#i feel like i broke my poor nurse's hand squeezing it so hard. my elbows both were so stiff at the end

[lampregistration3000]

ough my boobs hurt so bad rn

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Be

Masterlist

Warnings: non/dubcon sex, mention of blood, mentions of childbirth.

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

Note: Y’all, hope you enjoy this chapter. Not the longest but it accomplishes some stuffs.

Please let me know what you think and reblog if you can :D Thank you all again for being amazing and here’s your helping of angst.

...

He was there again. The soldier visited more often these days. Still, he was silent. Brooding over whatever poor soul had been named as his last target. He was gentler these days. 

When he shared your bed, he was hesitant; doting. Many times he didn’t, he just sat and held your hand or rubbed your back. He helped you stand when you found yourself too round to do so and watched you closely. He was comforting.

He was waiting. Like you. He might be but a shell but he still had some ounce of realization. He stared at your stomach expectantly. A child was coming. A child you could not keep safe. You tried not to think of it but that was when the tears rose. You hid them but he knew. He’d try to touch you then but you couldn’t be near him. Not when you thought of what they would do. To the baby. To you.

That day, you were restless. You had only a few bites of your lunch and he had appeared soon after. You rubbed your stomach as you sat on the wooden chair. It was stiff beneath your heavy figure. He entered, the door opened and closed sharply. 

He saw you and blinked. He stopped short before he began to pace. He stopped before you and nodded to your stomach. You shrugged. He placed his hand on yours. There was dark blood around his nails and his glove was hard and sticky. You flinched and he pulled away. His footsteps filled the room.

You exhaled deeply. You were so tense you felt as if you couldn’t breathe. Ever since you had awoken, you had been uneasy. The nurse checked your vitals and felt your stomach. She left but said nothing. Her and her scribbles.

Your back ached terribly and you grunted as you gripped the table. You had to lay down. You tried to pull yourself up but only dragged the table closer. He turned to you as you grabbed the seat of the chair and tried again. He was beside you in a second. He had your elbow and he pulled you up easily. 

A warmth spread down your legs. You groaned at the knot in your stomach. Your entire body hurt. You grasped his arm as you looked down, a clear fluid ran down your thighs and soaked the skirt of your loose dress. You gasped and looked to him desperately.

“Oh no,” You clung to him as the pain reverberated. “No, no, no.”

His eyes rounded and you squeezed his arm harder. He grabbed your wrist and slowly removed your hand. He scooped you up and you whimpered. He carried you to the bed and laid you down. You whined as he got to his knees beside the bed and took your hand. You spread your fingers across your stomach and gritted your teeth.

“It’s coming,” You panted, “The baby…”

You glanced over at him and his face went pale. His eyes flitted to the door and he grimaced. His features contorted. He nodded and patted your hand. His other hand pushed back your hair and he caressed your forehead. You cried out as the pain deepened again and his fingers wrapped around yours.

The doctors appeared when you began to shriek. You pushed your head into the pillow as you writhed on the bed. The soldier clung to you, his metal thumb rubbed the back of your hand. 

Ilyich was a shadow in your haze. The nurse’s voice broke through and turned harsh. You looked over as the soldier shook his head. He stayed on his knees.

“Leave him,” Ilyich said, “Worry about the baby.”

Your skirt was pushed up entirely and your underwear cut off. The nurse bent your legs and you were on display before the several other men in white coats. The soldier moved. He kept his hold on you as he sat on the bed beside you. You latched onto him as another ripple of agony tore through your body.

“It will be some time yet,” Ilyich turned to his audience, “It is unexpected for this level of pain at this stage. So early but...this is a child unlike any other.

“What about the mother?” Yakovna asked as the nurse scribbled on the chart.

“We must allow the birth to occur naturally,” Ilyich advised, “As we have observed, the subject has been prosperous in her gestation. She has successfully carried to term without difficulty.”

“As yet,” Another doctor, Leovich or Lyonov, suggested. You couldn’t tell one monster from the next. “The birth itself…”

“Dangerous, as we’ve predicted, but should the child live, it will all be worth it,” Ilyich interjected, “We can always find another host for future incubation.”

You were breathing so loud you could barely hear. It wasn’t anything you hadn’t expected. This day would likely be your last. If the pain were proof of anything, it most certainly was the end. You cried out and the soldier rubbed your forehead as he shifted even closer.

“Will he accept another host?” Yakovna asked.

“We don’t need him to accept the host,” Ilyich assured. “We can extract what we need when he is wiped.”

“We must recalibrate,” Yet another doctor, Frolov, piped in. “Anything so sensitive as that...his programming must be updated.”

“We have more pressing matters,” Ilyich sneered. “Don’t we, Frolov. First, we must prepare for the child. Artificial incubation if necessary, hmm? It is time. You all have your orders. The child will be here before tomorrow.”

-

The woman screamed again. It had been a long time since it began. Even he could tell. Her hand was in his as he watched her suffering. He felt a peculiar pang in his chest for her. Hours ago he had watched the life drain from another but here he was, wanting to save another.

Her grip was tight. He had never felt anything so completely. She held him by more than his hand.

The woman in grey peered between her legs and looked to the man in white. The soldier wiped the sweat from her brow as she moaned. She was exhausted. Her face scrunched in pain and fatigue.

The man in white said something. The woman in grey replied. They spoke to her, the one on the bed, and she shook her head. They repeated the word. “Push.” 

The man knelt on the bed between her legs. She grunted and roared. She squeezed his hand ever tighter and he bent over her. He held her as her entire body tensed.

She hissed through her teeth and pushed again. Her body responded to their voices as if they were the only sounds she could hear. Her head lolled against him as she breathed harder and harder. 

She wailed as she sank into the pillow and her other hand latched onto his shoulder. She pulled herself up and her nails clawed at his vest. She screamed and shook. 

She let go of him and another set of cries was added to the stolid room. Her hand went limp but he couldn’t let go of her. The man in white backed away from her body as her legs slipped across the mattress. The woman in grey tended to her as the squirming child was cut free.

They wrapped the new life in a large square of cotton and the man in white ordered his companion before handing the bundle over. The woman in grey neared the other side of the bed and the weak woman moaned as she tried to sit up. He helped her lean against the pillows and she took it with tearful smile.

