#his sergeants are gonna burst in any minute now worried out of their heads and he's gonna be rushed in a medbay

[natelia-aldelliz]

Price : ... Nik?

Nik : No.

Price : Listen, if... if I don't...

Nik : Don't even. Evac is gonna be any minute now. You'll tell me later.

Price : ...ok. But you'll have to tell me what "zolawtsye" means.

Nik : *snorts*

Price : Oi, don't laugh at my accent, I'm literally dying.

Nik : You'll be fine, I'm here, I'll keep you alive.

(google told me it means 'golden one' or 'precious' btw)

[skinnyazn]

Lick Your Wounds

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Reader (Jaguar) Chapters: 2/3 Notes: Thank you to @solidly-indulgent for inspiring the fic with their request of Jag getting injured and Ghost being sad feral, I'm cranking out these chapters, also idk why this needed to be a chapter but we had to put Ghostie through some more ~t r a u m a~, smut next chapter,

Part One | Part Three | AO3 | MASTERLIST

Simon watched everything happen with wide eyes behind his mask. He watched as the man with the rocket launcher’s brains exited his skull, watched as the death of his cranial neurons caused his finger to twitch against the trigger—one last desperate grip at life. And he watched in absolute horror as the missile made contact with the wall you were firing from. Screamed your name as the wall caved in a plume of smoke and chaos. Shook Soap’s hand off of his shoulder when he tried to pull him into cover. 

It’s happened once before, these feelings. A long time ago when he saw the corpses of his family littered about the floor. His nephew looked undisturbed, as if he was just sleeping. His mother, face down. Every sequential death he witnessed or caused left him feeling nothing. He’d steeled all his emotions away, turning himself into an empty vessel: a ghost. Waking in the middle of the night drenched in sweat—to horrors replaying and a voiceless scream on his lips and a constant numbness. But here he was, all these years later. Feeling. Guess you brought out the worst in him. You reminded him he was human after all.

Soap yanked him hard into cover as a bullet whizzed by his head. 

“L.T.!” the Scot shouted. “L.T. focus! We can’t worry about her right now.” He fired his assault rifle at an approaching target. 

Can’t worry about her. It echoed in his head. Reverberated off every part of his skull. In spite of the oppressive heat, Simon felt hypothermic—like he was frozen in Russia instead of this Mexican jungle. But he sucked in a deep breath and snapped back into The Ghost because that was all he knew how to do. He stabbed the enemy next to him in the neck; a spray of blood gushed across his mask as he removed his bowie knife. 

The pair advanced in unison. Soap set up the charges against the metal door to the target room while Ghost provided cover.

“Clear out!” Soap shouted. Simon shifted two steps to his left. 

The explosion was small but impactful as it burst the doors open. Soap ducked inside, clearing out any remaining enemies while Ghost surveyed the grounds of the compound, looking for any stragglers. He fired his rifle into a few more bodies before following Soap.

“Fuck,” Soap breathed. 

The inside was filled with caches of equipment. Computers, hard drives, munitions. It was what all of you had come for and then some. All the evidence that the Buluc Chabtan were smuggling for the Cartel.

“It’s gonna take ages to sort through this, L.T..”

Simon’s mind was still reeling—fighting the bile that was threatening to come up. He tamped it down.

“Fifteen minutes, Sergeant. That’s all the time we get if reinforcements come.” He looked at his watch and then at Soap with something of a plea in his eyes.

Johnny sighed. “Go. I’ll bag as much as I can.”

Ghost nodded, then threw his collapsable duffel on the floor and hurried out the door.

Back in the stifling heat, Ghost weaved between crates and trucks and corpses, making his way toward you as fast as he could while maintaining his guard. It was oddly quiet amidst the chaos—all the insects and birds silenced and only the radio playing. The compound appeared clear as he sprinted with his rifle in hand. His sweat drenched his camo fatigues, turning them a shade darker. Ahead, he finally saw the rubble and smoke from the rocket's destruction. He felt the bile come back but sucked in a deep breath instead and climbed inside the collapsed structure.

[wienerbarnes]

Italian Heart

Pairing: Bucky x Italian!MobBoss!Reader

Word Count: 4,867

Warnings: canon level violence, possible inaccurate italian slang lol

A/N: ive been watching a lot of the sopranos lately and i feel like ive never seen a bucky x mob boss reader au (ive only rlly seen em where buckys the mob boss. if there are ones where reader is the mob boss PLS SEND EM TO ME I BEG) a lot of the slang and mob stuff here is from sopranos bc... im not in the fucking mafia so forgive me anyway enjoy :)<3

MAIN MASTERLIST

Bucky’s never seen a woman quite like yourself.

Dressed in expensive satin and jewelry that hangs between your breasts, an angry look on your face at the fact you’re sitting before him and Sam in an interrogation room in the tower. Freshly done nails, clean and crisp lipstick, spicy perfume, and an expression of annoyance.

As put together as you look, you don’t look like someone to be fucked with. Which, he supposes is good for a mobster; the Boss of Newark.

Looking at you, though, he’d never thought you to be such a figure of intimidation. While the mafia is still alive, despite how the media tries to deny this, he always pictured an old Italian man that chain smokes cigars. He doesn’t think he’s too far off, to his credit; he can smell the remnants of smoke on you.

“Mind if we make this fast? My cousin’s comin’ for dinner and I was gonna make ziti.” You huff, crossing your legs under the table.

“Sounds delicious. Sorry for dragging you all the way out here.” Sam says, a calm look on his face even though he’s well aware of what you’re capable of.

When hunting down the last traces of the super soldier serum, he never thought Nick Fury himself would suggest getting in touch with you. He didn’t think it was worth the time to question how the two of you knew each other.

Theft. Drugs. Murder. Bribery. The list goes on, and there’s not a single thing that ties you to any of it.

A shrug of your shoulders, “So, what exactly is this about?” You ask.

“What is it that you do for a living?” Sam asks.

“I work in waste management.” You respond, a rehearsed answer.

Not exactly a lie, the environmental facility you manage is one of hundreds of covers used by your crew for your crimes. Environmental facilities, deli shops, strip clubs, auto shops. There isn’t a business in Jersey you aren’t tied to.

“Waste management? Like, garbage disposal?” Bucky asks, knowing exactly what it is you do for work.

You smirk, “Yeah, we dispose of garbage sometimes. What’s that got to do with me being here?”

“It’s to my understanding that you’re in the business of… buying and selling things. You and… the people you hang around got a real knack for it.” Sam tells you.

Bucky holds back a roll of his eyes. More like stealing and selling. Expensive Italian suits, antique watches, cars, electronics, illegal cigars. Who knows what else.

“I don’t know where you heard that… but I’m a popular gal, maybe I know a guy who might know a guy. What are you lookin’ for?” You ask.

You know this game, after being in the mob for so long. After being a part of your own crew for years, your patience and hard work paid off, working your way up to a captain and finally a boss. It didn’t take you long to learn in this business that government officials are jokes. Always wanting to bust my balls and then come crying to my corner for help, it’s a bunch of ugatz.

“Serums.” Bucky finally speaks.

A laugh escapes you, “What, like vitamin C?” You teasingly smirk at him.

His chair makes a loud sound in the small room as he pushes it back harshly and stands, resting his hands on the table in between the two of you. You don’t flinch.

“Enough with the bullshit. Super serums. To create super soldiers. We need to get them before they end up in the wrong hands and make a big ass mess.” He snaps at you, but you don’t seem phased in the slightest. In fact, you seem rather amused.

“You must have a lot of agita with all that anger, Sergeant Barnes.”

He doesn’t hold back this time and rolls his eyes before you speak up again, “Your first name is James, isn’t it? Ain’t that Italian?”

“No, it’s English. Or Scottish. Or Jewish - I don’t know, who cares? Are you gonna help us or not?” Bucky takes his seat again, crossing his thick arms over his broad chest.

“What’s in it for me?” You ask, leaning back in your chair.

“Not being arrested for all the shit we know you’re caught up in.” Sam offers.

You roll your own eyes this time, “I’ll take my chances. Thanks for wasting my time, boys, don’t let it happen again.” You stand, prepared to make your way back to the train station to go back to Jersey.

“Wait,” Sam stops you, “What is it that you want?”

You smile innocently and take your seat again, taking a minute to think before answering, “My little sister’s a big fan of yours. I’m sure she and all her friends would think it’s cool if you showed up to her prom as her date.” You wink at Sam.

Silence fills the room as the men think about your request.

“You’re gonna do it, right?” Bucky looks over at him and sees Sam rubbing the crease in between his eyes. He was expecting you to ask for immunity, protection, money, guns. But after hearing your request, he supposes you have enough of all that stuff anyway.

“Man -” Sam begins to refuse.

“Sam, it’s a fucking school dance in exchange for some of the most powerful and sought after serums on the planet - go to the fucking prom.” He tells him, eyebrows scrunching in confusion as to how he would hesitate on something so simple.

“She’s eighteen, so you won’t have any problems with the media or none of that.” You add, the information not really making Sam feel any better.

“Alright, alright, fine. I’ll go to the dance with your sister if you help us get these serums.”

You smile, happy to have done business with the two men, “What information do ya got for me?”

…

Bucky and Sam wait outside a back room in the facility you own. They passed the garbage trucks parked neatly outside, but could hear your screaming and the smell of Cuban cigars as soon as they entered the building.

She’s with a customer, they were told, by someone in your crew, them meeting Bucky’s expectations for mobsters more than you did. None of them ask any questions, but Bucky and Sam aren’t stupid, they’re sure your crew is aware of what’s going on and know the exact reason they’re there.

“You’re a fuckin’ asshole, you know that? The Bible says, Do nothing out of selfish ambition or vain conceit -”

“You listen to me, you take your Bible and your quotations book and shove it up your fat fucking ass! Now get the fuck out of my face!”

Bucky can’t help but scoff listening to you scream at whoever’s inside. Sam elbows him, silently telling him that now isn’t the time to find your work funny, especially not in front of the rest of your crew.

Bucky knows he’s old-fashioned, and while things that were taboo such as body modifications or certain fashion styles don’t phase him anymore, he doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to hearing a woman talk like that. He doesn’t think he’s ever even heard anybody talk like you do.

Suddenly a man bursts out of the room, huffing and puffing, and you walk slowly behind him, as if to make sure he makes it outside okay.

“Grab his plate for me, will you?” You say not to anyone in particular, voice smooth and calm as if you hadn’t been yelling and threatening that man’s life for the past twenty minutes.

One of the men from your crew follows outside, seemingly to collect the license plate of the man who just left.

“Nothing’s gonna happen to that guy, right?” Sam asks as he and Bucky enter the room, taking a seat in front of the desk you have in there. He knows there’s no point in asking, that you’ll do whatever you want regardless because it’s obvious you’re passionate about receiving respect, but it was worth a shot.

“Is that what you came all the way to Jersey to ask me? Christ, I’m fuckin’ starving, you boys want anything to eat?” You ask, accent heavy as you reach into the side drawer of your desk and pull out what seems to be some kind of meat wrapped in paper.

“Gabagool?” You offer to them, picking out a slice for yourself and placing it in your mouth.

“Gesundheit.” Sam responds.

“It’s pork, you asshole.”

Bucky silently reaches over and picks off a slice of the cured cold cut, putting the meat in his mouth and savoring the flavor. While he can’t stand the way you make a living or the sailor’s mouth you have, he loves Italian food, and actually chose a neighborhood in New York that has plenty of traditional cold cut markets and restaurants to live in in order to fulfill his cravings.

“There’s a big party staged downtown this weekend, we think that’s when the drop is going to happen.” Sam tells you, bringing the focus to their reason for coming here in the first place.

“I’ll send one of my boys.” You reply in between your chews.

“That wasn’t the deal. The deal was you get the serums.” Bucky speaks up.

“Buck, you know how many people want her dead?” Sam tries to reason.

“What the fuck do I have a crew for then? - No, if pretty boy wants me to do it myself, then I will. The same people that want my head are the same fucks who are terrified to be within twenty feet of me in fear they’ll make eye contact. I’m not scared of nothin’.” You say, narrowing your eyes at Bucky.

“What did you guys come here to talk about?” You ask.

Sam looks confused at your expression, “...To go over the plan? Hash out details? So you know how everything’s gonna go?”

“I’ll be fine; I’ve seen The Godfather once or twice,” You tell him, wrapping up the cappo, after Bucky picks off one last slice, and replacing it in the drawer, “Don’t worry Captain, this ain’t my first rodeo. I’ll get the serums for you.” You open a different drawer and pull out a cigar and a lighter.

Bucky watches as you place the large cigar in between your red-painted lips, bringing the flame of your lighter to the end and hollowing your cheeks until smoke exits from the corner of your mouth. Bucky feels blood travel south as his eyes glaze over your hand grab the cigar out of your mouth and blow out a long string of smoke.

“I guess we’ll be in touch then,” Sam stands and Bucky follows after.

“My sister’s wearing blue, so find yourself a nice tie.” You call out, lifting your feet up to cross them on the desk, dress rising and showing your legs.

Bucky blushes, and then laughs as he exits when he hears you, in a deep and more exaggerated accent than your own, “Just when I thought I was out… they pull me back in!”

…

The morning of the party, Sam and Bucky pick you up from your house, planning to take you into New York to discuss final details before tonight.

You get in the passenger seat, Sam offering it to you and climbing in the backseat. As Bucky begins to drive off, your phone rings.

“I told you to leave that.” Bucky says, telling you explicitly to leave electronics here to prevent anyone finding out where you are, and also to avoid any distractions.

“Wanted to see what you’d about it, Sarge,” You wink at him, pulling out a flip phone and answering the call.

“Yeah… Uh huh… He what? Are you fucking kidding me?... Alright… Tell him not to move a fucking muscle.” You hang up, slamming the phone closed.

“Stop at the facility for a sec, I gotta take care of something.” Bucky sighs and turns away from the route to head to your facility.

“Bucky’s going to be going with you tonight, by the way, he’ll be in disguise. Just in case anything goes wrong.” Sam tells you, not really caring anymore about having to make a stop for you to take care of whatever business you need to take care of.

Your only response is a hum as Bucky can feel the anger radiating off your now tense body.

You slam the car door shut as Bucky parks behind a garbage truck outside, not even waiting for him to fully put the car in park before you exit.

Him and Sam follow quickly behind you to see what’s going on. You enter through a side door that leads to a large room, a garage for the trucks, Bucky assumes.

There’s a large truck inside, and racks of suits wrapped in plastic scattered around. A younger man stands near the truck as your crew peruses around the racks, he couldn’t be older than twenty-five years old. Your heels click on the ground as you approach, slowing down as you glance between the suits and the young man. Bucky and Sam hang around a few feet behind your trail.

You stop, fuming, staring at the man before you speak, “You wanna tell me what the fuck happened?”

“I -” He begins, but you cut him off, raising an open hand at him.

“Actually, I don’t even want to hear your fucking voice right now. Because if what I heard you did is true; if what you did to Vinny’s guy is true, you’re gonna be a fuck load of trouble.”

“Can I -”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“But -”

“I said shut the fuck up, Christopher! What part of that don’t you understand?” You yell, and even Bucky feels intimidated.

You turn to your crew, “What the fuck happened.�� You demand, more than ask.

“Kid says he tried to take the truck, Vinny’s guy had a gun that fell outta the seat, went off, shot him.” One of the men summarizes, not looking up from the rack of suits.

You raise a manicured hand to pinch between your eyes, “You keep me skinny, Christopher, with all the fucking stress you cause me.”

“Would you let me explain?” He tries.

“If you don’t do as I told you and shut your fucking mouth, you’re gonna be buried with two assholes,” You threaten before continuing.

“They were fuckin’ suits! All you had to do was take the truck! How did you fuck that up -” You stop yourself and sigh, attempting to calm yourself down.

“Here’s what’s gonna happen. You’re gonna take all this shit, you’re gonna take it back to Vinny, and you’re gonna tell him what happened yourself.” You finish.

“Marone!” He exclaims, rubbing his face with his hands.

“Enough with the theatrics! You’re lucky I don’t put a bullet in your ass! Now, I don’t see you grabbing that rack and that rack and that rack and putting it back in the truck!” You wave your arms around the room.

The kid sighs and begins grabbing the racks one by one and rolling them back in the truck.

“Would it be such a shame if they all went back?” An older man from your crew asks, already wearing one of the expensive suits. You scoff and laugh.

“Bucky, pick yourself somethin’ nice for tonight,'' You turn to face him, and he jumps at the sound of your now calmer voice being directed at him, as opposed to the harsh one used on Christopher, “On me.” You wink.

...

Sam and Bucky sit on the bed and watch as you get ready. A small apartment near the party that’s already been swept for bugs. A favor, you called it, from someone you know.

They don’t question it.

“You and Bucky will go in together and I’ll be waiting at a secondary location watching and listening to everything.”

Bucky can’t tear his eyes away from your dress. A mermaid dress, he thinks it is, black and tight and hugging you in all the right places, curving around your ass and sleeveless at the top, allowing you to show off a nice necklace and your cleavage. It’s an understatement to say that he’ll enjoy accompanying you tonight, even if it’s in a costume.

His mother probably would’ve loved it if he would’ve gotten with someone like you. Someone who loves their family, a spitfire that wouldn’t take any of his shit, and whose god damn gorgeous. She might’ve had to wash your mouth out with soap, though.

