#it’s just low key insulting because i know there’s a gun to your head to appreciate someone | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

in3rci4 · 11 months ago

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§ THE BLACK PHONE BOYS X ADDICTION PROBLEMS / BAD INFLUENCE CRUSH READER §

WARNINGS : ANGST , MENTION OF MANIPULATION , ADDICTIONS , ALCOHOLISM ,AGRESSION ( VERBAL AND PHYSICAL ) , MANIPULATION , TOXIC ATTITUDES , SPIKING , LOW-KEY FORCING ADDICTION INTO SOME CHARACTERS , INDULGING OF SUBSTANCES, DRUGS , SMOKING , WEED , UNDERAGE CONSUMING , CHARACTERS X READER CONTENT ( SORT OF I GUESS ) , SOME CHARACTERS ARE MENTIONING CONSUMING AS WELL , GUN OWNING , MENTAL INESTABILITY , CRIME COMMITING , PHYSICAL CONSEQUENCES OF CONSUMING , GENDER NEUTRAL ! READER , ETC

Characters included in these head canons : Finney Blake , Gwendolyn Blake ( little mention of her ) , Robin Arellano , Vance Hopper , Bruce Yamada , Billy Showalter and Griffin Stagg

Author's note : If I forgot some warning or I have spelling errors please let me know , and if you feel uncomfortable with the post i recommend you wait for my short and non reader involved version of this one , thanks to @nnooahhsworld for the inspiration !

FINNEY BLAKE

He always liked smart and good faith people ( Donna for example ) , but that changed when he met you on his way to school . His bullies saw the opportunity to jump him and started to chase after him , and distracted , he bumped into you

You pushed him away annoyed , but then , you realized that he was running away from 3 familiar assholes , and just like a light switch , you moved in front of him while he was laying on the ground and told them to fuck off

The little shits didn't believe that you could win against them , so they started to insult you , they were 3 against 1 and a half after all

But little they did know that you had a gun hided in your jacket .

They ran away almost pissing themselves , and you moved on with your life , but Finney couldn't do it that easy

He remembers that morning with a mixed feeling of fear and admiration for you , he can't stop looking at you any chance that he can , Gwen and Robin knows about his crush , but they don't say anything ( or well , maybe they do , but they back off because he gets uncomfortable )

He hated with all his soul the cigarettes and alcohol smell , but after that encounter , he started to feel more comfortable around it , not so disgusted like before . But asides his shyness , he avoids you purposely

He has the hots for you and how badass you are , but babe , you are bad , real bad news , and he knows it

Everytime Finney sees you , you are either covered in your own or someone's else blood , smoking or either laughing with a bottle of beer on the streets alone or with a group of aggressive jerks

If you ever get close to Finney to get to know him better , he won't push you away and will be all kind and polite to you , but don't expect him to go after you .

Neither expect him to go to your defense , he might reluctantly help you after a fight if he saw how bad you ended up or lift you up of the ground if you needed to , but that's it , the more you stay out of his life , the better .

He wishes he could help you , but he had enough dealing with his father's bad habits , he knows how exhausting and draining people with addictions can be and the suffering that they cause to those around them , he won't voluntarily put himself in another situation like that

His heart tells him to go after you and try to help you see other ways , try to heal you , but the same heart along with his mind tells him to keep his distance from you for his own good

So he hopes , truly , that one day you stop living that reckless life and find someone who loves you to settle down , because he can't , and won't be your savior

Maybe in the future , or in another life , you two could be together in a healthy relationship , who knows

Finney is satisfied with watching you from afar , because that's the safe thing to do

ROBIN ARELLANO

You are one of the toughest kids in school like Robin and Vance Hopper ( Moose had lost his title after loosing a fight with him ) , so he obviously knew about your existence , and with time , got the pleasure of becoming one of your friends

You were fun to hang out with , you didn't only made him laugh his ass off and go watch adult movies with him ( not porn don't be dirty minded ) , but you also taught him things that he didn't know about ( since you were more street smarter than him , and he was thankful for it )

And of course , Robin found out about your habits really quick

At first , he didn't care about them , you do you he thought , but ... It was so weird to see you impressed by something or someone , that he gave it a try , just to see your reaction ..

And that was the start of everything .

And he didn't only did it to add more things to his tough guy reputation , he did it to be seen as cool too and share another bond with you , even it was harmful

What ? There's nothing to be worried about , the cigarettes smoke is something that he's used to and he had tried alcohol before , it's not like he drinks and smokes everyday and can afford it !

The more Robin spent time with you , the more he started to lack responsibility , and he was not a responsible person before .

School didn't matter anymore , the fights increased , the smoker scent was part of him now and he would arrive late to his home drunk as fuck scolded by his uncle and poor worried mom

He tried to stop , didn't do it completely , but tried his best for his family

But then you offered him to try the next level , drugs , those that could make him stronger and stay wide awake , or be more relaxed , if that's what he wanted .

For him it was the crossing line , and for good .

He didn't want to mess with those things , and you mocked him for being such a chicken , a maricón , so you both had an argument , where it clicked him :

You were so far gone that you offered him being even more fucked up than he already was , you give 3 shits about what could possibly happen to him , he understood that in case of needing you , having an overdose or a alcoholic coma , you would minimize it , or worse , make him take more and more until his body couldn't take it anymore

He moved on from you really quick and never tried to contact you ever again , you already showed him your fangs , he isn't stupid as you thought he was to stay and die like a dog ( Even after you threatened him to tell everyone about his cowardice , wich ended in a physical fight that he won , and almost gave you a head contusion from the strength and anger of the attacks )

Robin almost stepped in into the most dangerous and addicting shits that the neighborhood could offer , because of you , and he will never forget that , he will never forget how weak and betrayed you made him feel for backing off from it , after trusting you so much with all his being

But the damage was done , he can't quit smoking even if he feels disgusting after it , drinking water or alcohol was the same for him now

A horrible party favor of you and your bad influence in his life .

BRUCE YAMADA

Oh my Lord , you're the cannon event of this guy ...

Bruce met you at a friend's party and he presented you as the " party animal " and " the life of the party " . He had to admit , you were attractive in your way and had some groove on you , dancing with you was a blast

But you were more than just that .

At some point of the night , the music and the people got louder , crazier , it was the best part in Bruce's opinion

The bottles started to go down faster and faster , normally in these parties the drinks had a small amount of alcohol , but this time , they were just regular party drinks

Bruce was drunker than usual , giggling while clumsily dancing , you asked him if he wanted to have more fun that he already had and he agreed without thinking twice

So you put the pill in your tongue , wrapped your hands in his neck and passed it into his mouth , to give him free pass to fairyland

He felt in heaven , the lights were spinning around more colorful and shinier , the music was now vibrating trough his bones , his body like feather , a new whole sensation washed all over him ...

The party was over , and he didn't saw you again the following weeks , what was on that kiss that made his head spin like a record ? He needed whatever was in your mouth a second time

The next month he had the worst games streak of his life , he couldn't stop losing again and again , and the pressure started to put a heavy weight over him

Bruce needed a miracle , a distraction , so after his extra practice session , he went to another party in the same friend's house , and " lucky " him he found you once again

It was like a deja Vu , both of you danced , laughed and yelled the lyrics of the music , but this time , with him being sober , you offered him to do what happened the last time

And that's how you dragged him to hell with you .

He came back to his old self back again , his winning streak too , taking his team to the victory like he always do , celebrating with you party after party , getting addicted , to you , every single time .

So much energy , yet so much loose of control . He would go out to get more of it outside the parties , sneak at the night when his parents were asleep , starting to believe that if he took them before the games started he would 100 % win for sure

Without warning , you disappeared , and the abstention was driving him crazy . He couldn't concentrate in class , he couldn't grab the bat without feeling a weird itch on his fingers and more times that he could count he had to apologize for feeling "nervous " and being careless with his words . So he asked a friend for some weed to smoke until you showed up your ass to school , but the two got caught and his friend spilled everything to not get suspended

His family found out about it and were so disappointed , mad , yet worried too . They agreed to not tell anyone or send him to an rehabilitation center , but from now on , he had restricted and limited permission to go out and more studying to do ( not like he could call the shots anyway )

It was terrible , but even if what it felt like a eternity for him , in a short time , he fortunately recovered , and started to have much healthier life than before , zero consuming and having innocent fun with a small group of friends

He regrets so much being so careless to the point of doing that bullshit in school with other kids around , letting himself fell so low , but he's glad that he made it out . You never showed up on the town ever again , some rumors says that you are in a juvenile correctional center , others that you were dead , or doing drugs somewhere else

Bruce , without any intention of being mean or cruel , couldn't care less , he moved on from that lifestyle , maybe it wasn't his destiny to stay by your side , maybe , the future has something bigger waiting for him

BILLY SHOWALTER

You two knew each other since you were kids , really good friends that slowly got apart from each other . It wasn't years later that you started to talk with him again on his way back home from school , inviting him to the big parties of the neighborhood or having casual conversations about the weather , exams , latest gossip , etc

You were still you , but something was off , and Billy knew it , although he couldn't tell what exactly changed specifically in you

Until one morning of his regular paper news delivering route he saw you walking bare feet in your party clothes and a black eye . He stopped immediately to ask you what happened , but you couldn't stop laughing and talking non sense

He scrunched his nose when the smell of alcohol hit him coming from your body and mouth , but he sucked it up and walked you home and made sure you got inside , meanwhile giving you a speech about how bad underage drinking is not like you could pay attention to it though

He started to worry about your safety and kept an eye on you to make sure you were ok , but you would dismiss his concern and told him that you were fine , it wasn't that bad , right ?

