#but I got super distracted by Hall of Chains

[xaeneron]

On Daybreak

Living World Season 4 is here and I guess that means it’s time to babble a bit about the first episode, Daybreak!  

Overall, the patch was a solid release, not without its bugs, but a solid release.  I’m super glad to have something new to do (a lot of new things to do), especially with a new raid wing out 9 months after the release of Bastion of the Penitent.  I am curious enough to stay tuned to see where the story goes, but I was definitely more distracted by the nostalgia factor than anything.  The new zone was incredibly nostalgic for me as an old hat GW1 player, but before we start bullet-pointing, let’s put in a line break to avoid spoilers front and center.  

In General

THANK GOD KEYRING.

QoL Astral Force refilling to full automatically after a party wipe in fractals and raids is a godsend.  No more asking for corpses before every encounter/after every wipe.  I am a happy druid.

The Binding of Ipos wasn’t exactly what I was expecting, but it’s an incredibly nice-looking focus.  I like the floating book, but the demon hand is a bit of a deal-breaker for the characters I would use the focus on (i.e., Eet).  Oh well.  It’s detailed and has great animations, which is nice.

On Fractals (Twilight Oasis, instability changes, Deroir)

I find it really amusing and fantastic that the new fractal vendor is named after Deroir.  Props to him; he’s done a lot for the fractal community and it’s awesome that he got recognition like Dulfy and WP.

The new fractal relic sinks are hilarious and ridiculous.  When they said sinks, they meant sinks.  I have a few months’ worth of everything saved up (infusions, [pristine] fractal relics, integrated fractal matrices, pages, etc.) and I was only able to afford the first level of mist attunement.  So much raw stuff.  

The karma one seems most useful to actually max though.

I wish they had introduced more things to buy with cosmic essences (from Shattered Observatory CM), or trades for them.  I have almost enough for an infusion and a tonic, but I want neither. ;-;

Fractal Vindicators are actually a bit of a threat?  More than Fractal Avengers anyway.  

I haven’t tried the Molten Boss rework yet, but the Mai Trin rework is amusing.  And I’m glad that you can push through the timegate cannon section.  

Not having Social Awkwardness on Nightmare and Shattered Observatory is hilariously nice.  Like seriously they’ve honestly gotten easier.

Speaking of, SO still has a bunch of bugs.  SURPRISE.  Although it sounds like the fractal dev found the problem, so...we’ll see?

Twilight Oasis was...dark.  Like twilight.  /shot

Okay but really.  Playing as Sunspear traitors and helping Palawa Joko by slaughtering Sunspears and villagers is dark.  And you get an achievement for stomping all the injured people.  

Dying and being resurrected by Joko was confusing but pretty great?  Also boing.

Dervish feels.

That ending doe.

On Hall of Chains

NEW RAID.  IN THE UNDERWORLD.  I AM A HAPPY HUMAN.  SALAD.  MIDGET.  THING.

I’m super excited about the Underworld and Dhuum.  Stuff that hasn’t been touched on in years, and a good bit of lore that I’m glad that they were able to find a way to visit again.

Also the encounters, particularly Dhuum, look legitimately challenging.  I’m so excited to go hit Dhuum and die repeatedly.

We’ve been poking the new raid this week and I might post some progress stuff later on?  We only have a few bite-sized sessions each week so we can’t spam it for hours on end like others, but we’re making progress and it’s exciting!  Having new stuff to do is fantastic.

We have a lot of stupid deaths (including dying immediately on flying in because someone didn’t take the champion buff) already and it’s amazing.

I saw the ending cutscene.  I have so many Underworld feels.  Dhuum’s fight seems very reminiscent of his fight back in GW1, which is pretty clever.  And nostalgic.

I kind of wish Anet would hide Glenna’s vendor items tied to each boss in her inventory instead of just having them greyed out.  You can spoil the whole wing by scrolling down and seeing there’s a Dhuum mini.  Oh well.

Hi Gwen.

On the Domain of Istan

There are so many “Praise Joko!” and “TO VABBI!” references.  When we found out that you could drink from the fountains of Joko in the main hall before destroying them and would shout “Praise Joko!” every time, we kept clicking them repeatedly hoping for a hidden achievement.  rip.

Nostalgia feels everywhere.  I didn’t think I missed Istan, but I guess I missed Istan.  Also super exciting that they kept most of the geography the same.  Kamadan/Palawadan is set up essentially the way it was in GW1, except it’s been Joko’d.  They’ve been consistent about doing that for a lot of things now, things like the location of the Temple of the Ages and Droknar’s Forge and things like that), but seriously.  Kudos.  I’s happy.  xD

I find the zone pretty and interesting to run around in.  There’s a lot of random little achievements and random places to make use of different mounts. 

Bunny-hopping all over the cliffs is life.

So is griffoning.  Good god it’s nice to griffon places and just fly around and look at things.

The meta events are amusing, and I enjoyed running into Amala again (after Twilight Oasis and the story).  Also raiding Palawadan.  Fun events with a relatively forgiving timer.

Although I’m disappointed that people are already “multilooting” these.  You’d think Anet would have learned their lesson from AB multiloot and made account caps on the chests per cycle.

On the story (Daybreak)

Hi Aurene.  You got bigger.  And less cute.  But still Aurene.  So.  pls come back ;-;

Rytlock and Canach continue to amuse.  Best bromance 10/10.

I said it before and I’ll say it again, I’m not sure why anyone would be surprised that Kralkatorrik is now obnoxiously powerful.  Letting it absorb a couple Elder Dragons’ worth of magic will do that.

I know some people get upset with all the one-liners, and honestly sometimes they are a bit to much and could be done without to keep tension going, but I appreciated a lot of them.  Especially since the characterization of the PC is very close to a general perspective of how Ive normally reacts to things - with dry humor and snark to prevent himself from getting overwhelmed.

“I died once.  It’s overrated.”

KOSS.  OMG KOSS.  Another sad fate for a GW1 hero (alongside the fate of Tahlkora), but nice to talk to him again.

Although the encounter definitely shows that the story instances are tuned to 1-2 people.  We did it with 3-4 at various times looking for achieves, and absolutely murdered him before his first breakbar showed up.  Welp.

References to a bunch of old characters from GW1 ayyyy

I love the fact that the prison cell break is unique per class.  I didn’t think much of it because Ive is a thief and picking the lock just seems like the reasonable thing to do, not the thiefy thing to do, but they’re class unique!  I replayed it with Cyra (my adorable sparkle charr) just to see the Legendary Prisoner Stance (Palawa Joko). 

Fahranur.  Oh my god.  From the ibogas outside to the giant smashy bells.  Nostalgia everywhere.  I love that these elements came back.  

Seriously Joko wtf.

What are these bugs you’re experimenting on.

Joko pls.

That’s a lot of dead Inquest.

Hi Braham.  No, I didn’t really want to see you again.  Thanks for acting like it’s all my fault.  Which it honestly is, but hey.  Still a grump.  At least Rox is here?

I am curious that Anet brought him back here and now.  But I’m willing to see what they planned for him.

Also news that Awakened are portaling around Tyria is mildly stressful.

Taimi’s voice actor, Debby Derryberry.  A+ work.  That sense of fear and dread from Hero of Istan through Fahranur, the First City was well done.  Probably one of the highlights of the release.  Happy that Taimi didn’t die though :>

...to Vabbi? 

[frogtanii]

memories were a fickle thing. oikawa was never one to dwell on the past but recently, that’s all he’d been doing.

ever since most of the house suddenly... removed themselves from meiko, tooru had had more time on his hands than ever before.

he filmed his videos, maybe went to go pester iwaizumi a bit (when he didn’t have his hands full with management), and then waited for that one day a week where he got to let loose for a bit and drop his inhibitions.

kyōtani and yahaba were the best companions for the job — kyō was intimidating and mean looking which scared away any creeps and yahaba tended to be funny and sarcastic which alleviated any possible tension that could’ve crept up.

all in all, they were a great trio, perfect for distracting one another from whatever was going on in their lives.

of course, they had to deal with kyōtani’s inadvertent panty-dropping but with a couple of snide remarks from tooru and yahaba, they were golden.

oikawa enjoyed his time with them, because when he was out there, in the club surrounded by his friends and other drunk, sweaty people, he didn’t have to think. he didn’t have to remember.

he didn’t have to think about why meiko seemed to be so keen with his best friend and not him. he didn’t have to remember the countless times he cried himself to sleep because he just wasn’t good enough, why wasn’t he ever good enough??

but now, the object of his pain and inferiority was coming with him, invading his last safe haven where she didn’t exist. his escape door was closing and as dramatic as he felt, he knew that this would be the end of something, something he genuinely cared about.

tooru sighed, his eyes falling upon his face in the mirror. he looked great (obviously), but something akin to regret and fear swam in his brown orbs.

ugh. that’s so not what he was going for. more glitter?

of course, the answer is always more glitter. digging through his makeup drawer, oikawa pulled out one of his more extensive (and expensive) eyeshadow palettes along with his blending brush and opened it up, spreading a hefty amount of turquoise glitter across his eyelid.

a loud knock sounded at his door, jolting his hand and sending a streak of pigment smearing across his cheek. “fucking hell,” tooru muttered, placing the brush and eyeshadow down before opening his bedroom door.

out in the hall stood meiko, clad in a way too short, way too slutty, hot pink dress, uneven fishnets, and 6 inch stilettos that she could barely walk in.

internally, oikawa was cringing at the foundation crumbling by her bright red lipstick and the concealer flaking around her black eye but he kept it together, too tired to deal with her bitching about his response to her appearance.

instead he stepped aside to let her into his room, her eyes trailing all over his (clearly superior) outfit as she stumbled into the doorway.

“is that what you’re wearing?” oikawa suppressed his eye roll at the question as he nodded, moving back towards his mirror to wipe off the stray glitter from his cheeks.

meiko scoffed, plopping down on his bed like she owned it while running a hand through her tacky extensions. “okay but isn’t the glitter a bit... much? like, you aren’t gonna get girls that way,” she tittered, tapping her acrylics on tooru’s 800 thread count bedsheets. “like, i love the lgbt or whatever but you look like super gay.”

oikawa tensed in front of the mirror for a split second before reaching down and grabbing his lipgloss just to spite her. “oh do i? funny how i just happen to be a member of the lgbt or whatever and just so happen to also be attracted to men. funny how that turns out, huh?”

he could hardly keep the venom out of his voice, earning him another annoyed scoff and an eye roll. “i said no offense.”

no, you didn’t, tooru thought, but he didn’t bother voicing this, knowing that in the end it didn’t matter. he could never be just the guy she wanted (macho, tall, big arms *cough cough* iwaizumi) and to be frank, he was kind of tired of trying.

“are you ready to go?” he asked, pulling on a couple rings and throwing on his chains and necklaces. a quick glance over to miss newborn deer revealed her picking her thong out of her ass and he internally groaned.

this was going to be hell.

“this is hell!” oikawa yelled over the music to his two companions while meiko was conveniently lost to the bathroom — something about needing to “refresh her smell” before meeting kyōtani.

yahaba gave him a concerned look while kyō made an understanding hum, gazing out onto the dance floor with his drink in his heavily tattooed hands.

if kyōtani wasn’t one of his best friends and unfortunately entirely straight, oikawa would’ve definitely hit that and he completely understood why meiko wanted to but kyō was a hard nut to crack. he rarely took women from the club home with him because although he didn’t seem like it, he was a hopeless romantic, a sucker for domesticity and a ring on a finger.

tooru was once like that, long before meeting meiko. he wanted to be with someone he was comfortable with, who he didn’t have to worry about anything with so he could just focus on the little things but as time went on, he became more and more cynical.

everyone who wanted to be with oikawa, wanted to do so for his looks or his fame and once he finally found someone who he thought would actually be the one, she was pulled away to be with other people (he wasn’t enough to keep her).

“hey,” kyōtani’s gruff voice knocked tooru out of his thoughts, kyō’s hand coming to rest on his shoulder. “you think too much. stop.”

oikawa couldn’t stop the grin from spreading across his face, earning him a small smile from his fuzzy headed friend. kyō was a man of few words but he always knew exactly what to say to get tooru out of his head.

a gift, truly.

actually this whole place, these people were gifts and he wasn’t going to allow meiko, the wicked bitch of the west, take it away from him. not if he had anything to say about it.

besides, if anyone could crush meiko’s spirit, it would be none other than kyōtani kentarou.

℗ poker face

a gift, truly

series masterlist

(●’◡’●)ﾉ

an - well! this ended up wayy more kyōtani heavy than i originally planned but i’m lichrally in love w him??? i couldn’t Not but anyways!! in case u didn’t gather it, oikawa is bi!!! v hot v sick && thus officially begins his arc!!! don’t forget to feed me <33333

taglist - if your name is in bold, i cannot tag you

@boosyboo9206 • @geektastic84 • @elianetsantana • @trashy-simp • @infinitebells • @6mattsun9 • @suhkusa • @sazunari • @kotarosbabygirl • @fucktheworlddude • @insomniacwreck • @calumsfringe • @saltylettuce • @chai-blu • @al3x1ss • @hawksyoongi • @syndellwins • @jooleuuh • @amberalisa • @kissungjae • @liberhoe • @tetsurocore • @animeoverdosee • @duhsies • @saikishairclip • @afire24 • @premiyagi • @kit-kat428 • @doctorspencereid • @daphnxy • @kyomihann • @maer-333 • @sinoflust19 • @peteunderoos • @peachiikichu • @iidanotlida • @yongboxerrr • @kac-chowsballs • @tanakaslastbraincell • @memorableminds • @risjime • @starry-magicshop • @sugavwara • @smuttyanimeslut • @kiwibirbs-library • @haijkk • @airybnb • @babierin • @iwaisa • @decaffinatedtealover • @notameera • @kawaii-angelanne • @rintarovibes • @urlocalsimp

the rest of the tags will be in the replies!!

[wolferine]

Heart Skips a Beat - Part 4

Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Summary: Natasha faces her worst nightmare when a rescue mission goes wrong…

Warnings: Violence, blood, torture

Word count: 2843

Part 3

Tags: @blkmxrvel @blackxwidowsxwife @marvelwomen-simp @phoenixofash @marvels-bitch-boy @when-wolves-howl @bitterlime13 @hallecarey1 @orangewheein @unexpected-character

AN: I apologize if some tags don’t work! Tumblr can’t find some of your usernames.

After listening to Steve’s plan, all four of you—technically five, since Bucky had to tag along—take the Quinjet to Siberia. The goal was to break out the five soldiers in Bucky’s former task force and bring them back to the Avengers Tower, where there was the technology to free their minds from HYDRA. 

Each of you were armed with a mask which would spray a powerful sedative into the face it was applied to, keeping the victim unconscious until it was removed. It was the simplest solution to taking down the super soldiers—when Bucky had been skeptical, Natasha had slapped a mask on him and he was out before he hit the floor. You were pretty sure you pulled a muscle from laughing so hard.

Now, you and Natasha sat in the cockpit while the others sat behind you.

“Hey, Y/N,” Bucky says suddenly.

“Yeah?” You don’t even look over your shoulder.

“I’m…sorry for shooting you.”

“Twice,” you clarify. “I didn’t forget the count.”

“Sorry,” he repeats.

“Well, as long as you don’t mistake me for Steve again, I’ll be okay,” you say with a chuckle.

“So, just to reiterate our plan, Bucky will be with me and Clint, and Nat, you’ll be with Y/N,” Steve says.

“Even Captain America knows better than to break up the power couple.” You grin and reach over to put your hand on her thigh. Without taking her eyes off the controls, she takes your hand and interlocks your fingers.

“Yeah, so you two just do your thing—” Steve catches himself. “Wait, not that kind of thing.”

Clint explodes into wheezy laughter and Natasha shakes her head, her cheeks reddening. You’re not embarrassed like she is, but you’re still quick to defend yourselves.

“It was one time!” you protest. It had been a mission where everything that could’ve gone wrong did, and you and Natasha were convinced it would be your last. You two decided to end it wrapped around each other, but then the rest of the Avengers had barged in and said there had been a miscommunication and it wasn’t the end of the world after all. It was the one mission you would never live down.

“Just keep it professional, please,” Steve begs. “No matter what happens, we’re all going home alive, okay?”

Bucky looks completely lost.

Natasha lands the Quinjet in a flurry of snow and all of you exit the warmth of the plane.

“I should’ve brought one of your hoodies,” she mumbles, walking as close to you as she can without tripping you. 

“It would’ve clashed with your uniform,” you say, putting your arm around her waist. The super soldier serum in your veins causes you to run a higher-than-average body temperature. You feel as comfortable as if you stepped out of hot shower.

The facility is the only building for miles. It looks big enough to fit a space rocket and has a dull, concrete exterior. The only security is a chain-link fence with a frozen padlock that Steve breaks open with his shield. You file through the gate, and Bucky inputs a code into the door to grant everyone entry. The interior is just as disappointing as the outside. Nothing but a maze of concrete halls with metal doors. The ceiling has dripping water stains and an uncomfortably musty, moldy smell hangs in the air.

“I bet you’re really glad you escaped this rust bucket,” you say to Bucky. He only shakes his head.

“Stay alert,” Steve advises. “We’ll split here. Keep us updated on your position and if you find anyone.”

“Copy that.” You and Natasha turn right while the others turn left. She finds a flight of stairs and you follow behind her. You unholster your gun, holding it at the ready by your side. Natasha makes random turns and ignores every room you walk by. You listen intently for any sort of noise that would indicate a person lurking in the shadows, but so far, there’s nothing.

“Do you even know where you’re going?” you ask.

“Do you?” she snaps.

“Hey, I’m just following you.” You back off. Even though you know this is no time to be making jokes, you still can’t help yourself. High-stress situations make you nervous, especially when you’re with Natasha, because anything that could happen to you could happen to her.

When you pass by a room with its door open, you see a large glass tank big enough to fit a human and filled with murky green water. For a reason you can’t explain, you feel yourself drawn towards it and you step into the room, a chill raising goosebumps on your skin. You reach out to touch the tank’s wall and close your eyes.

You’re floating in a tank of your own, tubes running out of your nose, mouth, and down every limb. You jerk around wildly in the water tinged pink with your blood. Your lungs seize for air, but every breath you inhale is wet and salty.

“Shall we go another round?” you hear someone on the other side say.

“Might as well. No pain, no gain, right?” someone replies.

You want to bash your hands against the glass, but you’re too weak to have any control over your movements. You feel a sharp pain in your lower back, at the base of your spine, and your body arches as more drugs are pumped into you. You have no breath to scream with as your body twists in agony. It feels like a fire eating you from the inside out, burning through your bones, and you want nothing more than to wither away to ash...

“Hey.” You jump when you feel Natasha’s hand on your shoulder. “What are you doing in here?”

“Um, I…I thought I heard something,” you lie. Natasha frowns. Like Steve and Bucky, you had been a lab rat yourself, although not to SHIELD or HYDRA. You had been passed around other government agencies—at least, that’s what you think. Most of your memories of that time were fuzzy, which you were fine with. The ones you did remember weren’t worth reliving anyway.

“Y/N.” Natasha looks concerned.

“We’ll talk about it later, okay?” You don’t want to interrupt the mission with your personal problems.

She knows better than to push you, especially at a time like this. “Okay,” she says, leaving the room. You take a minute to collect yourself. When you finally turn around, you see a black-haired woman, shorter than Natasha even, standing in the doorway in the same vest Bucky had worn the first time you met him.

“Hello,” you say, holstering your gun. You’re not going to shoot someone who looks like she’s barely of age. “You must be one of the super soldiers Bucky told me about. Who was your target supposed to be? Romanoff?” you tease.

“Thor.” The woman’s voice is dainty. Her body is literally the size of one of Thor’s arms. There’s no way she’s telling the truth.

You laugh. “That’s cute. But this is no place for a kid,” you say, walking towards her. But she sees that you’re too casual, your guard let down too low, and takes advantage of that. “Now all I need is for you to put this mask on and—”

The woman launches at you with a speed you don’t even process. She swipes your legs out from under you, causing you to crash on your back. Then she’s on top of you, hands around your throat. You reach into your pocket for your knife, all jokes lost with her attempt to take your life.

You flip the blade out and swing at her face, but she’s quick to dodge and rolls to the side. You jump to your feet, wondering where Natasha is. But you’re too embarrassed to call for her help, even if this soldier claims she was given the task of taking out the god of thunder.

The woman is impossibly fast and she lands blow after blow on you while you stagger back and slash out helplessly with your knife. When she kicks you in the stomach and your back collides into the water tank, you’ve had enough. 

You switch your knife to your left hand and aim for the woman’s neck. She grabs your wrist and twists it around so the knife turns towards you. Your eyes widen as she puts her entire body weight behind the knife. The blade sinks into your shoulder.

“What the—” You don’t even register the pain, more upset that you’ve been harmed with your own weapon. The woman grins, distracted, and you punch her in the throat as hard as you can. Her eyes bulge and she coughs, her hands flying to her neck. 

You take the mask out of your pocket and shove it onto her face, hearing the hiss as the sedative is instantly released. The woman immediately goes limp and you have no problem letting her drop to the floor.

“Y/N!” You look up and see Natasha staring at you, arms crossed over her chest.

“I got one.” You puff out your chest proudly.

“Why didn’t you call me?” Natasha comes over and inspects the soldier’s limp body.

“I didn’t need to. I handled her all by myself,” you say, a little annoyed by her doubt in your abilities.

“Is that a knife in your shoulder?” she asks.

“I…Oh, yeah—” 

“Is that your knife?” Being called out hurts more than the actual pain of having the knife in your shoulder.

“Uh…maybe…” You can’t even look her in the eye.

“Y/N,” Natasha growls. “Here, let me take it out.”

You back up until you hit the tank again. “Wait, shouldn’t we—ow!” you yelp as Natasha jerks the knife out.

“You’ve been through worse.” She tries to hand you the knife, but you shake your head, too embarrassed to continue carrying it with you since you obviously can’t be trusted with it. She shrugs and pockets your knife, taking out some gauze and tape to patch up your wound. You rotate your left arm in circles; besides an uncomfortable twinge, it works fine. 

“So, what do we do with her body?” you ask.

“We’ll come back. We need to find the other three first.”

“Three? I thought there were four.” You try to do the math in your head. Bucky had said there five super soldiers, and you had just defeated one, meaning there were four left—

“Three,” Natasha repeats and you look at her in confusion. “Mine’s outside.” Unlike you, there wasn’t a single scratch on her. Together, you leave the room and find a man slumped on the floor, a mask on his face.

“When did this happen?” you ask.

Natasha shrugs, but you can tell she’s extremely proud of herself. “When you were busy dealing with that little girl.”

“Excuse me. According to her, her target was Thor,” you say. “So, I just took out the soldier who was supposed to take down the god of thunder.”

“Yeah, you can keep telling yourself that.” Natasha nudges you playfully.

“Whatever.” You roll your eyes.

“Hey, are you two okay?” Steve asks in your earpiece.

“We disabled two soldiers on the second floor,” Natasha responds.

“Perfect. We got two down here as well.”

“Who did you take out?” Clint asks.

“This tiny woman and a guy,” you answer.

“How big was the guy?” Bucky asks.

“Maybe around your size?” you estimate, staring down at the soldier Natasha subdued.

“Okay, because the two we took out were also average-sized dudes. The last one—I was hoping it wouldn’t come down to this—he’s an absolute beast. I think he’s almost seven-feet tall and could bench press a plane with one hand,” Bucky says.

“So whoever takes him out wins,” you say. Between you and Natasha, you were certain you could win any fight.

“You’re on,” Clint says.

Natasha and you leave the soldiers where they lay and search the rest of the floor. This time, you take the lead, a little more cautious since you know what to expect. You head up to the third floor, expecting the last soldier to jump out at any moment. The tension of waiting to find him is almost unbearable and your muscles ache from being coiled so tightly.

“You guys find him yet?” Natasha asks through the earpieces.

“Negative.”

Suddenly, a moving shadow catches your eye and you throw out your arm to stop Natasha. A man steps out from around the corner and Bucky wasn’t lying about his size. He’s so tall the top of his head disappears behind the ceiling beams and he looks like he would sweep any bodybuilding competition he entered.

“Never mind, we found him. Third floor,” Natasha mumbles.

“Don’t engage him alone.” That’s Steve’s voice. “Try to stall—”

“Too late” you want to say as the man charges towards you. There is no way you two are taking him down without the use of any weapons; plus, you don’t have any more masks to use. But if you punched or kicked him, you wouldn’t be able to reach his face without catching airtime. You run backwards, fumbling with your options. An idea pops into your head.

“Maybe he has a safe word, too,” you say, crashing into Natasha and shoving her back. “Lizzie! Karen!” you scream the first names that come to you. “It could be a guy’s name—can’t assume anything, right? Chris! Tom! Mark!” The names have no effect other than making you look like an idiot.

“Shut up, Y/N—” Natasha hisses.

The man roars and reaches out, grabbing a fistful of your shirt. He throws you like a javelin and you can’t believe how far you fly, landing on your stomach and skidding another 30 feet.

Natasha tries engaging him, and although she’s faster than him, any punch or kick she lands goes completely unnoticed by him. The man flings her aside like a sack of flour and comes towards you.

You reach for your gun, but before you can bring it up, he kicks it out of your hand and stomps on it. The barrel literally flattens before your eyes, and you roll onto your back to face him. He lifts his foot, which is easily as big as your calf, and brings it down on your right knee.

CRUNCH.

The pain of your leg snapping in half is so blinding and nauseating you don’t even scream. It feels like someone is holding a blow torch to your bones and your entire body starts trembling in shock. The man scoops you up with an arm leveraged underneath your chin, and once you’re upright, you feel the lower half of your right leg dangling like a broken branch.

He lifts you high enough so your feet don’t touch the floor, leaving you scrabbling at his arm and choking on your saliva. Your vision flashes white and you feel the overwhelming urge to vomit as he spins you around to face Natasha.

She has her gun out, pointed at his head. “Put Y/N down,” she orders.

“And what if I don’t?” the man says in a voice that sounds like it came from the depths of the ocean. “You think you can shoot me before I can break a neck?” He squeezes you harder and you whimper.

Natasha pauses to think, and her eyes dart to the side before looking back at the man. “Okay, okay.” She sets her gun on the floor and raises her hands. “Just please don’t—”

“Kick it towards me.” The man crushes your windpipe like a straw and your eyes water.

Natasha reaches out with her foot and sends the gun spinning towards you and your captor. Suddenly, the man tosses you away and when you crumple on your broken leg, you swear you see purgatory. 

“Get on your knees,” the man tells Natasha. She doesn’t obey. “I said, get on your knees!” Very slowly, with a defiant look on her face, she drops to her knees one at a time. The man picks up her gun and holds it in front of her face. “I’ve been waiting years to finally meet you, Agent Romanoff.”

