we’re aware of.” Bruce thought aloud. “Clint? Clint? Can you hear me? Steve, let’s get him rolled over onto his side.”

Steve helped Bruce roll him onto his side as the elevator doors opened, Carly and a nurse running off, pulling a stretcher behind them. “What have we got?”

“Agent Barton had a seizure lasting approximately two minutes and is currently unconscious. His speech was slurred beforehand there’s more, but this is now.” Bruce told her. “His airway is clear and vitals are stable.”

Carly leaned over, placing her fist in the middle of Clint’s chest preforming a sternal rub, to which his body reacted to. “Has this happened before?”

“We’re not sure, he’s been away for over a week.”

“Agent Barton? Can you hear me? Was he complaining about anything before this happened?” She asked as she began checking over his body for any obvious injuries or issues.

“He said he had a migraine.” Said Tony.

“Ok, let’s get him onto the stretcher.” She directed, having the three men pick up different parts of his body, laying him onto the foam. “You said there was more?” She asked, strapping him down.

“We believe he has been hallucinating. He’s mentioned Natasha, his former partner, several times since returning, referring to her as if she was present.”

“Alright, that could mean a variety of things.” She said to her aid as she began wheeling him away. “Let’s get him started on fifteen liters of O2, and a normal bag of saline. Let’s have him taken for an EEG, CT and MRI, let’s also pull his type from his file and have it in the cooler.” She said as they got onto the elevator, riding it down.

Clint moaned, the bright lights of the hallway assaulting his vision. “Wha-?”

“Agent Barton? It’s Doctor Anderson, we’re taking you to the med wing, you’ve had a seizure.”

Clint glanced at the doctor, “Sei- Seizure?”

“Yes, we’ve got to run some tests.”

Clint turned his to the opposite side. “Na-Natasha?” he asked noticing the red head walking along the hall with them.

“It’s okay Clint.” She smiled. “Get some rest.”

Clint closed his eyes again, suddenly feeling very tired.

When Clint woke again, it was due to the constant flow of air running through his nose, something that was annoying.

“Hospital.” He mumbled, opening his eyes slowly, lifting his left hand up, feeling the familiar pinch of an IV in his hand. His senses becoming more aware by the second as he looked around the room. Normally you would expect some kind of pale color, followed by some heinous paintings. But since the building was newer, it was more casual, offering a better color palate with paintings selected by the members of the Avengers themselves.

“You’re awake.” Tony spoke as he entered the room.

“Unfortunately.” Clint said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I would much rather be asleep, it's like being dead without the commitment.”

“You almost were Clinton, gave us quite the scare.”

“Call me Clinton again Anthony and you’ll wish you were being pumped full of morphine.” Clint threatened as he pushed the button that moved his bed up.

Steve knocked on the wooden door, walking into the room. “You two can’t go two minutes without talking about murder can you.” He stated, letting out a sigh. “How are you feeling Clint?”

“I’d really like for everyone to stop asking me that, I feel fine.” He said as he glanced at the needle in his hand.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” Tony mumbled as Clint proceeded to do what he wanted.

“Stop picking at your IV.” Steve warned.

“I’m not picking at my IV.” Clint countered.

“Clint, it’s in there for a reason.”

Clint shrugged, he wasn’t going to remove the needle, he scratched around the outside of the IV, the tape beginning to itch. “What am I doing down here anyways? Did something happen?”

“What do you remember?”

“I remember having Doctor Anderson patch me up, getting some food in the cafe that’s about it.”

“You don’t remember anything else?” Tony probed.

“No, should I?” Clint asked, furrowing his eyebrow. “I didn’t do something stupid did I?”

“No, nothing stupid.” Steve was quick to reassure him. “I think we should wait for Car- Doctor Anderson to come in before we do anything else.”

“I haven’t broken any bones and I see no new bandages, and I am not in pain so there has to be something. What is it?”

“Clint I-“ Steve began before being interrupted.

“It’s serious.”

“Tony.” Steve warned.

“He wants to know. I think we should be the ones to tell him.”

Steve sighed. “Let me call Banner, he can try to help with any questions.” He said as he gave in.

Almost ten minutes later, Bruce hurriedly walked through the door, a tablet in hand. “Clint! You’re awake. How are-“

“I wouldn’t ask that if I were you.” Tony informed him.

Bruce nodded his head appreciatively. “Steve said it was urgent.”

“Clint wants to know what’s going on and Tony believes we should be the ones to tell him.”

“What about Thor? Shouldn’t he be here for this?” Clint wondered aloud.

“Thor’s a few hundred light years away with the guardians. He should be back one day next week.” Tony told him, taking a seat on the couch in the corner of the room.

Clint adjusted his posture. “So, what’s the verdict? How long do I have?” All the men in the room looked to Clint, an obvious sadness on their faces. “Oh come on guys, it was a joke.” He stated, giving a nervous chuckle, oblivious to how his friends looked at each other.

“Clint,” Bruce started. “You have something called a Oligodendroglioma. Don’t bother trying to pronounce it. From what we can tell, it’s a low-grade tumor located in your temporal lobe which means your chances are greater, and it can most likely be treated with surgery to remove the tissue followed by radiation and chemotherapy.”

Clint stared at Bruce, finding it hard to believe a word he was saying until he seen the scans they took of his brain.

“I’ve spent a few hours researching it, and the survival rate is good, almost ninety percent. We- we believe this is the reason behind your hallucinations.” Tony assured him.

“I knew it was too good to be true.” He whispered to himself. “Natasha… She’s not real, is she?”

He was met with silence, a sad smile forming on his face as he nodded, trying to keep his emotions in check. “What’s uh-“ he started, clearing his voice. “What are my options again?”

“Doctor Anderson will go over that with you, as well as the neurosurgeon, but your main option is surgery.”

“I am having the country’s best neurosurgeon flown out as we speak.” Inputted Tony.

“And the tumor, it’s causing the hallucinations?”

“Among other things yes.” Bruce informed him. “Though the tumor has been there for a while, its side effects have appeared suddenly. We believe you’ve been having focal seizures, memory loss and mood swings over the past few weeks that are gradually increasing, as well as recently procuring trouble speaking, which is going to make talking difficult sometimes, so don’t get upset.”

“And the migraines I’ve been having?”

“Those are a result of the pressure that the tumor is causing, because it has nowhere to go.”

Clint nodded, the silence of the room becoming too much as he looked around, seeing the sad faces of his friends. “Can- Can I get a few minutes alone? This is a lot to process.”

Steve patted his leg as Tony firmly squeezed his shoulder, all three men leaving the room.

Clint Barton tended to keep his emotions in check, something that had been pounded into him (literally) from a very young age, but now…

“God dammit.” He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“You kiss me with that mouth?”

He ignored the voice, she was the last person he wanted to see. Clint kept his eyes closed, turning his head in the opposite direction, crossing his arms defensively.

“Ignoring me are you Barton? What are you five?”

He could imagine was she looked like right then. Her green eyes sparkling in amusement, her lips curled into a smile. Her hair would be braided, just like it was when he spotted her through his crosshairs. She would be dressed in one of his shirts and her favorite pair of leggings.

“You know instead of imagining me, you could just turn you head and see for yourself.”

Clint muttered a mantra under his breath, squeezing his eyes closed. “She’s not real.” He kept telling himself.

“If I wasn’t real would I be able to do this?” She said having enough of his games as she reached down, squeezing one of the pressure points of his right foot.

“Shit!” he exclaimed as he opened his eyes, an alarm going off on his heart monitor as he reached for his foot, rubbing the sensitive area. “Why did you do that for!?”

“It got your attention didn’t it.” She told him, looking at him with a neutral face.

“Go away.” He muttered.

“Can’t.” she shrugged, taking a seat on the couch.

“Agent Barton! Are you alright?” Doctor Anderson asked as she walked in, Steve following behind her, a cup in his hand.

“Just peachy.” He replied as the ghost as he was referring to her as now, laughed.

“Your monitor says otherwise.” She said, resetting the device.

“Is that for me?” Clint asked, gesturing towards the cup in Steve’s hand.

Steve held it out. “It’s as black as can be.”

Clint eagerly stretched out his hand, taking the hot drink. He blew on it softly before taking a quick sip, cursing when he burnt is tongue.

“Идиот.” He heard her scoff. (Idiot.)

Clint glared at where she was supposedly sitting. “So, Carly, I hear I am dying but not dying.”

“You’re not dying Clint.” Steve said, taking a seat on the couch.

“Don’t sit there!” Clint exclaimed just as Steve was about to sit down. “I mean- uh- can you sit on the opposite side please?”

Steve gave him a peculiar look before nodding his head, sitting on the opposite side. “You’re seeing her again, aren’t you?”