“...feed…” Was the one word he understood as the man in white spoke.

The soldier leaned over the woman beside him and she pushed back the blanket to look down at the child. She trembled as she gazed at the delicate being and he touched her shoulder. She turned to him and nestled close to him as she held the child up. He tilted his head and stared. His vision spun and he blinked.

He bent closer and whispered. “Ours.” The other voices shrouded his own. Her eyes met his and she nodded.

“Asset, retreat,” The man in white ordered. The soldier’s head snapped up and his metal fingers formed a fist. He peeked at the child again. “Asset...return to your keepers. You require configuring. Comply, soldat.”

His jaw locked and he stood. He didn’t want to go but his body wasn’t his own. He marched away from the bed, his boots were heavy and echoed in his head. He passed the man in white and stopped. His metal fingers released but he could do no more. He carried on and opened the door. The halls were empty and cold. Lonely.

He walked until he reached the room of men in white coats; the tables, the machines, the burning lights. He sat and they approached. Shadows closing in on him. The single voice began in his ears.

Longing. He longed for her warmth. To look upon the baby. Their baby. 

Rusted. He stretched his fingers over his knee. His hand didn’t feel like his. 

Furnace. A heat spread over him as he closed his eyes. He could see their child on the other side. 

Daybreak. A light bloomed within him. His eyelids turned white and his chest fluttered. Seventeen. How long had he been there? And her? How long would they languish? 

Benign. His head fell forward and the world began to dissemble. 

Nine. Her face faded from him and the cries hushed. 

Homecoming. He belonged here, but they didn’t.  

One. He had one purpose. One end. 

Freight car. Them. Get them far from here.

-

Ilyich and the nurse had left you an hour ago. You were tired and sore. You had never been in so much pain but you barely noticed. That turmoil inside distracted you. Your smiles were washed away by tears.

You were weak but the warmth in your arms gave you strength. The babe suckled at you hungrily and you smiled down at him. He was beautiful and that hurt more than anything. He wasn’t yours and yet he felt like a piece of you. He had your lips and his father’s eyes. His father’s blood. That was his curse. His fate.

You laid against the headboard and clung to him. You didn’t sleep. Couldn’t. He was a beacon. A sign. Hope. Maybe one day he would be good. Maybe he would be saved. Maybe… In your arms was so much possibility even if in this place, there was only inevitability.

“I don’t care what they call you,” You whispered to him as the tears trickled down your nose, “You will be my Luka. My light.” You cooed and he drew away from your breast, “Such a strong boy. You will need that strength.”

You closed your eyes and stroked the baby’s head as his breath evened out. You sank into the pile of pillows and sighed. You had never wanted him, but now you needed him. You embraced him and rocked back and forth. As much a comfort to yourself as him. 

You thought of the soldier. Would he take Luka from you? If they told him to, would he do it as easily as he had left you earlier. You recalled the single word he had said. The tender whisper against your cheek. “Ours.” No, theirs.

You knew they would take him, eventually. You’d never be ready for it, but for now, you would hold him. For as long as you had, you’d love him.

[prettyboy-parker]

i promise i’ll come back for you

fic for this moodboard

ship: winterspider

words: 1.3k

warnings: internalized and societal homophobia

my ao3: prettyboy_parker

Bucky falls in love too easily.

First it was at age 12, with Sandra, ( or was it Sarah? ) whom he shared his first kiss with. ( A waste, if you ask him. ) She promptly broke up with him a week later, claiming that she needed to “find herself” or whatever. A week after that the entire school knew that she was with some kid in his math class.

Second was at age 16, when he proclaimed his love to his then girlfriend Nancy after a football game. He was sure that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her, that she was the one . Unfortunately, she had different ideas. Turns out she was getting it with a senior from a different school.

And third?

Well, that’s a different story.

———

“James Barnes?”

A youngish woman pokes her head into the makeshift waiting room of the recruitment center. He visibly grimaces at his full name, but gets up quickly since he’s been waiting for almost an hour. The metal chair scrapes on the floor, the other men seated wincing. The woman gives an almost pained smile and a quick “Follow me.”

She leads him across the open-plan warehouse that was hurriedly made into another recruitment center. They weave in and out of desks and people until they get to the “hospital” part of the center.

“Please, take a seat.” She orders, patting the examination bed.

He hops on, the protective sheet crinkling and adding more noise to the already loud room.

“Nurse Parker will be with you in a moment.” She says with a smile, pulling the curtain around the table.

At least he has privacy.

He stares at his hands that rest in his lap, littered with cuts from beating up another one of Steve’s tormentors. He’s picking off a scab when the curtain rustles and he looks up.

There’s a gorgeous young man standing there, and wow, is he even a man? Boy would be a better term.

There’s no way this kid’s the nurse.

“Hi Mr. Barnes!” He chirps, extending his hand for Bucky. He takes it, giving a firm handshake and boy does he have the most delicate hands.

“I’m Nurse Parker, but you can just call me Peter.” The boy, Peter, says with a wink, uncapping his pen.

Bucky smiles, staying silent because he’s currently at a loss for words.

“Do you have any medical conditions you know of, Mr. Barnes?” He asks, and Bucky has to mentally pinch himself to acknowledge Peter.

“No, not that I know.” He responds, watching Peter furiously scribble something on his report.

“Alright hon, can you roll your sleeve up for me? I need to take your blood pressure.”

Bucky does as he’s told, Peter prepping the machine next to him. Wordlessly, the young man slides the cloth part up his arm, fingertips lingering for a bit too long.

Peter records all his data quickly, checking a few more things before deciding his verdict.

“Okay, Mr. Barnes, you meet the requirements. You’re good to go.” Peter smiles, handing the paper to him.

“Thanks, Peter. And my friends call me Bucky.” He takes the paper and folds it into his pocket.

“Alright then, Bucky. I’m actually done my shift, so I can show you to the door.” Peter offers, taking Bucky’s hand and helping him off the table.

“How about I walk you home?”

Peter cocks his eyebrow and drops his hand.

“It’s a bit of a walk.” He laughs nervously, pulling on the sleeve of his work uniform.