“Well, sorry for not coming around sooner.”

“My comrades may not have been successful in eliminating their targets, but I don’t fail,” the man says.

Natasha looks away from him to you. “I love you,” she calls, as casually as if you two were lounging on the couch watching a movie together.

You blink away tears to make eye contact with her. You can’t move, you have no weapons, and he has a gun pointed at her head. The complete helplessness you feel hurts more than your broken leg, more than Bucky’s gunshots had, more than any pain you’ve ever felt before. There’s a thousand things you want to tell her, but you only have time to say one.

“I love you t—”

But there isn’t even enough time for you to finish your sentence, because suddenly Natasha’s face is covered in blood.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Click here for Part 5!

[the-bau-quinjet]

what about doing a steve x reader? maybe where the reader gets hurt during a mission by hydra?? just an idea!! xx

He’s Like a Brother to Me

Summary: Pretending to be a couple for a mission is normal, so why is your Captain so upset?

Warnings: being injured on a mission, kissing, a swear word or two

Word Count: 2202

a/n: My first request!! To the anon that requested this, thank you! I hope you like it :) Sorry if it's not angsty enough! I really tried, but once I got this idea in my head I ran with it. 

Also! I didn't do my normal tag list since y'all requested to be tagged when I was only writing Criminal Minds fics. Just lmk if you want to be tagged in marvel or CM or both!

"The mission is simple. You two will go to the gala as newly weds, pretend to be interested in more than the charitable events of the evening, figure out the chain of command for the weapons dealing, and put a stop to the weapons dealing assholes." Tony laid out the plan as if nothing could go wrong.

You turned to the super soldier on your left, relieved to find a matching grimace on his face.

"We have to pretend to be a couple?" You asked, turning back to Tony.

"Yes. The invites we secured are for Mr. and Mrs. Farley, so you two will be Mr. and Mrs. Farley for the evening. Any other questions?" Before you could chime in with the 17 questions in your head, Tony kept talking. "I didn't think so. Your clothes have already been dropped off to your rooms, so get ready. You'll have Rogers and Wilson doing surveillance in case anything goes wrong." Without another word, Tony forced you and Bucky out of the room.

"I guess I'll see in an hour, husband." You tried to joke, but your smile didn't meet your eyes.

"Same to you, wife." Bucky's face held a similar expression as you both turned your separate ways to get ready for the gala, trying to put the awkwardness behind you.

You and Bucky have been incredibly close ever since he first came back from Wakanda. You became fast friends since you are both so close with Steve.

It was easier for Bucky to open up to you than he anticipated, and in part it's because you remind him of his sister. Similarly, Bucky is like the older brother you never had. The two of you mesh, in the most platonic of ways.

He is there to tease you about your not-so-secret crush on Steve, and your there to help Sam come up with more annoying nicknames (starBucks being one of your favorite to date).

When it comes down to it though, you look out for each other. Of course, that won't make pretending to be a couple any less awkward.

-

You and Bucky enter the gala just after 8:00 pm. The large hotel ballroom is lit up by three enormous chandeliers, spaced throughout the room, with small sconces lining the outside walls. There are round tables around the outside of the room, framing a large open space for dancing.

People are mingling in small groups scattered throughout the room, waitstaff wondering around the room in precise lines to ensure anyone who wants a drink has access to one.

With a deep breath, you link your arm with Bucky's, laughing at the surprised look on his face.

"We have to at least try to sell it." You whispered in his ear, trying to play it off as a cute couple-y thing. "Even if we'd both rather be anywhere else." That comment earned a laugh, easing the tension from his shoulders.

Steve's voice in your ears refocuses you on the mission. "We just got video feed from the security cameras, so we have eyes on you now." You would have sworn you could hear an unfamiliar strain in Steve's voice as he spoke, but you chalked it up to just being nervous for the mission. "Try to mingle, figure out who's in charge."

Mingling was easier said than done. Every time the two of you tried to talk to anyone, the conversation was awkward and tense. You just didn't know how to answer questions about falling in love with each other. Ultimately, you decided eavesdropping was your best bet. Bucky pulled you to the dance floor, whispering in your ear as he held you, "dancing is the perfect cover for moving around the room."

You nodded your head in response, wrapping your arms around his neck.

"What are you doing? I said to mingle, not dance." Steve's voice in your ears surprised you. Normally, he'd stay quiet unless he received intel that could help with the mission or noticed something for you to look into.

"We're listening to other conversations, relax punk." Bucky's voice was light as he spun you around, closer to the most suspicious people you've found thus far.  

"What time is it happening?" The woman seemed nervous as she checked her watch.

"A few minutes. Relax, we'll meet them down the hall at 8:45." The man was calm and collected as he took her hand, leading her across the dance floor and out of the room.

"Guess that's our cue." You stated the obvious as you and Bucky went to follow them out of the ballroom. The couple turned down a side hallway, pulled out a key card, and entered a room, about halfway down.

You and Bucky made quick work to reach the room, pausing outside to listen in. You heard the couple, along with an unfamiliar voice.

"Do you have them?" The unfamiliar voice asked.

"We do. They're hidden in another room down the hall." the woman again sounded nervous.

"You" the unfamiliar voice must have pointed at someone, "go get them. Your wife will stay here to keep me company. Make it quick, Hydra has more important things to do."

Yours and Bucky's eyes went wide at the mention of Hydra. This mission wasn't supposed to have anything to do with them. Before you could react, footsteps could be heard coming toward the door. You had a few seconds max to figure out a way to hide.

With no other options in sight, you pulled Bucky across the hallway into the world's most awkward kiss. When the door swung open, you pretended not to notice, too lost in your "relationship" to care.

The man you saw earlier walked a few doors down before entering another room. You pulled back from Bucky, wincing slightly at the expression on his face. "I'm so sorry, I couldn't think of anything else to do to make it look like we weren't listening..." You trailed off.

"No, no it's fine. It was the only option." Bucky cleared his throat, still slightly dazed and very thrown off.

"Could the two of you stop staring at each other and get back to work?' Steve's voice was again present in your ears, and this time he was definitely angry.

"Right! Right, of course. Let's go." You awkwardly pushed off the wall, moving down the hallway to the room you saw the man enter. On the count of three, you burst into the room together. It was easy enough to over power the lone man in the room, but you and Bucky were still a little shaken up after the kiss. You handcuffed him to the bedpost, taking the key card he used earlier and moving back down the hallway.

After a brief, awkward eye contact, Bucky opened the door with you rushing in behind him. The only two people in the room were the two you heard earlier, making for a fairly easy take down.

"Cap, we got 'em. Two in room 217 and one in room 223." You started to fill him and Sam in, unsure if they still had eyes on you. At that exact moment, three more Hydra agents ran in from an adjoining room, catching you off guard.

You yelped when the gun went off, surprised at the sudden noise after thinking the mission was over. You and Bucky managed to take down the three agents without much more difficulty.

"Scratch that Cap, five in room 217." You again began filling him in, but the room started spinning. Your voice was wavering when you collapsed, the last thing you heard a mixture of Steve's voice in your ear and Bucky's in person calling your name.

"Y/N!" Then everything faded to black.

-

"What the hell happened in there?" Steve and Bucky were standing just outside of the med bay. After you collapsed, Bucky realized you had been shot in the stomach. While other Shield agents came to collect the men you had stopped, Bucky carried you to the quinjet, meeting a pissed looking Steve at the door.

The two didn't talk at all during the short flight back to the compound. It wasn't until you were in the med bay receiving medical attention that Steve rounded on Bucky.

"There was never any indication that more agents were there. They caught us off guard! I didn't even realize she had been shot until after we had them contained." Bucky was beating himself up. He let his guard down, still trying to get over the lingering weirdness of you kissing him.

"Caught you off guard? Buck-" Before Steve could yell anymore, Dr. Cho came out to talk to them.

"Y/N will be fine. She lost a lot of blood, but she should recover relatively quickly. She'll likely wake up in the next half hour." Dr. Cho got straight to the point, trying to ease the nerves of the two super soldiers.

"Thank you so much. Thank you!" Bucky called over his shoulder as he ran into the room, planting himself by your side. He may be weirded out by the kiss, but he knows you were too. You're still like a little sister to him, nothing could stop him from being there for you when you wake up.

Steve followed Bucky into the room after thanking Dr. Cho and briefly discussing the timeline for your recovery.

"As I was saying. Caught you off guard? I've never seen you caught off guard before." Although he was whispering so as not to disturb you, his words were nearly venomous. "The two of you let your feelings get in the way of this mission."

The look of guilt already present on Bucky's face multiplied tenfold. "You think I don't know that? I should've seen it coming. If I wasn't distracted I could've stopped them before Y/N got hurt."

You woke up at some point, hearing Bucky blame himself. Instantly, you wanted to ease his worries. "Hey," the two men turned to you, concern clear on their faces. "It wasn't your fault, Buck. I was just as distracted. Neither of us saw it coming, even though both of us should have. It doesn't matter though, because we got them, and I'll be fine." You sat up, wincing slightly at the pain in your abdomen.

"How can you say that? Of course it matters! You could have died, all because Bucky was too busy making heart eyes at you to-" Steve's words were cut off by identical sounds of laughter from you and Bucky.

"Heart eyes?! Oh my god, that's hilarious." You stuttered out the words between laughs. Steve look so confused, you couldn't help but laugh at his cute expression.

Every time you thought you were done, one look at either Bucky or Steve had you laughing again. "Oh god, make it stop! It hurts to laugh!" You pouted slightly, begging Bucky to stop laughing and Steve to change his expression.

Finally, Bucky reined it in enough to speak. "I was distracted because Y/N like a little sister. It's definitely a bit distracting to feel like you just kissed your sister" You and Bucky each made a face of disgust as you looked at each other.

Meanwhile, Steve had a look of complete shock on his face. "Wh-what? You two aren't ... ya know?”

Again, you and Bucky share looks of disgust. "God, no. He's like a brother to me."

"Yeah, I love Y/N like a sister. I'm definitely not in love with her." Bucky agrees.

Steve's expression is sheepish as he tries to explain himself, "but, but after the kiss you were staring into his eyes like you were in love!"

"We most definitely were not." Mumbling under your breath, you kept talking "his aren't the blue eyes I'd like to lovingly stare into."

Steve was shocked into silence by your statement.

"I think that's my cue to leave." Bucky wore a smug grin as he slapped Steve on the back, uttering a quick "good luck, punk" before leaving.

It was quiet for a minute, neither of you quite sure what to say.

"Who's blue eyes do you want to stare into?" Steve broke the silence, shuffling closer to sit on the side of your bed.

"What?" It took you an embarrassing amount of time to realize you said that sentence out loud. "I said that out loud?" You threw your hands up to cover your face, mumbling about being an idiot to delay having to answer.

"You did. So... who's blue eyes?" Steve's demeanor quickly shifted from shy to confident. He slowly moved your hands off your face, tilting your chin up to look into your eyes. One look had you confessing all your secrets.

"Yours. It always been yours." He rubbed his thumb across your cheek, leaning in closer to you until your foreheads were touching.

"Let me take you on a date." His words were barely a whisper, the warm air from his breath sending a shiver down your spine. You nodded in response, not trusting your voice.

He leaned in closer, barely brushing his lips over yours. "I need words, sweetheart."

You pushed forward, your lips meeting his in a passionate kiss.

"Yes."

[fandom-imagines-stories]

Sweethearts

Troy Bolton x Reader

Words: 4327

Summary: Following the efforts of a smaller, eviler version of Sharpay, the reader doubts her abilities and her relationship. Troy must restore her faith in herself in time for the perfect Valentine’s day dance. 

Notes: Can I Have This Dance is literally my favorite scene from the whole series so I had to use it for this. Highly recommend listening to it before reading to get the feel.  Let me know what you think! I’m so sorry it's so long, but I really loved getting into the romance. I’m pretty proud of this one, so just a little extra love would be very appreciated.  (There’s also a 17 Again reference in here, if you catch it) Also, I couldn’t decide which gif I liked more, so I had to use both!

-

You couldn’t help the slight squeak of fear in your voice as the group of girls walked towards you. 

“Hi Sharpay.” You greeted anxiously. She flipped her impossibly shiny blonde hair over her shoulder. She really was terrifying when she wanted to be. 

“I heard that you might be signing up to perform in the Sweetheart’s Showcase.” She raised an accusing brow. 

“Oh, um, yeah.” You stammered. “I was thinking about doing a duet with-”

“Blah blah blah, I know that. What are you wearing?” Her glare intensified, as did your confusion.”

“I-I don’t-” “Just make sure it isn’t pink, okay?” Sharpay ordered and her little pack nodded in agreement. “Pink is my color.”

“O-okay.” Was all you managed to say. She and her posse strutted off, but Madison gave you a lingering stare. You gulped. Sharpay may be the leader, but Madison was the shark of the group. Once she smelled blood, she would not be stopped. And ever since you’d started dating the basketball captain…

“Guess who?” A pair of hands covered your eyes. Maybe it was from his time spent on the roof, but Troy always smelled like fresh summer air. 

“Hmmm… Mrs. Darbus?” You giggled. Troy’s arms wrapped around your middle and lifted you off the ground, making you laugh more. He swung you around before setting you back and spinning you so you were facing him. 

“Ha ha.” He snarked, eyes sparkling in a particularly suspicious way. “What did ‘Her Majesty’ want?” You shrugged.

“She told me I couldn’t wear pink for the show case because it’s ‘her color’.” You laughed. “I wouldn’t dare try to outshine the Princess of Pink.”

“Yeah… about the showcase…” Troy looked at the floor. You felt your heart drop a little.

“You want to back out, don’t you?” You sighed sadly. “I mean, I get it. Performing in front of everybody freaks me out too-”

“Woah woah woah.” Troy laughed, that sparkle shining brighter. “I was just hoping that you would wear this.” He dangled a chain in front of you. The necklace was a stunning heart-shaped charm made with little red gems.

“Troy.” You gasped, a smile stretching from ear to ear. “It’s beautiful.” 

“I figured you’d be stressed out over the showcase and the paper so I thought you’d like a little early Valentine.” He shrugged and you pressed a sweet kiss to his cheek before turning around so he could put it on you. His fingers grazed your skin as he draped the chain around your neck.

“I wish I had something for you.” You whined, draping your arms around his neck as his arms fell to your waist. 

“Just promise me a Valentine’s Day kiss and that is all I need.” He grinned and pulled you closer for a kiss. 

It was quite a shock to the status quo when you and Troy started dating. The shy editor of the school newspaper and the star player of the basketball team made an interesting pair. But when Mrs. Darbus paired the two of you together to paint set in detention, something just… happened. You opened up around Troy more than you could with anyone. You helped him realize that there was more to him than basketball when you got him to sing with you at your vocal recital last year. Somehow the two of you just worked. 

“I hate to interrupt,” Taylor scoffed. “But the yearbook won’t edit itself.” You gave your best friend a look and Taylor smirked. 

“Sorry Troy.” Gabriella laughed, grabbing your hand and dragging you down the hall. “We’ll see you at lunch!” The three of you rushed down the hall and Troy went to go find Chad.

“Ugh, he is so dreamy.” Libby, one of Sharpay’s sophomore groupies, sighed. Madison made a sound of disgust. 

“And yet somehow he got stuck with that.” She watched you vanish into the journalism classroom and closed her locker. “Shouldn’t the Crowned Prince of East High be with someone a little more, I don’t know, worthy of his attention?” 

“Who, like Sharpay?” Libby asked, applying another coat of lip gloss. Madison smirked. 

“Yeah.” She turned her head to the jersey-clad boy retreating down the hall. “Like Sharpay.”

-

“So can I have this dance?”

“Can I have this dance?”

Your eyes were locked together as the room erupted with applause. You were in Troy’s arms before you had the chance to move. 

“You guys, that was amazing!” Gabriella squealed with excitement. 

“I couldn’t imagine anyone better to sing it.” Kelsi smiled, tucking the music into her folder. Even Taylor was impressed.

“I still think you two should give it a shot.” Troy nodded towards Taylor and Chad. You laughed into his shoulder as excuses tumbled out of their mouths. 

“Let’s go, I think my mom is making some nachos.” You laced your fingers through his and told everyone you’d see them tomorrow. After practice rehearsals were exhausting for Troy, but he knew how happy it made you. Besides singing with you was the perfect way to relax after a long day of practice of running and shooting hoops. Plus, your mom made killer nachos. 

His truck sputtered to a start and he winced. You giggled and earned a playful glare. At least it started this time. Sometimes, the two of you were stranded in the school parking lot until Troy could get his truck to start. You never minded. With minimal bumps and jolts, Troy was able to get to your house. 

“I think the song is really coming together.” You said as the two of you made your way to the front door. “Ryan said he’d love to choreograph something for us.” 

“How sweet.” Your door opened and Madison gave you a seemingly innocent smile. You stopped so suddenly Troy almost walked right into you. 

“Maddie.” You tried to seem pleasantly surprised. “What are you doing here?”

“Didn’t your mom tell you?” She laughed and pulled you inside- rather forcefully you might add. “My mom and her are in the same book club! She invited us to join you guys for dinner.” She looked over your shoulder and a little menacing glint appeared in her eyes. “Oh, hi Troy.”

“Hey.” He greeted uncomfortably, following you inside. 

“I hope you don’t mind the extra company tonight.” Your mother beamed. “Julie was saying how excited Madison has been to work with you two for the musical and I thought it’d be fun for you kids to get to know each other.”

“That sounds great, Mr.s Y/L/N.” Troy put on that charming smile of his and pulled your chair out for you. Madison stood for a moment, as if she was expecting him to do the same for her. Being a gentleman, he moved her chair back before taking a seat. 

“So you guys were talking about your number for the Sweetheart’s Showcase?” Maddie asked, eyeing Troy in a less than subtle way. He glanced at you with the same slightly scared look he had when he had to sing with Sharpay at the resort. 

“Uh, yeah. Ryan said he had some choreography in mind.” Even after over a year of dating, sometimes the way he looked at you still gave you butterflies. “I mean, I think just singing would be fine-”

“You guys have to dance.” Maddie blurted. She flipped her hair over her shoulder- just like Sharpay, but like, pettier. “What I mean is, it would be so romantic, don’t you think?” 

“I agree.” Your mom said excitedly. You shot a look. 

“I’m sure what Ryan has planned will be great.” You concluded, hoping to drop the subject. You didn’t really want to discuss your super romantic duet in front of Madison. 

Dinner passed painfully. The only thing keeping you from screaming out in frustration was Troy’s silly antics. From funny faces to pretending his chips were fighter planes, he distracted you from Madison’s subtly back-handed comments. The adults mistook them for compliments, but you knew exactly what she meant. 

“Wow, I am totally beat.” Maddie exclaimed just as the parents started to go out to the porch, like adults do. 

“Oh, I guess we’ll call it a night.” Her mom frowned. 

“You stay and have fun, mom.” She smiled sweetly. “Troy can give me a ride. Right, Troy?”

“Um,”

“Great!” She practically skipped  to the front door. 

“You really are too good to be true, Mr. Bolton.” Her mother gushed before stepping out onto the back porch with your parents. 

“I’ll walk you out.” You said, not really sure if you were irritated, confused, or a little impressed. 

“You’re coming to the game tomorrow night, right?” Troy asked as you made your way down the front steps. Madison was already in the front seat, checking her reflection in the mirror. You shrugged. 

“Actually I was thinking about catching a movie.” His shoulders sagged with disappointment. You shook your head. “Of course I’ll be there!” You exclaimed with a laugh. Troy put his hands on your cheeks and leaned in for a goodnight kiss. 

“Oh Troy!” Madison called from the truck and the two of you pulled a part. “I should be getting home. I’m totally-” She yawned dramatically, “exhausted.” Troy sighed, settling for a light kiss on your cheek. “Goodnight.”

“Night.” He reluctantly ran to his truck and you went back inside. Before the door closed, you couldn’t help but smirk as you listened to the sputtering sound of his truck refusing to start.

-

The sound of the crowd was a driving force on it’s own. Troy raced across the court, keeping his eyes locked on his teammate. Chad passed him the ball and he made the shot, that satisfying swish of the net drowned out by the cheers. After a tiring week of practice and rehearsals, his body was pumping with adrenaline. 

“Go Troy!” He picked your voice out over the chorus of cheers. He found you at the edge of the bleachers towards the top and flashed you a smile before taking off again. Gabriella helped you hold up your #14 sign and Kelsi came back from concessions with the popcorn. You and Kelsi weren’t usually ones for sports, but ever since you’d started coming to games you’ve all had a blast. The buzzer sounded. 

“That ends the third quarter here at Wildcat Stadium,” The announcer’s voice boomed. “Hornets 40, Wildcats 58.” 

The fans hollered and you caught Troy’s eye again, giving him a grin that lit up the gym. He pressed his lips to his fingers and pretended to toss the air-kiss like a basketball. You pretended to catch it, accidentally stepping in the strap of the purse behind you.

There was a wave of gasps from the crowd and both teams stopped to see what the commotion was. Troy looked up to see a horrified Gabriella and an empty space where you had been standing. 

“Y/N!” He yelled, running across the court to where a group of people had gathered, including the school nurse. 

“Give her some space! Back up!”

“Let me through! That’s my girlfriend!” Troy pushed his way to the font. You were on the floor, but you were sitting up, trying to catch your breath. 

“Is she okay?” Gabriella yelled down at him. Behind her, Maddison tossed her purse over her shoulder and vanished into the crowd. 

“I think I'm okay,” You groaned. “Just got the wind knocked out of me.” You tried to stand, but cried out when a sharp pain shot up your let.” 

“Take it easy,” Troy soothed, kneeling at your side. 

“Where does it hurt?” The nurse asked. 

“My ankle.” You moved your leg so she could examine it. 

“Looks like it might be sprained.” She sighed. “Let’s get you to my office and take a closer look, okay?” 

Troy put your arm over his shoulder and helped you stand. The nurse took your other arm and gave Troy a reassuring smile. 

“I can take it from here. You go win this game, Mr. Bolton.” 

“But-”

“I’ll be fine, Troy.” You kissed his cheek. “Go get em Wildcat.” The nurse helped you limp out of the gym and Gabriella and Kelso followed close behind. 

Sharpay watched the whole scene from the very top of the stands, eyes narrowed with suspicion. She had seen Maddison pull her bag away just when Y/N fell and it definitely was not a coincidence. The little pirana was playing a dangerous game and Sharpay was not about to let her win. 

-

The show case was just a night away and your ankle still ached whenever you stepped on it, even after a week. You tried not to let it show when Ryan was teaching you the steps, but they hardly let you practice at all. Taylor was furious you were still going through with it. Mrs. Darbus was at least more than willing to let you rehearse during homeroom. 

“And, one two three, one two three,” Ryan tried not to sound irritated when Troy took another wrong step. 

“Sorry.” He grimaced. Ryan just took a deep breath. 

“Just start from ‘wherever we go next’.” He instructed and you tried to remember the steps. “And one two three and lift-” Troy lifted you up and spun the way Ryan showed him. When he set you back down, you stepped wrong. 

“Ow!” You cried, stumbling backwards into the piano. 

“That’s it. You can’t do this anymore.” Taylor said sternly. “You’re going to hurt yourself even more and then you won’t be able to dance at all.” 

“I can do this. It already feels better.” You insisted and she scowled. Troy took your hands in his, the sweetness in those perfect blue eyes just making you feel even more guilty. 

“We can figure something else out.” He felt awful for even pushing you this far. Tomorrow was Valentine’s day and you’d barely had a quiet moment, let alone long enough to destress. “How about we just call it a day? We can go to a movie tonight and just hang out. Just you and me.” You shook your head. 

“I can get this. I just need a second.” You felt ridiculous storming out with crutches, but it was what you had. Troy moved to follow, but Gabriella shook her head. 

“Just give her a minute.” 

You didn’t notice the troop of girls following you to your locker and you were too frustrated to care. You could get this right. Troy had worked too hard with after practice rehearsals and countless hours going over the music with you for you to mess all of it up now. Sometimes you couldn’t help but think he was too good for you. 

You opened your locker and watched dozens of paper Valentine’s float to the floor. At first, you thought this was a sweet gesture from your boyfriend. Then you actually read them. Talentless Freak. Get off the stage. East High’s Resident Loser. 

“Looks like Y/N has an admirer.” Madison sneered and her group of underclassmen terrors erupted with cackles, drawing more people out of Darbus’ room. You set your crutches to the side and picked up one note in particular. Troy’s Tragic Charity Case.

Your heart dropped and the laughing just got louder. You couldn’t even run. You had to stand there and listen, looking at the cruel smirk on Madison’s face as the words echoed in your head over and over again. Charity Case. 

“Y/N- oh my god,” Gabriella exclaimed, looking at the mess of fake Valentines. “Let’s get out of here. Taylor.” 

“I’ll drive you home.” Taylor picked up your crutches and the two practically guarded you as you made your way down the hall. 

By the time Troy got out into the hallway, most of the girls were gone, leaving only the notes scattered across the floor. He didn’t find you until you were already at Taylor’s car. 

“Wait!” He yelled before you closed the door. “Where are you going?”

“I’m going home.” You sighed, brushing away a fallen tear. “Everyone is right. I can’t do this. Even if my ankle was fine, I couldn’t pull off something like this.” 

“What are you talking about?” 

“I’m sure you can find a better partner, Troy. There are girls that would kill to perform with you.” Or sprain a few ankles. 

“Kelsi wrote that song for us.” If he kept looking at you like that, you’d break completely. 

“I’m sorry Troy.” You shut the door and Taylor drove off. Gabriella put a comforting hand on your shoulder. You couldn’t bear to look back. 

“It appears that I’ve lost three students.” Mrs. Darbus sighed, waiting for him back at the doors. “Care to explain?” Troy ran his fingers through his hair. 

“She’s not going to perform and I can’t do it without her.” He couldn’t imagine singing something so personal, so full of emotion, with anyone but the girl that he loved. Mr.s Darbus just gave him a knowing smile. 

“I suggest talking to her, Mr. Bolton. Show her the truth.” He opened his mouth, but she stopped him with a wave of her hand. “You’ll know what to do.” Her expression changed. “Now, I'm afraid that there’s quite a mess in the hallway I must take care of. As well as a few girls to track down.” She bowed her head and went inside. 

Troy’s head was spinning. He needed to fix this. After a few ideas came to mind, he pulled out his phone. Mrs. Darbus was right. He knew what to do. Hopefully. 

-

A light knock on the door pulled you from your sanctuary of blankets. Your mom slowly opened your bedroom door with a small smile. When she heard what happened, she had no problem calling you out for the rest of the day. 

“Why don’t you come down for some dinner, sweetie?”

“I’m not really hungry.” You pulled a loose string from your quilt.