“So, why is Bucky goin’ again?”

“Safety.” Bucky answers.

“Is he going for my safety or am I going for his?” You tease, finishing the last few curls of your hair, smoke coming from the iron after each time you pull your hair away from it.

“Once you find our guy, get talking with him and see if you can get him to make you an offer,” He begins.

“One I can’t refuse?”

“Then, you’ll try and get him alone, see if he’ll show you the serums, and once you do, we’ll be taking care of the rest.” Sam finishes explaining.

Bucky plucks a box from his pocket and opens it to reveal a pair of diamond earrings. One, a camera, and the other, a microphone. You’re also given a comm to hide in your ear so both him and Sam can hear everything and you can hear them.

“Easy - peasy.” You respond.

The ballroom is lively, loud music and people everywhere, and Bucky attunes all the action overwhelming him to a sweat and not that fact that you’re pressed up against him, his arm wrapped around your waist.

About a hundred different people come up to greet you, asking about your family, offering you drinks and food. Bucky can see right through all of them though; they’re all putting on the act out of fear. Everyone’s attention is on you, and Bucky’s sure if he wasn’t in disguise right now, no one would even notice.

You bring him to the middle of the crowd and he can’t be surprised when you start to dance with him, pulling at his arms to get him to loosen up. He complies, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you close as the two of you move together.

“I’ll let you know when I spot him.” He tells you, voice causing goosebumps to rise on your neck; goosebumps that he notices but doesn’t point out.

It only takes a song or two before he spots who he’s looking for and sends you over, making sure your com is on, and choosing to stick by the bar, giving him a good view of you and allowing himself a break of having your body pressed against his.

He’s impressed listening to you talk to this guy, voice smooth and sultry, yet still commanding.

He knows there was a lot of talk when you took position as boss; not a lot of people in the mob took you seriously and didn’t think you or a woman in general would be good in that kind of position in power. So, you use that to your advantage to get shit done, and Bucky applauds you for that.

It’s not long before the guy offers to go somewhere more private to discuss business and Bucky follows far behind, Sam praising you through the coms from where he waits in the car outside, watching through the camera in your earring.

Bucky waits outside of a closed office door upstairs, listening to the conversation through the coms but hearing your exclamation through the door when the guys give you his asking price.

“5 mil each?! What do you take me for, some kinda stunad?”

“Take it or leave it.”

“Take it or leave it, yeah, I can put a bullet between your eyes and take it, alright.”

“Stop messing around and take the offer, it’s not real anyway!” Sam tells you, not wanting to lose their chance on the serums.

You ignore him prioritizing your need for respect over the stupid mission, “How do I know these aren’t Kool-Aid pouches poured in glass bottles?”

“Well, I’m certainly not going to test ‘em out for you.” The guy scoffs.

“Stronzo. You’re outta your fucking mind offering me that.”

“I’ll lower the price for you if you give me a little dance, how ‘bout that?”

“Vaffanculo.” You curse at him.

“Up yours, lady!” He yells back, and Sam sees through the camera, he grabs at you.

“Buck, get in there.” Sam tells him, and it only takes Bucky a second to kick open the door.

He’s a bit taken aback when he not only sees the case of serums out on the table, but you holding the man bent over the small table in the middle of the room next to the serums, gun held to the back of his head.

He very quickly decides that you’re fine and moves to grab the serums, closing the case and holding it securely in his left hand.

“Don’t kill the guy.”

You stay silent and Bucky looks at you again. He can almost see the steam coming out of your ears and he notices a small cut on your cheek bone. He looks down to the man’s cowering figure and notices a large ring on his hand.

You mumble something in Italian to the man, a threat of some kind that Bucky can guess given how the man shuts his eyes and shakes a bit under your hold. Sam finally enters the room, military grade handcuffs in hand.

“Feds are on their way, get her out of here.” He tells Bucky.

You slowly lift the gun off the man’s head and stand up straighter, walking over to brush past Bucky in the direction of the back door.

He makes eye contact with Sam and gives him a nod before following after you, watching as you scrunch up the bottom of your dress to replace the gun in an ankle holster. Once outside, he stops you under a street light near the car and raises his hand to look at your cheek.

“We gotta get going,” You swat at his hand.

“You’re still bleeding.” He says, using his thumb to brush away the line of blood, smearing a red tinge on your skin.

He looks into your eyes and for a second he sees the tough exterior drop. The face of someone who got smacked across the cheek all for mouthing off at some asshole.

Your vulnerability doesn’t last long, though, as you sniff and walk towards the car, opening the passenger door and sitting inside before Bucky can make it over there to open the door for you.

The drive back to the apartment is silent, and Bucky doesn’t know what to do or say to fill the silence. Stepping into the apartment, you immediately go to change and collect your things. Bucky moves to the bathroom to look for a first aid kit of some kind.

He meets you in the room and you’re now in cotton pants and a large t-shirt, sandals on your feet showing the bright red color of your toenails and the lines indented in your skin from how tight your heels were. You’re hanging up the dress and zipping it back in the cover when Bucky drops the first aid kit on the bed.

“Christ, it’s only a small cut.” You mumble.

“Just - Let me, would you?”

He takes out the liquid of disinfectant and soaks a cotton pad, cleaning off your cheek bone with it before covering it with healing ointment and a bandaid.

You don’t thank him when he finishes and he huffs as he closes the kit, “When do you drop the act, huh?”

“I don’t.”

“Really?” Bucky asks in annoyed disbelief.

“No. People tend to try and have me whacked when I drop the act.”

He sighs, “So, what, nobody ever takes care of you? Treats you? You don’t have any days off? Time to be yourself?”

“This lifestyle doesn’t really allow me to have days off, Sergeant Barnes.” You snap, gathering the dress in your hands and turning to face him completely.

“Take me home, I’m tired and my feet hurt.”

You leave him in the room and he waits an extra few seconds before dropping the conversation and following you out.

...

Bucky opens the back door to the environmental facility with his right hand and sees the door to your office open, you and your crew sitting together surrounded by cigar smoke and he can hear a TV on.

“Sir, please step into the vehicle.”

“Like the cop would be callin’ this asshole Sir if the fuckin’ cameras weren’t around!” You wave a hand at the TV, not yet seeing Bucky standing there.

He finds it funny that the gnarliest criminals - the literal Mafia - spend their time watching shitty, scripted cop shows.

It’s been about two weeks since the mission with you where you retrieved the serums. Sam went to prom with your sister five days ago, which was hilarious for him, especially when he got photo prints of different sizes in the mail at his apartment. He didn’t bother thinking about how you found his address.

One of the men sitting next to you glances his way and sees him standing there, smirking at the vision of him; hair combed slightly back and to the side, and a large bouquet of flowers in his right hand and a small paper box in his left.

“You got company, Boss.” He says.

You look over to the doorway and your jaw drops in an open-mouthed smile.

“Look at googootz! Now this is a man that knows how to treat a lady, are you boys paying attention?” You tease, scurrying over to him and pinching one of his cheeks, resting your free hand on his large bicep to guide him into the room, the rest of your crew ushering out to give the two of you privacy.

“What’s in the box?”

“Cannoli.”

You throw your head back with an exaggerated moan, “You know the way to an Italian woman’s heart, Sergeant Barnes. What’s with all the gifts?”

“Thought I’d treat you.” Is all his response is.

You narrow your eyes at him and stand up a little straighter, crossing your arms over your chest.

The last conversation before he dropped you off that night hasn’t escaped his mind. He understands the difficulties of life - how it’s hard to find time for yourself among the busy schedule that is existing. He catches himself sometimes, too, forcing his body to run with no sleep, burning through all of his energy until he’s completely drained and blaming it on life.

But life’s not always like that. Life allows for days off. For treats. For a bit of kindness. And Bucky’s come to show you just that.

“What, a beautiful woman like you never received flowers and pastries before?” He says, taking a half-step forward to be close enough to look you closer in the eyes.

“Are you flirting with me?” You whisper in amusement.

His eyes glance away from yours to look down at your red-painted lips. He gives you a shy smirk, really turning up the charm. For a big, bad, boss, you’re pretty easy to break down.

“Let me take you out tonight.”

“Maybe I’ve got plans.”

“Cancel ‘em.”

“What makes you think you’re worth canceling plans for?”

“Why don’t you trust me and find out?”

“You should know by now, Sergeant Barnes, that I don’t trust.”

He doesn’t respond for a moment, setting the box of cannoli on your desk before reaching his now free hand up to your face, using his finger to brush away a stray hair and push it behind your ear.

He then takes a hold of one of your hands, turning it over to place a kiss on the top of it, before wrapping your fingers around the flowers in his other hand, forcing you to take them.

“No restaurant you’ve been to a hundred times over, no drama, no business. Just a man trying to treat a lady.” You look down at the flowers before meeting his eyes again.

“I get to pick the place.”

“No.”

“The kind of food.”

“No.”

“The -”

“No. Let me take care of everything.” Bucky insists, determined to get you to give up control for the first time in what he can only imagine has been a very long time.

Bucky knows better than anyone how terrifying it is to give up control. It was terrifying when he was forced to give up control, his free will taken away from him in the war for decades upon decades, but it’s terrifying even now when he has to do it as a free man. It makes a person vulnerable. When was the last time you were allowed to be vulnerable for somebody?

“I’m gonna pick you up here at six. Wear something nice and leave the executive attitude at home.” He finishes, leaving you with the flowers and cannoli before returning back outside, ignoring the stares he receives from you crew who wait patiently outside your office.

He feels your eyes follow him at the door, and he can’t wait to sweep you off your feet tonight.

[wanderinginksplot]

If you're still taking requests, can I request either Echo or Tech with hurtReader + fluff? 👀

(your writing is amazing and it melts my heart sndnfjdjdb)

Hi, friend! Thank you for the compliment - you're so sweet! I went a little lighter on the fluff than I meant to, but this is what I ended up with. Thanks for the request! Enjoy!

Tech + Injured Reader + (Minor) Fluff

*WARNING: Slight mention of gore. Nothing graphic, but a head's up.*

Watching the Havoc Marauder touch down was a ritual you followed every time the Bad Batch went anywhere without you on board. Tech liked to believe he was an excellent pilot, but you were of the opinion that flying took more than encyclopedic knowledge of a ship’s internal systems. It took instinct, a feel for the ship’s personality, and a good bit of luck to fly in a war zone.

Tech disagreed vehemently, but you had been assigned to them for a reason. Even if he had found your belief in luck - okay, slight obsession with luck - to be ridiculous, Tech admitted that you were an excellent pilot. It hadn’t been enough for you to accompany them on their mission, but it was something.

The real problem was that the members of the Bad Batch were insanely protective of anything or anyone they saw as ‘theirs’. Privately, you thought it was because they hadn’t had any personal belongings on Kamino. And they definitely hadn't had friends outside of their group. Unfortunately for you, you were also considered ‘theirs’ now and the Batch could be… restrictive when they felt you could be in danger. And since you were assigned to help them fight a literal war, you were always in danger and they were always protective. Especially Tech. You had been dating in secret for a few weeks now - too short a time for anything serious, but Tech let you take absolutely zero chances.

“Sir, we need to get you inside,” one of the troopers on deck told you, his light touch to your arm pulling your attention away from scanning the star-littered space above the hangar bay. The trooper's regulation armor looked oddly plain to you, even with the medic's symbol and the touches of gray that told you he was a member of the Wolfpack.

“I’m sorry, what was your name again?” you asked, partially to stall and partially because your luck senses were tingling.

“That isn’t important right-”

“Please?” you asked again. It was another quirk of luck. If a trooper touched you, you needed to know their name or they ended up dying. Statistically, you knew that probably wasn’t true, but who really wanted to mess around with fate if they didn’t have to?

The trooper blew out a sigh that crackled his annoyance through the speakers of his helmet. “Curl, sir. We really should be-”

“I’m sorry, Curl,” you apologized, interrupting the poor medic again. “I got separated from my team and I need to see that they’re back okay before I can leave. Does that make sense?”

“What team isn’t back yet?” Curl asked, seeming concerned. “I thought Commander Wolffe said that everyone had checked back in?”

“I’m with the Ba- with Clone Force 99,” you told him, changing your explanation to use the group’s official name at the last minute. Professionalism never hurt anyone.

“You’re with the Bad Batch?” Curl asked, sounding impressed despite himself. Without waiting for an answer, he gave a curt nod and lifted his wrist toward the speakers of his helmet. “Sergeant Sinker, Medic Curl.”

“Sinker here,” a voice answered immediately.

“Do we have an ETA on Clone Force Nine-Nine?”

“Hold.”

“Copy.” Curl glanced at you and you nodded to show that you were following the conversation.

“Curl, bridge says they’re inbound, expected to hit the hangar in about a minute.”

“Copy,” Curl said again. “Thanks, Sarge.”

“I’d stand clear,” Sergeant Sinker warned. “The good pilot isn’t on.”

“Are you the good pilot?” Curl asked you. You swore you could hear a smile in his voice.

You smiled back and nodded. “That would be me.”

“Understood, I’ve got the good pilot with me,” Curl replied over his comlink. “We’re gonna spectate, make sure they don’t scratch the paint job.”

“There’s no reason to worry,” Sinker said consolingly. “The GAR stopped springing for paint two months ago. There’ll be none left on that ship.”

Curl laughed aloud at that, shaking his head.

“Cut the chatter,” a harsh voice reprimanded. “This is an official channel. Save your jokes for the clubs on the Triple Zero, Sergeant.”

“Yes sir, Commander,” Sinker agreed chipperly.

The Solidarity’s deck shuddered as the hyperdrive activated, ready to take off as soon as the Havoc Marauder landed, and you stumbled with the movement. Curl caught you - his grip uncomfortable given the harsh plastoid planes of his armor - and shook his head.

“We really need to get you inside, sir,” Curl said again, sounding reluctant but concerned. “You have an appointment in the medbay with me, and I’ll be very offended if you’re late.”

You were about to point out that he would be late, too, when the Marauder zoomed up and around the Solidarity, clearly following a path to land.

“Wait, they’re right there,” you protested. “Give ‘em ten seconds to land and a bit longer for me to gloat, then I’ll gladly go to the medbay.” Curl hesitated and you pressed your advantage. “I’ll be a model patient, Curl. No arguments, no debates, no complaining.”

“I never believe anyone when they say that,” Curl said dryly, “but I guess you’ll survive without treatment for a little while longer.”

“Thanks, Curl!” your enthusiasm was a little… off… but you blamed it on the pain you were finally beginning to feel.

Tech was flying, you knew that beyond a doubt. Not only was he the only person allowed to fly, but the landing performed by the small cruiser was proof that the wickedly intelligent trooper was behind the controls.

As soon as they had landed, Wrecker burst out of the side door. “Ha! Told ya we would make it back in one piece.”

“More luck than skill, that,” Crosshair countered sourly, slouching from the door as well with Hunter behind him.

“As I said multiple times, everything was under control,” Tech disagreed. He caught sight of you and started in your direction, eyes taking in the way Curl’s gloved hand was still gripping your bicep.

“There, you saw ‘em,” Curl muttered to you. “We really need to go now.”

“I beg your pardon, but where exactly are you trying to go?” Tech asked sharply, glancing between the two of you.

“Medbay,” Curl replied, slipping into the vocal brevity of a career soldier. “Your pilot was injured, but wouldn’t accept treatment until you had touched down.”

“Luck, you know,” you told Tech, who was already scanning your form with his goggled gaze. You smirked at him and shrugged off Curl, who seemed ready to tow you to the medbay himself. “Also, statistical likelihood be karked! I stayed in the ‘safest possible place’ like you told me and I’m the only one who ended up injured! You should listen to me from now on.”

“What?!”

“Injured?”

"How? Where?"

The rest of the Bad Batch had surrounded you and Curl in a moment, all asking different variations of the same question. Hunter’s voice cut through them all. “Trooper, why is she not in the medbay?”

Curl held up his hands as if despairing of the entire situation. “Sorry, Sergeant. Your pilot refused to leave until we saw your ship land. It would be a big help to me if you would just issue an order to report to the medbay so I can start treating the injuries.”

For all that he liked to take a laid-back approach to non-combat leadership, Hunter took the safety of his team seriously and you knew he was about to do as Curl had suggested.

“It’s not even that bad an injury,” you argued before Hunter could speak. “I just got hit with some debris."

You tugged up the rough, canvas-like material of the uniform pants you wore while you weren’t actively flying and showed them your lower leg. You were busy looking at the faces of the Batch rather than the injury, but you knew something was wrong when Tech swore. Tech never swore.

With a frown, you glanced down at your leg. Your mind refused to make too much sense of things, but you saw smears of crimson and a pale flash of something before the dizziness returned worse than ever.

Fortunately, Curl caught you before you could actually fall and Wrecker scooped you up a moment later. He was already muttering soothing nonsense as he lifted you, and it was almost enough to keep you from noticing the pain. “All right, here we are. Everything is fine. Just don’t puke on me.”

“Medbay,” Hunter ordered severely. “Now .”

“Yes, sir,” you agreed, your voice more weak than you liked.

“Finally,” Curl muttered.

“Tech, go with them,” you heard Hunter say from a rapidly growing distance.

