#he just gets up from crouching down on roofs and his knees do that cracking sound

[grantaire-lover-69]

Hyde must have drank his milk as a kid, because how the fuck is he not breaking bones while jumping from roof to roof like a madman?

[jeonginsleftcheek]

Nothing I wouldn't do

pairing: handyman!chan x waitress!reader

genre: hurt/comfort, suggestive

synopsis: you and chan have been together for 3 years. he has never done anything to make you doubt his love for you, but recently you noticed him sneaking out at night...

wc: 2.4k

warnings: mentions of blood/injuries, brief descriptions of lovemaking, crying

a/n: i'm tired and preparing a really long fic so i needed a little break, hope you enjoy🫶🏻

~masterlist

Another long shift finally finished, a dull ache appeared in your feet, coursing through your legs and climbing up to your lower back.

There was a headache behind your eyelids, a constant slow pounding that almost made your vision blurry.

You felt overwhelmed, discouraged and hungry.

Today was a particularly difficult day at the restaurant you work at, exhausting you to your limits and pushing you further.

Another reason your anxiety spiked up was because you got yelled at by your manager for something that wasn't entirely your fault and you had to bite your tongue and swallow your tears like you always do.

As you stepped out into the street, the dark night enveloping you, your tired legs started taking you on the familiar path to your home.

You were barely awake as you walked, the people passing you by looked blurry and unrecognizable, you couldn't even make out their faces.

You closed your eyes for a second, but that was one second too long as you tripped on the cracked sidewalk and fell down, scraping your hands and knees in the process.

"Miss, are you alright?" someone crouched down to help you.

"Yes, yes I'm fine." you said to the stranger, your tears blurring your vision of their face.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, thank you." you tried to be polite, hoping they would back off because now you wanted to get home even faster.

You continued walking, now in more pain as the wind picked up, grazing your bleeding skin.

Tears streamed down your cheeks quietly as the sky became darker.

You picked up your pace, realizing it will soon start raining.

Arriving to your building just in time, you ran inside and up the stairs to the 6th and last floor where you and your boyfriend lived.

He was working even later than you today, so he couldn't pick you up as his work lead him across town for the time being.

Rain started pouring outside just as you managed to close the door to your apartment, smacking it into place multiple times until it finally clicked.

You quickly ran to grab some buckets as the roof was flimsy, whenever it rained, your apartment would be drenched in water too unless you strategically placed the buckets so they could collect the raindrops.

After doing that, you finally caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror and cringed.

You were still in your waitress unifrom, your hair now a mess, mascara streaks on your cheeks from crying, your hands and legs covered in bloody scratches.

You decided to quickly clean up so you can make dinner for Chan and yourself, preferably before he arrives home.

Swallowing more tears that threatened to come out, you made your way to the bathroom to clean up.

Luckily, you had hot water finally, the last three months you had to somehow survive without it once your water heater broke.

Sometimes you took double shifts at the restaurant, or just begged your boss to let you work without a day off.

Chan hated when you did that, hated seeing you so tired that you barely stood on your feet, your eyes sad and distant when you'd come home.

He begged you not to do it, promising he'd find a way to make more money, promising that he'll take care of you, telling you how you deserve better which you'd quickly shut down, not wanting him to feel guilty because it wasn't his fault.

It wasn't yours either, that's just how the cards were dealt and the two of you were trying your best to make something out of nothing.

Chan arrived just in time as you were finishing up with dinner, a smile gracing his tired face as soon as he saw you standing before the stove, dressed in his shirt.

You looked at him over your shoulder and though he could see the tiredness on your features, to him you looked more and more beautiful every single day.

"Hey, baby." you greeted him just as he wrapped his arms around you, your tired muscles instantly melting into his warmth and comfort.

You could fall asleep standing if you weren't so hungry.

"Love." he hummed against you, leaning over your shoulder to kiss the corner of your lips. "Smells nice." Chan nuzzled into your hair, taking a whiff of your shampoo.

"What, the food or me?" you chuckled, teasing him.

"Both." he giggled, gently moving you left and right as he tightened his hold on you.

"Go wash up then, it's almost done." you said, his hands coming up to touch yours.

That's when he noticed the scratches, panic overtaking him instantly as he gently grabbed your wrists.

"What happened?" he asked, a shaky breath escaping his lips.

"I fell. It's nothing." you quickly shook your head but he spun you around before you could even protest.

"Babe, your legs." Chan gasped.

"It's fine, really. It doesn't hurt too much." you averted your eyes.

His fingers came up to touch your chin as he made you look at him.

"I'll pick you up next time, I promise. Even if I have to speed across the city."

"Don't even think about that." you shivered, negative thoughts appearing in your mind instantly.

If you lost him, you wouldn't have anything.

"Okay, okay, I'll go wash up." he kissed you gently before skipping to the bathroom.

You served dinner on the small table, your plates clinking together as you tried to make it look somewhat presentable.

These little things always made a difference.

The fresh flowers on your windowsill, the pretty tablecloth you managed to find for a cheap price, a warm home cooked meal, your lover sitting across from you with a smile on his face.

The space was so cramped that your knees were pressed up together but in the case of the two of you, close could never be close enough.

You know Chan would gladly crawl right into your heart if you could keep him there, safe and sound.

He helped you wash the dishes, both of you talking about your day like you always do.

"That place is a shithole, y/n. You deserve so much better. Your manager is a fucking knucklehead. Do you want me to rough him up a little?" Chan asked, setting the clean plate aside.

You chuckled, smacking his bicep playfully as you peered up at him.

"Yes, get me fired. Save me from that hellhole." you joked with a dramatic hand to your forehead.

"You know you could always look at other places."

"Isn't it just the same thing? I don't have many qualifications anyways."

"I know but maybe a different restaurant has a better manager if nothing else." Chan offers, as you lean on the sink, wiping your hands.

"Or they could be even worse." you said as he stood before you, his arms landing on your waist.

Chan leaned in to kiss you, slowly and lovingly, your stomach doing all sorts of flips like you haven't been together for years, like you haven't done this before.

"How about we stop talking about work and start talking about more fun topics?" you wiggled your eyebrows at him as your arms wrapped around his shoulders, fingers grazing his muscles, on display for you as he wore his tanktop.

"You're not in pain?" he motioned to your thighs and arms, still stinging albeit dulled now.

"I trust you to be gentle." you stood on your tippy toes to kiss him again, your hands holding his cheeks.

The two of you fell into a lovers embrace, tongues entwined, fingertips gently exploring, your cores connected in a heated movement that ended in pure bliss.

"I love you." you whispered as Chan scooped you up in his protective arms.

"I love you, darling." he kissed your temple as you drifted off to sleep.

-

You noticed it for the first time that same night.

You were so exhausted, jolted out of your deep sleep that you thought you were hallucinating when you saw Chan's figure walking towards the door and disappearing.

Your eyes fell to the clock next to your bed, reading 2am.

You wanted to wake up, ask him where he's going but you couldn't fight the sleep that was overtaking you.

The next morning, you forgot about it as you saw Chan making breakfast for the two of you, the day starting as normal as ever, a familiar routine taking place.

Your knees pressed together as you ate, the smell of freshly brewed coffee filling up the space, the birds singing in front of the window as you chatted.

The next twenty minutes consisted of the two of you knocking against each other and the furniture as you tried to get ready for work.

The smiles on your faces never faltered as every second spent together was precious, even the mundane things like brushing your teeth together became romantic in your eyes.

Chan refused to stop kissing you in front of the door until you smacked his chest enough times to make him realize that you'll be late for work if he doesn't drive you right now.

It was a nice and fresh day outside and briefly you remembered the vision you had last night of Chan leaving but you chalked it up to a dream.

-

The dream however, kept repeating sporadically throughout the week.

You'd be half awake, watching your boyfriend's back as he'd gather his jacket and toolbox, only to leave quietly into the night.

Doubts started to fill your mind.

You knew you could just ask him where he was going, but the fact that he didn't share it beforehand, when the two of you usually shared your deepest and darkest secrets, created a painful feeling in your gut and chest.

It was more than suspicious, him sneaking out at night and the fear of losing him clouded your mind.

So one night as he left, waking you up accidentally in the process, you couldn't fall back asleep.

Tears filled up your eyes as you clutched onto his pillow that smelled just like him, comforting and yours.

What was he doing? You didn't want your mind to go to horrible places, like Chan meeting up with someone else because if that turned out to be true, your heart would shatter into pieces.

Pieces you'd never be able to pick up, never be able to love again.

So, you waited for him to come back home, making yourself some coffee so you don't fall asleep.

Chan came back home around 6am, just 30 minutes before you usually wake up.

"Oh, y/n. You're awake." he swallowed, looking like a deer caught in headlights.

"Yes, I've been awake for hours." you looked at him as he stood still by the door, nervously looking left and right.

"I- I just..."

"Where were you? Or better yet, where do you sneak off to every other night?" you tapped your fingers against the cup, your heart beating fast as you tried to sound and look calm, but your eyes were already filling up with tears.

"Y-you know?" Chan gulped, standing like a statue.

You scoffed, a tear sliding down your cheek.

You wiped it away angrily as you stood up and his eyes widened.

"I thought we didn't have any secrets between us. But you're obviously going behind my back. Just please, explain."

"Please don't be mad at me!" Chan quickly made his way to you but you took a step back from him, your backside colliding into the sink.

Hurt flashed across his eyes before realization hit him.

How this must look to you.

"Oh, you think..." he shook his head. "It's nothing like that. Actually, you weren't supposed to find out like this. I just wanted to make some extra money so I started repairing stuff as a 24/7 service. You know, for stores that work around the clock, anything that is opened during the night shift like casinos and clubs. If something happens in people's houses during the night. I figured since I have trouble sleeping, I'd do something productive."

You stared at him for a moment before letting out a laugh of disbelief, tears still staining your cheeks.

"You bastard!" you smacked his chest, but there was a smile on your face which let Chan know you weren't that mad at him.

"Why didn't you just tell me that? Do you know how much you scared me?" you smacked his chest once again for good measure before he grabbed your hands gently, bringing them up to your lips and kissing your knuckles.

"I'm sorry, I will never keep something from you again. It's just that it was supposed to be a surprise."

"What surprise?" your brows furrowed as Chan sighed, turning around to rummage through his jacket that he'd left on the chair immediately.

You peered at his hands, your eyes widening and a gasp escaping your lips as he produced a little velvet box out of his pocket.

"Is that-" you stuttered, fresh tears pricking your eyes.

"Mhm." he nodded. "But I wanted us to have this romantic dinner and-"

"This is romantic enough." you stopped him, your voice eager.

Chan chuckled and then smirked.

"Are you sure you want me to propose all greasy in the middle of the kitchen at 6am?"

"I'm sure." you giggled, your body heating up with excitement.

"I was gonna prepare a speech." he muttered before getting down on one knee.

"Y/n, even though I don't have much, what I do have I want to share with you. And that is all my love and my complete and utter devotion that I want to share with you for the rest of my life. So will you marry me?" Chan looked up at you hopefully as he opened up the little box, revealing a beautiful ring inside it.

"Yes!" you cried, quickly wrapping your arms around him as you stumbled forwards into his embrace, making him giggle happily.

You held each other tightly for some time, just reveling in the moment of your hearts beating against one another in unison.

As you pulled away, Chan slid the ring on your finger as your heart skipped a beat.

"Never scare me like that again." you said, looking up at him.

"I'm sorry, my love. I promise I won't."

Your lips crashed together in a sweet and passionate kiss, your whole body tingling with so many feelings and one thought in your head.

Whatever life throws at you, as long as you come home to each other at the end of the day, everything will be just fine.

-

taglist: @moonchild9350 @janepg @velvetmoonlght @hwanghyunjinismybae @jehhskz @porangporangmeong @laylasbunbunny @laughatdanger @jeonginslefthand @sapphirewaves @simpforleeknaur @s3ungm1nxxl0ve @painterhyunjin @starlost-mochi-x @saintcosette @ooshyana @frehyun @scarlet789 @skzdust @schniti-is-in-the-house

[stormz369]

☕💖 Can I Get Your Number? ☕💖 Jason Todd Week Special! Day 3: Monster

A/N: this unofficial mini-chapter is part of the event being run by @jasontoddweek2025 and can be enjoyed without reading the rest of the story

Jason Todd x (f)Chubby!Reader

written with a female reader in mind, no use of Y/N, let me know if I missed anything worth tagging! Also, this scene is definitely based on that scene in WFA, so credit to them for the inspiration!

warnings/labels: hurt/comfort, use of pet names

wc: 900

CIGYN? Chapter Selection

“Monster!” The little girl screamed, cowering under her bed. The Red Hood grimaced under his mask, trying to reach her. They didn't have time for this, it was time to go.

“No monsters here kid, promise. Come on, we gotta get out of here! … Please, let me just …” He could almost reach her, if he could just get ahold of her wrist…

She squealed, kicking desperately. “Nooo! Lemme go!”

“Hood, three minutes.” Oracle's voice in his ear warned.

“Kiddo, we gotta get out of here, please…” He got ahold of her ankle and began gently pulling her toward him.

She shrieked, sobbing and kicking at his face.

“Ah! Hey, come on … oh, … is it the helmet you're scared of?” He sighed, releasing her, and she scurried back against the wall.

He quickly snapped the helmet off, crouching down so she could see his face. “Look, no helmet. See? I'm just a guy. I just want to help you.”

She sniffled, slowly looking back at him. She didn't look less scared, her eyes landed on his scarred cheek and stayed there, but she did let him fish her out from under the bed. He held her in his arms, smiling gently. “Alright, let's go find your mama, yeah?”

He ran out the door, the girl clinging to his leather jacket. The stairs down were engulfed in fire, so he ran up to the roof. He popped his helmet back on, ignoring the girl's whimpers, and shot a grappling hook at the neighboring building. “Hold tight, kid.”

She clung to him, screaming in terror as they descended. He landed hard on his knees, thrown off balance by her squirming, but she was uninjured. A woman ran over, pulling the girl out of his arms. 

“Emmy! Oh god, honey are you ok?” She glanced at Red Hood, backing away as she pulled her crying daughter closer to her chest.

“Mommy! Mommy, the monster-” Hood stopped listening. He carefully got up, cracking his aching joints, and backed away. He vaguely heard Nightwing over the comms, but he wasn't going to respond. He couldn't. He needed to go. Now.

Hood made his way over to his bike. It roared to life and in an instant he was gone. He drove fast, letting the wind wash over him, as if it could drag away the words playing over in his mind. A dozen voices, all saying the same thing; monster. He was a monster. It didn't bother him when the thugs selling at the high schools said it. It was usually the last thing they could say. It didn't bother him when Bruce admonished him to not act like a monster, B was just worried. B couldn't fathom how Jason could come back from some of his actions, he could only call them monstrous. 

It didn't even bother him when the villain of the week tried to claim he was more like them than his family. Most of them just liked playing mind games, they would say anything to get under his skin. No, all that was fine. But when civilians saw him in the mask, and all they saw was a monster … that stung. Red Hood was harsh, and aggressive, and violent, but he wasn't directionless. It wasn't random, uncontrolled violence. He chose his targets carefully, and he did it for them. To defend the defenseless. He wasn't a monster, he wasn't!

Beep! The Bluetooth in his helmet chirped at him, and then her voice poured through; “Jay? Oracle said you ran off. You ok?”