Clint sheepishly nodded his head. “Yeah, she’s sitting where you were about to sit down.”

“Why are you talking about me like I’m not here?” she huffed.

“Because you’re not Natasha!” Clint spoke angrily, his voice rising as the alarm on the monitor went off again. “You- You are not here.”

Natasha rolled her eyes, throwing her legs over Steve’s lap. “Whatever you say Clinton.”

Clint ignored her knowing she called him that when she was pissed. “So, about this surgery, what are we talking here?”

Doctor Anderson reset his heart monitor again, increasing the alert on the electrocardiogram before she sat down onto the bed, going into detail about what needed to happen before and during the surgery. “Afterwards, you’ll be able to go home after a few days once we feel comfortable, followed by starting radiation and chemo therapies as soon as possible.”

Clint nodded his head. “Rad- Radiation therapy? Now that will give me superpowers, right?”

Steve rolled his eyes. “You wish Clint.”

“Not really. I would rather not have to do any heavier lifting than what’s nesse- ness- Oh come on!”

“It’s ok Agent Barton. Do you remember Doctor Banner explaining some of the symptoms earlier?”

“If I’m being honest, I only remember a little.” He shrugged.

“The tumor is located at your temporal lobe, which controls certain things for your body. Such as your speech and memories, which is why it’ll be difficult to speak or recall things. If it would help, I could write some of this down if it would make it easier for you to remember?”

“Like what they did for Izzy in Grey’s Anatomy? No thanks.” He said before taking another sip of Coffee as all the eyes in the room looked to him. “What?”

“You watch Grey’s Anatomy?”

“Religiously.” Natasha responded.

“No, I used to. Until they killed off McSteamy.”

“It’s not like you didn’t talk about that for over a month.” Said Natasha.

Carly laughed. “Agent Barton, I can assure you there will be no plane crashes happening.”

“You can never be sure.”

“We do have some paperwork for you to sign off on that I will have a nurse bring to you in a little while. I’ve booked the OR for 0530 in the morning, and Mr. Stark has a neurosurgeon and former colleague of mine being flown out, who should be arriving anytime now. Is there any one I need to contact before we get started in the morning?”

“It’s just me doc.” He said solemnly. “But I have all the family I need in this building.” He smiled appreciatively towards Steve.

Steve nodded. “Pepper is fixing all your favorites for dinner tonight; we’ve gotten permission to wheel you upstairs for a while.”

“I hope she’s not fixing her chicken tetrazzini.” Natasha jealously glared.

“Please tell me she’s fixing the chicken tetrazzini?”

Steve laughed “That, among other things.”

Clint stuck his tongue out childishly at Natasha who was glaring at him still, her arms crossed.

“Natasha?” Steve asked.

“She’s pouting.” He smiled as a nurse rolled a wheelchair into the room.

Part Two will be posted later this week!

[girls-love-girls1200]

37. Seulgi x Reader •Bad Girl•

Tapping your fingers in a fast continuous motion on the large wooden library table, you silently prayed for inspiration to hit you, the daunting white page in front of you burning through your skull.

Essays, you hated them, don’t get me wrong you loved writing, and had a talent for it too, just not when you were given a theme and track to follow.

“Could you stop with the damn tapping?

The harsh voice scared the hell out of you, and once you realized whom it belonged to, your heart rate did not slow down, on the contrary, it sped up.

Kang Seulgi, also known as one of the most popular people at your school for some reason obscure to you.

You heard her name being whispered in the hallways every day, the same hallways that seemed to be cleared every time she passed and you found yourself squashed against a locker as the other kids parted for her like the Red sea.

Legend had it she had been kicked out of her last school for vandalism and sending one of her classmates to the hospital.

All you had seen her do was bite back at some teachers and stare at everybody that got in her way with a burning hate.

In your opinion she was like any other person in this high school except for your best friend, pretty annoying.

“If you ask nicely I will.”

Her dark eyes filled with surprise, you took notice of her grunge, goth look, heavy makeup on her face, even more noticeable as her eyes seemed to burn with indignation,

“How about you stop being a huge pain before I break your fingers and shove them up your...”

A loud shush interrupted her vulgar statement, the old librarian’s face bright red, hands on her waist.

“Get out of my library right now, the both of you!”

You huffed in annoyance before grabbing your stuff and sticking it in your bag hurriedly, you fixed your round framed glasses before turning towards the bother next to you,

“Thanks for this you vulgar little emo.”

Seulgi seemed ready to knock your front teeth out as you made your way out of the library, her eyes making their way to your jean clad cute little butt.

A strange feeling rising in the pit of her stomach as she watched you walk away, two questions swirling around her head,

who is this girl and how dare she?

Your next encounter was on a rainy Thursday morning, Seulgi had been wondering aimlessly down the hallways, not feeling the current algebra class. She turned a corner and almost ran straight into you,

“What, are you skipping or something?”

Seulgi’s arrogant voice already bothering you, “I’m actually hanging some school clubs announcements, you should think about joining them, do something with your life.”

Seulgi really had a good time teasing you, she loved how your cheeks turned a light shade of red whenever she spoke,

“And who gives you permission to do it during class hours?”

Your eyes rolled dramatically at her insistence,

“My mom is the vice principal, I do some favors for her, and she just lets me and my photography group alone.”

Seulgi scoffed at your answer, “Sounds a lot like nepotism to me.”

You turned around, skirt slightly rising at the sudden movement, Seulgi’s eyes lowering in an instant,

“Oh wow, such big words!”

Her eyes darkened as she took a step closer, trapping you between herself and the wall, your heart making a strange little tap dance in your chest.

“Don’t sound so surprised, a girl can be pretty and smart at the same time.”

There was barely any space between your faces when the bell rang suddenly, making you jump on the spot. It took a few seconds to register her words and for the offense to hit you, “I never said...”

Your words got muffled by the noisy stream of students flooding the hallways, you stood still, mouth agape and thoughts all over the place as Seulgi disappeared into the sea of teenagers.

On Friday the weather seemed to have worsened, leaving your photography group, you sprinted across the school parking lot, backpack hanging from your shoulder and protecting your new Leica M5 under the heavy parka you were wearing.

You were in a good mood, photography had been really fun today, and the rain always somehow made your mood brighten.

Unsurprisingly you struggled to open the door of your grandpa’s old car, a gift for your last birthday.

Once inside you sat for a few minutes, waiting for the old beast to warm up, listening to the rain outside falling incessantly.

As your eyes wondered at the the outside world they fell on a trembling figure just outside the main entrance.

From the dark clothing and smoke coming from her you could tell who it was in an instant.

As you slowly stopped the car right in front of her you rolled down the window, offering a warm smile, “Need a ride home?”

She seemed taken aback by your sudden friendliness, stubbornly shaking her head in a refusing manner, you couldn’t help but feel your heart warm as you took in her appearance with more attention than usual.

There she stood, shaking from the cold, cigarette in one hand and smuged mascara from the rain, pretty eyes staring right through you.

Not taking no for an answer you stretched over and opened the door for her,

“Stop being so stubborn and get in.”

Seulgi reluctantly flicked the cancer stick away, getting in your car she gave you a thankful smile, immediately nearing her hands to the heating vent.

“You can pick a cd, they’re all in the glove compartment, oh and it’s kind of...”

A loud laugh escaped her lips as a waterfall of cds and random stuff fell from the compartment as soon as it opened,

“Messy.”

She only laughed louder as your cheeks turned a deep shade of red, eyes focused on the road ahead.

“I live in Rosewood by the way.”

You tried not to give away your surprise at her words.

Rosewood was a gated community just outside of town, it was known for being the home of some of the richest families in the area, the elite.

You couldn’t hide your surprise though, when Seulgi picked one of your favorite R&B albums and the soft notes filled the car,

“What, did you think I only listened to heavy metal or something?”

Eyebrows lifting playfully, she hit your arm lightly, “I thought the vice principal would have taught her daughter not to judge a book by its cover.”

You loved how easy going Seulgi was acting at the moment, there was someone special behind the mean girl facade she put on every day at school,

“It was the cop actually that taught me that, my dad.”

Your chest tightened just a little as you thought about him, the girl next to seemed to sense you were uncomfortable with the subject so she immediately switched to how she was positive she had failed her algebra test earlier.

“You really should try a bit harder Seulgi, your parents must have paid a hell of a lot to get you accepted in december and I heard my mom talking about how the principle is really not happy about your attitude.”

She shrugged her shoulders, “I don’t really care.”

You scoffed at her words, “I know for a fact you do though, I’m not falling for this bad girl facade you have going on.”

Seulgi finally realized how different you were from any other kid at your school, somehow more mature, and absolutely beautiful.

