#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?

[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.

[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

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

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.

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

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.  

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

Please let me know if you’d like to be added or removed from my taglist.

Tags:  @maggiescarborough​ @pokeasleepingsmaug @nxrdist @mystic-shadows42 @emilyhufflepufftlk @magravenwrites @lauwrite1225 @morosemagick @thebohemianpenguin @mrsalwayswrite @notyourwildestdream @ecarroll1978 @93xdiagonxalley @nobodys-business-world @trenko-heart @0hsappho @xlittlestarling @mybigfatspoonielife @stormingroses @medievalfangirl

[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.

[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.

[pitterpatterpot]

Can you please write a prompt when Aedion and Fenrys do something stupid but Gavriel and Vaughan catch them doing it, or shortly after with 114, 115, 116, 148 and 152?

Ah. When a family has the reckless members and the tired members.

114. “Is there something you want to tell me?”

115. “I mean, it could be worse.”

116. “This wasn’t supposed to happen like this.”

148. “Things don’t always turn out the way we want them to.”

152. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

From a similar ask:

214. “Don’t you ever do that again.”

217. “H-How long have you been standing there?”

~~~

“This is, by far, the best and worse idea you’ve ever had,” Fenrys grumbles, looking down from their perch on the snow-slicked roof of Vaughan’s mountain holiday home.

“I’m a general, I’ve commanded an army,” Aedion reminds him, calculating the distance between them and the ground. “I think some of those decisions were pretty good and bad.”

“If Gavriel finds out about this, we’re dead.”

“Gavriel worries too much.”

“About you? Yes. About me? Only how he’ll kill me when he finds out I went along with this.”

“You bought the sled!”

“For the mountain! To go sledding down the mountain! Not the damn roof!”

And there they are, perched right before the slope of Aelin’s roof, Aedion on the from of the sled with Fenrys on the back. Fresh snow from the night before layers the roof and the ground below.

“I’m telling you, Aelin and I did this as kids. We were always fine. Her father would cheer.”

“I’m taking your word for it.” Fenrys huffs. “We have until the others get back from their hike.”

“You can pretend you’re against this all you want,” Aedion shuffles the sled closer to the slope, “but you were still the one who spent an hour looking for a way to fit the sled through the manhole.”

“I have to at least pretend to be against this,” Fenrys grumbles as a smile tries to fight it’s way through. “I’m supposed to be the elder here. Did you shovel extra snow at the bottom?”

“No, I’m an idiot who wants our bones to break,” Aedion huffs. “Yes, there’s extra snow at the bottom.”

They shuffle close together on the sled, a smaller model meant for winter fun. They stare down at the end of the roof, both grinning maniacally as they contemplate the small drop. Nothing compared to facing an army. Fenrys wraps his arms around Aedion, the younger of the two braced at the front. With one precarious movement the front of the sled is tipping forward.

And they’re off.

They both release a cheer as they fly over the icy surface of the roof, Aedion pulling up on the reins when they reach the edge as to avoid a complete nose dive. Yet the back of the sled catches on gutter, causing both of them to yelp as they fly off the sled in different directions. Both bodies land in the snow, a deafening crack sounding out.

“Aedion?” Fenrys gasps as he hauls himself up, looking in the direction of the sound.

He unwinds at the view of Aedion groaning just next to him. Then he freezes, eyes fixating on where the porch guardrail is cracked and ripped apart. And even worse, the scent of blood perpetuates the air.

“I mean,” Aedion mumbles from beside him, “this could be worse.”

Fenrys says nothing.

“Things don’t always turn out the way you want them to,” Aedion groans, rolling onto his back. “At least, not the first time. We can try again later.”

“Aedion-“

“What?”

“You have a shard of wood sticking out of your leg.”

Aedion looks down where he, indeed, has a wedge of the rail pierced through his calf muscle. He hums.

“Well,” Aedion sits up, “this wasn’t supposed to happen like this.”

“Gavriel is going to kill me,” Fenrys hisses, shifting to his knees and immedtaleaning over the injured leg. “Fucking hell, he is going to slaughter me. I can’t heal this! I’m not as good at healing as he is!”

“Just try and we won’t have to tell Gavriel!”

Without warning Fenrys grabs a pile of snow and shives it on top of Aedion’s leg, causing him to hiss and jerk in irritation. Fenrys ensures the small puddle of blood is covered in record time, grateful that the snow helps muffle the scent. Aedion stares at Fenrys in disbelief, annoyance dripping off him in waves.

“What the hell-“

“Aedion! Fenrys!”

Aedion stiffens, turning to see Gavriel and Vaughanwalk towards them from the forest clearing.

“Gavriel! Vaughan,” Aedion clears his throat. “H-How long have you been standing there?”

“We headed back early from the hike,” his father explains, making his way over to them. “By the way, I thought I heard you say you had something to tell me? I heard you as I was arriving.”

“Fae hearing!” Fenrys declares loudly, laughing and sending Aedion a warning glance. “We sure can hear from far away!”

Vaughan and Gavriel share a befuddled look.

“I know? Fenrys, what’s going on, are you- my gods!” Gavriel’s expression turns to one of shock. “The railing! What did-“ he glances at the sleigh, then the roof, his expression turning thunderous.

Both Aedion and Fenrys shrink under his gaze as he turns back to them, golden eyes on fire.

“Is there something you want to tell me?” Gavriel asks, voice low and slow.

“Shit,” Vaughan mutters, wincing at Gavriel’s growl, turning away examine the broken rail.

Both males swallow at the gaze and tone. They share a look, silently fighting between themselves as to who will speak.

“Please, don’t rush,” Gavriel crosses his arms. “After all, we can just stay here until someone confesses.”

Fenrys winces and his eyes twitch towards Aedion’s leg. Gavriel catches the action.

“Aedion,” Gavriel says, “stand up.”

“Ah,” Aedion pats his thighs. “I would, but I’m quite comfortable.”

“Really? You’re comfortable?”

“That’s right.”

“Sitting in the snow?”

“Reminds me of my childhood.”

Gavriel inhales a large breath, closing his eyes to steady and calm himself. After counting to three he turns to Fenrys, pinning the younger male with a look. Fenrys begins to squirm. Aedion grits his teeth and sends him a warning glare. Gavriel narrows his eyes. Aedion does the same. Fenrys avoids looking them both in the eye the best he can, sweat gathering on the back of his neck and father and son both send him equally threatening looks.

“Why is Aedion pale?” Gavriel questions Fenrys.

“I’m cold,” Aedion interjects.

“Lies. You were raised in this climate,” Gavriel barks, then turns back to Fenrys. “I want an answer from you.”

Fenrys bites his lip.

“I will call Aelin back,” Gavriel lowers his voice further, “and she will wonder what happened to Aedion. Are you willing to withhold that information from her?”

Fenrys swallows.

“Just tell him,” Vaughan advices from the porch, looking up to where the gutter is cracked.

“And what about me?” Gavriel continues. “I trained you. Will you deny me information of my only precious child?”

“Oh, gods above!” Aedion chokes, reaching out to grasp Fenrys’s shoulder. “We’re fine! There’s a reasonable explanation for all of this! You can stop with the guilt tripping crap.”

Gavriel ignores his son. Instead, he continues to focus on Fenrys.

“Seriously, Gavriel, we’re fi-“

“Aedion and I sled off the roof but tipped forward too much and broke the railing and Aedion has a piece of wood stabbed through his leg!” Fenrys pauses and heaves in a deep breath, finally relaxing from the strain.

“You what?!”

“Well, fuck.”

“You bastard.”

Gavriel whirls on Aedion, immediately crouching and removing the snow on his leg. Aedion grunts as his father accidentally nudges the shard in his leg. Gavriel swears when he sees it.

“I’m fine,” Aedion drawls as Gavriel examines the wound. “If I can handle being stabbed I can handle a bit of wood.”

“You’re lucky this was so thoroughly polished and varnished,” Gavriel braces Aedion leg with a hand on his knee. “Otherwise you’d have to worry about splinters. Take a breath.”

In a swift movement Gavriel yanks the wood free of Aedion’s flesh, his son barking a curse at the splitting pain before Gavriel’s warm magic seeps through him, his father’s cedar and sage scent potent with anger. Aedion goes to thank him but freezes with the way Gavriel’s eyes are already pinned on him, dark with anger and his jaw twitching.

“You’re pissed,” Aedion sighs. “I’m sorry.”

Gavriel says nothing, focusing on the leg. Aedion squirms at the lack of response, Fenrys looking away and choosing to walk up to Vaughan, the two of them awkwardly standing to the side. The last of Aedion’s skin stitches together and Gavriel turns away, picking up the largest section of broken railing and setting it against the wall of the holiday house. He then commences in picking up smaller shards, ensuring they’re all out of the snow and settled on the porch. Fenrys and Aedion watch him do this, the earlier helping the later to his feet.

“Inside,” Gavriel says, not looking at them as he enters the cabin.

They follow after him, standing awkwardly to the side as Gavriel fills the main fireplace with wood and begins striking the flints. Vaughan drags in the sled behind them, scowling as he does so.He jerks his head towards the couch, clearly indicating for Fenrys and Aedion to sit. They both do so.

Once the fire seems steady Gavriel makes his way over to them. He sits on the low table in front of the couch, examining the two of them. Vaughan leans against the fireplace, dark eyes simmering as he takes everything in.

“So,” Gavriel begins, anger still thick, “who wants to explain what happened?”

“It was my idea,” Aedion immediately interjects, ignoring Fenrys’s frantic look. “Aelin and I used to sled off the roof of her old holiday house as kids. I didn’t factor in the issue that this house has a guardrail to avoid or that Fenrys and I would be heavy.”

Silence stretches between them. Fenrys cringes at the way Gavriel pins them both under his stare. Aedion shifts at the silence.

“What I’m thinking,” Gavriel begins slowly, “is that you two must have the combined maturity of two children to have ever thought sledding off the roof would be a good idea.”

Aedion and Fenrys share a concerned look. Gavriel narrows his eyes as they look away.

“Do not,” he growls lowly, “look away from me as I am speaking to you.”

Aedion’s eyes widen, turning back to his father. Fenrys seems less shocked at the severity of the anger and more apprehensive of it.

“Not only did you engage in a completely ridiculous and childish task,” Gavriel begins, “but you damaged the house and Aedion injured himself in the process.”

“I’m fine,” Aedion scowls. “You healed me and there isn’t even a scar.”

Gavriel narrows his eyes. Fenrys winces.

“That is not the point,” Gavriel begins. “And the fact that you don’t realise that isn’t the point is even worse. You shouldn’t put your own health and safety at risk and you, Fenrys, should be mature enough after all these centuries to automatically know that sledding off a roof is a bad idea!”