He sighed softly. Just the sound of her voice had the tension starting to ease out of his muscles. “Hey Doll … I'm ok … just wasn't anything else I could do …”

“... Ok. You comin' home?” She sounded a bit incredulous.

“... Soon. Gotta drive a bit…”

“... Wanna meet up? I could use the practice on my bike.”

“No, you shouldn't be seen driving with … one of us. I'll be home soon.”

“Ok baby. Love you.”

He sighed softly. “Love you more…”

The call ended, and he continued driving, just doing circles around her neighborhood at this point. After a while he parked at a safehouse, got changed, and used the tunnels underneath to get to a second safehouse. Jason's personal bike was parked out front, and he drove to her place.

She greeted him at the door, a bright smile on her face. When her hands clasped around his, he felt the last of the tension slip away, leaving him putty in her hands. She guided him to the dining room and into a chair. She set a plate in front of him, a grilled cheese sandwich and a bowl of tomato soup, and stood behind him. He ate slowly, and her hands lovingly ran through his hair and began massaging his neck and shoulders.

A soft groan escaped his lips as she worked, and slowly he started to feel human again. “... How do you do that?”

“Do what, my love?” She kissed the top of his head.

“... All the bad shit just … melts away, when you're with me.”

She smiled softly, wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing his jaw. “That’s ‘cause I got you, and you got me. Right, pretty boy?~”

He chuckled softly, looking up at her in wonder; “... Right. I got you, and you got me, ma.”

Jason Todd Week Taglist: @cottage-worm

Divider by: @saradika-graphics

Fanart in the header by: @crowkip

[justmoreocs-writing]

Grief was a strange bedfellow. Dick had seen people react to it in different ways. He’d seen friends calm up, seen others become more outrageous in their reactions to things; he’d seen people cut off all their hair, and others that completely redecorated their houses. Dick’s grief, he found, made him want to help those he cared about even more than normal; to distract himself by being of use to them in some way. To help them find a way out of the darkness because in doing so he could pull himself out of it as well.

Teddy was easy to help, he wore everything on his sleeve and pretty much told Dick what he needed from him. Alfred, in his own way, was easy to assist as well because of his own level way of coping. Bruce was harder, but at least with him Alfred could help; the man had already raised him through one unimaginable grief. But A.J. Kane made helping her almost impossible. Made Dick wonder if perhaps he wasn’t such a good friend to her after all.

For days she’d been successfully avoiding him. Hiding until late at night when he couldn’t viably talk to her without being accused of stopping her catching up on some well needed rest.

He found her sitting on the roof in the end, an unlit cigarette perched between her lips, arms curled around her knees which were pulled to her chest.

‘I’m gonna kill him,’ she vowed, her voice far steadier than Dick had imagined. ‘A fucking vote.’

‘Amy –’

‘Don’t,’ she snapped, rounding on him in an instant. There was a fire of hatred behind her dark brown eyes that very almost had Dick backing away a pace. There was such an intensity there that he didn’t recognise.

Dick desperately wanted to hug her, to assure her that he could hold her together if she needed to feel broken for a time. She was barely holding on, and he hated how helpless he felt. Hated that he hadn’t realised the anger boiling inside her, hadn’t done more to help her temper it before it utterly destroyed her.

‘I will kill The Joker, Dick,’ she said, though he heard the hair’s breadth crack of grief in her voice, the one she was desperately trying to keep leashed. Even around him.

‘Don’t let him drag you down to his level, A.J.,’ he pleaded, crouching beside her. Forcing himself not to reach out.

‘He has to pay,’ she said savagely. This close, Dick could see the tears glistening in her eyes; the ones she was desperately trying to keep back. ‘He can’t get away with this.’

‘Are you going to kill everybody that voted to save themselves?’ he asked softly.

‘No.’

Dick loosened a breath he hadn’t realised he was holding. A.J. was shattering, but she wasn’t completely broken just yet. She hadn’t taken the step that he wasn’t sure he could pull her back from.

A.J. sucked in a stuttering breath, before collapsing on herself. She buried her face in her knees, and Dick saw the way her back shook with the sobs she hadn’t allowed herself to release until then.

‘A.J.,’ he cooed softly, gently wrapping his arms around her.

It was a true testament to how broken she’d felt that A.J. didn’t fight it. In fact, she leant against him, burrowing against his chest as Dick carefully rested his chin on the top of her head. He just hoped he’d be able to help her find a way back to herself, before she made good on the vow he knew she was still holding on to.

[writtingrubberducky]

random dabbles ｡ﾟ(ﾟ´Д｀ﾟ)ﾟ｡ 🍙 

Hello, you can call me Duck or Ducky! I actually don’t remember where most of the prompts I found come from. A few are from Pinterest and I believe one is from Writing Prompts? But I honestly don’t know, if you do please tag them for the credit or tell me. These are all my work, just random things I’ve done over a period of time. Thank you for reading, have a spectacular mornin/evein/sleep — 🗞️🐣

I love you but stop whatever this is.

random ocs, both women if you need further confirmation, ahh lesbians

“I love you, but please stop whatever this is.”

Astra eyes move towards Evie’s figure behind her, halting the movements of her fiddle with chia seeds and sticking them onto a model train set, hearing the other’s confused and disoriented voice. With a sheepish grin, Astra rubs the back of her neck, her girlfriend looking unimpressed. “Seriously, what are you doing?” Evie perks up, crooking an eyebrow. Dusting her hands off on grey sweatpants, Astra shifts to sit down off her knees, crossing her legs as the ground mets her butt. “Ah, gardening?” She says back in a high tone, showing her uncertainty about what she is doing. “You do that, y’know, in an actual garden and not on a train. Like in dirt and that,” Evie responds, snorting with an amused smirk. A whine of embarrassment and annoyance draws from Astra, face scrunching as she pouts toward the other. “Could you just not? Like not look cute?” Evie sighs with a lighthearted eye-roll, walking away to flop down onto the couch. Wriggling to get comfy on the cushion, Evie sinks into the plushness as she watches Astra finish smearing chia seeds over an expensive model train covered in some dirt like substance. “Please don’t tell me you wasted over $300 dollars for that thing,” She whispers, face falling at the guilty expression striking Astra’s face, chuckling meekly. 

No prompt just my half-used imagination.

stray kids (han jisung and lee felix), bluesung, mafia au?, self insert cause i wasn’t bothered to think of a oc, violence and fighting

Your eyes train on the scope of the sniper, waiting for something to come around the corner of the alley. Laying down on the concrete roof of a nearby gave you distance but still a clean shot—or shots. It depends on how well Jisung plays bait. Felix stands behind you, watching your back for any extra men if they try to jump you. Thought he seems rather amused at his phone, reading the texts that Jisung sends while running for his life, complaining about losing rock-paper-scissors and being forced to aggravate a group of random mobsters. Soon enough a dark blue haired figure comes drifting around the corner, suit blazer drifting in the wind at the sharp turn. He lungs forward, sprinting into the open spot with around ten angry men chasing him in wife beaters and denim bottoms, heads and arms showing off silver jewellery and gang tattoos. Steading yourself with a sigh, you take ain at the closet mobster to Jisung. Pressing down on the trigger, the bullet cleanly pierces through the air, hitting dead centre in the mobster’s head. Felix lets out a low whistle, phone tucked in his blazer pocket. He crouches down, blinking normal as if he’s witnessing another scene in an action movie, hands laced in front of him.

Meanwhile Jisung feels as if his legs are going to give out, stamina wearing thin due to his food being stripped away to run bait. He was going to enjoy that sandwich with its delicious, dreamy ham and cheese with refreshing lettuce and one singular tomato slice. Letting out a frustrated whine, Jisung drags his feet as he continues to dodge attacks and items thrown at him. He casts a glance behind his shoulder, an approving hum leaving his throat as a few of the mobsters fall down dead, bullet hole lodged in their heads. The blue haired male turns to dace the remaining group—at least six men scared shitless—and settles himself in a fighting stance. Jaw, stomach, twist. One of the larger men’s neck cracks, a bone popping sound you get from cracking your back but deadly. Jisung looks at the others, mostly in shock at one of their biggest dying from a male shorter and skinner than him by a few good inches and kilograms. “Yo, who’s up next?” He speaks up, running a hand through his dark blue locks, only serving to mess up the hairs more. The brown haired one stands forward, skin darkly coloured to allude that he is The Beef—one of the harder hitters even though he is smaller than their biggest. With a grin, Jisung patiently waits for The Beef to make his first move, hands tucked in his slacks pocket’s to proudly give the opponent an advantage. Jisung might not be the hard hitter in the group, that was undoubtedly you, but he was one of the quickest and dirtiest fights. His body would go into flight and fight mode, opting to confront due to training and the mindset he was taught. It was hard for Jisung to give up. Like ridiculous hard. He would just carry the adrenaline to keep himself up despite having a broken bone or internal bleeding.

Jisung snaps out of his blanking, arms rising to block a heavy hit from The Beef’s fits, hissing at the pain racketing his bones but soon replying by ducking underneath to hit at the thick neck. The dark skin male stumbles back, choking and sputtering as he regains his balance. “You’re tough for a little one,” The Beef chuffs, clearing his throat to get knocked out with a swift roundhouse kick to his temple by Jisung. “What do you think this is? A movie? Focus on your opponent rather than talking shit,” Jisung scolds, shaking his head as he rushes to get started on the four left.

An impulse by leads to an intergalactic warfare.

idiocy at it’s finest, oc used, swearing, drug use/mention of drugs

Buying a locket from an antique story shouldn’t seal your fate as an intergalactic war criminal. It shouldn’t put hitman on your back, or weird looking alien things in your apartment. Most definitely it should not mean you go on the run out of pure idiocy suggest by a high homeless person on the street—not after buying some of the Mary Jane to calm the impending stress in your brain.

“Shit, shit, shit!” Jack curses, hands thumping on the leather of the steering wheel as he huffs, sinking in the chair as many cars stand still on the freeway. His arms fall lax to his sides, head rolling back with a groan of defeat and frustration. Jack didn’t mean to buy a locket that seemingly holds a fallen kingdom inside, a microscope galaxy that is forbidden and locked in war trade. It was simple a trinket he found cool while buzzing around in the store ran by the white curly haired women—an old bat that smoked and ripped him off to buy the  goddamn thingy. Jack’s gaze shifts to the compartment between the front seats, digging through the papers, empty gum bottles and tissues to pull out the rusted metal framed glass ball. Holding it up to his face, Jack’s eyes squint to look through the thick glass to see swirling dusty colours and warm tones. Streaks of orange, yellow, brown and yellowish green. Tiny stars and astroids orbit a planet with bumps, clouds and ships. He watches the movements of the planet, watching it spin on the axis slowly. Jack can’t help but be in awe of the little world between his fingers, even though it may as well destroyed his whole life plan. Thinking about it further, Jack grimaces at his future plans that he thought out, finding enough money to pay off his university debt and to buy his apartment, get a promotion at his boring job and get a cat. Yeah, pretty disappointing Jack. The rows of cars start moving forward, Jack quickly dropping the trinket into the compartment, clicking down the top. Grasping at the steering wheel, he pushing on the gas petal and joins the crowd. So far everything has gone according to plan. Ditching his phone? Done. Finding a new car? Stolen. Getting some cash? Complete. Buying weed off of that homeless person who said he should go in the run? High. Not anymore at least, can’t risk getting picked up and then shot to death by a green gluey shape of rolls that find Jack through the police filing.

Pulling off the freeway, Jack slows the speed of the car to match the speed limit, cutting through the same town to skip the traffic. Many country houses stand tall, large and made out of creaking, rotting wood painted with garnish. Some on stilts, others with many windows, some with too many decorations, some having Halloween decorations despite it bring April. He turns around a corner, stopping abruptly as a duck waddles across the bitumen road, tail swaying sassily. Even a bird irked Jack now. Flipping off the winged animal, he puts his foot down and drives through towards the green sigh with white text for the freeway.

[unknownjpegs]

meet cute

“Combat medic, Sink. He’s a combat medic.”

Xavier’s crouched over the caved in roof, staring at the fight the SAS are engaged in. The toes of his boots are suspiciously close to dipping over and it’s half torn apart, so it’s likely he’ll tumble any minute. His arms dangle between his knees, head cocked, like a gargoyle paused for entertainment. Lark leans beside him, leg resting on Xavier’s shoulder. His ankle hurts sometimes, or maybe he just thought it hurt, the remembered pain of having it snapped like a toy by men who liked doing that to people.

“Corporal, you wanna help ‘em?”

“Hmmm,” Xavier draws the thought out while he watches. The medic had been with a partner, who was now mostly useless and leaned up against a wall. It was a tight corridor they were down and he suspected the medic wasn’t using the sidearm because a shot could go astray—take that partner from mostly useless to probably dead if something went wrong.

And well, he really was holding his fucking own. They’d watched him down two already, and it almost felt religious to see someone so adept at hand to hand that wasn’t himself. Xavier had seen this one before. Even interacted with him, vaguely recalls. When the Shadows and SAS were slapped together real ramshackle, shit like, he’d probably said something funny. He recalled making the guy laugh and really enjoyed the way that laugh sounded.

Now, the object of that laugh is wailing a fist over and over into a man’s face, till it’s a smear of red and man. Xavier likes that almost as much as he liked hearing him laugh. Real tingly feeling up his fingers. Electric dance over his shoulders. Synapses firing a little. Attention solely forward, his long body so close to just leaning over the edge of this roof.

“Can get eyes,” Sinkevich says, pulling up his rifle.

“You’re no sniper,” Xavier replies and slowly unfolds until he’s standing to his full height. “Can’t risk you missing and taking out SAS. That would be a lot of fucking paperwork. We’re supposed to be working with these guys.”

“Yeah, paperwork,” Benny’s chirping it as he tries to strike his lighter, over and over. Nervous habit, not even a cigarette in his mouth. “So, we push forward? Leave the guy? He’ll be fine.”

“Corporal.” Lark’s hand slaps Xavier’s chest, gets his attention. He rocks slightly, like he might go over the edge of that caved in roof, and wouldn’t that be funny? It’s definitely enough to make Xavier grin as he looks back to the action. The medic’s fist is coated in blood now, but there’s one left, advancing on him. Crowbar raised. And at some point during the scuffle with the other’s he’d downed with those fists alone, the soldier’s helmet had been torn off.

He’s got crazy shaggy brown hair that looks wildly out of militant regulation. Xavier has a healthy liking for a soldier that does not respect military regulation. He lingers a little on that laugh again. Hm. What had he said that was so funny?

The SAS (the good guy, Xavier’s brain whispers) catches the crowbar as it’s swinging, uses the leverage to bring him in and snap a fist forward against the chin. Oh, that’s tooth losing, Xavier thinks. Very good maneuvers.

“Well, he left one alive by accident.” Sinkevich flips open the red dot laser. It lights up on the back of one crawling up to a standing position against the wall. He’s got a wash of blood down the side of his face from a split open eyebrow. Something in there looks broken too. A little crack on the cheekbone, or maybe the jaw is offset. Still alive, though. A wonder, considering how badly the other guy is losing the fight against the medic. Xavier swears he hears a snap of a bone. “I could get him.”

Xavier puts his hand over Sinkevich’s rifle.

“I got this.”