“So, does the cop know you smoke weed?”

So she saw it.

The cheeky smile on her face indicating she had no problem with it calmed you down a little,

“Actually my dad passed away last year while on duty, but if you ever wanna smoke give me a ring and I’ll be there.”

The pretty girl sitting next to you couldn’t understand how you still had a smile on your face, she couldn’t even fathom losing her own father, even though they often fought, she absolutely loved him.

As you passed through the security gate you seemed to enter a world of privilege.

Lowering the windows and looking around, you felt extremely out of place, “Wow, this neighborhood even smells of rich people.”

Seulgi hit you in retaliation as she kept indicating where to turn until you reached this huge property, a perfectly mowed lawn with a path on the middle that led to a large white painted mansion, extra security guards stood at the beginning of the path eyeing your old vehicle suspiciously,

“Well, I’m not a fan of any type of guns, so I’ll just leave you here okay?”

Seulgi thanked you before stepping out of the car, and slamming the door shut.

You were watching her leave just to make sure she arrived safely when she turned around in a rush and ran back towards you, thinking she had forgot something you lowered the window, Seulgi took a few deep breaths before actually being able to talk to you,

“How about we meet up to study algebra on Saturday and then I take you out for dinner?”

Anxiety seemed to be painted on her face as she waited for an answer, it was actually nice seeing her so flustered,

“Is it a date?”

Your hopeful tone seemed to give her back her usual cockiness as she smirked at you,

“Absolutely Y/N.”

Eyes shining, she looked at you with the purest look on her face,

“I guess I’ll see you on Saturday then.”

[chinxino5-blog]

It’s A Package Deal - Nineteen

IMPORTANT - so this is the chapter some of you have already read and i’m so sorry about that, I missed c.18 because I was rushing and don’t check things because I’m dumb. So go read c.18 and then reread this or whatever, it’ll make way more sense. 

Eighteen

“Bryce.” Ohm’s voice was low and hushed, unsure of who accompanied the black-eyed man into the unit. Dealing with armed idiots as well as a hyperventilating Bryce having a panic attack, was more than he could currently handle. “Bryce listen to me, you’re going to have a panic attack. Focus on my voice, okay?”

Bryce’s mind swirled, taking each word in and processing them individually. His wide blue eyes focussed on the man holding his arms in the darkness. He felt the cold tiles against the top of his feet and his knees, felt the other kneeling just in front of him. He gasped in another breath of musky air. “Of course I’m having a panic attack, I’m going to get killed,” he hissed between clamped teeth. “I’m going to be shot and taken and killed. They’re going to hurt me. They’re going to kill me. I’m dying, I’m dying, I’m dying…”

He wheezed as he tried to recover the oxygen his words consumed and Ohm’s hands slipped up to his shoulders. He squeezed lightly.

“Hey.” The gentleness of his voice slipped into Bryce’s lungs with dusty air and he felt his cramped body settle ever-so-slightly. It was different to the usual snapping or monotonous tones he used. It was nicer. “Focus on my voice. Take deeper breaths, you’ll be o—“

“I can’t,” Bryce whimpered, his breathing getting faster and shorter and emptier and- “I need something else. I can’t… I can’t breathe… I need… fuck…”

Ohm raised a hand to Bryce’s cheek, squeezing his shoulder again and holding him there. He could just make out the glimmer of distress and fear in his oceanic eyes. He didn’t like it. “Focus on me.” The words were out of his mouth before he thought to analyse them and he pushed his lips against Bryce’s. They were weighted and purposed and they knew what they were doing more than he did.

He shocked himself probably more than he shocked Bryce as the blonde had a few seconds of what the fuck is going on before realising he was being kissed. His panicked breathing was cut off and he switched to using his nose instead as he moved his lips. His eyes closed. His thoughts drew blank. He forgot about the bathroom, the dust, the gunshots, the body. He forgot about everything except Ohm and how hands were firm and comforting against his skin.

Compared to the first time, Ohm was more aware of what he was doing as he moved closer to the lankier man. The tension and panic within and between them slowed and lessened. He tilted his head, pressing closer, letting his tongue wander. He could feel the other’s breath against his cheek and lip.

Bryce breathed. He sat back on his heels and lifted heavy hands to the back of Ohm’s neck and head, and kissed back with a need. A need to be held, to be touched, to be taken care of.

A need for Ohm.

Ohm pressed forward as Bryce relaxed, chasing what also relieved the tension between his shoulders. He let the hand on Bryce’s shoulder slide to the side of his neck, kissing with as much as he could. Kissing in a way that relaxed him more each second and had the man before him melting.

He nipped at the blonde’s bottom lip and felt him sigh into his mouth.

When the hitman pulled back, he tried to look less dazed than he felt and eased himself back onto the tiles. Bryce almost followed after him, chest swelling with big deep breaths that contrasted majorly to those he breathed only moments earlier.

Ohm didn’t know whether he wanted to look Bryce in the eye, unsure about accepting he had an issue. Kissing the blonde was wrong on so many levels but there he was going back on a pricey deal and trying to get away from a gang who had a lot of guns and a lot of men. The kiss was one of the least of his issues but the biggest in his thoughts. Even so, he did what he did best and pushed it out of sight, pretending it never existed. Unfortunately for him, his issue had working lungs and a voice that didn’t seem to stop.

It was difficult to pretend he didn’t exist, but it didn’t stop Ohm from trying.

“Are you alright?” He pushed those thoughts (and memories) from his mind and focused on Bryce who was still recovering. From the almost panic attack, or the kiss, neither knew.

After a moment, he got a slow nod and blue eyes fluttered in the darkness. Ohm resisted grabbing his face and slotting their lips back together as he eased back onto his worn sneakers and pulled Bryce up also.

Bryce felt cold metal push against his hands and peered down at the glinting weapon. He could feel the hitman’s gaze, one of firm caution and couldn’t help the ice cold shudder that sunk into his bones.

He’d killed someone. He’d killed a man, likely with a wife, maybe even kids. A man with a heart and lungs and thoughts just like his own.

He had stopped that heart. He had left that family without a husband and a father. He had killed someone.

The warm hands curled over his, wrapping his frozen fingers around the weapon despite how much they didn’t want to. He looked up at the silver eyes with worry. The hitman wore a mask of calmness but didn’t bother hiding the caution left by Bryce’s episode. As much as he could try to pretend he didn’t, he cared and seeing the man in such distress wasn’t going to be good for what they were about to do.

“It’s okay.” His words were still almost silent and he kept as close to Bryce as he comfortably could. In the back of his mind he knew they should be moving, should be making sure there was no one else - but no one had made a sound and engines never followed them up to the dusty unit.

Even so, there was not much to be done about the paranoia and he kept straining his ears around each of his words.

“If you hesitated, he wouldn’t have.” The words were scarce but they were true, although the realistic side of his mind told him that maybe taking advice from a murderer with emotional constipation wasn’t his best idea. He silenced that part and nodded shakily, reasoning with himself. The gang member had also held a gun and it was clear he wasn’t coming upstairs to offer them a cup of tea. Had Bryce not put a hole between his ribs, the results would have been quite displeasing for the blonde.

He didn’t particularly like the idea of bleeding out of stained, dusty carpet.

“Do you know how to shoot?” Bryce’s mind was lured from the body outside their cramped bathroom and he leant into the space Ohm occupied. He shook his head, despite the way his index finger burnt from the touch of the trigger.

Before he could process it, Ohm had moved around behind him and calloused fingers crawled from his elbows to his wrists. The twenty-two year old froze up at the pressure of his back to Ohm’s chest and the muscled arms mirroring his either side of him. He was all too aware of every little brush of contact and felt red warmth glow all over the side of his neck where the brunette’s breath touched.

Words were circling his head as gloved hands adjusted his grip, instructions of how to hold the gun, how to aim the gun, how to shoot the gun.

“Keep your finger on the trigger, you have to be ready.” The words made him shudder and shiver and he couldn’t stop himself from wondering how many triggers Ohm had tugged. How many of those tugs had led to death on concrete, on carpet, on floorboards.

His anxiety skyrocketed as he slipped his finger into the ring, pushing it against the metal so it didn’t at all touch the trigger. The slightest contact terrified him and he stayed coiled painfully, waiting for the gun to jerk with a loud bang and more blood.

Bryce held the gun a little higher and Ohm’s hands thoughtlessly dropped to the blonde’s waist. He didn’t acknowledge the sharp intake of air and watched closely as the gun was pointed into the dusty darkness, analysing his positioning.