“I don’t have anywhere to be.” Bucky responds, pulling open the curtain slowly.

“Okay, I guess.” Peter agrees, “I have to run and get my bag. You can just meet me outside.”

He scurries away, obviously a little flustered. Bucky smiles to himself as he turns his report in to the lady at the front desk. He heads outside, the bitter New York air hitting him in the face. Peter is quick to follow.

“Are we ready, Mister Parker?”

“We sure are, Mister Barnes.”

———

The next time he sees Peter is at the grand Stark Expo.

“Peter!” Bucky decides to shout ( which may be a poor choice ) and the brunette turns around.

His face literally lights up .

“Bucky!” He squeaks, maneuvering his way through the throng of people.

“Hey, sugar. Fancy seeing you here.” Bucky quips, nudging him with his clothed elbow.

Peter looks away in embarrassment, brushing a few astray curls out of his eyes.

“Yeah, guess so. You look...” Peter looks him up and down, “..very dapper.”

Does he have a thing for my uniform?

“You like a man in uniform, darlin’?”

This causes a flush to creep up Peter’s neck.

“No, I, that’s- I don’t-“ Peter stammers, fiddling with the edge of his suspenders.

“Hush. Let me buy you a drink.”

15 minutes later they’re walking through a nearby park with iced tea in hand. (Peter protested alcohol, because he’s only 20.)

“You’re ludicrous, Bucky!” Peter giggles, taking the last sip of his iced tea.

“I wouldn’t say that, doll.” He responds, looking down at the younger.

Peter looks back up at him, big doe eyes sparkling with laughter.

“Hey, there’s a bench over there, you wanna sit down?” Bucky offers softly, gently brushing Peter’s sleeve with his fingers.

“Sure.” Peter replies, walking over to the wooden bench sat under a tree.

Bucky brushes a few leaves off of the bench, sitting down next to Peter.

“Nice night, isn’t it?” Bucky says mindlessly, resting his arm on the back of the bench.

“Yeah.” Peter breathes, turning to face Bucky.

God, his face is so beautiful. So perfect. So angelic.

“You’re gorgeous.” Bucky whispers before he can stop himself.

“Bucky.” Peter says softly, resting his hand on his thigh.

“Can I kiss you?”

Peter responds with a quick nod.

He closes his eyes and leans in, finally closing the gap between him. His lips are oh so soft, such a stark contrast against his chapped ones. Peter leans in closer, and he’s so inexperienced but Bucky loves it. He can’t help but move his hand to cup his cheek, running his thumb over the soft skin.

“Bucky,” Peter says when they pull away, breathless.

“This-it’s wrong.” He mumbles, eyes focused on the dying grass.

Bucky’s hand slides down his neck, rubbing the cross on Peter’s necklace between his fingers.

“Then why does it feel so right?” He responds, turning Peter’s head so he can look at him.

“Goodness, Bucky, you’re making this so hard.” Peter breathes solemnly, dainty hand pressed against his chest.

“Please, Peter, give this a chance. I leave in a month. We can make it work.”

Peter kisses him again.

———

The days leading up to his departure are nice. They’re spent in Bucky’s shitty apartment, sprawled out on the makeshift bed that takes up most of the room. They’re spent tangled together, lazy mornings and soft touches. They’re spent walking Peter to work, a soft squeeze of his hand to say goodbye. They’re spent at bars that Bucky snuck Peter in to, a hand on his thigh under the table. They’re spent with stolen kisses before Peter suddenly gets called into work, kisses to the back of his hand while waiting in line for rations, kisses in the back of the dark movie theatre. They’re spent hand in hand in an underground gay bar, praying that they don’t get caught. They’re spent swaying in each other’s arms in their kitchen, radio loud, but not too loud.

They spend their days falling in love.

And for the first time, Bucky is loved back .

And he doesn’t want to cry as he sees Peter waving from the train platform, so he blows a kiss instead. Peter pretends to catch it and holds it to his heart.

Right then and there Bucky makes a promise.

I promise I’ll come back for you.

[fullmetalscullyy]

hit and run - chapter 4

summary: Riza Hawkeye is a thief who is trying to get by in Victorian Central. Hard times fell on her family, tuberculosis claiming her mother and then her father when she was barely a teenager. Now, femme fatale Riza steals to put food on the table for herself, her canine companion - an abandoned puppy who just won’t leave her alone - and two brothers with circumstances similar to her own. However, dipping her hands into the pockets of the rich and famous is always a dangerous game.

rated: m | words: 3258

title: “hit and run” by lolo

read on ao3 and ffnet

It was time to pull in one of her favours.

Although she didn’t want to get Edward and Alphonse involved, they could move through the city more easily than her. No one paid any attention to two teenagers, but a woman armed with knives and dressed all in black? That turned a few heads.

She sent them both to the inner-city to call on two old friends of hers. Rebecca Catalina was always willing to help her with a job – Riza had given her some training to defend herself after she’d nursed Riza back to health and the woman had a knack for it. She’d found a new calling in life and turned a thief herself. “For the thrill of it”, she always used to say. Another was a woman called Gracia. She was unassuming and quiet but could rob a man blind before he knew what was even happening. Her friendly demeanour tricked them into a false sense of security but Riza knew she could be as deadly as her. She’d witnessed it herself.

Riza had met Gracia during a lift. The man had gotten too handsy with Riza and while she could handle the situation herself – her knife was already out of its sheath, on its way towards his throat – Gracia slipped in with a hand on his arm, giggling and blushing innocently to draw his attention away from Riza. As their eyes had met, Gracia’s gaze had flicked towards the intoxicated man’s waist where Riza’s objective lay. A beautiful gold pocket watch that would feed her and the boys for a whole week. She’d motioned for Riza to rob him while she kept him distracted. And so, she did. Ten minutes later, Gracia tracked her down heading west out of the inner-city, they struck a friendship immediately, and the rest was history.

The three of them had become fast friends and were an unstoppable force when they worked together.