When he drops down into the corridor, he’s a heavy thud. Knees braced for the impact, one hand up to slip the knife from his vest. And the medic hears him—glances up from the headlock he’s put the last dying man in. Their eyes are a brief connection before Xavier’s snatching out for the wounded one who’d spent all his effort getting back up. Makes it easy to just—

Shk, shk, shk.

The knife sounds are satisfying in his ear when he jerks the man with the back of his shirt. Hand folded over hs mouth and in and in and in the knife goes, right to the neck. Once, twice, three times and it becomes a little messier than he’d meant it too. The blood spurts up and sprays, in that way blood does that never gets shown in movies, video games, whatever. It’s a living thing, blood. Always flowing and trying to stay in the body. We’re like big water balloons, Xavier thinks. Pop.

The angle makes it splash up under his visor, so when Xavier drops the dead body, he jerks his helmet off. It’s thick on him, thick and warm and a little disgusting. He gets his mask off next, peels it away and throws it to the side. Most of it had gone into the small window of the balaclava, got on his skin anyway.

The struggling man in the SAS soldier’s grasp dies then, croaks out one last sound before his limp body is dropped.

Without thinking, Xavier goes to push his sweaty hair from his forehead and only manages to smear the dead mans blood up and over his face and into his hair line. It does the job of keeping it out of his face, at least.

Then they’re staring at each other. He’s short, this medic, but fucking hell, he’s built. Thickly corded with muscles in his arms, and he’s breathing hard from the fight—four on one? He’d won that, huh? Xavier feels a begrudging sense of respect out of that. Even if he’d failed to kill the one he’d just taken care of and put down for him.

“Buy me a beer for that,” Xavier offers, pointing with the gore soaked knife to the dead body.

“Couldn’t ‘ave done it in a way that wasn’t so nasty,” the soldier bites back, but there’s a sneering smile on his face. He’s sweaty, so strands of that curly brown hair sticks to his skin. Little snake patterns. It’s kind of mesmerizing almost. He’s real good looking, handsome in a sulky way. Brooding, pretty eyes and thick brows. Nicely defined nose.

“I’m a messy eater,” Xavier replies. Then wipes the blade clean on his pants and sheaths it with an equally satisfying last shhhhk. “Xavier,” he offers which is funny, because well, no. He’s not. He’s Corporal Wolffe, especially to this fucking guy. He’s Baby, if it’s callsigns—he’s definitely not a first name, but it had come out so easily.

Not so for the SAS soldier, who gives him a few looks before falling to his knees by the almost dead, mostly useless partner. Xavier feels the pout and works hard to suppress it, because, well, the dying guy probably needs more attention than him. He throws a look over his shoulder, can just see Lark poking his head in. Xavier lifts a hand, waves a signal for them to continue and then the songbird is gone.

“Benji.”

He tilts back to watch as Benji, the combat medic, lifts a man that might weigh a clean two-eighty up. Slings his arm under him, braces the other over his shoulder. Xavier runs a thumb over his lip to catch some of that drying, sticky blood and glances at it.

“I made you laugh once,” he says, stepping forward slightly, like he might help. But Benji has it covered, makes it clear by stepping back and away and toward the left. To go around Xavier. He’ll be tracking the opposite direction of the warzone, probably for recon or recovery. Get this poor useless guy some help.

“Told a right awful fuckin’ joke, is all.”

“Yeah?”

“What’s a ghosts favorite part of a strip club?”

Xavier snaps his fingers, his grin going large enough to make his cheeks hurt.

“Booooobies.”

For a moment, Benji stares at him. And Xavier’s real stunned by his eyes, especially with the light falling through the caved in roof. It’s dancing across him, slicing him with the sun and making his pupils dilate slightly. Xavier unconsciously wipes at the blood on his face again, shrugs his shoulders in a, what can you do? sort of way—and thats when Benji laughs. It cracks the sadness in his face a little, makes him look sort of wild. Shakes his head, that shaggy, sweaty hair looking oddly charming. A little sexy.

“See you around, Benji,” Xavier says, walking backward as the medic shuffles along with his injured team mate. He lifts a hand, like a gesture of maybe but Xavier has a feeling it’s a definitely.

[bee-58415]

Line Without A Hook: Chapter 5 (Warphy)

“Murphy?” Warren was like a statue, Murphy didn't look like the Murphy that left that day, not even in behavior. His hair was messy and similar to when she first met him, his skin was the same red color but was full of scars and one rather large scar on his face, he wore a black ripped shirt and just as ripped jeans but no shoes, he was crouched on the floor and had his head ducked as if trying to hide his face.

Warren felt her heart drop to her stomach ¿Who did this to him? Was it these people? She stretched her arms towards Murphy, trying to get him to come close, Murphy stood up from the floor and stood up straight next to Sameer, with Sameer being 1 or 2 inches shorter and Murphy grazing the roof of the room. Murphy slowly walked towards Warren and crouched down to look her in the face. Warren felt overwhelmed by seeing him like that, anger, frustration, relief, and exhaustion erupted from her and she just couldn't hold it in anymore. “YOU FUCKING IDIOT, I TOLD YOU TO TAKE CARE OF THEM, TO TAKE CARE OF YOURSELF! AND THEN YOU MAKE ME FUCKING LOOK FOR YOU IN THE MIDDLE OF NOWHERE FILLED WITH BODIES AND I FIND YOU LOOKING LIKE FRANKENSTEIN’S MONSTER COVERED IN SCARS!” Warren yelled grabbing her shoe and hitting Murphy on the head, she didn’t even notice how tears went down her face as she continued shouting at him and hitting him.

Until she stopped, and actually saw Murphy. He wasn’t fighting like he did when they fought in Murphytown or whining like he normally would, he just accepted the beatings and said nothing. Literally nothing. “Murphy, why don’t you say anything!?” She yelled at him, but this time in a calmer voice. Murphy didn’t say anything; he just looked at Warren, his eyes filled with fear but also with something she didn’t know what to call, but she ignored it, instead looking toward Sameer. “He doesn’t talk, at least not that we’ve heard. Since we got him out of that lab he hasn’t said a word, Kunal says he found him with these electro-shock things on his head when they found him” Sameer explained, painting towards Murphy’s head, “And what does that mean?” Warren asked again, trying to understand what that had to do with Murphy’s non-verbalness. “Kunal thinks that the electroshock made him forget how to talk, he recognized you certainly and watched over you like a hawk over the past 3 days, but he forgot how to talk” Sameer added.

Warren couldn’t even speak at the moment, she felt like when she found him bound in Cooper’s car trunk, her throat with a knot in it and tears in her eyes. “Murphy, you know who I am right?” she said with a broken voice. Murphy slowly nodded and opened his mouth “W̴̺̘̙͗́̇̑-̸͉̖̳̰̉W̷̺̆̃r̸̬̆̈̚g̴͉͎̉͂ḩ̴̨̧̛̒̆e̴̙̓̔k̵͈̭͖̎n̸̂̈́ͅ” was the only sound that came out, it was distorted and you could only understand the W sound, the rest was garbled groans like a Zombie’s or a Baby’s. That was it. Warren felt her heart crack at the sound. What did they do to Murphy? Her Murphy, not this Murphy that was so broken that he couldn’t look in the eyes and talk “Goddamn it Murphy…” Warren finally broke a sob as she pulled Murphy into a hug.

Murphy flinched at the contact as if she was going to hurt him, but quickly eased after Warren buried her head into his neck, he got onto his knees to not make her lift her weight. The other people in the room didn’t dare bother them, as Warren kept hugging Murphy while crying, and Murphy didn’t move a single inch.

“So how long have you had him?” Warren asked Kunal, she had calmed down and Murphy needed to eat after a while. Kunal seemed to do a few calculations in his head and answered “About 2 months, we had to go from Huston Texas to Florida for about a month just to hide him, Sam said that what if they tried to track him.” Warren couldn’t believe that these absolute strangers would help Murphy. But, then again they had someone like Murphy, Dion, a half-Zombie boy that was 9 years old. Dion was bitten by a mutated Z 3 years ago when his and Andy’s group was attacked, but he turned into something similar to Murphy. Dion’s dark skin turned dark blue and his eyes turned light blue and without any black in them, his hair was in a high top with freeform dreads and he was covered in small scars and bite marks like Murphy's, and was very tall for his age (5’3” ft). He didn’t crave humans or anything, he just liked hunting and eating animals that were around him, Cooked or not and Zombified or not, it didn’t matter it didn’t affect him anyway.

“So Zona is still trying to get Murphy’s ass. And this time they tortured him” Warren thought to herself, “It took us a while to get him to even sleep or eat without getting a panic attack, getting him to wash himself is still a struggle” Kunal added. Warren was worried by that cause she knew that Murphy was oddly clean normally, and him rejecting a bath is like *getting drowned in a bin* levels of fucked up.

Warren looked over to where Murphy, Dion and Sameer were eating some Craft Macaroni and Cheese. They were eating on a foldable table outside of the Bus House (she later found out it’s name is “Pyaar”, Hindi for Love) and Kunal, Andy and her were sitting on foldable beach chairs whilst the other 3 finished eating, everything was illuminated by the light coming from the Bus House and fairy lights that they had hung on the trees, it was a oddly peaceful night to say the least. Warren forgot she was injured and tried to stand up but quickly fell down because of her injured leg. “Shit!” she yelled the moment she hit the floor, the sharp pain in her leg reminding her that she was injured. She didn’t even noticed Murphy running to catch her until she realized that she hadn’t hit the grass floor, but instead fell on something else, or more like someone else. “___” Murphy grumbled under her, he had slid under her so that she didn’t hurt herself and ended up with her sitting on top of him, but he wasn’t complaining about it, he was scolding her for trying to walk.

“What the hell did you do that for?!” She yelled at him when she saw him under her, Murphy didn’t answer but instead tried to stand up, quickly realizing he wouldn’t be able to sense Warren was on top of him. Warren didn’t even know what that man was thinking to do, because Murphy suddenly picked her up bridal style and got off the floor.

“Murphy, what are you doin’?!” She shouted when she felt herself lifted in the air, Andy answered giggling instead “You can’t walk, so he wants to carry you! It looks fun. I want to be carried too!” And her wishes were granted as soon as Dion jumped from his seat (completely forgetting his Mac n cheese) and picked her up off her chair, “How the fuck is that kid so strong?!” Wondered Sameer with a mouthful of macaroni, Kunjal smirked from his chair and teased the taller man “I bet he’s stronger than you!”, Sameer spat out his food in offense “Oh, don’t test me Kunu!” He shot back as he stood up. Warren didn’t know what was happening but Murphy seemed to, cause he quickly started to run around with her in arms, “What’s going on?!” She asked Andy and she and Dion passed by, “Fight! Fight! Fight!” Was the only thing the girl answered. But Warren quickly understood.

Sameer ran after Kunal as Kunal ran from his chair to keep from getting caught but was too late as Sameer grabbed him by the waist and flung him over his shoulder, “You’re already short like one, why do you have to run like a girl, Huh Princess?” Sameer joked as he slapped Kunal’s ass and started running with him still over his shoulder, “Watch it Sam, I’m the only reason you haven’t died of food poisoning!” Kunal warned but was completely ignored as he was moved to be carried bridal style just like Warren. Warren didn’t know what it was, but something made her feel safe, like she wasn’t in a post apocalyptic world filled with things (or people) trying to kill her.

Andy and Dion giggling, Sam and Kunal joking around and calling each other names, Murphy spinning around or almost falling while making her laugh as they ran around the others. 

It was like the world had stopped, at least for that night

[jinxthighz]

Yandere Jinx x Yandere reader.

Gender Neutral as always

Warnings: Kinda toxic relationship, kinda nsfw(mostly torture), suggestive content (if you use a microscope).Cussing. Gore. I mean it when I say gore. I made it a bit detailed…

Everyone knows not to fuck with what belongs to Jinx. But they don't know you. They'll find out soon enough.

When you first met Jinx- scratch that, when you first saw her, you fell so hard you got whiplash. Everything about her just drew you to her like a moth to a flame. You couldn't help the skip in your heartbeat when you said her name out loud. Or the flutter of butterflies in your stomach when you heard her voice. Your face getting hot every time your skin touches hers. The fact that she was so touchy with you did not help your case at all.

She would always hang around you. Wrapping her arms around your neck and waist, feeling the curves of your collarbone, your cheekbones, your lips, everything with her fingertips. She would smell your hair when she thought you weren't looking. Watch you and caress your face when you were sleeping. She had to look at your face at least once a day. She had to hear your voice, she had to hear you say her name.

"Jinx."

Oh.

She liked that

You would whine sometimes when she wasn’t paying much attention to you.

“Jinxieeee!” Her heart would implode. After that she would cling to you the whole day. Literally. Her arms would never leave your waist. Or she would climb on you and hang there until she got bored. You loved it.

On the rare occasion you two weren’t attached at the hip, you would look out for any news on Jinx. Stealthily eavesdropping on Silco’s henchmen. You were unaware, however, that Jinx did the exact same thing.

You would always make mental notes on what Jinx likes and doesn’t like. You don’t like someone she’s acquaintances with? That bitch is gone. She doesn’t like it when you’re gone for more than an hour? You’ll rush just to make the 30 minute deadline. You also noted, she fancies a specific eye color. Hmm…

It was exhausting. To say the least. But exhilarating. Every second you spent with her made it all so worth it, so perfect in every way.

Although, Jinx hadn’t realized just how unhinged you were. That is, until you gave her a present.

“We need to figure out a way to deal with this.” You heard someone say. Jinx was out on another mission from Silco, so you decided to lounge around Zaun and find a comfortable place to rest. You were on the verge of ignoring them, eyes closed and mind drifting into blissful relief.

“Jinx is becoming a problem.” Your eyes immediately, but slowly, opened.

“Silco doesn’t see it. But everyone else does. We need to find a way to remove her, but not in a way that it will impact the shimmer production.” You inwardly groaned, sitting up from your comfortable position on the short rooftop. You reached for your throwing knives.

“Now, I was thinking-” the leader was cut off by a short scream. You had thrown a knife directly into his right shoulder blade. You hopped down from the roof, landing in a crouching position. You stood up, cracking and flexing your limbs as you walked to the group of five.

“Well. What do we have here?” You asked tiredly. Standing next to the leader that was hunched over on one knee, trying to pull out the blade that was just out of reach.

“Well, if it isn’t Jinx’s little-” you swiftly took out another knife, flinging it to the lackey. It made a severe cut from his lip through his cheek. His jaw hung down crookedly, only held from one side as he screeched.

“I didn’t say you could speak.” You gave the three untouched lackeys a soul piercing glare. They didn’t move or speak. Not wanting to get hit by those throwing knives that seemed to be as fast as bullets.

“Now.” You crouched, grabbing onto the leader’s hair, pulling on it harshly. He swallowed a yelp as with every movement the dagger would cut through a piece of bone or flesh. You decided to leave it in there. You didn’t want him dying just yet.

“Let this be a teensy warning on what happens if you decide to… enact these feelings you have.” You smiled, taking out a thick, curved blade. You pushed the leader onto his ass, straddling him. You cupped his chin harshly, nails digging into his cheeks.

“Jinx likes the your eyes, y’know? She says they remind her of the sun.” His breath quickened, realizing what you were insinuating.