The hands around the gun shook violently, despite how much their owner tried to stop them. Bryce flinched back against Ohm at the sound of a creak just below them and they both stayed completely still and silent. Their little gun lesson was put on hold. The hitman listened, hearing little creaks and complaints from the house around them. It wasn’t strong enough to hold them all and he wandered just how many it was supporting.

Bryce grit his teeth as Ohm breathed in and out against his chest. The hands on his hips burnt with satisfaction and the blonde couldn’t help but feel like they had to be there, as much as he told himself that was stupid and Ohm was still a hitman, and he was still unpredictable, and they were both going to die before they set foot outside of LA. He silenced his own rambling thoughts.

When Ohm squeezed lightly, Bryce jumped but focused on the words breathed into his hair not the way they made him shudder. “They’re going to come up, find the body and search the room. When they come in here, I will kill them. Then we are going to go downstairs, get one of those cars and go. Stay behind me and stay close. Do not hesitate.”

Bryce resisted the urge to turn and press his mouth back to Ohm’s and instead nodded in the darkness. The older man was close enough to feel the movement. He removed his hands and body, slinking back towards the door and into the darkness. Bryce took a moment to breathe in and out, before moving back toward where the tiniest glimmer of light filtered under the door. He placed himself on the other side, unable to even make out Ohm’s figure in the darkness.

He rested his arm against the cold wall and they both waited like statues.

The sound of the bedroom door creaking open pulled Bryce’s eyes from his feet and he waited. The quietest of curses dropped from someone’s throat. Soft footfalls crossing the room and past the bathroom door. Footfalls of more than one person.

He waited still, his body tensing up more and more like an elastic band being twisted, and twisted, and twisted. He was ready to snap.

More murmuring, too far and too quiet to understand. Bryce picked up a few words like, “fuckers…”, “get that…”, and “look every…”

He pressed the top of the gun to his chest, clenching the handle too tightly.

Bryce counted thirteen seconds before the doorhandle just beside him jittered. Light leaked into their room before suddenly he could see the entirety of their shitty bathroom hiding place. He didn’t have time to examine.

Ohm shot from where we was crouched, sending the first man back against the door and to the ground. He waited half a second before two others jumped into the room, guns ablaze. Ohm spent three shots before he was grabbing at Bryce’s wrist and dragging him out of the room. Blue eyes stayed wide as they looked everywhere but the three bodies he walked over. He didn’t like to think about what he’d stepped on as he rushed from the room and downstairs. The front door crashed open and a woman fell back out of the house dead before she even stepped in.

The gun in Bryce’s hand didn’t need to be used and he only stared at Ohm in a mix of fear and gratitude. He much preferred not shooting it and just pretending the bodies didn’t exist.

He didn’t want to look over his shoulder either. He knew he’d only see bloodied footprints and nothing made him want to vomit more.

“Come on,” Ohm hissed, giving his arm a yank before dropping it completely and leaning out the busted open door. No one else stood outside but two motor bikes stood tall. “Get on.” Bryce nodded hastily, absolutely clueless about driving bikes. He took the helmet, hoping he’d also be able to take it off without holes in it, before settling on the back of the vehicle behind Ohm.

Unsure and more worried than before, he grabbed fistfuls of the hitman’s sweatshirt. Sirens were sounding in the distance and they could hear engines roaring up and down streets and alleys around them.

“Bryce,” Ohm turned slightly, his helmet concealing his expression. His voice was clear enough in his don’t-be-an-idiot tone. “You’re going to want to hold on a bit tighter than that.”

The blonde second-guessed himself, shifting forward as the engine below him revved. His arms curled loosely around Ohm’s waist and the moment they began to move he tightened them with the increasing fear that flooded him. He didn’t want to think of his body flying from the bike and skidding along asphalt.

He didn’t like the idea of becoming street art.

The adrenaline was beginning to sink into Ohm’s lungs as the bike flew between the buildings. He couldn’t help the grimace of a smirk that crawled onto his face, as sickening excitement filled him. He loved the action of city crime life. Being on the run almost constantly and so easily confident in his own ability, he could only laugh.

It was a cold, dry kind of amusement that coated his attitude and seeped through his words but he couldn’t do much to change it as the sound of other small engines started up behind them. Old habits stick. Bryce was too scared to even look back as they found themselves in a windy alley system he thought too complex to even exist.

He tucked his head down, helmet to Ohm’s back, and held on. They were going too fast. Way too fast. It was too risky, they would spin out of control in seconds. They were going to be killed by a fucking motorcycle.

And then they weren’t. Ohm slowed the vehicle down reasonably smoothly before throwing it to the side when both were on their feet. He shot both tires as Bryce shrugged off the helmet (hole-less, thankfully) and looked up at the dead end they’d found themselves at.

A large fence stopped them in their path and Bryce looked at Ohm hopelessly. He was completely unfazed, striding up to it and nodding at the blonde. “C’mere; I’ll boost you.” Ohm saw the untrusting blue glide over the mangled wire and he hardened his stare. “Bryce. No hesitating, come on.”

With a heavy exhale, he stepped up onto the man’s hands and allowed himself to be shoved upwards, grabbing the metal pole and slinging his leg over it. He steadied himself before dropping to the dirt below just before Ohm dropped down beside him.

There was no time to blink in surprise before engines revved closer and the street entrance was blocked off by several dark cars.

Ohm doubted they were there to set up some stalls and he dragged Bryce down the back of the building, stopping to drop down behind some tables on their sides. Bryce crouched down, and the two listened close as stomping shoes spread out around the area.

“Look behind and under everything,” a voice boomed, and the two looked at each other.

Bryce saw confidence and self-assurance in the swirls of silver. They represented the hitman himself: calculated and quick. He knew what he was doing. He knew how to handle himself. He was confident.

Bryce however doubted everything. He doubted himself, his thoughts and feelings and actions. His ability to do what he had to do. Killing someone did not come easy. He was a college student, not a murderer. He doubted Ohm, doubted that he really gave a shit, doubted that he was able to get them out of there, doubted he wouldn’t get sick of the dead weight hanging off his shoulders.

But with approaching footsteps, he didn’t have time for doubts.

“Stay here. Use your gun if you have to, don’t do anything dumb. Yell if you really need to but don’t let them know where you are otherwise.” Ohm thoughtlessly brushed his hand against the blonde’s arm and nodded reassuringly. “Don’t hesitate.”

If you hesitate, they won’t.

Then he was watching Ohm move. Shades were drawn down the backs of old gazebos, concealing the hitman as he snuck further along the edge of the markets.

Ohm had his confidence. He settled behind some crates and peeked through the cracks in the aged wood. He always had a plan, whether it was set out on paper or just spreading as he moved. He knew what he was doing.

That much was for certain.

All he needed was a gun in his hands and he was perfect.

First: Prologue

Previous: Eighteen

Next: Twenty

[jaeminlore]

The Adventure Continues // Na Jaemin

Pt 1

-

summary: prince!jaemin part two where jaemin and you meet again, only this time he is engaged to be married.

words: 6063

category: angst + fluff, prince au

author note: it was nice to return to this au (also it somehow turned into my second longest scenario ever so maybe i got a bit carried away but how can you not it’s jaEMIN). as usual i miss jaemin and wish he would just show himself to us bc i miss my bestest pal. i hope he’s safe and healthy and being loved by his family.

- destinee

honestly if sm doesn’t update us on this pure snickerdoodle i will swim over to south korea mYSELF WATCH ME

-

Jaemin found himself sitting on the stone edge of the right side turret of his family’s castle. With his feet weighted by heavy boots, he found that he couldn’t hardly swing his feet back and forth like he pleased.

Instead, he let them hang limp, perhaps to mirror the feeling of despair that had settled in his stomach. In just two years, schedules and duties had distracted him from any kind of adventure he had dreamed of, bit more than anything, it kept him from you.

Jaemin thought about you often, and he wondered how you were doing. Your grandfather visited the kingdom every once in awhile for routine smithing and repairs. The young prince had followed him around for the first few months, asking questions about how you were doing.

Apparently, your grandmother’s condition had only worsened into something much more serious than a cold. Your grandfather informed Jaemin that you had been giving all your time to take care of her, and you wouldn’t be visiting the castle any time soon.

Months went by, and you still hadn’t visited. Then your grandmother passed away, and Jaemin felt his heart breaking along with yours. He wished to visit you and comfort you. He wanted more than anything to gather you in his arms and assure you that he was there. He wouldn’t leave your side.

They would just be empty promises, he often had to remind himself. The truth was that he was a prince unable to ignore his duties just to comfort someone. His job was much bigger, unfortunately, and he had to tend to the needs of the kingdom before he could tend to the needs of you.

Although he wanted more than anything to just throw down his metaphorical crown and run back to you.