Billy started to slowly , but surely , parenting you , he had to stop whatever he was doing or delivering in the middle of the rush just to help when you when you were bleeding the hell out of you after a fight , laying on the street passed out drunk or with little clothes when it was cold

It was a never ending cycle , he would take you home , try to persuade you to quit that way of living , you would say yes and then go to a party to get fucked up , and repeat over and over again

Billy thought that it would be a good idea going out with you to the parties to make sure you stayed on line , but oh you made things so difficult ...

You would disappear into the crowd , vomit over someone else's clothes or shoes , drink an entire bottle by yourself and even seek fights for fun

Those times lasted short because he couldn't deal anymore with the embarrassment of apologizing for you to the people in the party for your actions , the frustration of having to argue about something that you both agreed on before , your childish attitudes and getting involved in the middle of fights that you started or someone else's wanted to with you

Then you both had an argument , can't you see ? He's genuinely sad to see his dear friend this shitty , and it angered him how you're not able to understand that it's hurting you , that he's doing everything that he can to keep you safe but it's useless because you search trouble anyway

But you told him to go and fuck off if he was so tired of you .

And exhausting all of this babysitting and chasing of someone that was falling apart uncontrollably , he stopped talking to you .

It hurts him to leave you like this , but he couldn't be your nurse , dad , friend , therapist , driver or anything that had to do with taking care of you after you searched being that way on the first place

He needs for his own mental and emotional health let you go , but it's not easy , the memory of who you used to be sticks with him , but that person doesn't exist no more , and he can't keep going just for that reason

Sometimes he watches you from afar wondering if you're clean now or still consuming bullshit , but Billy won't ask you , he doesn't have to anymore .

VANCE HOPPER

He doesn't remember how he met you , was at the records store ? At the Grab 'n Go ? A tree lined street ? He doesn't have a fucking clue

But since he got close to you , he didn't only found himself to have a lot in common with you , but safe as well , comfortable , finally someone that understands and treats him right !

If only he knew that you are everything but safety ....

You lit cigarettes for him even if Vance didn't told you to , buy beers or Vodka and tell him to take a " sip " , to not be such a pussy , and he will never say no , his fragile masculinity and internalized misogyny didn't let him to do so

Besides , who gives a shit ?

Exactly .... Nobody , you don't either , and that's what matters

Sitting on rooftops or in the sidewalk drinking and laughing your asses off was so great , play who could blow more smoke out of your mouths and throwing bottles as far as you could , sometimes to a moving car or bike for the giggles and adrenaline of running away from the angry owners

Who cares if it makes Vance forget how shitty his life is ? Who cares if he gets a smile from you by doing it ? It's nothing new from him , what changes if he gets more greedy with you ?

One day he found himself cornered by a decision . You wanted to spicy up things before getting ready to go to the AC / DC concert , be more crazy and sniff some angel dust , but ... He never did drugs before , what if he does it wrong and you laugh at him ? What if his body doesn't receive it well and make a mess of him ?

Since you know how to manipulate him with toxic sexism , the only thing that you have to do was say that he had to grow some balls , because even the faggots can do it

And like that , he started to move his head closer to your small living room table where the lines were at , slowly , nervous , his hand shaking except for the one that was pushing one side of his nostrils

Man ... It felt so fucking weird how fast the dust went inside his nose and dissolved like magic in him

But he felt alive ... So alive ... He felt stronger , powerful , he didn't felt like a boy , no , he felt like a man , a man that didn't fear anything or anyone at all , he can fight with his bare hands an entire army if he wanted to !

Poor kid , that searching of ecstasy would take him to a another level wrongness in his life ... You corrupted his already damaged soul and took him to the darkness as well ... Good job .

Fuck off school , fuck off family , friends , the police , the entire country can do it too , now it's you , him , the narcotics , the cigarettes , the alcohol and heavy metal , whoever tries to mess with you both , will be beaten to death

Crime commiting would soon follow the line , but In Vance head there's too much shit to let space for worries , besides , not like you would ever betray him or some shit like that ....

GRIFFIN STAGG

He was eating his lunch alone on the last table of the cafeteria when you sat next to him and started to talk with him like you were all time buddies

Griffin responded cautiously all your questions , did his old bullies remembered he existed and want to pull a prank on him ? Do you want to seal him something or convince him to join one of the school shitty clubs ?

Day after day you would do the same thing . He wasn't sure of your intentions , you had what people called " the crazy eyes " , clothes were near crossing the line of school dress code or falling apart , strange laugh , funny smell ... And you space out a little too much while talking ( a little bit creepy on his opinion )

But you are always nice to him , and you had a really good sense of humor , so he eventually warmed up to you , may or may developing a small crush ...

A cold morning you grabbed his hand to follow you to the bathroom , you were coughing a lot lately , but he thought you catched a cold .... Again

You opened your backpack excited and showed him all the varieties of joints and cigarettes , and since he was your friend , he could had any for free !

Griffin started to panic near having an attack , what if you get caught ? Who is sealing you these things ? Are you a dealer ? Do you want him to buy your stuff ? Or do you want him to give it to other kids !?

You only laughed , like always , and told him to calm down , that you smoke all the time and you're still alive

He couldn't handle it , he ran away out of the school confused about what he'd just saw , is this the reason why you're always coughing ? Is this the reason why your lungs are so screwed up ? Do you hang around with dangerous people ?

Scared , decided to avoid you at all costs .

But you found him after 2 weeks since the last encounter , and told you him that you were sorry , that you didn't meant to scare him away , that he's your best friend and other sweet things that made Griffin feel bad for ignoring you

Did you promised him to stop and change ? Yes

How many times since then ? Enough for a normal person to give up counting

Unluckily for this little guy , time will not never change who you are . He's so , so attached to you that he keeps forgiving you , always believing in your words and fake promises , always following you like a lost puppy worried about your well being

Please stop it , Griffin is tired of looking out for you , he can't guess when or where you're gonna end up the next time to find your vice

#the black phone x reader #the black phone #tbp headcanons #tbp fandom #tbp robin #tbp vance #tbp finney #tbp griffin #bruce yamada #finney blake #robin arellano #vance hopper #billy showalter #griffin stagg

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wannaeatramyeon · 2 years ago

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Okok so I read in another post a hc of all the lookism boys (+ Yenna) living in a house together and i thought what if 👀 there was a den mother of some sort. Like an older little hispanic lady that sees them in her house and just decides that yes these are her kids and she will help them find their way back. Obviously Yenna is her favorite ans she can do no wrong. I haven’t caught up with Lookism completely (just htf and mk) but i feel like the unacknowledged mommy issues have potential. Only if you can of course if this isn’t something you can vibe with i totally get it.

Oh anon, you mean THIS PIECE OF ART from Ying/@mymxnfgh?

Anon, you really asking for WWIII with all these boys vying for your attention huh. Let's give this a go, I think I may be waaaay off the mark.

Lastly, I really wouldn't be able to write hispanic well. British? Yep. East Asian? Sure. So... just casually skipping over this part of the ask.

Lookism Boys living together + vying for your attention dynamics

Platonic. From least chaotic to most. Based on this hc from Ying/@mymxnfgh

Daniel Park and Jay Hong don't really have any mommy issues, so they stay away from the general chaos. They're the 'quiet' ones (especially Jay). You make sure to keep an eye on them so they don't get left out.

Honestly, absolute sweethearts. If you want anything done, then you know you can count on these two. Low-key your faves as they don't cause any headaches.

For Eli, Warren and Yenna, family comes first. And family is Hostel. They're initially guarded, but ultimately they're still children looking after a child. You have a lot of patience for them and take them under your wing, especially Yenna.

You spend a lot of time with Warren trying to help him with his speech, and you absolutely forbid Eli from cutting anyone's hair. You threaten if he so much as touch a hair on Yenna's head then he's dead.

DG is too cool to make any overt bid for your attention. Makes a lot of sly comments to try and sow dissent, but just gets on with his own thing. He gets more enjoyment out of watching the general chaos.