“Now hold still.” You but your lip in a sick kind of bliss, squeezing your thighs around him to make sure he couldn’t escape your grasp. He squeezed his eyes shut, but that didn’t stop you. You cut through the lids of his eyes, scooping and yanking them from his sockets. He screamed and tried to move away, but you wouldn’t let him. Your face flushed, and you bit back a moan. Taking genuine, twisted pleasure in his agony. Then he passed out. Or died. You licked your lips, letting out a euphoric breath as it felt like you had just come down from a hard orgasm. You turned your head, glancing to make sure the three were still there.

They were. Smart boys. You guessed they knew you would hunt them down if they left. You stood up, letting the body underneath you thud and bleed out.

“My name is y/n. You would do well to remember that Jinx is my girlfriend. My beloved.” You turned to them fully. Their hearts dropping to their balls as they saw the euphoric look on your face.

“And anyone that speaks of her in such a disgusting way, will be punished. I hope I’ve made myself clear.”

You pulled the knife out of the corpse, cleaning it with the cleaner parts of his pants.

“Now run along before I change my mind. After all, I only need one to send a message.” They scrambled out faster than you could say ‘sheesh’.

…

“Jinxie! I have a present for you!” After what happened you went to Singed to get the eye balls cleaned and neatly placed in a jar of clear liquid.

Jinx swiveled in her chair, a bright smile on her face just by hearing your voice.

“A present? I love presents!” She immediately abandoned what she was doing running to you, wanting to leap into your arms. You stepped back and held a hand up to stop her, the other hidden behind your back. She stopped, crossing her arms and pouting.

“Don’t pout you big baby.” You said taking her face with your free hand and kissing her cheek, then her lips. She hummed, but let it go. You slowly revealed the jar. Jinx quirked a brow. Taking the jar and inspecting, gasping as she realized it was her favorite colored eyes.

“Oh muffin!” She collapsed into you, crushing you into a hug that you found pleasurable. She quickly walked, making sure not to accidentally juggle the perfectly positioned eyes, and placed the jar on the shelf just above her desk. Gluing it to make sure it wouldn’t fall off from her frequent explosions. She would kiss your face all over and be extra clingy for the next few months. Which of course, you don’t mind.

The next day when Silco would come to visit Jinx, he would notice the jar almost immediately.

“Where did this come from?” He would ask.

“A present from my muffin.” He recognized ‘muffin’ as your nickname.

“May I ask why?”

“Apparently someone was ‘threatening’ me while I was on a mission.” Jinx rested her head in the palm of her hand as she sighed dreamily.

“They really love me.” Silco came to respect you in that moment, considering you as a new member of the family. And the undercity never had your name in their mouth again.

[solinarimoon]

On Raven's Wings - Chapter 7

AN: I apologize for such a long absence in updates for this story.  I have not abandoned it!  Thank you to anyone who is sticking with it.  

Warnings: canon-compliant character death, death by fire, amnesia, loads of pent up angst and regret

Word Count: 3.543

Raven’s Masterlist

My Full Masterlist

AO3 if you prefer

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Jerking awake, Liva coughed and covered her nose with her tiny hands.  She sat up, continuing to cough and peering over the edge of the loft where she slept.  Terror and panic welled up in her stomach and gripped her chest as she cried out.  Flames were licking the edges of the long house and sparks rained down from the thatched roof overhead. Smoke was collecting near her, drifting up to the ceiling.  Crawling back, Liva cowered against the wall and covered her head with her arms.  

“Rag…” she coughed, the smoke burning her throat, “Ragnar! Sigrid!”

“Liva!” She heard Thyra shout followed by a bellow of rage from her grandfather amidst the roar of the fire growing more and more steadily.  She looked back over the loft to see them all.

Liva’s hoarse voice cried out again, breaking with a sob for her grandfather.  Turning to look up at her, Ragnar stalked over raising his arms.

“Jump to me, child.”

She grabbed up her nightdress around her legs and shifted to the balls of her feet, still kneeling.  She coughed harder now.  Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes, streaking through her smoke stained cheeks.  Getting her balance, she pushed herself off the ledge into nothingness only to be snatched from the air roughly and firmly a mere moment later.  Ragnar crushed her to his chest, brushing his hands through her hair swiftly and resting his forehead against Liva’s own as he settled her bare feet to the floor.  The tender moment lasted no longer than a second, before he bodily swung the young girl into the waiting arms of her aunt.

“What do we do?” Thyra pleaded for a solution.  “Mother, what can we do?”

Coughing more, Liva buried her face in Thyra’s arms as the young woman looked to her mother.  Thyra’s fingers dug into Liva’s shoulders as she hugged the girl from behind, enveloping her and trying to shield her from the panic. 

Sigrid looked from her daughter to share a meaningful stare with Ragnar.  Stepping forward, she hugged the two girls close while shouting over the sound of the timbers burning and beginning to crash.

“There is a weak spot in the wall, just behind the loom and furs.  Air drafts in from the cracks while we sit and weave.  Do you remember?”

Thyra nodded her head and gripped Liva impossibly closer.  Liva knew of the spot her grandmother spoke of.  Often she had fallen asleep laying at her grandmother’s feet, listening to her stories as she wove the yarn Liva and Thyra spent all year spinning.  She wove cloth and Liva liked to imagine she wove her stories into the fabric as well.  The sound of the weights tethered to the dangling strands shifting along with her fingers as she wove always matched evenly with the cadence of Sigrid’s stories.  And the draft from the winds slipping through the cracks in the wall brushed along Liva’s face as she rested.  

It was this corner of the home that her grandmother spoke of now.

“It is weak from rot and age and would not burn well.  It will give way if forced upon. If the flames have not found it, you can shove against it and make a way out. Go, Thyra.  Take Liva and go.”

Ragnar’s voice broke through as he gripped his daughter’s arm in farewell, “Find Uhtred and Brida.  Once you are out, run to the woods and find them.”

In the next instant, Liva was on her knees, crouched next to Thyra and pressing herself against the rotted logs in the wall.  They were soft and shifted under the weight of their thrusts.  With Thyra shoving with all her weight against the logs, Liva scrambled and scratched, digging at the earth beneath the wood.  She cried out and covered her head with her hands when a loud crash of a fallen beam landed behind them followed by a whoosh of flames rippling closer.  

Thyra shifted herself back from her knees to her bottom and kicked out viciously at the wood. It began to splinter more and soon a hole large enough for them each to squeeze through took shape.

“I’ll go first and you follow,” Thyra gripped Liva’s hands, wiping away the girl's tears and smudging the soot on her cheeks.

She turned and shifted herself, crawling and wriggling to squeeze through the hole.  Liva waited tensely, little cries of worry slipping past her lips.

As soon as Thyra was through, Liva crawled forward, slipping her head through the wood and peering around.  She saw Thyra standing only two paces away, peering around a corner, looking for any unwanted attention. 

Liva’s younger and smaller frame didn’t have nearly as tight fit getting through the hole.  But as she scrambled through and cleared the wall, she heard Thyra cry out.  Shakily, Liva stood up and watched two men round the corner and grab at Thyra.  They looked enormous.  Dark and terrifying, silhouetted by the flames of her family's home.  

Liva froze in panic.  A raging, bellowing sound rang out from the front of the longhouse.  Ragnar the fearless was going to Valhalla.  Time seemed to stop.  Liva was aware of Thyra struggling against the grasping hands of the two men.  She was aware of another crash as the roof of their home continued to collapse.  She could hear shrieks and cries and shouts all garbled together one over the other.  

And then she was running.  Straight into the forest.  Her bare feet pounding against the undergrowth and her arms pumping at her sides.  She was vaguely aware of someone pursuing her.  A danger that was tracking her down.

She had never run so hard in her short life.  There was a burning in her lungs from the smoke and the ash.  There was a burning in her legs from fleeing through the woods in the cold.  And a burning in her mind at the terror and confusion waging war on her young psyche.

In a matter of mere minutes, she had awoken to chaos and lost all she held dear in her world.  And now she was running for her life.  She knew to head towards the hills in the forest to the West.  That way led towards the blacksmith’s charcoal fire.  It led to Uhtred.  But which way was West? 

Chancing a glance over her shoulder, Liva gasped hard seeing her pursuer looming in the distance.  His legs were longer but hers was a child’s stamina and she fled for her life.  Liva turned back and continued running, clambering up a steep hill to her right.  

Up.

Up towards the hills.

When she reached the top, she turned sharply back again crouching and looking for any sign of the man.  Her breath came in quick, shallow rasps.  She quickly wiped sweat and soot and tears from her eyes, trying to clear her blurred vision.  Smoke from the burning hall was melting amongst the trees and shrubs of the forest.  Giving her a final shelter and hiding her path from the man.

She thought she could hear him crashing around and fading away, but she was too scared to risk moving to look.  Minutes passed.  Only a few brief minutes, but Liva stifled her coughs and tears until she could hold them at bay no longer.  Choking on the smoke and the grief, the child stood and looked to the sunrise.  A sun rising over the still flaming remains of the hall of Ragnar.  Sobbing, Liva stepped back.  A sudden and intense need to flee gripping her.

Continue West.  Uhtred and Brida will have seen the smoke.  They must have heard the screams.  She knew she must find them.  Stepping back again and shifting to turn, the leaves under her toes slid and gave way.  She fell, tumbling a short ways before something hard smacked her head and then the smoke filled her vision until all she saw was black.

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Hiding a shaky breath by sipping her wine, Liva paused and looked up at the faces of those surrounding the table.  She found the words had come easily once she had started.  Keeping her eyes down, staring unfocused at the wood of the table, the events of that night had tumbled from her lips.  A story that wanted…that needed to be told.  

But she knew these next words, the questions left unanswered would not come so easily.  

“That is terrible, Liva.”

It was Osferth who spoke first.  Liva gave a short nod in agreement at the simple truth from the gentle and comforting presence of the warrior monk at her side.  

Hild found her voice next, also offering support and condolence.

“It is a miracle you survived such a horror.”  Liva looked up to see a genuine concern radiating from her.

A large, calloused hand reached out to grasp her own.  Uhtred squeezed her hand tightly, but she could not meet his eye.  She could not face whatever thoughts would show on his face.

Liva’s chest had begun to tighten and she was fighting back a large lump growing in her throat, when Finan spoke up from the other end of the table.

Clearing his throat, the Irsihman asked what Liva felt sure they all wished to know.

“So what happened to you after?”

Liva found herself staring at Finan and unable to answer his question.  The silence around the table grew.

“You hit your head. What happened after?  When you woke up?” he clarified, trying to guide a response from her.  Trying to get her to answer the question at the front of everyone’s mind.  For the briefest moment, Liva’s focus shifted beyond Finan.  

Sihtric sat, arms folded across himself with tense shoulders and his jaw firmly set.  His stare did not move from his plate.

Liva opened her mouth to speak but found her throat constricted and dry.  She took a sip of her wine, lowering her eyes and fixing her gaze on her own hand fidgeting with the rim of her goblet.

“I do not think you will accept my answers,” she replied, finding a strength and steadiness to her voice that surprised her.

Uhtred still said nothing.  Only squeezed her hand again.  She still could not look at him.

It was Hild who reassured her.

“We may surprise you, Liva.”

Live chanced a glance up to meet Hild’s face. She saw nothing but genuine concern. Another slow breath and then she continued, haltingly. Her words unsteady and unsure. 

“My truth is that I do not know what happened to me.  I only know that the next I remember…my next solid memory is standing at the edge of a field. A man with a bow kneeling in front of me, asking me what happened. It was Gallen.  And he and his wife took me in and raised me.  Everything else in between…” 

She shrugged her shoulders.  Lifting her face to meet Finan’s face and then HIld’s she let her silence grow.

“So you remember nothing,” Finan questioned her, not unkindly but with a clear skepticism at her confession. “Nothing from the time you knocked your head to when someone found you?”

Liva nodded, “I remember nothing of meaning.  Or nothing that makes sense anyway. The memories,” she paused, worrying at her lip, “they’re like ghosts.  Not truly there.  When I try to remember them they fade away.  Always at the edge of my sight and never full on.  They are a child’s memories.  Jumbled and confused. Lots of green leaves and trees and brush.  And small hands covering my own.  And,” she stopped shaking her head slightly and knotting her brow in concentration.  She shook her head again, more firmly then continued, “I feel sure someone helped me in the forest.  You can see the scar just below my hairline.”

Liva ran her fingers through the fine, flaxen strands that framed her face brushing them back to reveal a faint white mark.  She fingered it gently and continued, “it would have bled a lot with how hard I must have hit it.  It remained bruised and swollen for days and days.  But when Gallen found me, my face was clean and a bandage was wrapped around my head.”

“Perhaps it was Hlin, the protectress guarding your life in the wood.”

Skade picked up her cup and leaned back from the table.  The woman had listened quietly to Liva’s story, her face betraying no emotion. But now she continued, the fanatical craze growing in her eyes, “Or it may have been Vithar.  Silence and Revenge.  These are his domain.”

“I have never sought out revenge,” Liva sneered.  Her words spoken as much to herself as to the woman across the table.

“Not looked for it, but would have taken it had the chance presented itself. No,” Skade smirked in agreement, “but something has stolen your memories from you.  And why would your mind need those thoughts removed?”

Before Liva could bite back a remark across the table, Osferth’s soft voice pushed back against Skade’s musings.

“She was a child with a head wound.  And some kind soul helped her.”

“Baby monk is right,” Finan interjected, quickly chancing a glance towards Uhtred at the head of the table. “It is often so in battle after someone gets a good, hard hit to the head.  Things grow fuzzy.”

Hild spoke up in Liva’s defense next, offering Liva a warm smile, “And I think it matters little if a person can remember all the details from an event that is years since past and held so much pain already.  What matters is that a sister who was lost is now found.”

Liva’s brow furrowed slightly although her mouth slid upward in a timid smile at the group’s easy defense of her story.  Accepting her truth on its face.  She had not anticipated such kindness. And even with the guarded reserve coming from Sihtric and the instigating remarks from Skade, Liva was glad to have spoken her story aloud.  

“I am sorry, little bear.”

Uhtred’s words broke through her thoughts and his hand gripped hers tighter.  He had remained quiet while she spoke. So his voice, quiet but firm at her side startled her. 

She sensed there was more her brother wished to say, but his voice was not cooperating.  She squeezed his hand in return and gave him a sad smile.

“Well since we are telling stories, Munnin,” Sihtric’s voice, quietly slinked from the end of the table, lilting and full of the weight of mead.

Finan scoffed and shifted back in his chair, putting a heavy hand on Sihtric’s shoulder and muttering under his breath, “Och, will ye no leave anything alone tonight, ye little shit.”

Quickly, Osferth stood to help as Finan muscled Sihtric out of his chair and began ushering him out of the hall.  Uhtred, Hild, and Skade all watched on, each with varying looks of anger, shock, or enjoyment playing across their faces at the chaos that arose.

Liva quickly stood, her chair toppling backwards and clattering onto the ground.  The calm and peace she had felt from giving voice to her story about the hall burning replaced instantly by the same sharp anger she had felt in the forest when she and Sihtric had both drawn their blades.

At the sound of her chair hitting the floor, Osferth’s had turned, his attention distracted, allowing her to step past him.  

Stepping up to Sihtric, Liva planted her feet. Her hands were curled tightly into fists at her side and she clenched her teeth as she looked up to meet the Dane’s eyes.  

Carefully, Finan tried to place himself between them, but with Sihtric staggering he only succeeded in placing an arm between the pair while supporting Sihtric and stopping Liva from stepping closer.

“Go on then, Kjartanson.” 