Worries haunted him day to day. What if you had forgotten about him? What if you thought he forgot about you? What if you thought he was deliberately ignoring you?

Unfortunately, his worries hadn’t lessened in the past two years. If anything, they only came back stronger. Especially since his parents had just announced that he would be betrothed to one of the ladies who lived in the kingdom.

All of this would explain the disheartened spirit of the prince as he sat on the turret.

He held a sword in his lap, one with badly whittled initials in the hilt. His nineteen-year-old hands were more worn than his seventeen-year-old hands. The pad of his thumb was rough against the smooth hilt of the sword.

Jaemin sighed and looked out at the view before him. Somewhere out there was your small cottage, playing as a shelter for you and your grandfather.

You didn’t know what had happened earlier that day. Jaemin wasn’t sure you would, until it was officially announced by the local newsboys. He wanted to tell you himself though, and ask what he was supposed to do about it. He wanted to ask how he could marry anyone when you were the only thing on his mind.

A guard appeared on the turret. “Your Highness? Her Majesty has requested that you come spend lunch with Lady Havergaud immediately.”

Jaemin turned slightly to assure the guard, “Coming!”

-

You pulled the wool blanket closer under your grandfather’s chin. “Don’t worry, alright? You’ll be fine.”

He coughed, and a jolt of fear ran up your spine as you thought of him perhaps having what your grandmother died of. He had been depressed since she died two years ago, and the stress weighed heavy on his shoulders as he still did smithing work for the kingdom.

“I have an order,” he said. “I have to deliver the swords to the castle.”

“I’ve got it,” you assured him. “You taught me everything, remember? This way I can take over while you’re recovering.”

“Are you sure you can handle it?”

“I’ve got it. Trust me.” You leaned down to kiss his cheek, “Now go to sleep, and when you wake up I will be back with a warm pot of soup waiting for you.”

“Thank you, Y/n.”

The past two years hadn’t really been kind to you either. You had taken over your grandmother’s work, along with daily deliveries and lessons from the forge. Your grandfather thought it was important for you to learn the trade that brought income into the house, so that if anything were to happen to him you could step up.

Unfortunately, that time came sooner than later, so you were stuck doing day-to-day work with little rest. Your smooth hands were replaced by the rough and calloused palms of a blacksmith. Your hair was cut short, to keep from getting caught in the metal and fire of the forge you worked in. Your skin was often covered in a layer of dirt by the end of the day.

Entering the forge, you picked up the many swords given to you by the castle guards only yesterday. It was important to work on the swords quickly, so you and your grandfather often lost sleep over the knight’s swords you had committed to cleaning.

You sheathed each of the swords and placed them in a large carpetbag. Then, swinging the bag over your shoulder, you began the long walk to the castle.

-

Upon your arrival, your heart beat rose at the thought of who lived behind the walls. You hadn’t forgotten about the prince, although you were sure he had forgotten about you.

Because of everything that had happened, you really hadn’t had any time to visit him, even though he invited you to. You were busy with more important things than following the prince around all day. No matter how fun the latter sounded, you owed it to your grandfather to help him in any way you could.

Once you showed him the bag of swords, the castle guard opened the gate and allowed you inside. You eyes widened in bewilderment as you gazed down the well-lit stone walls. The entire castle seemed bright and cheerful, despite being made of dark gray stone. It reminded you of Jaemin’s positive vibes, and for a fleeting moment you could hear his cheerful voice in your head, convincing the castle decorators to make the interior of the castle more bright and welcoming.

“Y/n?” You turned at the familiar voice, and the sword hilts against your back all clanged together at the sudden movement.

“Mark!” you said happily. “How are you? I haven’t seen you since you moved to the castle!”

“I’m great!” he answered. “I’ll be completing my knight’s training next year. How’s your grandfather?”

“Not good,” you sighed. “He’s gotten much weaker from all the stress of Grandmother being gone. He won’t admit it, but he needs to rest for awhile.”

“He hasn’t rested since the funeral, had he?” Mark guessed.

“Works distracts him,” you supposed. “It also adds more stress to him, which is why I want him to rest. I can work the forge while he’s gone.”

“Speaking of.” Mark grinned and reached up and pulled something out of your hair. “You’ve got some ashes in your hair.”

You shrugged. “That happens when you work in a forge. Now, do you know where I deliver these swords?”

“Oh, I’ll take them. I’m on my way to the practice ground right now.”

You transferred the carpet bag onto his back, the whole time looking around.

“How in the world did you carry these?” Mark groaned under the weight of the bag.

“Practice,” you mumbled, peering down the hall.

“He’s at lunch with his fiancée,” Mark answered your unasked question.

“Fiancée?” Your voice caught on the word, as if it pained you to actually say it.

Mark looked sheepish. “I forgot they hadn’t announced it yet. Jaemin’s betrothed to a Lady.”

“Oh. Well, wish him well for me.” You forced your lips to turn up in a smile, “I’ll be going now.”

-

You subconsciously played with the ring on your finger as you walked into your home. “Grandfather? I’m home!”

“How’d it go?” he yelled from his room, coughing the final word.

You entered his room. “How long have you been awake?”

“Only a few minutes,” he assured you. “Tell me, did you see Jaemin?”

You hated to disappoint him, seeing the twinkle in his watery eyes. “No. I only saw Mark. Jaemin’s engaged, you know.”

“Really?” Your grandfather tutted. “I never really understood rich people and their arranged marriages. How bad is it for the prince to marry the one he loves?”

“It’s been two years, Grandfather. We’ve both grown since then and I’m not quite sure he loves me in the same innocent, childish way he used to.”

“First love is always innocent and childish. True love is the most innocent love there is, Y/n. He asks about you all the time, so there must be some feelings still there.”

You smiled bitterly. “Thanks, Grandfather. I appreciate you trying to cheer me up. Now, let me make you some soup and then I’ll go back out to the market.”

“As you wish,” he replied. “Choose to stubbornly ignore my words.”

You laughed, “I can’t get my hopes up, Grandfather. I’ve got so much more to do now than pine after a prince.”

-

Jaemin stiffly bowed to the Lady Havergaud. Her first name was Gwen, but Jaemin wasn’t sure he was ready to call her by that just yet.

She was dressed like every other nobleman he knew. Bright and colorful clothes, powdered makeup, and hair done up extravagantly.

“Your Highness,” she spoke with a knowing lilt in her voice. “How marvelous to meet your acquaintance.”

“It’s just Jaemin,” the prince said awkwardly. He shifted from foot to foot as he waited for someone to rescue him from this awkward encounter. When no one intervened, he supposed he would have to save himself. “Well, let’s have some lunch. Mother is probably waiting for us.”

She accepted his arm, using her gloves hand to keep a firm grip on him. “You’re not very muscular,” she spoke honestly. “I thought princes went through training to become stronger.”

“I’m strong,” Jaemin retorted.

“Of course, Darling,” the way she said it was patronizing and condescending. “When we marry, I’ll put you under a special diet and training program that will surely make your more buff and fit.”

Jaemin bit his lip to keep from biting back a sharp remark. Why did he have to be buff to run a kingdom? And, he would have her know, he was already fit.

“Be sure to eat more, okay?” She said. “I want my husband to be the envy of all the land.”

Jaemin couldn’t believe his ears. “Does my royal title mean nothing to the ladies?”

Gwen laughed loudly and slapped his arm. “You’re cute. When we’re married, let me do the talking at social events, okay?”

Jaemin gritted his teeth and only nodded. But deep inside there was a pang of regret and despair, knowing this would be his future.

Couldn’t he just run away? Couldn’t he just stop being prince for one moment and go on another adventure?

Couldn’t he go see you one last time?

Instead, he was stuck with someone who obviously only liked him for his title, and was already planning on changing him. Wonderful.

-

“Grandfather, you need to drink some water. If you get dehydrated, the sickness could get worse.” You struggled to get him to drink anything.

For the past few days, his fever had worsened. Now he was both throwing up and convulsing. Fear struck your heart, since he was doing everything your grandmother had done before she passed away.

If you could afford the cure for your grandfather, you could avoid the heartache. He could get better and you wouldn’t have to go through the pain of losing someone again.

Unfortunately, you couldn’t afford it. The village healer made that clear during his visit. “If you go to the castle healer, you can request the cure. However, I can guarantee it’s going to be worth an arm and a leg. I’m sorry.”

“Do they take exchanges?” you asked. “My grandmother has a watch I could trade for it.”

He nodded slowly, “It might work. I would definitely try it.”

“I will. Thank you.”

-

Jaemin picked up a vial of medicine and sniffed it. “What’s this?”

Jeno, the castle healer and Jaemin’s long-time friend, answered from the other side of the shop. “It’s for indigestion.”