“I really think you should come downstairs.” Her smile grew suspiciously and she left the door open a crack.

Eventually, your curiosity got the better of you and you tossed your blankets aside. The lights in the kitchen were off and the doors to the patio were open. You stepped outside and gasped. The twinkling lights looked like stars and little notes hung from the trees. In the middle of it all stood Troy and a candle lit dinner, complete with a bouquet of chocolate covered strawberries. 

“Glad you could make it.” Troy beamed, motioning for you to sit down. You did and he passed you a basket of breadsticks. “Don’t worry, my mom helped me cook.”

“Troy, this is…” You couldn't even find the right words. You started to read some of the notes. Deserves a standing ovation. Her recital rocked the house. She’s the best friend I could ask for. 

“When I saw what those girls wrote, I wanted to show you what East High really thinks of you.” Troy explained, placing a hand on top of yours. “Sharpay even wrote one.” You both laughed when you read it. She’s one of the few people I can bare sharing the stage with. You blew out a breath. 

“The thing is, I can handle being called talentless and all of that.” You took the folded piece of paper out of your pocket. “This one just… I don’t know.” Troy gently took it from you , his hand tightening around your as he scanned those four awful words. At first, he didn’t get it. You had changed him in all the best possible ways. You made him want to be himself. You inspired him not to be scared of what everyone thought. So how could someone say you were just a charity case?

“You-” He took a deep breath, still wrapping his head around it. “You don’t actually believe this, do you?” You shrugged. 

“I mean… sometimes, I guess.” You tore off a piece of bread and rolled it between your fingers. “When it’s just the two of us, I feel like nothing else matters. But when I see you out there on the court, I can’t help but wonder… why me?”

Troy almost looked hurt. He started gathering little heart shaped pieces of paper from the tree and walked around the table. You stood as he put the notes in your hand, reading aloud as he handed each to you. 

“September 17th, 2006. The day that we met. When we got stuck painting sets, you were one of the only people to talk to me about something that wasn’t basketball. You made me feel like a regular guy.

“October 31, 2007. The night I convinced you to come with me to Chad’s Halloween party. I was a pirate and you were Elizabeth Bennet. That was the first time that you really opened up and were able to be yourself around people who weren’t just me and Gabriella.” His eyes locked with yours. “Look at the back of your necklace.”

You flipped the heart charm around and read the date engraved in the silver. 

“January 3rd, 2007.” You felt tears building. “My recietal.”

“Being on that stage with you made me see a whole different side of both of us. Our voices fit together like we weren’t meant to sing with anybody else.” He brushed a hair out of your face. “It was the moment that I realised I was in love with you.”

“I love you too, Troy.” You cried, closing the space between the two of you. He was right. It felt like you weren’t meant to kiss anyone else. When you pulled away, you were both grinning. “Do you think we can still perform? It’ll be difficult but I still want to sing.” He just grinned bigger and kissed your forehead. 

“Ryan and I already have a plan. You just have to come to rehearsal tomorrow morning.” You nodded and the two of you sat back down to finish dinner. 

-

You couldn’t remember the last time you were this nervous. You and Troy were learning and rehearsing with the system all day and the number would hopefully be unforgettable. But there was so much that could go wrong and you were absolutely terrified. You nearly jumped out of your skin when Sharpay appeared behind you. 

“You don’t have to worry about Madison. She has enough detention to keep her from anymore plotting. And I had no problem reminding her who was in charge of any and all sabotages.” She smirked, eyes scanning your outfit. “Good choice.” And that was probably the closest thing to approval from Sharpay Evans that you would ever get. 

Ryan came to make sure everything was secure and connected, reminding you when you needed to stand and be ready. He assured you everything would be fine. 

“Looks like you’re on.” He gave you an encouraging thumbs up. You took a deep breath and used your crutches to walk across the stage. The audience murmured as you sat on the swing that hung from the ceiling. The lights were bright enough that you couldn’t see Troy stage. You gripped the necklace around your neck for courage. There was no backing out now. 

“Take my hand. Take a breath. Hold me close and take one step.” As you sang, Troy slowly made his way onto the stage. His smile made your nerves disappear. “Keep your eyes locked on mine and let the music be your guide.” With every word, Troy walked closer to the swing. His eyes asked if you were ready. You gave him a small nod and he swept you up in his arms as you both sang the chorus. 

“It’s like catching lightning, the chances of finding someone like you.” The choreography was a stunning mix of lifts and spinning in Troy’s arms, your feet never even touching the floor. “It’s one in a million, the chances of feeling the way we do.”

Troy lifted you up one more time and set you down gently before beginning the next verse. 

“Take my hand, I’ll take the lead. And every turn, will be safe with me.” He twirled you slightly and you fell back for him to catch you, kicking your leg out so your skirt flared. “Don’t be afraid, afraid to fall.” His strong arms wrapped around you and he swung you around. “You know I’ll catch you through it all.” He let go as you were pulled up into the air. The audience gasped. You had forgotten they were there. “And you can’t keep us apart.”

“Even a thousand miles can’t keep us apart.” He almost forgot the words as the light practically made your white dress glow against your skin. Your necklace sparkled. As cliche as it sounded, you looked like an angel. 

His wires lifted him up to meet you. 

“Cause my heart is where you are.” And so the floating waltz began. “It’s like catching lightning, the chances of finding someone like you. It’s on in a million, the chances of feeling the way we do.” You felt like you were dancing on clouds. Troy couldn’t stop beaming. 

“And with every step together, we just keep on getting better.”

For the bridge, the wires had you circling each other on opposite sides of the stage, slowly getting closer. 

“Oh, no mountain’s too high and no ocean’s too wide. Cause together or not, our dance won’t stop. Let it rain, let it pour, what we have is worth fighting for.” You finally came back together. “You know I believe that we were meant to be.” With Troy holding you, you leaned back into another tumbling spin in the air. 

The final chorus slowly brought you down to the floor, you sitting back down on the swing. 

“So can I have this dance?” Troy stood in front of you, bowing to kiss your hand as if he was really asking. 

“Can I have this dance?”

-

General Tag: @rae-gar-targaryen; @takemepedropascal; @childhood-imagination;  @mylovegoesto;

[starrywhump]

Could you continue the story about hero and villain being captured by the anti super power organization? I really enjoyed and i want more of it

I was actually about to post this story when I got this ask, so perfect timing!  I hope y’all enjoy this next part.  It is a bit long and it’s late so I’m not proofreading super well so I apologize for any typos.  Thanks for reading!

TW: Drugging

Part 1 

“Unit 13, log it as a class B, regular holding will be sufficient,”

“What are you talking about!?” The Hero yelled at the man beside them.

They were restrained on a cold metal table, strapped down with leather at their ankles, wrists, chest, and neck. Various people in lab coats milled around the room around them, ignoring them completely. It was infuriating, even the Villain talked back to them. 

The man next to them seemed to be in charge, they calmly spoke orders to the others.

“Take a blood sample to be sure, we don’t want any surprises,” the man in charge called across the room.

The Hero couldn’t move their head more than a few inches, so they could only see the people right next to them. They felt much too vulnerable locked down without any use of their powers.

If this was a normal situation the Hero would just break out of the ties around them, but there was something in the air that made the Hero feel weak. It was like someone had put gauze between the Hero and their powers. They were still there, they could see them faintly, but they couldn’t get to them.

The Hero’s powers weren’t something that was always with them, but it was always there for them to access. It was a part of them but now it was blocked off. The Hero wasn’t helpless without them, they still knew how to fight. But that added strength was something they couldn’t count on anymore. 

Usually, when they used their powers their regular abilities became enhanced, they were stronger, faster, more agile. If they really focused they could harden their skin, creating their very own armor.

They were almost unstoppable until they met the Villain no one had been a match for them. Now this place easily neutralized them. It was unnerving.

Footsteps by the Hero’s left side broke them out of their thoughts. A woman stood over them with a needle, attached with tubing to a small vial.

“Hey! Get away from me!” The Hero jerked in their binds.

“Sedate it for transport once you’re done with that,” the man in charge didn’t even look up, they were focused on writing something on the clipboard they held.

“Will do,” the woman nodded. She pinched up the skin on the Hero’s inner elbow, inserting the needle.

The Hero paused their struggling as they watched the vial fill up with their blood. The woman pulled the vial from the tube, securing the lid and handing it over to the Hero the man on the other side. She then pulled the needle out of the Hero’s arm, placing a bandaid there to stop any bleeding.

It was all very confusing. They hadn’t done anything to hurt them, not since the guards had shocked them to get them out of their cell. No one had talked to them, or even looked them in the eye, it was like they were some inanimate object to be observed.

The woman was looming over him again, this time holding a syringe filled with a white liquid.

“Hey! Stop! What is that? Get away from me! Didn’t you hear me I said GET AWAY!” The Hero yelled as the woman pushed their head to the side, injecting whatever was in the syringe into their neck.

“What was that! Hey, listen to me what was that!” The Hero yelled as the woman removed the syringe.

“Ok, you can move it back to holding,” with that the man walked out, followed shortly after by the woman.

The Hero felt a wave of cold, numbness sweep through them.

The guards from before appeared at the Hero’s sides, they began to undo their restraints.

As soon as their wrist was free the Hero tried to punch up at the nearest guard. All they could do was move it about an inch off the table before it fell back down. 

The guards looked at each other and laughed.

The Hero’s brain felt like putty, unable to fully understand what was going on.

An overwhelming sense of fear overtook them. They suddenly missed the cold indifference of the lab coats. It was better than the cruel hunger that shone in the eyes of the guards above them.

The Hero was pulled up off the table, and set on their feet. They blinked sluggishly, the room spun around them.

Invasive hands held them up and began to push them forward.

“Stop-” the Hero slurred.

The guards ignored them.

The Hero’s eyes fluttered open and closed. Time seemed to jump forward every time they blinked.

It felt like no time had passed before one of the guards was unlocking the bar door to their cell. 

The Hero was shoved unceremoniously into their cell, they stumbled and tripped over their own feet, falling to the ground.

They tried to get their hands under them, to push back up to a standing, or at least sitting position. Before they could a kick from one of the guards stomped down on their back. They laughed as the Hero’s face slammed into the concrete floor.

********

The Villain closed their eyes, silently thinking, plotting. Since they first got here they never yelled or screamed, they simply sat and thought, waiting for the right moment or opportunity to escape and kill everyone in this godforsaken place.

It was a bit hard to think when you have to listen to two idiots beating the shit out of your nemesis next door. While they were gone it had been a few hours of blissful peace, but as soon as the Hero was dragged back into their cell that was over. 

From the way they had walked in the Villain could tell the Hero had been drugged, they were being too complacent not to be.

If the Hero had just been left to lay quietly in a drug-induced stupa everything would have been fine.

But of course, the assholes who run this place wouldn’t be happy with just kidnapping and drugging people.

They had to have their fun messing with the powerful beings rendered powerless. It probably was an ego thing, these grunt workers, clearly lower in the chain of command than the scientists around here, would get a rush from beating up Heros.

“Get ‘ff...me,” a slurred complaint from the Hero next door distracted the Villain momentarily.

The Villain couldn’t see what was going on due to a concrete wall between their cells. But they could clearly hear fists connecting with a body. Occasionally this was followed by the Hero’s pitiful attempts to fight back, usually entailing a threat spoken in a weak voice, almost too quiet to hear. It didn’t exactly inspire fear.

“ st-” the Hero cut themselves off with a groan of pain.

The Villain rolled their eyes, this was getting really boring. They rolled off their cot and walked over to the front of their cell. They grabbed the bars as looked over to the Hero’s cell, they could only see a small sliver of it.

“Are you quite finished in there?” The Villain spoke loud enough to be heard in the Hero’s cell. 

The sounds of the fighting stopped.

“Why do you care?” One of the guards exited the Hero’s cell to stand outside the bars of the Villain’s.

“Because it's loud. It’s getting on my nerves.”

“And why would I care about what you want?” The guard sneered.

“I don’t care what you care about. Just try to finish proving your machoness by beating up someone who can’t fight back, and go away so I can have some peace,” The Villain deadpanned, gazing at the guard with a bored look.

The guard reddened, whether with anger or embarrassment it was unclear.

They reached through the bars grabbing the Villain’s shirt and jerked them forward against the bars, “You think you’re so fucking funny!”

The Villain’s expression didn’t change, they left their hands hanging limply at their sides. Their lack of a reaction seemed to only make the guard angrier.

“Well if it’s such a problem for you, you can deal with it,” the guard growled.

They released the Villain, moving to unlock their cell. Before the Villain could make a move the guard grabbed the Villain by their shirt, pulling them out into the hall.

The Villain scowled, trying to stay upright as the guard moved and shoved them into the Hero’s cell.

Looking down they saw the Hero laying on their side. There was a small puddle of blood next to their face, coming from their nose and a few cuts littered around their face. They had their arms up around their head, hands on the back of their neck, trying to shield themselves.

The Villain turned back to the guard in the hall, “what do you expect me to do with that?” they gestured at the Hero, “I mean I would be happy to kill them for you but do you really need my help to do that?” The Villain leaned back against the wall, crossing their arms.

“Clean them up,” The guard in the hall motioned to his partner. The partner walked out of the cell using keys to open a solid gray door between all the bars. They brought out a bucket, bringing it to the Hero’s cell and dropping it inside.

Water sloshed out onto the floor. Next to the bucket, the guard dropped a few rags.

“Boss doesn’t like blood.”

The Vilain looked down at the bucket and laughed, “Yeah, no. Sorry, I’m not a nurse. You made the mess clean it up yourself.”

The guard ignored them, sliding the bar door into place, “Clean them and the floors. If when I get back it’s not clean, I will kill you. And don’t kill them, boss doesn’t like it when the new ones die, if they end up dead so are you.”

With that the guards walked away, leaving the Villain alone with the Hero.

The Villain rolled their eyes.

Fucking hell.

“Get up,” the Villain stayed where they were against the wall, yelling over to the Hero.

The Hero didn’t move.

The Villain pushed off the wall, trudging reluctantly to the Hero’s side. There was no fun in being around the Hero if they couldn’t try to kill them.

The Villain nudged the Hero’s leg with their foot. 

They curled in on themselves more, pulling their arms around their head.

“Move, I need to clean underneath you,” The Villain spoke in an annoyed monotone. 

“If... ‘f your gon-gonna kill me... get on ‘th it,” The Hero’s speech was slurred and broken. Whatever drugs they were on weren’t enough to completely knock them out, but they were very close. 

“I really wish I could. Really I do, but killing you will have to wait. Now move or I’m going to kick you,”

The Hero looked confused.

They weren’t the brightest in the first place but these drugs make them idiotic.

The Villain rolled their eyes for the umpteenth time.

“Well, I told you,” the Villain aimed a kick at the Hero’s side. It was a relatively soft blow, but the Hero yelped loudly.

“Move. I don’t wanna get my hands dirty dragging you, you’re all bloody.”

The Hero pushed their hands against the floor, trying to pick themselves up off the ground. They got a few inches off the ground before one of their arms gave out. The other slipped on the blood-slick concrete. The Hero fell on their face, groaning in pain.

“Jesus Christ fine,” the Villain stepped over the Hero, moving above their head to grab their under their arms.  The Hero jumped at their touch but didn’t have the strength to fight them, even if they wanted to.

The Villain dragged the Hero over to the wall, resting them against it. 

A pool of blood had collected beside the Hero from their nose. The Villain took one of the rags and began to sop up the puddle.

They glanced back over to the Hero, “Stop bleeding so much, I don’t want another puddle to clean up.”

The Villain chucked the blood-soaked rag next to the bucket. There wasn’t that much blood on the ground, and it cleaned up pretty easily. What the Villain didn’t want to do was clean up their drugged up nemesis over there, but they didn’t want to die more, so they grabbed another rag. They dipped the rag in the water, ringing it out before moving over to the Hero.

There wasn’t too much blood on the Hero’s shirt, most of it had run onto the floor.  

The Villain ran the cloth over the Hero’s chin, stopping the latest wave of red from dripping down onto their chest. 

The Hero looked... afraid. An emotion the Villain hadn’t seen on the Hero before. At least not naturally. 

Perhaps the drugs stripped away the Hero’s ability to hide their true feelings, or maybe the vulnerability of their current state was getting to them.

The Villain’s mouth twitched with a small smile. The Hero would have never let the Villain get this close usually, because they knew what the Villain could do when they got close to someone.

Not in this place, where their powers were blocked, but out in the real world, the Villain could inflict pain with just a touch.

It worked from far away on the weaker-minded part of the population, but up close, touching, it was easy for the Villain’s power to cause its victim immense pain.  

Depending on what the Villain wanted and how hard they were focusing they could make the Hero relive their most painful memories, access their deepest insecurities and worries, or they could simply light every nerve in the Hero’s body up with pain.

The Hero must logically know that the Villain can’t do that here, but the memory must still be scaring them.

The Hero had never been vulnerable before they met the Villain. No one had been able to stand a chance against them with their enhanced abilities. 

But the Villain didn’t fight physically, or at least they didn’t need to. The Villain was actually quite skilled at martial arts but often used their powers instead to destroy their opponent without lifting a finger. 

“Scared?” The Villain smirked, keeping their hand on the Hero’s chin.

The Hero blinked for a moment before they seemed to register the question.

“no..’m not,” the Hero slurred, tripping over their words. They sluggishly moved their arms up to push at the Villain’s hand holding their face. 

“No, no, leave it. Wouldn’t want me to slip and...” the Villain pushed on the Hero’s broken nose, eliciting a curse from the Hero.

“I can’t kill you but there is a large space between not killing you and treating you nicely. If I were you I wouldn’t give me a reason to explore that space,” The Villain released the Hero’s chin with a jerk to the side.

The Hero looked at the Villain, most likely tried to glare at them, but their face was puffy from bruises and their eyes were unfocused from the sedative, so it didn’t have the intended threatening air.

The Villain pushed their hand into the Hero’s hair, it was ruffled from the guards' onslaught. Also damp, with blood or sweat the Villain didn’t know. They gripped the Hero’s hair to push their head back against the wall. With the other hand, they wiped at the blood on the Hero’s face.  

Their nose was bleeding heavily, but small streams of blood also trickled from the cuts on their left eyebrow and the middle of their forehead. 

The Hero breathed heavily, their eyes were shifted between a glassy confused look and one of anger and fear.  They were clearly fighting hard against what the guards had given them, but it didn’t seem to be doing much. They could barely move their limbs, the Villain would have loved this back on the outside. It seemed a waste to only be able to experience it here.

“Alright,” the Villain moved the rag off the Hero’s face, “all done,” They dropped the rag and returned their hand to the Hero’s cheek.

The Hero flinched. 

The Villain traversed the Hero’s face with their hand. Inspecting their enemy at such in such close quarters was fascinating.

The two stared at each other. Silently trying to figure out how their relationship would operate in this new situation.  

The Villain finally pulled away, giving the Hero’s hair a playful tug before they released their grip.  

The Hero breathed a sigh of relief as the Villain stepped away.

The Villain walked to the other side of the Hero’s cell and sat down opposite them. They watched as the Hero slowly succumbed to the drugs, falling to their side. The Hero’s breathing deepened and evened out signifying they had fallen unconscious. 

Still, the Villain watched. 

[catgrump]

Hello! I love your work, I was wondering if you wanted to write Leobuki with the prompt “I knew this was a bad idea”

Thank you so much!

How have I never thought of this ship before?

Let’s go let’s go!!! Chaotic Punk Rockers!

Non Despair AU where these two are adults auditioning for a talent search/talent competition! Enjoy 💛

🌻🌻🌻

“I knew this was a bad idea I knew this was a bad idea,” Leon was muttering the phrase over and over again as he clutched the neck of his guitar that sat across his lap and tapped his foot on the tile floor incessantly

And then he heard the clanging of metal on metal beside him. He looked to his right and saw a girl sitting down in a (rather sick) colorfully punk outfit with matching hair holding a keytar. The chains on her belt must’ve made the noise as she sat down.

She was looking at him with a soft, somewhat eerie smile.

“Can I help you?” Leon asked, unsure if he wanted an answer

“Ibuki sensed distress!”

Her voice rang out like the welcome bell over a shop door. He’s been in the presence of this girl for like five seconds and he’s already... oddly intrigued. “Is that you?” Leon asked, “Ibuki?”

“Yessir; you’re a good guesser.” Her smile hasn’t left her face. The contrast of her black lipstick and white teeth was... endearing?

Well, Leon would be lying if he said he didn’t think Ibuki looked cool as hell. Pink and blue and white streaks were scattered in organized chaos throughout her long black hair; she was covered in studded, spiked, and chained accessories; her makeup was intense, yet subtle; and she had a chain of piercings trailing under her lip.

Leon’s tongue pressed against the backing of his own labret piercing, thinking about how he doesn’t think he could handle more than one there. She must be hardcore.

“So what’s up?” Ibuki asked with a pep in her pipes, then gasping, quickly straightening her posture, and answering her own question with another question, “Are you nervous about the audition??”

“Heh, you’re a pretty good guesser, too,” Leon nervously tried to flirt; why did he think THAT was a good idea when he’s already on edge?

“Do you wanna know Ibuki’s advice?”

His foot tapping has transitioned to leg bouncing as he replied, “Sure.”

“It’s not an audition at all!”

“Hah, what?”

“If you tell your brain it isn’t an audition, and you’re just playing at home like you would normally, or you’re playing for a crowd— whichever is easier for you; I know Ibuki prefers a crowd— nerves just POOF! Disappear!”

“Easier said than done,” Leon said, trying to keep his cool. She’s cute and giving him attention; he doesn’t want to pass up an opportunity for a potential phone number.

But his brain is having trouble keeping up this facade. Normally if he’s actively trying to pick someone up, he can focus all his attention on trying to impress the person he’s talking to, but the more he talks with Ibuki while trying to hold his head up high, the more he feels like he’s going to pass out. Especially because, “I’ve never actually performed for a crowd before.”

“Wooooaaahhh that’s cuckoo bananas!” Her eyes almost had actual stars in them, “You must have some serious balls to make your first performance a talent competition!”

“Hah, I guess so—“

“But I totally get why you’re nervous! You’re super duper totally allowed to be. Ibuki was in her first talent competition when she was ten, and she was nervous as all hell.”

“How long ago was that?— if you don’t mind me asking,” Leon looked at Ibuki and thought she had to be at least his age

“A little over a decade!”

She is his age. And she’s been performing since she was in grade school.

Leon only recently discovered he could try to make a career in music, and one of his insecurities is feeling like he has to catch up to everyone else.

Suddenly, a stage manager with a clipboard appeared from behind the big push-bar doors, “Number 37?”

“Oh, that’s me,” Leon practically coughed out

“You’re on deck,” the stage manager added before going back inside

“How are you feeling?” Ibuki asked, leaning in

“If I’m being honest; lightheaded,” Leon tried to play it off as a joke, even though it was the truth.

“Let me get you some water!” Ibuki declared, springing up from the bench and swinging her keytar across her back before darting off

“Ibuki, wait—“

But it was too late. She was already bouncing down the hall, determined to reach her destination.

“Dammit,” Leon muttered, keeling his head forward

Talking with her was a nice distraction. Now, all he can think about is that he’s up next to audition.

By the time the stage manager came back to bring Leon into the audition space, Ibuki hadn’t returned.

Leon tried not to worry too much, thinking it would distract him in a bad way.

But he couldn’t help but think of Ibuki when he approached the microphone and said, “Hi, my name’s Leon Kuwata, and this is an original piece called ‘Under the Bleachers’,” and imagined himself alone in his apartment as he played the chords and sang.

And he got to finish the entire song. He was expecting to get cut off, but he sang the whole thing.

He was brought back to reality when one of the people on the panel who were watching started asking him about the piece, “When did you write that?”

Leon talked about how he drafted it in high school— it was originally a poem he wrote for a class assignment— and reworked it into music after going through a breakup.

The panel all at least seemed interested in his story, too, “Well, thank you for sharing, Leon,” one person said, “We’ll be in touch.”

Leon thanked the panel members and left with a smile on his face.

When he walked back into the hallway, there was Ibuki, sitting on the edge of the bench, holding a bottle of water whose condensation was dripping onto her ripped tights. She stuck to her word.

“You were so good, Leon!” She said with a grin, bouncing as she sat, the water in the bottle jostling inside.

“You could hear?” Leon asked, feeling heat creep to his face as he heard her say his name.

“Yeah! I came back and saw you were gone, so I pressed my ear to to door to snoop,” she laughed, “We have totally different styles, but I’d love to jam sometime! It’s fun to get new flavors in every now and again.”

“You would?”

“Abso-tively!” She beamed, then continued, “It’s like Absolutely and Positively had an affair and made a baby.”

Leon laughed, unsure what to make of her. She’s odd, and unapologetic about it. She’s confident enough to have been performing for over ten years. She’s honest and upbeat.

He definitely has a crush.

But would someone as cool as Ibuki want to take a chance on some shmuck like Leon?

She at least seems like she wants to be friends, and Leon would be happy with that.

“If we’re gonna jam sometime, then,” Leon stepped a bit closer and took his phone out of his pocket, “How about I get your number?”

“Sure!” Ibuki was still smiling, and caught Leon off-guard when she pulled her phone out from the waistband of her tights.

They swapped phones and exchanged numbers. Leon paused typing his in to look at her, bouncing her head rhythmically to the tapping of her thumbs on his phone’s screen.

She’s cute. She’s cute and she’s cool and she’s also a musician and Leon can’t believe he was lucky enough to meet her.

Even if he doesn’t get in the show, one good thing came out of today.

When she handed him his phone back, he read the full name of that person— the one definite good thing to come from today— illuminated on the screen: “Ibuki 🤪🖤🎸 Mioda”

If you enjoy my work, you can buy me a Ko-Fi 💛 Fics will always be free; this is just an additional way to support me!

[thatfanficstuff]

Nightingale’s Song - 12

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x OC

Warnings: um...mentions of blood and angst

***

Anna sighed as her and Steve entered the lab. He refused to take her word for it that everything was fine. He wanted an x-ray so he’d dragged her off to Banner. It appeared the scientists were just finishing up the batch of sedatives they needed for the mission.

“Bruce, we need an x-ray,” Steve announced, sounding every bit the disgruntled super soldier he was. He stood with his arms crossed over his chest still annoyed with her for how she’d gone about repairing the damage.

He rushed over. “What happened?”

Tony snorted. “I would guess she failed the test.”

“Guess again, Iron Man,” she said over her shoulder as she followed Banner out the door to head to the infirmary.

“Raven broke Anna’s arm,” Steve said as they moved down the hall in answer to Bruce’s earlier question.

Anna hopped up on the table she’d already spent too much time on. “Arm’s fine. Steve lacks faith in my remarkable healing abilities.”

Bruce hummed in acknowledgement. “Let’s see it.”