If he was back to calling her that bloody raven then she would name him his father’s son.  Her words struck their mark and she watched as Sihtric’s eyes that had been fogged over from drink snapped to red hot focus.

“Ask me your questions from the woods again.  There is no knife at my throat this time,” she glowered, “I will give you answers.”

She was vaguely aware of Uhtred’s own chair crashing to the floor as he stood up at her remark.  There was a scuffling and bodies shifting noisily and in an instant Osferth and Hild were between Uhtred as the man stalked towards the three.

Liva and Sihtric’s eyes bore into one another, laced with rage.  Finan tried without success to maneuver between them or pull them apart.

“Ask me,” she shouted, while she felt Hild’s arms come around her waist and try to pull her away.

“Why weren’t you at Dunholm,” Sihtric bellowed back, forcing himself forward and out of Finan’s hold. 

In an instant, his face was in hers.  So close his forehead pushed back on hers for a moment.

“Bloodhair brought his people to Dunholm.  We were there.  And Ragnar was there.  But little Liva, Little Munnin was nowhere to be seen.”   His words were full of biting ferocity.  Liva felt spittle fly from his lips.  His rage fanned her own anger and the confession spilled from her lips just as furious tears ran down her cheeks.

“I was there!” She roared.

Sihtric’s face flashed from anger to shock and confusion.  The shoving and disorder surrounding them faded at her words as they all registered what she had said.  

Liva allowed the tears to continue to roll down her face as she choked out her next words.

“I was at Dunholm.  I saw you,” she shoved him hard once in the chest and he took a step back into Finan’s arms.  

“I saw all of you,” she turned and looked at the faces of the people around her.

“Then why not reveal yourself then, Liva? Why not…. To Ragnar?”

She could hear the confusion, a stunned pain in Uhtred’s questions.

She turned towards him, half lunging and half collapsing into Hild as she cried. 

“Because I was a coward, Uhtred.”

Sobs choked her words.

“Because my father abandoned me long before our home was burned to ash.  And because,” she looked past them all to see Skade standing on a chair to better see their quarrel.  The woman grinned her self-satisfied grin, reveling in the chaos.

“Because I let the witch’s words worm their way into my mind.  She gave me fear and doubt and it is why I lost any chance to ever speak to my father again.  And it is why I am loath to see others heed any vile lies that spill from her lips.”

Liva pushed herself away from Hild.  The abbess had held her and steadied her since gaining her side.  But now, Liva wrestled herself away and gave no moment’s pause before letting her anger move her forward.

Snatching a dagger from Finan’s hip, Liva rushed at Skade.  She swung the blade high, aiming for anywhere she could strike.

Warrior reflexes on high alert, Uhtred was on her in an instant.  His arm wound around her waist, while his other grabbed her wrist, forcing her to drop the blade.

It all was over in mere moments.  Liva slumped against Uhtred’s chest and grasped to hold onto his arms as he enveloped her from behind.

The only sound came from the logs burning in the hearth and their own heavy breaths while they all processed the last several minutes.

Tears still flowed down Liva’s face, unchecked.  When she looked up, it was Sihtric’s face, his eyes on her that she could not turn away from.

His brow was ridged in bewilderment and uncertainty.  And his eyes looked on her more softly.  

A chuckle from Skade to their backs broke the quiet.  She stepped down from her chair and wound herself around to Uhtred’s side, placing her hand atop Liva’s own.  Liva’s rage had quelled but she felt the anger burn bright again at the feel of Skade’s hand on her skin.

“Though you say you do not seek out revenge, Liva Ragnarsdottir, does not mean you will not avenge when opportunity strikes.  Perhaps avenging Ragnar is the path the Gods have laid at your feet.  Whether you seek it or not.”

Liva could not stay to hear any more of Skade’s lies.  She wanted to argue with her.  Strike out at her again.  Scream and cry and tell her and everyone else in the room that she did not care what path the gods set before her.  

She wanted to tell them all how she had watched them from the rafters of the roof at Dunholm as they sat together and schemed.  She wanted to yell that she had instead turned her back and ran.  That she was a coward.  

Instead, she twisted herself away from her brother and stalked past everyone’s staring eyes.  She flung open the door to the hall and as she walked away, she heard the sound of more scuffling along with HIld and Osferth pleading with Uhtred.  There was a sound of flesh hitting flesh and a body dropping to the ground with a grunt.

She did not turn around to see who had been hit.  

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

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[catholicdaredevil]

home || eddie munson x gn! reader

summary: after seeing chrissy die, eddie shows up at your apartment in the middle of the night, scared and alone

warnings: mentions of death (chrissy obviously), hurt/comfort

words: 1.7k

ao3 link

gif credit: @winterswake (also he is so pretty in this gif i wish he wasn't sad)

Tap. Tap. Tap. 

The rain hitting your window draws you from sleep slowly. Wrapped in warm blankets and the muffled quiet of your apartment, broken only by the sound of the rain. It takes several moments for you to realize the tapping is too rhythmic to actually be rain, your eyes finally cracking to see your dark room lit up by the silvery moonlight that filters in the curtains that hang on either side of your window, only drawn the first couple inches in.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Shadows move across your wall, finally coming into focus, taking shape. A person. Your gasp gets caught in your throat as you finally turn to see what the noise is, there’s someone outside your window. A familiar shape is crouched on the roof outside your apartment window and when they shift, the light finally hits the side of their face, Eddie Munson. Your eyes finally adjust to see there’s tear tracks shining down his cheeks and his brown eyes are blown wide with panic.

Eddie had started as just your weed dealer, it’s not like you had run in the same circles back when you were still in high school. Then all those moments out in the woods where he’d put on a show just to get you to smile, late nights in parking lots getting high and talking about anything and everything under the sun. Saturday’s spent plastered together on a couch, watching movie after movie as you passed a joint back and forth. Before you knew it, he had become a staple in your life and probably your best friend. 

Even after all of that, you’d never seen him like this. Not even before he had moved in with his uncle and was practically homeless trying to be anywhere but in his house with his parents. Eddie had spent weeks either sleeping in his van or sneaking in your window to sleep on a pile of blankets on your floor and never let it bother him. At least he’d never let it show. It’s enough to shake the last remnants of sleep out of your body as you scramble to open the window. The moment it opens you can hear his breath hitch and he collapses onto your floor with a choked off cry. 

“Eddie?” You breathe, closing the window behind him before running your hands over him in a desperate attempt to find whatever must be hurting him. “Eds, what’s wrong?”

“I left her, Jesus Christ, I left her.” Eddie’s words are tripping over one another and you can barely make them out between the panicked breathing that heaves from his chest. He’s on his knees on your carpeted floor, covered in sweat and shaking.

Your hands freeze on his shoulders, eyes still scanning him just to make certain he’s not hurt somewhere. It’s hard to make sense of what he’s saying, every noise tangled together into an incomprehensible mess, “What?” 

“She’s dead,” He moans out, pushing himself up enough to launch at you, pushing you back onto the edge of your bed. Knelt in front of you like a desperate man in prayer. His arms wrap around your waist as he buries his face into your stomach and finally the sobs trapped in his chest come freely. “She’s dead and I didn’t know what to do, I ran. I ran and I left her there.”

His words send a chill down your spine, if it were anyone else you’d ask if they were joking. But his fear is tangible, in the trembling of his body and the whine in his voice. You shift back until you’re seated more firmly, holding yourself steady as he continues to push into you. “Eddie, who's dead?” 

He mumbles into your shirt, voice muffled through the fabric and his crying, “Chrissy.” 

“Chrissy… Chrissy Cunningham? The cheerleader?” Eddie chokes out a noise you take as an affirmation, his arms tightening around you as he dissolves into complete incoherence. You’re pretty sure he’s still talking, picking out bits and pieces of sobbed words. 

I left her. I left her. She’s dead. I left her.

Eddie had told you about Chrissy, how surprised he had been when she sought him out, asking if it was true that he had weed. Neither of you had ever expected Chrissy Cunningham, head cheerleader, to be someone who smoked. Yet they’d meet at the table, your table, in the woods. You remember when he had laid on your floor next to you, both of you staring at the ceiling as he talked about how it had almost reminded him of you. The way he could tell something was going on in her life, his unshakeable desire to help, pushing him further into his new friendship with her. 

“Eddie,” you whisper, hand carding through his hair, pulling tangles from the frizz that halos around his head. Eddie whimpers at your touch and you can feel your shirt soak with the tears that accompany his gasping breaths. It breaks your heart to see him like this, the shattered pieces of a man who you’d attributed with so much strength finally fall apart under your touch. “What happened?”

“I don’t know.” Eddie gasps, finally lifting his head to meet your eyes. His brown eyes, not their usual pools of warmth, broken and red under whatever he’d seen. His fingers grip  your shirt, knuckles white at the force, like you’ll disappear if he doesn’t hold you down. 

“She– She asked if I had anything stronger, I figured she was just going through something more serious than I had originally thought–” He hiccups and takes a moment to pull in a steadying breath before continuing, “I stepped into my room for a minute. Just a minute– I swear, it was just a minute. I came back and she was… Oh God.” 

“It’s like she was in a trance, I tried to wake her up, I tried everything. Next thing I knew she was in the air, just hanging there and her bones started to snap and I ran, I just ran. I was so scared, I ran and I left her there, I just left her. Why did I leave her?” 

Eddie’s voice cracks and the tears are back, streaming down his face. He’s not here, no longer in the room with you, no longer even in your apartment. The far-away look in his eye is telling enough. In his head he’s across town, scared and alone, watching Chrissy Cunningham die in his trailer. All over again, and again. 

You’re desperate for any way to comfort him, any way to ease this pain he keeps reliving. Cupping his face in your hands, your thumbs trace back and forth to wipe the tears from his cheeks. “It’s gonna be okay Eddie, I promise.”

Eddie pulls his face from your hands, rolling his eyes and finally sitting up, moving several feet away from you. He puts the usual venom in his words, the way he does when he’s trying to hide his real feelings. You’ve heard this voice before, just never been on the receiving end of it. “Yeah, right, you probably don’t even believe me.”

“I do believe you–”

“Don’t bullshit me!” Eddie suddenly shouts, eyes on his hands that still shake, held clasped together in his lap. His whole body tenses, like he’s getting ready to run, all the fear of an animal caught in a trap. It’s too much and he pushes himself to his feet, pacing across your floor with trembling steps. You flinch at the sudden noise and all of the fight drains out of him, face turned back to the window. His voice is quiet when he finishes his thought. “I know how this sounds. I wouldn’t believe me either.”

You wait for a moment, letting him work some of his panic out as you climb back on your bed to lean against the headrest. He turns to finally face you as you pat the spot next to you, reading the clear hesitation on his face. Eddie lifts his head enough to look at you, to see the small smile pulling at your lips and he can’t help it. His need for closeness overpowers the poisonous weeds of fear that have been winding around him. Kicking off his shoes, he crawls into your bed sitting next to you with a sigh. 

You rest your hand on his shoulder, watching the last of his resolve crumble until he twists to hide his face in your shirt again. The tears are quieter, the crying of a man who’s given up, who’s accepted his fate as being as fucked as he thinks it is. You run your hands up and down his spine until his breathing finally evens out, syncing up with yours unconsciously.

“You’re a lot of things Eddie Munson.” Your voice is soft and thoughtful and he lifts his head to meet your eyes. The look you give him just solidifies that he made the right choice, the right out of his mind panicked choice that he didn’t even realize he’d made until he was turning onto your street. His body mindlessly pulling him to you for comfort. You lock eyes with him and the intensity in your stare sends a shiver down his spine. 

“A liar is not one of them.”

The remaining tension that he holds in his body finally fizzles out and Eddie leans into you, tucking his head into the crook of your shoulder and wrapping his arm around your waist again. New tears hit your skin, but this time it’s relief. In the mumbled repeated mantra of his thanks, pressed into your skin. You go back to running your hands through his hair as moonlight shifts through your window to shine onto the both of you. 

“I won’t lie, I have no idea what this all means. But I believe you, I’ll always believe you Eddie.” It never occured to you to do anything but believe him and yet you hear the strangled noise in his throat at your words. The continued disbelief that there is actually someone who is finally in his corner, on his side, through thick and thin and even the craziest of nights that he’s just had. There’s a smothered sniffle that comes from him and you hold him to you even tighter, one of your arms sliding around his shoulders. “We’ll get through this together, I won’t leave you.”

[djarinsidebitch]

Guns, Ghosts, and Run away Birds

a/n: this is kinda in the same universe as 'irresistible force paradox' but you don't need to read it to get this- its just a similar character. this was also supposed to be a short drabble....

word count: 2.6k like i said 'supposed to be short'

Warnings: Swearing, kinda graphic violence its the punisher so. Mentions of the Accords and other avenger stuff

Summary: rewrite of punisher season 1 eps 4 heist with frank and David but now with you- bad ass avenger reader.

paring: Frank Castle x Avenger!Reader

“How many guns do you go through”

“I didn’t get to take them to my next life”

You stood looking between Frank and his new ‘accomplice’ David Lieberman, he looked like a wet rat but you didn’t judge- out loud…

“So you need help stealing guns from the feds- you do know I am seen as a global terrorist I am on every red notice list out there”

“And we are both dead” Lieberman speaks up “they wouldn’t expect us to steal from them

“Because it’s stupid” You snap back then shifting to focus on frank and he sighs

“Are you going to help or not”

You look around at the shambles of their base, it’s not much better than where the rest of the team was hiding out in Europe. This was a stupid idea but at least you could make sure the two ghosts in front of you don’t actually get killed

“Fine- what do you need me to do” You cross your arms over your chest leaning the weight onto one leg jutting your hip out. Frank almost cracks a smile pushing himself to stand up straight from leaning against the table

“There's my birdy,” he says gruffly while explaining the plan, it was a smart plan, for them it was stupid but it would work. Lieberman would jam the feds signal then frank would take control of the truck with all of the guns on them and You would deal with the snipers.

“One thing,” Frank says as you crouch down to the dark duffel bag of supplies causing you to look up “If we are gonna work together again you gotta ditch the suit” he looks down at the black and red suit- that one was new for him to see, he was used to seeing the Black and yellow one.

“What’s wrong with my suit” you responded shifting your weight once more to drop a knee onto the ground looking down at the old widow suit, after the accords you had to ditch your nicer avenger’s suit because of the built in trackers tony had put in for emergency’s. You had pulled this one from one of your hidden caches.

“It’s just as bad as red’s, obnoxious” he grumbles looking down at you as one eyebrow quirks up

“It’s protection- it’s nothing worse than your old vest”

“It’s an almost skin-tight black suit”

“It’s a Kevlar blend that is made for the best assassins in the world”

Frank goes to open his mouth but shuts it once again knowing if there is anyone as stubborn as him it is You

“We need a car.” Frank grabs his jacket walking away saying “Leave the suit”

“You're not gonna leave the suit are you” Lieberman looks over to you, who is already taking off your jacket and boots

“Of course not” you motion with your hand to shoo so you can change. He quickly turns around to follow frank.

It only takes a couple of minutes for you to change put your clothes back over the suit and stash the bag. Walking out with the holsters over your jeans you slide the gun into place.

“What took you so long” Frank mods towards you

“I had to stash my bag- I may trust you but him��� you throw a glance at Lieberman “not so much”

Lieberman goes to say something but Frank looks at him like “do you really want to get this started” he just shakes his head as the three of you head off.