Unfortunately, she hadn’t seen either of them in over a year. Gracia moved west to Creta for a while to lay low after a messy, but successful, job. Rebecca was in East City for six months, but all methods they used to contact each other ceased and Riza had no way of knowing where she was. She’d been saddened at first, hoping her friend was all right and not in too much trouble, but that was the nature of this life. One day a friend could turn up dead with no reason or explanation as to why. It was a terrifying thought, especially for Riza who’d never had very many friends in her life, even as a child. But it was reality.

Riza waited in their designated rendezvous point – a rooftop three streets over from the crumbling bank and her home. It had been two days since she’d sent out the messages to her friends and Riza silently hoped that they would show up. She needed a friend right now. The boys worried about her and were concerned, but they gave her space. They didn’t understand her burden either and it had always been difficult for Riza to articulate her feelings.

There was the overwhelming feeling that time was running out for her as well. Riza had spent two nights in The Vaults already but Kimblee never showed. She would be on her way there after this meeting. The barman told Riza when Kimblee would be arriving to collect the earnings of the black market and the inn, and it was tonight after midnight. That gave Riza three hours to try and work something out with her comrades for when she decided to storm his home.

Not only that, she’d told Mustang the Madame could give her a week to get this document. She’d already wasted two days waiting for Kimblee. She had five left and Riza was beginning to doubt the timeframe she’d given herself. Every job was a case of being in and out as fast as possible, but this all relied on someone else’s schedule. Perhaps a week had been too ambitious.

Five days left until she was probably killed.

So, couple all of that with the never-ending feeling of despair and the fear that she could be killed by anyone at any moment, Riza would say she was doing just swell.

On the plus side she hadn’t seen Mustang since that night she’d exploded at him. There had been no word from Madame Christmas either, which she didn’t know if it was a good thing or a bad thing.

Another worry to add to her list. She was one shy of a mental breakdown at this point.

She mentally lifted her head to the sky to silently ask God or whoever was up there if they wanted to add one last one just to tip her over the edge and finish the job. This existential terror that clung to her mind for every minute of every day was beginning to get old.

A whistle sounded from her left and Riza froze, feeling relief wash over her in an instant. She answered the call with her own whistle and two seconds later Rebecca Catalina was striding towards her with a large grin.

“Riza,” she greeted warmly, pulling her into a fierce hug. Riza clutched at her friend tightly, overwhelmed with how glad she was to see her in person. “It’s good to see you again. I missed you! How have you been?”

“I missed you too Becca. You know, just the usual.”

“Hungry and poor?”

Riza nodded. “Yep.”

“I hear you. Is Gracia coming too?”

Riza nodded. “I hope she’ll be here. I heard no response.”

Rebecca turned and looked out across the city, watching for their friends’ approach across the rooftops. “She’ll be here. She’s never let us down before.”

“No, she definitely hasn’t. So, is there anything new with you?” Riza asked just so she could have the chance at a brief but normal conversation for once.

Rebecca shot her a look and Riza’s smile dropped from her face. “I got a job.”

“Why do I get the feeling I won’t like this job?”

Rebecca shook her head. “It’s not that. Riza… I work for Madame Christmas now.”

Riza paled. “Oh.” So much for a normal conversation.

“Yeah. So, I’ve heard things. Are you okay?”

Seeing the concern on her face and the worry in her eyes, Riza almost broke down there and then. “What have you heard?” she forced past the lump in her throat.

“That you’re tied in with a particularly shady deal that I don’t like the sound of. Even her employees don’t like it, going after a man like Kimblee. Why did you take it?” There was no accusation, she was merely curious.

“I had no choice.”

“You always have a choice, Riza,” her friend replied, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Riza shook her head, sitting on the ledge, legs swinging in the air over the edge of the roof. “Not this time I’m afraid.”

“Yes, you do,” Rebecca urged, joining her. When she didn’t reply Rebecca slung an arm around her shoulders, hugging Riza against her side. “Oh, Riza,” she sighed, concerned for her friend. Riza wanted to tell her how she was feeling, she wanted to let loose this maelstrom of emotion inside her, but it just wouldn’t come out. She didn’t know how to put it into the right words. “I haven’t heard much. There’s a whole hierarchy within her organisation and I’m not privy to it all. All I could decipher was there was a new recruit – dubbed Miss Riza – and that you would be retrieving the intel Mustang failed to the night of the ball.”

That made Riza smile, the mention of Mustang’s failing. Not maliciously, but a reminder in nostalgia. She remembered thinking him useless when it was a simpler time. The smile dropped from her face as her reality settled in once more.

“I heard you called him the “easiest target in the room”,” Rebecca murmured, giving Riza’s shoulder a squeeze. She could hear the grin in her tone. “In front of the Madame, no less. I was proud of you.”

Riza barked a humourless laugh. “Thanks.”

“I mean it.” Her shoulder was squeezed again before the arm dropped from around her shoulders. “Here comes Gracia.”

“Please, don’t bring it up in front of her.”

Rebecca raised an eyebrow. “Keeping secrets, are we?”

Riza sighed heavily, bringing her hands to her face, bending to rest her elbows on her knees. The weight of this whole situation felt like it was pressing down on her shoulders.

“Hey, I was just kidding,” Rebecca added gently, giving Riza’s hand a squeeze, removing her hands from covering her face. Riza lifted her gaze, seeing a kind smile on her oldest friend’s face. “Take all the time you need. It’s not my business to say. However, if you ever need me, you know where my loyalties lie.”

Riza felt like bursting into tears. “Thank you,” she whispered, afraid that if she spoke any louder, she would shatter.

“Don’t mention it.”

Taking a deep breath, steadying her emotions and her mental state, Riza stood and greeted Gracia. After the initial greetings, Gracia looked expectantly at them both.

“So, what do you need, Riza?”

*          *          *

Riza smoothed down the front of her clothes as she readied herself to go out front and begin serving. Kimblee was out there right now. Mr. Marco confirmed it. The man with the long black hair tied back into a ponytail. His suit was a crisp white, a stark contrast against anything in these vaults. A clear line to establish his status compared to the others in here.

He’d ordered an ale and Riza was tasked with bringing it to him. All she needed to do was go out there and serve the drink, say her piece, then get out. That was it.

Then why did it feel like her legs were made of lead?