“You’re right,” Fenrys agrees, sitting straight. “I apologise for indulging in such an immature act.”

Satisfied, Gavriel turns to Aedion.

“I’m sorry for endangering myself,” Aedion admits. “Especially over something so stupid.”

“Good,” Gavriel huffs. “Don’t ever do that again.”

“Trust me, it’s not on the list,” Aedion promises.

Gavriel nods. “While you two may be grown males and I can’t ground you, I candemand that you help me with cutting and moving more lumber tomorrow.”

With that Gavriel stands and stalks his way to his room, the door closing decisively behind him. Both males relax at the sound of the click, Fenrys releasing an audible breath.

“My gods,” Fenrys groans, sliding down the couch and rubbing at his face, “I thought for sure he was going to kill us. Cutting up timber is nothing, becoming a father must have softened him.”

Aedion nods. But they both stiffen at a barked laugh, snapping to attention as Vaughan stalks toward them. The look on his face suggests he knows they forgot about him and will regret it.

“He’s not giving you a harsher punishment because he knows you’re going to be working your asses off all night helping me fix this railing,” Vaughan narrows his eyes, jerking a hand towards the door. “I worked hard on this house. Now get off your asses and get ready for some woodwork. Be outside in five minutes.”

Vaughan slams the front door behind him as he exits the house, Aedion and Fenrys still able to hear him grumbling as he trudges his way through the snow to a shed with supplies. They turn at the squeaking of hinges, Gavriel sticking his head out of his bedroom.

“He’s a perfectionist,” Gavriel dryly informs them. “Get ready to redo the whole porch railing.”

With that he closes the door once again, leaving the two males to wince and wilt, dreading the night of work ahead of them.

[dashielldeveron]

and i’ve gotta crow | takami keigo

hawks x pro-hero! reader. quirk unspecified.

summary: “You’re suffering from amnesia,” says Hawks to you, in your hospital bed.

No, you are not.

“We’re engaged to be married.”

No, you are not.

After an accident that was that bastard Hawks’s fault, you decide to play along with your diagnosis of amnesia, among other things, because how far can you make your former bully bend over backwards for you?

fluff/trickery??? completely avoidable angst, bc reader is a little shit. hawks is a scumbag bully at first. reader is honestly kind of violent. dealing with acne in a scene.

When the first things you saw after groggily blinking your eyes open were multiple IVs in the back of your hand, you flipped over and snuggled farther into your hospital bed to deal with it later, but against your will you were forced to lie flat on your back to stare into the hospital fluorescents.

When the nurse fiddling with your IVs came into focus, he said, “You need to lie on your back. You have deep gashes on your lower abdomen, and tossing about too much could open the stitches.”

That sounded like bullshit, but you were too out of it to care. “Yeah, okay,” you said through a croak, “Oh, fuck.” You wrestled a hand to your throat, massaging it. “Am I waking up from a coma? Don’t let anyone see me until I’ve done my eyebrows.”

The nurse laughed through his nose. “No, don’t worry. You’ve barely been—” He cut himself off and frowned. “The news should probably be broken to you when you have emotional support. I’ll be back soon.”

He left.

Emotional support? Wouldn’t that fucking gash on your stomach be—ooh, ouch, don’t move.

Where’s your phone? Where’s your goddamn phone; where’s any of your personal belongings? If they got crushed, you’re killing Hawks on sight.

Hawks, oh, my God. Where is he? He’s dead. If he still has the audacity to bully you professionally—fuck.

He’d cornered you on patrol earlier—whenever that was—and cut into you in that casually, negging-type way that wasn’t enough to report but enough to make you stay up late and freak out about being good enough. It hurt your chest whenever you thought about it.

But this was the first time he’d gotten seriously physical.

He’d alit on the top of the warehouse next to you, landing what would have been haphazardly for anyone else (the arch of his feet against the edge, his toes barely touching roof) and had crouched next to you, his scarlet wings completely blowing your cover as they stretched and shuddered.

“What’s a little girl like you doing in this part of town?” Hawks had propped his chin on both his fists. “Thought shoplifters were more your calibre.”

“Hawks, this is actually really important to me, so please, please leave,” you’d said, keeping your eyes on the group you could barely make out through the skylight. They’d already been partially concealed by crates, so they were hard to see.

“Someone else give you a tip for their location?” He’d tapped your opposite shoulder with the end of his wing, but you hadn’t even flinched.

“Bruh, you know I’ve been on this for weeks,” you’d said, shifting away from him, “I even shared intel at your last briefing.”

“Is that what you were talking about?” Hawks had scratched his chin. “I zoned out. Usually the little cases female heroes present aren’t in my circle, and I like to unwind when brain power isn’t needed.”

You’d planned to rip his wings out feather by feather while you’d gritted your teeth. “You can’t talk to me like that, Hawks.”

He’d laughed, his eyebrows shooting up to his hairline. “C’mon, babygirl, have a slice of chill, won’t you? I thought you were one of the cool girls. Relax. I don’t mean anything by it.”

“Leave me alone, Hawks. You’re not gonna bully me into joining your agency. You’re not gonna bully me into quitting being a hero,” you’d said, inwardly screaming, “I’d tell you to go talk to someone who’d fall for your shit, but then, she’d have to suffer, too. So, fuck off into a sewer, jackass.”

“Oof,” Hawks had said, placing a hand over his heart and shaking his head, “You don’t have to be such a bitch, sweetheart. I’m only looking for my better half. Didn’t think it could be you, but I’d thought I’d give you a chance to prove me wrong. Don’t take yourself too seriously; just be along for the ride like the rest of us.”

“Huh,” you had said, and you’d stood and strode to the edge of the warehouse to your harness and rope, and you rappelled down the side of it as stealthily as you came up.

“I’ve been watching you all these years, sweetness, and I know you by now; I know how you really feel,” Hawks had said a bit too loudly while he flew downwards at your speed (braggart). “Strip away all of your busy work, your so-called hero trappings, and we’d mesh together just fine. We may be rough around the edges, but we clean up really nicely, don’t we?”

You’d unclipped your carabiner and stepped out of your harness, stashing it in your pack. “Fuck off.”

You’d moved towards the back entrance, but Hawks had slammed a hand against the concrete wall in front of you. You’d ducked under it and carried on, and he’d grabbed the back of your shirt.

“C’mon, if we didn’t know each other, and our eyes met from across the room at some hero gala, you’d be all over me, wouldn’t you?”

You had swiped his hand away. “I’d be putting a lid on my drink.”

His arms behind his back, Hawks had followed you through the door and behind the exposed pipes and closer to your targets. “Saw you coming onto Todoroki at the last one. You looked fine in his colours, but you would’ve looked better in mine.”

Don’t grace him with an answer; don’t grace him with an ans— “I wasn’t coming onto Shoto,” you’d said, pulling yourself up a couple of pipes for a better view—and you’d hit him when he flapped his wings to hover the few feet you’d ascended, because the noise might alert them.

“Yeah, you just simp for him, right? Then you didn’t step outside your comfortable ice queen act?” Hawks had gripped onto a pipe just underneath your ass. “You’re too much of a natural tease for that.”

How can you report him when he’s the head of his own agency? You guess the commission might listen, but what can they do besides slap his wrist? There’s really no one who can stop him, is there?

You hadn’t replied but instead crawled onto the iron catwalk. If you could position yourself about three-quarters of the way across, you’d be able to effectively activate your quirk and get this over with—wait, why would you think like that? You’d been waiting for this for ages.

A hand spreading across the small of your back had reminded you.

You’d flipped over with fire in your eyes and kicked him away as quietly as you could, but all he’d done was sit back on his knees to grin down at you, army-crawling your way through a dirty warehouse.

Would he take credit for your work again?

You’d shaken yourself. Eat my entire ass, Hawks. And with that, you’d continued inching towards your targets. When you’d gotten into position to watch them, Hawks had merely watched you.

You had scowled. “I’m gonna tear you a—”

“You had a hard childhood, didn’t you?”

A chill had unfurled up your spine, simple as that. Hawks now not only had the annoying air of an arrogant pick-up artist but also gave you an intense sense of danger. You’d moved away from him, regrettably away from your target, but Hawks had followed you, getting closer until his body heat had seeped into yours, a self-satisfied smirk plastered across his dumb face.

“I could take suuuuch good care of you, little girl,” he’d said under his breath, “if only you’d let me. No one else is crazy enough to call me out or want more than the bare minimum.” His wings had folded in on his back, making themselves as small as possible to get closer to you. “If you give in, tell me yes, say please, you wouldn’t have to let any worries cross your pretty little mind. All you have to do is let me in.”

“Yikes,” you had said, sucking in through your teeth, “God, you’re a creep.”

Hawks had slammed you down onto the catwalk, iron reverberating through the warehouse as it struck your head, and your targets had looked up by the time the catwalk hinges had loosened and had come crashing down in the midst of their meeting.

You’re really not supposed to shoot guns inside. Don’t they know that’ll ruin their ears? No matter, really. You had fought them anyway, amidst crates splintering open from whatever they were shooting at you—fuck, that was a big hole. What’s oozing out of that? Gross, don’t step in it.

One with a normal revolver—his arm had given a woody crack when you’d bent it backwards—God, that was nice. Good sounds. If you could sample them into a rap track, you would.

You’d been planning a collab with a popular rapper while you’d hurled yourself at another villain, sawdust flying—just to keep your mind busy, really, but fucking—fucking Hawks had bested whoever he’d half-assed to the ground and had shouted your way.

“C’mere, you little shit—”

He’d scooped you up while you’d been taking care of it by yourself, and he had pinned you down behind a stack of crates that reached the remains of the catwalk, straddling you but keeping most of his weight off, his wings outstretched yet still hidden from the cloud of sawdust rising with deep gurgling on the far side.

“What the fuck is wrong with you,” he’d said over the chaos, spit flying, “You can’t handle this; you’re gonna get fucking killed. I can’t babysit you all the time.”

“Get fucked; I’m the number fourteen hero,” you’d said, deadly still, but twitching in fury, “I can handle anyth—”

“Aww, fourteen. And one day babygirl might reach the single digits.” Hawks had sneered in your face. “If she manages to fuck her way through them.”

Your jaw had dropped, and you pretended to cough on sawdust and kicked him off in the confusion. Hawks had grabbed a hold of your calf, grappling for your thigh, while you’d scrambled to climb over crates to the gurgling mess on the other side; you could handle it, and you would.