There was a sound of jogging steps, but when you tried to look for Tech’s familiar face, the Solidarity leapt into hyperspace and you felt like you might actually pass out.

“What will treatment consist of?” Tech asked. He was trying to mask his worry by being professional, but you could hear a hint of it in his voice.

“Some stitches, probably an antibiotic shot since the debris was metallic, and a check of the nerves in the area of injury,” Curl answered easily. The lack of concern from the medic was comforting in a strange sort of way.

The silence hung for a few moments, interrupted only by the sound of everyone’s footsteps. Eventually, Tech admitted, “I should have been able to calculate the risks more closely. This never should have happened.”

“Aw, how were you supposed to know?” Wrecker asked loudly.

“That’s right,” Curl agreed. “This is war. Unexpected variables are the norm and there are no safe spots. My only advice is to take all of your people with you. After all, your pilot accepted the assignment to be part of your team. Trying to keep people out of the action never works. Take the lesson, learn from it, and make adjustments in the future. You don’t need to do anything more than that.”

“He’s right,” you agreed, the sentiment muffled against Wrecker’s broad chestplate. “Let me do my job and trust that I’ll do everything I can to keep us all out of danger.”

You blindly stuck your hand out behind Wrecker’s back, searching until you connected with Tech’s familiar fingers. His grip was hesitant but steady, and you gave his hand a squeeze of reassurance.

“It’s probably true,” Curl said, apparently backing you up. “Pain is like a truth serum. And with that gash… it’s probably the truth. Even if you did lie about being a perfect patient.”

You chuckled at that, despite the discomfort from your injury, and relaxed a bit as you felt Tech press a kiss to the back of your hand.

---

A/N - This chapter could realistically be called 'Ink will do anything to avoid using the y/n designation'. For those who are unfamiliar, Curl is my OC medic for the Wolfpack and you can read more featuring him in Just for Kix on my masterlist. As always, I'm still taking requests! Thanks again, Anon, for this idea and I'm sorry again about skimping on the fluff! If you want me to rewrite or expand on it, please feel free to let me know.

[curvynerdfan]

Never let me go

Happy x Reader

Requested by @isitmine I hope you like it hun! I’m sorry it took such a long time for me to complete! I added a lot more length to make up for it! School and work has been crazy but it was a lot of fun to write this and be creative!

Honorable tags: @justahopelessssromantic and @princessofthalia

Warnings: being hurt by a prospect, cursing, violent Happy, murder, a bit of gore

“Hey, didn’t Jax want y’all to meet up with Gemma? I thought she was getting her new furniture shipped in today.” Y/N asked.

“Why the fuck do you care?”, the prospect, Maggot, barked.

“Well, I was just hoping to see Happy soon.”, Y/N responded, confused on why he was being so rude.

“Oh! So you’re one of his bitches huh?”, he grumbled.

“No!”, she argued, “I am his old lady!”

Y/N couldn’t believe a prospect was being so disrespectful to an old lady. Let alone her! She didn’t think she was anything special but Happy was Sergeant-at-Arms and the terrifying Tacoma Killer and she was his pregnant wife. While thinking through the different possibilities of how to handle the situation, she felt a hand land on her neck.

Y/N was at the point where she thought she was going to pass out when she clawed out at his face. The first couple of swipes were misses, until she finally managed to dig her nails into him.The pain must of startled him enough because his grip began to slip. Y/N pulled away quickly and dropped to the ground. She was heaving and thought she might vomit.

“God dammit!” He shouted, bringing his hand up to his face only to see it covered in blood.

He started towards her again and picked up a broken beer bottle on the way.

“Think, about what you’re doing here Maggot,” Y/N kept pausing to breathe, “the club isn’t going to take this lightly”

“They don’t care about anyone but themselves! No one will miss a crow!” Maggot yelled, swiping at her with the broken bottle.

Y/N flinched and covered her stomach with her arms. She was barely showing right now, only in tight clothing but she still wasn’t going to let anything happen to her baby. Maggot missed the first time in his fit of rage but managed to catch Y/N’s left arm on the second swipe.

She began to scream in pain and shout for help, crying out for Happy or anyone else who may be nearby. Maggot swiped at Y/N again, but she luckily managed to knock the sharp glass out of his hand. This really pissed him off and before she could bring her arms up a hand collided with her face. Her head snapped to the side and when she brought a hand up to her face she realized she was crying.

Maggot appeared to have reached his wits end. His arm raised up into the air again and she began to pray to any diety that would listen. Screaming at the top of her lungs, hoping someone will hear her.

Jax looked up from the custom bike he was working on when he heard someone screaming like a banshee from within the clubhouse. He made eye contact with Opie and dropped his tools. Both brothers sprinted across the lot, worried for whoever was making that noise. They burst through the door and were enraged by what they saw.

Maggot was rearing back to hit her again, when he was suddenly jerked away from her. Opie had grabbed Maggot by his raised arm and dragged him away, surely dislocating the prospect’s shoulder.

Jax tried to console Y/N but she didn’t seem to recognize who he was. She was so overwhelmed with fear that she just curled in on herself. Jax believed she was still trying to protect her baby.

On his way towards the garage Opie ran into a frantic Gemma, “I heard screaming. What the hell is going on?”

“This piece of shit hurt Y/N!” Opie growled, throwing the prospect onto the concrete. “ Jax is in the clubhouse with her now. You should probably call Chibs, it didn’t look good.”

Gemma shook her head and stomped away and into the clubhouse. She had already dialed Chibs by the time she opened the door and gasped as he answered the phone.

“What’s wrong doll?” the irishman asked.

“It’s Y/N. Maggot hurt her pretty bad and we’re gonna need your help. How soon can you be here?” Gemma asked.

“Shite! I am grabbing my med bag now. I’ll be there in five.” He said and Gemma could here him scrambling to grab his stuff, “Put pressure on any bleeding and try to keep her from hyperventilating” he demanded as the motorcycle rumbled to life before he hung up on her.

Gemma ran to the kitchen and grabbed some towels before making her way to Y/N and her son. She pulled Jax away and told him to call Tig and Happy. Tig could organize everyone coming in for church so they could vote on Mr. Mayhem and Happy needed to be told what was going on. Jax flipped open his phone and walked to the bar to make the calls.

Gemma slowly moved further into Y/N’s line of sight and spoke in soft, dulcet tones, “Hey, baby. How about you let momma check on you, huh?” Gemma had helped raise Y/N with some other members of the community. Her family had bailed on her when she was sixteen and the town came together to help her. The club provided her with a dorm room and Gemma has been her mother figure ever since. “There’s a lot of blood sweetie…” Gemma grimaced, “Can you show me where it is coming from? You're safe now, your brothers and I are gonna take good care of you.”

“Happy?” Y/N whimpered, looking around.

“He’s on his way.” Jax cut in, walking up behind Gemma and putting a hand on his mom’s back.

“I want Happy!” Y/N whined again pitifully.

“I know sweetheart. She’ll be here soon. How about you let Ma look at your arm huh? Get you cleaned up some before Happy gets here.” Jax asked, knowing it would coax her into letting Gemma touch her.

“Okay... “ Y/N said and slowly uncurled.

When Y/N released her arm, they both gasped. Gemma quickie covered her arm with one of the towels and applied pressure. There was a gash going up her arm. Starting on the outside of her wrist and wrapping its way past her elbow. Some of it was going to need stitches, judging on how deep it was.

Chibs came barrelling through the door and went straight to the bar sink to scrub his hands. He paced quickly over to the trio, still drying his hands.

“Hello dolly, can I have a look see?” Chibs spoke softly to her, noting that she seemed to have gone into shock. “Atta girl!” he commended, when she didn’t flinch when he moved to check her injuries.

She was beginning to develop a deep bruise on the right side of her face. It appeared that the hit had managed to fracture her cheek bone and she had earned a black eye from the mistreatment. He lightly prodded her neck making sure there was no damage to her trachea or esophagus and deemed that she would heal easily enough but be tender for the next week. When he went to press his palm to her stomach and check on the baby she locked her hand on his wrist, digging her nails into him. Her eyes began to fill with tears again as she shook her head with fear.

“Okay, okay darlin’. I’m not gonna hurt you or the baby. Just wanna check on them. Gemma, could you try to put your palm on her stomach? I wanna see if we can get a kick. That means we can skip the hospital… Maybe just have a house call for an ultrasound later?” Chibs tried to speak softly and hide his concern. It didn’t look like the bastard had been able to make contact with her small bump but he had to be sure.

Gemma slowly reached out and when Y/N made no move to stop her, placed the hand that wasn’t holding the towel to her adopted daughter’s stomach. She waited worryingly, hoping to feel the baby kick.

The clubhouse door slammed open again and a rumbling “Babygirl!” spewed frantically out of Happy’s mouth as he trekked across the clubhouse. Gemma sighed in relief when the baby shifted at the sound of their father’s voice and nodded at Chibs. Gemma slowly shifted away from Y/N and stood to stop Happy quickly.

“What are you doing, Gem? I gotta see her!” Happy growled, restraining himself from letting his anger unleash on the club mom.

“And you will see her. I just wanna make sure you’re gonna keep your head on straight. She is in shock if you come in all burly and pissed it won’t help her or the baby. Jax has already called a meeting and that shit will get what is coming to him, but right now you need to be here for Y/N.”, Gemma spoke quickly and with authority. “Now, if you can keep your cool, I am sure it would be a big help for you to sit with her and help Chibs.”

Happy nodded his head and stepped around Gemma. Quickly crouching to the ground to make sure Y/N could see him.

“Happy!” She let out in quiet relief.

He shook his head in attempts to subdue his anger, “Yeah babygirl! I’m here now. Hmm, let me take a look at you?”

She slowly turned her head as his hand caressed her chin and happily allowed him to press his palm to her stomach. The baby slowly kicked along his palm and he smiled in relief.

He turned to Chibs to ask what he needed to do. The irishman directed the Tacoma Killer to gently move his old lady to wear he was sitting against the wall behind her with her body cradled between his legs. Y/N tilted her head back to let it rest against her husband as he wrapped his arms around her. At Chibs instruction his right arm went around her shoulders, his left rested along her baby bump and bent his left knee so she couldn’t see her hurt arm.

“Alright, little pinch hun and then it shouldn’t hurt so bad, hmmm.” Chibs said.

He slowly unwrapped the arm and Y/N jolted when Happy growled in distaste. When she looked up at him to see what was wrong, he tilted his head down and nuzzled his nose against her unmarked cheek. Chibs quickly injected local anesthetic to multiple spots along the abrasion and waited several minutes before running a gloved finger along the injury. Y/N didn’t flinch in Happy’s arms and Chibs took that as a go ahead.

Chibs prepped his supplies and began to clean the gash of glass. Some shards had remained on the bottle when Maggot broke it and he wanted to make sure nothing was embedded when he began to suture. Y/N was slowly coming back to herself and tried to adjust to where she could see when she felt the tugging on her arm.

Happy easily distracted her with forehead kisses and talking through what was going on. He reassured her that something would be done about the prospect. When he mentioned that church was called, she shuddered and begged him not to leave. Happy consoled her to the best of his ability but nothing seemed to work. Jax overheard and let them know this was going to be the only exception of an old lady attending church. Chibs agreed saying that even though they knew Happy’s vote, he had a right to listen to everyone else’s. Plus Chibs was going to give Y/N’s nurse midwife, Tatum, a call as soon as he was done so he could give her pain medication. Y/N would probably sleep through the entire meeting anyways.

Chibs finished suturing her arm and told Happy to take her up to his dorm and help her shower. Happy agreed after Chibs explained that he should have an answer by then and could give her some medicine and wrap the sutures. Happy stood carefully before lifting Y/N into his arms.

He carried her up the stairs and sat her down on their bed. They had a house that was almost done being renovated and they decided to save money by moving back into the clubhouse for the time being. Happy was glad that they lived here, especially right now. He knew she was comfortable and everything was at his fingertips. He could easily lay them both out new clothes and get her comfort items.

“What do you wanna wear after your shower, babygirl?” Happy questioned, wanting to make sure she was comfortable.

Y/N shrugged but told him no when he went to open her loungewear drawer. She quickly directed him to his drawers with the point of her finger. He chuckled at her and pulled out one of her favorite shirts of his to sleep in. It was a faded grey t-shirt with Reaper Crew written in blue on the chest. He also grabbed her a pair of underwear, fuzzy socks and a pair of her sweatpants before quickly laying out new clothes for himself as well. He then scooped her up again and brought her to their bathroom. Y/N began to tear up again when Happy helped her take her shirt off, well his shirt off.

“No, no, no… don’t cry baby! I’m here now. What’s wrong?” Happy asked, concerned.

Y/N let out a whine, “I got blood on your shirt! It’s ruined!”

“Babygirl”, he couldn’t help but chuckle, “You’re crying over my shirt? I can fix that one easy! Just need the hydrogen peroxide.” He calmed her, wiping away her tears.

“Really? How do you know that?” She looked up at him hopeful and then confused.

He shook his head at her cute little scrunched nose, “I’m the Tacoma Killer babe!”, he elated with his arms spread wide, “I would have a very empty closet if I threw away clothes everytime a little blood got on them.”

Y/N giggled. Sometimes she would forget her husband’s renown and think of him as her reserved, badass. Happy corralled her into the shower and quickly stripped so he could join her. He grabbed new washcloths, before joining his wife in the shower.

The couple used this time to check in and reassure each other. Both clinged to the other, gently washing away the blood and trauma of the day. Y/N rested her head on his chest while he shampooed her hair. She braced her hands on his waist tilting her head so he could rinse away the suds.

Happy grabbed her chin and she could feel his chest rumble against hers as he growled at the marks on her neck and face. He leaned down and rubbed his nose against her cheek. Y/N quickly stood on her tippy toes and brought her lips to his. Happy let out a groan before posessively attacking her lips with his. Y/N could tell he was reclaiming “his territory” and she wasn’t mad in the slightest. She gasped when his teeth tugged on her lip and he happily delved into her.

By the time the couple was done showering, both felt reassured in their bond and were clean of Y/N’s blood. They both quietly changed into clean clothes and Y/N let out a quiet groan when the pain in her arm began to make itself known again. As soon as she was dressed, Happy wrapped her up in her beloved blanket and handed the turtle stuffie to her before scooping her up again.

When they reentered the clubhouse, the mess had been cleaned and it looked like nothing had happened. Gemma walked up to the pair and handed Y/N a plate covered in some of her favorite snacks and told her that her babies had to eat before kissing her head and walking off. The plate was filled with cubed apple, cheddar cheese, some strawberries, dill pickles, a few chunks of pumpkin bread and a handful of chocolate covered pretzels.

Happy then carried her into church and sat down. He pulled his legs across his and braced her back with his right arm before sneaking away some of her chocolate pretzels. She began to grumble at him when Chibs approached the duo. He smiled at the two before passing Happy a bottle of pills and a bottle of water.

“She can take up to two every eight hours. Two will knock her out and one will just make her a little loopy.” He told Happy before turning to Y/N, “You can go ahead and take two now. I need to apply an antibiotic to the stitches and then wrap your arm, then I’ll leave you be darlin.”

“You’re never a bother Chibby.” Y/N stated before swallowing the pills Happy placed in the palm of her hand, “Thank you for taking care of me”. Y/N reached out and gave Chibs’ hand a squeeze before he began to wrap her arm.

“Tatum will come by tomorrow morning for a check up on you and the baby. She assures me that we handled everything correctly and that the medication will have no ill effects on you or the baby. She wanted me to remind you to hydrate and let others take care of you”, he said, giving her a knowing look. “I am staying here tonight, just in case. We will need to rebandage everyday and the stitches should be able to come out in a week in a half or so.” Chibs informed them before pressing a kiss to Y/N’s palm and standing.

He walked out of the room and Y/N leaned further into Happy. She munched on the apple and cheese chunks and sipped on the water when Happy encouraged her to do so. She was about three quarters of the way through her plate when her head began to bob. Happy had to prod at her to keep eating what Gemma plated for her. After her head bobbed for the third time, Jax knocked on the door and stepped through.

He looked at Y/N softly and waited for Happy to nod “Let’s do this brother”

Slowly the rest of the patched club members filtered their way in. Jax took his seat, quickly followed by the rest of the main table. Jax slammed the gavel to start the meeting and smiled apologetically at Y/N when she jolted at the violent noise. Happy pushed the turtle plushie further into her arms and tucked her head into the crook of his neck.

Y/N let out a soft sigh of content and snuggled in, letting the medicine take full effect. She would jolt every once in a while when the guys allowed their anger to take control or raised their voices. The vote to indict Maggot to face Mr. Mayhem was unanimous but his sponsor decided to move charters before the vote. He didn’t feel right invoking Mayhem on his prospect but it was well deserved and the vote needed to be unanimous.

Within the hour, Happy was handing Y/N off to Gemma who was going to watch over her until the men were done. Jax normally would make the prospects stay with the women but he wanted them to see this. All of the crap that had happened was due to a prospect thinking he was the shit. Maggot forgot that the club is family and he certainly forgot the consequences that come with betrayal.

Jax easily approved of Happy killing Maggot in the same ways he hurt Y/N. He began by telling the man that the entire club voted for him to meet Mr. Mayhem and when the prospect had the audacity to try to spew more hate about Y/N Jax couldn’t control his anger. Completing one of the steps of the man’s death by driving his fist through his temple.