She didn’t want to go out there. She wanted to stay in this quiet back room of the inn where the noise and smell from outside only just made it through the door. It gave her a semblance of calm, gave Riza the ability to pretend that inside her emotions weren’t roiling, leaving an uncomfortable weight in her stomach.

Her hand was sweating, sliding off the handle of the door as she turned it to exit her peace and into the hellhole that was The Vaults.

Instantly she spied Kimblee. Gathering her courage and thinking “fuck it. Now or never, Riza”, she placed the ale on the serving plate and sauntered over to his table, swaying her hips a ridiculous amount in the hopes she would get his attention.

God, men were so easy to work with.

Within seconds Kimblee caught her eye, abruptly ending his conversation with the man beside him. Riza felt her stomach flip and bile rise in her throat at the sight of the sleazy smile on his face as their eyes met. Of course, her own smile never faded. She batted her eyelashes unabashedly, offering him a shy smile. His grin widened and he lazily turned to face his companion again, continuing their conversation.

“Your drink, sir,” she stated breathlessly, making sure she leaned far over the table and brushed against Kimblee purposefully. Great, now she wanted to bathe for a week after his skin brushed hers – all initiated by Kimblee, she might add.

What a sleaze ball.

“Thank you,” he stated, sharp blue eyes piercing through her very being.

It made her skin crawl. Big time. Like it just crawled off her very bones and was now shivering in the corner of the inn where a man was rocking backwards and forwards, eyes wide and fearful.

The feeling was mutual.

She forced her eyes to linger on him for longer than was necessary before turning and walking back to the bar, hair swaying in its ponytail as she walked. It was ridiculous, it was the performance of a lifetime – quite literally – but Riza Hawkeye was a professional and she would do what she did best – get the job done.

Now, she just had to continue to serve the group until he left. Apparently, Kimblee seemed very interested in her – Riza managed to keep a hold on her urge to vomit, but only just – which meant he stayed later than usual.

Fucking excellent. There was only so many times she could giggle and bat her eyelashes at the man. No, not a man. A snake. She decided that around the first hour mark. Now, at hour four, his group was intoxicated and loud, disrupting the usual patrons. They jostled everyone around, roughly moving men and women – especially the woman Riza noticed with a shudder – around the room to their pleasure. Riza was secretly pleased with one thing though. The usual men who thought they ran the place were quiet and meekly moved out of Kimblee’s way when he commanded it, doing his bidding like a lapdog. That was the only satisfying thing about this evening.

“How would you like to come back to my place?” Kimblee whispered in her ear as he was leaving, drunkenly snatching her elbow. “We could use a waitress for the rest of our little party,” he added in what she thought was supposed to be a murmur, but it was loud and slurred, making her cringe at the volume. His words sent a chill down her spine, but not for the reason Kimblee hoped.

She never slept with her targets, especially not the sleazy kind like Kimblee. Fuck no. She just made them think she was then when they were so inebriated, they passed out on the bed, she completed the lift and was on her way. Even then, that only occurred at masquerades. It wouldn’t do for the man to remember her face and notice her on the street.

“Not tonight, honey,” she cooed, giggling once more. Resisting the urge to shake off the hand on her elbow. “I’ve got the rest of my shift to finish.”

“I’m sure old Lyle will allow you to finish early. Hey, Lyle!” he shouted the very short distance to the barman who jumped at the volume in the quiet room. It was late, most were sleeping now. “You’ll let this pretty little thing go early, won’t you?” He swayed on his feet and Riza thought this might not entirely be a bust if she did go with him. After all, this was all part of her usual MO. Get them drunk then rob them blind.

Still, Riza widened her eyes a fraction, involuntarily begging the man to say no.

“Sure, Mr. Kimblee,” he replied weakly, looking at her helplessly. Of course, if he refused Kimblee, it might get messy. The lead weight in Riza’s stomach just grew heavier.

Thanks for looking out for me, Lyle. At least Riza knew where his loyalties lay, with the Madame, despite technically being Riza’s boss.

It was only then that the feeling of being truly alone in all of this dawned on her. She doubted anyone from Madame Christmas’ end would help her even if she asked, not after the Madame’s little speech when they first met. But still, she was doing the woman a favour. A little support would have been nice.

“Come on,” he urged, jerking her elbow roughly.

“Wait –”

“Let’s go.”

She yanked her elbow out of his hand roughly, putting him off balance. He turned, fury clear in his eyes, but Riza just smiled shyly at him, laughing airily. “Sorry! I lost my footing. Clumsy me!” she tittered, sweat forming on her forehead as she hoped, prayed, that he bought her lie. “I need to get my bag first, honey,” she explained, blurting out the first thing that came to her mind. “Wait for me outside?” The wide eyed and earnest look seemed to appeal to him, because he grunted, but smirked like a snake again.

“Of course,” he purred. “Be quick.”

Riza smiled brightly. “Of course, sir.”

Once inside the backroom she gathered her belonging in a haste, before Mr. Marco could even turn in his chair, interested in what all the commotion was about.

“Where are you going?” Mr. Marco asked hesitantly. His hands reached for something inside his jacket but Riza was already at the door before he could remove whatever he had concealed. Riza’s guess? It was something to subdue her and hand her over to Kimblee or to Madame Christmas. Either way, she was fucked.

“Taking your advice,” she barked, peeking out the cracked open door. Kimblee’s men had all left, leaving half asleep, uneasy men and women in their wake.

“What?” he squeaked. “You can’t –”

“I can,” she snapped, slipping out and closing that door behind her. Without another word she hopped onto the ladder that led up to the store tunnel. Weaving through barrels and crates, Riza popped open the wrought iron gate and slipped inside the storm drain. It was dark, full of twists and turns, but it led to the outside where she would be free. That was all she needed.

Riza and the boys had to move. Tonight. She would deal with Madame Christmas another time, but she needed to put as much distance between her and Kimblee. The memory of his skin on hers made her shudder.

Fresh air had never smelt so good. Riza gulped it down as she hauled herself out the drain and onto the bridge above The Vaults. There was no one around. The road was empty of horse and carriages and there was no foot traffic whatsoever.

Finally feeling able to breathe, Riza took a moment to compose herself – reminiscent of the first time she’d left The Vaults in recent memory with a Mustang in tow. She bent at the waist, back hunched as she rested her hands on her knees. Head bowed, Riza finally managed to subdue the terror and panic.