You’d slapped his hands away, wrestled out of his grasp again and again, and you’d launched yourself into the dust—

Yeah.

While the fluorescent lights flickered overhead, you picked at a hangnail. You hadn’t braced yourself for the explosion, so, you guessed you deserved whatever was wrong with you now. Big-ass gashes on your stomach. Probably broken ribs. Something felt off in your left leg, besides—oh, ho, what had the doctors thought when they’d seen Hawks’s scratches?

What an idiot.

When the door creaked open, the nurse returned with a mug of water for you, but—what? Who’s that bitch following him?

You blinked, twice. With his hands in his pockets and his nasty little wings tucked in behind him, Hawks meandered to your bedside, his gaze on your throat as you swallowed down water.

God, you’re too tired to deal with him. Let’s get this over with.

The nurse glanced over his clipboard. “I’ve already told your partner this, but I thought you would want him here.”

Maybe if you ignore Hawks, he’ll leave.

“You were very brave today,” said the nurse, “Your work as a hero is greatly appreciated. You’re on temporary leave to heal, though. Like I said, you’ve got three, major gashes on your stomach, and your leg’s broken—the fibula split, if you want to know. You’ll be on crutches for a while. You have four broken ribs, and—” The nurse bit his lip and softened his voice. “You hit your head pretty hard. Nothing’s broken, but you should have amnesia, with the trauma you’ve endured.”

Should have? They don’t know? You sure as hell don’t fucking have amnesia. It barely happens in real life, and it definitely hasn’t happened to you. You remembered every fucking infuriating thing Hawks did to ruin your mission, and if he doesn’t square up—

“I’m so sorry, baby,” said Hawks, grabbing your hand. He stroked the back of it with his thumb, and then he took his glove off to hold you skin-to-skin. “You remember who I am?”

You just stared at him.

“Your fiancé’s been a real presence in the waiting room,” said the nurse, “He hardly stopped pacing the entire time you were in surgery. He wouldn’t even talk to fans.”

Oh, my God.

Holy fucking shit.

“Oops, sorry,” said the nurse, covering his mouth, “I know you were keeping it a secret. Don’t blame him, please; he only told me to be able to see you immediately.”

Shutting your eyes, you took a deep, deep breath. You have been handed a golden opportunity on a fucking Hawks-shaped platter, holy fuck, and by God are you going to take advantage of it. Imagine how much you can fucking humiliate him, how far you can take it. How much you can make him pay for how he treated you, and now, if he says he’s your fiancé, then he’s gonna fucking worship you. You’re going to mould him into your little bitch, and he’s going to thank you for it. And you’ll get endless dirt on him just by seeing his place.

Don’t fuck this up.

Exhaling, you opened your eyes, blinking a bit. You curled your lips into your mouth, biting the lower one. “I remember you’re Hawks,” you said in a nervous voice, “and I remember, uh.”

“Don’t hurt yourself, sweetheart.” Hawks squeezed your hand, his tone kind. “It’ll come back in time.”

You clutched Hawks’s hand while the nurse rattled off instructions and gave you your crutches, and Hawks squeezed your hand back, softly smiling at you.

When the nurse left, you turned to Hawks and said, “I’m so, so sorry, but I—I feel like there’s something big missing that I can’t remember.” You scratched your forehead with your free hand, dragging the IVs with you.

“What’s the last thing you remember?” Hawks tilted his head, still gazing decidedly down at you.

“Oh, God,” you said, “Oh, fuck. I don’t know. Um.” Take it back. Take it way back. That way he’ll dig himself into a deeper hole. The more lies he has to create, the funnier it’ll be. “Let’s see, I, hm.” You already weren’t speaking like yourself, but you looked upward as you faked combing through memories. “I don’t know how things work chronologically, but the most recent memory I have of you is—it’s after a press conference, and I’ve never been in the building before,” you said slowly, “And I can’t find the bathroom, but some press keeps following me, and I—I faceplant in between your shoulder blades, right between your wings. You—” You lowered your voice, shrinking a little in the hospital bed, “You got rid of them so easily, with just a gesture, and you put your arm around me. You were—” You shook your head, staring at both of your hands. “—so warm.”

Was that too thick? That was too thick, wasn’t it?

His free hand shot to his mouth, and he bit his knuckle. “But sweetheart, that’s,” said Hawks, his eyes watering, “That’s only around the third time we met.”

You know.

“Shit,” you said, widening your eyes, “How long ago was that?”

“Three years.” Hawks squeezed your hand and kept the pressure longer than was necessary. “Three fucking years. You don’t remember anything past that?”

You pretended to be scared to look at him. “I’m sorry; I’m so sorry—”

“No, no, you don’t have to be,” said Hawks, and he leant towards you to lift your chin, rubbing his thumb against it, “It’s not your fault.”

You had to hand it to him: Hawks was a good actor.

But so were you.

***

Hawks disappeared for a while after that, but he manifested the day you were loosed from the hospital, more than giddy to carry all of your shit all the way to your flat. He was probably getting some sick pleasure from watching you hobble on your crutches.

“I can help you, if you lean on me,” said Hawks, giving you an easy grin, “I don’t want you to be in any more pain than you have to.”

“This is something I should do myself,” you said in what was hopefully a tough-it-out voice, “I’d like to be able to walk without depending on anyone.”

“I honestly think you ought to be in a wheelchair.” His wings bristled. “But what do I know? I could fly us to your place, if you like.”

“I don’t like. I’ve gotta concentrate on limping. Stop talking, Hawks.”

You got to your flat, and Hawks had guessed which key opened the door on the first try. Drat! He was already doing a good job of acting like he’d been here before, like he’s not surprised that the number fourteen hero lives in a pretty shitty apartment (you started living here as a student and got too damn comfortable for your own good—plus, you didn’t want your cat to endure the trauma of moving).

Hawks plopped your keys in the bowl by the door with a clatter, and he shut the front door behind you, flipping one of the locks.

He set your stuff neatly on the kitchen table—your purse, your tactical pack, your ropes—and lay your dry-cleaned hero suit over the back of a kitchen chair, and his hands were on you the next moment to guide you to your tacky, sunflower couch. Removing one crutch, he put your arm over his shoulder instead, one hand planted on your lower back above your bandages, and he eased you down onto the cushions.

Hawks then stepped over your legs to sit on your opposite side, and he brought your legs to rest in his lap, his hand gripping your non-casted leg. “Gotta keep it elevated, chickadee.”

You let yourself giggle. Time to get this shitshow started. “Thank you so much for helping me, Hawks; I know I’ve been a real hassle these past few days, and you shouldn’t have to deal with that sort of stress. You’re already under so much. I don’t understand how the commission would let you date anyone, let alone propose.”

“Oh, I know,” said Hawks, spreading himself out on the couch. He shifted himself to face you in addition to accommodate his wings—he was now positioned so that they’d drape over the arm of the couch instead of being squished against the back cushions. That bitch, he probably wasn’t used to couches that weren’t custom made to his special body requirements. Spoiled fuck.

“The commission was really pissed when they found out. Do you remember how, sweetness? Right, I’ll tell you,” said Hawks, running an ungloved hand through his hair before shaking it loose. “You remember up to the press conference with the faceplant. Short version is that you hated me for a good year before something clicked. You started acting awkward whenever I was around, avoiding me, and stuff. Sometimes getting red. I thought it was cute.”

You ducked your head. Flustered. He probably likes easily flustered women.

Wait. That’s not who you are. And he’d like you for who you are, if you’re engaged.

But at the same time, if you’re (gag) in love with him, wouldn’t you be flustered by some of the things he says?

Easy, baby. Take it as it comes. Pick your battles. Go with your gut.

And gut says make Hawks eat shit.

“You think I’m cute?”

“I know you’re cute.”

You’re going to stuff his own feathers down his throat.

“We got together at that dinner Endeavor’s agency sponsored. Do you remember that at all? That place with the purple lights. You’d gotten nervous from the crowd and had gone to take some of your anxiety meds. I caught you in the hall back from the bathroom and talked you down before going back out there.” He grinned sheepishly. “I’d like to say I’m the one who kissed you, but you took initiative before I had the guts.”

Funny. Hilarious, in fact. That was the night Hawks had solidified himself as the Biggest Dick in the World, because yeah, he’d caught you in the purple-lit hallway, but he’d caught you on the way to take your meds, not on the way back. You were talking yourself down from a panic attack and couldn’t argue him away, so he’d followed you into the bathroom, running his mouth and acting like it was an accident when the tip of his wing had knocked your two capsules down the sink.

He’d told you that if you’re a big girl, you’d be able to handle the rest of the night. Or you could leave at any time with him, and he’d make excuses that everyone would have to accept.

Honestly, you’d love to let his fake memory be true, because then, you’d be able to wear purple again without feeling queasy.

Cocking your head, you smiled. “That doesn’t sound like something I would do.”

Hawks let out a light laugh, craning his neck to rest his head on the back of the sofa. “That’s what you said that night, too. About how it felt out of character.”

“Was I good?”

Lifting his head, he raised an eyebrow at you: probably the first genuine emotion he’s shown you the whole time he’s been here. “Hm?”

“When I kissed you. Was it good,” you asked flatly.

“Oh,” Hawks said, his wings puffing out just barely, “Oh, sweetheart, you were amazing. Groundbreaking. Show-stopping.” His tongue flicked over his lower lip, and he shifted underneath your legs, leaning slightly towards you but holding eye contact before carrying on.

You shook your head. “I don’t have the energy to give you the makeout session you deserve,” you said, envisioning drowning him in the bathtub, “I’m exhausted. Forgive me.”

“Always,” said Hawks, “Want me to keep going?”

“You can hardly eat me out when we haven’t kissed yet.”

“I meant,” said Hawks, pausing to visibly swallow (was it real?), “about our relationship, but if you wanna eat—”

“Nah, keep going. So, I started the relationship? I must be crazy. Neither of us have fucking time to sleep, let alone be in a relationship.”

Hawks never shut up about how he was taking time out of his endlessly packed days to spend time with you, how time was precious to him, and if he’s spending time with you, why, then, you’d better pay up, bitch (always accompanied with his hands on his belt, subtly pointing his thumbs towards his cock).

Hawks shrugged with his wings instead of his shoulders. Interesting. Has he ever done that before? “The commission said that, but after I insisted we’d make time, they relented. Eventually,” said Hawks, jerking his head to the side, “Our quirks don’t exactly fit well, so we haven’t worked with each other professionally too often, and, of course, we’ve had to hide our relationship so that we can’t be a public weak spot to each other. Plus, we’re more marketable as eligible, young heroes.”