Anna held out her arm and Bruce manipulated the limb while watching her for any signs of distress. “Feels fine, Doc.”

“Well, let’s take a look at it.” He ran a scanner over the arm until an image appeared on the large screen beside them. Bruce studied it for a second before looking at Steve. “If I didn’t know you as well as I do, I would say you were lying about the break. There’s no sign of it here. Not even a shadow.”

Anna hopped off the table and patted Steve’s chest. “See Steve. All good. Now, I need clothes I can fight in.”

Steve’s sigh was one of utter defeat and Anna couldn’t stop the small smile that came to her face.

***

In the end, Loki conjured up an outfit for her to wear. It was incredibly comfortable. Natasha then fitted her with a pair of holsters and two pistols along with a couple of knives. Once she was outfitted, Anna found Steve and turned in a circle. “Well, what do you think, boss?”

His lips twitched as he fought a smile. He tapped his chin as if deep in thought. “There’s something missing.”

Anna glanced down in surprise. She thought they’d covered everything. When she looked up to say as much, Steve was undoing the clasp of the chain he was wearing. As he pulled it from his shirt, light caught the stones on the ring that hung from it. Anna gasped before covering her mouth with a trembling hand. It couldn’t be.

“Is that…” she trailed off, not daring to hope he still had it after all this time.

He tilted his head and offered her a crooked smile. “Haven’t taken it off in seventy years. I never thought I’d be able to keep my promise to bring it back to you.”

Anna held up the chain and let the ring fall into her open palm. Tears blurred her vision as she looked at it for the first time in so long. She wanted nothing more than to slip back onto her finger where it belonged, but now wasn’t the time. She didn’t want to risk losing it in some dark corner of a Hydra base. Instead, she put it back onto the chain and clasped it around her own neck before tucking the ring into the collar of her shirt.

She lunged forward, causing Steve to grunt in surprise as she wrapped her arms around him. He was quick to return the gesture. “Thank you, Steve.”

“You’re welcome, Anna. Now, let me keep my other promise to bring Bucky back to you. It’s overdue.”

***

The Quinjet set down a mile away from the facility. It would impede a quick getaway but made it less likely they’d be spotted going in.

Everyone gathered around Steve just outside the jet. “All right, Nat will set the charges. Tony, take point and clear the hallway. Then we split up. Stay in pairs or threes. Lethal actions against the three targets only if necessary. Isolde will take point on the girl. Clint and Raven focus on the boy. Anna and I have Bucky. Call for backup when needed. Stay on comms. Any questions?”

“If any of you happen to find a blond doctor that wears glasses and an obnoxious smirk, let me know. We need to have a little talk,” Anna added. Her tormenter should be long dead, but just like her, he never seemed to age. Bastard.

They all just looked at her for a moment before Steve spoke up. “You heard the lady. Let’s go.”

As they neared the facility, it became apparent that they had somehow managed to go undetected. They quietly took out guards while doing their best to avoid the cameras. Anna licked her lips as she watched the assassin blow the door. There was a moment of stillness, of anticipation, after the explosion and then they charged forward in a flood of light and noise.

Anna and Steve were the last to enter and she wasn’t sure if he wanted to take up the rear or if he was still trying to protect her. Perhaps a combination of both. Though he did step back and let her take the lead as she steered them through the warren of hallways. They paused only to take out the occasional Hydra agent or place an explosive on the wall so they could blow it when they evacuated.

Anna steered them true and they quickly found the cryo chamber where they kept Bucky. It was empty. Of course, it was. Nothing could be that simple. Tension coiled in her belly. What if he wasn’t here at all? What if he was on assignment somewhere?

A heavy hand fell on her shoulder, bringing her back to the present. “We’ll find him.”

She simply nodded her head, not knowing what else to say.

“We’ve got eyes on Winter,” Natasha’s voice suddenly came over the comms. “Hallway 3B. He dodged the tranq shots. Could use a little help here.”

Anna and Steve hurried through the halls, doubling back twice when they realized they’d taken a wrong turn. Finally, they rounded a corner and found Natasha, Clint and Raven fighting Bucky. It was always harder to take someone down when you were trying not to kill them.

Steve sucked in a breath as he saw his best friend. “Buck,” he whispered, Anna barely hearing the word he said so softly. He rushed forward to join the fray but Anna hesitated. Images flashed through her brain of the last time she’d seen him. The cool blade biting into her flesh. The pool of blood she’d awakened in. And the pain. God, the pain.

“Nightingale!”

Steve’s yell brought her back to the present and she realized it probably wasn’t the first time he’d called for her. He grappled with Bucky. Natasha was on the floor struggling to catch her breath with Raven knelt beside her. Clint was trying to get a good shot from his bow without hitting Steve who kept putting himself between his best friend and the archer.

“Hey, Soldier,” Anna called as she moved forward. She placed a hand on Clint’s shoulder and pulled him back. “I got this,” she told him. He stepped back but maintained his stance. She didn’t blame him. She swallowed past the lump in her throat. Breathed through her anxiety. “Asset.” She hated herself even as she called him that. That name that made him a faceless thing. A tool to be used.

Bucky’s gaze shot to her before focusing back on Steve. He wasn’t going to take orders from her. He probably didn’t even remember her healing him.

She sucked in a breath. She only needed his attention long enough to sedate him. So, she sang. “Stars shining bright above you. Night breezes seem to whisper I love you. Birds singing in the sycamore tree. Dream a little dream of me.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Natasha mumbled.

But then they all noticed Bucky shake his head as he tried to stay focused. To keep fighting.

“I don’t know what you’re doing, but keep doing it,” Clint said.

“Say nightie-night and kiss me. Hold me tight and tell me you’ll miss me. While I’m alone and blue as can be. Dream a little dream of me,” she continued. Tears trailed down her face.

Bucky turned to face her, his fight forgotten. His face was contorted in confusion. Anna smiled. “Hey, Bucky.”

“Who the hell is Bucky?”

God, that hurt. But before she could even think of a response, his eyes rolled back in his head. Steve caught him before he hit the ground and draped him across his shoulders. “Let’s go. Everyone else is already at the jet.”

Natasha took the lead and the Bartons brought up the rear. They hurried toward the exit. “So, was that a music tames savage beast kind of thing or what?” Clint asked as he fell into step with her. He kept his voice low so he wouldn’t distract the others.

Anna glanced at him. “Something like that. It was our song. It was how I got his memory back the first time. I figured it was worth a shot.”

Clint smiled and looked at his wife before turning his attention back to Anna. “He must really love you if that cuts through all the shit they filled his head with.”

Anna could only hope that love would be enough to bring him back to her.  

[withthingsunreal]

hey guys

did y’all know there’s a limit to how many links you can have in a post

adventure time masterpost part one

♥=my favourites Ω=significant plot (though sometimes this is not immediately obvious) ♪=a song happens ♫=a personal fave song happens ¿=just don’t try to think about it too hard okay

SEASON SIX

Ω 6x01/6x02 - Wake Up/Escape from the Citadel [WATCH] - Finn and Jake need to get to the Citadel, and Prismo agrees to help. But the Lich beats them to it, and it seems he's got some plans of his own.

♥ 6x03- James II [WATCH] - An excess of James.

6x04- The Tower [WATCH] [alt]- Finn's missing his arm, so he decides to build a tower into space so he can punch his dad and steal HIS arm instead. Solid plan, right?

¿ 6x05 - Sad Face [WATCH] - A circus, and a clown.

♪ 6x06 - Breezy [WATCH] - Finn's flower isn't doing so well, and Finn himself isn't feeling anything, but his new bee friend Breezy wants to help. Stay tuned for spook (me, that's me) starting a petition to retitle this show 'what the hell did I just watch.'

¿ 6x07 - Food Chain [WATCH] - Finn and Jake learn about the food chain by, um, living it.

6x08- Furniture & Meat [WATCH] - Mo' treasure, mo' problems.

6x09 - The Prince Who Wanted Everything [WATCH] - LSPrincess has a story to share with the Ice King, and LSPrince has a lesson to learn from Fionna the Human.

6x10 - Something Big [WATCH] - Something something Maja something Ancient Psychic Tandem War Elephant something something feelings?? Listen I don't know what I'm watching anymore ok

♪ 6x11 - Little Brother [WATCH] - Shelby has an accident, ends up with a little brother, and turns to Jake for brotherly advice. Well, giving Finn a sword worked out pretty well...

6x12 - Ocarina [WATCH] - Kim Kil Whan buys the treehouse and tries to teach Jake a lesson about responsibility. It goes suuuper well.

6x13 - Thanks for the Crabapples, Giuseppe [WATCH] - Ice King and his fellow offbeats go on a wizard road trip to form their own secret society.

6x14- Princess Day [WATCH] - Breakfast Princess gets rude with LSP. Mistake! Time for her and Marceline to mess up the Breakfast Kingdom way bad.

6x15 - Nemesis [WATCH] - There's a great evil in the Candy Kingdom which must be stopped.

6x16 - Joshua and Margaret Investigations [WATCH] - Finn and Jake's parents fought monsters, too! Even when their mom was way super about-to-pop pregnant, apparently.

6x17 - Ghost Fly [WATCH] - Jake kills a fly, because flies are disgusting. But ghost flies seem to be worse. Oops?

6x18 - Everything's Jake [WATCH] - Bender searches inside himself and finds that Fry has been with him all along Jake goes on an inner journey, but like, literally. not really spiritually so much.

♥ 6x19 - Is That You? [WATCH] - Jake and Finn mourn Prismo, and then things get super bananas up in their dreamspace.

6x20 - Jake the Brick [WATCH] - Jake observes nature as he spends some time as just another brick in the wall.

6x21 - Dentist [WATCH] - Finn's tooth is in real bad shape, and he has to face facts: it is time for him to Go Dentist.

6x22 - The Cooler [WATCH] - There's a crisis in the Flame Kingdom, and FP makes the (objectively terrible??) decision to turn to PB for help.

6x23 - Pajama Wars [WATCH] - Sleepover in the Candy Kingdom! Nothing terrible is happening.

Ω 6x24 - Evergreen [WATCH] - Master Evergreen and his lizardy minion Gunther attempt to save the world.

¿Ω 6x25 - Astral Plane [WATCH] - Finn goes on an astral adventure, and sees some junk that may be relevant soon.

6x26 - Gold Stars [WATCH] - Sweet P starts school, and makes some new (terrible) friends.

6x27 - The Visitor [WATCH] - Finn follows his dream from Astral Plane and finds his least favourite massive disappointment at the end of the trail.

6x28 - The Mountain [WATCH] - It’s a Lemongrab episode. I don’t know anymore.

6x29 - Dark Purple [WATCH] - Susan Strong and some brave hyoomans on a rescue mission.

6x30 - The Diary [WATCH] - Fandom can be a consuming thing. TV finds an old diary and gets a little too into it.

6x31 - Walnuts & Rain [WATCH] - Finn and Jake get separated and go on different (weird) journeys.

6x32 - Friends Forever [WATCH] - Ice King tries to make himself some new friends. It goes terribly.

6x33 - Jermaine [WATCH] - After Jake has a shared dream with Jermaine, the boys go to visit their brother, who’s still living in their childhood home.

6x34 - Chips and Ice Cream [WATCH] - Chips, chips chips chips. Ice cream ice cream. (A travelling performer passes his curse on to Jake. It doesn’t go well.)

6x35 - Graybles 1000+ [WATCH] - Graybles, again, some more. Apparently the Candy Kingdom is still around however much further in the future, and someone’s still putting up string lights at Marceline’s. So there’s that.

6x36 - Hoots [WATCH] - The Cosmic Owl gets distracted by a mystery lady’s pretty set of tailfeathers.

6x37 - Water Park Prank [WATCH] - Finn and Jake (and the Ice King) spend the day at the water park.

6x38 - You Forgot Your Floaties [WATCH] - Magic Man, up to his usual biz, but this time he’s getting a helping hand from Betty. No way this will go horribly wrong??

6x39 - Be Sweet [WATCH] - For some inexplicable reason, Tree Trunks thinks LSP is a good choice for a babysitter. Yikes.

6x40 - Orgalorg [WATCH] - Gunther and the Gunts throw a houseparty.

6x41 - On the Lam [WATCH] - Martin finds another group of adorable creatures to try to exploit. yay.

6x42/6x43 - Hot Diggity Doom/The Comet [WATCH] - An election in the Candy Kingdom, and an impending catastrophe.

SEASON SEVEN

7x01 - Bonnie & Neddy [WATCH] - The King of Ooo continues his efforts to be the worst. PB has to help someone important to her get back to where he belongs.

7x02 - Varmints [WATCH] - Bubblegum tries to protect her pumpkin patch; Marceline lends a hand.

7x03 - Cherry Cream Soda [WATCH] - A candy citizen comes back from the dead, causing some complications for those he’d left behind.

7x04 - Mama Said [WATCH] - While out on a mission for the King of Ooo, Finn and Jake run into Billy’s ex-gf Canyon and decide to help her out instead.

7x05 - Football [WATCH] - BMO tries to do something nice for a friend. It does not go well.

7x06/7x07 - Stakes: Marceline the Vampire Queen/Everything Stays [WATCH] - Marceline has a favour to ask of PB, which results in her reflecting on the last thousand years of her life.

7x08 - Stakes: Vamps About [WATCH] - Marceline’s old nemeses are back, and she’s absolutely down to take ‘em all on again.

7x09 - Stakes: The Empress Eyes [WATCH] - Targeting the Ice King? Possibly not the greatest plan a vampire could have.

7x10 - Stakes: May I Come In [WATCH] - Jake finds his courage.

7x11 - Stakes: Take Her Back [WATCH] - Marceline’s out of commission, so it’s up to Finn and Jake to take on The Moon.

7x12 - Stakes: Checkmate [WATCH] - Four down, one to go.

♫ 7x13 - Stakes: The Dark Cloud [WATCH] - Marceline has to decide what she’s fighting for.

7x14/7x15 - The More You Moe/The Moe You Know [WATCH (watermarked)] - It's BMO's birthday, and a special guest is coming with a special mission for our lil robot buddy. yay?

7x16 - Summer Showers [WATCH] - Viola helps LSP put on a play, and Jake is super proud.

7x17 - Angel Eyes [WATCH] - BMO bribes Finn and Jake into playing cowboys and bandits.

7x18 - President Porpoise Is Missing! [WATCH] - An undersea authority figure appears to have vanished.

7x19 - Blank-Eyed Girl [WATCH] - Urban legends may or may not be baloney, and may or may not be out to get you.

7x20 - Bad Jubies [WATCH] - One heck of a storm brewing up some real nasty vibes.

7x21 - King's Ransom [WATCH] - Ice King isn't going to let anything stop him from rescuing his best bud, and Finn and Jake have got his back.

7x22 - Scamps [WATCH] - Finn rehabilitates some bad seeds.

7x23 - Crossover [WATCH] - Prismo needs Finn and Jake’s help with a junked-up timeline.

7x24 - The Hall of Egress [WATCH] - A dungeon keeps hitting the reset button every time Finn tries to exit.

7x25 - Flute Spell [WATCH] - Does Finn have a new girl in his life, or is he working on a different sort of magic?

7x26 - The Thin Yellow Line [WATCH] - It Is Okay To Be You, ft. The Banana Guards

7x27 - Broke His Crown [WATCH] - Bonnie and Marcie try to have a dinner date with the IK, but his crown is up to some weird biz.

7x28 - Don’t Look [WATCH] - Finn fails to follow the literal only instruction given.

7x29 - Beyond the Grotto [WATCH] - Sea lard rescue 911

7x30 - Lady Rainicorn of the Crystal Dimension [WATCH] - TV finds a weird box.

7x31 - I Am A Sword [WATCH] - FinnSword gets straight up hijacked.

7x32 - Bun Bun [WATCH] - Remember how Cinnamon Bun used to be... just, like, generally bad? at doing things? okay that but smaller.

7x33 - Normal Man [WATCH] - Normal Man needs some hero help to return Glob to Mars.

7x34 - Elemental [WATCH] - An... ice... princess? kinda??

7x35 - Five Short Tables [WATCH] - Fionna and Cake try to make some artsy-ass flapjacks.

7x36 - The Music Hole [WATCH] - Music happens, some of it on a stage.

7x37 - Daddy-Daughter Card Wars [WATCH] - Charlie helps her Papa work through some card-related stuff.

Ω 7x38/7x39 - Preboot/Reboot [WATCH] - Finn, Jake, and Susan visit a very scientific establishment.

SEASON EIGHT

8x01 - Two Swords [WATCH] - So when a FinnSword and a Grass Sword meet... sometimes some stuff can go the hell down.

8x02 - Do No Harm [WATCH] - Finn and Grass Finn try stuff out.

8x03 - Wheels [WATCH] - Jake tries to connect with his granddaughter by proving he’s cool.

8x04 - High Strangeness [WATCH] - Tree Trunks loves... revolution (｡•`_´•｡)

8x05 - Horse and Ball [WATCH] - James Baxter rides again.

8x06 - Jelly Beans Have Power [WATCH] - PB tries to get a handle on the elemental powers thing.

Ω 8x07 - Islands: The Invitation [WATCH] - Susan sent out a distress signal, and a response has arrived.

8x08 - Islands: Whipple the Happy Dragon [WATCH] - Hazardous seas, or Here There Be Dragons.

Ω 8x09 - Islands: Mysterious Island [WATCH] - Finn gets separated from his friends, but makes a new one.

Ω 8x10 - Islands: Imaginary Resources [WATCH] - BMO helps Finn and Jake get acquainted with the triumphs and defeats, the epic highs and lows of virtual reality gaming.

Ω♪ 8x11 - Islands: Hide and Seek [WATCH] - Memories of island life.

Ω 8x12 - Islands: Min & Marty [WATCH] - Minerva Campbell and Martin Mertens get to know each other.

Ω 8x13 - Islands: Helpers [WATCH] - Finn meets his mom.

Ω 8x14 - Islands: The Light Cloud [WATCH] - The conflicting desires to protect your child while also allowing them to grow and thrive.

SEASON NINE

9x01 - Orb [WATCH] - Some very normal dreamscapes on the return journey to Ooo.

9x02 - Elements: Skyhooks [WATCH] - The boys make it home but things are looking... different.

9x03 - Elements: Bespoken For [WATCH] - The Ice King has a story to tell about a hot date he had, and also tangentially the current state of things.

9x04 - Elements: Winter Light [WATCH] - A visit to the Ice Kingdom.

9x05 - Elements: Cloudy [WATCH] - Finn needs to calm down, and Jake needs to potty.

9x06 - Elements: Slime Central [WATCH] - It's Slime Time baybee

9x07 - Elements: Happy Warrior [WATCH] - A normal one in the Flame Kingdom.

9x08 - Elements: Hero Heart [WATCH] - LSP tries to help Finn listen to his hero heart, while PB just wants everyone to be a little bit sweeter.

9x09 - Elements: Skyhooks II [WATCH] - Let's Get Lumpy.

9x10 - Abstract [WATCH] - Jake is wary of some changes in Jermaine.

9x11 - Ketchup [WATCH] - Marceline and BMO catch up on recent events.

9x12 - Fionna and Cake and Fionna [WATCH] - Ice King gets to hang with the REAL Fionna.

9x13 - Whispers [WATCH] - Finn and Fern help Sweet Pea with some nightmares.

9x14 - Three Buckets [WATCH] - Finn and Fern spend some uhhh quality time together

SEASON TEN

10x01 - The Wild Hunt [WATCH] - Huntress Wizard needs some assistance, and Finn has some junk to work through.

10x02 - Always BMO Closing [WATCH] - BMO and Ice King team up to become a door-to-door salesman.

10x03 - Son of Rap Bear [WATCH] - FP needs to work on her rap game.

10x04 - Bonnibel Bubblegum [WATCH] - Family junk is complicated.

10x05 - Seventeen [WATCH] - It’s Finn’s birthday! Let’s get Arthurian up in here.

10x06 - Ring of Fire [WATCH] - The marvelous misadventures of Tree Trunks.

10x07 - Marcy + Hunson [WATCH] - Marceline’s dad is in town and totally embarrassing her again.

10x08 - The First Investigation [WATCH] - Finn and Jake look into some haunted happenings at Joshua and Margaret Investigations

10x09 - Blenanas [WATCH] - Finn wants the highest possible authority to weigh in on whether or not he is funny.

10x10 - Jake the Starchild [WATCH] - Jake’s gotta save the world. No, a different one.

10x11 - Temple of Mars [WATCH] - Jermaine and Finn gotta rescue Jake, and in the process maybe help Betty work through some things.

10x12 - Gumbaldia [WATCH] - Peace talks.

♥Ω♫ 10x13 - Come Along With Me [WATCH] - Everything stays, but it still changes.

[wordynerdygurl]

Sweetness and Light

Author’s Note:  Hi everyone!  This is the last of my 500 Followers Request stories and I’m so happy to be sharing it with you!  As I was working on it, I saw a challenge from @peterman-spideyparker​ and took on one of the quote prompts, “I am in love with you and I’m terrified.”  It just flowed into this story so well!   Thank you @brokenthelovely for the amazing request!  Enjoy! Summary/ Request:  I’d like to request a Loki fic.  The reader and him have feelings for each other but he won’t make a move because he thinks everyone will be against it and he isn’t good for her.  She starts dating some guy and he tries to let her go but everyone eventually calls him out for letting her go and of course he realizes he was an idiot and then wins her back and they all live smuttily ever after! Pairing:  Loki x Female Reader Warnings:  Some fluffy smut at the end, a little angsty and Loki being mischievous!

Why did you always have to look so good?  That was the thought crossing Loki's mind as you flitted past, one arm wrapped around Bucky, the other around Natasha.  Laughing, your scarlet lips a daring contrast to the emerald dress caressing you in ways that made Loki jealous of satin.

He was always so aware of you.  Without conscious thought, Loki would, inevitably seek out your soft figure.  Relaxing only once he knew you were in his line of sight.  

His ear, normally attuned to classical music or epic poetry, could pick up your sugarcane sighs across a crowded room.  The lilt of your voice, dropping to a whisper in order to tell a bawdy joke, seemed to float above the hollow ringing guffaws of everyone else.  To Loki you were a songbird, glorious of plumage, spellbinding in sound.

It was a nightmare for the fallen prince.

A being as lovely as you lived in the light.  Sunkissed and radiant, you had this annoying habit of drawing everyone into your orbit.  Even the historically stoic, your Bucky Barnes or Bruce Banners, found their withered roots spreading in the enchanting glow of your attention.

Natasha Romanoff wasn't immune either.  Just yesterday she had smiled at Loki.  A genuine  smile, something he had never experienced before, which set off a chain of events leaving the young God spooked.  

“What?  You're smiling at me… It’s eerie, quite frankly.”  Snarky sarcasm laced each syllable as Loki sipped from his espresso's miniature cup, Natasha's ever watchful eyes on him. “Come on, Loki.  You know…"  Waiting for his response, impatient and searching, she cocked her head.  "He has to know right?  Right?”  Turning to Captain America, his nose in a book, Natasha shook her head in disbelief.  

Searching through the assorted granola bars, desperately looking for a dark chocolate almond wrapper but coming up empty, Loki was only half listening.  "Damn, all out."  Meeting Natasha's glare, "I have to know what, exactly?" "I… I can't.  Not today.  Not with you, Loki"  Spinning on her heel, steaming tea in hand, Natasha left with a wide eyed glance at Steve.

"Not that I truly care, but what exactly is her problem?"  Biting into an overripe pear, juice running over his fingers, Loki spared a look at the doorway before The Captain could answer.

You again.

Coasting into the room, bubbling and bright, whistling to yourself, "Hiya Stevie!  How's the book?  You like it?"

Smiling at you in a way that made Loki's blood boil, Steve sighed, "It's so good.  Like, speaks to my soul, good."

Shooting a wink his way, "I told you!  The part where she goes to the farm?"

"And she sees the truck!"

Scooting into the seat next to Steve, your hand resting on his bicep so casually, "I know!  Oh, it's so good!  Wait until you read the ending!"

Wishing he was sightless, Loki really didn't want to see anymore.  Watching Steve grin at you, your easy connection with the super soldier visible to everyone, turned Loki's stomach sour. The wholesome display of you and the Captain, discussing some novel, made Loki nauseous.

As it was, you were practically perfect, Steve was actually perfect.  Together you were All American, teeth crackling, sweetness.  It was blinding, the beautiful brilliance of the pair of you.  Sunshine and pretty teeth, foreheads nearly pressed together, seemingly lost in a private world.

"Have you ever read it, Loki?"  Your voice changes.  He notices because it's not as warm or friendly as before.  It cools just a bit, freezing your intentions, confusing the hell out of Loki.  

You haven't looked at him once, a thing Loki wishes he didn't notice.  Even now you're focused on the cover of this wonderful book and not the God of Mischief.  Turning to the sink, Loki answers you over his shoulder.

"Drivel, I suspect.  Midgardian garbage.  Melodrama and kitsch… no thank you."  Focusing on washing the pear from his hands, lest he get sticky, Loki's features are unreadable.  His voice though, that oozed disdain.

"I like it… so far."  Steve defended, trying to correct the conversation.

Your mysterious voice went soft, "Well, can't win 'em all I guess.  Thanks for teaching me about your literary tastes now, Loki, rather than after the wedding!"  

He stiffened at your teasing comment.  His back was to you, gripping a paper towel, drying his hands.  Wedded to you?  What a ludicrous thought.

Tossing his towel into the trash, Loki sees you rifling through the snack bin, "Dang!  No dark chocolate almond granola bars?  That's why I come down here!"  Plastering on a pretend pout, you pass behind Loki and suddenly you are that bobbing band of gold again.  "Drink some water, Loki!  It's good for you!  See you later, Steve!"

A hurricane was less destructive.  In a matter of minutes you had blown in and out, leaving Loki in the wreckage of your touchdown.  Even Steve was different after your visit.

"Man.  Natasha is right.  I never noticed it before… but, holy moley."  Chuckling as he returned to the much adored story, Steve looked at Loki over the pages, "You're crazy in love with that girl."

"What?  How dare you!"  Feeling the hot flash of anger flood his face, Loki instinctively went for his daggers, ready to silence the impertinent Avenger in front of him.

Lifting his hands in a sign of surrender, Steve was still laughing, "I take it back.  I take it back.  I won't tell her that you like her."

"I don't know what you're talking about.  Like her.  Like her?  What's to like?"

Steve closed his book and crossed his arms over his chest, "Everything.  Loki, she's just a great person.  And for some reason she likes you.  A lot."

"No.  Not me.  You maybe, but not me."

"Wrong.  It's you, buddy.  And… I think you like her too."

Those words had taken root in Loki's head.  Sprouting branches of thought that he would have never considered possible even hours ago, Loki tested the strengths of Steve's accusation, the validity of his claims.  Could it possibly be true?