The subtle rivalry of Vasco and Zack would return. Vasco, thinking Zack is a bit of dick, and Zack would of course think of Vasco as an idiot.

Their rivalry is relatively harmless, but causes a lot of headaches day to day. They would fight over washing the dishes, but somehow break everything. Doing the laundry and everything is pink. Cook to impress you but nothing is edible. You appreciate their intentions but your life would be so much easier if they just left it to you.

What can we say about Johan. We all know what this guy would be like. He is THE mommy issues. Jealous that he doesn't get your undivided attention. Clingy and needy, constantly around you. Sulks and throws tantrums if he doesn't get his way. Luckily you have Zack, Jake and Daniel to tell him to be reasonable, and Gun who threatens to beat his childishness out of him.

Having you around as a constant, comforting presence eases Johan's psyche over time. It doesn't completely undo all the hardships but it's healthy for him to realise he has someone there for him.

Goo would absolutely try and pull rank over Samuel over who gets to spend time with you. Sammy is all smiles and 'Yes, Sir" but as soon as Goo turns his back, Sammy would be immediately sucking up to you.

They never seem to fight, but they constantly snipe at each other. The insults escalate from barely veiled to full blown expletives and cursing. It's surprisingly creative. "Samuel it's a good job you killed you dad and he's looking up at you from hell because you are a disappointment." "Goo, the smell of bullshit coming out of your mouth is putting Y/N off their dinner."

(Jake and Gun loves these exchanges)

Jake and Samuel would be politely smiling at each other one moment, and then trying to kill each other the next. It's less to do with you, and more to do with their own brand of communication.

Jake, on his own, you find simply lovely and Samuel has his charms. But together. JFC.

You do try and help them work out their differences. All this mess with Gangsters and Gapryong Kim but turns out that they would fight over anything. Even something as mundane as how to cook something the 'correct' way. It's easier for them to just duke it out. They always make up in the end... but inevitably will be fighting again in the next hour.

Gun and Goo are surprisingly helpful to have around to help keep some of the others in line. And it's not like they really have any mommy issues and they can be respectful.

Peace doesn't last though. They have a short fuse, and will use ANY excuse to fight each other. Jake and Samuel throwing punches is one thing. But you worry about Gun and Goo literally blowing up the house to spite each other.

Of course this is when DG decides to speak up and egg them on.

BONUS - Seo Haesu is the stray scruffy kid that seems to always be hanging around outside. You disapprove of his dirty clothes, his overgrown bangs (No, Eli. No scissors!), and feel bad for how he's constantly hungry. You offer him free meals and somewhere to sleep.

He's wary af as first. Uses the excuse that he wants to suss you out to hang around.

Would get on well with Zack, Goo and Jake. 'Well' might be an exaggeration, but these 3 have teasing big brother vibes. Their lively ways would help to draw Haesu out of his shell... or he might strangle them.

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i-need-air · 4 years ago

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Hello I really like your hybrid au especially with kirishima

I was wondering if I can request one with kirishima hybrid where reader gets kidnapped because someone from the old ring wants revenge and kirishima is looking for them

Wow, I took some time with this because it was hard to place Kiri in such a situation. I hope I gave it justice. This is not my usual fluff since it's a darker theme, so yeah. Hope it was worth the wait though! Enjoy and tell me if you liked it!! 💕💕

Word count: 4k [ I... I got carried away... and I still feel it's short 💀 ]

Warnings: kidnapping, blood, mentions of abuse, guns, Kiri's past being f'd up, insults [?], hint towards assault;

[ Masterlist ] [ Main Hybrid!Kirishima HCs ]

× this man is all about safety

× asks you to send him a message whenever you arrive safely at home or wherever you're going

× it's super-sweet and really helpful; your well being is everything to him after all

× yet one evening you didn't arrive on time

× no message, nothing

× he was waiting and paying attention to time since he wanted to suggest going out to watch a movie, but you didn't arrive

× one hour later he finds himself frowning at the clock, tapping his foot in wonder

× he sent you a message; the fact that it send but you didn't receive it unsettled him more, to which he decided to call— "The phone you're trying to reach is disconnected or no longer in service."

× did you run out of battery? was that even possible?

× what seals the deal is a DM he receives from a throwaway account on social media he was so active and known on.

× "We've got your little toy. You know where to find us, Red Riot. Come alone or they die." and attached was a pictute of you, on the floor, possibly unconscious, hands tied behind your back.

× a collar was placed by your side; he knew what it was.

× his blood ran cold, a freezing shiver electrified through his spine as he jumped out of the couch, terrorized and more importantly raging mad

× Red Riot: a name he tried to forget; a name people shouted at him in praise as they put bets on his head; a name he's been given as he fought friends and foes; a name that brought back pain and suffering. A name he didn't want to taint his new life with.

× he did not take any time to leave the house in a hurry, his eyes burning with unshed tears.

× Kirishima didn't know where his friends were, so he found himself on his own, outside your apartment complex, taking a deep breath in; he could find you; he had to find you even if it was the last thing he did, yet he had to do it alone.

× he spotted your car in the parking lot— in a blink he was by it's side, just spotting your belongings inside and the car-keys still in

× uncontrollable rage took over him as he still sniffed your scent in the air.

× you've been here and because of him, now you weren't; you're gone; you've been attacked too, the window smashed and blood running down the door

× he sniffed again, noticing how it wasn't your blood— relief didn't come since he did recognize the other scent; his dealer.

× "You fucking mutt!" he growled above the red-haired man chained to the wall, fist closed readied to make impact.

× Kirishima growled lowly, remembering.

× "You fucking made me lose ten fucking grands because you didn't want to finish that fucking beast!" his screams could be heard throughout the hallways.

× He got inside the car.

× "You and your fucking group, you think you're too good to fucking follow MY ORDERS—" a crack could be heard as the punch collided with the hybrid's jaw, yet it did little to no damage to him. Curses followed, making the man almost chuckle, yet chose not to, knowing the damage it would bring. "YOU PATHETIC PIECE OF— I FUCKING BROKE MY HAND, SHIT!" he yanked him by the hair with his other hand, pulling hard. "I'm gonna make you regret the day you were born." And if it weren't for his improvised family, Kirishima would've been regretting that day anyway without his assistance.

× He sped off, fingers whitening on the steering wheel because of his harsh grip. Tears now ran freely on his cheeks with no conscious attempt made to be stopped.

× Only two places haven't been raided by the Hybrid Protection Services came to mind, deemed as abandoned yet for those that knew the insides, the buildings were definitely used mostly as hideouts and for special occasions

× few escaped from being detained by the police, yet word came to him that the bastard, Mawler as he liked to call himself, was caught; it didn't seem to be the case and as he drove, Kirishima could only think he'd make the fucker regret the day he was born; a bitter laugh left his lips, hating himself for a moment. Although the image of a friend came in his mind, imagining him slapping his back in a poor attempt to motivate him. That's what he would say too.

× the self-hatred washed off; for you he'd do anything.

× he rushed to the first location; it used to be a club with an underground arena, in which he himself fought in countless times

× his neck itched as he gritted his teeth; the memory of the electric collar they had to have on while almost killing each other made him want to vomit

× a deep growl left his frame; gutural, dark, menacing; they wanted the Red Riot? it seems they forgot where he really got that name from;

× he only saw blood on the way there.

× he parked not too far but tried to keep a low profile although his big frame didn't help in a stealth situation. Kirishima knew he's in for trouble, but what else could he do?

× —

× you blinked, blinded by the light that shined harshly in your face

× "Would you look at that, fellas? Guess who's wakin' up?" you had no time to panic, just flashes of the quick encounter just by your house appearing in your mind as a boot collided with your stomach, making you wince in pain

× What was going on? What the hell happened?

× "Aww, don't make that face..." someone mocked. "Save it for when Red Riot comes along, baby." he whispered harshly at you, venom in his voice.

× you muttered "—Riot?" in daze, placing your knees as close to your chest for protection; your head hurt badly, a throbbing pain coming from the back of it.

× laughed echoed around you; "He didn't fucking tell you? How much of a fucking BEAST he was?!"; other voices joined in... two more voices, but you couldn't be sure

× memories came back at you; how you were arriving late but decided to not send any message since you were driving; parking, gathering your stuff, the sound of crystal breaking—

× but nothing else;

× "You don't fucking know what your piece of shit of a mutt even did before acting like a perfect little boyfriend, didn't ya?" the same venom filled voice came closer to you, giving you the chance to finally see his ugly scowl and to imprint his stupidly face in your mind;

× were they talking about Kirishima? Your Kirishima? He never really got into detail about his previous life yet made it clear he was forced to fight for the entertainment of others— did they fucking think he had a choice?