“Fuck the market,” you said, slumping into the pillows.

“There’s my girl,” said Hawks, grinning with his tongue caught between his teeth, “There’s her spark. I know, baby. I feel the same way, but being made into libidinous body pillows pays the bills, y’know?”

Nodding, you brought one of the couch pillows around for you to hug, and you smushed your chin into it. “Hawks,” you said, so quietly you almost couldn’t be heard over the A/C kicking on, “How long have we been engaged?”

“Four months,” he said, his grin unconsciously fading until he was essentially baring his teeth, “Since the twentieth.”

Taking a moment, you said, “I can’t remember anything at all.”

“That’s okay. It’ll come back.”

“No, I can’t—” You slid your hands through your hair, pulling at it, and you heaved a sigh. “Goddammit, Hawks. I wish I could—fuck. I’m missing something huge. I know I am.” Make him nervous. Make him lie awake at night. “I’m sorry, Hawks. It’s probably something really important, and I—”

“Shh, shh, shh, shh, it’s all right,” said Hawks, and he stood to lean over you, his hands rising to cup your face, and holy shit, his hands cover so much of your skin; is that legal? He’s got hands. “Don’t worry, baby. You’ve had a big day. Turn your brain off. I’ll take care of you.”

Red flag! Big, red flag! Creep! He’s a creep!

Your gaze fell to his jacket pockets. Does he carry date rape drugs on his person?

“Hawks, I don’t wanna inconvenience you any more than I have.”

“I’m your fiancé,” said Hawks, actually looking you straight in the eyes and not breaking, “I want to take care of you.”

“Sure, in the way the mob takes care of people.”

Hawks’s mouth opened slightly, and his eyes narrowed.

Cover it up. “I’m not sorry. I don’t trust your cooking. You’ll poison my spaghetti!” You made a dumb gesture, pinching your fingers together. “Have you seen The Godfather? There’s actually a pretty legit spaghetti recipe in it; it’s not too bad, but it’s kind of watery—”

Hawks brought your hand to his mouth to kiss your knuckles and let his lips linger. “Watch it with me?”

You shook your head. “I’m too tired. I’m going to bed.”

“I’ll join you.”

“No,” you said, “My bed’s not made with your wings in mind.” Fuck off to your own little sex next, Hawks. Get out of here. “If they got hurt, it’d be my fault. Go sleep in your own bed, all right?” Go home. Get mugged on the way.

Hawks sighed, blowing his hair out of his eyes. “If you insist. But you’ve gotta reach out to me for anything you have trouble with, yeah? Memories, opening jars, orgasms, you know.”

“I’m leaving,” you said, reaching for your crutches, “Ten minutes ago.”

***

“You didn’t tell me how you proposed.”

Hawks froze mid-bite of his ramen, but after a quick beat, he slurped the rest of the noodle up. “I was hoping you’d recall that on your own, baby. Get your own feelings about it, instead of me telling you how to feel.”

If you weren’t faking amnesia, you’d fucking break his nose for that. Bastard.

“I imagine once you tell me, the feelings will rush in,” you said, clicking your chopsticks twice for emphasis, “I want to remember everything, and if I don’t, well, I want to fall in love with you again.”

Hawks’s gaze glazed over for an infinitesimal moment. Score.

“It’ll sound goofy once I describe it.” With his wings cramped against the back of the booth, Hawks scratched the back of his neck—a classic move for pretending to be embarrassed. “I’m not exactly known for being romantic.”

Yeah, he’s known for fooling around with anyone who’s glittery, like a goddamn crow. If you’re paying attention.

“Aw, but Hawks, you’ve been nothing but so effortlessly romantic to me since I’ve been convalescing,” you said, rolling up the paper wrapper of your straw and soaking it in the ring your cup left on the table.

“Right, well. I flew us out to the countryside, to this overlook halfway up a mountain. You liked going rappelling there a lot. To practise for missions.” Hawks had some of your habits down, at least. Bet he gets the location wrong, though. “We watched the sunrise. We shared a thermos of tea. I asked you once the sun had risen, but you didn’t say yes right away,” said Hawks, “You jumped off the overlook without your gear, and I caught you. You were furious about it—you didn’t want me to see you overwhelmed. But you said yes.”

Ugh. That sounded about right. That sounded pretty realistic. Hawks was a fucking stalker.

“Fuck,” you said, burying your face in your hands, “That’s cute.” You stretched the skin of your cheeks before releasing, and you returned to your ramen. “Question: did we put the ring into storage, or something? I don’t have the little indent on my ring finger from wearing a ring too long, and I haven’t found anything at home.” Make him sweat. Make him stumble. Where’s the ring, Hawks?

With a flash of his eyebrows, Hawks maneuvered his straw to his mouth using only his lips, looking quite stupid, in your opinion. “Figured you’d ask that at some point. I’m so overjoyed to see you every time that I forget to bring it up. The ring’s been sent off to a high-level, government-backed, support company. I’ve pulled in a favour from the higher-ups. I wanted to turn your ring into something a little more personal and incorporate one of my feathers into it,” said Hawks, taking a moment to slurp his drink noisily, “Depending on how well it goes, I’d be able to help you if we’re separated and know where you are. At the very least—” Hawks ducked his head to give the illusion of staring up at you with wide eyes, his blond eyelashes light against his skin. “—I’d be able to feel your heartbeat. It would bring me great comfort.”

Great, so he’d have a GPS on you at all times, knowing whether or not you went somewhere he didn’t want you to. He’d be able to tell if you went somewhere your non-amnesia self would know about. Great. Phenomenal.

“Hawks, that’s very sweet,” you said, fiddling with the remnants of your straw wrapper, now fizzled out of its snake shape, “Wouldn’t the process hurt you, though? Since you can feel it.”

“Nothing more than a twinge, sweetheart,” said Hawks, holding up his hands, “And I’d bear any amount of pain for your sake.”

You fantasised about beating his head in with the back end of a rifle.

***

When you were told Hawks was waiting for you outside of the recording booth, you told the messenger that Hawks could wait until you were finished with five more takes. You could picture Hawks’s little pout at the news, his feathers bristling despite the closed space, and resigning himself to sit in one of those clangy, metal chairs out front, having to hunch forward so that he didn’t crush his wings.

The idol group adored the ingenuity of bone-crunching as percussion in a song, and along with that and some other combat foley, you were singing the bridge with the rapper of the group (the dance captain would sing your part for live shows). It’d be a good promo for the girl group and for you, and the song, “Spine,” was going to be released as a single as soon as it was polished.

Hawks perked up the moment you stepped through the secondary door to the booth, his eyes brightening and wings spreading to take up more space. “I didn’t think I’d catch you,” said Hawks, standing to take your hands (the cold leather gloves sucked the heat out of your hands), “I’ve got to fly, soon, but I wanted to tell you personally.”

“You’re not pregnant,” you said, fighting the urge to break his goggles/visor/hat thing.

His lopsided grin widened. “Not yet, baby. There’s gonna be a heroes’ gala held at the end of the month, and I wanted to let you know that I’m doing everything in my power to make it a positive experience for you. Here, I’ve got this woman’s phone number,” he said, fishing a slip of paper out of his jacket, “She’ll help accommodate the venue for your leg.”

Stupid fucking bastard man. He probably wanted to pick out your clothes himself, infantilise you and dress you up like a goddamn doll. Deny you your personhood. “I’ll be out of the cast by then.” You slid the paper into your back pocket.

“I know,” Hawks said in a way that was a fucking lie, “I just don’t want there to be any accidents. I can’t have my babygirl any more hurt than she is.” Hawks placed his cold, gloved hand against your cheek, and you, shutting your eyes, made yourself lean into it. “But contact her. She’ll make it the safest place it can be for you, even when I have to leave your side.”

God, galas were great. Big events for villains to ruin. You licked your lips thinking about using a new move you’ve learnt to take a villain down (involving clamping your legs around the villain’s neck to choke him as he crumpled to the floor—your combat coach had banned you from the move after you made her pass out). “Are we announcing our engagement, then? If we’re going together?”

“I’d love to,” said Hawks, “but only if you want to. The ring could be ready by then, if I ask them to rush it—”

“Let’s do it.” If you plunged the ring into icy water, would he start to shiver? Ooh, your ring’s going to act as a fucking bay leaf in your soups for a while.

“Oh,” said Hawks, sighing lightly with his eyes fluttering shut. He pressed his forehead to yours and rubbed his thumb over your cheek. “You have no idea how much that means to me, sweetheart. You are so dear to me, and I want everyone to know it. The best damn thing in my life. Thank you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you said, placing your hand on his face to push him away, “Don’t you have work to do, screw boy?”

***

“Did we have a date?” you asked from the edge of the bathtub.

Hawks dipped the razor in the water, washing off the hair and shaving cream. “We’ve gone on so many, darling; you’ll have to specify.”

“No, I meant for the wedding.” Let’s once again play: Can Hawks Cover His Own Ass?

Hawks dragged the razor down your freshly exfoliated, freshly-un-casted, freshly not-broken leg, starting at your knee. “Nope!”

“No explanation?”

“You wanna get married tomorrow? A six-month engagement is rather short, don’t you think?” His nose twitched. He’d said the scent of your shaving cream irritated his nose. Good.

“I don’t. Why didn’t we have a date for the wedding?” You eyed the actual and literal pile of your dead skin on the towel. Maybe you should make Hawks snort it.

“We were too busy working; you’d said you didn’t mind having a long engagement, so long as I was yours. Then, uh, you know. The accident,” Hawks said with a shrug—with his shoulders this time, because if he moved his wings while he was crouched in your bathtub, he’d soak them, and they were a bitch to dry, apparently. Suffer, you rat bastard.

“The commission isn’t involved in that decision?”

“I thought that was implied,” said Hawks, gripping your ankle to turn your calf to the side, “They don’t want it to be a huge spectacle, so even I don’t know how much of a wedding wedding they’d let us have.”

He’s too damn good at this. If he weren’t a pro-hero, he’d fit right along in a theatre troupe.

You’re going to wring his neck.

You caught him staring at the crotch of your underwear (bone-dry, you might add) while he shaved your thighs, and he spent more time rubbing lotion into your inner thighs than anywhere else. He tossed your dead skin before you could make him eat it, and he scooped you up against your protestations about your weight and capability, humming while he carried you to your bed.

The fucker tucked you in and rounded up your cat to place in your arms (your cat disagreed with him and promptly leapt off the bed).

“Let me stay with you,” said Hawks, kissing each of your fingertips. It’s an order.

Yet you shook your head.

***

“The doctors said you shouldn’t drink,” Hawks said under his breath, taking the champagne flute gently from your grasp.