Loki denied it.  What a silly idea, really.  To think that some little earthling might tempt the rightful King of Jotunheim, Prince of Asgard, son of Odin and God of Mischief.  Hardly.

And yet… He couldn't help the niggling feeling that there was something about you that deserved his attention.  

Was it in the way you seemed surrounded by music everywhere you went?  Either singing or humming, whistling a tune or blaring your playlist, it was rarely quiet in your presence.  Annoying.  But also, rather charming.

Or perhaps it was your turn of phrase.  "Yes, sir Drill Sergeant!" was a favorite whenever someone asked for your help.  "Put some pep in your step, a little glide in your stride, a little dip in your hip!"  With quips and quotes for all occasions, it seemed to Loki that you had a ready answer for everything.  No situation ever caught you off guard.  You were funny, unflappable and light.

Then there was your physical form.  Curvy.  Soft.  Deliciously feminine and daringly female.  

You wore short skirts with canvas tennis shoes.  Vintage band t-shirts with wide legged trousers and suit jackets.  You rolled up your jeans and sloughed around in ancient wooly cardigans.

Patterns got crossed, like plaids with polka dots.  Colors collided.  But you always pulled it off, an avant garde runway model for a post-modern haute couture design house.  

In short, you were the essence of cool.  Effortless.  Easy.  

"Oh gods… I do.  I like her."

It was that thought that kept Loki awake all night.  When sleep tried to claim him after an hours long workout with Thor, your voice pulled him back to wakefulness, the message relayed through the compounds AI.  "Hi everyone!  Don't forget!  Tonight is the annual scholarship fundraiser hosted by our favorite philanthropist, Tony Stark.  Tuxedos and gowns kiddos!  See you there!"  Even recorded you sound chipper and cheerful.  It delighted and disgusted Loki in equal measure.

At the fundraiser, tucking himself into a shadowed corner, Loki pretended not to watch you and your emerald gown.  Nursing a cocktail, chatting only when absolutely necessary, his plan was to forget his wayward thoughts and yesterday's conversation with Steve.  If you kept away, he might get through the night.

An hour in and Loki's restless with need.  What he wants to do is march over to you, take you in his arms and press that pliant body of yours to his.  Feel your crimson lips, taste your singing mouth and discover if it's as warm as he imagines.  

His tumbler hits the bar with a heavy thunk.  Running his hands through his dark hair, tightening the knot of his tie, Loki exhales once.  With renewed purpose, crossing the floor, he’s stalking towards you.  Nothing will distract him now.  He is a man of action going after the thing he wants most.  You.

Just a few steps more, Loki thinks.  Your profile is illuminated in the dim lights of the hall.  You're laughing.  You are always laughing, it seems.

Watching as you swing your head his way, Loki's certain that you've spotted him and his intentions.  Wanda taps your shoulder, directing your focus back to her as she points into the crowd, giggling in your ear.  A man, broad and strong, strides into your circle.

Loki's step falters as his excellent hearing picks up your joyful squeal of delight.  This person, this interloper, puts his hands around your waist.  Swinging you into a possessive bear hug, kissing you at the same time, he makes a show of literally sweeping you off your feet in front of everyone at Tony’s gala.  

You’re a blur, the motion of it making Loki dizzy.  He is also frozen in place.  Questions buzz like angry bees at the familiar way this person is handling you.  It's not right.  It's not proper.  And it's all because those are not Loki’s hands on you.

"Loki!  Hi!  I want you to meet my boyfriend Marcus!  Marc, this is Loki!"  

A beefy hand extends your way, attached to an equally beefy person, with an overeager smile.  "Loki!  I've heard so much about you.  You're good with knives, right?  Maybe we can train together sometime?"

Loki, noticing how Marc's hand rested possessively on the swell of your hip, thinks, Yes.  I would love to throw daggers at you, Marc.  Instead, with a charming chuckle Loki answers, "Well, our girl is too kind.  It was nice to meet you, Matt."

"It… it's Marc."

"Oh, I'm so sorry!  Marc.  Right.  Apologies!  Please, enjoy your evening!"  Plastering his smile on permanently, pride stinging, Loki slunk away to nurse his wounds in the solace of his room. 

You were with Marc now.  He was too late.  And there was no good excuse beyond pride for Loki's inability to see the plain truth.  You were pretty wonderful, something Loki had always known, deep down.  Now, you were someone else's.

In truth, it took Loki two days to square with the fact that you were with a lesser man.  You were beautiful and clever and a constant delight, but you were with Marc.  There was no changing that fact, right?

Wrong.  The reason Loki didn't surface during waking hours for the next week was because he had a plan.  He would win you, do the work, make you realize that you belonged with him. 

Yet, each plan failed in one way or another.  

When Loki accidentally on purpose cancelled your dinner plans at a trendy new hot spot, Tony had called in a favor.  You and Marcus had dined in the private wine cellar, met the chef, and walked back into the compound holding hands.  Loki stormed away before you could tell him all about your wonderful night. Overhearing Marcus brag about a weekend away, bathing suits and a boat, Loki asked Thor for help.  “It’s the weather.  You see, I need it to rain.  I need thunder and lightning.  And all those wonderful things that you control.” “Brother, I am the God of Thunder, not the God of Weather.” “Can you please, just… do this one thing for me?  Please?” Whether it was Loki‘s manic sincerity or his desperation that convinced Thor, Loki would never know.  What he did know was that your seaside sailing excursion had been cancelled due to unprecedented storms.  However, Wanda had helped Marcus with booking a hotel room for two nights instead.  You had a couples’ massage and drank champagne.  Loki sulked. Feeling like a cartoon coyote, Loki knew the surrender was near.  Always pragmatic, and resourceful, he had realized that as much as he might want to woo you, it was possible that you did not want to be wooed.  At least, not by Loki.   So, the handsome prince, with a gloomy face, once again strayed from the others.  Not content to make small talk when his heart knew such hurt, Loki slept during the day and moped around at night.  He avoided everyone as much as possible.  When interaction was inevitable, it was brief and direct.  Loki had no energy for games.  He was played out. He was also hungry. Which is how he found himself in the kitchen at 3:00 am, spooning cherry jell-o into his face, thinking about you.  He was so wrapped up in the idea of you that he could swear your voice was playing in his head.

“But, I don’t understand.  Marc?  That… that’s not fair.  I told you.  I told you how the job was… what I had to do… how it might be hard sometimes… But I thought?  Oh.  Oh…”  

Pausing, Loki realized that you weren’t an illusion.  You were at the compound, and tonight you weren’t laughing.  In fact, Loki was fairly certain that he heard a sniff, something that you did when you were crying.  He remembered hearing it when the gang watched Old Yeller.  You had sobbed over the fictional pup.  It was adorable then, now, not so much. “Well… if that’s what you really think… Wow.  Ok, Marcus.  You made your point. Goodbye, I guess.”  Loki had heard you cry before.  Over the old yellow dog in that movie, because of a missing classified document and once due to Clint's awful singing.  Tonight though, there was silence.  Expecting to hear your sobs, Loki, surprised by the quiet, risked a peek around the corner to check on you. Probably, because you thought you were entirely alone at the inhumane hour of three in the morning, you let yourself sink down to the floor.  Bathed in the blue light of the Avengers “A”, resting your head against the textured wall with your phone still cradled in your palm, one fat tear rolled down your cheek.

Later on, Loki would tell you that everything that followed was because of that tear.  Something about that shiny track of sadness had hit the jokester right in his heart, watering the shriveled seed of his love for you.  It made him want to hold you, to keep the hurts of life away, protect you from the kind of sadness that had forced your happiness into hiding. Unhappy didn't do your current mental state justice.  More silent tears joined the first.  Another failed relationship, and if you were honest the water works weren't for Marcus.  They were for you.  

He was a handsome distraction, for sure.  And his reasons for dumping you?  Valid.  True.  

Canceled dates, long nights at work, the constantly ringing phone.  All things that you found more important than Marcus.  He was absolutely correct when laying the blame for this failure at your feet.  You did not want your partnership with Marcus to thrive, survive.  You had been killing time with him and that wasn't fair.

Not when there was someone else on your mind all the time.  

Marcus had been a paltry replacement for the man you really wanted.  Even though you had tried to deny it, fight against it, every time he touched you, you ached for the nimble fingers of a demigod.  Each kiss from Marc made you hungry for the flavor of Loki's mouth.  You hated yourself for it but stopping those thoughts had proven too difficult to manage.  In response, avoiding your boyfriend had become an easy habit to cultivate.

Which was worse, you sat on the floor wondering.  Having the wrong man or having no man?  Lusting after one while leading on the other?  Being desired by Marcus but faking your interest in him?  Wanting Loki but not being wanted by him in return?

You closed your eyes, breathing deeply, mad at yourself.  There was no way to know Loki was watching you fall apart from the safety of the kitchenette.  Awash in self anger, almost alone, you struggled to pull yourself together.

Instead of second guessing himself, taking a deep breath, Loki swiftly rounded the corner and slipped down next to you.  His bony knee brushed against your own, "Some might give you a penny for your thoughts… but I'm afraid I only have a dark chocolate almond bar."  "Loki…"  Sighing with a small chuckle, barely surprised at his presence, you grabbed the offered snack, "My thoughts aren't worth this much."

"That's where you are wrong, dove.  I would pay this and more to have a better understanding of you."

Snorting derisively, "Really?  Most days you can barely be civil to me."

Loki's fierce gaze locked on your watery one, "Yes… well.  For that, I apologize.  You… You are a very nice person.  I, unfortunately, am not."

Swiping at your wet cheeks, smiling, "You are too!  Or, you can be… if you want to be."

"No, I leave chivalry to my brother.  Kindness to Captain Rogers… Sweetness to, well, you."

Turning toward him, your leg folded under you, "You're here now, and with my favorite snack, no less!  That's pretty nice, Loki."

Shyly smiling, "About that… I know you like them.  I keep a small stash in my room, in case Stark runs out."

"What?  Really?"  It's hard to believe that Loki would be so secretly thoughtful.  Playing with the wrapper in your hand, you raised a glance to the studious prince beside you, "That's… that maybe the sweetest thing anyone has done for me."

"I doubt that.  I'm sure your friend, Marcus, has done kind things for you."  Just saying the name made Loki's heart leap, worried that it might spook you.  Or, and this was worse, that you'd defend him because Marcus was the one you wanted.

"Don't play coy, Loki.  You know he just dumped me.  It's over… it's been over almost since it began."  Resting your warm hand on Loki's arm, the zing of your touch scorching his cool skin, distracted and disoriented him for a moment.

Whispering, almost timid with wanting to know, "Did you love him?  Do you?"

Slumping forward, your shaggy hair covering your face, "Nope.  Not even a little bit."

"Really?"  Loki fought against the swelling of glee that surged through him at your admission.

Snapping your head up, searching his face, "You sound surprised.  You shouldn't be… See, Loki,  I'm not as nice as you think I am."

"Oh yes you are… even now you feel bad about all this.  You wish you could have loved Marcus, eased his hurt, regardless of your own unhappiness. "  

Shaking your head gently, shrugging, "It would be easier, I think.  Less painful.  And I wouldn't be alone… again."

Loki betrayed nothing in his voice, but his mind was in a tailspin.  In a husky hum, he asked you, "Is that all you want, dove?  Not to be alone?"

Flashing your floormate a small smile, it faltered when you realized just how close you and Loki were.  He hadn't moved.  You had.  Near enough that you felt his body's heat melt into yours.  

"No… but it's a good start, don't you think?"

Instinctively, Loki reached out, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear.  "I think I am in love with you and I'm terrified."  

Hanging in the air between you, Loki's words, uttered so casually, expanded to fill the following silence.  Raising his hope filled eyes to yours, Loki offered a half smile, "Come on dove, if I have even half a chance, then for Odin's sake, tell me."

First your body went cold, shocked at Loki's revelation.  Next, a flush of heat rolled over you, flaming your cheeks.  It settled into your lower belly as a throbbing ache, an unscratched itch, needy and raw.

Murmuring, stunned, "You like me?"

Tossing his dark hair, "No… no, little one.  I love you.  And I am truly scared that you don’t feel the same way."  Loki shifted, mirroring your posture, your folded knees grazing against each other.  Leaning into your space, Loki's hands cupped your face.  Brushing his lips across your forehead, he kissed down the bridge of your nose and over your heated cheeks.  

His thumbs stroked along your jaw, tilting your chin up, as your lips parted.  Wasting no time, Loki pressed his firm mouth to yours, kissing you sweetly.  You felt his fingers tangle in your hair, drawing you deeper into Loki's arms, his tongue licking into your warm mouth.

Happily swallowing your sweet sigh, Loki's lips asked for more of you and you obliged.  Your hands gripped his shoulders, enjoying the firm muscled man beneath your hands, savoring the taste of Loki's tongue.  He pulled away first, groaning, "I have wanted to do that for a long time."

"Me too."

Picking up your hand, threading his digits through yours, "But… my leg is falling asleep sitting here on the floor."

Laughing out loud, "Me too!"  You moved to stand, but Loki tugged you back down again.

"Before we go… I wanted to ask you out for a proper date.  Dinner, a movie… dancing, drinks… whatever.  You name it!  I want to do this right, you see."

Nodding, you bit into your bottom lip, "I will let you wine and dine me, Loki.  I promise.  But… if I'm honest with you, I have been thinking about kissing you for months now… and I don't want to stop."

Loki stood taking you with him.  Once you were on your feet, your tall god wrapped his arm around your waist, snuggling you into his chest.  "I was afraid I had missed my chance.  That someone else had taken your heart."

"It's always been yours, Loki.  I’m in love with you too."

Your body melded to his.  Those lips were on your neck, making you gasp in rapture, as Loki's hands cupped your bottom.  Draping your arms over his broad shoulders, feeling the tensing muscles underneath the fabric of his dark tee, had you panting.

"Gods, you are incredible!"  

Like a purring cat, you rubbed your cheek into Loki's chest, "I could say the same about you."

Swallowing hard, still keeping you close, Loki studied your expression.  "Come on, dove.  Let's go."

Confusion crowded your features, "Go where?"

"I'm taking you to bed!"  Loki scooped you up, one arm under your knees, the other supporting your back, as if you were a distressed damsel.  Squealing his name, you threw your head back, happy in Loki's capable hands.

In his apartment, naked on Loki's bed, you let his mouth devour you.  Starting with your full, round breasts, Loki licked and sucked your nipples under they were painfully taut.  Then his fingers found your peaks, pulling and tugging, until you were mewling for more.

Loki's tongue traced a line down the center of your body.  When he reached your glistening core, Loki used his thumbs to part your lower lips, blowing gently over your aroused flesh.  "Stop wiggling, dove!"

"But Loki!  I need you!"  As the words left your mouth, Loki's tongue licked through your silky skin, circling your clustered nerves.  You cried out when he sucked the sensitive nub between his lips while still licking against your sex.

With shaking thighs, your body released hard while Loki drank down your nectar.  Kissing back up your body, you tasted yourself when his mouth met yours, your tongues colliding.  Reaching down between your bodies, your fingers found Loki's significant size and you smiled wickedly.

"Easy kitten!"

"Oh no, I want you, Loki.  Hard and fast.  Please?"  When he tipped his head, agreeing, you gave his length a gentle squeeze.  Loki rested his forehead to yours as your lovely little hand directed him to your velvet core.

Once there, Loki's mouth found yours, tenderly kissing you as he gently burrowed into your slick satin skin.  Taking more and more of you, claiming your body with his deep thrusts, Loki's hips rocked into you.  Each plunge pushed you closer to completion.  

Your walls tightening, gripping Loki, had him moaning your name.  "I'm close, dove… so close."  

"Me too, Loki!"

His clever fingers dropped to your cleft, rubbing your engorged button, as Loki drove into you once more.  In a flash of supreme pleasure your bliss roared through you, stealing Loki's climax at the same time, as you clung to your man.  Shivering from the intensity of your passion, you refused to let Loki go, keeping your arms firmly around him as your body moved mindlessly in delight.

Loki kissed away the happy tears that spotted your cheeks.  Brushing the hair back from your face, he whispered tender words like "love" and "beautiful" and "darling girl" until slowly your tense muscles relaxed.  Loki gently withdrew from you, rolling you to your side to face him, wrapping a protective arm over you.

Satisfied beyond reason, you looked at your raven haired lover, eyes heavy.  "You should sleep, dove." "Hmm… yes.  But you'll stay with me, right, Loki?"

"Of course.  You're my sweet girl."

Scrunching into his side, snuggling under his quilt, you smiled.  “That’s me!"

The next morning Loki stirred some sugar into his tiny espresso cup, a secret smile turning up the corners of his mouth.  Steve sat at the counter, a newspaper spread out in front of him, mug of coffee nearby.  From down the hall, your whistling reaches the room before you do.

"Hiya Stevie!  Any good news in there today?"

Tearing himself away, "Not that I've seen.  How are you?  You seem… happy.  Happier than usual."

You lock eyes with Loki, grinning from ear to ear, "I am.  Things are good… great even."

Hopping up on the island, looking through the bin of snack bars, Loki steps between your knees.  "Looking for this?"  

"Yes!  My favorite treat!  And my favorite you!"  Throwing your arms around his neck, you draw Loki into a deep kiss, his hands running up your sides.

Understanding lit up Steve’s face, "Whoa!  Wait!  Is this real?  Did it finally happen?"    

"Yup!  So, uh… tell Tony we're taking the morning off, ok?"

"Actually, Steve, please tell Stark that we are taking the rest of the day off.  Don't call.  My sweet girl and I will be too busy to answer."  With that Loki grabbed you by the hips, wrapping your legs around him as he marched you out of the room.

Sweetness and Light, that’s what you were and that’s just what Loki needed.   ----

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[jadewritings]

Rocky Road

Pairing: Sam and Dean Winchester x reader (ish)

Word Count: 1.4k

Warnings: Angst, blood, injuries, language

Author’s Note: I hope you all enjoy this one shot loool we love protective doggos

The night was quiet, save for the crickets hiding about the grass and trees. People lay sound in their beds, maybe dreaming of things that make them happy. Everything seemed to right with the world. But not everyone believed that, not everyone had seen what you’d seen, what you’d fought.

You knew what waited in the shadows, waiting for that perfect moment to snatch their prey. And you couldn’t stand by and not help. Your parents brought you up into this world. The world no one knew. Monsters, every nightmare someone dreamed about, read about, were actually real.

But you couldn’t do it alone, you had a companion. When your parents died, it was just you and Rocky, your best friend you’d grown up with. Your first hunt together was the catalyst to everything y’all do now. Rocky was hurt that first hunt but a trip to the vet got him better. Now he was well trained and knew to listen to commands.

You whistled a bird call that signaled to Rocky to sniff out the area. His snout was the ‘super sniffer’ as you liked to call it. The two of you were steaking out a vamp nest. Not that big but there has been enough murders to do something about it.

You stepped out of your truck, machete in hand and gun in your waist band with deadman’s blood infused wooden bullets. You weren’t stupid, you knew a regular gun wouldn’t put a dent in them, so you had altered it. You walked around the abandoned building and saw Rocky sat next to a poorly chained door.

“Good boy, Rocks.” You whispered, while handing him a small treat. “Now stay here for a second okay?” You looked behind yourself at Rocky as you started to squeeze under the chains. His tongue hung out of his mouth and his lips pulled back like he was smiling. It caused you to smile, “I love you, boy.”

When you got through, you could hardly see. The room was dark but there was no missing the metallic stench. This place was a blood bath.

You stepped carefully before pulling out your pocket flashlight to see where you were going. Each room was empty and you started to get a chill down your spine. You tried to ease your racing heart, knowing if you were to panic even for a second you could die.

“Boss is thinking about turning people instead of just keeping them for food.” You hid quickly in the nearest doorway and clicked your flashlight off. A bald guy and a woman stopped at the corner you were about to round.

“Why, we’ve been doing just fine with us 7?” The girl asked.

“Rach, you know hunters are bound to find us. We need the numbers.”

The girl sighed and you could hear them start to walk away. You poked your head out and continued on when the coast was clear.

You stopped at a set of double doors, very medieval styled. You took a deep breath and shrugged your shoulders, “If shits gonna happen, shits gonna happen.” You repeated your mantra before busting through the door with your foot.

You readied your gun in anticipation but was left with a quiet room save for the noise you made busting in.

“What the hell?” You didn’t lower your gun but were definitely taken off guard. You walked forward to a long table in the center of the room, pools of blood dripping off the sides. You looked around, cautious, but still nothing.

“So much for a dramatic entrance.” You huffed a laugh to yourself. Before you could react, you were tossed over the table and into the wall behind it, your gun flung from your hand.

You groaned and rubbed your back before getting up and taking your machete out to look at your attackers.

You recognized them, “Oh well hello again. You two lovebirds done with your quarrel I take it?” You smiled and raised your eyebrows at the two vampires you’d saw walking in the hall. They hissed and bared their fangs.

You grimaced, “Have you ever brushed those things? They’re lookin pretty gnarly.” They jumped over the table and raced at you. You dodged the girl to your left, a clean slice through her neck took care of her. The guy looked angry and ran at you, knocking the machete to the ground and pinned you to the ground. With your arms held firmly to the ground you couldn’t move. The vampire leaned down to take a bite out of your neck.

You turned to the door just as Rocky barked at you, “Rocks!” You yelled. He rushed at the guy and was effective in distracting him. Rocky jumped and bit the vampires neck. You took the opportunity to shove him off of you but the vamp flung Rocky into the wall and his attention was instantly back on you.

“No!” You cried out when you heard him whimper. The vamp rushed at you again and slammed your head into the concrete wall. As hard as you struggled, you couldn’t keep your focus on anything other than your dog.

The pressure of being held loosened and the head fell from the vamps shoulders. You slid down the wall and crawled the rest of the way to Rocky without paying attention to your savior.

You sniffled, “Rocky, Rocks? It’s okay,” you stroked his fur as he whimpered, “you’re gonna be okay, alright? We’ll get you to a vet and you’ll be all fixed up again okay?”

You heard a voice clear their throat behind you and for once you turned to your savior, or, saviors.

Two tall and handsome strangers. One was blonde and shorter than the other brunette one which held the machete that saved your ass. You stood and raised your weapon to them, “Stay back or I swear to god I’ll behead you too.” 

The blonde raised his hands in surrender but your vision went sideways and your head throbbed. You groaned as you put your hand to your forehead. The next thing you heard was the clink of the machete on the ground and your body feeling like it was falling forward before you blacked out.

Before you knew it, you were waking up in a bed of a motel that definitely didn’t look like yours. You sprung up, holding a hand to your throbbing head. Groaning, your eyes scanned the room looking for Rocky.

He was on the bed next to yours, bandages wrapped tightly around his abdomen. You swung your legs over the bed just as the motel door opened.

The brunette you had a vague memory of stepped inside, shutting the door behind him, giving you a tight lipped smile.

“How are you feeling?”

You were cautious, slowly moving over to your dogs side. You remembered they had saved you but still, a lot of people didn’t always have good intentions.

“I’m fine.” Your only response before the shower you didn’t notice was on till now had turned off.

“My name is Sam. My brother in there is Dean. You have no obligation to trust us but we’re truly only helping you.” He must have noticed the way your eyes narrowed and your body tensed when he got closer.

He held out a brown paper bag, full of medical supplies for both human and animal, once you took a look inside. Dean stepped out of the bathroom, dressed in a blue t-shirt and plaid pajama pants.

He looked up and between the two of you, before reaching into the mini fridge and handed you a water.

“Thanks.” You mumbled. You gulped some down before letting yourself relax on the bed. You curled onto your left side, slowly stroking Rocky’s fur as he slept.

The room filled with silence, making it unbearable to hold in the tears. You sniffled. It was a simple job. Rocky didn’t have to get hurt yet you still allowed it to happen. He was supposed to stay outside until you were done and had handled the job. But here he was, injured, because of you.

“You know,” Sam started, breaking the silence, “He came to us.”

That made you look at them. You rubbed your eyes of the tears, “What?”

That prompted Dean to speak, “We heard him barking. He ran at us and we followed. If it wasn’t for him, we wouldn’t have made it to you in time.” Dean gave you a small smile before looking to Rocky.

That made you feel a little better.

“Thank you. You know, for saving me- and Rocky.”

“It was our pleasure, sweetheart.” Dean’s soft smile made your heart beat just a little faster. Who knew? Maybe you’d get over hunting alone.

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[siribear]

shame begins to set in as they walk back to the father and son’s farm. alice leads the way, seemingly undisturbed, but danse - he thought himself better. in control. he clenches and unclenches his fists, remembering the weight of every impact - remembering alice having to stop him. that thread of anger -

‘you’re brooding back there, i can tell,’ she says, a smile in her voice. when she turns to look at him over her shoulder, he sees it in full. no condemnation, just gentle chiding.

‘i’m not brooding.’

she turns again to look ahead, and he catches the tail end of a grin. ‘okay. you’re thinking so loudly that i can hear you.’

‘what am i thinking, then?’ he asks, humoring her.

she stops in her tracks, the farm just across the street. outside, the father and son are already working the land. ‘you’re beating yourself up as much as you beat up that feral.’ a pause. ‘sorry. i know it’s bothering you.’

danse grunts. ‘i acted out. it was unbecoming.’

alice rolls her eyes. ‘unbecoming. that feral would have killed us without second thought. it’s not like - it’s not like it was a person with conscious thought.’ a shadow crosses her eyes, gone with a blink. ‘if it makes you feel better, i won’t tell maxson. i’m great at keeping secrets.’

he bows his head. perhaps she’s right. ridiculous that he should be so upset about this. he tells her as much.

‘of course i’m right. it was either it or us. i’m rather happy with the current outcome.’ her gaze shifts to her feet, then up again. ‘thank you, by the way. for joining me back there. i wouldn’t have made it without you.’ she turns on her heel without waiting for a response.

danse gives her one anyway. ‘i wouldn’t abandon a fellow soldier.’

alice catches the eye of the son across the way and waves. he waves back, and before she begins her jog over to him, she gives him a curious look. not pleased; the smile wasn’t as bright. brow furrowed, half smile. a reluctant acceptance? of what, he’s not sure.

instead of even attempting to decode the expression, danse busies himself with maintenance on his armor. the ghouls left scratches across his armor, superficial but numerous. the integrity of the plate hasn’t been damaged as much as the paint job. danse can’t complain. not when - he looks to alice again, talking with the father. she would have faced it alone for them.

like this lost patrol they’ve been following.

he’s tightening the joints in one of the hands when alice returns. ‘what did he say?’

she grins, then. ‘if you have to report back, you can tell maxson that isaiah and junior at county crossing have joined the minutemen. we should get moving. the satellite array is still a long way from here.’

danse nods and steps into his power armor. ‘congratulations. what are you going to do with them?’