× yet you remained silent; it seems Kiri knew you'd be there and your concussion didn't really help you to think straight and form any plan;

× something could be heard outside, a crash of some sort and everyone stood still for a good second.

× "He—... He's here already?" one of them whispered. A clicking made you freeze. You snapped your head up in terror, only knowing that sound from movies, a sound so scary you really didn't think you'd hear it in real life; guns.

× "I fucking send that message 20 minutes ago..." Ugly Scowl said, taken back in surprise. His eyes, dark and void of goodness snapped on you, an unsure smile painting over him. "I wanted to have some fun with ya."

× your body couldn't control the shiver that ran through it, from head to toes, and he noticed, turning his uncertain smile into a sadistic one; your face was probably a dead giveaway too.

× but Eijirou was there and deep down you knew there was nothing to fear; except for the guns.

× the red-head wasn't dumb, he knew this world a million times better than you, so he must've known; with a flood of nervousness piling up in your stomach, you blinked the stinging feeling in your eyes away and hoped for the best.

× "Go check that fucking sound, retards!" he then screamed, two sets of footsteps rushing at his orders; it seemed he was the "boss" of whatever the hell this small group of pieces of shit was and hated your boyfriend's guts.

× should you talk? should you not? what's the best possible outcome out of this?

× your wrists stung, locked harshly with what felt like a rope; in a poor attempt to move your fingers to feel if you could, in an ideal world, free your hands, the man caught your movements instantly; he yanked you by the neck, lifting you off the ground with no difficulty and that's when you noticed he was strong, muscular, big; his frame wasn't as massive as Eijirou's by any chance but massive enough to make you reconsider any attempt to escape. "Don't even fucking think about it, dear."

× his breath, foul and heavy, hit your face and you almost gagged; he was watching you, observing your face in search of something. Through a nod he hummed at himself.

× "Not bad, Riot." his nose hit your cheek as he breathed you in and a whimper left you, guts screaming danger; he snickered. "It's okay, I like them when they cry." he mocked your tears in a heavy whisper, which you didn't notice until he pointed them out.

× a snap could be heard from inside the building, possibly on the floor above; were you underground?

× the disgusting man by your side lifted himself up, throwing you on the floor like garbage. He lifted his gun and narrowed his eyes towards the stairs.

× "Be good and maybe I'll keep you for myself after I hunt your mutt down." he said between gritted teeth. You just started praying for the man you loved, still trying to figure out a way to at least hide before this scum used you as a threat more than he did already.

× —

× Kirishima watched them from the shadows; his breath was heavy yet silent, his enhanced vision saw the two low-life mobs he sometimes noticed following Mawler whenever he went; he took in consideration their stance; of course they'd bring weapons—

× his mind drifted to one of his trainers, EraserHead, and on the few moments of aloofness he let himself have around the younger ones put in his charge; "Humans are easily fooled—" he'd grin lazily. "And very easy to scare."

× with determination like he's never had before, he grabbed a rock; if he had to reach you, he'd have to do the only thing he was never good at: being stealthy.

× he rushed to the left of the back entrance, hidden behind a beaten up car as he threw the small rock in the opposite direction and in any other situation he'd find himself amused, EraserHead's words on replay in his mind. One of the guys almost jumped in place at the sound, gun fastly jerked into its general direction with trembling hands.

× with no second to spare, he entered the building, his speed impressive—

× no sound was made, but what helped him greatly was that one of them started talking into the nothingness; "We know you're there, you bastard!"

× the other one was now searching inside the building, yet his head turned towards his companion outside; sadly for the poor idiot, it only took a punch in the jaw to immobilize him and knock him out entirely. He took the guns from the now unconscious body and put them in his belt and pocket, yet had no intention to use any.

× the second one left outside was still talking a whole monologue, making the man sweat drop; was this Mawler's plan? he wasn't known to use his brain much...

× yet he wasn't as easy to take down as Kirishima wanted it to be; he turned around, probably uneased by the lack of response of his partner, suspicious and more on the edge; he could feel it, his nervousness, his fear; another bitter grin appeared on Eijirou's features.

× "Jackal?" his voice hid fear behind it.

× they definitely knew the damage he could do and the hybrid was glad they did, wanting them to be terrified, his predator instincts washing over.

× he jumped on him, kicking the pistol out of his hands in a heartbeat and making him stumble backwards, losing his balance; it happened in a blurr, old feeling of being in the ring, fist to fist, tail low and ready to pounce. He was in his element once again and God, he hated himself when he let go of all the pain and broke his arm, the sweet image of your smiling face as you burried yourself into the same arms he hurt people with always in the back of his mind.

× before he could realize, the other woke up from the knockout; he heard rushed steps towards him and a snapping sound. The blabbering idiot was on the ground now, breathing but beaten to a pulp and everything stood still for a good second.

× he got hit? in the back of his head? With just one glance he saw a broken wooden plank and blinked stupidly; did he seriously think—?

× Kirishima grinned and in an instant he grabbed Jackal's head and smashed it into his knee.

× —

× you could hear his steps; you knew it was him; heavy yet trying to conceal them poorly; your man was walking around the floor above and you sniffled your nose at the thought.

× he was absolutely massive and nothing about him was silent; gentle, yes, but silent? laughable. Even in this horrendous situation you closed your eyes lovingly at the thought. He's here.

× "Those damned fucking useless pieces of shit—" Oh, yeah. Him.

× the barrel was suddently pointed at your head and any thoughts you had abandoned your brain completely

× utter terror overwashed your senses in every way as you stared at it with wide eyes

× "Let's see if he fucking likes this—"

× —

× the only way down for the public was the stairway; not even those useless guards knew the hidden entrance his friends and him used once; they had to come back though, the guilt and knowledge that if they're found to be gone would make Mawler execute everyone else.

× a low window painted black that led to a storage room behind the filthy bathrooms and the place they'd be kept in cages; he ran on the first floor, approaching the stairs before jumping on the dusty metal bar, now completely silent and praying his poor attempt at a bait worked.

× in no time he was outside again and in even less of a second he found himself by said window leading to the underground arena.

× —

× "Maybe if I hurt you a little bit, he'll come to his senses." He grinned, gun's safety lever clicked, now pointed at your stomach.

× you saw your vision blurr and you really, really wanted to say something but didn't know what to; your lips trembled and you bit them in the hopes of showing at least some courage before getting shot but you couldn't help closing your eyes.

× the sound was so loud; an obnoxiously loud bang shook the room or maybe just shook you to the core, then warmth engulfed you wholly.

× it gripped into you so strongly yet no damage came; "I got you, baby." came as a whisper in your ear and just as you snapped your eyes to see his red, sweet, gorgeous red eyes look at you tenderly, he was gone.

× nothing was said; just a rush of screams and silence; your kidnapper tried to shoot again or so you saw but he was jumped on instantly; that's when you noticed Eijirou was growling like a wild animal and was covered with blood.

× he was like a hurricane, like a bulldozer, like an unstoppable force that destroyed with no mercy; covered in red and splatters due to his constant attacks just painted him with more of it;

× you were looking at Red Riot and your stomach dropped; this is what he was made to be and you cried when he did not stop beating the man underneath him.

× "Baby, stop—" you'd whisper, really trying to get up and barely making it to stay in a seating position, kinda desperate; and he indeed stopped at your plea, froze actually.

× the poor devil under him was groaning, gargling whatevers but it didn't matter; he was looking at you, shocked and you could see the fear in his eyes...

× was it bad that it didn't matter to you? as long as he didn't kill them, as long as justice got to them and furthermore kept Kirishima by your side forever, it didn't matter to you; it was instant, that thought.

× but as he stood there frozen, taking in your nerves and sudden relief, your crying face filled with worry; you took him in too... how his back was getting soaked in blood, running through his shirt down, and down, leaking...

× he got shot for you;

× "Please, leave him, help me and—" he turned a little, ashamed yet mute.

× like a scolded child, unsure; he was bleeding but he was scared of you; he had a hole in his back but he was hurting for your reaction.

× you sniffled again, getting on your knees, pain striking in your stomach but ignoring it; "Eijirou, come to me, please."

× and he did, all so gracefully, so fast and without a single wince; as if he knew pain more than he should've.

× your hands were instantly freed

× his silence killed you inside, it really did. This man, this amazing creature that beamed like the brightest star in the sky was now somber, dull...

× your phone was thrown on the floor as they tampered with it and you rushed, with trembling hands and uncertainty at his attitude to call the police; he was still to say anything, just staying on his knees in front of you, head low and teary eyes.

× he just muttered the location when they asked you about it but that's it; the operator asked questions yet you didn't care to answer them, just saying you need an ambulance too before closing the call to crawl towards him, taking his torso into your arms careful not to touch the wound on his back.