Maggot fell to the ground but didn’t stay there long. The prospect had enough wit to scramble backwards when Happy stalked towards him. The Tacoma Killer had a sick smile spreading across his face while stalking towards the piece of shit who hurt his wife. Happy wrapped his hands around Maggot's neck and lifting him into the air.

Maggot choked for breath and Happy laughed. The killer waited until it looked like Maggot was about to die and then released his neck. Maggot struggled to catch his breath and flinched when Opie busted a new beer bottle and handed it over to Happy.

“You thought we’d forget!” Jax yelled motioning for Tig and Half-Sack to pin the squirming Maggot down.

Happy dug the beer bottle into Maggot’s arm and when the disgrace began to wail Tig punched him again. Blood was flowing steadily from the gaping wound running towards the garage drains. Happy then went wild with the sharp glass, rapidly stabbing the man repeatedly until Opie pulled him off and knocked the bottle out of his hand.

Happy’s body shook with adrenaline and a growl worked his way up and out of his chest. The satisfaction of killing the bastard was battling his desire to drag it out. If he wasn’t itching to get back to Y/N and their unborn baby. He shook out the jitters and gladly accepted a work towel from Chibs. His clothes were a mess of blood.

Happy trekked across the lot and into the clubhouse before ripping off his clothes and shoving them into a bag. He hauled ass up the stairs in just his boxers. When he cracked open the door to his room, Gemma was sitting on his side of the bed reading a book and Y/N was curled around her plushie on top of the covers.

Gemma got off the bed, gave Happy a look and smiled when he nodded back. She pecked his cheek before heading out the door. Happy silently maneuvered through the dorm towards the shower. He rinsed his body until the water ran clear and then soaped up. Once out of the shower, he threw on clean boxers before nudging Y/N awake.

She squinted in annoyance until she realized it was him, “C’mon doll. Let’s get you ready for bed.” Happy encouraged, pulling her out of the bed and to the bathroom. He handed her a toothbrush and grabbed his, letting her lean on him sleepily while she slowly brushed her teeth. He motioned at the contact case once their teeth were clean.

Y/N was taking her contacts out when Happy asked “Music tonight?”

She bobbed her head in response, “Can you put on Florence and the Machine?”

He nodded, leaving the bathroom. Happy pulled for the fan, put the record Y/N requested on and pulled back the covers. He heard the toilet flush and looked up to see Y/N stumble back into their room. She toed out of her sweatpants and socks before snuggling under the covers up against Happy.

His arms went around her stomach and Y/N’s hands rested on top of his. He thumbed at the baby bump. It helped remind him that their baby was going to be okay and that Y/N was safe now. Y/N turned her head to nuzzle into Happy’s shoulder and breathed in his deep scent of cinnamon and sweet tobacco. Y/N dozed off to the sound of her murderous man’s heartbeat and “Never Let Me Go” playing in the background.

[tuiccim]

Brassy (Part 9)

Pairing: Bucky X Reader, Loki X Reader

Words: 1368

Warnings: Fluff, adult conversations, angst

Summary: You and Loki meet to talk about your friendship.

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4  / Part 5 / Part 6 / Part 7 / Part 8

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The next day at lunch, you are standing around with Steve and Sam in the kitchen. Bucky was still upstairs showering from training. The man took the longest showers of any human being alive. 

You were just pulling out food when F.R.I.D.A.Y. chimed, “Mr. Odinson has just arrived.”

You take a deep breath. Sam and Steve are both staring at you. 

“I’m going to take him to my room to talk.” You say. 

“Why not talk in here or the meeting room?” Steve says quickly. 

“Because there’s no privacy in those rooms. We’re just going to talk, Steve. Loki’s my friend. He deserves to be treated like it.” You say firmly. 

Loki strides out of the elevator and you quickly intercept. “Let’s go to my room to talk.”

“Lead the way, darling.” Loki complies. 

As soon as the elevator begins to close, Loki leans into you intent on capturing your mouth in a kiss. You place your hand on his shoulder and shake your head. 

“Ah, cameras.” Loki says. 

When you're finally in your room, you say as you close the door, “We really do have to talk.” 

“That sounds ominous.” The god raises an eyebrow. 

“I’m afraid the benefits part of our arrangement has to end.”

“Why?” The god asks simply.

“Bucky.” You try to gauge Loki’s reaction but he remains aloof.

“Hmmmm….the big oaf, eh?” 

“Yeah. He, um, he loves me. And I want to try.” You feel so much more awkward than you imagined having this conversation. 

“I thought you didn’t fall in love.” Loki scoffs. 

“I thought I didn’t either. Bucky has opened a world up to me that I never thought possible. And maybe it will all go to shit like everything in my life does, but I deserve this. I’m just now starting to see that.” Tears form on your lashes. 

“Well, you were a pleasant diversion.” Loki says, “I suppose this means our friendship is done as well. 

“That’s up to you. I really don’t want it to be. Loki, you're still my best friend. I...I care about you. I don’t want to lose you.” 

Loki stares at you for so long you start to fidget. 

“Loki?” Suddenly, the god strides to you and wraps his arms around you in a tight hug. You hug him back. 

“I care about you, too.” Loki says. After a few minutes he lets go and takes a step back. “But if he hurts you I will turn him into a bilgesnipe and have the Warriors Three hunt him down.”

You laugh, “Yeah? I’ll remember that.”

“So, bestie, tell me how all this came about.” Loki sits on the end of your bed. 

In the common room, Bucky finally emerges. Sam and Steve are looking at him uncomfortably. 

“What? Did I forget to put pants on?” Bucky jokes looking down. “Where’s (Y/N)? I thought she was getting lunch.”

Steve puts a hand on his best friend’s shoulder, “Bucky, Loki is here. They went up to her room to talk. Just talk.”

Bucky wrenches out of Steve's grasp and turns to the elevator. 

“Bucky, wait! They’re just talking. You have to trust her!” Steve calls.

“It’s not her I don’t trust!” He yells back.

Bucky bursts into your room. You and Loki look up at him in surprise from opposite ends of the bed. 

“Hey Bucky. We were just talking.” You say quickly wanting to reassure him. You go to him and he puts his arm around you while glaring at Loki. “Hey, hey,” you say, forcing him to look at you, “Don’t look at him like that. We were just talking. He’s still my friend and you have to trust me.”

Bucky takes several deep breaths before saying, “I’m sorry. I trust you, but I don’t trust him and when I heard you were in here together…” He trails off. 

Loki rises from the bed, “Have no fear, Sergeant Barnes. I would not harm my darling friend. But perhaps it would be best if I stay away for awhile.”

“You don’t have to do that, Loki.” You pull out of Bucky’s embrace. “You are my friend. No matter what.”

“I know, my darling.” Loki says and Bucky growls. Loki spares him a glance, but then locks eyes with you. “Let’s allow heads to cool. A little time for...memories to fade.” He glances at Bucky again before pulling you into a hug. He kisses your temple. “It won’t be too long.”

Loki lets you go and turns to exit. However, he stops when he’s even with Bucky and the two stare each other down. Finally, you hear Loki whisper, “If you hurt her, I will kill you.”

To which Bucky counters, “If I hurt her, I’ll let you.”

And at that moment you burst out laughing. Both the alpha males turn to you bewildered. “Really? Really, guys? Tell ya what, if either of you hurt me, I’ll kill you both.” You laugh while Loki smirks and makes his exit. 

Once the door is closed, you look at Bucky. He’s staring at you. “What? Are you mad?”

“No, Love. There’s just no one else like you.” He hugs you to him. “I love you.” He murmurs into your hair. 

You hug him back wishing you could form words but it's still too much for you. It's still so hard to believe he really does love you or that you deserve his love. After a few moments, Bucky pulls back, "Let's go get some lunch."

When you head into the kitchen holding hands the entire place turns silent and everyone is looking at the two of you. You both stop like deer in headlights at the sudden silence. Finally, you regain enough of your senses to speak.

"Everything is fine, guys." You say.

Steve is the first to speak, "So, uh, do we need to worry about another alien invasion?"

You roll your eyes, "Loki is my best friend. Still. He's gonna give us some space right now but he's still gonna be around. We care about each other. He's fine. I mean, ya know, he plans to turn Bucky into a bilgesnipe and have the Warriors Three hunt him down if necessary but other than that it's good."

"What!?!" Bucky yells. You start giggling uncontrollably as Bucky looks at Steve, "What the hell is a bilgesnipe?"

"Some kind of really horrible Asgardian creature according to Thor." Steve says. You are laughing so hard you start to snort. 

"Really, (Y/N)?" Bucky and Steve say practically in unison making you laugh even harder.

"Your face!" You manage to get out between laughs. Sam and Natasha are giggling at the whole exchange. Finally, Bucky and Steve start to chuckle. 

When the mirth finally subsides, you wipe tears from your eyes. Nat looks at you and says, "I'm surprised the two of them didn't square off."

"Oh, they did." You repeat the whole exchange mocking Loki's accent and Bucky's gruff voice. Nat and you are giggling all over again. 

"Good for you!" Nat says.

"You really think you could take me?" Bucky asks, coming up behind you.

"It's like they forget I'm a super soldier, too." You say to Nat. Bucky puts an arm on each side of the counter blocking you in. 

"I don't forget, Doll. I just don't think you can take me." Bucky grouses.

You turn in his arms and stare up at him. "Is that so?" You say. His eyes widen at the sudden feeling of a blade at his throat. "It's not just about the fight. I'm a sneaky motherfucker, too." You smile sweetly grazing his neck with the tip of the blade.

Sam is guffawing, "Oh, man, she got you. You are so fucked. That's hot, (Y/N)."

"Where were you hiding that?" Bucky says. Nat behind you is nearly choking, she's laughing so hard.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" You are rather enjoying the upper hand.

"Alright." Captain Tightpant's authoritative voice breaks through. "Put it away, (Y/N)."

"You got it, Cap." You discreetly slide the blade back into its place. "I'm starving." You go to the fridge to pull out something for lunch.

Part 10 (The final chapter)

[elsaclack]

baby, let the games begin

okay this is something new i’m trying that hopefully!!! will work the way i want it to lmao. this is part 1 of a 15 part series of one-shots based entirely around the song lineup of reputation :)

U DO NOT HAVE TO BE FAMILIAR WITH THE SONGS TO UNDERSTAND THE ONE-SHOTS!!!!!

out now: ...ready for it?

read on ao3

In the interest of staying sane and not completely blowing it in an embarrassing amount of time, Jake maintains a steady mantra in his mind as Amy moves to straddle him on his couch. It isn’t the first time she’s straddled him on his couch - that was last night - but it is the first time she’s straddled him on his couch while stone-cold sober. And the warm weight of her, the deliciously slow arch of her spine, the soft and insistent press of her lips and the decidedly less soft tug of her fingers raking through his hair, feels all the more intense now that his mind isn’t clouded with Kamikaze shots.

Of course, it is cloudy with other things - adrenaline, lust, affection, pure slack-jawed awe - but she doesn’t need to know that.

And as his hands grapple along her hips before finding purchase on the taper of her waist while her lips stray ever-closer to his throat, he reminds himself in a firm, stern voice inside his mind, we have time.

Time to take their time. Time to explore. Time to tease and talk and giggle and just be. Gone is the frenetic, borderline-manic energy from the night before that left her dress torn along the seam near the zipper and his shirt divested of three buttons; stoked to a near-roaring flame inside his gut is the overwhelming desire to just worship her.

(And, if he’s being honest, to be worshiped. He’s still not positive that this isn’t some torturous dream his subconscious made up that he’ll jolt awake from at any moment, but he’s beyond caring about that now.)

We have time. We have time. We have time.

No captains barging in and dying on the spot at the sight of them. No sergeants yelling about professionalism in the workplace. No Charles vacillating between squealing like a stuck pig and trying to take credit for their relationship. No fear of the alcohol wearing off and her sense returning to her.

No fear of her leaving.

For once in his long, miserable life, time is on his side.

Above him, Amy gently suckles at his neck - not hard enough to mark him, but enough that he can’t help but squirm a little bit - and lets out a sigh, big and gusty, billowing over his neck and shoulder. It’s this sound that has him gripping her waist a little harder, because he’d felt exactly how bone-deep that sigh was, exactly how much tension had drained from the muscles in her back, how easily she’d settled over him.

Like she belongs here.

It’s a little absurd to be thinking things like that about her, and he knows that, because they’ve only been a them in the real true romantic sense of the word for a matter of hours now. But the cosmic weight of the word is not lost on him; the primal animal that had furiously roared to life so many months ago at the sight of her lips painted pink smiling brightly at someone who wasn’t him purrs in contentment as her lips find his again.

It’s early, and he knows that, but there is an undeniable sense of belonging simmering just below the surface of his skin. It ripples out in waves in the wake of her wandering fingers grazing down his arms and up his chest and back again.

The dance is new, but his partner is as familiar as the moonlight spilling through the windows over his bed.

Amy sighs again, smaller this time, hands traversing the rumpled plane of his chest to gently frame his face, and after two quick swipes of her thumbs over his cheekbones she pulls back for the first time in ten minutes. Jake blinks up at her in a daze, body still humming with electricity, and she smiles with kiss-bruised lips. “I like you,” she murmurs, voice barely cresting above a whisper.

She ruffles his hair right near his hairline and he feels heat pooling in his cheeks - like an overeager kindergartener being complimented by his favorite teacher. “I like you, too,” he breathes, letting his head tilt to the right, following her hand as she lets it fall back to his chest to brace herself. “I’m so glad you came.”

“Title of your sex tape,” she says quickly, and he groans, leaning forward to bury his face in the crook of her neck, grinning at the feeling of her entire body shaking with laughter in his arms.

“I mean it,” he says once he’s back leaning against the couch and she’s looking down at him with an expression softened by affection. “I was gonna go to your place and do the same thing if you hadn’t shown up. I’m so happy, Ames. Seriously.”

It’s clear that she’s touched by the way her smile goes a little shy, a little awed. She reaches up to touch the side of his face - no stroking or caressing, just gently touching - and he leans into her, turning his head quickly to kiss the inside of her wrist. “I’m happy, too, Jake.” she murmurs as her hand drops back to his chest again. “Really. This - it’s something I’ve been, uh, wanting. For a - a long time, now. A really long time.”

He shakes his head slowly, absently dragging his hands up and down her sides. “Me, too,” he admits, trying and failing to bite back his broad grin. She huffs out a laugh through her nose and ducks her head a little bit, but her eyes never leave his. And a voice he scarcely recognizes says I’m keeping her in his mind. Later, he chastises himself. We have time. “I think it’s high time for us to do something about it.” he says instead.

He lifts both eyebrows suggestively and she laughs - more earnest now, more exasperated - and the cadence is so familiar that a dozen fireflies burst to life inside his chest. “Do you, now?” she asks as she drums her fingers along his chest. “And what exactly are you planning on doing?”

“Oh, if I told you, you wouldn’t be able to handle it,” he says coolly, biting the inside of his cheek at the familiar spark of competitiveness in her eyes.

“I can handle it,” she retorts smoothly. “You’re the one I’m worried about.”

“Why’s that, Santiago?”

She leans in close, her lips a hair’s breadth away from his ear, and he finds himself suddenly scrambling for a tighter grip around her. Her breath washes over the shell of his ear and seconds later he feels the faintest edge of her teeth nipping at his earlobe, and it takes every ounce of self control he possesses to choke down the groan that threatens to bubble up his throat. “Because,” she breathes, “you’re not ready for it.”

He clenches his jaw, screws his eyes shut, forces himself to swallow.

And after a moment he feels her leaning away.

She’s smirking down at him when he finally manages to open his eyes again. “Well? Are you?”

He blinks, mentally scrambling, trying to remember what exactly it was that she whispered in his ear not three seconds ago and coming up absolutely empty. “Am I what?” he asks, surprised to find his voice as gravelly as it is.

Her smirk only grows wider. “Are you ready for it?”

The world around him fades to little more than a muted blur; only the soft folds of her blouse and the warmth of her body and her hands pressing firmly into his chest, only she is real. “Yes,” the word sticks in his throat and drips from his teeth. “Yes, god, yes.”

Her smirk quickly evolves into a genuine smile. “Good.” she whispers, before diving back in again.

[sambergscott]

to red dresses, to amy winning bets, to jellyfish

find it on ao3!

Sitting on the edge of the pool, Amy grins as she watches her husband cannonball into the water, creating a huge splash. He quickly swims over to her and he looks so cute with his hair all wet that her breath catches in her throat. She can’t believe she’s married to this man and they’re on their honeymoon. Everything worked out perfectly in the end and she’s truly never been happier.

“Come in with me,” he pleads, positioning himself between her legs.

She hooks her arms around his neck. “I’m fine just watching you, babe.”

He pouts, reminding Amy of her three year old nephew when her brother says he can’t have anymore ice cream. As much as Amy loves her nephew, it’s definitely a cuter look on Jake and she just has to kiss him.

“Is that a yes?”

“No,” she says, kissing him again by way of apology. “I kind of suck at swimming and I don’t want to get my hair wet before our date tonight.”

“First of all, you’re a married lady now, Ames. I don’t care whether your hair is frizzy or not. You can relax and have fun with your husband in the pool. Second, I’m not gonna let you drown.”