The warehouse was the target Lieberman stayed behind mostly because You and Frank didn’t want him getting in the way. You both split up, scaling the side of the building you pull yourself up and through a broken part of the roof holding onto one of the steel, beam supports watching there were about 8 men one was already dead another was tied up, the other 6 visible targets looked like your average street rat wanting to be the next Fisk. It was clear they were trying to get some sort of information out of the two

“Rookies” you muttered under your breath, they were using a car battery to try and shock the information out of them but clearly by the dead man they sucked at it. The poor kid that was still breathing looked like he was about to piss Himself he was so scared.

Waiting for the perfect time you watched as one man walked right underneath where you are hanging. Letting go pulling a hand comes down grabbing one of your many knives from its sheath. The knife expertly went into the man’s carotid artery, he would be dead in seconds. The only noise was a thud as the two of you hit the ground and a slight squelch of blood but it was enough to intrigue two other men to investigate.

This is where the fun begins, You smirk one hand holding the now bloody knife you slide into the shadows waiting like a cat about to strike. They walked right into your trap; You jump wrapping your thighs around one of the men's necks, snapping it then as you start to fall with the now dead body you grab onto the other man who was able to let out one shot alerting everyone else before you slit his throat open both falling dead.

The man in charge calls out to his two, scratch that, three dead lackeys. By the sounds of the guns cocking they had semi-automatic or an assault rifle or two, you sneak through the shadows until you want them to hear your boots tap against the ground.

“They won’t be coming back,” you say slowly coming from behind, they all whip around to look at you and the main man pulls out his own pistol

“Lady you are in the wrong place- run along before you get hurt” that was his last mistake- underestimating you and you were counting on him making it. Throwing the knife in your hand towards the one lackey that was holding the assault rifle the blade landed right above the clavicle severing the aortic artery. Bullets start flying as you run back to the shadows behind some crates. They are all too nervous to make a good shot to save their life.

Two shots ring out as you feel a large presence behind you

“Glad you could join me, Frankie”

“Could have waited like the plan”

“Like you would have followed the plan”

He grumbles something and you jsut sigh twisting to face him. Placing a quick kiss on his nose then pulling out your gun you vault back over the crate, landing softly. You aim and shoot one shot to the left then drop to your right knee, twisting your shoulders and upper body to pull the trigger again; another shot to the right with two bodies dropping to the ground. Spinning on your knee your left leg moves to the side giving you momentum to turn around and stand up taking out one more person.

It took a couple of seconds for frank to process what happened but then gets around the crate to the last standing person, other than the one person tied up, as they aimed at your back but when he pulls the trigger the gun clicks- Frank grabs the gun from his hand and smashes it into his face knocking him onto a pinball machine and punches him one more time to knock the lackey out. Frank lets out a whistle for Lieberman that it is clear to come in; then walks behind you as you move to muffle the pleading man who did in fact pee himself.

“Gross” you murmur stepping back into Frank's chest, he puts one hand on your hip to steady you even though he knows you don’t need it.

Lieberman walks in one hand covering his mouth slightly with a disgusted look on his face.

“There- there was a dead man in a wheelbarrow”

“I didn’t do that” Frank responded looking over at Lieberman then to the cars

“And this you did-“

“I did most of the work” You snark walking over to look at the different cars

“Could have saved some” Frank murmured looking at Lieberman’s sick face

“What are you gonna puke-“ “I’m not gonna-“ “Hey do not leave your DNA here for the police- Hey!” “Give me a second” Lieberman tipped his head back to try and not hurl at the scent of blood and guts.

“You said you wanted to be the guidance system right- this is what happens when the missile goes off, didn’t think about that part now did you” “it smells more than I thought”

“You get used to it” “I’d rather not”

“I guess life is a little easier through a computer screen huh- now get in the van and let's go” “what about that guy”

“Not our problem” You finally rejoin the conversation leaning against the red mustang as frank opens the driver side door

“After all of this, you're taking the mustang” “Always buy American”

“I wanted the Ferrari” You reply getting in the passenger seat next to frank.

The second they got back to the warehouse you were out of the car before Frank could even turn the car off.

“What did you do to Edward scissor hands,” David says looking at how fast you moved to pull out the burner phone that started vibrating in your hand and walk away from frank and himself.

“None of your business”

“How do you even know her. She was an Avenger”

“Not important just go get ready” Frank wasn’t stupid it was probably the rest of the defunct avengers looking for her, but it seems like you weren’t supposed to be here because you disappeared, Frank cursed under his breath going back to the car making sure everything was working.

About an hour later David is sitting looking at a pistol resting on a small table in front of him, he looked shaken his hands trembled as his breath was in even. “I can’t do this” he mumbled as frank was a few feet away shutting the hood of the red mustang

“Jesus Christ-“ he mumbled to himself walking closer to Lieberman

“This is a team job- as much as I hate it you don’t got a choice”

“I sit behind the screen- I don’t do this, this is you and the avenger's world not mine”

“Your done” Frank exasperates “pick up your shit let’s move”

Lieberman just sighs not moving Frank starts talking again

“So this is what your wife meant huh”

“Excuse me”

“Your wife- she said that you never got your hands dirty and if there was a tough job you would just call someone when you needed something done” that seemed to strike a chord in David he grabs the gun and walks over to the car. Like the Baba Yaga, you appeared leaning against the back wheel of the car, you had taken off the clothes over your tactical suit, and your hair was pulled back out of your face.

“Are we ready?” you say looking at the duo

David was in charge of jamming the feds signal as you dealt with the snipers and frank took control of the truck with the guns in it. Frank jumped onto the side of the truck yanking the door open and shoving the previous driver out onto the street. He glances up as he passes the second sniper position to see you wrapping your grappling hook wire around the sniper's neck and jumping off the side of the building and landing with a soft thud on the top of the truck

“Atta girl” he mumbles to himself as you swing around and slide in the passenger window

“Couldn’t do that in a pair of jeans” you quip at him, Frank couldn’t help but crack a tiny smile, no matter how much you can frustrate him, he cares deeply for you for the things that you have done as a Black Widow, or an Avenger one of earth mighty hero’s (you are the only one he cares about- all the others seem like pricks) “That you couldn’t Birdy” he glances over at you then back to the road focusing on losing the car behind them long enough to get back to David.

Parking the white truck frank jumped in the back while you stayed in the cab making sure there weren’t any other cars or agents heading your way. You heard the following car pull up and the two agents get out of the car. You slid down in the seat as one set of footsteps neared the cab of the truck. the back of the truck open- then a flame thrower…….. A flame thrower? I mean it worked the two agents were very keen on listening to Frank’s demands

“Drop the guns- you see that water over there, you are gonna jump in that water or else it is gonna get really hot really fast” They were smart and ran jumping into the water.

You get David and escort him into the van. Frank was taking the Mustang while you stayed in the back of the truck while David drove it away from the drop site.

“I am going to drag their attention while you get to the highway and get back to base,” Frank tells David what to do then looks back to where you would be

“And keep her safe, if she gets hurt- you are gonna wish you never came after me” Frank threatens lowly and Lieberman nods quickly. Frank then walks to the back of the truck to you.

“You gonna tell me what that phone call was about,” Frank asks looking up at where you stood in the middle of the guns and ammo

“That is what you are worried about?” you look over at him with a confused face

“Well you did run away as soon as that phone went off”

“I missed a check-in, that's all, after the accords we split up but we all check-in, I missed it helping you so I had my ear chewed off” “You didn't tell them what you were doing” Frank responds, it kinda hurts your feelings thinking that frank thinks you would sell him out so easily

“No- they think I am in a hideout in Kyiv, you know I wouldn’t do that to you.”

“I know Birdy, it's just been a long week” Frank admits stepping up into the back with you

“I probably will be gone tonight, they are gonna get suspicious if I stay away any longer.”

“Why don’t you just stay, we can keep underground just as well as they can out there” “They are my team frank I can’t just leave them, you know that” You two have had this conversation before, as much as you love and care for frank it wasn’t safe for you to stay in one place long let alone stateside, and you couldn’t leave them high and dry, they were like family to you.

“I know I know birdy; I don’t want you getting hurt” “You know I won’t; I promise, after some more time it will be easier, hell maybe in a few years I can come back home” you point to his heart “But for now I have to stay in the wind”

Frank reaches up to cup the side of your face returning the nose kiss from earlier.

“I’ll see you soon then sweet girl” he murmurs against your face before stepping back out of the truck and sliding the door closed on you. He hits the side signaling David to go as he walks back to the red mustang.

Tags: @parzival3 @galaxysgal

[peachy-panic]

Exhale

Part of Do No Harm. Takes place hours after this chapter (which had some strong reactions when I posted, so hopefully this settles the score a little lolol).

This is just the teeniest, tiniest little drabble that came as a direct result of @hold-him-down telling me I don’t give Jaime enough comfort. Here, take this. 

If you see typos, no you don’t. This is what the kids call a chaos post. 

WARNINGS: BBU/BBU-adjacent, food deprived whumpee, allusions to past noncon, fear of noncon that does not happen, general warnings of Mr. Torley being himself

Jaime is only half asleep when the door to his room nudges open. He knows it’s Mr. Torley before he turns over; if Kade had come to get him in the middle of the night, for a glass of water or a snack or a monster under the bed, he would have knocked first. 

His empty stomach clenches from more than hunger at the implications of what this means. This isn’t something Mr. Torley has done before. For the briefest moment, he considers pretending to be unconscious. Not that it would matter. Not if his Keeper has come for him in the middle of the night.

“Baby,” Mr. Torley whispers into the empty space. He’s drunk, it’s immediately apparent. “Hey. Wake up.”

Baby. The word reverberates through his skull, shaking him all the way awake. Baby is for weekends, when the boys are gone. Jaime isn’t supposed to be baby tonight. Still, he doesn’t allow himself to hesitate. He rolls over, looking up at his Keeper’s silhouette in the doorway. His shadowed form sways as he pushes himself up, the hunger and exhaustion crashing into him all over again, and he clutches onto the side of the cot to steady himself.

“Sir?” he asks quietly.

Mr. Torley stares down at him. It’s all the more unsettling when he can’t make out his expression in the dark. Then, to his surprise, his Keeper takes a step into the room and crouches next to the bed, knees audibly cracking. Jaime forces himself not to draw back from his proximity.

“Listen, kid.” Another name he reserves for the weekend. “I was a little tough on you tonight, okay? I can admit that. You earned your dinner. And it’s my job to provide for you while you’re under my roof.”

The smell of whiskey on his breath fills the small space between them.

“You know why I get upset, don’t you?” His hand raises to gently cup Jaime’s cheek, and he goes perfectly still under the touch. “Why I hold you to such high standards?”

“Yes, sir,” he says automatically. He doesn’t know if he actually knows the right answer, but he’s so dizzy and tired and it’s usually the safest thing to say, anyway.

He watches him thoughtfully again, thumb rubbing over his jaw. “You’re a good boy when you want to be,” he says. Jaime resents the warm glow in his chest that the praise provokes, but there is little else to cling to. “C‘mon,” he says suddenly, dropping his hand to push himself up to standing again. “Let’s get some food in your belly.”

Jaime has little other choice than to take his hand when he offers it, letting himself be pulled up from his cot and into the kitchen.

Mr. Torley, it seems, has ordered some kind of food delivery. There is a plastic bag wrapped around a paper one on the countertop with a receipt attached. This whole situation is disorienting and confusing, but the smell of warm spices floods Jaime’s senses immediately. Saliva floods his mouth. Distantly, he allows himself to pray this isn’t a joke at his expense.

“You like Thai food?” Mr. Torley asks, unpacking the bag, one plastic container at a time. Jaime watches uneasily, shifting his bare feet on the tile. The air in the kitchen is cold on his exposed arms and legs, but his central focus is on the unexpected promise of food.

“Yes, sir,” he says, remembering the salty-sweet noodles he shared with the boys a few weeks back when Mr. Torley left cash on the counter with instructions to order out. He reaches for the lip of the counter to steady himself.

“This is the best in town. Here.” He holds out a pair of chopsticks and a container—a full container of hot food, not scraps of cold leftovers—to Jaime. He takes it almost too quickly, afraid it might disappear into thin air. Mr. Torley chuckles. “Come on. Let’s eat in the bedroom.”

There it is. The other shoe. The saliva in his mouth sours, but the drop in his stomach numbs over quickly enough as he forces himself to follow. He can do this. As long as he gets something to eat, he will be fine with whatever he has to do for it.

Still, his feet stutter when he reaches the edge of the carpet, an involuntary hesitation, but Mr. Torley notices and tugs him forward. “Relax,” he says with a chuckle. “The boys are asleep.”

Jaime can only nod.

His Keeper gives him a knowing smile, tilting his head in a way Jaime can only categorize as condescending. “We’re only eating tonight. I promise.”

The value of Mr. Torley’s promises is well into the negatives, but Jaime follows anyway. He settles into his usual side of the bed, on top of the covers, crossing his legs under him. Mr. Torley does the same, except he relaxes back against the headboard, legs stretched out in front of him. Loose with whiskey and totally at ease. He points a remote at the flatscreen on the wall, pouring bright light over them as it comes to life.

“Dig in.” He nods toward Jaime’s closed container, bringing a clump of his own noodles into his mouth. Jaime doesn’t hesitate to follow the command.

Mr. Torley settles on one of the sports channels Jaime is used to hearing in the background when he tries to fall asleep on the weekends. He lets the faint noise lull him into a sense of familiarity in the midst of this unusual night as he takes his first bite of food. Immediately, the first swallow of food—of good, solid, warm food—brings a renewed strength to his body, a clarity to his mind. He takes a third bite before he’s even finished chewing the second, careful not to spill any on Mr. Torley’s clean sheets.

“Good, huh?” His Keeper chuckles lightly again, tossing a glance his way. Jaime can’t even bring himself to feel embarrassed. He nods.

“Yes. Thank you, sir.”

“You’re welcome.”

He is about halfway through his container when his stomach starts to hurt, but it’s hard to make himself stop, or even slow down, when he doesn’t know the next time he will have a meal like this. The soft, warm bed under him is working with the food in his system, coaxing him back toward exhaustion. His eyes are starting to droop.

He must nod off under the soft drone of the television, because suddenly his head is snapping up and Mr. Torley’s hands are taking the half-full container of food out of his lap. There’s a sharp intake of breath, an instinctive urge to make a grab for the food, but he stops himself.

“Shh,” his Keeper says, covering the food and setting it on the nightstand. “You’re crashing. Go to sleep.”

Jaime blinks once, long and hard. “Mr. Torley, the boys--”

“I’ll wake you before I leave for work.” There is no room for argument in his tone. “Lie down.”

Jaime is not willing to risk turning this rare night sour. And he knew the night would end this way from the start. Wordlessly, he burrows beneath the covers, feeling his Keeper do the same, and lays his head on the pillow he isn’t supposed to see for the next two days. When the television goes black, Jaime lay still for several minutes, stomach full and heart pounding, waiting for the familiar weight of Mr. Torley’s hand to find him in the dark.

Then he hears the soft snores coming from the other side of the bed, and Jaime, for the first time all day, can exhale.

The king bed is a cloud beneath him, even softer when he gets to enjoy it for free, but he can only bask in the sensation for a few seconds more before he slips under.