This is too much. I need out of this deal. I need away –

She didn’t get a chance to finish her thought.

“Miss Riza?” she heard Mustang ask quietly, voice subdued.

Her gaze snapped up, seeing concern in his gaze. Why, she didn’t know. Gone was the hostility she usually associated with him. His expression was open and expectant, waiting on her answer. It was sympathetic and it gave her pause for some unknown reason.

A sound echoed in the quiet night behind her. Riza was half turning, acting on instinct before she could think, but the distraction of Mustang cost her. Arms circled around her own, pinning her, leaving her defenceless.

Kimblee’s men. The thought flashed in her mind, giving reason for the panic to take the bait and incapacitate her further as she began to struggle. That overwhelming feeling of running out of time came rushing back. This time, the counter was dangerously close to zero.

Finally managing to twist in her attacker’s grip, Riza came face to face with the same woman who’d knocked her out while tailing Mustang back to his home. Not Kimblee then. But why –?

Had he fucking set her up?

“Vanessa?” Mustang hissed, clearly unhappy. Again, why? “What –?”

“Hello again, Miss Riza.” There was no crooning this time. Her face was hard and unimpressed. Her voice was cold to match. She lifted something blunt from behind her.

“Oh, for the love of –” It struck her head – hard – and Riza blacked out.

[existing-on-cloral]

Brooklyn’s Night Terrors

Chapter Eleven: Flame’s Price

You deal with the aftermath of the party, such as your dance with Steve and the gun in Pietro's hands that sent a bullet into Peter's shoulder. The Reaper captures a new victim for her ranks. 

"Excuse me?"

You looked up from your chair to see a nurse standing in front of you. "You're here for Steve Rogers, right?" she asked.

"Yeah, what's up?" Your heart slammed into your stomach. Bucky had said that he was going to be okay, but there was always that possibility...

"We're allowed to let you go back now, if you'd like." She glanced over at Peggy, who had fallen asleep in her own chair. "Is that..."

You cut her off. "Long story. Steve?"

The nurse nodded, swallowing quickly. "Yeah. Right. This way, please." She turned and began walking down the long hallway. You followed behind her, watching every door for Steve's name. Finally, the nurse stopped at an open door. "In here. Take your time." She left, leaving you alone at the door.

"Hey." Steve was propped up in the bed, eyes open, smiling at you.

"Steve..." Your eyes welled up with tears. Steve was okay.

"Doll."

Blinking away the tears, you stumbled into the room. "Yeah?"

Steve opened his arms. "Come here."

You practically sprinted the remaining few feet, crashing into him with a vigor that probably jostled his stitches. Steve just laughed through whatever pain he was feeling and pulled you close, one arm under your thighs and the other around your chest. Your lips met his in a frantic kiss and you sighed with relief.

"I thought I was gonna lose you," you whimpered, tucking your head into the crook of his neck. "Stevie..."

"No, you're not. I'm way too stubborn for that," Steve joked. "Hi, baby. I'm here."

You shivered at his gentle touch, sitting up so you could look him in the eye. "I'm so sorry, I should have..."

He pressed a finger to your lips. "Doll, it's okay. It's gonna be okay. I'm fine. The doctors say I'll be back in the field in a few days."

"That's good." You reached down to take his hands in yours. They were warm, and tubes and wires were coming from them but they were Steve's hands. "I was so worried."

"Hey, doll." He freed a hand to tilt up your chin. "Don't worry. I'm okay." Steve's eyes warmed as he looked you over, blue and black mixing to steal your soul and hold it close. "I never got the chance to ask you this, doll, but I was wondering... During our dance... You said that you wanted to try more with me. More than just sex. You and me, together." His cheeks turned the lightest pink and he looked down. "If you want to."

Your heart lifted, almost closing off your throat as you stuttered out a, "Are you asking me out, Steve Rogers?"

Steve tilted his head back up, eyes wet. "Yes. I am."

"Then yes!" You threw your arms around him, kissing his cheek. "Yes, Steve, I'll go out with you. As soon as you get out of this stupid hospital."

He let out a breath of relief, cupping your face in his hands. "Damn, doll. I... I didn't think I'd be doing this here, but, you work with what you got."

"Hey."

"What?"

"Watch your fucking language, Rogers."

Steve laughed, bringing your lips to his once again. "Look who's talking."

"Steve?"

You broke the kiss and turned around, heart beating faster. Peggy was standing in the door, her mouth slightly agape, eyes wide. "You're awake," she finally said.

Steve's mouth dropped open. "So..." He trailed off, stealing a glance at you. "The Reaper did get you."

Peggy hesitated, cutting her gaze to you.  You jumped to your feet. "I'll..."

She strode across the room and took your hands in hers. "I am happy for the both of you," she said, though you could see the sadness in her eyes. You understood. For her, the kiss between her and Steve had probably happened a week ago.

"Peggy, I'm sorry," Steve started, but Peggy shook her head.

"We all move on, right?" She took a seat next to the bed. "I understand, Steve." Her posture and the tension in her muscles screamed I do not understand, but you knew she was trying her best. Peggy wanted Steve to be happy.

"I'll give you guys a minute," you finally said. "Peter should be here too."

Steve reached out and grabbed your wrist. "Tell that kid he's brave from me, okay?"

You nodded. "Of course. I will."

Peter's room was easy to find. You just followed the sound of sniffling. He was propped up in bed, hospital gown covering bandages on his shoulder. "Oh, sweetie," you said, walking in. "What's wrong?"

"They're gonna hurt him," Peter said, eyes unfocused and muscles limp. "Pietro's not safe in their clutches. If they do something to him..." He shot up in bed, then tensed and grabbed his shoulder.

You rushed to his side and made him lay back, taking his hands in yours. "You're gonna be okay. He's going to be okay. Once Steve is back fighting with us, we'll go after him."

"I wanna go to!" he protested, gripping your fingers so tightly you swore they'd break. "Please, let me help." Tears began to form in his eyes, streaming down the sides of his temples and cheeks.