“Hm,” Jaemin commented. He waited for his friend to turn away before he tipped the vial back and drank it’s contents.

“Jaemin, I swear—” Jeno looked at the empty vial and then the guilty grin adorning the prince’s face. “You can’t try a new medicine every time you come in here. You’re lowering my stocks.”

“It’s all natural remedies,” Jaemin said. “I’m not hurting anything. Besides, I might have indigestion.”

Jeno stopped at stared at his friend, “Jaemin, what is indigestion?”

The prince averted his eyes to the side. “Okay, well I don’t have to know what it is to suffer from it, do I?”

The bell hanging above the front door rang, signaling the arrival of a customer. Jeno excused himself and went behind the curtain, where the front of office was located. “Hello! How can I help you?”

Jaemin stayed in the back, doing what he was supposed to be doing in the first place: avoiding his fiancée and helping Jeno label his remedies.

“Hi. My village’s healer said you had a cure for me? He said he talked to you about it.”

Jaemin stopped his actions, feeling a nostalgic memory hit him instantly.

Y/n. That was your voice. It had to be.

Jaemin bit his lip as he tried to concentrate on the unnamed label in front of him. Still, he couldn’t seem to think of anything, save you and what you were doing at the castle healer’s.

Were you hurt? Was your grandfather hurt? Jaemin wasn’t sure he could face either possibility.

Stealthily, he crept towards the curtain and peaked it open ever so slightly, so that he could catch a glimpse of you.

He felt his heartbeat quicken and his thoughts go to mush as he saw you. It had been so long, and yet he hadn’t forgotten your youthful smile. It was the same even now, yet Jaemin could see a smudge of worry behind your upturned lips.

Your skin was darker, perhaps from the sun. Your hair was much shorter, and Jaemin thought that the way your messy strands ended at you shoulder looked cool and attractive. You seemed older, more mature than before, but as was he.

Jaemin felt like bursting through the curtain to give you the biggest hug. Unfortunately, he still lacked courage, and that kept him rooted in his place.

“Ah, you’re Y/n,” Jeno’s voice returned. “I’ve kept the cure safe in my pocket all day. Have you got your money?”

“Actually,” your voice shook, “can I trade something for it? I have a watch…”

Jeno accepted the watch and turned it over, this way and that.

Jaemin studied your anxious face, and he wished Jeno would just let you take the remedy free of charge.

“I can’t accept this,” Jeno said. “It isn’t real gold, so it’s worth isn’t much.”

“Oh.” You looked down, disheartened. Then, your expression grew hopeful.

Jaemin followed your gaze to your hands, where he saw on your third finger a ruby ring. It was the same promise ring he had given you just two years prior. An oath made so that the two of you would never forget each other. Jaemin’s heart lifted. Did you still think about him, too?

“I have this ring,” you said, struggling to pull it off of your finger. “It’s a real ruby.”

Jeno took the ring from your hold and nodded. “That’s perfect. Are you sure you want to give it up?”

“I’m sure,” you answered quietly. “It’s not very important.”

If a heart was made of glass, Jaemin’s would be in pieces right now. Servants would be scrambling to sweep up the shards as they fell onto the cold, hard floor.

Wasn’t important? Jaemin understood completely why you had to sell the ring, but why did you have to say it wasn’t important?

Did that mean he wasn’t important? Did you not remember him? Or worse, you did remember, you just simply didn’t care.

Jaemin retreated from the curtain and went back to his labels. Now his work was quicker, albeit quiet and solemn.

When Jeno returned, he looked at Jaemin carefully, “What’s wrong with you?”

“Is indigestion a broken heart?” Jaemin asked his healer friend. “Because I think I have it.”

Jeno stood still for a moment. “Actually, it’s gas, but I suppose a broken heart probably feels the same.”

-

Your finger felt empty. Throughout the next month, you were constantly aware of the ring’s absence.

Still, it was worth it, since your grandfather was returning to health rather quickly. By now, he could even visit the forge for a few hours each day.

The wedding was approaching quickly, and there were only three weeks to prepare. The queen had ordered that special rings be forged for the couple. According to Mark, Jaemin had spent weeks trying to convince his mom to let your grandfather forge his rings. Apparently he was still Jaemin’s number one influencer.

Your grandfather spend as many hours as he could, molding and forging rings only to realize he wished for a different design and start all over.

“It doesn’t feel right,” he would always say to you. “Of all the things Jaemin has told me, I have no idea why he would go through with this marriage.”

You shrugged in the middle of shoveling more coals into the fire. “Perhaps he likes her.”

“Yeah, right,” your grandfather snorted. “Remember last week, when Jaemin invited me for tea?”

You bit your lip. Jaemin had somehow found out about your grandfather’s recovery, so to celebrate he asked him to come for tea with his fiancée. Your grandfather was never allowed in the castle, however, because Jaemin’s fiancée wouldn’t let him come in. She said he was too dirty, with his fingertips blackened and his shirt carrying the sweat of a hardworking old man.

You heard from Mark that when Jaemin found out, he was furious, and even tried to visit the forge and apologize. You also heard that he was stopped, once again, by his controlling fiancée.

Still, these accounts were coming from two people who wanted you and Jaemin together. For all you knew, they could be lying, and she could be the nicest person you’ve never had the chance of meeting.

Until today.

Your grandfather had just gone back to the house to clean up and sleep for the night, but you stayed up, busy carving flower designs into some recently discarded rings.

“Hello!” someone shouted.

“We’re closed!” you replied, not looking up from your work. “Please come back tomorrow morning!”

You turned to see a woman coming in anyway, a familiar object in her hand. “Actually,” she spoke with a sort of haughtiness about her. “I’m the future princess so I think I can come in.”

“No,” you replied respectfully. “I have to get to sleep soon. Please come back in the morning, Your-Future-Highness.”

You bowed slightly, signaling her to leave the forge. Instead of respectfully leaving, she came closer. “My husband’s sword needs to be fixed. He said this part was getting old and he wants a new handle.”

“Hilt,” you corrected, feeling peeved at the fact that she called Jaemin her husband. They weren’t married yet.

“Whatever. Just have it polished and ready by our wedding day. I don’t want to see those ugly marks on it, alright?” With this, she dropped a sack of gold onto the stool behind you.

“Okay,” you agreed, not really connecting the pieces quite yet.

Then, as soon as she left and you glimpsed down at the sword, it became clear. It was Jaemin’s sword that he had made when he lived here. The hilt was the same, carved with his initials and yours. More things had been carved through the past years, like a small rose in the corner, and something similar to a heart.

Your memory stirred as you looked at the sword. Your heart was both elated and discouraged.

Did Jaemin really wish to erase this part of his life?

You set the sword aside, not having the strength to do it that night.

-

“Hey, where were you last night?” Jaemin asked the next morning on his way to the practice field. He had some free time that he wanted to spend with Mark, who had been teaching him the latest knight techniques.

His fiancée usually visited him every night to complain about something or other, and although Jaemin couldn’t say he missed it, it did make him curious as to why she hadn’t visited him the night before.

“I took your sword to that forge you always talk about and asked the person there to fix the handle.”

“Hilt,” he corrected.

Gwen rolled her eyes, “They said that same thing and it’s quite annoying. I swear I’m going to get wrinkles from all the stress you cause me. Anyway, I thought you would appreciate having those horrid marks removed from the handle. It would make it prettier on our wedding day.”

“WHAT?” Jaemin shouted, “You asked her to remove them?! Those marks are my memories! They’re the best memories I have! Why would you do something like that without asking me?”

Gwen shrugged, “I didn’t think it matter. Now I see it does. Sorry.”

Her apology didn’t sound the least bit sincere, and it took every fiber of Jaemin’s being to keep from saying something he shouldn’t have. Instead, he used his anger to fuel him as he ran down to your village in the hopes of getting his sword back, completely intact.

-

You bit your thumb nail and stared at the sword as if it were going to move. How could you restructure a hilt when the past one had so many memories? Why would you want to?

Your grandfather was still in bed, since it was the early crack of dawn. The only reason you were up was because you couldn’t sleep, and the past night was filled with tossing and turning and thinking about the prince.

You needed to stop. It had been two years. He hadn’t come back. You hadn’t gone to visit. It was time to forget Jaemin once and for all.

You picked up the sword, ready to completely redo the hilt, until a loud banging on the door caught your attention.

“Wait!” the outside voice called, “Let me in!”

You hurried to open the door, wondering who could be so distraught at such an early hour. Your breath caught in your throat as you beheld the prince, in the flesh, standing in front of you.

Jaemin was flustered, leaning with his palms against his knees as he inhaled long intakes of breath. “My sword,” he wheezed. “Don’t ruin it.”