‘help them get back on their feet.’

it surprises him. ‘that’s all?’

she shrugs a shoulder. ‘and now that i have their undying loyalty, i’ll have them join my army to take over the rest of the commonwealth. obviously.’

‘obviously,’ danse repeats, deadpan. ‘the brotherhood aren’t your enemy, alice. we both want the same thing here.’

‘and when the institute is gone? what then? maxson will leave me and mine alone?’

danse takes a breath. ‘the elder - ‘

‘has his own plans here, i’m sure. i’m not going to argue with you about this, paladin.’ danse notes the title. ‘let’s find the rest of this team.’

‘of course, general.’

-

days later, they reach it, and the revere satellite array is unrecognizable. much like faneuil hall, it’s covered in blood and gore. nets filled with bones and body parts hang from the satellite dishes and wooden walkways constructed around them. whisper listens to the steady beep of the distress signal through her pipboy speaker, turning it off when a super mutant wanders near their position on the outskirts of the array.

‘faris made it out,’ whisper hopes aloud. ‘he met up with paladin brandis and they’re at the holdout.’

the paladin grunts and stands. ‘his distress pulser is still active.’

‘no time to turn it off in the retreat,’ she offers. anything to bypass the group of super mutants, ten strong, standing between them and their next clue. what she wouldn’t give now for artillery.

shit.

‘well, paladin? any ideas?’

‘one by one,’ he says, stepping around her. ‘i’ll draw their attention, you pick them off.’

‘like before.’

he clicks his helmet in place and turns to her with a nod. ‘like before. stay behind me.’

she pulls out her sniper rifle and follows him through the scope. he steps through a gap in the chain-link fence, fully entering super mutant territory. a mutant hound far to his left lifts its head and sniffs the air, keying in immediately on the change in the air. its owner pays the hound no mind, letting it move on ahead.

whisper shifts down to her stomach, stabilizing the barrel of her rifle on a root. the hound stalks closer. danse continues to edge forward, almost rounding the corner of an abandoned rv. the hound spots the paladin, jaw opening to bark a warning, but whisper silences it - two shots into its neck and one to its skull. it falls heavily on the ground behind danse, who motions slightly.

it doesn’t alert the other super mutants, thankfully. okay. she scans the rest of the grounds - no more mutant hounds. some of the super mutants speak to each other in broken sentences. deep, gravelly voices mocking each other or laughing at ‘stupid humans.’

there’s no way for her to warn danse when he approaches one satellite tower just as a super mutant descends the stairs. if only they had radios, or - whisper rises to a kneel and fires at the ground near danse’s feet. he looks down to where the bullet hit, then up to the stairs, and manages to pull back to cover just as the super mutant spots him.

‘human! here!’ it roars, loud enough for her to hear it from her position.

it’s not like fighting the ghouls, who rush them without thinking. super mutants from the other towers fire down at danse, effectively pinning him behind the leg of a tower. whisper focuses on those, picking off two super mutants on one tower before the others turn their attention toward her.

with no cover other than the thin bushes in front of her, whisper ducks down and rushes toward the rv on the other side of the fence, almost sliding down the hill. one more super mutant goes down with a loud cry. seven more.

whisper turns the corner of the rv opposite danse and takes potshots at another super mutant rushing down the stairs of the tower. deliverer hardly seems to do any damage. the mutant shrugs off her shots to its legs as it stomps her way. a shotgun blast roars past her head when she peeks back around. holstering the pistol, she pulls out righteous authority and levels into the approaching mutant. six left, she counts when her target turns to ash and scatters in the wind.

five, when danse shoves one off a tower and it doesn’t get back up.

four: she watches danse grapple with another, the aged, metal catwalk barely holding under their combined weight. one shot through the neck, and it’s down.

she doesn’t get a chance to see his nod of thanks before she’s tossed back into the rv, landing on the hood and rolling over.

‘alice!’ and then the sound of laser fire. whisper picks herself up with a groan, blinking away the tears in her eyes. it’s hurt worse, she tells herself. the broken arm, the radiation poisoning, the - 

she’s picked up again, lifted easily by the green hand closed around her throat. her kicks fall short, and all she can think is that the damn super mutant is smarter than barnes when he grabbed her. it slams her against the side of the rv, taking away what little breath she has left. the corners of her vision go black, the tips of her fingers brush against deliverer and she thinks she can grab it until she hits the rv again.

her next gasp for air is so sudden it hurts more than being tossed to the ground again. the mutant lands next to her, danse standing over it, but she pulls out deliverer and kills it before he can.

‘are you - ‘

‘i’m fine,’ she croaks. ‘th-three more?’

‘just one,’ he says, breathing heavily. he kneels and extends a hand to help her up. ‘up in one of the towers - ‘

whisper knows exactly which one when it steps out, a heavy weapon over its shoulder. this time, there really is no way to warn him, but she tries, god, she tries, using what little strength she can to pull him sideways -

they land feet away from the impact of the missile, whisper laid out on the ground, her arm at an awkward angle. broken. again. ‘d-danse,’ she wheezes. ‘danse?’

‘here,’ he answers after a moment, somewhere to her left. ‘it,’ he gasps, catches his breath as he rises, ‘it doesn’t have an angle on us, for now.’

he’s right. miraculously, the blast knocked them just out of sight of the super mutant’s tower. ‘it’s just one. we can - we can get it.’

danse looks down at her. ‘i can. just - wait here. your arm.’

her pip boy screen blinks in an out. it’s more than just her arm. but still she leans over, uses her other arm to sit upright. ‘that thing’s got a fucking rocket launcher. power armor or not, you’re not going to survive if it actually hits you.’ though muffled through his helmet, she hears the warning alarms of his power armor. ‘can’t let you go at it alone,’ she says, using her good arm to brace herself against danse.

‘fine. but i’m still the distraction, not you.’ she can almost hear the glare. ‘can you shoot with one arm?’

said arm jams a stimpak into her leg. it stings, but at least she feels like she can walk. ‘i’ve got you covered.’ 

‘coming for you,’ comes a growl, too close for comfort.

‘go,’ she hisses, drawing deliverer and holding it close.

danse circles around the opposite way, making as much noise as he can. whisper listens as heavy footsteps just around the tower turn around. she waits, resolves to a count of ten before she’ll round the corner. changes it to five when the footsteps pull further away. she edges out, watches as danse attempts to cross the field.

too slow - the rocket fires, deafening in its closeness, exploding behind danse. not as near as the first shot, but enough to stagger him. he can’t recover quick enough before the super mutant begins to reload.

fuck it. she abandons deliverer, draws another gun, bigger. one that’ll fucking hurt with one hand but it’s all she has. whisper draws up close, presses the barrel of kellogg’s pistol against the base of the mutant’s skull, and pulls the trigger.

-

danse finds her near where he left her, at the base of the tower, just beyond the corpse of the last super mutant. he knew her arm was broken, but - ‘what did you do?’

alice lifts her head, jaw clenched tight. ‘can you question me after a stimpak? please?’

he steps out of his power armor and grabs his own bag in one motion. instead of a stimpak, he pulls out a line of tubing, a needle, and a bag of med-x. ‘stay still,’ he orders, though he doesn’t have to. woman just blew off the head of a super mutant with a magnum. he’s surprised her wrist is as intact as it is.

the med-x hits her almost immediately, and she sighs with relief. he sets her arm and injects a stimpak before the pain can overpower the med-x. then a second, for good measure. he begins to do the same with her blown out wrist, and danse tries to ignore that she’s watching him, quietly.

‘you never answered my question.’ almost quietly.

‘which one?’ because she has asked a few, even in their short time together.

her head lolls to the side, but she keeps her eyes on him. he glances aside only long enough to inject the first stimpak in her wrist. ‘why did you join the brotherhood?’

he sighs and uses another stimpak before taking a seat beside her. he’s sore; he knows he’ll have bruises from this, but nothing compared to her injuries. she shifts next to him, her head against his shoulder. ‘stay awake,’ he says, still not entirely sure she doesn’t have a concussion. he feels her exhale heavily, but her eyes remain open, staring straight ahead.

‘i was born in the capital wasteland,’ he says when he notices her eyes closing. she hums in acknowledgement; he continues, ‘scavenged where i could, what i could. sold what i found in rivet city until i could open my own shop.

‘i met a man named cutler. we survived by trading in the city.’

a laugh rumbles out of his chest when he remembers some of the old things cutler used to keep. refused to sell, even if it would net them a handful of caps, just because he thought they were interesting. phones he’d use to pretend to call danse; movie reels he’d make up the stories for because he said he could make out the pictures; a photo frame he’d kept because he could barely read the word family engraved on it.

he tells her these things, and he feels her knuckles brush against the back of his hand. ‘what happened then?’

danse swallows. ‘we joined the brotherhood when they came recruiting.’ cutler sold his small treasures for extra caps; everything but that frame. he carried it with him, and eventually it found a spot on his side table on the prydwen for a year. it sat empty, until one of the younger scribes drew a picture of them: two bulky stick figures labeled with their names and an oval floating in the background. family.

‘only a year?’ she urges.

danse has talked about cutler before, to one of the prydwen’s doctors, to work through his grief. but not like this. he realizes she only asked why he joined the brotherhood, but cutler is - was - too important a reason to just skip over. it’s been so long since he’s just remembered the man, not the soldier he failed to save.

‘cutler went missing. we weren’t always given the same assignment, but it was never long before we returned. but this time, he - his entire squad hadn’t reported in when they were supposed to.’  danse remembers the initial news. the murmurs on the prydwen, the worry he felt. how he threw himself into the search for three weeks, scoured the land for what little scraps of information he could find. how, at the end of his search, they found an entire hive of super mutants. and cutler - he remembers cutler.

‘he was exposed to the virus - ‘ at her confused look, ‘the forced evolutionary virus. it... creates super mutants.’ this time, she intertwines their fingers, and he lets her. ‘they changed him. he wasn’t cutler anymore, so i... killed him.’

alice moves her head away from his shoulder to look at him. ‘i’m sorry, danse.’ she squeezes his hand and, without thinking, he returns it.

comfort.

danse pulls away and stands, rolling his aching shoulders. he helps her to her feet, slowly, and watches as she flexes her hands. ‘we should find scribe faris.’ she turns on the station for the distress pulser; the steady beeping indicating that scribe faris is likely in the cabin just overhead. with any luck, he’s only dead.

[neerasrealm]

I am enabling you

BAND AU BAND AU. SO GLAD I GET TO WRITE ABT THIS YEEEEEEE i kinda lost motivation towards the end but dfvsdgfhsd its fiiiiine. i got a couple more ideas for this au so...expect a couple more fics?? maybe??

Jason wasn’t sure if he could call the room a ‘practice room’. It felt more like a lounge. The walls were checkered with soundproof foam in places, as was the floor. There were also a lot of things hanging up on the walls. Posters of various rock bands and cult classic movies, all framed of course. The room was littered with instruments. Guitars, basses, a keyboard, a drumset, microphones- any instrument one could need, it was there. But there was also a lot of comfy furniture. Bean bags, a couple armchairs that had been dragged out of the trash, and of course, the old reliable sofa. It was stained and the springs were starting to break, but it was comfy, and Jason was quite happy lounging across it. He kicked his foot calmly in time to the beat of the music quietly playing from his boyfriend’s record player. He sighed and glanced over at the boyfriend in question. His name was Zalgo, and he had copper-brown skin and fluffy brown hair that was dyed red at the tips. Tattoos swirled up his arms and another stretched across his neck. He was covered in piercings too. His ears, his nose, a couple on his eyebrows, even a snakebite on his lower lip. His eyes were closed, and he was lounging in a big bean bag, a weed joint clenched between his teeth.

‘’They’re late again.’’ he murmured. 

‘’Nnh?’’ the joint flicked upward as Zalgo grunted. 

‘’The girls. We were supposed to have a practice session,’’ he looked down at the watch on his wrist. ‘’Twenty minutes ago.’’ 

‘’Mmmh…’’ Zalgo shifted in the bean bag, then abruptly jumped up in a startlingly quick movement. He stretched and groaned, then pulled the joint out of his mouth, smacking his dry lips. He looked over at Jason. He was wearing contacts again. These ones were golden and bright, and accentuated how...alluring, his gaze could be. His mouth curled up into a small grin. ‘’Just means more time for you and me.’’ he murmured as he walked slowly over to the couch where Jason sat. The redhead smirked at him as he leaned down toward him. 

‘’...You’re getting old.’’ Jason murmured before shoving Zalgo’s face away. The other man groaned and swatted at him before breaking into laughs. 

‘’I am not! I am just as cool and as sexy as senior year! Girls love me!’’

‘’You’re gay, Zalgo. And almost thirty.’’

‘’Hmph.’’ Zalgo puts his hands on his hips, pouting. Jason looked him over for a long moment. Zalgo had certainly kept his style from highschool. He wore a loose cut black tank top with a metal band’s logo on it. The neck was low, exposing his collar and the necklaces he wore around his neck. He was also wearing black ripped jeans with a studded belt with chains hanging off it. Almost every finger on his hand was decorated with a ring shiny ring. He was attractive, and carried himself with a confident flare only he could pull off. Jason could never pull that off. Showing so much skin, playing with makeup- it wasn’t his thing. He stuck with classic jeans, button-ups and ties with sneakers. Simple, yes, but it worked for him. And somehow Zalgo thought he was handsome enough to have dated him for over ten years. Jason smiled a bit and settled back in his seat.

‘’Do you...want to sit down?’’ he asked slowly. Zalgo looked down at him and grinned. He moved to lay down beside Jason, but the redhead put his hand on his chest and stopped him. ‘’...give me the joint first.’’ 

Zalgo huffed and rolled his eyes. He handed his boyfriend the joint and lay down, snuggling up against Jason as he took a drag of the joint. He sighed out, smoke blowing from his mouth. Zalgo looked up at him, watching him calmly. He reached up and caressed the other male’s jawline. ‘’...anyone ever tell you you’re fucking beautiful?’’ 

‘’No, my mother didn’t love me.’’ 

‘’PFFFFFT-’’ Zalgo wheezed loudly, bursting into loud cackles of amusement. Jason smiled and laughed gently. They were so distracted with just laughing on the couch like a couple of stupid dumb teens that they didn’t hear the front door being opened. They did however, hear it being slammed shut without warning, and it scared Zalgo so bad he fell off the couch with a yelp. The two stared at each other as they heard voices in the front hall downstairs. Zalgo grinned and rolled over onto his stomach, listening intently to the sound of footsteps coming up the stairs toward them. Zalgo skittered across the room and pressed himself against the wall beside the door. 

Jason took a drag of the joint and watched the door, which was quickly and violently kicked open.

"WHAT THE FUCK IS UP KYLE?!" 

He blew smoke out of his mouth. "Hello Natalie." He greeted calmly. Natalie was a short girl, with long caramel hair and tanned skin. Her eyes were bright and green, and she grinned wide at him. She was dressed in a denim jacket that hung off her shoulders, along with a white Guns N' Roses t-shirt and ripped navy jeans. As she waved her hands excitedly Jason could see the watch around her wrist glint in the light. A birthday gift he'd given her a few years ago.

"There you are!" Zalgo lunged out from behind the door and yanked his niece into a tight bear hug. She squealed and battered her fists against him, making the both of them giggle. Jason glanced over at the door and noticed a girl he'd never seen before, standing there looking around anxiously.

She had curly ginger hair and wore a simple green jacket with denim jeans. She was shorter than Natalie, who was short enough for a seventeen year old already. When she caught Jason's gaze she smiled nervously and waved a bit. Her smile quickly dropped however when she noticed the joint in Jason's hand. He glanced at it, then reached over and snuffed it out in the ashtray on the end table beside him. Zalgo would probably be mad about him wasting good weed later, but he didn't really care. 

"This a friend of yours, Natalie?" The redhead asked as he sat up on the couch. 

"This is Alice." Said a tall girl as she walked into the room and leaned against the doorway. Her name was Jane, and she was Natalie's girlfriend. She had dark skin, decorated with paler splotches in random places. She wore a long black dress with a leather jacket, fishnet gloves and tights, and platform boots that made a satisfying 'clunk' noise when she walked. Her hair was done up in braids, which were tied up in a pseudo ponytail. And she was also munching on a teacake that she'd definitely stolen from the kitchen. Jason glared at her.

"I told you to ask before taking those, y'know." He muttered. Jane shrugged and watched Natalie stumble out of the tight hug she'd been suffocating in. She turned to Alice with a grin and lunged over, slinging an arm over the smaller girl. 

"This is Alice!" She said again. "She's part of the drama club in school. Really good singing voice!" She turned to the ginger girl. "Right? You're an amazing singer!"

"U-Um-" Alice rubbed at her arm anxiously. "I'm not...that good…" she mumbled, her head lowering. Jason softened as he looked at the poor, nervous girl. 

"Nice to meet ya, Alice." Zalgo said gently. He walked over and crouched down, holding out his hand for her to shake. Alice stared at his arm.

"Your tattoos are so cool-" she blurted. She immediately slapped her hands over her mouth, wincing. Zalgo chuckled.

"Why thank you! I'm pretty proud of em myself." He said with a warm smile. "So you're Nat's friend?"

"I...guess," Alice rubbed at her arm again. "She uh- she said she wanted me to...join a band…? I-I dunno if I'm really cut out for that…"

Natalie shook her head and clamped her hand down on her shoulder. "Alice, I already told ya, your singing is incredible bro!" She leaned down and grinned at her. "Uncle Zalgo knows eeeverrryyythinggg about music. You just gotta impress him and you're in the band."

Alice looked at Zalgo. "You're...uncle Zalgo…?" She asked quietly, sounding even more scared. Zalgo nodded and stood up.

"Sure am." He gestured over at Jason. "That's Jason, by the way. He has a huge crush on me and sleeps in my bed. It's super embarrassing."

"Hey, you came out to me." Jason growled. Zalgo laughed. 

"It's...nice to meet you, sirs." Alice murmured. Jason looked at her and smiled gently. He sat up on the couch so the others could sit down. Zalgo obliged, flopping himself down next to him with a soft grunt. Natalie was quick to join them, sitting on Zalgo's other side while Jane occupied the arm of the chair. That left Alice...standing in front of them. Like she was being judged. It reminded her eerily of an audition.

"How old are ya?" Zalgo asked with the tilt of his head. Alice fidgeted. 

"Erm- fifteen." Zalgo looked at Natalie and arched a brow. Alice coughed. "B-But um- I've been singing since I was seven." She added. Zalgo gave a nod.

"Alright...think you can demonstrate?" He asked. Alice glanced away anxiously and he smiled a bit. "C'mon, you can't be any worse than Jason."

"Rude."

"I like Jason's voice." Jane piped up. Jason smiled.

"Thank you, Jane, you're the only person here who shows me any kindness…"

"Hey! I bring home pizza for you!" Zalgo said, pouting.

"You work at Pizza Hut, Zalgo. You get that stuff for free." Jason replied sternly. Alice laughed a little bit at the two of them. Jason turned back to her and smiled. 

‘’So what style of music do you do?’’ he asked. Alice’s eyes widened.

‘’Oh- mostly showtunes, broadway stuff.’’ she replied. Jason nodded. She felt a bit more relaxed now. It just….felt like an audition. She’d done those dozens of times before. ‘’I can sing Defying Gravity- from uh- Wicked?’’ she suggested. 

‘’Go ahead, girl.’’ Zalgo replied, leaning back on the couch again. Alice nodded and cleared her throat. 

‘’Something has changed within me...something is not the same, I’m through with playing by the rules of someone else’s game,’’ she hadn’t had a chance to warm up, and she winced at how her voice sounded. But when she looked at the others they didn’t seem to notice. ‘’Too late for second guessing, too late to go back to sleep…’’ she took a deep breath, preparing herself for the high notes coming up. ‘’It’s time to trust my instincts...close my eyes...and leap.’’ 

‘’Stop.’’ Zalgo interrupted her. She stopped and looked at him, afraid. Had she failed the high note? Did her rusty voice really sound that bad…? ‘’You’re amazing girl!’’ 

‘’Wh-wha-’’

‘’Seriously! You sound like you could be on broadway!’’ Zalgo grinned wide at her as he spoke. Jason nodded in agreement. Nat hopped up off the couch and slung her arm around Alice’s shoulder again.

‘’So is she in?’’

‘’Well of course she’s in!’’ Zalgo stood up and thrust out his hand. ‘’Welcome to the band, Alice.’’

Alice smiled sheepishly and took his hand. ‘’Thanks...what uh- what do I get for being in it?’’

‘’Free music lessons and pop tarts. Plus vibing privileges.’’ 

‘’V-Vibing privileges…?’’ 

‘’You’re allowed come over whenever.’’ Jason explained. ‘’Though you probably have better things to do than hang out with two thirty year old men who do nothing but watch Netflix all day.’’

‘’Oh.’’ 

‘’Oh c’mon, we’re cool!’’ Zalgo pouted at him. ‘’In fact, I can prove it.’’

‘’Please don’t.’’ Jason murmured. Alice watched Zalgo scamper over to the corner of the room and grab one of the instruments. He held it up proudly. It was a red guitar, with two necks and a body cut into jagged shapes. He grinned and held it down to playing height, strolling back over to Alice. 

‘’Pretty sweet, huh?’’

‘’Oh my god do you have to show that thing to every guest we get?’’ Jason called irritably. Zalgo shot him a look. 

‘’How do you even play that…?’’ Alice asked in amazement. Zalgo smiled.

‘’Lots of practice and quick timing.’’ he replied, strumming a few chords. ‘’What instruments do ya play, girl?’’

‘’Oh uh- I- don’t. I just sing.’’ Alice glanced away nervously as she spoke. Zalgo arched a brow at her, surprised.

‘’I thought she’d be good for backup!’’ Natalie chimed in.

‘’I think she’d be good for my songs,’’ Jane added. ‘’Just like with Jason.’’ Zalgo nodded and looked at the ginger girl for a moment. He turned on his heel and put his beloved guitar down, then moved over to another part of the room and rummaged through a plastic bin he had laying around. 

‘’I know just the thing for you then,’’ he murmured. Alice looked surprised, until he stood up again and held up a tambourine. ‘’This is exactly what we’ve been missing, and it’s easy to learn!’’

‘’...oh.’’ Zalgo strode over and handed the tambourine to Alice. She looked at it for a moment, then shook it halfheartedly. He grinned and clasped his hands together.

‘’Perfect!’’ 

Jason sighed quietly and climbed up off the couch. He dusted his hands off and glanced at Nat and Jane. ‘’You guys hungry?’’ he asked. Zalgo shot him a look.

‘���Wait what happened to practice?’’ he whined. Jason rolled his eyes and walked over to the door.

‘’You already showed off your guitar, Zalgy. And I’m hungry.’’ Jason muttered. ‘’And I’m sure the girls are starving too.’’ he turned and looked at his boyfriend. He knew Zalgo couldn’t say no to him, not when he pulled out that nickname. He eventually sighed.

‘’Fiiiiine.’’

[notyetneedcoffee]

Dress Up

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Warning: NSFW, Smut

Author’s Note: This is an answer to @sourpatchkidsandacokecan Little Darlin’s All Things Fall Writing Challenge.  Prompt  "There are some things about Halloween you don't understand."

ooooo

"What do mean you're not going?"  

Steve Rogers did his best to ignore you, but you followed him into his room so he stopped and finally faced you. Resting his hands on his hips, his head hung with a sigh. "I go to every one of Tony's parties, no matter how frivolous I think they are. I at least make an appearance."

"I've seen you have a good time." You stepped a little closer, dipping your head and peeking up into his blue eyes.

"Yeah, occasionally." The corner of his mouth quirked up. "But honestly, Y/N, the loud music and the dancing - today's kind of dancing - just isn't my thing. Now you all expect me to dress up like some little kid on top of it? No. I'm not going."

"It's not like that, Steve. Tony's Halloween parties are legendary. It's not kids' stuff."

"No." He shook his head.  

A wicked alternative crossed your mind. You were a masterful strategist after all. "Fine. I get it. If you're uncomfortable at some of Tony's other parties, then this one would most likely drive you crazy. I'm sure you can make an excuse."

"Thank you." He sighed, giving you a warm smile. “I’m sure you’ll have a great time without me.”

“If I have to.” Your exaggerated pout completely for show.  

His smile spread. Chuckling, he pulled you into his arms and squeezed you tight. Cupping your face with one hand, his kiss stayed light and playful.  

"Tell you what," you lean back, stepping half out of his embrace. "If you're not coming, will you at least help me pick out my costume? They're supposed to be a surprise, but I always struggle making up my mind."

"Um."  

"We don't even have to go anywhere. I have a friend that I can borrow costumes from and she'll deliver them to my suite. You just have to sit around and tell me what you think." You gave him your cheesiest grin. "Please."

"Will there be beer?" He teased.

"Yes."

"Okay," he sighed, then laughed when you did a little happy dance.  

As soon as you left his suite, you got on the phone to put your plan into action. There were costumes gather, spa visits to plan. You needed stripper heels!

The following week nearly ruined your plans. The team agreed to escort a group of biochemist to a hot zone in order to assess the agreed disarmament of a hostile county's program. Only a terrorist faction made a foolish attempt anyway. The scientists and the team walked away. The same couldn't be said for the attackers.  

When Cap saw you take a shot to the back and go down - thank god for Stark body armor - his thrown shield practically took the guy's head off. By the time you were hurrying to your feet, Steve was there with worry in his eyes, looking you over for damage. "M'okay" You nodded before hustling the scientist under your care to cover.  

Steve carried out the mission with his usually efficiency and professionalism. Only once the team loaded back onto the quinjet and were headed for home, did he seek you out. His hand ghosted over the hole in the back of your suit. "You okay?"

"Yeah." You sighed. "Really."

"I'd feel better if we took a look at it." Steve added gently. "You may not feel it now, but..."

"Okay. Sure." You unzipped the jacket, dropping the ruined garment to the floor. Unstrapping the body armor took a little longer. Steve set it aside as you pulled your tee shirt over your head, leaving you in a sports bra. You turned your back to him. "Am I bruised up? It's sore, but not bad."

His finger tips traced over your scapula where the bullet would have hit. You suppressed a sigh. "No." Steve's voice was low, nearly drowned by the sound of the engines. "You're perfect."

You slept hard that night, jet lag and exhaustion from the mission thankfully chasing away your nerves about the following day. Upon awaking, though, your mood had never been higher. By lunch Clint was hysterically laughing at your goofiness. Maria was getting pissed because you kept distracting those around you from what they were supposed to be doing. Finally, after dinner, you grabbed a couple fresh beers out of the fridge.

"So, Steve, you're helping me tonight right?"

"Yeah, of course." He got up to follow you.