“But I want to,” you said, sticking out your lower lip, “I’m wearing goddamn heels and a fucking dress. I’ve got on makeup, for Christ’s sake. I’ve done my time; let me drink.”

“Baby, you’ve got to stay safe,” he said, and he set the glass next to some 40s-level hero’s place at the long, white tablecloth. “There’s already press paying more attention to us than usual. You wanna make a fool of yourself?”

“Yes,” you said, lifting another champagne flute from a passing gala waiter, “Who gives a shit about the press.”

Hawks laughed too loudly to be natural before lowering his voice. “Baby, you are gonna be the death of me.”

“Promise?”

***

When “Spine” was released on a cool, spring morning to an excitable audience, you were lurking in alleyways by the docks, searching for a fight. When the music video dropped, you were smashing some guy’s face into a concrete wall. While more and more citizens recognised you and your talent, your work for the community, your connections, your popularity—with your rank steadily rising—you were rappelling down a port sewer to pummel a slime villain into dust.

You wiped his blood off on your pants, hands devoid of anything that could taint. You’d left the ring at home.

***

“You tricked me,” you said, scowling as Hawks pushed you forward, “This isn’t the rock climbing park.”

Once you deliberately smashed your face into the glass door and crossed your arms, Hawks held the door open for you. “Would you have dressed up so nicely for rock climbing?”

“A meta-game challenge,” you said, “to rock-climb in a long skirt.”

You glowered about the restaurant while you and Hawks stood in the lobby, his hand low on your back, suspiciously respectfully. You made no effort to hide your distaste: it was the place with the purple lights.

Over there at the absurdly long bar, Endeavor had drunk flat whisky without so much of a growl at anyone, despite it being his event. Hexagonal tables with lilac tablecloths dotted the floor—you’d hidden in one of the few booths, up against the exposed brick wall—but your hiding place had been ruined once a violet disco ball had emerged from the ceiling. Shiny, wooden floor that had reflected your post-panic attack face right back at you and let every shoe strike it with a clatter. No silence allowed.

The whole restaurant had lavender LED lights running around the walls, swathing the place in a distorted sort of purple haze, and any candles lit on the centre tables had indigo flames—you’d focused on how those might have been made in the process of coming down from your panic attack.

God. You’re going to throw up.

The hostess escorted you and Hawks to a farther back room, this one with booths separated by small, brick walls that didn’t reach the ceiling yet concealed the booths’ occupants from each other—unless you were passing directly in front of one.

Hawks made you sit in the booth first, trapping you in as he settled. He had to be on the edge, anyway, he told you, because of his wings. You’re going to rip them off and boil them in the soup.

The two of you ordered. You don’t remember what. You can only channel so much of your nerves into jostling your leg. This is not cool. This place is not cool. You need to get out.

“Hey, let me through,” you said, nudging Hawks, “Bathroom.”

Once there, you lightly slapped your cheeks a couple of times, trying to ground yourself through physical sensation. No use. Can’t they fucking use normal lights in this place?

You didn’t have your panic meds, because you’ve never needed them rock climbing. You can do it. You’re fine. You’re fine. Your tongue is too big for your mouth.

You took your time meandering back to the booth, coming to a halt at the end of the narrow hallway and ducking behind the corner.

Endeavor stood by your booth, his arms crossed over a flaming chest. You caught your breath at the sight of his orange fire, a comforting contrast to all the damn purple, but still—Endeavor. Talking to your (gag) fiancé.

Without the courage to interact with Endeavor, you listened at the corner for his departure.

“Nah, she can handle her bladder just fine. It’s her nerves,” Hawks was saying, hidden by the bricks, “She likes hiding. She doesn’t necessarily like being in the spotlight.”

“Yet she hasn’t completely withdrawn as Eraserhead has. You’ve picked a strange one to marry.”

From the angle Endeavor glared at him, Hawks must be slumping in his seat. “But that’s what so great about her. And it’s hard to process, y’know, like, she’s finally mine. You follow?”

“Regrettably,” said Endeavor, “Regardless, I offer my congratulations that your courtship finally worked out in your favour. You should have told me sooner.”

Courtship. That’s a funny way to pronounce bullying.

“Eh, I’ve gotta have some secrets, don’t I? Can’t betray my otherwise cool exterior.” Hawks laughed. “I can’t believe I’ve been allowed such happiness. The woman I’ve loved for years is gonna be waking up to me every day soon, y’know?”

Hawks has got to know you can hear him, otherwise he wouldn’t be saying those things. Endeavor must be in on Hawks’s ruse, since Endeavor is Hawks’s closest—actually, Endeavor isn’t the type to revel in romantic shit. Endeavor straight-up isn’t the type to revel. To the best of your knowledge, Endeavor doesn’t genuinely like Hawks as so much as tolerates him; when did they get so close? It must have taken a long time—

Time.

You could feel your IQ dropping as you actually considered: had you been in a legitimate coma? Had you (fuck) genuinely had amnesia?

No, no. You don’t live in Crazytown. Your eyebrows hadn’t been overgrown when you’d woken up in the hospital. You’d only been there a day.

Of course, Hawks is a vain piece of shit and does his own eyebrows, so he might have considered that yours were a piece of pride/insecurity for you and may have done them while you were—did Hawks do his own eyebrows? That spoiled fuck probably had someone else to do them for him. If they were naturally like that, you were going to throttle his ass.

You didn’t fucking have amnesia. Hawks is and always has been a stupid, clammy birdbrain. He’s always been cruel to you. He didn’t fucking like you.

He sure as hell wasn’t in fucking love with you.

Oh, my fuck, what if your memories of Hawks have been fabricated by a coma-addled mind and that—

“Hey, there,” said—said someone, some pale-ass, sleep-deprived freak who startled you out of your head, “Are you all right? You look—I mean, do you need some water? A chair?”

You blinked, yet he wouldn’t come into focus—you were taking in details about him, ones that didn’t fucking matter (chain on his wallet, three rings all on the left hand, a button-down missing the last button, a cloud of axe body spray), but he didn’t register as a human person. He couldn’t; you hadn’t grounded yourself yet. You yourself still had a frazzled, cartoon scribble buzzing inside of your chest, and until you vomited it up, a panic attack may yet still happen.

You can’t deal with anyone new right now.

A spark of recognition crossed the new guy’s face, and he, through a smirk, asked if you were your hero name.

Oh god oh fuck not now

“Sweetheart,” came Hawks’s melodious drawl (registering first his voice, then bodily warmth, then the wingtip covering your ass), “You were taking so long that I came to check on you.” He pulled you by the waist towards him, blocking the guy from seeing your face by pressing it into his chest. “Who’s this?”

Who cares. All you could focus on (sharp and overwhelming, nothing else but) was how fucking incredible Hawks smelled, and at this point, you’d use anything to bring yourself back down to earth. A small voice in the back of your head told you that freaking out to this degree in this particular situation was leaning towards pathetic, since basically nothing happened, besides being in an uncomfortable environment and being accosted by a fan at the wrong time, but you? You did not control the rate at which your brain panicked.

And really, no rhyme or reason played into why your grabby little hands itched for human contact once safe in the booth again, why Hawks’s scent lay on your tongue more heavily than your soup, why the overwhelming sensation of being so fucking spaced out of it threw its entire weight upon your shoulders—you couldn’t find yourself. You were lost.

And in this horrible, purple place, the only thing that’s familiar was Hawks.

When you scooted as closely as you could to him in the booth, keeping your glare towards your lap while you looped your arm under his to snuggle into it, Hawks cleared his throat to say, “What’s this?”

You scowled into his jacket, both hands gripping his forearm.

He set his chopsticks down. “How can I help, darling?”

Growling, you bonked your forehead against his shoulder, dragging your hands down to his.

“Hey,” said Hawks, and he guided your face towards his and stroked your cheek with his thumb, “Did that guy bother you too much before I got there?”

Turning your mouth towards the hand cupping your cheek, you kissed his palm, bit the leather, and kissed it again before burying yourself in his shoulder again.

He rested his hand on the crown of your head. “What’s the matter? Can you tell me?”

“Not sure I can put it into words,” you said, “I think I wanna go home.” You bit the fabric of his jacket and gnashed it between your teeth.

“I can handle that,” said Hawks, “Gimme a moment to get takeaway boxes, yeah? Then we’ll leave, and you’ll be safe. Don’t worry.”

Unfortunately, you were still clutching onto his arm by the time he unlocked his darkened penthouse (because you’re not gonna hold his hand. God), but you slapped his hand away from the light switches.

“Turning them on would be too much stimulation,” you said, “Please don’t.”

Hawks hummed against the top of your head, placing keys and both of your phones on the kitchen counter. “Bed or couch?”

“Window,” you said.

“Window?”

“I’m assuming you’ve got one.”

“I do,” said Hawks, guiding you through his dark apartment, probably past scarily expensive, posh shit. He led you to what was most likely his living room, with the cool, dim light of the night sky through a vast, single-frame, wall-to-floor window illuminating furniture custom built for his wings, but he eased you down onto the carpet, tugging your shirt upwards so that the window would be touching your bare skin on the small of your back.

Hawks yanked his boots off, late, instead of at the door, and he tossed them over his shoulder. He took yours off, too, and once he’d set them aside, he sat next to you against the window, a hand on your thigh.

“Better?”

“Probably,” you said, staring at the triangle of light beige carpet between your crossed legs.

“Need me to talk? You need to talk?”

“Not right now.”

Hawks was a dumbass. He’s such a fucking dumbass. But he’s a dumbass who’s here right now, and he’s interested (?) in you, interested in helping you. And good golly, you have to be touched. Hawks’s offering warmth, freely, potentially lovingly, and all you had to do was reach out to take it, even if you didn’t reciprocate whatever sentiment was motivating him yourself.

Do you really want to take what you have no feelings for?

Hawks lies a lot to Endeavor. To everyone. He might not have been lying earlier. What reason had he to lie?

Guess it didn’t matter, because you were lying.

But good God, you haven’t been kissed in a long time. Haven’t felt safe or loved. You could…you could indulge for a few hours in order to calm down. You could pretend.

The last ten months had proved that.

“Hey,” you said idly, reaching out to grab the inner fleece lining of his jacket to rub it between your fingers, “Hawks, I’m gonna—I’m gonna put my mouth on your mouth. Okay?”

Hawks’s wings ruffled and constricted themselves so that he could move closer to you, and his hand has migrated from your thigh to grip your hip—how could anyone’s hands encompass that much of you? Your fucking hands couldn’t, not in the way his does.