“Jaemin…” the sword dropped to the ground as you stared at him. He was taller, yet just as you remembered him before with that same mischievous glint in his eyes.

When he finally caught his breath and straightened up, you engulfed him in a tight hug.

“Woah!” he laughed before wrapping his arms around your waist and lifting you off the ground momentarily. “I thought I wasn’t important.”

Although his voice was teasing, his eyes held a certain fear in them that you couldn’t place. You let go of his neck, allowing your hands to slid towards his chest as you looked into his eyes. “Who told you that?”

“You did!” he said, his grip on your waist slacking only slightly. “When you gave the ring to Jeno.”

You slapped the prince’s chest, “Of course it was unimportant at the time! I needed medicine. I never said you weren’t important, though. Why would you think that?”

“I’ve been a horrible friend,” Jaemin replied quickly, “I haven’t visisted you in two years. Even when your grandmother died, I did nothing. I could’ve visited you or sent some money or anything but I didn’t.”

You gave him a soft smile. Everything felt better suddenly, and you wondered how you and Jaemin could return to easy conversation after having not seen each other for two years. It felt as if it had only been a few days, and the wait was worth it. “I know you’ve been busy,” you comforted him. “You’ve got a lot of stuff to do at the castle.”

Jaemin sighed and pulled you close to him again, burying his head into the crook of your neck. “What do I do?” he mumbled, tickling your sensitive skin. “I don’t want to marry her.”

“Why not?” you asked sardonically. “She’s an absolute peach.”

Jaemin laughed against your neck, and you felt goosebumps hearing your favorite sound for the first time since he left. “Isn’t she?”

“Come in,” you said, letting go of him and leading him away from the forge. “Grandfather will be awake soon and I know he’d want to see you.”

The two of you walked towards the cottage, shoulders bumping occasionally.

“We should go on another adventure while I’m here,” Jaemin said. “Maybe we could go back to the cave and I can see those fish again?”

He hadn’t changed at all, and you felt comforted by that fact. For there you were, more quiet and subdued after all that had happened. After you had to take the title as head of the house. You wondered if that bothered Jaemin: him coming back to a different you.

“I’ll take you to the cave after breakfast,” you assured him, smiling when he pumped his fist victoriously.

Inside of the cottage, Jaemin entered the kitchen before you could close the door behind you.

“It’s the same!” he cheered. “Nothing has changed!”

You leaned against the doorway of the kitchen and chuckled at his childlike excitement. “Grandfather thought changing it would be an insult to Grandmother’s memory.”

Jaemin suddenly frowned. “I should’ve visited her.”

“She wouldn’t have wanted you to,” you spoke honestly. “She didn’t want the prince to see her in such a state. She wanted you to see her when she was still beautiful.”

Jaemin smiled bitterly, “She was always beautiful.”

You walked forward and hugged him from the back, pressing your forehead in between his shoulder blades. “Don’t think about it too much, Jaemin.”

“Alright,” he whispered, placing his hands over yours.

“Now let’s make breakfast before Grandfather wakes up,” you said, hoping to lighten the mood.

-

“My babies! I’ve come home!” Jaemin said, dropping his bag and dramatically running over to the dark lake.

You dropped your bag as well. The two of you decided it would be fun to go camping inside of the cave, mostly because Jaemin had a scary story he insisted could only be told during the witching hour. Apparently, no one in the castle had wanted to hear it, so you were his last hope.

Jaemin dipped his hand into the water, giggling to himself as the fish swam by and tickled his skin.

You found yourself staring at him, and your mind felt like a puddle of goo as you thought about how great he was. How much you wished he wasn’t getting married, so that to two of you could have adventures like this forever.

He made you feel young again: youthful and free to do nothing but play around with the hidden wonders of the world. You were quite sure you loved the boy.

Jaemin looked up at you, and your heart stopped for a moment as you wondered if you had spoke your thoughts aloud. “Y/n, come see them!”

Sighing in relief that your secret hadn’t been found out, you happily went to sit beside Jaemin and watch his precious fish swim around.

“I really like them,” Jaemin spoke into the silence of the cave. “Watching them swim around makes me feel like I did two years ago, when everything was okay.”

“Tell me about it,” you mumbled.

Jaemin smiled at you, “We sound like old adults.”

“I know,” you replied, “It’s tragic.”

Jaemin elbowed you lightly, “You’re tragic. I’m awesome.”

“Shut up.”

Jaemin leaned forward and placed his hand in the water again, and you caught the long white scare lining his palm. “It scarred.”

“What? Oh, yeah.” Jaemin pulled out his hand and held it towards you, palm facing upwards. “I was a bit careless back then, wasn’t I?”

“Like you aren’t now,” you countered. You traced the scar carefully with your finger.

Jaemin suddenly grabbed your hands, “They’re rougher than they used to be.”

You squirmed at his words, “Sorry they aren’t dainty enough for you.”

“No!” Jaemin said suddenly. “I was just observing. There’s nothing wrong with rough hands. It means you’ve worked hard.” Then he pulled your hand to his mouth and kissed your knuckles. “Y/n?”

“W-What?” you stuttered, feeling warm under his gaze.

“Can we hold hands like we used to?”

“I don’t think we ever held hands, Jaemin,” you replied quickly. In fact, you knew it. You and Jaemin hadn’t done anything of that sort when he came to live with you. Except maybe all those times he clung to you when he was bored. That didn’t count though, did it?

“Yeah, we did,” he argued. “When you helped me feed the rabbit.”

“That’s hardly hand holding.” You laughed at him. “You were afraid and I helped you feed the rabbit. We weren’t holding hands.”

Jaemin rolled his eyes dramatically, “Can I just hold your hand? Whether we did it in the past or not?”

“What about your fiancée?” you asked nervously.

Jaemin linked your fingers with his own and smiled at the finished product. “I don’t want to get married to her, so I won’t.”

“How are you gonna get out of it?”

“I have no idea.”

-

Jaemin looked at you with the scariest glare he could muster as he held a lit torch under his chin. In reality, he looked like a constipated dragon.

You tried to contain your giggles as Jaemin continued his story, “So she was never seen again and no one remembered her. The only one who did was that lone fisherman, who could still hear her cries throughout the dock.”

You slapped your hand over your mouth, yet you couldn’t stop the laughter from spilling out of your mouth. “That wasn’t scary at all!”

Jaemin pouted from above the flame, “Really? I worked hard on that one.”

“How hard did you work on it?” you giggled, falling onto your back as you couldn’t stop laughing.

Jaemin frowned and crawled over to you, peering down at your face. “I spent a whole three weeks coming up with that story.”

You smiled up at Jaemin from your spot on the floor, “You’re a dork.”

Jaemin returned your smile and plopped down, rolling over to lay beside you on the ground. “You love me.”

You stayed quiet. Then, perhaps because it was dark and you couldn’t see his face in case he rejected you, you answered, “Yeah. I do.”

Hesitantly, you turned your head to the side to see Jaemin already looking at you in the low light. His smile had grown, and he was quiet as he stared at you. “Really?”

“I mean of course,” you shrugged. “It’s not like we don’t love each other, right?”

Jaemin’s smile fell and he looked up at the cave ceiling. “If…” He exhaled softly and closed his eyes before continuing, “If I can’t get this engagement to end, please don’t think I don’t love you back. Please don’t think you haven’t been the first thing on my mind since I left. Please know that I love you so much and I would love nothing more than to go on a different adventure with you every day, even if that adventure was just delivering swords for your grandfather. If I can’t get this to end, please don’t think my feelings for you aren’t real.”

“I won’t. I promise,” you whispered, reaching for Jaemin’s hand and giving it a squeeze.

-

It was the night before the wedding. You knew, because the entire village was covered in flowers and festive wreaths for the prince. Funnily enough, none of them mentioned the future princess.

You felt numb the whole night, pondering what it would feel like when the newsboys would run down the road and announce that the prince was officially married. Your heart felt heavy as you continued with your chores.

Your grandfather left to go to the wedding, having to deliver the rings and wishing to visit Jaemin beforehand. He pushed you to come along with him, but you couldn’t bring yourself to go. There was no way you could see him again, knowing he would be married the next day. There was no way you could watch Jaemin vow to love someone else for the rest of his life. There was no way you could watch the mischievous light in his eyes fade to misery at the distant future. There was no way you could watch him kiss someone else.

Instead, you stayed home and continued your work before washing up and heading to bed.

Unfortunately, you couldn’t sleep, so you wrapped a large blanket around your shoulders and climbed up to the roof.

It was silent, as the majority of your village had turned in for the night. Only the distant sounds of neighbors still up, chatting in low voices, could be heard.