***

TAG LIST: @whumpervescence @shiningstarofwinter @distinctlywhumpthing @whumptywhumpdump @nicolepascaline @anotherbluntpencil @hold-him-down @crystalquartzwhump @maracujatangerine @batfacedliar-yetagain @thecyrulik @pumpkin-spice-whump  @melancholy-in-the-morning @also-finder-of-rings @insaneinthepaingame @skyhawkwolf @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump @mylifeisonthebookshelf @dont-touch-my-soup

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Reckoning

Breach Masterlist

Warnings: non/dubcon sex (series), general angst, violence, death, trauma.

This is dark!Winter Soldier/Bucky and explicit. 18+ only.

Note: Promise I’ll update the masterlist today but here we are, we’re finally at the end. We’re saying goodbye to Bucky, Luka, and reader in this one. We’ve come a far way. This was one of the first series I started on here. It started as a one shot about the asset being the scariest but you guys turned it into something more, so thank you. (also that’s three endings in less than a week :))

I won’t demand but do ask for feedback; likes, reblogs, replies, comments, asks, especially on this series, but again, enjoy in your own way! <3 Love you!

You played with the leather strap around your thigh as you sat in the rattly train car. The freight was much like the one that saw you away from your prison so long ago and the same man sat with you, huddled behind the metal barrels and wooden crates. 

Your eyes rolled inside their lids as you thought of your son and his innocent voice as he sang his goodbye to you. Luka didn’t know you might not come back. It broke your heart to think you might not but you couldn’t let James face Hydra alone. He hadn’t let you.

Your hand settled over the gun strapped to your leg, another holstered against your chest beneath your jacket. There was a knife at your ankle and another at your belt. You were ready but you weren’t. How could you ever be ready for any of this?

“We’re almost there,” James whispered as he shifted beside you, “you alright?”

“Yeah, I…” you opened your eyes and tore your hand away from the gun, “ready.”

He nodded and got up to his feet, squatting behind the cargo as he pulled you up into a similar crouch. He checked your weapons then his own. He looked at you again and his lips thinned into an anxious line.

“Are you ready?” you asked.

“I have to be,” he answered and reached out to caress your cheek. You leaned into his hand then pulled him to you to peck his lips. He always seemed so meek when you touched him but he was softening.

“We are ready, James,” you assured him as much as yourself, “for Luka, we have to be.”

“You follow my lead. You can’t hesitate, understand?”

“I know,” you said, “I won’t. Those men, what they did to you… to us, they can never have our son. Never.”

“Never,” he echoed and turned. 

He kept low as he crept around the boxes and you followed. He unhooked the door and let it slide open with a loud grind. He reached back until you grabbed onto his arm and he stared at the moving ground.

“Up ahead, the bushes. You first, I’ll be right after you,” he said.

“I remember,” you said, “I know where we are.”

He looked at you and you let out a breath as you readied for your jump, “I lived close to here… with my mother.”

“Oh,” he uttered and went quiet.

“Come on,” you stood but kept hunched as you prepared to roll on impact, “this is about ending the past, not reliving it.”

He counted down and you leapt as the bushes thickened. You landed and rolled through the branches and dingy leaves. You heard him thumped down not far from you as you gulped the air. He was up before you and came to stand over you and offered his hand to get you to your feet. Despite it all, you barely felt the crash to earth.

“So you know where we are,” he said, “so you know where we go first.”

You pushed your shoulders back and sniffed. You said nothing and marched past him. He ran to catch up to you and you walked into the thin skeletal line of trees. He fixed the long bag on his back that held his rifle as his boots crushed the twigs and stones.

“Are you sure you’re--”

“What do we need from there?” you asked, “we get it and we go on.”

“Anything that’s left,” he replied.

You kept on, the terrain turning uneven and soon you were in the rocky passes that brought back bloody memories. That night with Luka in your arms as you walked in the boots of a deadman. You shuddered and kept on. You unholstered your gun as you got closer and James caught your shoulder before you could outpace him.

“I take the lead,” he warned, “you gotta slow down. You can’t just run in there and--”

“If there are any left, I will put them all down,” you swore as your hand shook, “you can’t understand. I have anger in my veins like none I’ve known before.”

He stared at you a moment and thoughts drew his brows together. His lips parted before he found the words, “and what else do you feel?”

“Certain,” you said, “that this will be over soon.”

He lowered his chin and puffed, his breath forming a cloud in the chill air, “this post is abandoned. They couldn’t have stayed after what happened but you stay alert and you point your gun at anything that moves.”

You nodded and he patted your arm. He turned and took the path ahead of you, the trail thinning out the further you got into the low mountains. As you approached the metal doors, he slowed and aimed his gun at the facade of the hidden compound. Rocks clattered beneath his boots and you brought your own weapon up in nervous expectation.

The doors were slightly open and he kicked one open, quickly poking his muzzle inside. He waved you on and you continued down the concrete hallway. The place was cleaned out but the bloodstains remained, painted across the floors and walls.

He led you down the corridors and checked each room as you waited without, watching each end of the hallway as he cleared the place. The further you got, the more the forlorn nostalgia took over you. You felt off, you felt every drop of blood coursing through you and the hot fury mingled with helpless sadness. You felt entirely weak but so powerful

When you got to the heart of the structure, you stopped and watched as James hesitated in turn. He braced himself and went forward into the eerily familiar room. The computers were smashed and the rusty medical equipment littered the floor. The glass chamber they used to keep him in bore the destruction of his escape and he went to it and peered inside.

You flinched as he broke away the last of the glass with his metal fist and quickly retreated. He was shaking as he began to tear open the filing cabinets, the locks cracking at the force of his intrusion.

You walked along the wall and slowly faced the windowed room. The bed was still there and the sparse furniture of your former existence. Your mouth fell open as your eyes tingled with tears. Those early days when you waited, when you dreaded his visits, when you watched him through the glass and wished for death.

You winced as he came up beside you and gently touched your arm. You looked at him and flicked away the moisture in your eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he said and his cheek twitched in pain, “I’m so sorry--”

“James, I know it wasn’t you,” you said, “I don’t cry because of you, it is because of them.” You took his hand and squeezed it, “did you find anything?”

“A few things but not what we’re looking for,” he said, “this place is abandoned. Whatever was left of… the experiment has moved.”

“And we know it will be where we’re headed?”

“Stark’s intelligence suggests it will be and… from what I can remember, it’s likely. Bigger than this place. They took me there in the early days.” He cleared his throat and looked around, “we’ll keep going until dawn. We will find somewhere close enough to rest and then…”

“And then we finish this,” you let go of his hand and moved past him, “James, I’m ready. I really am.”

✰

After some hours in a half-burned hut, you were wired. You ate rations under the open roof before you set out again. You hadn’t slept much as you and James took turns on watch. You stretched and went out into the wild and winding paths.

You climbed the steep incline of and followed the crumbling trail. As you got higher, it got colder but you hardly felt it as adrenaline surged in your approach. You ducked down as you walked along a crooked ledge and hopped off to hide behind a tall stone outshoot.

You looked down at the monstrous gates of the compound. You laid flat as James fixed the scope on his rifle and peered through the lens. He bit his lip as he adjusted his sights before he pulled his eye away.

“I can get the guards but we have to be quick after.” He nodded behind you, “down there. Quick. Gun out and ready. I’ll be right behind you.”

“We can do this, James.”

He lined up his gun again and inhaled. He took his first shot, the noise muffled by the long silencer. Several others followed before he stood quickly and hung the gun from his shoulder. He pulled you up and you ran to the decline that led between the sharp walls of the mountain.

He was a few steps back as you made you way down the treacherous natural steps and slid down the last few. You slipped to your knees as voices sounded from the gates and James fired again.

You got up as he latched onto your elbow and continued forward. He reached to his belt and unhooked a grenade, throwing it at the gates as you ran behind him. You hung back as the metal gates shook with the blast and he directed you forward with two fingers.

As you reached the rent in the doors, he stopped and took two more shots. Men fell into the cold dirt and you raised your gun to take your first. You remembered all those hours of training though you never truly knew how useful they would be. It was always a precaution, always a what if, now it was your life or death.

You pulled the trigger and another man crumpled. You kept close to James and picked off the last few men outside the installation. A sudden siren began to whine as you neared the open doors and you could guess that one of the guards had fled inside to warn all those within.

James directed you inside and as you made your way down the corridor, you stopped at the end and listened. You couldn’t think of the hammering of your heart or the thought of the death at you fingertips. You could only think; left or right.

“We need to separate,” you said.

“No, you can’t--”

“This place is too big, I’ll slow you down and you’ll slow me,” you insisted, “I’ll go right.”

“No, we have to--”

“You showed me, James. I know what to do. I know what we need. We have our rendezvous. We know what happens if we do not get there.”

He shook his head and sighed. You heard footsteps.

“We have to go,” you said and before he could argue further, you raised your gun and ran around the corner.

The first man hit the wall after the bullet entered his chest, the second fell over him with your next shot, and the third slumped against the next corner. You heard James’ boots and his own shots as they flew in the other direction. You pressed on and reloaded before you took the next turn.

Your pulse filled your ears and kept you going. Everything felt so clear, so visible, so loud. You saw and heard it all. It was almost as if you knew what would happen before it did. You’d never felt this level of clarity.

You went deeper into the maze, bodies littered in your stead as others fled, those in white jackets, those like the men who’d tortured you. You followed them, they would lead you to what you needed.

A man surprised you as he lunged from a doorway. He slammed you into the wall and your gun fired into the ceiling. You kicked him and he grunted and you grabbed his arm as his hand stretched over your throat. Without pause, without thought, you twisted his arm and he screamed in agony as both his wrist and elbow snapped.

You shoved him away and finished the work with a bullet. You stared at his arm as the shock sunk in. How could you have done all that? It hadn’t felt like anything at all, like bending a toothpick.

You didn’t have time to linger as another appeared and you fired again. Warm blood spattered your front as your legs kept pushing through. You came to a large room but bullets preceded you. 

You peeked inside, James was already there. A flurry of men were engaged with him, those in camouflage and those in white. You downed two men before your gun was kicked from your hands. You grunted and ducked under a punch you didn’t even see was coming, you just knew. You reached to your belt and freed the long hunting knife.

The blade tore through the man's flesh like water. The sickly glide of the metal sickened you and the flood of warmth down our arm churned your stomach. You couldn’t stop, even as your fear rose, even as you realised the destruction you wrought.

Another man, this one broken by a kick that sent him into the wall. Your strength startled even you. You heard James and looked around. He was on his back, barely kicking away his attackers as he aimed desperately with his pistol. 

You broke through the wall of man, shoving them to the side so that they flew back into the machinery all around. You threw your knife at a man as he aimed at James and you wrenched back another and twisted his neck until it cracked. The third you broke over your knee.

You rolled away from them and freed the gun at your chest; one, two, three, four. They all fell dead at the pull of your trigger. James stared at you and sat up. He raised his gun as your own was too slow and you felt an arm around your neck, the pointed tip against your chin.

“Don’t,” the man warned as his white sleeve scratched at your throat, “she dies.”

James kept his aim steady as he got to his feet. The man choked you and pulled you a step back.

“Drop the gun,” he ordered in Russian. You gulped and tossed it down as the metal cut into your flesh just a little, “ah, always thought you would be back. Always expected it.”

“Let her go,” James said, “you can’t--”

“That is the problem, you see? The human emotion dampens the serum. We don’t need the mind, only the body--”

You were quick. You slid your hand up under the knife and fell to your knees, taking the man with you as the blade dug into your fingers. The shot knocked him off of you entirely and the knife fell free, your blood pouring down your hand. You sat back on your heels and reached for your gun with your uninjured hand.

“We get the files and get out,” James helped you up, “more will be coming.”

He drew you past the corpses and began to search the desk and cabinets. He took a black folder and you helped break open several of the computers to remove their hard drives. He packed it all into the compact pack on your back and zipped it up.

He shot past your head as more soldiers appeared. He nudged you forward and yelled, “come on.”

You raced away from the east wing and barrelled down the winding corridors, following the trail of bodies left by your entrance. You added several more to the floor until you reached the front door. Gunfire followed your departure, met only in defensive retreat.

You carried on past the gate and into the rocky impasse. A sudden blast shook the ground and James caught your arm and urged you on. You didn’t look back as the shots faded into thundering booms and bangs.

You kept on until you couldn’t hear the carnage, until it was silent but for the whistling of the mountain air, until the adrenaline was gone and your hand seared with pain, the rest of the unnoticed aches rising to the surface. 

James stopped you and pulled you into a dark cave. He fished out his flashlight and little up the stony walls as he led you further inside. He pushed his head back and took a breath and he let the flashlight rest on its side and cast a plume over the dark space.

“We have to bandage your hand before we press on,” he said, “we get to the bottom at nightfall and keep going.”

“What was that?” you asked as he pulled out his aid kit from his pocket.

“My orders were to burn that place to the ground,” he said, “lucky the blast didn’t take the whole mountain down.”

He took your hand and wiped your fingers clean before he wrapped them in gauze. You were silent throughout as your heart slowed and you had a moment to think.

“James, what--” you blinked and looked down as he moved around you to unzip your bag, “I’m not mad. What was that?”

“No, you’re not,” he said as he pulled the folder out of the bag and went back around you, “it’s why we need to burn these.”

“What is it?” you asked.

He handed it over silently and retrieved his flashlight. He held it over the folder as you opened it. Your picture was at the front of the pile of papers, several signed by Ilyich, detailing the progression of your pregnancy. There were several explaining how the growth of the enhanced fetus affected the carrier. How the serum seemed to have molded with the DNA of the subject.

You looked up at James and frowned. It couldn’t be. 

“You never noticed before and I never wanted to make you,” he admitted, “I thought you would hate to be like me and that would be just another thing I did to you.”

“James…”

“I know, it was the soldier but it still feels like me,” he took the folder from you and closed it. “So I will keep you from one misery in this life. We destroy this now and when we reach the rendezvous, I delete any of that from those hard drives.”

“What do you--”

“We’re going back to Luka,” he said, “they can’t know because they will want to know more. They will want to try it again. Doesn’t matter if it’s Hydra or Stark.”

You nodded and he dug out his lighter. He lit the first page and watched it wilt into ash. You sat on a flat rock and rubbed your gloved hands together. You watched him burn the file a sheet at a time.

“I was reading about Canada. There was a program on the TV Luka was watching,” you said as added the last page and he stood, “what do you think? A nice little house for us. I hear it snows there. I love the snow.”

He clapped off his hands and reached for you. He drew you up and zipped your jacket up to your chin. He framed your face and smiled down at you in the glow of the flashlight hooked on his hip, “If you’ll be there, it sounds wonderful.”

✰✰✰

END

Thank you again for all your patience and support with this series. I’m sad but happy to be done. Let’s all imagine Luka getting to sled with Bucky up in the Great North and be at peace.

[redorich]

'The egg told me to, and I listened - why did I listen?' Oh my god that just tore my heart out. Jesus Red, you can't just write that and then FOLLOW UP WITH AN ABSOLUTELY DESOLATE PORTRAYAL OF THE OTHER EGG MEMBERS COMMING TO GRIPS WITH WHAT THEYVE DONE. I am devastated. And its your fault.