(Bird man big and safe.)

([No, fuck you, don’t think that.])

(BIRD MAN SAFE—)

Shoved is how you’d describe the first few seconds of the kiss, followed closely by wet and you’d think his teeth would be sharper. Your lips didn’t line up with his completely until he adjusted your chin with two of his fingers, guiding it open just barely, as well, so that his tongue could graze your teeth—it took you a moment of processing before parting them, with a final don’t think! shouted to your neocortex.

Birds have a higher body temperature than other animals, on average having a body temperature of 105 degrees Fahrenheit (40 degrees Celsius). The colour of their feathers, of course, affects how much light and heat they absorb, with the lighter coloured feathers—say, red—reflecting more, rejecting outside heat sources.

Yet Hawks gripped you like he’d fucking freeze if he weren’t clutching you, if he weren’t straddling your legs, one palm flat against the cool of the window by your head. The other snaked around you, his forearm lying almost vertically up your back to press down between your shoulder blades, keeping you as near to his chest (he probably didn’t realise it, but his fingers ran across the curve of your shoulder blades where his wings were on his own body.

For some reason, the thought crossed your mind that you weren’t enough for him, because you were too dissimilar.)

Don’t think!

When he massaged your tongue with his, applying pressure sporadically, you returned the action—have you ever seen a bird tongue up close? They’re fucking nasty little things, looking more like a grub than anything else. Thank God Hawks had a normal, human tongue that performed particularly delightful, normal things, like drag across the roof of your mouth and aid in sucking phenomenal hickeys onto your jawline, licking over where he’s bitten and kissed.

Stop thinking about bird anatomy. Hawks has no discernible bird traits except for his fucking wings. He’s not a fucking bird man. He’s just some dude with wings. And not all birds have functional wings; for example, the ostrich and the penguin do not have wings to be used in flight—

Oh, my fuck. Turn your brain off.

Your stomach lurched. That had been something Hawks had told you too often, back before your accident.

It’s what he wants.

Hawks fucking whimpered when you pulled the shorter hairs at the back of his neck, prying him away from your skin with great difficulty—he kept trying to touch you with his mouth and tongue in the process.

“Let me have more,” he said, panting, his breath heavy and just below your ear, “Please.” He pressed his lips to the spot in front of your ear in a weak kiss, having spent himself for the most part. “I’ve missed you so much, baby. I’ve been waiting for you to come back to me for so long.”

“I don’t—” You fake-stuttered, but it turned out you needed the time to put your thoughts into words. “I don’t think I’m back yet. I’m,” you said, taking as deep a breath as you could with Hawks smushed against your chest, “Something’s missing. Something big.” That’s right. Steer it back in his direction. Make the bird man sweat. “I don’t—something doesn’t feel right.”

It took a moment, but Hawks nodded fervently, shutting his eyes. “Of course. Yeah. Yeah, I get it, sweetheart. Can’t do anything when your heart’s not in it.”

Your heart’s not the problem. “Thank you for being so understanding, Hawks,” you said, untangling yourself from underneath him, “Would you just, uh, hold me for a while?”

His wings wrapped around the both of you on his enormous bed, still fluttering with each slow breath he took. Hawks almost looked genuine while he slept, and probably for the best—at least he was getting rest; at least his guard might be down.

You couldn’t sleep. Your mind was racing.

***

“Rank speculation is out,” you said, scrubbing the pumice stone over a patch of dry skin on Hawks’s back and scrolling through the twitter with your other hand, “Take a look.”

He opened the link you sent once he’d safely removed a dead feather that had been lodged in an odd spot in a wing. “Huh. Think I could truly take on Endeavor?”

“Well, he’s got that abusive-to-his-family thing, while you’re rocking the preparing-for-my-wedding look, and he can’t network non-aggressively to save his life.”

“Nor can you.” Hawks shot you a smirk over his shoulder.

“Zoom in on my speculated nine, baby,” you said, flicking away some dead skin with a satisfied/disgusted sneer, “And I didn’t have to sleep my way there.”

“Ah, ha, ha,” said Hawks, “Knew you could do it. Whoever’s told you that is gonna have to deal with my foot up their ass. You’re more than capable of getting there on your own.”

“Which I did. I have.” Wait. Hawks told you that. No, it’s fine. It’s fine. It’s a commonly said, misogynistic comment towards women heroes. Hawks isn’t special. “But having your foot up someone’s ass wouldn’t be good for PR, unless you wanted to advertise that you’re a kinky son of a bitch who’s cheating on his fiancée.”

“I would never,” said Hawks, and, contorting his arm, he grabbed your hand with the pumice stone to kiss the back of it, “But my PR is solid, regardless.”

“If the public knew how much time you had to spend preening these fucking wings, they’d probably appreciate you more. Or call you conceited.”

Hawks hummed. “It’s a necessary evil,” he said, returning to his wingtip to search for dead feathers. “Thank you for helping.”

“No problem. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t get to see how—Hawks, holy fuck. Do you feel that?” You ran a finger near the base of a wing.

“It’s your finger?”

“No, this,” you said, tapping the spot.

“No?”

“My God. It’s a dilated pore of a winer,” you said, already reaching for the tweezers, “Right at the base of your wing. It’s basically an enormous fucking blackhead. I’m popping it. Oh, my God. I’ve never seen one in real life.”

“You’re popping it?”

“You didn’t have a problem with my getting the ones where your costume sits.”

“No,” said Hawks, rolling back his shoulders, his wings spreading with them, “Gotcha. Get on with it.”

“Can I film it?”

“What? No,” said Hawks, “No one can see me preening, let alone dealing with acne.”

“There’s sure to be another hero out there with a wing quirk, right? I don’t know how you can’t feel it.”

“Yeah,” Hawks said slowly, “Since my feathers can feel—I suppose where the wings merge with my skin is pretty numb. I haven’t ever had to think about it.” He licked his lips. “Funny.”

He continued to scroll through his feed and tend to his feathers while you worked at his back. “Bad news: the tabloids got a hold of our grocery list from the last time we went to the shops. I must have dropped it at some point in the store.”

“Oh, so do they know what kind of ice cream we prefer? The horror.”

“No, but they’ve brought in some hack handwriting analyst. Talking about our annotations for each other on the list. Something about how you’re logical and I’m a romantic. The writer of the article is practically swooning.” Hawks pulled out a clot of feathers with his teeth and spat them aside. “With good reason, though. The trashy pictures they snapped of us are hot.”

“Describe them to me.”

“I can show you—”

“No,” you said, concentrating on your work, “I don’t want the image imprinted on my brain. Describe them in your own words.”

“All right,” said Hawks, crossing his legs and placing his phone on the coffee table in front of him, “To start, the flash is on.”

“Oh, fuck.”

“Yeah. We’ve got that distantly surprised look going on. It looks like we’re near the eggs and cheese. You’re not looking at the camera, but I believe it’s in the moment I caught it.” Hawks flicked away a feather and let it fall to the carpet. “My hand’s on your waist. The other’s on the cart. You’ve scrunched your face up in concentration; it’s really cute.”

“Aw, we should get it framed,” you said, wiping away the gunk with a tissue and wadding it up so that no one will ever have to see or touch it ever again.

“Never,” said Hawks, “The first picture of us I wanna get framed should be on our wedding day.”

“It’s coming along quickly,” you said, setting aside the tweezers, “Bit more quickly than I’d thought it would.”

“Yeah, I can’t wait,” said Hawks with a light laugh, and you ducked to rest your head against his shoulder, straining your neck to reach him over his wing.

Hawks clicked his non-nasty, non-bird tongue. “What’s the matter, sweetheart?”

Sighing, you said, “Turn your head this way.”

He did you one better, since he anticipated your plan. He twisted around, keeping his legs crossed as he pulled you into his lap. His wings initially bristled but wrapped around you when his arms did, and Hawks kissed your cheek, once, twice, until he arrived at your mouth, where he barely grazed your lips, rather letting his hot breath spread over your face—and he grinned up at you with half-lidded eyes (he’d left off his eyeliner today, but the natural marks below his waterline kept his eyes sharp, anyway).

“Kiss me, you fucking idiot,” you said, overriding whatever he was about to do by kissing him yourself, hard and open-mouthed, almost violent in its fervent. Yet Hawks held you lightly, delicately, but still close enough to freeze.

You ran your cold, cold hands over his bare abdomen, pressing your thumb down with considerable force to trace his muscles (he grunted at that, and that’s it; that’s right—make him squirm; make him sweat; make him yours). His finger only toyed with the hem of his shirt that you were wearing, as if waiting for you, which didn’t line up with what you had garnered about Hawks at all, but c’mon, man, come on; didn’t you want this all those months ago? Almost a year, now? Years, if what he said to Endeavor is true? But when he flinched away with a shaky breath once your cold fingers circled his nipple, you knew this was where you were supposed to be: right here, in Hawks’s lap, completely destroying him with hardly anything at all. Nothing but light touches and a strategic flick of your tongue. Idiot man. He must really like you if this is doing it for him.

You slowed and opened your eyes at that thought, frowning, and you pulled away. With the back of his hand, Hawks wiped saliva off of both of your mouths, yours first.

He waited for you.

“If you can’t take all of me, then what’s the point?”

He tilted his head. “I’ll take whatever part of you you’re willing to share.”

“I’m missing something.”

“I know.”

“I want to find it before we get married.” You laid your palm flat on his chest, and he grinned at the cold.

“You can find it,” he said, “I know you can.”

“I don’t know what I’m blocking out,” you said, lying—or maybe you weren’t? Fuck it. “Whatever I’m repressing is really fucking with me.”

“Take your time,” said Hawks, running his tongue over his lower lip. “I’m here for—”

“Hawks,” you said, faking the light of realisation in your eyes, accompanied with a sharp inhale, “I can’t remember your name.”

Hawks’s mouth snapped shut.

“You told me once. I know you did,” you said, moving to cup his cheek after tapping the mark underneath his eye, “but the memory—there’s a blur where you spoke. I—” You cut yourself off, biting your lip. “That, that might be it. I don’t know. Everything else about the scene is in perfect detail. I remember what fucking socks I was wearing, for Christ’s sake. But you. What you said. Maybe it’s something so personal, so intimate, that I’ve repressed it. Maybe it was too much for me to handle.” You cupped his face with both hands now, forcing him to look at you. If you hadn’t been scrutinising him for some evidence of breaking character, you wouldn’t’ve seen the minute quivering of his upper lip. Hardly there, but it was there. “It’s a part of you that I want. Even if I couldn’t handle it before, I want to try now.”