× he then cried harder into your neck, almost falling into your embrace, accepting it but his hands didn't move to touch you, laying unmoving on his sides.

× "I'm so—" he hiccuped. "I'm so sorry, [Y/N]." His frame was shaking more and more;

× "I love you, Eijirou." It's all you could say. Really, your brain just screamed for you to tell him that, as if you felt it's what he needed to hear the most.

× guilty; blaming himself; putting himself down;

× he shuddered into you as your hands, tired and sore, reached for his sweat soaked hair to stroke it gently.

× "You came for me. You saved me. Thank yo—"

× "Don't! It's all my fault—" his voice broke for a second, hands turning into fists and the only thing grounding him was your scent invading his nostrils. "You're hurt because of me..."

× you cried with him too, gluing his head more into you, peppering his face with shaky butterfly kisses.

× "It's not your fault, it was never your fault, Eijirou." you shook in place as you reassured him. Word by word, sentence by sentence, you let him know he's just as much of a victim being chased by his past, a past he was forced to have; he came for you, he rushed to save you, he took a bullet for you and yet again, he acted like it was nothing, as if the pain of putting you in danger was greater than any damage he could take.

× his hands encircled you and for the first time since you saw him after waking up to this nightmare, he winced in pain but did not let you go. Instead, he pressed your body into his, fearing you'd dissapear.

× you asked him if you should cover the wound, not really knowing what to do for now; you'd have time to talk, you'd have time to reassure him again and again and again, but now you had to make sure he was fine.

× he shook his head, feeling his nose tickle your neck in the process; "Leave it, I've taken worse." And with that statement you cried harder.

× the police sirens could be heard in the distance, accompanied by the ambulance one...

× —

× so much time passed; so many hours without sleep; police station, explanations, Kirishima almost getting arrested in the spot and being incarcerated, hospital, lawyers, more questioning...

× everything was explained, everything kinda settled for the never-ending day, knowing it wouldn't be the last time you'd have to visit said police station, already sure you'd follow Kirishima there without hesitancy to make sure he's treated correctly, but for now... home.

× the bullet didn't reach any vital organ even if he was hit square in the back and for a normal human it would've meant a hit in one of the lungs, but not for a hybrid—

× still, it didn't hurt less to see him in that state;

× your car was sealed and taken away as evidence, so a taxi home was your only way there.

× hands locked and much, so much to talk about ahead of you but one thing sure

× "I love you." You squeezed his hand, catching his attention, loving how his lips curled in a small smile, not as bright as usual, but still, his smile.

× "I love you more." Was his usual response yet this time it was shy, not looking into your eyes but somewhere behind you, out the window. You frowned and shook his hand to catch the attention fully.

× "No. You don't seem to get it." You led his big, strong, scarred hand to your lips, kissing the back of it softly. "I love you, Kirishima Eijirou. So much."

× the car ride was silent as he took in your words and you couldn't help but enjoy the way his eyes widened, now having his full attention as his cheeks reddened slightly, knowing he's been caught putting himself down.

× he let out a breathless chuckle, so small but with it his shoulders fell in relief. He nodded, watching his hand holding yours and gulped, your words repeating in a loop in his mind.

× Eijirou was so easy to read, so transparent and honest and it warmed heart to ser him accept your words, words you've said countless times before this incident and without a doubt in the future until they engraved permanently in his heart.

× he chuckled again at your expression, catching your gaze and holding it until a smile broke on his face, this time big and warm, just like him. The smile you wanted to see all along.

× he cried again through it, passing his free palm over his eyes for a second; "You're my everything, [Y/N]." he'd pull you into his chest, inhaling your scent. "I love you." he squeezed you close.

#kirishima eijirou x reader #kirishima x reader #hybrid!kirishima #hybrid!au #noire writes #kirishima headcanons

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dorminchu · 3 years ago

Text

Insult to Injury: The Director’s Cut — Chapter 03

Fandom: James Bond Characters: Madeleine Swann, Lyutsifer Safin, OC(s) Relationships: Madeleine Swann & Lyutsifer Safin Warnings: PTSD, moderate language. Rating: M Genre: Crime/Drama Summary: A troubled psychologist desperate to escape her past criminal ties finds herself drawn into a far more insidious schism. [Post-Skyfall]

[Ao3 | FFNet]

— Episode III: HEDGEHOG’S DILEMMA —

Over the next hour, Madeleine’s initial animosity dissipated into tacit acceptance of the situation. Apart from the two unnamed associates, her and Safin, there were no other passengers. On paper, their route was straightforward. They'd stop at Genève, switch trains, be on their way to Sion. A five hour commute in total. Leaving roughly four hours to glean as much information as possible about her primary source of information.

At a glance she placed Safin somewhere in his early-to-mid-thirties. He had a soft face chipped away through years of ruthlessness—you could see it in his eyes, this kind of cold reticence that needed no introduction. The scarring threw off her estimate by a slight margin. He was dressed smartly, darker colours, blending in easily with any other first-class commuter except for the gloves. Madeleine, in a white blouse, grey wool cardigan to match her shoes.

“I'm curious. When you contacted the HR office and informed them I wouldn't be coming in, how did they take it?”

“They were surprised that you came in when you did, but ultimately sympathetic, given the nature of the situation. Your secretary mentioned that you're not one to take time off without prior notice.”

“Of course she would.”

“Would you like to know what they thought of you?”

As he spoke he watched her closely. “Diligent and well-mannered when it came to clientele. Aloof outside of an office setting. After graduating from two prestigious universities, you were still working at a public clinic. Your office and equipment were particularly sparse for a twenty-six year-old in the modern era. I imagine they thought you were in an inordinate amount of debt or else eccentric.”

Madeleine chewed on that for a few seconds. “That’s all well and good, but you cannot get all the nuances about a person from simple inference, or a background check.” Safin remained unreadable. “It was the secretary who told you all this?”

“In this profession, people provide me a lot of information I don’t ask for. I’ve learnt not to take it personally. You’d know what that is like, I’m sure.”

“I suppose so.”

Sunlight beamed on the side of her head, warming her past the point of languid ease. Should've picked the aisle seat. Trapped by her handbag at her ankles; burner phone, wallet, spare cosmetics, and a custom holster for a gun she hadn't touched since moving in with Arnaud.

Three years ago, what was on her mind? Fresh out of Oxford, too cynical to be starry-eyed. Volunteering still gave her a false sense of self-importance, rather than existential exhaustion. Carving out her altruistic identity through deeds, not the blood money she had to take advantage of. Still believing in a world governed by monetary prowess and tacit favours. That somehow, she'd make up for inherited sins in sheer time and effort.

On her own, she just ended pulling up roots and moving on every couple years, leaving behind very little of herself. Taking some perverse pride in the impossibility of knowing an enigma but each year she noticed the empty space, the quiet of the flat, more encompassing. Lines on her face. Still young but not forever.

Maybe she needed some change in her life. Company, but not for the sake of matrimony. Living with Arnaud in Paris had made it easier to accept the façade of a charmed life, even if their relationship was one of social convenience. It got her father off her case. Her colleagues finally stopped speculating that she'd gone frigid and switched to wondering when she and Arnaud were going to move on or get hitched. Never to her face. Always to the secretary, who passed along the information with the same enthusiasm as commentary on the window dressings.

Marriage crossed her mind, once or twice, in abstract. A last resort to keep up the veneer of normalcy. She could change her name. Become another unassuming face among thousands. Settle down while she was young. She wasn't a company man like her father. Maybe, for a year or two, before her past knocked her back into reality. Keeping her family life and professional life separate was paramount. The events of this morning proved as much.

An attendant came over smelling of artificial vanilla and enquired if they would need anything. Stench recalled the low-lit bathroom in Conakry; a rush of saliva flooded Madeleine’s mouth as before vomiting. She shook her head. The attendant looked over at her in concern.

“Everything's fine, thank you,” said Safin.

Madeleine threw him a bitter look as the attendant continued down the aisle. The sentiment was not reciprocated. Taken up by a need for conversation, if only to get out of her own head into someone else's for a while, she began, “So—” cleared her throat “—so, you head your own team?”

“That's correct.”

“How long have you been operating?”

“Fourteen years.”

“That’s quite a long time. I cannot say I'm familiar with the detail.”

“Our operations tend to stray away from the public eye. The situation in Conakry was an exception.”

Madeleine nodded primly. Still grasping for a conversation topic that wouldn’t completely sabotage her own intentions. What the hell could she do if he was one of SPECTRE? Second-guessing all his responses wouldn't get her anywhere. She simpered.

“I understand that this is not an ideal location to talk in-depth. But it wouldn’t hurt to know why my father saw fit to bother with me after all this time.”

“He has never discussed his business with you?”