God, you wished you could wave a wand and make everything better for the sake of this poor kid. "I'm sorry, Peter. You're not strong enough right now. Once you're at 100%, you can help us, but not a moment before. If you're out of it, you're as good as dead." You touched his forehead, wincing at how warm he was. Then again, Steve always ran a little hot too...

"Okay," Peter whispered, eyes slowly closing. "I'll do my best." His breathing began to slow and you let go of him, giving him space to rest. Casting one last glance at the young man you had worked so hard to protect, you hurried out of the room, wiping a few of your own tears away.

Bucky was waiting in the lobby and jumped up when you entered. "They let you see him?"

"Yeah," you said, biting back an angry retort about Peggy. "Can I get a ride back to HQ?"

"Sure." Bucky pulled the keys out of his pocket. He touched your shoulder, squeezing it comfortingly. "I think Steve'll be okay."

You looked up at him, fear gripping your gut. The only thing you could think to say was, "And I think you need a haircut."

Bucky laughed and strode to the revolving door, sweeping an arm towards it. "Shall we?"

He still drove like a maniac, but he got you there safely and even gave you a quick side-hug as you got out of the car. "Be safe," Bucky warned. "If I have to tell Steve that you got hurt on my watch, I'm getting my ass kicked."

"So if I'm not safe, you aren't either," you said, nodding. "Cool. If you see Steve, tell him I went back to HQ."

"What, you didn't tell him where you were going?"

Your mouth tightened into a line. "Didn't seem appropriate, considering Peggy barged in on us kissing."

"Oh." Bucky's flesh knuckles turned white on the steering wheel. "I'll talk to them. I just want my pal to be happy, you know?" The corner of his mouth turned up. "Now, go. You've got some work to do." He waved at you out the window as he drove off.

HQ was, as usual, pristine and familiar. Your office was certainly familiar, but it was not pristine. The desk was a mess of paperwork and calculations, but you flopped down at it anyway, sighing as you kicked off your heels. Maybe you'd left a change of clothes on-site...

Unfortunately, after a quick search, nothing came up, except some battered old sneakers you'd left there years ago. You resigned yourself to walking back to your apartment in the tight dress from last night.

Was it last night? You rubbed your temples, setting your elbows on the desk. "Damn," you cursed out loud. "I need a vacation."

Maybe after all of this was over, you could just... Go to the Bahamas or something. You pulled your cell phone out of your little clutch and dialed Steve's number. It went to voicemail straightaway, so you just cursed (into the speaker), and said, "Hey, Steve, it's me. I hope that you're recovering fast and I miss you." Shit. That was sappy. "I keep thinking I need a vacation or something, so after this whole mess is over, we should go to Coney Island or Las Vegas. Somewhere cool. Like a freezer." You giggled at your little joke. "Anyway, get well soon. I'll be by later. See you." You hung up before you could say something even more stupid.

"I'm going to need that walk," you muttered, pushing yourself to your feet and stumbling towards the door. Gripping your clutch close, you headed out of your office into the building September cold.

"You don't pay enough attention to me." Quentin pouted, sliding a hand up her side.

The Reaper shook her head, swatting his hand away. "You had your turn, Beck."

Quentin rolled onto his back, placing his hands under his head. "But the new guy's had about fourteen."

She laughed, moving her hands over the body above her. "You get the stamina of a god and we'll talk. Besides... You were here... Before him... So you've had a lot of turns."

The god in question cackled, literally cackled, as he moved in and out of her. "Perhaps... Perhaps he could just..." He beckoned Quentin closer and ran a hand down the man's chest. "I'm certain we can all satisfy each other, can't we?"

"I'm sure... We can..." the Reaper panted, pressing her lips to the side of his neck.

"God, imagine if Rogers were here right now," Quentin casually suggested, moving a hand to her breasts. She arched into his touch, gasping for air. Quentin smirked. "Stamina of a god, but some of us know how to work your body, my queen."

She cupped the god's face in her hands, studying his blue eyes. Loki had been easy enough to sway to her side, she'd just grabbed him the second he appeared on Earth back in 2012. Adding a magician to her army was a good idea, and to top it off, Loki had questionable morals already. She'd have to cut his hair back, though, it looked nicer when it was short.

Actually, she thought, short hair in Viking times was a symbol of slavery. And that's what I'm doing here, isn't it? Only the fighters had to be put under the control of Hydra. Beck and Loki already want revenge on certain people, and they're willing to do anything for me to get it.

"Loki, dear, why don't you..." She pushed at Loki's hips, sliding off of him and turning to face Quentin. "Why don't you go and see how Wilson is doing with Maximoff? Quentin might just get what he wants."

Loki climbed off of her, waving a hand to clothe himself. "Of course."

She noted the way he refused to add "my queen" when he addressed her. Perhaps a little more control would suit him. Quentin was already trained for her, lips on her neck before Loki even left the room. She watched him go, leaning her head back and letting Quentin kiss down. "What was that you said about Rogers earlier?"

Quentin tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "If Rogers saw this, what do you think he would say?"

Her laughter was nothing like Steve could have ever heard from his girl, cold and dark. "He'd be so angry."

"Do you care?"

"No." She pushed Quentin back down so his lips touched her skin. "I don't care. I only care about what you're doing to me right now." She slipped back into that happy place Quentin could get her to with just a few touches. "Come on, Beck, come on," she whispered, driving her worries about her plan away until further notice.

[sweetbtsboys]

BTS Scenario: Jungkook faints

!!! where kookie is performing on stage and faints + boys reactions!!

enjoy!!

Steam and sweat clung to the curves of Jungkook’s body as his heart pounded in his head, feeling like a hammer that was beating at his insides. Taking sharp and quick breaths, the youngest pounded his feet onto the floor, finishing the dance for their new comeback. Puffs of air fogged up the mirror, and after a few moments the other boys broke formation and started to pace around, catching their breath. 

“Good job, guys.” Hoseok breathed, “We can take a little break.”

Jungkook stood in the middle of the room, unmoved, having more difficulty then usual in regaining his strength. He felt light and dizzy; weak. Deciding to sit up against the wall next to Namjoon, Jungkook took slow steps towards the older. Plopping himself down on the floor, Jungkook leaned his head back against the wall, sweat dripping off his chin. 