Hawks averted his gaze, even though he couldn’t move his head. And bang, you’ve got him. Hawks’s name was still strictly secret, hidden by the commission, but if he’s genuinely in this dumbass situation for the long haul, if he’s truly in it for you, then he would have told you. Even if he wanted you to continue to call him Hawks, your own fiancé would have told you his damn name.

So, this is it. The way out.

Hawks was going to feel so stupid when he found out you’ve been faking all this time. Good. Let each feather burn.

“Keigo,” he said, staring into your eyes with a newfound determination, “My name is Takami Keigo.”

Oh, shit—you clapped a hand over your heart, your eyes widening. Maybe you could play this off as memory recovery instead of absolute shock? But you hadn’t any memories to recover, probably. Holy fuck.

Where do you go from here?

You tried to say his name but ended up simply mouthing it, and after clearing your throat and coughing a bit, you managed to say it aloud. “Keigo,” you said softly, reaching for his hand, “Keigo, I fucking love you.”

You’d only been kissing him for a few moments before his wings shuddered in a muscle spasm and flung you off to the side.

***

Only a commission higher-up witnessed your wedding. She stood silently to the side the entire ceremony in the courthouse and only shook Hawks’s hand afterwards.

You and your cat essentially moved into his penthouse and adjusted. Your mostly empty apartment stayed leased under your name.

Sometimes, you’d note that you turned your brain off and instantly be hit with a lightning strike of self-loathing—but you didn’t have to consciously decide to be affectionate with Hawks. Being with him came naturally and easily. Probably for the best, since if you had to think about it, you’d screw it up.

You stayed together. Supported each other. Sneaked out to see the other on patrol. Took care, listened to each other. Defended each other. Worked it out.

And now, you stared up at the ceiling fan whirling in your darkened bedroom, Keigo lying on his stomach next to you in the bed as he slept. Your cat catloafed between his wings and nestled into them, rising and falling with each breath he took. Hawks was perfect, always saving the day, working up a routine to mesh with your fighting style and quirk, always charming and easygoing with the people he rescued, indulging you in your ferocity, and Keigo, Keigo whispered sweet and dirty things into your ear when he spotted you in public, made you laugh, worked wonders with his cock, helped you clean up before he even thought of preening himself, held you, and made you feel held. He’s got it bad.

And maybe you do, too.

Hawks was going to feel so stupid when he found out.

[fanficshiddles]

Tear You To Pieces, Chapter 8

Kelly was almost sick when she saw a pile of bodies right by the front doors of the tower. But when she got closer, she realised it wasn’t just any pile of bodies. It was a statement.

Natasha, Clint, Tony, Pepper, Fury and Bruce. Along with some other SHIELD agents.

‘Oh god, no!’ She sobbed and took a step backwards, her entire body was shaking in fear.

She looked up at the tower and suddenly dread flooded all through her. Her sister…

‘MARIA!’ She screamed and ran into the tower, past the pile of bodies.

The lifts were all broken, the electricity not working anymore. She ran as fast as she could up the stairs, taking three at a time where possible. She was out of breath and her legs burned in agony, but she couldn’t stop. She needed to try and reach her before he did.

Even if it was eerily quiet now, except for the sounds of sirens outside the tower…

She passed some more bodies in the stairwell, it broke her heart with each one she passed. The guilt was horrible, building up within her. She couldn’t believe she had been so foolish and trusted him, believed that he had changed.

Anger rushed through her as well as sadness and guilt, but she needed to concentrate and just find Maria. But when she finally got to the top floor, she went straight to the control room where her sister normally was. There was no sign of her. Just some dead bodies hunched over the controls…

After checking her room, still she had no luck. The corridors and rooms were all falling apart. Holes in the walls and roof, lightings and wires hanging out everywhere, the place was a complete mess.

Rushing into the common room, the cold wind breezed in and made her shiver. The large glass windows were all shattered, leaving no protection from the cold.

She felt a lump in her throat when she saw Steve lying dead, his costume torn. His shield was nowhere to be seen. Loki had killed the Avengers…

About to crouch down to Steve, she noticed another body a bit further away. And she let out a wail and a cry, it was her sister.

Slowly, she walked over towards Maria’s body. ‘No, no, no, no.’ She cried as she fell to her knees beside her. She leaned over her sister and tried shaking her shoulders, but there was a huge blow to her head and her eyes were open. She was cold, so cold…

‘NO!’ Kelly screamed as she then pressed her face into Maria’s chest, utterly broken. ‘I’m sorry… I’m so sorry. This is all my fault.’ She sobbed into her.

While mourning her sister, she failed to hear Loki coming into the room, cracking bits of glass under his boots.

‘You shouldn’t be here, pet.’ Loki hummed low as he strolled across the room towards her.

She gasped when she saw Loki, and as much as she wanted to cower away from him and run, she didn’t want to leave her sister’s body either. She leaned over her sister more, tears still falling down her face. ‘You… you MONSTER! WHY? Why would you do... THIS?’ She yelled at him bravely, or perhaps foolishly.

Loki smirked as he stepped over Steve’s body without so much as a thought as he continued towards the mortal girl.

‘You should be kneeling before me, thanking me for sparing you.’ He hissed at her, drawing ever closer to her, unhurriedly, but with purpose with his large strides.

She shook her head quickly. ‘No… no! I could never thank you. You used me!’ She screamed at him.

He chuckled darkly. ‘Oh no, I’ve not even begun to use you yet. There is still something you’ve been keeping from me.’

Loki was just a few feet away from her now, with the most menacing look on his face that she had ever seen. It chilled her to the core. She knew she needed to run, she couldn’t let him reach her.

Looking down longingly at her sister for the last time, she scrambled to her feet and attempted to run.

Loki laughed at her. ‘Oh, pet. I thought you’d know by now how much I love to play.’ He growled.

Kelly ran towards the lift, forgetting it was broken. She pushed the buttons in a panic as Loki leisurely strolled towards her, unhurried and looking incredibly menacing with the biggest grin on his face.

Deciding on a different tactic, she made a run back to the stairwell door, doing a big circle past Loki as she most definitely didn’t want to end up anywhere near him.

She heard Loki chuckling darkly as she was almost there, but then suddenly he appeared right on front of her. Blocking her way out. She skidded to a halt, not wanting to run right into him. She backed away, then turned to run but another Loki appeared.

Then another, and another... Until she was surrounded by seven Loki’s, leaving her nowhere else to run. She cried out in fear and fell down to her knees, tucking her head into her arms she cried and prayed that it was all just a horrible nightmare. That she would wake up at any moment and everything would be fine…

‘Kneeling for me already, what a good girl.’ Loki teased as his clones vanished and he approached her.

He reached down and slid his fingers through her hair, seeing her visibly tremble under his touch. Both in fear and still some arousal, he could easily tell. His gentle touch turned rough as he gripped her hair and pulled her head back, so she was forced to look up at him through teary eyes.

‘Aww, come now, pet. It’s me, you don’t need to fear me…’ He hummed and slid his hand down to stroke her cheek softly. ‘Unless you misbehave and are naughty. So, be a good girl and do as you’re told, won’t you?’

Kelly’s lower lip quivered as she hesitantly nodded, not wanting to anger him. She knew his strength and power, that it was pointless to even try and get away from him.

‘Good girl, now get your pretty little ass over to the sofa and get on your hands and knees, bum facing outwards to me.’ He demanded and tilted his head in the direction of said sofa.

Her eyes widened, she didn’t make a move until Loki raised an eyebrow at her, waiting for her to do as she was told. Not wanting to risk it, she got up on wobbly legs and made her way there. She was barely at the sofa when Loki pushed her down onto it, hurrying her up.

‘We don’t have all day, pet. So don’t waste my time.’ He snarled at her as she tried to get into the position he wanted.

She let out a sob when he grabbed the top of her leggings and yanked them down along with her knickers, down around her thighs.

‘Ohhh, yes. Finally, I will get to claim what is rightfully mine. What you’ve been keeping from me all this time.’ He cooed and, with a surprisingly gentle touch, he caressed her bum first for a moment and then his fingers began to get dangerously close to her cunt.

‘Ple… please, don’t.’ She whimpered as she closed her eyes and hung her head down.

‘No amount of begging will help, pet. I should have taken you a long time ago.’ He said low as he slid his fingers through her folds.

Kelly felt sick at what he was about to do, she had thought and hoped that Loki would be her first time… But not like this, not in this way. Not this Loki.

She was nauseated at herself when she felt her body betraying her from the way his fingers were skilfully sliding up and down, rubbing over her clit that was getting more and more sensitive with every second that passed.

‘Ooo, I think you want this more than you want to admit.’ Loki chuckled. ‘You’re already getting wet, and I’ve barely even begun.’

Loki slid a finger down to her tight opening and he had just started to slowly push into her, making her whine in disagreement, when there was a loud whirring noise from outside. He looked over through the what once was a large window, to see a space ship pulling up outside.

It was some more heroes that had come to try and take down Loki. Kelly felt relief flood through her. But at the same time, more dread. As she knew if The Avengers hadn’t been able to beat him, how could anyone else do it?

Loki snarled angrily at the interruption. He looked down at Kelly, who was still shaking from head to toe and jumping at every little noise from the other heroes that were coming into the building. With a sigh, Loki hauled her up to her feet.

‘I am going to send you to safety, far from here. But you stay exactly where I put you… Because we are far from done here.’ He growled into her ear in warning and narrowed his eyes at her momentarily, then he teleported her away to safety, before going to deal with the low life heroes that had ruined his moment.

-

Kelly let out a yelp as she landed on a hard wooden floor on her bare bum, her leggings and knickers were still down around her thighs. She looked around in alarm, but was slightly relieved to see she was somewhere safe, it was a hotel room.

After getting up and pulling her leggings back up, she rushed over to the window, her eyes widened when she saw London Bridge right outside. Loki really had sent her far away…

But she quickly got her brain working and focusing, there was no way in hell she was going to hang around and wait for him to come get her, to rape her. So she bolted out of the room as quickly as possible, surprised that there was no spell on the door, but highly relieved.