“He made sure to keep me abreast of most of it. But I always knew where the money came from.” Madeleine frowned slightly. “There was an incident in Bolivia, back in 2008. I was volunteering on behalf of the IDPs and civilians affected by the water crisis. Dominic Greene, the famous entrepreneur, lost his life and the organisation QUANTUM shut down. But the gas explosion at the La Perla de las Dunas, that was all over the news. At the time it was deemed a political assault because several key members of the Bolivian military were rumoured to be involved.”

“On the news, do you recall ever hearing of a man named Luiz Medrano?”

“Medrano? As in, the exiled dictator?”

Safin nodded. “General Medrano cut a deal with Greene. Undisputed access to a seemingly useless piece of land in the Atacama Desert. It was, in fact, the site of an underground dam. Greene would have a monopoly over Bolivia's water, and Medrano and his coup would seize control of the country.” A particularly cold smile crossed Safin’s face but didn’t reach his eyes. “Not all of their subordinates were loyal. Someone from the outside must have intercepted at the hotel. Even so, their claim over the dam might have stayed out of the public eye if not for the amount of military figures found complicit in that political handover.” He paused. “QUANTUM's disbandment was not made public at the time. How would you know of this?”

Madeleine lowered her voice. “QUANTUM was my father's company, and Mr Greene was one of his associates. Besides, I never knew Greene personally. I don't think my father mentioned him to me more than twice in my life. I just put two-and-two together. He'd never let me see his shame directly.”

“I presume your father was acting in the interest of your protection.”

“He's always been meddling in my affairs! Even when I was a little girl. It's funny, you know. He was too busy to raise me so it fell to my mother. And then, once I got older, he decided to come back into my life. I would stay with him for a few months and go back to whichever school he put me through for the rest of the year. We stopped talking once I went off to Oxford.”

“And your mother?”

Madeleine froze. Averted her face towards the window. “She passed on when I was younger.”

Something indecipherable surfaced in his expression. “My apologies.”

“No, it’s all right. I’ve had time to mourn.” She scowled at nothing in particular. “I hope you realise I don’t have much on me.”

“Your personal affairs have been collected from the flat. You will have access to them once we reach our destination.”

“And that was decided by him, or you?” Safin held her gaze. “Well, you are doing this on his behalf, are you not?”

No answer. Back to silence until the attendant passed by again, accompanied by the scent of faux-vanilla. Madeleine couldn’t stand to sit another minute.

“Where do you think you’re going?” asked Safin without looking up.

“Dining car. I haven’t eaten since this morning.”

Safin made eye-contact with the associate on his side, nodded. The man got up and followed her into the next car without a word.

The attendant and passengers became nonentities while Madeleine ordered a sandwich and coffee. The associate didn't order anything, scanning the car. Just a pair of commuters, to the untrained eye.

“Welcome back, Dr Swann,” said Safin. “How was the dining car?”

“Uneventful.”

Safin glanced at the associate who was now sitting a few rows down. “I’m glad there were no complications.”

“I would certainly hope not,” Madeleine muttered. Every sentence that left her mouth gave him more ammunition. Ill-advised to put up a haughty front for the rest of the train ride. Tolerating the situation without being happy about it. Best get a grip before she made a bigger fool of herself.

“I’m not one of your patients, Dr Swann. There's no need to try and figure me out.”

“I am not trying to do anything of the sort.” Terse, reflexive. Safin drew a quiet breath. Madeleine glanced over at him and of course, he initiated:

“Do you enjoy your work?”

“Psychology?”

“Yes.”

It was such an ordinary question that Madeleine forgot to be indignant. “I… well, truthfully there are a lot of days where it is not very glamourous. But, if the alternative is to sit by and do nothing while others are suffering, I wouldn't give up for the world.” Shrugging off her lingering bad mood with a white lie. “And you?”

“I have no complaints about my work.”

A little brisk, compared to his previous responses. But she hardly knew the man well enough to start parsing for tells. In his position she'd probably have answered the same way.

On the second train heading from Genève to Sion, Madeleine was out of conversation topics. Not that Safin was one for talking anyway. She'd settled into the pattern of being scrutinised and returning the scrutiny. Just like her father to send a highly-trained watchdog in lieu of an apology.

Once again, they had the car to themselves. The afternoon sun beaming in through the window imprinted on her retinas until she pulled down the blinds.

The passing attendant did not address her beyond a glance and a small, terse smile. Probably just itching to get to the end of his shift and go see his friends for drinks. In his absence, her eyes kept flickering over empty rows, scanning, rescanning, fruitlessly.

“Dr Swann,” said Safin quietly, “is there a reason you keep looking over at the door?”

Madeleine purposefully relaxed her shoulders. “I wasn't aware that my father owned property in Sion. It's uncommon.”

“It's an architect’s villa located in Pont-de-la-Morge. Built in 1950, refurbished in 2008. You’ll have your pick of rooms on the second floor, if that makes any difference.”

Madeleine nodded. Running his sentence through in her head a few more times. She looked up sharply. “You’ll be staying there as well?”

“Given what occurred in Guinea and France, I would say it is in your best interest to have someone watching your back for a while.”

“You might have mentioned this before.”

“My job is to keep you alive. That’s as much reassurance as I can offer.”

⁂

Arrival at the station. Ushered into another black car. The sky overhead threatening rain as the car pulled into the drive. The perimeter of the house was flanked by several men not dissimilar from the two who’d collected Madeleine from her office. They did not speak. A couple of them nodded to Safin before bidding them entry.

An abundance of glass doors and aesthetically pleasing windows. The kitchen; wood panelling and stainless-steel. A fireplace in the living room with glass doors directly adjacent that led out to a terrace. The lawn watered itself. There were three bathrooms and bedrooms respectively.

Her own room was up the stairs, on the right. Far less claustrophobic or lived-in than Arnaud’s apartment. A fitted wardrobe, a stiff-looking bed. Mahogany sofa that wasn’t really her style but could be worked around. Light on the westernmost wall. Another set of glass doors that led out to a balcony, flanked by maroon curtains. She turned on the light, drew the curtains shut. Opening the wardrobe, she found the clothes she'd left in Arnaud's apartment that morning. She parsed through the fabric, unsure whether to find this latter aspect convenient or invasive. Some of these clothes she hadn’t worn in a season or two.

Arnaud's last conversation came to mind. Had he come back to the flat after she left in order to apologise, or collect her things? If they hadn’t argued that morning he might still be alive. Worried enough, perhaps, to ask around and get himself in a lot of trouble before he was silenced.

Madeleine shut the wardrobe forcefully. A change of style the first step to reinventing herself.

Over the balcony she caught sight of Safin and his associates. He looked over as she came down the stairs. “The room is fine,” she began, “but, if I'm going to be here a week I'll need some things in the morning.”

Safin nodded. “Once we work out an itinerary, that shouldn't be an issue. You recall the two men who accompanied you?” The first nodded; the second smiled politely. “Simply inform one of them and they will transport you as needed.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” said Madeleine. No chance of giving these men the slip and expecting to survive.

⁂

That night she buried herself under rough wool blankets. Dreamless sleep the most precious amenity of all. She couldn’t start drinking and risk a hangover. If she started taking pills she'd draw attention to herself pretty quickly.

Normally she could manage to sleep. Restless but consistent enough to scrape by unnoticed.

Waking up half-fevered. Unfamiliar ceiling. Sion, not France. Waiting for the initial swell of terror to pass, as it always did. Regulating her breathing. Just a trauma response. Laying still, unsure if it was midnight or five in the morning.

Back in Ermatige, the waves of terror and relief used to crash down, shake her apart. Twenty-six year-old Madeleine chewed her lip. Sitting up, wrapping her arms around herself. A dull throbbing behind her eyes, in the base of her skull. Heavy scent of petrichor invading her nostrils.

About to get up when she heard the creak of floorboards. Movement from the hall towards the stairs, descending. Someone was up and around. A few seconds later, Safin’s voice, indistinct.

Oh, God.

She hadn’t disturbed him, had she?

She could lay back down and feign sleep until her headache became too much to ignore. Or she could go on with her day. Checked the time. 06:21.

Technically still too early for her to be up and about.

The warmth of the sheets became cloying. She stood up, barefoot on varnished wood, creeping over to the balcony. Reaching out to touch the pane. Cool glass kissing her naked palm. In a month or two the ground would be laden with snow.

Opening the door. Stepping out onto the balcony, gripping the rail. Quieting her breath to hear the whisper of water on grass. Taking fresh air into her lungs until she was shivering. Soles of her feet smarted.

The men surrounding the premises did not move. But they must see her up there. She stepped back indoors.

Silvery glint in her peripherals. The old television reflecting the light from outside.

Combing around the drawers for a remote. She clicked it on. Quickly hit the mute button. Squinting at the harsh colours that only reignited her headache. Flitting through channels for news. Poring over the headlines.