“I was relaxing and having fun before my husband started pestering me to get in the pool with him,” she responds snarkily, rolling her eyes. She was a confident swimmer when she was a little girl but then she got stung by a jellyfish on a family holiday and she’s been nervous about the water ever since. She knows she’s told him that story before (twice - because she reminded him when they booked this seaside honeymoon) so she doesn’t understand why he’s trying to get her to go for a swim. It’s never gonna happen.

“I’ll stop pestering when you get in with me.”

“My feet are in!”

“Not good enough,” he says, firmly tugging her hands.

She immediately panics as she almost falls in.

“Jake, no - I can’t - I can’t breathe -.”

His eyebrows shoot upwards. “Ames, you’re fine. You’re still on dry land. No jellyfish are gonna get you.”

“Don’t make fun of me, Jake,” she warns. “It’s a serious phobia.”

“I know, but look-. We’re married now. It’s a new chapter of your life. Maybe it’s time to get over this fear.”

Objectively, she knows Jake’s right. She’s in her thirties, on her honeymoon with the love of her life, a police sergeant; everything has changed so much in the last few months, why shouldn’t her fear of swimming also change? The anxious part of her brain - the part that means she’s always at least twenty minutes early to everything - screams that she can’t do it, that water is terrifying and she can’t swim and a swarm of jellyfish are going to attack her. She looks at her husband, really looks at him, with his soft smile and hopeful eyes and decides screw you, anxiety, I’m going to swim with the man I love.

“You’re right,” she says aloud (only regretting those exact words a little bit because she knows he’s never gonna stop gloating about it). She puts her hair up into a messy bun and shrugs off her cover up, revealing the scarlet bikini she bought specifically for the honeymoon.

Jake runs his hands up her thighs, playing with the bows on the sides of the bikini bottoms. He smirks at her. “You look so hot.”

“I know. You told me earlier.”

“Well I’m telling you again,” he insists. “Red is definitely your colour. I love you in red.”

She bites her lip, her thoughts drifting to the red dress hanging in the hotel room closet. Despite her best efforts, she is yet to convince Jake of the merits of unpacking a suitcase, so she knows he hasn’t seen it yet. She thought it would be cute if she wore the dress she wore on their first (real) date on their honeymoon. She can’t wait to see his reaction.

“You wanna sack this off and go back to our hotel room?” He suggests, wiggling his eyebrows playfully. “I know there’s no jellyfish in there.”

“Stop flirting with me and teach me to swim, Peralta,” she says, wrapping her legs around his waist as he lifts her into the pool.

It’s cold and she can feel the familiar panic rising in her chest, her hold on Jake tightening to the point where she must be hurting him, but he doesn’t complain.

She really does love him so much.

“I’ve gotcha, Ames,” he murmurs soothingly in her ear. “Nothing bad is gonna happen. I’ve gotcha.”

“Don’t let go of me.”

“I’ll hold onto you the entire time,” he promises, gently stroking his hand up and down her back until her muscles start to relax and she opens her eyes. He smiles at her, tucking a stray piece of hair behind her ear. “Welcome back, babe.”

“Thanks,” she says, blushing. “Nobody saw that, right?”

Even though they’re in a shared pool (they couldn’t afford an expensive honeymoon with their own private pool) and they can both hear the other holidaymakers around them, he shakes his head. “Nobody saw.”

“Good.”

“You ready to do this, Ames?”

“Yep,” she says bravely, a sudden confidence coming from somewhere within. She doesn’t question it and instead follows Jake’s instructions as he helps her float on her front first, letting her get comfortable in the water before they add any strokes. After a few minutes, she starts to kick her feet and move her arms in a breaststroke motion. Jake continues to hold her waist and they do a few lengths of the pool like that. He’s practically bursting with pride when Amy says that she feels OK for him to let go. He swims alongside her, giving her plenty of encouragement as she goes.

(“Go Amy go Amy go Amy!”)

(“Move over Michael Phelps! My wife is America’s greatest swimmer now!”)

(“You’re killing it, babe!”)

When she reaches the wall again, she presses her lips to his and kisses him senselessly.

“You’re the best husband ever,” she declares.

“And you’re the best wife ever,” he returns, leaning in for another kiss. “You did so good! I’m so proud of you, Mrs Peralta.”

“Thank you, Mr Peralta. And thank you for helping me swim.”

“No problemo,” he grins. “See? I told you I speak Spanish!”

She shakes her head, pushing him away from her. “I can teach you Spanish for realz if you want since you taught me to swim. Then you can understand all the terrible things my abuela says about you.”

“What bad stuff does she say?”

“I’m just kidding, babe,” she apologises, ruffling his hair. He actually looked worried there for a sec. “She adores you. She thinks you’re very handsome and very funny. I’m pretty sure she thinks she’s going to steal you away from me, actually.”

“Aww! Tell her in Spanish that I’d be honoured but I’m kind of obsessed with my new wife.”

“Good answer. I will do.”

“We’ve got time for a few more laps before dinner if you want to make things interesting,” he says, sparking the competitive edge within her.

“What are you thinking?”

“First one to swim the length of the pool and back gets a massage from the loser,” he wagers, his eyes glinting mischievously. Their massages always lead to other, much more exciting, naked activities.

“You’re on,” she responds, shaking his hand.

(Amy ends up winning and performing her signature dork dance right there in the pool. Jake splashes her and says he let her win.

“Yeah right, loser,” is her answer to that).

(Dinner is amazing and romantic and, for the record, Jake totally cried when he saw her in that red dress again. It’s hard to believe that kind of awkward date - until the Kamikaze shots were brought out - led to such a loving relationship and now a marriage. The waiter brings out red wine and Jake toasts to red dresses and Amy winning bets and jellyfish. She throws her napkin at him, but she can’t stop smiling).

[psycho-slytherin]

Less 2

Your boyfriend promised he’d drink less.

Pairing: Boyfriend!Yoongi x Reader, Policeman!Jungkook x Reader

Word Count: 2.2k

Genre: Angst

<–– Prev

|mlist|

The gun goes off with a loud BANG and the recoil makes the firearm clatter to the floor, your trembling hands too weak to grip it properly. In front of you stands Yoongi, your boyfriend, your love, the man to which you’ve dedicated years of your life– and he sways, and he falls to his knees, the look on his face one of amusement and yet utter betrayal as the dark red stain on his shirt begins to spread outwards. You gasp– you’ve really shot someone, you’re a– “Murderer.” Yoongi spits out the word as though it’s poison on his lips. His breaths are unsteady and ragged, his shoulders are slumped, one hand behind his back while the other clutches his chest… but he managed to stare with eyes that seem to see straight through you, and on to something beyond. “I-I’ll call the police!” You look to your right and see Officer Jeon groaning on the floor. He’s gone so pale he’s near translucent, but at least his radio is still clipped to his belt. You tug at it, pressing buttons frantically, please, please– “Jeon? This is Sergeant Kim. Can you tell me where the hell you’ve gone? Over.” You jump at the crackle, the voice, and the sudden silence. “Please help me,” you cry, pressing the same button as before. “O-officer Jeon has been stabbed, and there’s–” you swallow back a sob. “There’s another man, he’s been shot, I need an ambulance right away!” “Jeon’s been–?” the radio goes silent. “I need a location.” You tell him your address, and Sergeant Kim pauses for a second. “Okay, an ambulance is on its way. Are you safe, miss?” You look around. Despite the bruises on your face and wrist, and a few glass cuts, you’re alright. “Yes.” Officer Jeon appears to have passed out from shock or blood loss, but he’s still breathing. And Yoongi… Min Yoongi is slumping lower and lower by degrees, and you see beads of sweat forming as he struggles to stay conscious.

“How could you,” he coughs, blood dripping from his lips, and your heart shatters. You scoot closer, reaching out to touch his arm. “Yoongi, you’re gonna be fine, I’m so sorr–” “How could you… you BITCH!” his bellow sounds only half human and you flinch, expecting another slap, a dead man’s last hurrah, but instead... “AUGH!” you scream, scrambling backwards. Yoongi had somehow clung on to his broken bottle and like an idiot, you’d let your guard down. Lucky he didn’t get any vitals, but as you look down at the gash on your inner thigh… is it your imagination or is there a lot more blood than there should be? Some faint wisp of information from your days as an ambulance technician escapes you. Inner thigh… and something about blood loss. You blink hard and press your hand to the wound, attempting to slow blood flow. Already your vision seems tilted, blurry, and blood is gushing through your fingers and onto the floor. “Nng…” The radio crackles again, and someone speaks, but it’s impossible to focus on their words. Black spots dance before you and you’re tempted, so tempted to succumb, Yoongi is all you have, all that’s ever mattered and now… You grit your teeth, woozy with pain. Now… he’s hurt you. “Hff…y/n…” Officer Jeon suddenly groans props himself up on his elbow and makes a grab for the radio. Even that minor movement causes him to gasp sharply in pain. “Lie down,” you tell him, tears rolling down your cheeks as you clutch at your leg, contending with your own agony. “Officer, I called… I called…” Who did you call? You can’t remember. your head is pounding, your thoughts are fuzzy, you’re gasping for air and you can’t fight anymore. This is it, Yoongi, you think as you slip away from the earth, as you drown in darkness, this is what you wanted, right? Funny how even in death, you give Yoongi everything. Light. Bright, painful. Painful. Yes. There’s pain. You feel it– angry, throbbing. Since when is death supposed to hurt? Are you still alive? Huh. 

“Ergh...” you blink hard, your eyes adjusting to the brilliant light.

“Oh, you’re awake. Let me call the doctor.”

“W-who...?” but it’s too late, whoever spoke has disappeared.

“Yoongi?” you whisper, unsure as to whether you want a response. Regardless, you get none, and as you look around you realize the IV drip and heart rate monitor attached to you mean that you must be in a hospital.

“Miss l/n?” A man in a white coat enters the room, consulting a clipboard. “Good to see you’re awake. I’m Dr. Kim Seokjin, and–”

The door opens again and a man wearing a police uniform strides to your bedside. “Y/n. How are you feeling?”

“Uh, I’m–”

“Great. Sergeant Kim Namjoon, we spoke over the radio, do you mind if I ask you some questions about what happened?”

You shrink into yourself as the sergeant looms over you. “Okay...”

“Wonderful. Can you tell me–”

“Sergeant Kim, I understand that you want information, but she is first and foremost a patient and shall be treated as such,” Dr. Kim says icily.

“Of course, doctor, but one of my officers was stabbed and unlike Officer Jeon, y/n here is currently awake and I’m in need of answers.” You can see Sergeant Kim’s jaw working in an effort to maintain his professionalism.

“Her femoral artery was severed, multiple lacerations required stitches, and she suffered severe blood loss. You will get your answers after I am certain of my patient’s condition. Should you test my patience further, I will have you removed from this room.”

It’s as if the doctor has dropped a mic– his tone leaves no room for argument, and Sergeant Kim nods grudgingly and backs away.

Meanwhile, Dr. Kim takes your blood pressure, checks the IV, and generally makes sure you’re all kinds of alive.

“M-my leg...” you’re in a hospital bed, with your lower body covered by a thin blanket. “And Yoongi. Where’s Yoongi?”

“Your leg suffered the worst of it, we recovered several shards of glass from the wound before stitching you up. Your left femoral artery was cut, but you’re quite lucky– any later and...” he falls silent, but you understand. You finally remember learning this during your medical training: If the deep femoral artery is severed, you black out in thirty seconds and can bleed out in three minutes.

Any later, indeed. You draw back the blanket and gasp. Your leg is wrapped in thick bandages, and when you prod at your own flesh it feels almost alien. You draw back with a hiss of pain after a wave of agony hits you, making you nauseous.

“Where’s Yoongi?” you croak again.

“Dr. Kim, if I may?” the sergeant steps forward.

“Be my guest.”

Sergeant Kim flips open a notepad. “Y/n– may I call you that? You were found at the scene along with Officer Jeon Jungkook and a Mr. Min Yoongi, who had a record of multiple arrests for DUIs and altercations resulting in violence. Our records show he was incarcerated overnight after an altercation with a Mr. Jung Hoseok, who has not pressed charges. Officer Jeon did not notify his colleagues when he came to your house, but CC camera footage shows him leaving the station almost immediately after you and Mr. Min, at 6:48am. We received a call from you on Jeon’s radio roughly forty minutes later, at 7:33am. Does that timeline hold up?”

“Y-yes.”

“Now, we just need you to fill in the blanks, y/n. What happened when you got home?”

You hesitate. Yoongi slapped you. But if you tell the police, they’ll take him away from you– and some part of you can’t stand that.

You stare down at your bandaged hands. “Nothing- nothing happened.”

Sergeant Kim frowns slightly. “Are you sure?”

“Uh...”

“We found the door had been kicked down. We’re wondering why Officer Jeon would choose to go to those lengths.”

“He was worried,” you blurt out. “About me. Um. Yoongi was being a bit aggressive, that’s all, and Officer Jeon was worried.”

“Aggressive? Did he hurt you?”

The bruises on your cheek and wrist shine like a beacon. Why are you acting this way? You tried to escape from Yoongi, that’s how this whole thing started. And now... what, now you’ve changed your mind?

What’s Yoongi done to you?

You take a deep breath. You’re the only one who can tell this story– you have a responsibility.

“He was slapping me around a bit, Officer Jeon burst in and helped me, but Yoongi snuck up behind him, he had a bit to drink–” a sob gets stuck in your throat as you recount the day. “S-stabbed him.”

“And then?”

I took Officer Jeon’s gun and shot Yoongi. He thought I wouldn’t, he trusted me–

In the briefest terms, you relay the events to Sergeant Kim, who scribbles it down on his notepad. After an eternity, he nods. “Well, if what you said is true, you’re not in any legal trouble– you clearly acted in self-defense.”

Another police officer knocks, pokes her head in, and tells Sergeant Kim that Officer Jeon has woken up.

Oh, thank god, he’s alive.

“C-can I see him?”

Both men turn to you in surprise.

“Miss l/n, in your condition–”

“It would be against police protocol–”

“Please,” you plead. “I need to thank him. He saved me.”

A few minutes later you’re being pushed down the hall in a wheelchair. You told Dr. Kim that it was unnecessary, but he insisted.

“He’s just in here.”

You soon come face to face with the policeman. He sits up in bed when he notices you. “Miss l/n.”

“Call me y/n,” you say. “You look a lot better, huh?”

He laughs dryly. “Anything’s better than that.”

“Officer Jeon–”

“Jungkook,” he supplies, and you smile.

“Jungkook, I wanted to thank you. And apologize. It’s because of me that you’re injured.”

He thinks for a second. “And it’s because of you that I’m alive.”

You both fall silent.

“The actions you took were brave,” Sergeant Kim says from the doorway. “No jury in their right mind would convict you, if you’re worried.”

“Convicted? Convicted of what?”

Sergeant Kim looks from you to Jungkook. “After a point-blank shot to the heart? Convicted of... well, of murder.”

“Y/n. Y/n, wake up, wake– what’s the matter with her?”

“Her heart has been having to work overtime to cope with the blood loss, it’s no wonder... we should’ve kept her in bed. I need her hooked up to an IV with type O negative blood bags, stat.”

“Y/n, please...” and the voice is a whisper in your ear. “Wake up.”

“Yeah, wake up.” Yoongi prods you with an empty bottle.

“You’re dead,” you tell him.

“’Cause you killed me. It ain’t my fault.”

You think about it. “Are you sure about that?”

His gaze darkens, the mellow expression turns murderous and he swings the bottle, letting the glass connect solidly with your jaw.

“Ungh!” You cough weakly, tasting blood, and your jaw feels like it’s on fire. Yoongi, however, isn’t done and he wields the bottle like a weapon, striking every inch of you within reach, emphasizing each word with a blow.

“Fucking bitch...” Thud. “You think it’s my fault?” Thud. “You’re the one that stayed, day after day after fucking day.” Thud. “You don’t got the right to be mad.” Thud. “You deserve to suffer.”

“Stop it,” you cry.

“Doctor, can you please tell me what’s going on with her movement? A seizure?”

Yoongi smashes the bottle against your collarbone and you scream in pain. “Stop!”

“Possibly... but we saw no sign of head trauma.”

“Stop!” You bolt upwards to find yourself back in the hospital bed, sandwiched in between the blanket and a plain white towel.

“Wha...”

Dr. Kim pats the towel. “You were sweating so much, you were soaking through the sheets– we were trying to keep you comfortable.

“Th-th-th-” you can’t get the words out, you’re trembling so violently. The doctor notices.

“Are you hurt anywhere?” he asks in concern. You shake your head no. Lie.

You turn to Sergeant Kim, who’s leaning against the wall with a stony expression.

“What happened? You were moving, jerking around in your sleep,” he says.

“Bad dream.” I killed him, I killed him, I killed my Yoongi...

A knock. “Y/n?”

After Yoongi’s attacks on your psyche, Jungkook’s voice is a ray of light. He rolls in on a wheelchair and grips your hand in his own.

“Are you alright?”

You smile gratefully. “Better now.”

“Jeon, you’ll need to file a full report on this incident, understood?” the sergeant says.

“Yessir.”

“The both of you will have to stay overnight,” Dr. Kim announces. “If all goes well, you can be out of here in a week or so.”