No one cared about her leaving the hotel, the receptionist and everyone else was too busy concentrating on the news with what was going on in New York. But Kelly couldn’t bear to look at the TV, so she ran away, as fast as she possibly could out onto the streets of London.

-

Loki wiped out the second wave of so-called heroes with terrifying ease.

He had the biggest, most wicked grin on his face as he was surrounded by their bodies. The power was surging through him, adrenaline running high. It was the best feeling in the Universe. And he was loving every single second of it.

But this was only the beginning.

Before getting the whole of New York to bow to him, he had something else he needed to deal with first.

Kelly Hill.

He teleported to the hotel room in London where he had placed her. When he arrived in the room, he was displeased to see the bed had not even been sat on. He marched over to the bathroom and flung the door wide open, but she wasn’t there.

Roaring in anger, he stormed out of the room and flung every single door wide open as he passed, shouting her name as he walked down the corridor, causing other poor residents to scream and cower in their rooms in fear. Relief flooding them when he walked on by.

Everyone in the world knew of what he’d done in New York to the Avengers. It was all over the news and in special alerts to everyone’s smartphones.

The receptionist downstairs almost fainted in fear when Loki, enraged, approached her.

‘Room 504. Where is she?’ He snarled at her.

‘I… I… I don’t know… There… was no one… in that room… it’s empty.’ The woman blurted out quickly, shaking from head to toe.

Loki’s nose scrunched up and the vein in his neck was close to bursting as he angrily yelled out and his telekinesis exploded, causing glass to shatter and furniture to fly everywhere. Injuring a few mortals, not that he really cared as he stormed out of the hotel.

He glared up and down the road, but there was no sign of Kelly at all.

[raindrops-and-tubestops]

Random prompts - KyaLin: 14.  “Okay, so maybe I didn’t see that coming.”

Here you go Nonnie, I hope you enjoy! 💕

“Where is she?” Kya wasn’t wasting time.

The words were out of her mouth as soon as she ducked around the corner of the building. She crouched in front of the younger detective, waiting patiently for his his answer. She could feel the adrenaline pumping through her veins.

Mako looked up in surprise, trying to find a frequency but getting only static from the radio on his hip. He had been pinned down at this corner for the better part of fifteen minutes.

How in the hell had Kya managed to get through?

As if wanting to answer his question, the Master Healer leant around the wall drawing water from the pouch at her hip. With a flick of her hands, that was probably more complicated than he was able to see, she sent a torrent of water out into the skirmish. He grinned as he heard screams and what sounded like bodies thudding against the stone of the street.

Looking back at him, she winked conspiratorially.

“Mako, honey,” she tried again, her voice softer, “where is she?”

He didn’t have to question who she was talking about. He could see the worry behind the blue eyes, all though anyone else only would have seen the determination. Kya needed to get to the Chief, Mako had a bad feeling about all this.

This whole debacle started twenty minutes before the end of shift. A call came over the emergency radio at the precinct that there was an attack on the new clinic just west of the new spirit portal. The Triads were trying to make a statement to the Chief of Police as well as the rest of the city.

They were able to establish a blockade before the fighting reached the inside of the clinic. The doors, front and back were barricaded. The patients and healers inside were safe, some were out here on the front lines working to heal the fallen officers, Kya included.

Mako swallowed, his throat dry and sticky, “The last I saw her, she was swinging on her cables in that direction.”

Kya followed his finger as it pointed across the street, landing on the roof tops of the alley way directly across from them. He watched her run through some things in her mind, maybe calculating the risks of crossing through the battle raging in the street.

As they peeked around the corner, it was clear there were no signs of either side stopping. There was fire flying through the air only to be intercepted by water from an unknown source, pieces of the street and the buildings rippled as they were manipulated by earthbenders from both sides.

Metal from nearby stalls and storefronts groaned as it was manipulated by officers, quickly shaping into flat sheets, encasing the wounded or protecting those volleying off counter attacks.

If she hadn’t been looking for it, she would have missed the shink of cables being released from their casing and subsequently Lin swinging across the street. She came to rest on the side of the clinic, one hand wrapped around the cables imbedded in the wall and the other gripping the hand hold she created on the brick.

Kya had a momentary flashback of when they were younger and Lin used to grip the walls of the Air Temple Island dormitories in the same manner…it never failed to freak her mother out. She chuckled quietly to herself, feeling the exact moment that Mako spied the Chief as well. The metalbender seemed to be looking for something, she was scanning the foray, clearly thinking she was up high enough to not be noticed.

But someone had noticed her…someone was silently curling a water tendril along the wall, not quite touching the stone. She wouldn’t be able to feel it.

Before Kya could call out, she watched as the tendril wrapped around Lin’s ankle, the look of shock on her face would have been comical in any other circumstance. The Chief was ripped from the side of the wall, disappearing from view behind a large pile of wreckage, her cables hanging lifeless, still attached to the wall.

The next thing Mako knew Kya was running, and then he was too, trying desperately to keep up with her impressive pace. He guessed it was the adrenaline and worry that made her so reckless, but at least he was there. The waterbender was able to doge most of the attacks flung her way as she rushed towards where the Chief was last seen, but Mako did fling the occasional blast of fire, he had to make sure she stayed safe at least.

Kya rounded the side of the wreckage where they had seen Lin disappear, tripping and landing in the water spread across the ground. She managed to keep her footing and pushed off the ground with the palm of her hands. She stopped short and if he hadn’t been paying attention, Mako would have slammed into the back of her.

The Chief was on the ground, lying extremely still..too still, the only thing that kept Kya from dropping to her knees was that she could see her chest rising and falling. Slowly, but it was a win nonetheless. Next to her, with a metal spike sticking out of their chest, was the waterbender Kya assumed had ambushed Lin. They weren’t moving, not even their chest.

Mako gripped her shoulder and brought her back to herself, the surroundings coming back into focus. They sprinted the rest of the way, Kya dropping to her knees next to Lin, barely registering the sting of her battered skin or the sound of Mako dragging the body away from them.

She pulled water from the flask at her hip and began to assess the younger woman’s injuries. A dislocated shoulder, a bruise on her right cheek discoloring the skin around her scars, a possible concussion…not sure how bad that was and two cracked ribs. She would be ok.

“Thank the spirits,” Kya mumbled, hanging her head in relief,

Mako was now crouched beside her, the blue glow of the healing water casting shows on all their faces. He would scan the surrounding area and then return his gaze to Kya and the Chief every so often.

Kya released the catches of Lin’s uniform, knowing just how unamused her wife was going to be when she regained consciousness and found herself in just her uniform pants and under tank. Kya stifled the absurd laugh that bubbled up, practically choking on it.

As the water was concentrated on her left side, the ribs, Kya could feel the awareness returning to her partner, her heartbeat picking up slightly. That was all the warning she got before Lin sat up, her forehead barely missing Kya’s.

“Whoa,” Kya intoned softly, Mako behind Lin instantly, offering her support, “take it easy Chief.”

Lin winced and moved to grab her head, her shoulder and ribs protesting violently.

“What the hell happened,” she groaned.

Kya was now focused on Lin’s head, trying to relive the pressure that was causing her partner to be slightly nauseous. The healer glared at the metalbender, Mako cowered in sympathy.

“Lin, what was Aunt Suki’s main rule in combat?”

The Chief looked at Kya in confusion, whether from the change in topic or from the head injury, Mako wasn’t sure.

The glare deepened, “What was it Lin?”

The anger in Kya’s voice immediately snapped the metalbender out of her daze. They connected eyes, snapping blue to sheepish green, and Lin was reminded of all the times she had seen those eyes. Most notably when they were caught sneaking back onto the island as children and when she did something particularly stupid. Kya may have taken after Uncle Aang in the Air Nomad sense, but her temper was all Aunt Katara.

“Keep track of your surroundings,” Lin sighed as the pressure in her head finally lifted.

“Yes Lin,” Kya continued, voice hard as she moved to the shoulder, “and what didn’t you do?”

Lin followed the movements and relented, “Keep track of my surroundings.”

Mako stifled a chuckled at the clearly admonished Chief…they needed to bring in Master Kya more often he thought.

Kya huffed, “Exactly, now this is going to hurt.”

As soon as she gave the warning Lin grit her teeth, sucking in a breath as Kya quickly reset the joint. The pop making Lin sick to her stomach, the searing pain keeping her from losing it completely. The ache was soon replaced by the cool feel of the healing water, a relief that Lin didn’t know she needed.

“I had the situation under control,” she bit out.

Kya went still, eyebrow raised in a challenge, and Lin had the good sense to back down slightly.

“Before or after that waterbender plucked you off the side of the building like a ripe moon peach?”

The Chief’s cheeks colored slightly, as she looked down at her lap. She started when she realized she was no longer wearing her uniform. The glare directed towards Kya was one for the books, she was not pleased.

Kya huffed indignantly, she could really give a shit right now.

Lin leant forward, taking some of her weight off Mako as the detective went to stand. She nodded towards the boy, a quiet thanks that he returned as he settled into a cautious stance.

“Okay, so maybe I didn’t see that coming,” Lin relented.

Kya didn’t respond, just kept to her task, working to heal her wife. She was furious…and scared, Lin could sense the residual adrenaline in Kya’s system.

She inclined her head, trying to catch her wife’s eyes as she worked on the shoulder joint. When Kya finally gave in and looked up, Lin could see the sheen of tears just along the water line of her lashes. She cursed herself.

Lin leant forward and cupped the back of Kya’s head, their foreheads connecting, the air between them charged with emotion. She could feel Kya shaking, everything in the last hour finally catching up with her.

“I’m ok,” she reassured the healer, her voice gentle, “I’m sorry and I’m ok.”

Their lips met tentatively, soft at first but slowly growing desperate. The need to feel, to know that each other was alright, winning out over decorum. Mako turned slightly, giving them as much privacy as their situation could allow.

New Prompt List 💜

PS: the prompts can be original too 😊