Not a word about the MSF. It had only been a month since she came back to Europe. Next week was October.

She sat there for a while letting the colours wash over the room. Clicked it off. Stumbling into the bathroom. Bags under her eyes more pronounced than the day before.

Madeleine had a shower, trying to piece together the dream. Hazier than in her youth. She discarded it. Only a dream. Drying off, dressing for the day. Contenting herself with the solidity of wool and linen, she went downstairs to have breakfast.

Safin, hovering by the glass doors in the living-room area. Dressed as if for another commute. “Dr Swann,” he said as way of greeting.

“Morning,” she replied. It was seven forty AM. No job to distract her from this newfound sense of nihilism. She rifled through the pantry looking for some cereal and saw an expensive-looking bottle of alcohol towards the back—liquor. Madeleine took the cereal, fixed herself a bowl and some coffee.

Caffeine counteracted her torpor, but the headache remained. “I don’t suppose this safehouse has any painkillers?” Safin looked over. She was already going through cabinets. “It’s my head. Just the weather, really.”

“Did you sleep?”

“Well enough.” She met his gaze with more confidence than she could back up. Safin’s attention diverted to the side of her head.

“On your right.”

She took two with her coffee. Ate in silence. Waiting a week in the hope her father might have an excuse was a truly miserable proposition. What would she say? Hello, Papa. I’m still alive. Did you pick this location to remind me of your home in Austria? No, that wouldn’t get her anywhere. Easier to approach her father in the same context as her job.

“Who do I speak to when I’m ready to leave?”

Safin glanced over at one of the associates.

⁂

The spotter gave her the run down on the way. In terms of travel she couldn’t go beyond the canton of Valais and she could not contact anyone else outside of Kerberos to confer information about her father’s whereabouts. But aside from that she could pretty much go anywhere.

First, clothing. That took her to Bottega Veneta. In Flagranti’s Business Acumen playing over the intercom. Madeleine's hackles raised. The painkillers in effect. Caffeine wearing off. She started parsing out signs. She hadn't really thought about what she needed beyond a change.

So accustomed to the life of a disconnected middle-class that its opposite became seductive. Perusing the aisles in a daze. Selecting whatever pulled at her heart in a perverse reminder of home. Nothing too extravagant. A new raincoat and a couple pairs of shoes. Navy scarf for the winter months. Spare lipstick. A few more shirts and dress pants in monochrome. Spare underwear, socks.

Spent half an hour trying it all on. Avoiding the eyes of the woman in the glass. Most of it fit but she didn't feel any different. The raincoat especially gave her a funereal look. She already had a reputation for being severe. What did it matter? She was always severe and the rest of the world could just bite the bullet.

Shit. The spotter was waiting for her. He probably didn't care either way. They hadn't talked much and she wasn't about to humanise him. She'd only let her guard down faster.

She parsed him out. They made brief eye-contact. Unimportant banter between her and the cashier during the transaction. Taking her bags. Walking over rain-slicked asphalt. Back into the car. The beat of raindrops on the window lulling her into a false sense of security.

Snapping herself out of it when the car stopped. “I’ll get it,” she insisted. The associate didn’t protest.

Treading up the stairs, down the hall. Pulling old clothes out of drawers, off hangers. Substituting her purchased goods. It wasn’t enough to fill the wardrobe, but she would have time to buy new clothes. Set aside the old stuff to be dealt with.

Shambling downstairs. Hungry without any real appetite. Safin nowhere to be seen. It took all the strength she had just to stand. Moving over to the sofa. Slumping into it. Closing her eyes. Only for a second.

The sound of a car pulling in mixed up with the sharp staccato of rifle fire tearing apart a wooden door.

Papa's gun in the cabinet, next to the bleach.

Heavy footsteps on wood.

No matter how fast she bolted she’d never get there in time.

Gloved hand on her shoulder.

Jerking awake with a guttural hitch, like she'd been sucker-punched.

Breathing hard. Her face damp.

“Dr Swann?”

Face-to-face with the last person she wanted to justify herself to. She averted her eyes. “Oh God, it's just—I’m sorry. It was just a nightmare.”

“About Conakry?”

She swallowed dryly. “Look, it’s nothing, I’m—”

“Don’t tell me that it is nothing.” His tone suddenly sharper. “You were in significant distress, now and early this morning. Nightmares are a common response in post-traumatic—”

“—I am familiar with the definition!” Ringing silence. She hadn’t meant to raise her voice. “Your concern is not unfounded, I know that it looks very bad. But I know how to deal with this. Please, just leave me be.”

“Just now, you said, don't come any closer, I'll kill you. Does that mean anything to you?”

Her hackles raised. “It's meaningless.”

“Depriving yourself of sleep won't do you any favours when Mr White shows up. If you want to be stubborn, I'll have no option but to keep you locked down until you have recuperated. In the meantime, think over what you must do to get some proper sleep. I'm not your therapist.”

He left her to sit, bitter and confused. He hadn’t reacted this way in Guinea and she'd been close to catatonic. So, what was this about?

⁂

For the next three days the Kerberos team confined her to the safehouse. Letting her out only to walk her around the premises for twenty minute intervals like a high-strung pet. If she were to take sleeping pills she was monitored. Resentment outweighed by desperation to regain her agency.

She learnt to recognise Safin's gait back and forth down the hall. Through the glass doors that led out onto the balcony, she could always see the figures silhouetted in the light from the terrace, blending into the shadows.

Even with all of this, sleep was no easier. Waking up half-fevered, clawing away the sheets. Expecting to see her stomach torn open, entrails and blood over the sheets not unlike brain matter and bone fragments against a hot car window. Finding unbroken skin sheened in sweat. The stress of the situation in Guinea and the extreme nature of the attack would inevitably recall some previous triggers.

It didn't explain away the nightmares about Altaussee. Hadn't she put that behind her years ago? Minor variations, each time. The setting was more indistinct than in childhood but the visceral details heightened. Sometimes the gunman would shoot her on sight before she stepped outside. Most often now, she'd run over to find no gun in the cabinet, and he shot her anyway. As a child she'd lacked the mental capacity to conceptualise how it would feel to die this way; now she dreaded what she'd see when she closed her eyes.

On day four, she was finally able to get some rest on account of exhaustion rather than effort. She woke up to the sun streaming into her face. Once she left her room, the two associates got her out of the house, into the car. They drove around Valais for roughly an hour and brought her back. Upon her return to the safehouse there were men checking over the rooms and furniture. Only so much protocol she could stomach, on top of all the scrutiny.

“I don’t want them in my room when I come in,” she told Safin. “Around the premises if necessary, but that’s all. If they must check all the rooms, fine, I don’t care, I just don’t want to see it.”

Childish to her own ears. Too beaten-down to think better. But he just said: “That can be arranged.”

⁂

The nights here were getting colder. Madeleine bundled up. She had never cared much for the autumnal season. All the decay covered beneath the snow to be unearthed come spring. Upcoming holiday meant throngs of people. Indifferent towards Christmas.

Safin was rarely around. In passing, he would acknowledge her in passing with a curt nod, and after day five he was more-or-less in the background. Every now and again, she'd catch him hovering in a room, just observing. Sometimes, if she turned, she imagined a flicker of something unfamiliar trapped behind his reserved countenance. But he never stuck around long enough for her to ask.

With an abundance of free time, she was unable to let herself to fall into the illusion of normalcy. Inevitable, then, that her thoughts would stray back to the MSF. Conducting research on her own, in the mornings and evenings; parsing through official news sites on her laptop, then underground articles, statistics, and anything else she could scrounge up.

The Guinean military had been busy quelling unrest for the last four weeks, but there were few details. Several key figures in the MSF were currently under investigation, tarnishing the reputation of the organisation. That stuck around the headlines, right next to some lesser story in the corner about various pharmaceutical companies cooperating in tandem with the Red Cross and clean MSF figures to ensure there was no repeat affliction throughout the rest of Africa. Madeleine didn’t see her face or any mention of a Psychosocial Unit mentioned anywhere.

The nightmares weren't any better. But at least she had something to point her energy towards rather than direct it inwards.

On day six, Safin was lurking about the living area when she came down. He didn't wish her good morning. “I'll say this once, for your own good. Forget about what happened in Guinea.”

A week ago Madeleine would've been indignant. Arrogant enough to question this. She said: “There has been nothing short of a civil outbreak, and all the other parties walked away more or less unscathed. And you expect me to ignore that?”

“You accepted that mission knowing that there was the possibility there would be casualties.”

“Casualties? It was a worst-case scenario.”

He looked over at her. “The situation escalated far beyond any one party's control. There's no sense in blaming yourself. You did the best you could.”

Always wearing gloves. What the hell had happened to him? And why, succeeding that, would one choose security as their preferred occupation?

“Are you going to ask if it’s genetic?”