“In the meantime, if they’re going to keep flitting about to see each other, can we move both of them into one room?” Sergeant Kim sighs. "Officer Jeon, what are you doing here? Are you flirting on the job again?”

Jungkook blushes. “I’m not flirting, I’m not on duty, and I wanted to see how y/n was doing. Sir.”

“I’m okay. I’m stronger than I look,” you say. Aren’t you?

Yoongi’s voice echoes loud and clear in your mind. “No, you’re not.”

A/N: Hiya! Hope you enjoyed this continuation of Less. As always, all types of feedback are really appreciated, so feel free to comment or drop me an ask with your thoughts!

[hellrager]

Love is Hell

A little Follow up Drabble from @thezomblr‘s Drabble of Brian dealing with being in love. Here’s Damien dealing with the fact, that he realizes that he’s in love with Brian. Based on past interaction and headcanons we made up. Also guest appearance of @doviilove !! Enjoy.

Damien was sitting on his bed, hand clutching the fabric of his shirt above the spot where his heart was. Ever since that one time, his heart didn't stop beating. It felt like he was being constantly sick, and his breathing was like sandpaper. Usually he would describe a state like that as 'fucking metal' cause this might mean that he was either dying or that he had caught a horrible virus or spell. But it was none of that, neither did drugs ever make him feel like this. It was way stronger than any drug he had ever taken, and lasted like.. Forever!

The Demon snarled and punched one of the spikes at the corner of his bed. It caused the whole thing to shake, just then did his phone vibrate. A loud guitar solor shrieking to life. His ringtone. When Damien saw who was calling, he sighed and swiped left. "Hi dad." He didn't sound very motivated, neither did he look the part. For his dads always did a video call. Probably to check on him and make sure nothing too weird was going on in the background.

"Hello Son, we haven't talked in days! How have you been? ... Something happened, I can see it on his face... Eh??               Are you sure? Damien, are you alright??"

"Yes, yes I'm fine! Fuck.. I just had a rough week, everything is fine, dad." He ran a hand through his hair. Obviously, none of his dad's were fine with that response, for they were frowning at each other. However, they tried not to pry. "Well if you're sure. Please give us a call if there's anything we can do for you."

"Well... Since we're already talking. I do have a question."

Both his fathers perked up, waiting for Damien to be done rubbing his neck and looking like he did not care. "You love each other, yeah? Can you like... Describe how that feels? Like, physically or something.."

They looked at each other again, then they smiled toothy smirks. "That is hard to explain but let me try it this way, it feels like your organs are trying to burst from your body any minute! Your heart, your lungs, your stomach! All just... POP! What your father is trying to say is.. That love can appear as if it weakens your body. You might feel sick or your legs won't carry you as they used to. But you realize that it strengthens you the closer you are to the person you love." At that, one moved an arm around the other, purple and red flames dancing in the background.

"...Huh. So it makes you feel like you can beat up the entire world,               cause that person got your back?"

"You could phrase it that way, yes."

Damien frowned, obviously not looking at his dads anymore, who were now exchanging small kisses. When Damien did look, he grimaced. "Fuck! Can't you wait with that when we're done calling?! Gross!... "

They cleared their throats. "Is there anything else you want to know?"

"No.. I think I got it. Thanks. I will call you again soon." Once he ended the call, Damien fell back onto his bed, sighing loudly. So loud, it caused Shuck to nudge him with all three of his head. Damien petted the ceberus while staring at the ceiling.

   "So it makes you feel weak and strong at the same time? What a load of bullshit..."

Just in that moment, the image of Brian's face flickered before the devil's inner eye, causing him to blush and sit up, shaking his head wildly. "Fuuuuuuuuuuck! Stop that! Who the fuck said you were allowed in my head when I don't allow you to you stupid, green piece of shit?!"

He was yelling at the air. Shuck was giving him a worried look and when Damien realized that he was shouting at nothing, he ran a hand through his face, took a deep breath and then visibly deflated again. "I love this green piece of shit, Shuck. What should I do?"

Shuck looked at him, with these big, loyal, flaming eyes. Since he didn't know how to help Damien, he leaped at the devil and licked his face in order to cheer him up. This caused Damien to give an amused snort and pat the canine's coat. "Yeah well I know you love me you stupid oaf. Wait....LOVE. Shit, I know what to do!"

Damien jumped up, grabbed his jacket and ran downstairs, then towards the first fire around and with a poof, he disappeared in flames. School had started anyway, and while everyone was trying to get to their first class, Damien had a different goal. He was headed for the school therapist's office, hands in pockets and with a rather determined look on his face.

That was until a strong hand landed on his shoulder, causing Damien to turn around and stare into beautiful, silver eyes. "Dude, class is this way. In case you forgot." Brian pointed at the open door, a light smirk playing at the corner of his lip. "Unless you wanna ditch, then better do it now before that hag sees ya." Damien blinked a few times before he faked a confident smirk. "Nah man, I got a therapy session now. That's my free ticket out of this shit without detention. See you around." He gave Brian another smirk before walking toward's Ms. Dove's office door. Though he stopped to watch Brian for a bit longer. It was a frustrated look Damien had on his face, but the longer he watched, the more drawn in did he seem. The way he always kept his stupid hair so unkempt. Fuck, he wanted to run his finger's through there and--

The sound of someone clearing their throat, caught Damien's attention and tore him right out of his daydreams. He turned to stare at his therapist. No one other than Ms. Dove herself. "Mr. LaVey, your next session isn't until tomorrow." She smiled though, it was obvious she knew something was up.

"Yeah I know, I kinda wanna.... talk, about something." This was the first time he ever wanted to talk about something and willingly came to her. So naturally, she let him in and cancelled whatever else she had planned. As Damien was sitting in that pink, cushion like bean bag, he sighed. "Look, I don't want you to make a big deal out of it."

"Well, you have to tell me what it is for me to determine--"

"You WON'T make a big deal out of it. Promise me."

Dove blinked before she smiled and placed two well manicured    fingers on the spot above her heart. "I promise."

"Okay... So...I think I've... fallen for someone and it's really fucking annoying and I don't know how to deal with it or what to do and how I'm gonna stop my stupid fucking lame heart from jumping out of my chest all the time." He growled, clenching his hand to a fist, like he wanted to PUNCH this problem away. Like he usually did. But this time, it wouldn't work.

Dove remained silent, listening until he was done explaining before she placed a hand onto her collarbone. "Oh, Damien.." Damien swore he could see tears well up in the corners of her eyes. Right before she went for him like an animal. Hugging him so tightly that he thought he was going to die with his head between her tits. "Finally you fell in love! I am so proud of you!"

He kicked and pushed until he finally managed to escape her grasp, falling back into the bean bag with a loud inhale and a cough. "You said you wouldn't make a big deal out of this!!!"

"Oh honey, this isn't me making a big deal out of it. Trust me,        that would look way different. So – who is it, hm?"

"Like I would tell you! Just tell me how to deal with it."

Dove tapped a finger against her lips. "There is no cure for love, Darling.     You have to embrace it, tell your beloved how you feel."

"No. Not an option. If I do that, he will--"

"So its a HE, now that narrows down the list of suspects.." She mumbled to herself,       obviously pretending like she was still trying to find out.

"Will you fucking concentrate again! I WANT THIS TO STOP!" That last part sounded so pained, Dove became serious for a moment and looked at Damien, who was grasping his shirt once more, like he was going to tear his very heart out before her.

"It fucks up everything we got! It's in the way! Shit, I wanna just burn and smash stuff and not deal with something that makes me so.. vulnerable. This is really fucking unsettling."

Dove sighed. "Listen, it might be unsettling to you. But love doesn't have to weight you down, hun. See it as a.... Ah, right. Like a weapon you wield. A sword, or an axe." Now she got his attention. "Love is a war that can't be fought by yourself. Your heart is telling you to fight, and once you stop rejecting it, you will see that it is the strongest weapon you could ever wield."

Damien was listening, frowning. This sounded like the thing his dad's told him. Maybe... They were right? The wheels in Damien's head were turning, so Dove decided to give him that final push.

"Or is this the kind of battle Damien LaVey will run from?"

Damien stopped overthinking it, frowning, staring at Dove who stood before him, like a drill sergeant. She was just missing the uniform. And eventually, Damien rose to his feet.

         "Fuck that, I don't run from anything."

She smiled. "Now that's my big boy." She placed her hands on his shoulders as the bell rang, and pushed him towards the door. "Now go and tell Mr. Green that you love him!"

Damien was suddenly not so sure anymore, and was moving forward a bit reluctantly. "Hey! From where yo do you know that It's Br--" SLAM! She shut the door with a pleased smile and was totally going to use her magic in order to keep an eye on the lovebirds.

Damien scowled at her door before returning his attention to the Hallway. Students were leaving classes, one after another, until that one Monster walked out, Damien had been waiting for. He took one last breath, made sure his hair was looking as good as always – then walked over to him.

[stealther-gurl]

Lifeguard AU (Aqualad x Reader)

Word Count: 1500+

@actualaqualadtrashcan (and others) wanted an Aqualad lifeguard AU! Sorry I couldn't think of a better title for this one ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Though it was summer, New England hardly ever got above seventy-seven degrees Fahrenheit. But for (Y/N), that was boiling hot. Every day they were sitting on the big white chair marked with a red cross. The lifeguard seat was meant for two, but the Happy Harbor beach was never crowded enough to warrant more lifeguards.

Until today.

"Jake, I don't need a partner!" (Y/N) told their boss. "I've been doing this for three years, and everyone on the beach knows me well enough not to cross me."

"(Y/N)-"

"And if you're worried that I'm getting soft because things are getting too calm, I swam out to save a six-year-old and a gross old guy who went past the sandbar yesterday."

"(Y/N)," Jake said sternly. "It's not that I don't have confidence in your ability to enforce safety and to save those poor saps, but it's national park regulations. Lots of people have been moving to the Harbor in the past year, and by law, we are required to hire at least one more lifeguard, whom I've already found. Plus, this way you'll be able to sit back and relax."

(Y/N) huffed and marched towards the office door. "I hate sitting in that chair."

"Don't forget to be here early tomorrow! I want you to show our new recruit the ropes!"

(Y/N) slammed the door behind herself.

In all their years on the job, (Y/N) had never been late to work. Today, however, they waited in their car for ten minutes after they parked just to tick of Jake.

Jake ignored their attitude, all smiles to keep things flowing smoothly for their newest lifeguard.

"(Y/N), this is our new fish, Kaldur." Jake pointed with his thumb at a dark-skinned, tattooed guy who had to be at least six feet tall, and that blond hair had to be dyed.

"Kaldur, this is going to be your mentor, (Y/N). They’re the only other guard we've got, but they’re the best we've ever had, and the most dedicated." Jake was so buttering them up right now, but it was not going to work.

"It is a pleasure to be working with you," Kaldur stuck out his hand.

(Y/N) eyed him, grabbing their life board as they pushed past him. "Charmed." They huffed.

They could hear his footprints as he followed them across the sand. So he was going to be one of those insufferable puppy-dog types, wasn't he?

"Mister Jake said you were to teach me about being a lifeguard here." He said. One hand was around the second board provided by Jake, the other was shoved deep in his khaki shorts pocket.

"Not much to teach," (Y/N) snapped, propping their board up on the seat and pushing their hair back. "You make sure people follow the rules, and save their bacon if they get stupid and start to drown." They boosted themself up onto the seat.

Kaldur nodded, deep in thought.

"Hey! No glass bottles! We've got bare feet here!" (Y/N) gave a short burst on their whistle. The man carrying the bottles of root beer glared at them, but nevertheless, he headed back to the parking lot to put his bottles in the car.

(Y/N) nodded promptly and put on their sun visor, already scanning for any more potentially dangerous situations.

They didn't spot any, but what they did see was Kaldur running after the man, calmly inviting him to perhaps buy a commemorative pitcher from the beach's gift shop to put his root beer in instead. The man wasn't too happy about "wasting his money," but he didn't seem as bitter as when (Y/N) yelled at him, and he even shook Kaldur's hand before joining his family on their towels.

A group of elementary-age kids that (Y/N) typically considered "troublemakers" came up to Kaldur and asked to get a better look at his tattoos. (Y/N) wanted to yell at Kaldur to get back to work, but he was being incredibly patient with the kids.

(Y/N) didn't want to admit that they became very interested too when he took off his shirt to show them where the tattoos snaked up his arms and connected on his back.

Kaldur was the first to notice when a boy was wading right for a jellyfish. He helped the kid avoid the stingers, and even helped the fish swim to safety. He also noticed a pod of dolphins farther out to sea and pointed them out to a little girl with dolphins on her swimsuit. He even gave a brief swim lesson to one of (Y/N)'s classmates who seemed afraid of the water

Meanwhile, (Y/N) hadn't even left their stupid chair.

"Who's the new guy?" (Y/N)'s friend asked them a few hours later, leaning against the guard chair.

"New guard." (Y/N) said, squinting at the water. Was that kid drowning?

"He's cute," Zoe said, licking her frozen yogurt cone. She eyed Kaldur, who was helping a couple kids place a flag on top of their sandcastle.

"You're gonna wait thirty minutes after you finish that before you go swimming, right?"

Zoe sighed and saluted. "Yes, Sergeant."

"Help!" Several kids screamed, pointing out to the water. (Y/N) squinted, and out beyond the sandbar they could see the telltale struggle in the water of someone drowning. They jumped down from their seat and sprinted across the sand, diving into the waves. Their strokes cut through the water, and they made good time out to the kid, even with the waves.

"It's okay, I got you," they told them, recognizing the thrashing person as the girl Kaldur had taught earlier.

"Got too cocky, didn't you?" (Y/N) muttered to themself. Their rescue-ee was too busy coughing up water to hear. (Y/N) grabbed the teen under her arms, kicking as hard as they could to keep them both afloat. Then a huge wave came crashing down, forcing both of them under the water.

The wave smacked (Y/N) down against the rocks at the bottom, and another wave tossed them upside down. They gasped for air and felt something grab their arm.

"(Y/N), are you alright?"

Of course Kaldur had to come out and save them. He set (Y/N) down on the sand, and Zoe handed them a towel

"You saved me!" The other drowning victim cried, throwing her arms around Kaldur. The poor boy blushed as she kissed his cheek and everyone began to cheer for him.

(Y/N) turned on their heels and marched up to the guard chair again.

Zoe ran after them. "(Y/N), are you-"

"No, no I'm not okay!" (Y/N) snapped. "The new guy just showed me up, of course I'm not okay!"

They slammed the door to the gift shop and Jake poked his head out of the office.

"So, how's the new fish doing?" He grinned.

(Y/N) slammed a king-size Hershey's bar on the countertop.

"That bad, huh?" Jake winced as he rang up (Y/N)'s order.

"Try good," (Y/N) mumbled. Jake raised a brow in their direction, so they elaborated.

"He's a better lifeguard than I've ever been, and  I think I have a freaking crush  on him but there's no way he'd like me back after I've been rude to him all day and he has a bunch of way cuter girls falling at his feet."

"Are you sure that he thinks they're cute?" Jake asked, "Because he's staring through that window at you like some lovestruck idiot."

(Y/N) couldn't keep themself from not turning around to look out the window.

Both they and Kaldur looked away pink-cheeked.

Jake patted (Y/N)'s shoulder. "I had a whole bunch of applications from people who wanted to be lifeguards, and I told myself I'd only hire one more for now, to keep your ego intact until you could learn a little humility from this one. There were probably a dozen other people more qualified to be a guard here, but something made me chose him.

"Maybe it was meant to be."

(Y/N) sighed, thinking over what Jake had said as they walked out of the gift shop.

Kaldur was waiting right outside the door.

"Hey."

"Hey."

(Y/N) looked at their feet and broke the candy bar in half. "Chocolate?"

"Thank you," Kaldur nodded and accepted the treat.

"Look, I'm sorry, I've been a huge jerk to you when you've been nothing but nice to me and you saved my life, so...can we just...you know..."

"Start over?" Kaldur asked.

(Y/N) nodded. "Yeah."

Kaldur stuck out his hand. "I would like that."

(Y/N) shook his hand. They laughed, both realizing too late that their hands were covered in melted chocolate.

"HELP!" Someone hollered, and they both looked up abruptly.

"Do you want to get it, or should I?" (Y/N) asked.

Kaldur smiled at her. "How about we both do it? Together?"

(Y/N) tossed him a life board, and the two ran towards the waves.

[another-writer]

Loneliness

Bucky x reader (sort of)

First of all, thank you thank you thank you to everyone who’s commented/liked/reblogged on my posts! This is long overdue and honestly I’m blown away by the reaction you guys have had to my writing

This is just a little thing I wrote at eleven o’clock at night. I didn’t have time to edit but the idea just came to me and I wanted it all out and published. Sorry for any mistakes that might be in here but I hope you guys like this. There’s not really a category for it, but I suppose it’s generally hurt/comfort. 

Word count: 1.6k

Warnings: mentions of panic attack symptoms, blood, knives, hostage situation. It’s not incredibly graphic, but it’s definitely there and not totally brief. 

The wave of sickness hit you like a tsunami the moment it happened. While carnage grew around you with collapsing buildings and fires and burst water pipes, you shrank into a curled foetal position in the back of an ambulance. 

You were one of the last civilians to have been evacuated. 