“Drink some water, Kook. You’ve been working hard.” Namjoon commented, handing the younger his water. 

“Thanks, hyung.” Jungkook said as he took large swallows of uncomfortably warm water. 

The short break disappeared in the blink of an eye when Hoseok said, “Okay, let’s try a few more times then we can wrap up.”

Jimin groaned from where we was sprawled out on the ground, his shirt clinging to his body. Yoongi looked like death himself, hair dripping and eyes drooping with fatigue. 

‘Me too hyung.’ Jungkook thought.

“Come on guys! Isn’t this fun!?” Jin clapped with a smile as he tried to lift up his poor dongsaeng’s spirits, which earned a breathy smile from Jimin. The music blasted and bounced in the all white room, making the walls shake and bounce.  Quickly, the choreography started. His steps were too quick to let him think, the only thing in the front of his mind were the next moves. However, black spots slowly came in and out of Jungkook’s vision, and his body began to sway against his control. Stumbling and head spinning, Taehyung held his hand out and yelled over the music, “Are you okay?”

Everyone’s heads turned just in time to see Jungkook’s eyes roll to the back of his head, his body hit the ground with an unknown force, as if someone was tying to yank him through the ground. 

“Jungkook!” Namjoon yelled. Everyone gasped and quickly crowned around the youngest and Hoseok ran to turn the music off. 

“Give him some space.” Yoongi said, trying to remain calm even though his heart was racing. 

“Jungkook. Jungkook, can you hear me?” Yoongi asked, his hands gently patting his face. 

“We have to call an ambulance!” Jimin said with his voice shaking with worry. 

Jin ran to his phone on the other side of the room, feet stomping against the floor, and dialed 911 as soon as his hands let him. 

Taehyung’s eyes watered as his face illustrated pure fear, Hoseok being in the same state. 

“We have to try to stay calm boys. He’ll be alright.” Namjoon said, trying to convince himself more than anything else. Yoongi continued to pat Jungkook’s face and gently call his name, fear growing by every second. 

“Yes, hello. My dongsaeng just fainted.” Jin said as he knelt down next to the huddle of boys. He put his hand on Jungkook’s chest, paused, and then pressed his fingers against the younger’s throat to gauge a pulse.

“Yes, he’s still breathing. His heartbeat is fast.” After a beat and Jin nodding to the operator’s voice, he picked up Jungkook’s hand and pulled his skin. Sighing, Jin spoke again, “I think he’s dehydrated.”

Suddenly, a groan erupted from Jungkook, a pained sound. 

“Jungkook.” Both Yoongi and Namjoon said. 

“I think he’s waking up.” Jin informed the woman on the phone.

“Okay, thank you so much.” He said as he hung up the phone and through it to the side. 

“What do we do?” Taehyung asked with a watery voice laced with fear. 

“It’s okay, Taehyung. She said that he’ll be confused when he wakes up and to try and keep him awake. An ambulance is on the way.” Informed Jin.

Everyone inched closer as Jungkook continued to whine and groan.

“Jungkook. Hey.” Yoongi continued to call until the youngest’s eyes opened, squinting. 

“Can you hear me?” Yoongi said, which was answered with a groan.

“You fainted, Kookie.” Namjoon said with a gentle voice. It took a couple moments for Jungkook’s eyes to finally focus on something, that something being Jimin. Jimin smiled, eyes watering even more, and said, “Hey, Kookie.”

Jungkook didn’t say anything, only making pained noises from the back of his throat as his eyes tried to focus. Sirens echoed from outside, and Jin ran out into the hall so that he could bring the EMT’s to their position. Soon two women and one man entered, dragging a gurney with them.

“Clear some space please.” One woman said. They lowered the gurney and carefully lifted Jungkook onto it. The other woman extended his arms and tapped his inner elbow with her fingers until his vein became exposed. Grabbing a needle with one hand as her other held (and squeezed) a drip, she pushed the needle into his vein. 

“He’ll be alright, he just needs some fluids back in him.” She said.

“Thank you so much.” Said Namjoon. She smiled before they started wheeling Jungkook out of sight. 

“I have to call manager hyung.” Namjoon said exasperated and worried as Hell as he began to pace.

Taehyung, Jimin, and Hoseok will still teary eyed and in shock.

“Aw, he’ll be okay, boys.” Jin said as he wrapped them all in a hug, squeezing them tightly to him, Taehyung taking a shaky breath. 

As Namjoon was on the phone with their manager, Yoongi was still frozen in his spot, trying to calm himself down and convince himself that everything would be okay. Jimin slowly walked over to his hyung and wrapped his arms around the other, nuzzling his face into Yoongi’s shoulder. Yoongi clung to him and took deep breaths, as Jin still had Hoseok and Taehung in his arms. 

“Okay, manager hyung is coming to pick us up. Jungkookie will be okay, we’ll see him soon.”

In the bland and dim waiting room, six boys took uneven breaths as their legs bounced and their minds wandered. They'd been there for half an hour, unable to hold conversations or stop checking the time every three minutes. After what felt like years, their manager came quickly down the hallway after talking to the nurses and doctors, looking just as disheveled as the rest of them.

“He's alright, boys, just very dehydrated. He woke up fully a couple minutes ago, and we’ll be able to take him home in a couple hours once they make sure he’s alright. Come on.” Loosely motioning towards the hallway. 

All too quickly the six boys stood up, their chairs scrapping against the floor, and began to walk down the hall with a brisk pace. 

Jungkook looked three shades paler than he should be, but a weak smile stretched across his face as he saw his hyungs burst into the room. No one said anything, they all circled around their youngest and held his hand, or pet his hair, or touch his stomach. They just had to feel his warmth, to feel him alive; okay. Jimin rested his head on Jungkook’s chest, earning a tired chuckle from the other.

“You gave us quite the scare.” Namjoon said in a low voice, but a small smile still on his face. 

“Sorry, hyung.” Was all Jungkook could say, being too enamored with the love emitting from his hyungs.

“Ya, Jungkookie. Never do that again you rascal!” Jin chided. 

Jungkook laughed, chest vibrating under Jimin’s head. As long as he had his hyungs he’d be alright.