You could see the castle from your perch, and you wondered if Jaemin was there now, sleeping the night away before his wedding. The night before his entire life would change, and yours with it.

You couldn’t hold it against him. It was his duty to get married to someone before he took over as a king. Still, it pulled on your heartstrings that he was marrying someone he didn’t love, and someone who didn’t love him in return. Sure, you were going to be lonely with out him, but he was going to live the rest of his life with someone he didn’t love. That had to be the worst fate of all.

You shivered at the cold wind and pulled your blanket closer to your body.

“I found you again!”

You jumped at the voice and turned around to see Jaemin climbing up to the roof, a cheeky grin on his face. “What are you doing?” you hissed. “Your wedding is tomorrow.”

Jaemin shook his head, “Only if she says yes.”

You furrowed your eyebrows, confused, until Jaemin threw a familiar velvet box at you. You caught it and opened it to reveal the ring you had recently traded. The ring you loved. The ring that symbolized your promise to never forget Jaemin.

“If you agree, I want to spend the rest of my life with you. We can have our own adventures every day, and your grandfather can even move to the castle so we can be near him. I understand if you don’t want to become a princess, but unfortunately that’s the only life I can offer you.” Jaemin looked at you with pleading eyes, “Please say you’ll marry me.”

You pulled the ring out of the box and pushed it onto your finger. “Jaemin, what about your fiancée?”

“She was just as happy to end it as I was. Mother said I should’ve told her sooner that I was already in love with someone. She said I proved my sincerity to her, and any girl who helped me do that was deserving of the princess title.”

You felt your cheeks heat up at the compliment. “It wasn’t all me. You’ve always been sincere in your feelings.”

“Maybe,” Jaemin agreed, “but you help me express them. Now please answer my question.”

“Oh,” you grinned. “Of course I’ll marry you. I thought that was obvious.”

“Yay!” Jaemin tackled you in a hug, constricting you as you were still cocooned in your blanket. “We’re going to literally be best friends forever.”

You giggled, “I can’t wait.”

~the end~

[maverick-gone-home]

Six Crows-Chapter One, Part One

Two dudes, one bed, and a crap ton of monsters that aren’t that bad.

Warnings:

Swearing

No Cannon Characters (All I did was use the show as a basis and wrote the story in the show’s universe, but it doesn’t really touch the show’s characters at all. Crowley was there for a few lines though.)

Cannon Typical Violence

Start here to read it on Tumblr

Start here to read it on Archive of Our Own

Well shit. I forgot to mention that for the Skinwalkers I'm using some form of Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics for the Skinwalkers. Well now you know. It's not the normal stuff (still two sexes like for humans) so if it comes to a point where it needs explaining, there'll be an explanation. It also won’t be really focused on in the story.

This part is shit. What the fuck was I on while writing this. I should rewrite this sometime, hopefully sooner than later.

The room was silent as the blonde sat on a stool at the kitchen island in the center of his pristine kitchen. The lights above the island were brightly lit while the rest of the room's lights were slightly dimmed, though not by much. The walls were a deep maroon red, the cabinets an extremely dark brown, and the counter-tops a gray, smooth marble. It was a windowless room with a modern air to it.

Screws, pieces of silver-colored metal, and assorted tools were spread out across the island. The blonde was hunched over, fiddling with what seemed to be a glove with pieces of the silver-colored metal attached to it. He wore a pair of magnifying goggles on his face as he screwed another piece to the finger-less, leather glove.

His phone rang, vibrating loudly against the marble of the island (mostly because it had no case). The blonde made a mental note that he should get a case for the phone as he set down his tools and the glove before pushing the goggles to the top of his head, his unruly, curly-ish hair falling over his forehead. Running a hand through his bangs, he reached across the island and grabbed the phone so that he could look at the caller ID and decide if he wanted to answer it.

It was a caller ID that he didn't recognize.

His brows pulled together slightly, if at all, as he swiped across the screen and held the phone to his ear.

"Who's this?" He asked as he stretched in the stool before standing to turn the dimmed lights of the kitchen up.

"It's, uh," the voice of a younger sounding boy crackled through the line as the blonde listened, venturing back to the isle he had been previously sat at after he had turned the rest of the lights of the kitchen to their regular setting.

"My name's Elliot, sir. I was on last night's capture assignment in the Lower East Side."

"That's nice for me to know," the blonde stated with a bored tone as he spun around on one of the stools of the island.

"I was wondering if it was in the report that one of our team members got caught." The blonde stopped spinning.

"No, that wasn't in the report." The blond stated in a humorless voice.

"Oh..."

"Did you write the report?" The blond questioned sternly over the phone.

"No!" The younger boy blurted out over the phone as soon as the question was asked. He couldn't have been more than eighteen years of age. The boy cleared his throat, regaining his composure. "No, sir, it was the second in command of our outing who wrote it I believe."

The blonde let out a hum. He at all wasn't happy to find this out. It had been such a quiet Monday for him, though it was a little too quiet since his 'secretary' (more just company so he didn't get bored) had not showed up. "Do you by chance know the name of the team member who got captured?"

"Vincent Torum... Toris maybe? I had seen him around the compound before but I had never talked to him."

"Vincent Torvus?" The blonde asked while standing to make his way to the coat closet to grab a coat and a few other assorted items.

"Yeah, that's him."

"Right, well thank you for the tip. I've got an idiot to demote," the blonde said quickly before ending the call. 'So that's why he didn't show up.' An exasperated sigh left his lips as he searched through his contacts for the number of the second-in-command who had every so delightfully decided to leave out the fact that they lost a team member.

He held the phone to his ear, ringing two times before a click sounded, alerting him that somebody had picked up.

"Who's there?" a gruff, surly voice asked from the other side of the line.

"Your boss." The call was silent for a breath.

"Somet'n wrong?" the gruff voice asked slowly.

"Have you seen Vincent, Sean?" His voice was heavy with a passive-aggressive tone.

The blonde heard an almost inaudible gulp across the line. "I'm not sure wh't your talkin' 'bout, Elijah."

"Really, because I just got a call from a kid named Elliot who was on last night's Lower East Side assignment with you, and he said that a team member by the name of Vincent Torvus was caught last night." The line was silent again.

"I woulda' put it in the report."

A short, humorless chuckle left Elijah's mouth, "You know what, I'm going to ask you an even simpler question to answer: Did everyone return to the compound after the assignment?"

"No, sir," was the only answer that Elijah received.

"See, that wasn't so hard," a smirk crept across Elijah's face as he began the next question. "Who didn't return to the compound?"

"Vincent Torvus."

"And why, pray tell, wasn't it in last night's report that someone was captured?"

"'Cause he was a whining pup 'bout how the rain 'as cold, sir," Sean spat the sentence out, venom lacing every word and a growl behind the word sir.

(A/N: Doing some read throughs of the older parts and holy mother of shit that conversation was not well written. Seriously. What even was that. He says he doesn't know what he's talking about and then one line later poof! He's talking.)

Elijah nodded, a short hum coming from his throat, "Oh, I'm really hoping you're not using that tone with me." He smiled, mostly because it was amusing to him that a creature could be so bothered by another that he just up and abandoned the other.

"An' what if I am?" Sean was testing how much dominant ground he could gain, something that alpha male Skinwalkers sometimes did, though Elijah thought that Sean knew better than to challenge him even slightly.

"Sean, you've been demoted to cleanup duty. You're eligible to try to make your way back up through the ranks, but just so you know," Elijah paused, "I'll make it a hell of a lot of work to make it back to the rank you were previously at."

"You, you can't do that," Sean stuttered out, "You're not the pack leader! All you do is give us food and make us work for you." Elijah could hear him growling through the phone.

"I run Manhattan, Sean, and I'd rather not have worthless rats at a level even close to mine. Also, I make sure hunters don't wipe out your whole pack. I'm the only thing that stands between them and you. I'm what keeps you and all the supernaturals of this city fed and safe. If you don't want to comply to what I have to say about you being demoted, I can personally escort you out of the city. Permanently." Elijah waited for an answer, and for the sake of Sean's life, he was hoping it was one of compliance.

"Yes, sir." With those two words, Sean hung up before either could say another word.

Elijah wordlessly put the phone into his front trouser pocket and shrugged on the jacket he had retrieved from the closet during the first phone call. He picked up the brown, leather dog collar and matching leash which had been retrieved from the closet at the same time as when he had gotten his coat. The leash and collar were stuffed into his coat pocket, he turned the lights of the kitchen off, and he was off to find an animal shelter in the Lower East Side.

That’s the end of that and after doing a read through more than a month after writing it, I see that it is shit. God, what are these descriptions. Oh, wait, I know. There are none.