You remember tearing a door open and ushering the men and women who worked in the office into the designated safe zone where they were to be taken out of a twenty mile radius to safety. 

You remember seeing flashes of Iron Man skirting between buildings, the crash of a patriotic shield, arrows cutting through the sky to meet their targets. 

When you later thought about it, you were glad that there were no children being held hostage like you were - if you were hanging by your fingertips almost ready to fall into the pit of insanity, then how could a child handle that? 

Your first guess was Hydra. After the intel had been released, along with all from an organisation called SHIELD which had been strictly formed in the first place to destroy the former, it seemed to make sense. You were held for more than twelve hours, having been kidnapped from your workspace along with thirty of your colleagues. You remember the agents releasing some kind of gas from canisters they rolled out across the office space. 

Apparently, if there was one collective weakness the Avengers had, it was innocent civilians. You think that’s what you liked most about them. 

When Sergeant Barnes had burst open the doors and taken the guards out single-handedly, you took the task of ushering everyone else out where several other agents were evacuating the area and taking you back to the city. 

Unfortunately, that’s when things went wrong. From the hands of an agent that had just been wounded in the leg, a serrated knife skidded across the concrete floor and stopped only inches away from you. Simultaneously, the second Hydra agent the soldier had been fighting was knocked to the ground, almost flying into the corner, his head smacking against the blackening drywall, his body going limp. You could see a bloody wound form near the crown of his head, his eyes glazing, but he wasn’t unconscious. 

When Barnes slid the gun back in his holster, scanning the area, looking to the side opposite to where you were first, the agent’s fingers fumbled with the gun lying close to his hand. You watched them slowly and clumsily curl around the handle, index finger edging towards the trigger.

You found yourself rolling to your side, sliding the knife in your grasp, and skidding to where he was lying, knocking the gun from his weak grasp, taking the knife and then -

You heaved and then gasped for breath, pushing the shock blanket off your shoulders desperately and placing your head in your hands, fingers reaching up into your hair. The cold air fanned over your neck and your hands and seeped through your clothes but it was more comfortable than you could hope for. 

Hot tears formed in your eyes and your throat tightened; you were just about breathing. Just about hanging by your fingertips. 

You remember being escorted out of the warehouse and being ushered into the ambulance, the blood-stained knife tight in your grip being pried away while you stayed silent in shock. 

You choked on your breath as you failed to keep your tears at bay. 

‘Ma’am?’ 

The voice was a little edged but still gentle. Kind of like the fuzzy blanket the paramedics had given you. 

You lifted your head slightly so that your eyes peeked over the protective cage of your hands. 

‘Are you alright?’ he asked, his tone the same. 

You bit your lip and, to your frustration, more tears formed in your eyes. 

It was one person. One really bad person. Someone you assumed had volunteered to be bad. You read about Hydra. You knew what they had done, specifically what they had done to the man whom you had - technically - saved from a bullet, the man who was crouched in front of you now. 

So why did it feel like this? Why did it feel like throwing up and feeling empty at the same time? Or like you were caught in a flood and standing completely famished in a desolate world? 

‘I killed someone,’ you murmured. Your voice was quiet and almost swallowed by the gentle breeze but gritted and grounding, rooting your words, anchoring them around you. 

Barnes nodded softly. ‘I know. That saved me, what you did. I should thank you.’

Your eyebrows creased into a slightly pained expression. ‘Forgive me if that doesn’t help,’ you said, your tone almost bitter. You knew he was trying to help ease the tension you felt, but the guilt had turned into a physical nausea, culminating like acid.

Bucky frowned but not because he was hurt by your response. He stood up and sat down next to you in the entrance of the ambulance, keeping a respectable distance from you. 

‘I’m sorry I put you in that position,’ he said. ‘It’s my job to make those choices, not yours.’ 

You shook your head, the motion so subtle it was almost as if you hadn’t done anything. But because you had been so still before, the movement was noticeable. 

‘Don’t apologise,’ you murmured, trying to sound consoling. You clasped your hands together, elbows tucked in as you clamped your hands between your knees, curving your body into a smaller shape. You took a deep breath through you nose and cleared your throat, trying to gather some normality back in your voice. ‘Does this feeling ever go away?’

Bucky hesitated. ‘I don’t think it’s my place to say,’ he admitted, and you found that you appreciated the honesty, even though part of you just wanted confirmation that you would forget the past twenty minutes even happened. ‘That guy wasn’t innocent in any form of the word, for what it’s worth,’ He added. ‘I knew him from - from before.’

So you killed someone who deserved to die? The image of the knife … of it being used by you. It wasn’t the person that truly bothered you, it was your actions. You did it. You didn’t feel the same way you did before. 

‘But I killed him,’ you whispered.

Slowly, giving you time to make him stop or to move away, Bucky put his hand on your knee. The touch was light, with a feather-like fragility something with his stature shouldn’t possess but somehow did. 

‘I-I understand,’ he started. ‘I don’t wanna tell you how to feel but, I’ve done this before.’

Your mind was skeptical. Barnes never intended to commit those murders done by the Winter Soldier. 

‘When I was in the war,’ he said softly, ‘it’s like that.’

Oh.

It was quiet for a while after that while your mind replayed the scenes from before, while your heartbeat steadied one moment and then raced another, keeping an uneven pace. Slowly, your head was starting to feel less and less as though it were filled with brick dust. 

It had sounded like he didn’t want to elaborate and part of you guessed that it was because he didn’t want to haul his own pain onto someone who was going through their own. He didn’t want to draw attention away from you when you were clearly less able to deal with it. Perhaps he just didn’t want to talk about it. But you were brave, so you asked -

‘How so?’ you asked softly.

Barnes looked at you as though asking for confirmation and then let a tiny self-deprecating smile appear briefly on his features, his eyes hardening with regret. 

‘They made it sound amazing,’ he said softly, eyes on the ground in front of him. ‘Fighting for your country, doing what was right, not only because everyone who wasn’t fighting on our side was a Nazi but because it was just un-American not to.’ His eyebrows creased, expression hardening. ‘But you get out on the front line and suddenly not every opposition is a Nazi who’s out to tear your heart from your chest. We were all kids fighting a war that wasn’t ours.’ He clenched his jaw and then released the tension. ‘I killed guys by my own accord who didn’t deserve what was coming.’ He blinked, as if ridding the memories from the forefront of his mind and looked at you. ‘But I accept it because denying it’s even worse. And I try to do better.’

You wiped the dried tears from under your eyes and your cheeks, drawing your sleeve over your fingers, lip trembling. 

‘What do I do next?’ 

Barnes looked at you apologetically. ‘I don’t know,’ he admitted. ‘But I have a lot of good days lately. It’s the worst answer, but give it time.’

You nodded numbly and sniffed, clearing your throat and looking around you. You were one of the few civilians left here, everyone else having been escorted back to their homes or hospitals or wherever they wanted to go. 

‘Where are you going back to?’ he asked. ‘You gonna be alone?’

You didn’t want to go anywhere that had people who didn’t know what you were going through. So going home alone seemed like the only viable option.

‘I’ll be fine.’

You didn’t know how to deal with this. But you told yourself that you just had to figure it out because what choice did you have?

Barnes looked a little doubtful, uneasy and unenthusiastic to let you go by yourself. 

‘I don’t want you to be alone,’ he said. ‘If you wanna talk to me or if you just don’t wanna be by yourself …’

You looked at him, studying his sincere blue-grey eyes. This man was worried about you. You felt so emotionally drained that you couldn’t fight it. You were willing to admit that maybe, just this once, you deserved someone’s attention, someone’s help. 

So you nodded. ‘I don’t want to be alone right now.’ 

[snappedsky]

Fanatics 44

Puberty can be a hard time for a boy, especially if you were born the Antichrist. Previous! Next!

Pepito Gets Stepped Up

              Pepito’s alarm goes off at seven o’clock. He groans and waves his hand to turn it off with his dark powers.

            It doesn’t stop.

            His eyes blink open. He rolls over and waves his hand again. But again it doesn’t work. So he shuts it off manually.

            After turning on his lamp, he sits up and stares at his hands. He tries to activate his powers. Normally when he does this a black, gas-like substance would start flowing around his hands. But this time there’s nothing. He doesn’t even feel anything.

            He blinks with confusion. “Uh oh.”

            Squee walks through the sea of students until he reaches his locker. Zim and Dib are already there, grabbing their stuff.

            “Hey, guys,” Squee says.

            “Hey,” they respond.

            He looks around. “Pepito’s not here yet?”             “Guess not,” Dib replies, “he must be running late.”             Squee hums with concern and checks the time on his phone. The bell rings in less than five minutes.

            “Ah, he probably just slept in,” Zim shrugs, “you know how lazy he can be.”

            “Yeah, right,” Squee mutters and looks around.

           He spots him rushing down the hall, snaking through the other kids. He looks a little frazzled, with his crooked beanie, untied boots, and bag hanging out of his arms. He must’ve been in a rush.

            Pepito meets Squee’s eyes and starts to smile when he steps on his laces. He falls flat on his face and his bag flies out of his hands, his homework tumbling out. Dib and Squee both wince while Zim bursts into laughter.

            “Are you okay?” Squee asks while he helps him up.

            “Yeah, yeah I’m alright,” Pepito replies as he rubs his nose.

            “Are you sure?” Dib questions, “that was quite a spill.”

            “It’s no big deal,” he grunts and picks up his homework. He starts to open his locker when the bell rings. They look at him with uncertainty.

            “You guys go,” he insists, “I’ll see you in class.”

            They leave hesitantly while Pepito grabs the rest of his stuff.

            Homeroom goes by quickly and uneventfully and everyone leaves for their respective classes. Pepito seems quiet and distant. He doesn’t bother Zim as much as they head to their class. Ordinarily this would be a good thing, but Zim can’t help but wonder why.

            “What’s wrong with you?” he asks bluntly as they sit at their desks.

            “Nothing. What,” Pepito replies defensively.

            “You just don’t seem like your usual self,” Zim clarifies.

            “It’s fine,” he says, “I just got some stuff on my mind.

            “Okay,” Zim shrugs.

            “What, that’s it?” Pepito questions, “you’re not gonna ask what it is?”

            “Are you gonna tell me what it is?”

            “Do you care?”

            “Should I?”

            “I don’t know. Maybe.”

            “Well, what is it?”

            “It-I-um,” Pepito stammers and turns away. “Forget it, it’s nothing.”             “Sweet Irk, you are frustrating,” Zim comments, “just say what your problem is.”

            “Fine,” he grunts, “my powers aren’t working.”             “Why?”

            “It’s a human thing. You wouldn’t understand.”

            “Zim understands everything,” Zim snaps, offended.

            Before they can say anything else, the teacher walks in to begin class.

            “Forget about it, Zim,” Pepito whispers, “it’s not your problem.”

            “I am your leader,” Zim retorts, “and one of the downsides to that is your problems are often my problems.”

            “It’s fine,” he insists, “and don’t tell the others.”

            Zim huffs with annoyance. He leans forward in his chair and incessantly taps his fingers on his desk. He can’t even pay attention to the lesson- not that he ever does- because he’s so bothered.

            At lunch they sit at their usual table with Dib, Squee, and Gaz. They all make casual small talk about their classes or stuff that’s happened recently. Everyone’s calm as they enjoy their lunch. Except for Zim.

            He constantly taps his fingers on the table and glances at Pepito. Nobody really notices because Zim never sits still, but Zim is quietly going nuts.

            Finally he sticks his arms at his sides and takes a deep breath. “Pepito’s powers are gone.”

            “What?” Squee questions.

            “Zim!” Pepito snaps.

            “What do you mean they’re gone?” Dib asks.

            “Are you okay?” Squee asks.

            “I’m fine, I’m fine,” Pepito says quickly, “they’re not gone; I just can’t use them right now.”

            “Why not?” Gaz asks.

            Pepito groans and rubs his neck awkwardly. “It-it’s personal.”

            “Personal how?” Dib questions.

            “Are you sick?” Squee asks worriedly.

            “No,” Pepito replies. “It’s…” He sighs and says quietly, “it’s a puberty thing, alright?”

            “Puberty?” Gaz snorts.

            “Yes,” he snaps, “alright, look. My powers weren’t working this morning so I asked my dad about it. He said that as, you know, my body starts changing my powers are gonna change too. They kind of go into like a mini hibernation and when they wake up they’ll be even more powerful.”

            “That’s a good thing,” Zim comments.

            “Yes. That’s why I’ve been saying it’s not a big deal. It’s just a little weird knowing I can’t use my powers.”

            “How long does it last?” Squee asks.

            “Could be anywhere from a few days to a few months,” Pepito shrugs, “but he said that when they wake up, they’ll flourish in an extravagant way.”

            “That’s kind of weird,” Gaz comments.

            “Yeah, it’s got me a little worried,” Pepito agrees, “he almost sounded excited about it.”             “Well, if you ever need any help, just let me know,” Squee smiles.

            “Thanks,” he smiles back.

            The next couple weeks are difficult for Pepito. He has a hard time getting used to not having powers and keeps trying to instinctively use them.

            Sometimes it’s not so bad, like when he wants to grab something that’s not close by. He used to use his powers to float the item to him so he wouldn’t have to get up. Now he just has to move a couple feet.

            Other times it causes problems, like when he tries to put something away. He used to just let the item go and float it right back to its spot. Now it falls to the floor. Doesn’t sound bad, except for when it’s something breakable.

            But fortunately these are all minor inconveniences that are easily dealt with. Thankfully his days are calm and quiet, spent at Skool, at home, or with friends. And other than Zim laughing at him, his mistakes have no real repercussions. But they’re still exhausting and after a month he’s feeling pretty worn down.

            “Man,” Pepito groans as he rests his head on the cafeteria table. “I didn’t think I relied on my powers so much. But after a month of not having them I realized I actually did. Who knew doing little things could be so tedious?”

            “Yeah, it must be a real pain living like an actual human,” Dib says drily.

            “It is!” Pepito agrees sincerely.

            He groans with irritation.

            “Aw, you’ll be okay, Pepito,” Squee says reassuringly, “it’s already been a month. You’ll get used to it.”  

            “Sure,” Pepito grunts.

            The bell rings, signalling the end of lunch. Squee sighs with irritation as they stand up.

            “Ugh, great. Time for gym,” he groans.

            “Gym isn’t so bad,” Zim shrugs, “it reminds me of physical training back at the academy. Although I would prefer a different drill sergeant.”

            They stop at their lockers to drop off anything they don’t need and head to the gymnasium. They change into their gym clothes and gather with the other students in the field behind the Skool.

            Sergeant Slab Rankle marches before them in a complete army uniform. He faces them, standing at attention with his hands behind his back.

            “Today we are practicing cardio!” he announces, his voice pounding against the kids’ eardrums. “To warm up, do five laps around the field.”

            “That’s a warm up?” Dib groans under his breath.

            “At least running’s easy for me,” Squee sighs with relief.

            Everyone takes off and starts jogging around the field. Squee takes it easy, sticking close to Pepito and Dib, while Zim goes all out to show how much faster than everyone else he is. He laps the group at least once before the end of the exercise.

            “Next we are doing suicides,” Rankle declares, “run to each peg! Go, go, go!”

            “Suicide is an appropriate name,” Pepito groans.   

            Suicides go on for a few minutes. Zim and Squee have the easiest time with it; they don’t run out of breath as fast as the other kids.

            Just as they’re finishing the exercise, a stabbing pain suddenly rushes through Pepito’s body. He stumbles to a stop at the end of the field and doubles over, clutching his stomach.

            “Pepito, are you okay?” Squee asks.

            “I-I don’t know,” he replies through gritted teeth. “Everything hurts?”

            “Got a cramp?” Dib questions, “you should pace yourself.”

            “No, I-I don’t think so,” Pepito croaks.

            “Want me to take you to the nurse’s office?” Squee asks.           

            “No, no that’s okay,” he insists, “I’ll just go to the washroom. Lunch is probably disagreeing with me.”

            “It was tomatoes and mayonnaise,” Dib nods understandably.

            “That was mayonnaise?” Squee questions with disgust. “I thought it was cottage cheese.”

            “Sergeant?” Pepito calls as he raises his hand. “Permission to be excused?”

            “Under what cause?” Rankle asks.

            “Abdominal distress radiating throughout my whole body.”

            “Hm, very well,” Rankle relents, “but make it quick.”

            “Thank you,” Pepito nods and jogs into the Skool. He hurries into the closest boys’ washroom and leans against the counter.

            The pain’s getting worse. He’s starting to realize that it’s not coming from his stomach; it’s coming from all over. He can’t pinpoint a certain spot. It feels like he’s being stabbed with a billion knives.

            He stumbles backwards, hugging himself as he moans through his gritted fangs. He leans against the door and collapses to the floor in a writhing ball. He grips his head, digging his fingers into his beanie, and shouts in pain.

            It slowly drifts away over a couple minutes. When it’s finally gone, Pepito pants with exhaustion. He pulls off his beanie and leans his head back as sweat practically rains down his face. When he’s feeling up to it, he pulls himself to his feet and moves for the sinks. His vision is blurred and he feels heavy. He’s having a hard time staying balanced as he stumbles to the counter.

            He finally makes it and sighs with relief as he leans against it. He goes to turn on the water when he notices his hands. His nails have grown at least three inches and they’ve turned completely black.