"With what?" Bruce asked. From him it was most likely an innocent question, but it sparked a look from everyone else in the room.

"It's a surprise for a friend." You answered, not really lying.

The two of you vanished down the hall. Inside your suite, you set the beers aside. "Kick off your shoes, get comfortable. This could take a minute."

"Okay. I’m just going to turn on the music." Steve always had music playing in his rooms. He called up one of his playlists and smokey blues quietly filled the air. "So, what's first?"

You called out from around the corner, "First one is a pirate. I did this one a couple years ago, so it's not my favorite. But I still want to know what you think."

Walking around the corner, thigh-high high-heel boots clipping on the hard wood floor, you couldn't help the wicked grin on your face. Steve's face went slack, mouth dropping open as his eyes moved past the boots to the black hot shorts and matching halter under the billowy white open front vest. A cutlass hung at your waist and a pirate's hat sat cocked on your head.  

"Well?"

"That's..." He swallowed. "Not a Halloween costume."

You bit back the laugh, approaching him with a sway of your hips. You leaned close, running a finger down his perfect jaw. "There are some things about Halloween you don't understand."

"Apparently not." He swallowed hard.

You smiled, stood and walked back to the bedroom. He shifted in his seat, watching your ass wiggle in those barely there shorts."If you don't like this one, you might like the next one."

"Y/N." Steve adjusting his hard on in his pants. “Tell me this next one is more, um, suitable.”

“Well,” You called out from the other room. “It’s a more accurate representation.” You giggled silently as you fasted the beaded bra into place.

“Okay.” Steve downed the rest of his beer. He’d cracked open the second one when the tinkling of tiny bells drew his eyes to the door. Your bare foot, jingling an ankle bracelet teased him for a moment before you slid around the corner in the belly dancers outfit. Bright peacock colored scarves hid nothing, they were so transparent and thin. The bikini slung low on your hips and jingled with a belt of chains and tiny brass bells. You hips popped as you walked toward him.

“This is...” Steve swallowed hard as you hips circled around before him in a slow motion dance. He couldn’t finish his sentence. He was biting his lip too hard.

“It’s gorgeous, isn’t it?” You turned your back toward him, ass rocking. Continuing the seductive circle, you smiled. “You should feel these silks,” you purred and flipped one of the scarves over his head. Your fingers rubbed the silk down his neck. Steve’s eyes dropped closed and he groaned.

He licked his lips, swallowing hard to get moisture to his dry mouth. “I don’t think you should wear that out.”

“No?” You suddenly walked away. “Maybe this next one will be the one for you.”

You had a feeling about Steve. It was just a guess, but you were willing to bet almost anything you were right. Changing fast, not wanting him to think too much, you kept talking. “After all, it is your opinion of my costume that matters to me, even if you don’t want to go to the party. Maybe this way is better.”

You stepped around the corner. Wearing an impossibly short plaid skirt with a white cotton thong, a super tight button up cardigan that was too short and too tight, high heel Mary Janes and messy pig tails. The perfect naughty school girl.

Steve stood, arousal obvious. You walked over to him, running your hand down his chest. His breath sped up, hands opened and closed.

“Steve,” You bit your lip and battled your lashes. “I’ve been a bad girl.” Your hands ran over his gorgeous chest. Eyes flicking down to straining front of his pants. Fuck, you were wet.  

“Oh, I can tell.” He breathed.  

His lips crashed into yours. You’re mouth opened to the touch of his tongue, heated and desperate. His hand cupped your face as he drank you down. His teeth nipped at your lower lip and he held you against him.

“So naughty.” He breathed against your lips, hand slipping beneath the skirt to find your bare ass cheek. Groaning, digging his fingers into your flesh and pulling you against him, he rumbled. “Sounds like you need to be punished.”

A wicked smile crossed you face, Steve flipped the skirt up and playfully smacked your ass. You jumped in his grasp, mouth falling open. He ran his nose along your neck. He did it again, harder. You heard him inhale deep. “Mmm, you like that.”  

“Yes.” Your fingers raked through his hair. You wanted to climb him, to wrap your legs around him.

“What do you want?”

You kissed him hard, grinding into his erection. “Fuck me.”

Steve pulled you tight against him. Your arms wrapped around his shoulders, kissing him like you’d drown if you didn’t. Your feet lifted off the floor, one of Steve’s hands cupping your ass cheek, the other arm tightly around your ribs.  

When your legs wrapped around his waist, Steve pulled his head back with a groan. Your teeth nipped along his neck as carried you to the bedroom. Dropping you to your feet, he pulled open his jeans. Your hand wrapped his cock as he tore the tiny cardigan open exposing the black lace bra beneath.  

“Fuck, that’s sexy.” He breathed.  

A devilish smile spread across your face as you pushed his jean down. Steve tossed his shirt aside as you helped him step out of jeans. On your knees, back arched and ass barely peeking out beneath the pleated skirt, you took his cock in your hand. Running your tongue along the bottom of his dick to the weeping tip, you finally took him in your mouth.  

Steve moaned, watching your lips stretch around his cock, feeling your tongue, your mouth, the back of your fucking throat. Saliva dripped down your chin. The heady scent of him filled your nose, so good. You pinched at your own nipple with your free hand. The sight making Steve growl deep in his chest.

“Up here, pretty girl.” He suddenly lifted you away and positioned you onto all fours at the edge of the bed. Steve tugged off the little sweater, pulling your back against his chest. His strong hands kneaded and pulled at your tits through the lace as his teeth nipped over your throat. One handed, he unclasped the bra and tossed it aside.  

Pushing you back to all fours, Steve ran his hands over the short skirt. “This stays.” He rumbled. He hooked his fingers into the cotton panties and pulled them down. Steve’s hands slipped over the curve of your ass, spreading you. “Look at that pretty pussy.”

You gasped as he plunged his face to your folds, tongue lapping. His fingers dug into the flesh of your ass. Hot breath, scorching tongue, making you shudder. You dropped to your elbows, face pressing into the mattress. “Fuck, Steve!”

“So, good.” He licked and nipped your ass cheek, the small of your back, as he stood. You felt the tip of his cock slide against you. You moaned. Just the tip of him stretched your wet lips, then he pulled away. Pushing up to your hands, you looked over your shoulder. Steve watched himself sink just the tip of himself into your cunt and out again to rub against your clit. His mouth open, eyes intense.  

“Oh, shit.” You breathed. So hot.

Steve slid his other hand over your ass, to the skirt. He gathered the fabric in his fist, taking a hold of the waist band. He suddenly slammed into you, deep. You cried out, it felt so good. A growl rumbled in his chest, as he moved just a little, pressing deeper and deeper. He smacked your ass, send a jolt straight to your cunt. He smacked you again, pulling back and plunge in hard, again and again, until he bottomed out.

“Oh, fuck! So deep!” You panted. “Yes!”

Steve held you by the skirt, dug his other fingers into your hip hard. Skin slapped against skin. He fucked you hard. You threw your head back, a sex drunk smile on your face. He wasn’t usually rough with you, but your reaction spurred him on. Your soaking cunt taking his cock so well.  

Heat coiled in your core, quivering. You panted, cursing and submitted to his punishment. “Yes. Steve. Oh, fuck. I’m gonna…” Smack! His hand hit your ass again and you shook violently. He slammed into you hard and fast. You orgasm exploded over you, soaking his cock.  

“Holy shit!” Steve groaned. “Yes!” His hips lost their rhythm and he pushed hard into you, painting your cunt as he came hard.  

One of his arms wrapped around your waist, the other holding you both above the bed as you panted and came down. Steve kissed your shoulder and hauled you both further onto the bed. He rolled onto his side, pulling you against him. His mouth covered yours, lazily tasting your tongue and nipping at your lips.  

“Mmmm.” You sighed, wrapping sex soaked bodies around each other.  

He grinned. “You okay?”

“So much better than okay.”

His hand slid over your hip. “I may have left a bruise or two.”

“I may have came so hard I black out for a moment.”  

Steve laughed, pulling your tighter against him. “Point taken.”

“Mm-hmm.” You nuzzled his neck, breathing in the amazing scent of him. You felt his fingers toy with the skirt.

“This,” He tugged at the fabric, “is not fair. Too damn sexy. And, it is not a Halloween costume.”

“So the belly dancer outfit, then.” You tried not to giggle when he flipped you on your back and pined you down.

“No bellydancer. No naughty pirate. You’re too irresistible. I’d have to take you up against the bar.” You laughed and he kissed you hard. “I’m going to put you some full length Snow White gown or something.”

“Only if you come as my prince.” You teased. “Otherwise, it’s the bellydancer.”

“Oh really?” His fingers dug into your ribs making you squirm and squeal with laughter.

“Yes!”

Steve kissed you again, smiling against your lips. “Then I guess I’m just going to have to be your prince.”

“You already are.”

TAGS:

@rainbowkisses31 / @dsakita / @geeksareunique / @lbouvet / @buckybarneshairpullingkink / @theneuropsychwriter / @vanillabunn21 / @sammghgecko / @beautifullungs / @badassbaker / @the-omni-princess / @sebbysstangirl / @jesseswartzwelder / @unadulteratedwizardlove / @the-reading-octopus / @bangtan-serendipity / @kiki5283 / @mindtravelsx / @my-favorite-fics-and-imagines / @patzammit /  @thegetawaywriter / @nova3312

#ldatfwc

[spookyspaghettisundae]

Not Killing Him

Orion Crown sat in his big, mean-looking SUV in the old parking lot. The dry heat of Vegas had ripped up the asphalt here over the past years, leaving it pockmarked and littered with potholes. His own car and one other vehicle in the lot were the only ones parked there, immobile, like silent steel corpses, cooling in the shadow of some abandoned warehouse.

The thick windows shielded him from the noise of traffic in the distance, so Orion sat in a weirdly muffled silence. Staring at the entrance of the derelict warehouse with its crooked, ajar doors. He felt sick to his stomach because he had slept little more than a few hours per night and his forehead was burning up.

He picked up his phone from the passenger seat, snatching it from where it was resting next to a loaded semi-automatic pistol. He thumbed through the display, checking his recent direct messages on your social media platform of choice.

Orion Crown, social media darling and super-giant of the statusphere. He flipped through business proposal messages from other influencers, something marginally important from his YouTube video editor, and an array of annoyed passive-aggressive texts from his producer-slash-partner. He let the list slide to a stop, with this finger hovering over the display. Hovering just over the message from “The Glass King” with the preview field only saying that it contained a GIF.

The internet star dithered. He could refuse to walk into that warehouse and refuse to use that gun. His career and life would be over, though.

The alternative was sucking it up, gripping the cold metal of the pistol in his palm, walking in there, and blasting away. Didn’t matter who it was. Didn’t know, didn’t care.

Even though seeing the message’s contents disturbed him every time he reviewed it, his thumb descended in slow motion. Like time almost ground to a halt, like the universe was trying to stop him from watching it again.

He tapped the message and it flicked onto full display on his screen.

The animated GIF flashed with disturbing imagery, all of it cut so quickly and abruptly that it became impossible to take it all in. Words and symbols displayed for fractions of seconds so that the mind could not really grasp what it read, and video footage that may or may not contain clipped recordings of overt violence. Violence he, himself, had authored.

The glare of his phone reflected in Orion’s glassy eyes, pupils dilating with dread and disassociation. Knowing that he recognized some of the things presented here so subliminally and viscerally, feeling guilt even though he had always rationalized the terrible things he had done in the past.

How was anybody better? How could anybody be better?

I am not a bad person, Orion thought. Nobody is.

After watching the animated GIF loop countless times, glued to the phone’s display as if bound in a trance, he put the phone back down onto the passenger seat, a hand’s breadth away from the gun. He barely registered the words that followed far down below the window of animation.

The threats. The instructions.

The sentences that had brought him to the locker where he obtained the gun. The address of this warehouse. And his mission, to kill anybody he saw inside this place.

Why didn’t this “Glass King” person just ask for money? Why this? How did the Glass King even get that footage? It had been destroyed long ago.

None of it made any sense.

No matter how many times he mulled it over, Orion Crown—born with the more unglamorous name of Kyle Howard—his sense of self-preservation, greed, and existential dread always won out. Always looped him back to doing as he was told as long as it served his own purposes. To get this over with, and walk away, and never let anybody know of his dirty secrets.

If the Glass King put any of that out—if they aired out any of Orion Crown’s dirty laundry—then he would be out of the game. Done. Probably also in prison.

Orion looked over to the gun. Stared at it, taking in every hard and unforgiving edge and angle of its sleek industrial design.

He had before, and he pondered it again, now: to just pick it up and stick the nuzzle right into his own mouth. Pull the trigger and end it right now.

But his vanity and pride, masked with religious guilt and eclipsed by copious amounts of doublethink, led him to believe that this was the only way.

He grabbed the gun and weighed it in his hand. Orion licked his lips and they felt funny. Not chapped, but uneven. Slimy. He bit his lip and chewed without realizing it, while his gaze swept up and down the crumbling building of this damned warehouse.

In one fluid motion, he got out of his car, slammed the door shut, and walked towards the entrance of the warehouse. The heat outside his car, even here in the shade—combined with the inexplicable fever he was running—made his head swim as if he had been drinking nonstop for the past day and night.

He gripped that pistol in his fist like his life depended on it. And as far as Orion was concerned, it did.

The rusted hinges on the big metal double doors squealed and he cringed at the sound of it, freezing in place. His heart raced, his pulse thundering in his ears. Eyes darted back and forth, looking for a sign of anybody in there. Whoever had parked the other car had to be in here, and Orion’s job was to gun them down.

Something heavy, like a brick hitting a pile of rubble, echoed through the decrepit and dingy halls.

Orion’s hand jerked and he pointed the gun out in front of himself, aiming at every dark corner and little thing he could perceive. With nobody in sight, the adrenaline pumped through his body, suffusing him with a quiet rage and driving the sweat to erupt from his pores, clouding his senses and sapping his reason.

He sidled through the entrance and crept through the abandoned place, twitching at any possible sound he thought he heard and any shadow he saw in the corner of his eyes, expecting someone, anybody, to jump out at him.

Something chugged and sputtered, causing him to freeze once more. He continued sneaking on when he recognized those sounds to be coming from a gas-powered generator, hidden somewhere deeper within the warehouse’s bowels.

He kind of hoped that someone would jump out at him from a blind spot. Thinking it would be much easier to pull the trigger if it felt like self defense.

Instead, he found a large, wide, pillared hall, awaiting him at the end of a long twisting and turning through claustrophobia-inducing corridors.

Someone had arranged seven door frames in a perfect circle, bolted down with plywood feet to support their weight, sawdust and power tools littering the dirty floors, and that distinct smell of freshly cut wood hanging in the air.

Each door frame held a door, closed and looking far too new to fit into this warehouse. An array of four construction site spotlights illuminated the doors from their center, connected to a tangle of bright orange power cord extensions, leading his sweeping gaze to the generator he had been hearing chug away all this time.

The doors were just standing there, out in the open, connected to no walls. Leading nowhere.

Orion gripped the pistol in both hands, holding it outstretched far in front of himself. He had never fired a gun before in his life. Without realizing it, he both wanted the thing to be as far away as possible from himself, but also wanted to use it and for things to be over fast.

But nobody was here. Right?

Wrong.

Arriving in the center of the seven doors, he blinked and inspected a small pile of objects heaped up in between the four spotlights.

A bunch of broken smartphones, a black wig, a small cracked hand mirror, a pile of about twenty credit cards that had been sloppily cut in half, a bunch of different keys that looked far too old to fit the locks on the doors here, and all of the objects rested on top of a local city map that someone had drawn all over with a black magic marker.

A pebble crunched underneath a boot. But not Orion’s shoe. He swiveled, almost getting dizzy at his own speed as he pointed the gun at the source of the noise.

Standing only steps away from the other person, he held the pistol out and swallowed. No matter how many times he had tried to mentally prepare for this moment, he hesitated and his index finger trembled instead of squeezing around the trigger.

Nobody jumping out at him. Just standing there.

She stared into the barrel of his gun for a split second and then met his gaze. A woman in her twenties, dressed like a man. Or—at second glance—androgynous, like she was in some sort of getup for a rock or punk band from the 1990s. Clad in a ratty leather jacket and dark jeans; covered in studs on her clothing, a chain hanging from her belt, and spikes protruding from a choker around her neck; way too much makeup on her face; and a poorly-cut hair-do of shaved sides and long top that could constitute as a fashion crime.

More distracting, however, was the hand she held in her hand. Orion did a double take on that before he fully absorbed what he saw there. A waxen hand with candlewicks sticking out from the fingertips, gripped firmly in her slender hand.

“Who the fuck are you?” she asked Orion. She squinted at him.

He squeezed the trigger. It didn’t work. The fucking gun refused to work.

Orion turned it over and looked at it and realized that it had a safety setting which he had forgotten to take care of before walking into the building.

Clink. Snap.

The woman flicked a lighter on and guided it to the waxen hand in her hand and he had flicked the safety and pointed the gun at her and the next thing Orion knew, his wrists hurt. And so did his neck. And his lower back.

Chafing against exposed skin, coarse rope and the smell of burnt candles still filled his nostrils. He began thrashing but found that his limbs did not obey his instinct to struggle against his bonds because of how tightly he was tied down. He scraped his skin against something like rough rock or rusty metal behind him.

Blinking and fighting the fever back down, the taste of iron clung to his tongue. His vision blurred here and there and reality caught back up to him with disjointed delay. She had tied him to something in sight of the circle of seven doors.

The woman crouched in front of one of the doors, her back turned to him.

With a loud PLOP, she opened something in her hands and whatever she was doing, it resulted in the door being splattered with something dark and red.

Hoarse, the words croaked out of his throat and left him sounding more like a toad. “Hey,” Orion emitted. “Let me go!”

The woman whispered something and it dawned on him that it was no response to him.

“What the fuck are you doing? You’re gonna get into so much trouble if you don’t let me go,” he said. But it really was just pathetic pleading, masquerading as feeble threats. “Police’ll be all over your ass, lady.”

She continued whispering and splashed more of the dark crimson liquid over the next door, to its left.

Something crunched. It drew both Orion’s attention, and that of the woman. They both stared at the thing crawling into the large hall, emerging from the corridors he had entered from. The way they paused, paralyzed with disbelief—and the failure of the human mind’s capability to process what they were looking at—took in the thing moving along the floor.

It looked like a pile of trash, like someone had kicked over a garbage can and the contents of four weeks of refuse had spilled out over the ground. With a stench to match. But parts of it looked fleshy, or sponge-like. Wobbling but staying whole, like a block of jello. Other bits, like stalks, or tentacles, tiny and too many to count, coiling and recoiling and almost like they were looking in every direction, but seeing without any discernible eyes.

Death and evil incarnate, crawling over the filthy floors. Hungry, but slow. Creeping. Part of the world’s abandoned things, coalesced and fused into something awful, something trapped in between the realm of the living and the realm of non-existence; a vessel to something worse, something spawned in the darkest recesses and the deepest abyss of human sin. Crawling, and more than one. Another pile of living muck and vomit-inducing presence followed. And another. And another.

Rejects.

They headed towards the seven doors with painful slowness. But one of them began veering away from the rest, inching closer towards Orion.

Thwuck. Shlack. Scrape.

Orion wanted to throw up. He started wriggling, thrashing, fighting against his bonds, but none of it helped. He looked back at the woman in desperation.

She breathed through her teeth, “Shit.”

Haste colored her every movement now and she haphazardly sprayed more liquid onto the doors. One by one. She whispered all the while, though the whispers had made way to hectic chanting. Orion had no chance in understanding it, for the words sounded nothing like any language he had ever heard before.

Almost matching the sounds made by the Rejects, creeping forth.

Scrape. Flesh. Shlef. Thwuck.

The Reject crawled closer. Ever closer to him.

Tears welled up in the corners of his eyes, first blurring his sight a little, and then a lot. Orion had no time or space to realize how that might have been better, he only felt the deep-rooted dread in his stomach. The certainty of death by this abomination, crawling up to him. Only an arm’s length away from his kicking feet.

The stench intensified as the thing got closer, robbing him of any speech, making him wretch.

Images of the GIF on his phone flashed in his mind. The violence he had inflicted, captured on camera—his own recordings, not meant for public consumption—sent to him by the Glass King.

Just like these monsters had been sent by the Glass King.

Orion screamed for help.

A figure in a long black duster emerged from the corridors, standing still at the edge of the large hall, staring at the seven doors. Orion screamed for help from him, now. But within just a few beats of his heart, pounding so hard that it wanted to burst from his chest, he knew deep down that this man was the master of the Rejects.

No—this man was the Glass King, and he cared nothing for Orion’s plight. Hell, he probably enjoyed it. Orion sensed that just much malice from the presence of his man, and his imagination ran wild in response to the evil emanating from his body, hitting his entire being like a truck.

“Will you even be you when you return from that place? If you return from the house?” asked the man, directing his words at the woman by the doors.

Cold and uncaring about Orion, who was now screaming at the top of his lungs. Because something cold and wet and slimy slapped against the bottom of his shoe. And slithered up it, tugging at shoe laces, wrapping around the leg of his pants by his ankle, and applying pressure. Pulling itself upwards.

Onto him.

The woman never stopped chanting, flinging blood at those doors and then sticking something white and misshapen into the keyhole of one of the brass knobs, exposed by the glaring cone of light from one of the spots. She stopped chanting.

“You can’t stop change. Everything changes. That’s all you’re really afraid of, isn’t it?” she shouted. Anger making her voice tremble. Also something insecure. Or fear.

She ripped the door open and ran through it and slammed it shut behind her, but she didn’t emerge from the other side.

Just gone. Vanished into thin air.

Orion had neither eyes nor mind for this phenomenon, however. He only felt the many tiny tendrils of trash touching, feeling, finding their way up his limbs. A path of disgusting discovery, exploring his body like an alien creature trying to figure out human anatomy, but in reality just so depraved and sinister that it pretended to be doing so when it fed on his festering dread and despair.

Was this what it was like to be helpless? To be used, and chewed out?

To cry for help, but be ignored?

He had no capacity left for clean, deep thoughts. Only terror filled his being. The Reject crawled up over him, exerting the weight of a full-grown person, pinning him down and amplifying his sense of helplessness.

Some part of him expected to feel tiny teeth from tiny mouths chewing away at him, but the slithering and worming motions only reflected the darkness in his own heart, mirroring the corruption that had always haunted him. His screaming died down, petering out into a hoarse unintelligible something that transformed into whimpering.

The man in the duster—the Glass King—clicked his tongue but ignored Orion, approaching the seven doors.

“You didn’t answer my question, Kimmy. You fear the answer, or you’d say it out loud,” muttered the Glass King.

Orion expected the sensation of cold metal to be cutting his flesh, but the wet something was more like saliva dispersed from tongues, oozing across his skin. He expected for those rubber bands and spongy stalks to wrap around his neck and choke the life out of him, but they only squeezed a little bit. Just enough to be uncomfortable, and just enough for the Reject to enjoy it.

It breathed on him. The Reject engulfed him, not killing him.

The man in the duster turned on his heels.

Eyes wide open, stricken with unnatural knowing accumulated from a thousand lives and a deep-seated and all-devouring madness—staring into Orion’s eyes. The Glass King’s stare reached deep inside, prying away at his secrets like a lunatic ripping away at the fabric padding lining the walls of a forgotten cell, for those crazy eyes had seen the same GIF as he had. Knew what he knew. Knew his every dirty secret.

Much worse was the grin plastered across his face. Toothy, sadistic, and stretched far too wide to look fun or what was natural for that human face.

“Oh, Kyle, my boy,” said the Glass King, with the grin never wiping itself off his face. “You had one job and you bungled it. But no worries, I still have use for you. Your name, your reputation—your face. Enough mojo there for me to milk for a far greater purpose. Good on you for at least coming here, huh?”

The Glass King took a few steps closer towards Orion. Neared. Menace echoing with each step of his boots thumping against the dirty floor.

Orion wasn’t even whimpering anymore. Before a sheet of paper with something cold and wet and fleshy clinging to its underside had fully crept up the side of his face and covered it—before he closed his eyes and lost sight—he wanted to protest.

But he had no words.

Some part of him, matched only by his urge to vomit, knew he deserved this. Every second of it.

The Reject breathed on him, hot and damp and unpleasant. It almost entirely engulfed him, satisfied with the almost.

Not killing him.

—Submitted by Wratts

[welllpthisishappening]

By City-Wide Decree

It's a crush.

And in any other situation, that would be it. He'd be able to keep going about his day in normal pining fashion. But nothing about this is normal. Because in the last few minutes Bellamy's complained about shredded cheese and Clarke's making jokes about Bleecker Street and apparently there's some city-wide rule about car services now.

Or: the last thing Bellamy Blake expected during a national health pandemic was being forced to kiss his neighbor.

----

Rating: Teen Word Count: Just over 5.6K AN: Hey there, internet. It was really only a matter of time until I wrote some kind of nonsense here. But I do want to say that this story does include COVID-19 stuff, so if that is not for you, I totally get it. That being said, this admittedly very silly nonsense, is very much just that and hopefully it offers a bit of a distraction for a few minutes. 

Also on Ao3 if that’s your jam

----

He almost drops the box of macaroni in his hand. 

The edge stabs his palm, a weird pain that's really more like the general sense of Bellamy’s frustration because just a few seconds ago he witnessed two grown adults glaring at each other over the final few rolls of toilet paper in aisle five. And there aren’t really that many other people in this grocery store, which he supposes is a good thing. Everyone taking social distancing seriously and staying home and he’s got every intention of doing the same, but first he’s got to deal with this. 

“Pre-shredded cheese,” he mumbles under his breath, glancing at the box. He’s bent the edge. He hopes he doesn’t break the box. There weren’t many left in that aisle, either. Just the one thing of shells Bellamy had been able to grab and four boxes of whole wheat linguine, which, really, almost offends him more than the idea of pre-shredded cheese. 

In a variety of flavors. 

And adjectives. 

“Cheese should not have adjectives attached to it,” Bellamy continues, and apparently he’s reached the crazy portion of his day. 

That also seems to be the standard for most of the world, though. He’d been very close to breaking up the toilet paper fight. So maybe he’s just catching up to everyone else. He needs to go home. He needs to—

“Pick a goddamn cheese,” he says. Whatever sound he makes at his own private conversation isn’t so much a sigh, but rather another round of frustration and possible resignation and taco-flavored cheese can’t be that bad. 

Right? Maybe. 

He can’t imagine what kind of preservatives are used in taco-flavored cheese. Like..are there even spices involved? There should be spices. When all of this is over he’s going to write a strongly worded letter to the Kraft family. 

Bellamy sighs again, drawing more than a few looks and a glare or too, and he’s going to give himself a headache if he keeps rolling his eyes at their current rate. He lunges forward, careful to account for the box of macaroni and the small thing of buttermilk that’s honestly starting to make his fingers go numb and—

An arm moves next to his. 