Can I perhaps request a small crumb of hope for them? Maybe Bad and Skeppy meet and Bad falls to his knees, collapsing yet again under the reality of what he's done to Skeppy, throat chocked with horror and apologies that come to late and mean to little? And yet, despite everything, Skeppy takes a step towards him? A small ray of hope for them? For all of them, as they come together with each other and those they have hurt and try to cope and make amends? Pwease???

this is canon sorry fidget please dont kill me

(ok but for real now)

It starts out small. Little things are left on Skeppy's doorstep: a peony, a diamond, a pair of fuzzy socks. Skeppy doesn't have to take them, but he does. He takes Bad's little peace offerings, and it douses Skeppy in a hollow, cold anger every time he wakes up in the morning to see that Bad's gone through the effort to leave a trinket on the doorstep of the mansion they built together. It means Bad was here some time in the middle of the night and he didn't bother to see Skeppy face-to-face.

The house is devoid of furniture, devoid of any living touch that makes it a home. They hadn't gotten to that part yet, not before the Egg happened. It kills Skeppy inside to exist day after day in the hollow shell of what he and Bad made together. It's not like Skeppy couldn't just move out; he could live with someone else, make a new home all by his lonesome, or just straight up disappear into the woods. With Bad avoiding him, though, this is all Skeppy has left.

When wind whistles through the cracks in the glass late at night, snakes around the staircase, and gently rustles the bushes outside, Skeppy indulges in the sickening idea that perhaps Bad doesn't regret killing Skeppy as much as one might think, that the Egg didn't have to coerce him that much, that this has all been some prank to get back at the man who's always making a joke at someone else's expense. In the light of day Skeppy is more sure, knows that Bad cares about him, but what Skeppy needs now more than ever is support. The house is far too empty.

Skeppy sits up all night, more than once, just watching the doorstep and waiting for Bad to show up. He doesn't, until he does.

In the few moments it takes Skeppy to go inside for a blanket and come back to the doorstep, Bad hops down from the roof above and lands quietly on the stairs. He's crouched down to the ground, holding a blueberry muffin, when Skeppy returns. They lock eyes and Bad freezes.

Skeppy wants to say a million things and has no words for any of them. His jaw remains clamped shut; he doesn't know what'll come spilling out of it otherwise.

"...Hey," Bad finally says. He pauses for a long while, then follows up with, "Sorry. For not coming sooner."

Skeppy watches Bad stand, eyes half-lidded and apathetic. "If I hadn't caught you, would we even be talking right now?"

"Probably not," the demon admits with a wince. "I'm sorry, I just--"

"Do you even care that you killed me?" Skeppy demands. It's like a stopper has been loosed from his throat, and all the words are tumbling out. "Why did you leave me alone?"

Bad takes a step back, holding the muffin to his chest. "...I'm sorry."

"Did you even think about me, Bad? I missed you, and I'm so mad at you for avoiding me, and-- and--" Skeppy clutches the blanket around his shoulders. The wind blows stronger, and silent lightning flashes in the clouds far away.

"I'm sorry," Bad repeats.

"Stop apologizing!" Skeppy yells, both angry and defeated. "Just... just tell me why."

The demon fidgets under the weight of Skeppy's disapproval. "When I realized what I did to you, I was so horrified, Skeppy... and I was scared. I didn't want to hurt you again."

"You did."

Bad winces again. "I know. Is there anything I can do to make it up to you?"

Skeppy's shoulders slump. "Don't leave me alone," he says softly.

"I won't," Bad swears, "never again. I'm so sorry, Skeppy."

Reaching out for a hug, then faltering at the possibility of rejection, Bad's arms hang awkwardly in the air. Skeppy huffs, tossing the blanket about his shoulders around Bad as well.

"Are we... still friends?" Bad asks hesitantly.

"Stupid," Skeppy says. "Of course we are."

[babygirlwolverine]

For @dadstielweek, day 2: “I’m sorry” and day 3: dad jokes

The clap of thunder was so loud it echoed and rumbled down the bunkers walls. Cas darted his eyes over to the pile of bags and equipment that was stacked across the war table and he sighed in defeat. Jack sat on the floor next to the table with a sleeping bag in his lap and a pout on his face. Jack had been packing for two days, absolutely bouncing with excitement over the fact they'd been able to convince Dean of their plan while Sam was taking a mini vacation with Eileen.

Two days of camping; sleeping in a tent, roasting marshmallows over a fire, Dean taking Jack fishing again and Cas going on a hike with Jack. It was going to be perfect. Jack had been making little schedules and plans on sheets of paper since Dean had begrudgingly but fondly agreed to the camping trip. In truth, Cas had never seen Jack so happy.

A child in an adult's body, all Jack wanted to do was have a little fun and experience simple things like the beauty of nature. And all Cas wanted to do was make that happen for Jack.

But of course, an unexpected storm came crashing through an hour before their departure from the bunker, and it hadn't stopped storming since. The rain had been pounding against the roof in a torrential downpour, and Jack had sat down looking absolutely heartbroken.

“Storm’s not going anywhere,” Dean said apologetically, walking in from the library. “Checked the radar and all the local reports. It’s a massive storm front until at least tomorrow night.” Dean looked over at Jack and Cas watched Dean’s face crumple as he saw how upset Jack was.

There was nothing they could do. They’d just have to reschedule for another weekend. Reaching out and giving Dean’s wrist a reassuring squeeze, Cas made his way over to Jack and crouched down to face his son.

“I’m sorry, Jack. We can’t go camping today,” Cas said, reaching out and wrapping his hand around Jack’s knee.

“I know,” Jack said, voice so tiny it made Cas’ heart crack. There was so much innocence in his sadness. Just a child who wanted to go camping with his family.

Cas could feel Dean’s presence behind them, a hand reaching down to stroke through Jack’s hair reassuringly. But just as Dean’s fingers brushed along Jack's neck, he stilled and let out a light chuckle. “Hey, buddy. What if we just camped right here?” Dean asked.

“But it’s raining,” Jack sighed dejectedly.

“Not in here it isn’t,” Dean pointed out.

It took a couple seconds, but Cas caught up with the idea Dean was suggesting. “We can pitch the tent inside. Set up the sleeping bags inside the tent and camp right here,” Cas said, looking up at Dean with a tender smile.

Dean nodded, beaming at Cas for catching on. “I’ve got the sticks for the food in one of these bags. We can just roast marshmallows over the gas on the stove. It’s not perfect but…”

“But it’s s’more than enough,” Cas said, the dad-joke rolling off his tongue without a second's hesitation.

“Oh my god,” Dean muttered in horror, looking down at Cas with a look of faux-betrayal.

Jack started to giggle, which turned into a full on laughing fit until he was clutching at Cas’ arm for support. The smile on Jack’s face was infectious, and Cas found himself grinning and laughing, too. A second later, Dean was chuckling as well, and yeah, this was the family moment that Jack deserved.

Squeezing Cas’ shoulder, Dean nodded towards the rolled up tent. “You two get the tent set up and I’ll see about finding some hot dogs and s’mores for us to roast for dinner.”

Jack bounced up at the suggestion; immediately grabbing the sleeping bags and tugging on Cas’ hand. “Camping time!” he cheered.

He and Jack spent the next half an hour pitching the tent while they traded camping jokes, and Jack couldn’t stop smiling and laughing the whole time. When they finally all sat down in the kitchen around the stove with hot dogs and marshmallows on sticks, Cas knew this indoor camping memory with his son and his partner was one he was never going to forget.

[ficforce]

Lady Beni

Shinmon Benimaru x Reader SFW No set timeline Established relationship Shinra meets Benimaru’s other half

Shinra squinted at Benimaru from across the table, he had long finished his third helping of rice and now had nothing to distract him from the bottom right of the man’s lip. It had been split, it was to the point of being well on its way to healing and there was a whisper of a bruise there too. Someone had given him a vicious uppercut for sure. But who would be stupid enough, let alone brave enough, to injure Captain Shinmon Benimaru?

The man’s thumb brushed over the cut lightly as he read a report, Shinra squinted hard as he thought he saw an almost smile on Benimaru’s lips. “The hell you looking at, kid?”

Shinra jumped and sat up straighter, “Nothing!” He should have known the other would know when he was being watched, another minute passed and teen finally cracked, “Uh, Captain Shinmon?” A grunt of acknowledgement let him know he could continue, “Who hit you?”

“Y/N.” He was yet to look up from the report.

“Y/N?” Shinra leaned forward a little in interest, a woman had hit the Captain?

Benimaru shot him a glare and Shinra shrunk back, “Oi, don’t be so damn casual about her.”

“Waka, that’s the only name you gave him to use,” Konro chose that moment to come in and handed Shinra a wrapped bento box, “I need you to deliver that for me.”

“I’m not listening to any complaints, Konro…” He got up and put his hands on his hips, looking at the bento Shinra was now holding, “Is that for Y/N?”

Konro nodded, “Y/N’s perfecting a new technique by the river, she kept setting things and people on fire by accident. I told her there wasn’t enough space in town.”

“Wait, the Lieutenant called her Y/N too!” The boy let out a yelp as Benimaru smacked the back of his head and glared with his eyes slightly glowing, “OW! …ow… Then, what should I call her? Who is she?”

Benimaru gave a shrug and shoved Shinra with his foot to get him moving toward the door, “You don’t get to call her anything, don’t even look at her - you’re not worthy.”

Shinra grumbled as he saw the Lieutenant hide a laugh behind his hand and shake his head fondly at Benimaru’s pout. He sighed and began walking toward the river, he remembered the place they were talking about and wondered who he was going to meet, someone strong enough to fight Benimaru and who he obviously respected very much. As he walked he was beckoned by the old lady who made daifuku, “Are you going to see Y/N-chan?”

Shinra nodded and looked over his shoulder as if he expected Benimaru to be there and beat him for hearing Y/N’s name again, with no sign of him, Shinra bent down to the old woman’s level, “Who is she?” he whispered, “What should I call her?”

“Y/N-chan?” She tilted her head in confusion, “She’s Beni-chan’s lover, they’ve been together for as long as I can remember… haven’t you met her? I suppose you haven’t, she runs the neighbourhood watch on the other side of Asakusa.” She placed a small bag of daifuku on top of the bento and pat Shinra’s head, “Beni-chan loves her more than anything - Her official title is Lady Beni-chan.” The boy narrowed his eyes at the old lady, certain that wasn’t true but then again… this was Asakusa and they were weird. He made to stand up when he sensed something seriously wrong, suddenly a whoosh of hot air engulfed the street and Shinra made sure to shield the daifuku lady until it had passed.

Bells began to ring and everyone began to get out of the way, helping each other evacuate as the block was deemed unsafe. “It’s another of the big ones!” someone yelled and accidentally bumped Shinra as he passed. A large infernal emerged from the end of the street, fire scorching the homes around it as it ambled unsteadily forward - it was another of the white clads monsters, several infernals merged together to form a giant. Before he could ignite his feet, a fiery matoi flew overhead and took out several buildings in the process. Why couldn’t Benimaru aim for the infernal?! “Damn it, Beni!” A female voice rung through the air and when the teen looked above he saw a figure on the roof above him, the sun blinded him from getting a proper look, “Learn to aim, idiot!”

“Quit complaining!” Benimaru jumped down to the ground beside Shinra, an unlit matoi in his hand, he glared up at the roof and clicked his tongue as if annoyed, “Why don’t you actually do something useful?” He goaded, “Head home and start making dinner like a good girl!”

“Why don’t you shove that up your ass and swivel?” The woman jumped down from the roof and landed gracefully to the other side of Shinra. Shinra was surprised to see that the woman was quite pretty, she looked nothing like he had imagined from hearing her coarse words. Her outfit was very similar to Hikage and Hinata’s, the only difference was that it had no sleeves.

Benimaru shove Shinra roughly and pointed at him, “I told you not to look at her, idiot!”

“Ben-chan!” The woman chided him, “He’s just a baby!”

So this was Y/N? Shinra tried to recall what the old lady had said, she had said that Benimaru and Y/N were long-time lovers and that the Captain loved her more than anything - Then why did they look and speak like they wanted to kick each other’s asses?! He watched as some sort of silent exchange went on and Benimaru took a step back, he formed a circle of flames behind him and then Y/N lifted one of her arms, her fingers forming a distinct sign before the fire around Benimaru began to change.

It shifted and grew, the man adding more firepower to it as it began to coil around him, taking on shape and life until Shinra’s jaw dropped. Y/N had created a giant snake out of the flames, hot enough to singe the stores around the Captain but he seemed perfectly safe in the centre. Y/N lifted her other arm and, with two elegant moves, the fire struck with unbelievable speed and wrapped around the infernal, crushing it in the fiery coils. He watched as its head rose and the snake-like creature looked as if it were trying to eat the monster, all the while it got hotter and hotter until nothing was left of the infernal but ashes.

The fire dissipated into the air and Shinra looked between the two in wonder and awe.

— -

That evening the twins gave a cheer all of a sudden and ran to greet Y/N as she entered the guardhouse, she crouched down to plant a kiss on each forehead and then sent them back to dinner. She looked a little tired and her hair wasn’t as neat as it had been earlier when Shinra had seen her, he also noted the bandages around her forearms and palms. She sat between Konro and Benimaru, the larger man smiling as she grinned at him and told him they had matching wraps for the day.

Before Shinra could speak to her, Benimaru filled a bowl full of rice and placed it in front of Y/N, he then proceeded to pick up a few pieces of meat he had been saving to place them with it. They were sat so close together that they brushed against the other each time they moved. “What happened to your arms?” He asked casually and poured her a drink.

“Hmm?” She finished chewing and then replied, “I added too much fuel to my kindling and scorched myself.”

“Tch, idiot.”

“Asshole.

“Klutz”

Shinra missed his mouth completely and then blushed as the woman looked at him whilst he tried to pick rice out of his shirt. He didn’t get it, Benimaru had just served her food and they were practically sat on each other but they were insulting the other at the same time. Were they really a couple? “So…uh… you’re a second-generation then?” his grin was wide and he couldn’t help but be tense.

Nobody said anything for a moment and then Y/N let out a little laugh, “You’re so stiff it’s cute!” She had heard about his nervous smiles and didn’t mind that he looked like he was mocking her, “I’m second-gen, I’m only dating Ben-chan so he can light my fires.”

“Too much information, Y/N,” Benimaru smirked behind his cup as he saw her cheeks heat up and she punched his knee in her embarrassment. He brushed the backs of his fingers over her cheekbone and muttered a small apology at making fun of her.

“Ah…” Now they were being sweet to each other, what even was this relationship? He cleared his throat a little and tried again, “So Captain Shinmon provides the firepower?”

“Not always,” she replied, “I can take control of any flame but Ben-chan’s flames are my favourite, I can really go to town with my ability and he’s not stingy, we made a pretty big dragon today!”

Shinra didn’t even think before he spoke, “I thought it was a snake…” Y/N looked mildly annoyed and her expression became a scowl as the other’s tried not to laugh too much at her, “I mean… It was amazing but it was a snake.”

“You should see her fire fox… Looks like a weird pig!!” This time the twins burst into giggles, Konro excused himself and Benimaru pressed his hand to his mouth to keep from laughing out loud. She shot a glare at all of them and the only one to flinch was Shinra as he tried to apologise.

“It was super cool! I was really impressed, Lady Beni-chan!” All of a sudden the laughing stopped and he looked up nervously, “Uh… the Daifuku lady said… that’s what I should call you - The Captain said I can’t use your name so…um…” The boy’s face glowed red and his grin grew as he realised the old lady was probably picking on him.

All of a sudden laughter filled the room and Y/N reached over the table to ruffle his hair. “Call me Y/N, don’t let these assholes get to you, kid.”