            He lets out a shuddery gasp as he looks at his hands then up at his reflection in the mirror. His breath catches in his throat. He stumbles backwards, loses his balance, and falls against the bathroom stalls.

            He sits on the floor, shocked and terrified, his trembling fingers resting on his face. The creature that looked back at him wasn’t Pepito; it was a monster.

            After gym class, Zim, Dib, and Squee head to the nurse’s office. Pepito never came back to class. Dib thinks he probably just went to see the nurse so they’re going to make sure.

            “Excuse me,” Dib says as he peeks into the office. “Is Pepito Diablo here?”

            “No, he’s not,” the nurse replies.

            “Oh, okay. Thank you,” he nods politely before leaving.

            “He’s not there,” Squee repeats worriedly.

            “Maybe he just went home,” Dib suggests.

            “But he’s not answering his texts,” he argues as he taps on his phone.

            “He might be resting.”

            “But it’s not like him to just ignore me.”

            “I’m sure he’s fine,” Zim insists, “he’s Pepito. He’s whiny, but he’s not a pushover.”

            “Right,” Squee sighs and nods. “You’re right. He’s fine. But after Skool I’ll get Johnny to stop by his house so I can check.”

            The bell rings and they hurry to their next class. None of them hear anything from Pepito. Squee can’t help but get more and more anxious. Dib feels the same and Zim does too, although he won’t show it.

            After Skool, they split off to head home. Squee promises to text them after he’s checked Pepito’s house.              Zim marches home quietly. His head is held high but his hand is kept on his phone. If something happens, he wants to know about it immediately.

            He lets himself into his house and runs into Skoodge. He looks really stressed and has been pacing back and forth across the living room.

            “Zim, you’re finally home,” he sighs with relief.

            “What’s wrong with you?” Zim asks.

            “Uh Pepito’s here,” Skoodge replies hesitantly.

            “What? Where is he?”

            “Um your room. B-but there’s something you should know.”             Zim ignores him as he rushes by and hurries upstairs. His bedroom door is closed and Minimoose and Gir are standing outside it. Gir keeps knocking on the door.

            “Monster man. Open up,” he sings.

            “Monster man?” Zim questions and stomps up to them. “Gir, get out of here.”

            His minions scurry away. Zim knocks on the door. “Pepito-? Wait, what am I doing? It’s my room and my base.”             He shoves open the door. It’s dark and at first he doesn’t see anything. Then he notices a mound of blankets in the far corner by his bed.

            “Pepito, is that you?” Zim asks.

            It’s silent at first and then Pepito quietly answers, “yeah. It’s me.”

            Zim huffs and marches up to him. “What are you doing here? Why’d you just disappear like that?”

            “Sorry. I-I didn’t know where else to go,” he mutters.

            “What’s wrong with you?” Zim orders. He starts to tug on the blankets but Pepito holds them tight.

            “Zim, no, don’t!” he cries.

            “What are you hiding?” he asks.

            He doesn’t answer.

            Zim snarls with annoyance. “You disappeared without so much as a word. Do you have any idea how worried Squee is? You owe it to him to let us help you. And you owe it to me for barging into my base! Where do you get off? So stop being so dramatic!”

            “Like you’re one to talk,” Pepito mumbles.

            Zim smiles with relief. At least he still sounds a little like Pepito.

            He grabs the blankets and gently tugs them but this time Pepito doesn’t hold them. So Zim whips them off. He gasps with surprise and steps back.   

            Pepito has undergone a total transformation. His horns, which were previously short and stubby, are now three feet long and three inches wide and they curl up over his head. His fangs have grown too; he can’t even fully close his mouth. He also has a pair of large, black wings and a hairless, black tail. And his feet have changed into black hooves. He doesn’t look the least bit human.

            “Wow,” Zim comments.

            “Yeah,” Pepito grunts, “when people say kids go through changes during puberty, I don’t think this is what they meant. But I’m sure it’s what my dad meant.”

            “This happened during gym?” he questions.

            “Yeah. It really hurt. I didn’t know what to do so I ran away. But I can’t go home like this so I came here,” he explains, “it was a long walk.”

            “I should tell Squee,” Zim says as he grabs his cellphone.

            “No!” Pepito barks and jumps to his feet. Zim steps back with shock. He’s gotten bigger too; he’s much taller and broader. Zim almost feels intimidated.

            “Please don’t tell Squee,” he begs, “I don’t want him seeing me like this.”

            “He’s worried sick about you,” Zim points out, “he deserves to know.”

            “No, no,” Pepito whimpers, “please. I don’t wanna scare him.”

            Zim stares at him for a second before sighing and putting his phone away. “Fine. So what are you gonna do?”

            “I don’t know,” he sighs.

            Zim groans and rolls his neck. “Well…I can set you up with a room in my lab. At least until you figure things out.”

            Pepito looks at him and smiles gratefully. “Thanks, Zim.”             He nods. “Come on.”

            He leads Pepito out of his room and to the elevator to the lab. He has a hard time walking on his hooves, like he can’t stay balanced very well. He sticks close to the wall.

            They take the elevator down to the lab and march into a metal corridor lined with locked doors. Zim opens one. It leads to a small, metal room with a simple, round bed against the far wall.

            “These are prison cells,” he says, “but I’ll leave yours open. You can come upstairs whenever you want. My computer seems to recognize you so it won’t attack but still don’t touch anything. And if you need me just text me or something.”

            “Right. Thanks, Zim,” Pepito sighs as he sits on the bed.

            Zim starts to walk away when Pepito calls him.

            “Hey! You promise you won’t tell Squee, right?” he questions suspiciously.

            “Yeah, yeah I promise,” Zim replies.

            As he walks away, he whips out his phone and sends a text to Dib.

            About an hour later, Dib, Gaz, and Squee arrive at the base. They all look confused and worried. Without saying many words, Zim immediately escorts them down through the lab and to Pepito’s room.

            “Pepito?” Squee questions as they step into the doorway.

            “Squee?” Pepito exclaims, “Zim!”        

          “Hey, I didn’t tell him,” Zim points out, “I told Dib. We didn’t make any promises about that.”

            “Wow, look at you,” Gaz whistles.

            “You look incredible, Pepito!” Dib says excitedly.

            “Are you insane?” he scoffs, “I look like a monster.”

            “I know!” he agrees.

            “Dib,” Squee snaps.

            “Oh, right,” he coughs awkwardly, “come on, guys.”

            Zim, Dib, and Gaz pretend to leave but they just duck behind the wall and listen in.

            Squee slowly approaches Pepito, careful not to make any sudden moves like he’s approaching a wild animal. Pepito doesn’t look at him but as he gets closer, he curls more and more in on himself until he’s in a ball.

            Squee sits next to him about a foot away. He doesn’t take his eyes off of him.

            “I was really worried about you when you didn’t answer your texts,” he says.

            “I didn’t want you to see me like this,” Pepito mutters.

            “Why not?”

            “I’m a monster.”

            “No, you’re not,” Squee argues.

            “Of course I am!” Pepito barks, “look at me! There’s not one part of me that’s human!”

            “Just because you may look like a monster doesn’t mean you are one,” Squee points out, “there are plenty of humans that are monsters but don’t look it.”

            “So I don’t scare you?” Pepito questions with disbelief.

            “Not even a little bit,” he replies sincerely. “You know why? Because I know you. And I know how you’re feeling. The only one who’s scared here is you.”

            Pepito looks at him, his eyes glistening. Squee looks back and smiles sympathetically as he takes his hand.

            “You’re not a monster, Pepito,” he says, “no matter what your father might say, no matter what transformation you might go through, you’re still you on the inside.”

            Pepito swallows a sob. He leans forward for a kiss but his large horns bonk Squee in the head. Squee chuckles lightly while Pepito looks away subconsciously.

            Squee leans forward and wraps his arms around Pepito’s neck, hugging him tightly. Pepito buries his face into Squee’s shoulder and squeezes him back.

            “Aw,” Dib sighs as he, Zim, and Gaz watch from the doorway.

            “Hey, look,” Zim gasps.

            They watch in awe as Pepito’s horns, wings, tail, and hooves slowly shrink away. After a few seconds, they’re gone completely and he looks just like his old self, stubby horns and all.

            Pepito and Squee split apart and he looks at himself with surprise. He cheers with elation and jumps into Squee. They both laugh as they fall onto the bed.

            “Love conquers all,” Dib states.

            “That’s so hokey,” Gaz scoffs and walks away.

            The next day Pepito strides through the Skool halls with his head held high and a skip in his step. His beanie is straight, his boots are laced up, and he’s feeling even more stylish than usual.

            He smiles as he approaches Zim, Dib, and Squee at their lockers.

            “Hey, guys,” he chimes.

            “Hey,” they reply.

            “How are you feeling?” Squee asks.

            “Great,” Pepito replies, “my powers are working even better than before. My dad was surprised when I told him I reversed my transformation. He didn’t seem too happy about it.”

            “Is it permanent?” Dib asks.

            “It seems to be for the most part. I mean my horns are a little bigger and my nails are sharper no matter how much I file them. And I have these bumps on my shoulder blades where the wings were.”

            “Hey, maybe that means you can sprout wings whenever you want,” Zim suggests.

            “Yeah, maybe,” Pepito nods, “there’re still a lot of my new powers I have to figure out.”

            “Well, if anything goes wrong, Squee will always be here to fix it with the power of love,” Dib states.

            “Stop saying that,” Zim groans.

            “What, it’s true.”

            They argue as they start walking to class. Squee and Pepito follow close behind. They smile at each other as their fingers lace together and, not for the first time, Pepito feels himself fall even more for Squee.

[meggannn]

here’s some post-eye for an eye that i’m never gonna finish (1.5k)

I wrote this a few weeks ago and thought I could work it into a larger fic, but that flopped and I don’t really know where this scene is going anyway, so I think I’ll just drop it. I figured I could share it here anyway.

preview:

“And what, exactly, did that piece of filth say to change your mind?” Garrus snarls. He feels full to bursting with some unnamed energy and stalks the length of the corridor in two long strides.

Shepard is still staring at him, so infuriatingly calm. “You heard exactly what he said. If you still think I blocked your shot out of a kindness for him, then you haven’t been paying attention.”

–

Garrus storms into the battery, jams the lock, and activates the privacy shields. He narrowly avoids driving his fist into the wall, but – after a split-second of consideration – doesn’t feel assured he wouldn’t break a bone against Cerberus’s bloody top-of-the-line warship. Instead, he slams his hands against the console, ignoring the flashing lights as the screen awakens from sleep, grips the edges, and sighs.

What the hell had she been thinking?

The thing that gets him – the thing that bloody gets him is that it had come down to the line, to the second he’d seen the pinpricks of his dark eyes, a single trigger keeping him from putting the ghosts of his team to rest –

No. Suddenly there was Shepard, too, and she was harder to budge than his own conscience.

Even in his own mind, he struggles to find the line between the commander, the friend he knows her to be, and the help – the accomplice he nearly made of her. He knows that Shepard has always, always trusted the evidence and her gut in tandem. And the facts are that he asked her to take him at his word, without proof. The detective in him knows it isn’t for lack of trust that drove her to step into his shot, it was out of necessity: to question the suspect personally, to hear it straight from the source without bias or filter. Knowing that doesn’t make it any easier to swallow.

If he asked her why, Shepard would certainly explain. She would spin him some bullshit about taking the high road, or about revenge not being the answer. What he’s worried of, what he’s terrified of, is that she would explain, and he would let her, and that she would convince him it was for the best. He didn’t want to be convinced – he wanted to be right on his own terms, he wanted her help with this one fucking thing –

A faint beep from the other side of the door snaps him back into the present.

“Override,” comes Shepard’s voice from the other side. A swish of the lock and a rush of air at his back.

Garrus clenches his teeth.

There’s a tense sort of silence for – he counts – about a minute and a half. She cracks first.

“It wasn’t because I didn’t trust you,” she says finally.

“Shepard – ” He pushes off the console and turns around. He vaguely registers that the door is closed again behind her; good. No reason for any of the crew to hear this. “Don’t feed me any crap on revenge getting the better of me. You waited until the moment I had him in my scope to toss it all out the window to satisfy your conscience. I asked you for help. You agreed.”

Even as he says it, he knows it’s not entirely fair. She hadn’t kept her disapproval secret; it had weighed on him through the scuffles in the warehouse, like a weight around his neck, knowing this was his mission and Shepard had disapproved – and he can’t rightfully claim he had given her room to argue her case.

“I didn’t wake up this morning planning on putting myself in between a sniper and his target,” Shepard snaps back. She scrubs a hand over her face; Garrus has the presence of mind enough to notice she looks exhausted, like she’s been wrestling with the decision herself. “It happened in the moment. I stood there. I listened. I’d heard the story from you, but I needed to hear it from him.”

“And what, exactly, did that piece of filth say to change your mind?” Garrus snarls. He feels full to bursting with some unnamed energy and stalks the length of the corridor in two quick strides.

Shepard is still staring at him, so infuriatingly calm, but now he finds a harder edge to her voice. “You heard exactly what he said. If you still think I blocked your shot out of a kindness for him, then you haven’t been paying attention.”

“Right,” he spits, and he needs to nip this pseudo-moral bullshit at the root before the conversation gets sanctimonious again. “It was for my benefit. That explains why I feel so much better, you know, now that he’s still alive.”

“Cut the sarcasm,” she barks, sounding every inch the hardened commander of the most advanced warship in the galaxy. “You know why I didn’t move. The galaxy wouldn’t have lost a decent man if you’d pulled the trigger.” She pauses for a moment, assess him, and something goes cold in his chest as he wonders if she finds what she sees lacking. “Then again, maybe it would have.”

He takes a step closer to her. He didn’t intend the move to be intimidating, but he realizes just how much he towers over her in this moment, with his neck bent down. Her eyes close, in a tense sort of irritation. “I’ve killed before, Commander,” he says, not aggressively. “We wiped out a few dozen mercenaries between the two of us just today. And you draw the line at a degenerate prick that cost my men and half my face?”

“To tell you the truth.” Her shoulders lower; she runs fingers through her hair and huffs in a sort of half-hearted sigh, “I’m still not entirely sure I do, Garrus.”

“Do not,” he says lowly, “tell me you’re regretting it.”

Shepard drops her hand and stares at him. He’s never seen her attention fixed on him with such hard, determined purpose. It’s the look she normally gives mercenaries they’re shaking for information, criminals they’re convincing. Something about it makes clench his jaw further, some unbelievable pool of shame and anger mixing equally in his chest.

“Vakarian,” she says his name slowly. “I could give you a laundry list of reasons why you shouldn’t have committed cold-blooded murder in the middle of a public square on one of the most heavily-monitored stations in the galaxy.” Shepard stares at him, all five feet of her, and despite himself he feels like a fresh recruit again, fifteen years of age with markings fresh-painted across his face, staring up at a livid drill sergeant. “But I’m not interested in fighting with a wall. Come talk to me when you know who you’re really angry at.”

She turns and moves to open the door.

“I took him on my team,” Garrus growls. “I put my faith in that asshole. He let me down. He let his team down. It cost their lives.”

“You imagine you’re the only one who’s been betrayed in the galaxy?” Shepard looks at him over her shoulder but doesn’t turn around. “The only one who’s seen their entire team dead on a commanding officer’s mistake?”

Garrus has a flash of remembrance that Shepard has seen two of her crews slaughtered; once at Akuze, and again over the blistering snow and wind of Alchera. He grapples with another sinking feeling at the knowledge that she is heading a team through the Omega-4 relay against odds so impossible that most of the ground team had taken to jokingly calling it a “suicide mission.” Garrus has used the phrase himself more than once in conversation with the crew, in that half-serious tone he seems to have adopted after Omega when joking about the probability of his own demise.

Looking at the mission’s leading officer now, it suddenly doesn’t seem so amusing.

“You know it’s not the same,” he says around a dry mouth.

“No, it’s not,” she sighs and rests her forearm against the door, forehead leaning against her wrist. “…And if my CO on Akuze had survived, I can’t promise I wouldn’t’ve wanted to put a bullet in his head myself.”

“Then why, Shepard?” He’s tired of arguing. The burst of adrenaline from earlier is gone, anger fading into the kind of bone-weary exhaustion that he’s only known to follow a failed mission. He can’t help but think that is exactly what this is, the disconcerting feeling that the justice hasn’t been seen to, that the responsible party got away, and it stings something else in him that he’s feeling it with Shepard for the first time.

Some tension in her body seems to evaporate. Shepard looks up at him. “I don’t know, Garrus,” she says. “You tell me.”

And that’s the part he can’t understand, and he hates himself for not understanding.

Shepard had stood aside, in that last second. It hadn’t been an accident. The gap between her skull and Sidonis’s had extended about a meter. Garrus is a good enough sniper that Lantar’s brains would have smeared the floor without Shepard feeling the whistle of the bullet pass by her forehead. She’d said her piece, woven her magic, and then stepped aside, and damn her for making him feel guilty in that moment for wanting what he’d needed. What closure could come from letting him go? What benefit could come from letting a murderer, a betrayer free to roam the galaxy? What good could it do his own conscience?

And yet –

He could’ve pulled the trigger anyway, and he didn’t.

He could’ve moved position. He didn’t.

“Go. Just – tell him to get the hell out of here.”

Fuck it. Just – fuck.