She’s also a little off-balance — a backpack that’s close to bursting and something that might actually be paint streaked across her left cheek, but Bellamy can barely register that when she’s already starting to stumble back, a package of margarine clutched in her hand. 

“Oh,” Clarke breathes, eyes going wide and what looks like the first hints of a smile tugging at the ends of her mouth. “Hey, Bell.”

His stomach flies into his throat. 

As per usual. 

That might be the most normal part of his day so far. 

To say that he’s been harboring a pretty monumental crush on Clarke Griffin since she moved into the apartment across the hall from Bellamy would be—

Accurate. 

It would be accurate, honestly.

In almost painful fashion. 

Six months ago, she showed up with a handful of boxes and paint on her jeans, and a smile that seemed to reverberate through him. In a way where that doesn’t sound insane. Maybe he wasn’t catching up to everyone else. Maybe he was just sprinting past them. Towards crazy. 

The kind of crazy that also means he’s stupid into his neighbor. 

She’d said hi first that day too. So he offered to help her carry some boxes and she’d promised she’d be ok, but he was stubborn and a little overwhelmed by the very specific color of her eyes and she really did have a lot of stuff and they’d ordered from the Thai place up the street after. 

And if that's not the basis for a pretty solid friendship, then Bellamy isn’t sure what is. 

Only that’s really all it is. Because, well—Bellamy isn’t sure. Octavia would say he’s being an idiot and to some extent that’s true, but he and Clarke are pretty good friends now and sometimes she curls up on the corner of his couch when she’s stressed about the arts budget of the high school she works at in the Bowery or he kicks on her door when he’s got some new pages he thinks she might like to read and it’s—

Good. 

Normal. 

In a world that is very quickly spiraling out of control. 

He hopes those people didn’t actually start yelling over toilet paper. He’s not sure his brain would be able to cope with that. 

“What are you doing here?” Clarke asks, taking another step back and he hadn’t noticed she’s got another bag of art supplies in her left hand. 

“Glaring at cheese.” “I’m sorry, what?” “Glaring at cheese,” Bellamy repeats. He nods towards the minimal selection, Clarke’s eyes widening at his admittedly petty reaction to the cheese issue. It should not be an issue. “I—well, I’m running low on some food and I—” He grits his teeth, suddenly hopeful that he’ll be able to melt into the supermarket floor. 

That’s probably not hygienic. 

“Is it super top secret, then?” Bellamy clicks his tongue. “No, it’s—ok, do you promise not to laugh?” “Absolutely not.” “You look like you staged a battle getting here.” “Nah,” she objects, but there’s a slight blush creeping across her cheeks and it’s probably wrong to feel some kind of victory at that. Just, like—with everything else going on. Flirting should probably be a low priority at this point. 

“Then…” “Why are you angry at the cheese?” “Mostly the selection of cheese,” Bellamy admits. “Because I’m supposed to use a very specific kind, so—” “—For what?” “My mom’s mac and cheese recipe.” She gapes at him. Which is not the reaction he was hoping for, really. He’s not sure what would be better, but he had been pretty partial to the blush and he’s positive this is somehow the paint streak’s fault. 

Clarke has a habit of getting paint everywhere. 

There’s still a stain on his floor from three weeks ago. 

“Did you think I was going to laugh at you making your mom’s mac and cheese recipe during an international health pandemic?” Clarke cries. It draws another round of curious stares and one set of incredibly narrow eyes from a woman with a cropped haircut and a cart practically overflowing with paper products. 

Clarke sneers. “I might actually fight someone for bulk-buying things. God, people are—” “—The worst?” “Is that why you’d thought I’d laugh at you being adorable?”

Bellamy forgets all about his stomach and its current location in his throat. He’s far more preoccupied with the matter of his exploding heart. Which is not nearly as painful an experience as he would have assumed. 

His smile threatens to take up most of his face, muscles unaccustomed to the movement when everything else seems to be going to shit. He hopes standing this long in the dairy aisle doesn’t adversely affect the buttermilk. 

That’s a key part of the recipe too. 

“Adorable, huh?” “Oh shut up,” Clarke grumbles, kicking her foot out of habit. She’s still a few feet away from him. That probably shouldn’t be disappointing either. In any situation, honestly. “Seriously, are you out here being weird about cheese because—” “—A quick detour out of adorable.” “Only because you keep interrupting me.”

He smiles wider. “When I was a kid, my mom used to make this mac and cheese for every major event. Birthdays, holidays, great grade on a test.” “Because you were a nerd?” “Look who’s interrupting the flow of the story.” “You should consider speeding up your approach” Clarke laughs. “The lady with forty-thousand paper napkins might come back and start pelting you with them for taking so long.” “You think she bought those paper napkins for reasons not related to eating food?” “God.” His shoulders shake a little when he chuckles — another threat to the pasta and his grip on any of the groceries he’s trying very hard to buy. “Moral of the story? I’m stressed out, people continue to be the worst, I saw a bunch of people, including actual grown adults, sitting out in Washington Square like nothing is wrong, so in an attempt to combat the general horribleness of the world I am going to make my mom’s mac and cheese recipe. Only apparently a lot of other people have had the same thought—” “—About your mom’s mac and cheese recipe?” 

“Bring the paper napkin lady back here so I can throw stuff at you.” Clarke grins, and the overall brightness of her eyes is probably just a byproduct of the lighting in the dairy aisle of Gristedes. Or so Bellamy will tell himself for the next forty-eight hours. 

“Taco cheese does not scream mac and cheese,” he continues. “But I’m also not willing to stage some sort of quest for the appropriate kind of cheddar. Or blocks of cheese.”

“It can’t be shredded cheese?” “Eh. I’m willing to make some sacrifices at this point.” “Wow,” Clarke drawls. “How gallant of you. And you wanted to make it yourself, then? No thoughts of take-out from Murray’s.”

“Don’t insult me like that.” “You have issues with a place that actually has cheese in its name?” “Murray’s Cheese Bar is an overpriced tourist trap that does not need my business to stay in business. I’m sure they’re perfectly fine.” “Murray himself?” “Or whatever corporate chain that place is owned and operated by. Plus, have you ever had their cheese plate? Like—just, it was gross. We got, maybe, half a dozen crackers.”

Clarke presses her lips together, but her laugh still manages to find its way into the six-feet of mandated space between her and Bellamy. “Did Octavia order the cheese plate at Murray’s once?” “And a bottle of chianti.” “Fancy.” “Gross,” Bellamy amends. “I can’t stand red wine.” “Why didn’t I know that you hated Murray’s so much? Do you feel that way about—” “—Most of the places on Bleecker?” Bellamy finishes, ignoring Clarke’s wide-eyed stare at yet another interruption. They have got to get out of this store. The processed air is obviously going to his head. Or, whatever. 

Maybe just the state of his heart. “Down with the establishment, huh?” Clarke quips. She absolutely, positively does not rock towards him. Bellamy is sure. 

He hums, and maybe his issue really lies in the overall state of his heart. Explosions cannot be healthy. In a biological sense. “Why are you here, then? I’m assuming it’s not just to share the very high opinions you’ve got about the restaurants on Bleecker.” “Ok, that is not what I said at all. I’m not advocating we start doing some kind of Bleecker restaurant crawl when this is all over, even if that one Gelato place on the corner is good.” “Tourist trap.” “Is the oxygen thinner on that high horse you’re riding?” Bellamy scrunches his nose when he makes a vaguely ridiculous noise in the back of his throat, part agreement, part unspoken suggestion to keep talking. “Whatever,” Clarke grumbles. “I am here because I needed butter to make cookies. But there’s only this garbage.” 

She brandishes the margarine, arm flung out in front of her and Bellamy refuses to be held accountable for whatever noise he makes at that. Just as ridiculous as the last one. With even more flirting involved. 

“I walked down here,” Clarke adds. “There are no other stores open and—” “—Walked from where?” Bellamy asks sharply. He doesn’t mean for the words to come out quite like that, but he’s also not entirely sure what feeling is shooting down either one of his arms. 

He’s very glad Octavia isn’t here. 

She’d make fun of him. 

More so than usual. 

“Relax,” Clarke mutters, jerking the bag at her side. “I needed stuff for class, but most of my supplies are still at school and it’s not like I can get into school any time soon, so I went up to Marmorino. Nyko agreed to open for, like, twenty minutes so I could get some new brushes and—” She shrugs, all nonchalance. Like walking twenty blocks to the art supply store in the middle of that previously discussed pandemic so she can keep teaching kids how to paint isn't equal parts absurd and wonderful.  “What are you going to paint?” Bellamy asks. “We’re doing life studies. Figured it’d be a good way to get parents involved too. You know, kids paint their mom or their dad or...whatever. Like I said, I just needed a brushes. And butter.”

“Those go hand in hand, huh? You know I have butter.”

Clarke blinks. And her grip on the bag noticeably loosens. “What?” “Butter,” he repeats. “That’s how this all started. I kept opening my fridge and the butter was sitting there, like it was taunting me and—”

“—Can the butter form coherent sentences?” “I’m offering you butter, princess. And mac and cheese. If you want it.”

Another blink. 

That’s...Bellamy doesn’t want to consider what that is. Because this is not the first time he’s done this. Or vice versa. Far from it. They both live alone and they’re friends and it’s not that far across the hall, after all. 

There’s just not usually an international health pandemic involved. 

“Yeah?” Clarke asks softly, like she’s waiting to shout surprise. Or throw paper napkins at them for standing in the dairy aisle for so long. 

Bellamy nods. “Yeah. That’s how humanity survives, right? We pool resources and seek out companionship in times of difficulty.” “Something like that, I’m sure.” “Ok, so you leave the gross margarine here and I’ll deal with the taco cheese.” “I have cheddar in my fridge.” Maybe this is a dream. Maybe the after-effects of his exploding heart have left Bellamy hallucinating in the middle of Gristedes. Maybe he got food poisoning from the cheese plate at Murray’s when Octavia visited three weeks ago and he’s only just now discovering it.

Clarke smiles. 

“If you want it,” she adds. “I—well, I’d had big plans for grilled cheese quarantines, but there was only block cheese at that point and I haven’t even opened it. Yours for the taking.” He nods slowly, trying to come to terms with all of this. It’s not flirting. No one flirts like this. They shouldn’t flirt like this. 

“Yeah,” Bellamy says. “That’d be great. A, uh—COVID team, huh?” Idiot. 

Idiot. 

He’s sure Octavia knows about this. Somehow. A sixth sense that alerts his younger sister to his overwhelming idiocy and she’d been annoyed that he hadn’t invited Clarke to Murray’s with them. 

“Something like that,” Clarke says again. “Ok, then let me pay for a car back home. I don’t know if my shoulders can cope with this backpack and—do not offer to carry this backpack for me,” she adds as soon as Bellamy opens his mouth, “I’ll get the paper napkin lady back here, I swear to God.” “She’d probably call a manager on you.”

Clarke scoffs, but her smile hasn’t changed and Bellamy spends most of the next twenty-four minutes standing in the checkout line thinking only about that. Until Clarke tells the guy in front of them to “stop being a dick” to the cashier when he starts complaining about the lack of bread in aisle two. 

The guy doesn’t say anything else after that. 

And the cashier definitely mumbles “thanks” when Bellamy puts his slightly bent box of pasta on the conveyor belt. 

They don’t spend long waiting for the car — and Bellamy can’t imagine business is exactly booming, which is part of the reason he agreed to this and the rest is entirely selfish and possibly a little stalker’ish and he just likes spending time with Clarke. No matter the world’s collective health situation. 

“You two together?” the driver asks, hardly opening the window and it’s not easy to understand what he’s saying.  

Bellamy furrows his brows. “Excuse me?” He swings open the door, sliding across the backset and moving his feet so Clarke’s backpack can fit comfortably between them. And he’s not one to pass judgement, particularly not now, but the whole thing looks a bit like something out of a post-apocalyptic movie. There are sheets of plastic wrap stretched between the front seats, the driver wearing gloves and casting impatient glances in his rearview mirror. 

Bellamy glances at Clarke’s phone — the driver’s name is Bryan. 

“C’mon man,” Bryan presses. “I need an answer.” “I don’t—” Bellamy starts, shaking his head and that dream theory is starting to make more and more sense. “What are you talking about?”

“The rules.” “Ok, that doesn’t clear it up. Can we just go?” “Nope. I need you to tell me. I don’t want my license revoked.” “What the hell are you talking about?” Clarke lets out a soft gasp, eyes going impossibly wide. “Shit. Are you kidding me?” “What part of nope are you guys having a difficult time wrapping your heads around?” Bryan asks. “Listen, I can’t break the law, ok? I—we’re living in crazy times and—” “—Seriously what are you talking about?” Bellamy snaps. 

Bryan takes a deep breath, shoulders moving with the effort, and Clarke hasn’t looked Bellamy’s direction in what feels like an eternity. He can’t rationalize the chill that slinks down his spine, a growing dread that threatens to tug him through the backseat or take up residence in between his ribs and he’s got to stop making so many sweeping biological assessments. 

There are no facts to back any of this up. 

And yet he can’t quite understand the look on Clarke’s face either, teeth digging into her lower lip while she refuses to meet his gaze. “Guys,” Bryan groans. “In or out, yes or not, just—prove it.” Bellamy opens his mouth again, ready to demand answers if need be, but Clarke is already talking and the words don’t process immediately — mandate from the mayor and I totally forgot and only real couples. 

She grits her teeth when she finally looks up, a pained expression that almost makes Bellamy shiver. It’s unnaturally warm in the city that afternoon. “Did you not see the press conference?” she mutters. He shakes his head. “I, uh—I totally forgot about it, but ride-share services are still cool and essential, they just...if you share, you have to be a couple.” “Real couple too,” Bryan adds. “That’s what the mayor said.” Clarke squeezes one eye shut. “He did, yeah.”

Bellamy has no idea what’s happening. That’s not hyperbole. He genuinely cannot keep up with the conversation or the events of the last few hours and he’s certain this is now somehow the fault of the paper napkin lady and those toilet paper people and— “So,” Bryan continues, “either prove it or lose it?” “Lose what, exactly?” Bellamy rasps. He doesn’t take his eyes off Clarke, can see just how tight her jaw has gone and the exact moment her tongue flashes between her lips and maybe it would just be better for everyone if he grabbed her backpack and sprinted the fifteen blocks back to their apartment. 

Apartment building. 

They don’t live in the same apartment. 

Seriously, screw the toilet paper people. 

“My services,” Bryan answers. “Seriously. I’m not getting fucked over by this. So prove you're a real couple or start walking.” “And how would you like us to do that, exactly?” “Kiss her.” It is several different miracles that Bellamy does not rip down Bryan’s plastic wrap wall right then and there. He considers it, fingers flexing and head at a sudden angle while he glares at the rearview mirror. But something keeps him from actually reacting and it might be Clarke’s soft ok a few inches away. 

They are no longer the appropriate six feet apart. 

“Wait, what?” Bellamy asks, only marginally disappointed when his voice manages to crack over both words. 

Clarke’s smile doesn’t waver, but it shifts slightly — a little cautious and a little nervous and, maybe, a little hopeful. She leans forward, ignoring the goddamn backpack and how straight Bellamy’s spine has gone, breathing quickly like he did run those fifteen blocks. “Just a kiss, right?” she mutters. “Couples kiss. That’s—” “—Real couples,” Bryan amends. Bellamy might strangle Bryan before they get out of this car. 

“Right, right, right. And that’s—it’s not a big deal.” Bellamy’s never going to blink again. 

“I don’t know how else to double check,” Bryan admits. 

Clarke hums, still moving and Bellamy doesn’t flinch when her hand lands on his bent knee. So, points or whatever. Her tongue flashes once more, a soft huff of air that barely reaches his cheek when she’s close enough and this can’t possibly be sanitary. 

God, he does not want to be thinking about that now. 

Bellamy doesn’t remember bending his neck, but it appears to have happened anyway, curls threatening to fall in his eyes. That’s not right. The top of Clarke’s backpack digs into his chest, what feels like an actual paint brush pushing against the side and he’s going to say something. He is. He’s going to promise that he can walk and he’ll carry the backpack and just meet her at home, but none of the words seem all that interested in coming out of his mouth and his lips pop softly when they part, another bit of movement and a direct violation of social distancing and—

His eyes flutter shut when Clarke kisses him. 

With Bryan watching intently. 

And it’s not...well, it’s not quite the way Bellamy had always imagined when he’d let himself imagine this. Far more often than he should. It’s stilted and awkward, weird angles and bumped noses. It’s chins jostling for position and that fucking backpack, both of them far too aware of the two bags of groceries at their feet. 

Bellamy does his best not to actually sigh — even more frustration, that does not belong in a situation like this, but then his eyes open and the tip of Clarke’s tongue finds his lips and everything kind of spirals after that. 

His hand flies up, curling into her hair and pulling her closer, a crunch that is absolutely the box of shells, but the shells can go fuck off for all Bellamy cares. He opens his mouth, lets his head tilt slightly until they find a rhythm that’s a bit like driving at seventy miles an hour on an open highway. That’d be impossible anywhere in New York. 

Even under quarantine. 

And yet. Bellamy feels like he’s rushing towards something, everything and anything and a variety of words that should be far more overwhelming than they are. He nips at Clarke’s lower lip, lets his nose drag along her cheek until he’s practically tracing that streak of paint and the sound that draws will be branded on every inch of him for the foreseeable future. They only break apart to catch their breath, the rhythm going almost desperate when Clarke’s nails scratch at the back of Bellamy’s neck and—

Bryan coughs. 

He might not tip Bryan. 

No, he’ll definitely tip Bryan. It’s a fucking pandemic. 

Bellamy’s not a total dick. 

Just…

“So, uh, cool,” Bryan says, already pulling out onto the street. “Thanks for the, uh—for the demonstration, then.” Clarke jerks back. 

And Bellamy feels like he’s been thrown in the East River. Specifically. Because that river is notoriously grosser than the Hudson. 

He’s gross. 

He twists, trying to put as much space between them as possible when they’re still in Bryan’s silver Toyota Camry. And he doesn’t actually count the minutes that it takes to get back to their building, but it’s awfully close because it seems to take a lifetime and happen far too soon, Clarke mumbling her thanks and hoping Bryan doesn’t have to drive too much in the future and Bellamy doesn’t want to think about the state of that box of shells. 

It feels far too literal. 

And they don’t rush up the stairs, both Bellamy and Clarke taking even steps as they do their mutual and collective best to stare at their shoes. But then he’s tugging his keys out of his back pocket and the air feels like it’s crackling around him, enough tension to power the island of Manhattan — especially when Clarke follows him inside his apartment.

“So, uh—” she starts, a click of her jaw when she notices the look on Bellamy’s face. 

His eyes have started to water, they’re so wide, standing in the middle of his exceptionally tiny living room. “Clarke, I—” “—Oh shit, I forgot the butter.” “Clarke.” “No, no, I should go get the butter, right? Yeah. That’s—shit, I didn’t even think. I...sorry, sorry, it’s—” She shakes her head brusquely, like she’s trying to shake away the awkwardness and Bellamy wishes there weren’t any awkwardness. He wishes he’d asked her out before the world started falling apart. 

He’s back in her space in a few more steps, fingers finding her flailing hands. She’s biting her lip again. “You don’t have anything to apologize for.” “No?” “Absolutely not,” Bellamy promises. “I might, though. I just—I didn’t realize what was going on and then—” “I’m going to go get the butter,” Clarke announces, sounding almost disappointed at the idea. She pulls her hands back, a quick hiss of pain when she manages to elbow herself in the side in the process, all but running out of his apartment. Her backpack is still on his couch. 

Bellamy doesn’t move. He’s not sure he can, honestly. His legs feel like they’ve locked themselves in place, waiting with those same wide eyes for something he’s not sure he can have because it can’t possibly happen like this and Octavia is probably hysterical on the other side of the country. 

And he’s still not counting seconds or minutes, when he finally manages to get his feet to cooperate. So he can wash his hands. Like a responsible adult. Not one who hoards paper products. 

The footsteps that return to his still-open door a little slower than usual. 

“You didn’t close your door,” Clarke points out. She kicks back, a tremulous smile and Bellamy can’t believe this is going to happen while she’s holding butter. And at least two pounds of flour. He’s not sure what’s going to happen, exactly. “Did you even turn your oven on?” He shakes his head. “No.” “Real fond of that word all of a sudden, aren’t you?”

Bellamy doesn’t think he imagines the edge in her voice, narrowing his eyes slightly like that will help him pick up on certain conversational cues. It doesn’t — especially when Clarke breezes by him, marching into her kitchen like it’s hers or could be hers and that’s probably when he decides. What he wants to happen. “Do you want to make the cookies or the mac and cheese first?” she asks, and that question sounds more determined than any Bellamy’s heard before. Some of the tension in his shoulders disappears.

“Hey, will you talk to me?” 

“About something other than our cooking order?” “Yeah,” Bellamy nods. “Definitely about something other than our cooking order.” “I’m really hungry, though.”

His laugh has a certain strangled quality to it, but that may be a product of his heart, recently reformed and re-exploded. As soon as Bellamy realized what kissing Clarke was like. “I’m not going to let you starve,” Bellamy says. “Just—c’mon, look at me at least.”

She doesn’t. She pushes up on her toes instead, stabbing at the buttons on his oven. Bellamy sighs, doing his best not to start proclaiming things, giving voice to the sentiment that’s been bouncing around his soul for the better part of the last six months, and the flour that’s sitting on his minimal counter space is half open. 

The top’s rolling up, a haphazard curl to the paper, which only makes it easier to reach his hand inside without Clarke noticing. 

And immediately flick his fingers in Clarke’s direction. 

Her eyes flash, mouth dropping open, but Bellamy just grins, another flick that leaves flour clinging to Clarke’s cheek and the ends of her hair and she’d never washed that paint streak off. 

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” she demands. 

“Got you to look at me.” “Are you kidding me right now?”

“Am I laughing?”

Clarke groans, trying to shake the flour off. All it does is ensure her hair shifts and the smell of her shampoo takes over most of the air in his kitchen. “You’re an idiot,” she sneers, “that’s what you are. I’m trying to feed us and—” “—You’re really very concerned about that. We’ve got to reorganize this conversation.”

Bellamy needs to get more flour before he can go for the third flick, but that proves to be his undoing. Clarke moves before he can, reflexes that he’d like to have a very serious discussion about eventually and she doesn’t flick. She slams her hand into his chest, a perfectly formed print in the middle of his shirt, twisting the fabric under her like that will make sure the mark stays there. 

Things are starting to feel a little literal again. 

At least he hopes so. 

So, it’s only reasonable and passably romantic to retaliate in kind — letting his flour-covered fingers flutter over Clarke’s hair and one of them gasps, but it’s difficult to figure out when they’re as close as they are, her hands dragging across his side and dangerously close to the top of his jeans and Bellamy’s definitely the one who groans when Clarke works her way under the hem of his shirt. 

Clarke beams. Bright and honest and her eyes are blue enough that Bellamy briefly considers getting lost in them for those minutes he’s still refusing to count, but then—

“God, I can’t believe I had to use some stupid marshall law bullshit to kiss you,” he mutters. 

“Is marshall law the right term there?” “No, not at all.”

She lets out a shaky laugh, hand staying exactly where it is. “I didn’t think so. And I—this was not some elaborate ruse, just for the record.” “Were you looking for elaborate ruses to make out with me?” “We’ve got to work on your vocabulary. Make out doesn’t seem right either.” “A work in progress.” “For the words, or…” She gasps again. Presumably because Bellamy’s ducking his head and his arm has curled around her middle and it’s easier to kiss her when there isn’t a backpack between them. Bellamy’s hand flattens against the small of Clarke’s back, a curve there that is quite suddenly the only thing he’d like to talk about for the remainder of the day. 

And they’re just as good at this as they were in Bryan’s car, but there’s something inherently different about the second go-around. An ease to the angles and the now-familiar rhythm, like they’d simply been waiting for the chance or the opportunity and—

“Maybe make out was an acceptable description,” Clarke mumbles against Bellamy’s mouth. He grins, dropping down so he can kiss her jaw and the side of her neck, only a little pleased with the goosebumps he notices there. “Oh, don’t get smug,” Clarke adds, “that’s not a good look on you.” “That certainly sounds like you’ve got opinions on my looks, actually.”

She clicks her tongue, leaning back to get in his eye line. “Maybe a few.” “A few?” “Bell, c’mon, that’s—” “—I have a very big crush on you.” Clarke blinks. Opens her mouth only to close it. Smiles. Scoffs. Blinks again. And then she’s kissing him and it’s good and great and both of those things feel wrong during a pandemic, but Bellamy assumes there's something to be said for the human spirit. Or whatever. 

“Makes for a good story, though,” Clarke says, eyes gone a color Bellamy’s never seen before. “You know, if you’re looking for something to write about.” “You want me to write about us? I write history books.” “Is this not historic?” “Oh, now who’s fishing for compliments,” Bellamy chuckles. Clarke blushes. Again, or still. “I would have liked to kiss you under less dramatic circumstances, but, uh—it also wasn’t the worst first kiss I’ve ever had.” “High praise.” “We’re very good at kissing each other.” “Yeah, I figured we would be.” “Did you just?” Clarke hums. “I’m pretty sure my friends had some kind of pool going. Especially now. When I’d finally give in and just like...attack you with my mouth or something. I talk about you all the time. At school. To Raven. Strangers on the street.” “Strangers on the street?” “I mean, Bryan assumed we were a couple.” “That’s because the mayor required him too,” Bellamy argues. “But, uh—I get the opinionated peanut gallery. O was convinced we were secretly dating when she was here.” “Before or after the chianti?” “Well before.” “Oh,” Clarke says, like that’s somehow surprising or good. Bellamy hopes it’s good. He’d like some good at this point. “You should probably change shirts.” “That sounds like a suggestion to take my shirt off.” “Wow, weird.” Her laugh turns into something far closer to a giggle when he kisses behind her ear, a fact he’s already stored for future reference, but then they’re moving and there are discarded clothes and kicked off shoes and neither one of them bothers to get up when the oven finishes pre-heating. 

“I have a crush on you too,” Clarke says, head propped up on her hand. In Bellamy’s bed. They’re in Bellamy’s bed. 

Her backpack is still on his couch. “Good,” he grins. “You want to eat, or…” “God, I’d thought you’d never ask.” And they do make both things, Clarke announcing that this is the best mac and cheese I’ve ever had while Bellamy does an absolutely terrible job of stealing cookie batter on the sly. She moves her backpack eventually too — into the corner of his living room. It’s easier that way, something about pandemics and limiting movement and if one of her students notices the change of scenery during their live-streamed class two days later, none of them say anything.