Madeleine balked. For the first time in a long time embarrassed rather than unnerved. “I didn't mean to offend you.”

He shrugged. “No offence taken.” His tone was off, like trying for sharpness without credence. “It was a long time ago.” Cordial, but not openly genial. While their conversations topics didn't leave much room for trust or even camaraderie, at the very least they were not glowering at each other anymore. “There's been a slight change of plans. Your father should be arriving later this evening.

“Well, that's convenient.”

“I'm sure you would like to ask him a few questions about your situation.”

“There's no telling he will give me a straight answer.” Safin said nothing. Madeleine exhaled, looked over at him. “Irrespective of how I might feel about your employer, you’ve given me no reason to distrust you.”

“Very well, Dr Swann.”

Madeleine smiled. “Please, just call me Madeleine. I'm not working right now.”

A beat.

“All right. Madeleine.”

#no time to die #multichapter #crime drama #not canon compliant #slow build #lyutsifer safin #madeleine swann #mr white #general medrano #dominic greene #fanfic #fanfiction #sorry I'm late!

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hotchley · 4 years ago

Text

mayhem

I low-key hate the ending and everything from the hospital scene onwards but we move. It's now past midnight, I haven't proofread it, so please forgive any and all errors because I actually cannot look at this any longer. Err, I hope it lives up to what everyone wanted!

Also, this got ridiculously long. It’s 8608 words

Trigger Warnings: bombings, canon-typical violence, lots of blood, hospitals, spinal injuries that result in the use of a cane and wheelchair, canonical minor character deaths, serious injury of a main character, what i would describe as unhealthy thoughts about death

read on ao3!

The first thing Aaron noticed when he opened his eyes was that it was dark. It was so incredibly dark, which doesn't make any sense because all the streetlights were on when they had been leaving the building.

They. Because he had been with Kate. He'd been telling her everything was going to be fine. That they would catch their unsubs, and she didn't need to worry about being reassigned or losing anyone's respect. But that if they did want to reassign her, there would always be a place for her at Quantico.

She had smiled, and the panging in his stomach that seemed to get worse every time a member of his team so much as looked at him receded slightly. She had bumped his shoulder as they walked back to the car, and it had felt just like the old days, when they'd spent a month liaising together.

He remembers that month perfectly. She was amazing, captivating an entire room with nothing more than a look. Confidence radiated from her, drawing everyone in and commanding their attention. But she'd been so kind. So gentle. Never once teasing him for his own awkward nature. Kate had encouraged him to phone Haley at every opportunity, saying love was a beautiful thing to witness.

Kate met Haley and the two got on like best friends. After she first transferred over, the three of them had gone for dinner a few times, just to help her get settled and remind her that she did in fact, have some friends in the area.

When the two of them joked about their similarities, it had made him blush, but laugh nonetheless. When Emily Prentiss said it, it made him feel nauseous. He knew she didn't respect him, and still resented him for the way he'd acted- even though he had been right- but to assume that he'd cheated had cut him deeper than any of her previous insults.

He was getting distracted. He needed to work out where Kate was. Because they were on a case. It had made him and Derek argue. No, it wasn't the time to be thinking about that. He would try and remember it later. For now, he needed to raise his head, and find Kate.

Hotch didn't know why he was on the ground. It didn't make any sense, and when he lifted his head, the world started spinning so fast, he let out a low whine of pain and let it drop onto the tarmac of the road once more. He thought the fact that nothing changed should have concerned him more than it did.

There was still no sign of Kate.

"Kate," he whispered. He cleared his throat. "Kate," he shouted again, flinching when it sounded too loud. It echoed around him, like a schoolground taunt because Kate wasn't there. Had she left him? No, that wasn't who she was.

He was starting to panic. He tried to stand, but his legs weren't cooperating, and he didn't know where he was or what had happened. There was nobody to ground him. In moments like these, he would usually seek out JJ. She would take his hand for a few moments, convince him he was doing enough.

But JJ didn't trust him either. Not enough to tell him she was pregnant. Seeing Will had been a comfort, because it meant that there was someone for her to turn to, but he had seen her face just before she announced her pregnancy.

She hadn't wanted to say anything. And when he looked in her eyes, he saw the same nervous excitement he'd seen in Haley's when she came out of the doctor's office. Adrian Bale had killed six agents only days later. He'd been lucky to walk away. He still visited Jacqueline's grave every year, wishing he could tell her in person that his son was named Jack.

"Kate," he whispered again, this time to himself. It would be his mantra. She would find him. She would. She had to. It had to be her. Nobody else. Only her.

Almost like his wishing summoned her, she came running over. There was blood in her hair, and it seemed to be pooling around her ear. He didn't want to know whether or not it was hers, but it couldn't have been anyone else's. There was more splattered across her clothes.

The sight of her made his heart calm. But the blood made him panic. He twisted around as much as he could, and saw the fire, now reduced down to a few embers and ashes as the night gave little fuel, caused by the car. The same car they were supposed to be driving to the place that the rest of his team would be.

"Kate," he tried again.

She shook her head. "Don't speak. Don't try and speak. You need to save your energy. Okay?"

"What- what happened?"

She pushed his hair off his forehead, the gesture so familiar and foreign at the same time. Haley had always done that to him, when they were laying on the sofa, in the early hours of the morning, when they were eating. He winced at the thought of her.

"I don't know. I think there was a bomb. No, I don't think, there was. But we're okay. We're going to be okay."

"Do you promise?" he choked out. His ears were ringing, and he didn't know where the blood was coming from, but it didn't seem to be stopping.

Kate's eyes drifted down to his trousers. The blood had stained them beyond repair. She didn't respond, and that set of alarm bells. Long ago, Kate had vowed that if she thought she was going to lie to him, she just wouldn't answer.

"Kate?"

"Do you know where the blood is coming from?" she asked, voice shaking.

He shook his head. He wanted to ask what had happened to her, but his mouth couldn't form the words. It was like they were frozen on his tongue. "I'm sorry," he whispered.

The smile she gave him was fond. "That's okay Aaron. But please stop talking. You need to save your energy for your team. Because as soon as the bleeding stops enough, we're going to find a way to them. That I can promise."

"Surprised you like them," he said, before he could stop himself.

She shrugged. "I mean, it was nothing I haven't heard before. I need you to work with me here. Lift yourself slightly, then I can turn you around, and we can work out exactly how to get you better," she said, hands ready to move him.

He did it, surprised when it didn't hurt him. In fact, it didn't do anything. He was momentarily stunned by the fact that he had indeed turned himself over, because his legs just felt numb.

Almost like he hadn't moved them at all.

A chill ran down his spine and he tried to turn around again. He couldn't do it. He couldn't move his legs. He refused to believe it though, and he looked down, trying to shake one of his legs out. It didn't move. No matter how hard he tried, it wouldn't move.

"No," he cried.

Kate hadn't said a word. She was just staring at him. "Oh Aaron. I'm so sorry. I'm- I am so, so sorry. None of this was meant to happen. Not to you."

She needed him to be strong. So he tried his best to crack a grin. "It was going to be one of us. I'm glad it was me. Too many people need you for you to be the one lying here."

That made her laugh. "Sure. Me, the single woman from England that sounds like the bloody queen and is hated by most of the field office for all of those reasons, and you, the leader of the BAU, who has a wife and a son."

He didn't have the heart to tell her that his team hated him. Or that his wife had left, and his son would likely only have fuzzy memories of him.

She cleared her throat. "Look, I didn't actually manage to move you properly. And you're not moving your legs, probably because you're exhausted. So let me look properly. We're probably overreacting," she said, but her voice sounded shaky.

He nodded. It was so difficult to keep his eyes open. All he wanted to do was sleep, but he knew Kate would hate that. So he kept his them as wide open as he could, taking comfort in the warmth of her hands on his body.

There was silence as she turned him, and when he looked up at her, there were tears falling down her cheeks.

He knew almost immediately what she meant. The blood was coming from his legs. The bomb had damaged them. Badly. So badly that there was a chance he would never walk again. He would never be a field agent. Never lift Jack, never dance with Penelope. Never reach for the gun on his left leg. But she still hadn't said anything. Maybe there was hope that they were just overreacting.

"Tell me," he said.

She opened and closed her mouth. "I don't have enough medical knowledge to say anything Aar. I don't. I have no idea what I'm supposed to do, but I'm putting pressure on the wound. Can you feel it? The pressure I'm putting on it?"

He shook his head, and it was that small thing that broke the dam. The tears that he had been fighting escaped, streaming down his cheeks and he tasted salt on his mouth as they dripped onto his shirt, doing nothing to wash away the blood.

"I don't feel anything. I haven't since I came round. Kate, do you think I'm going to die?"

"No. No, you're not going to die because I'm going to save you. I promise."

That made him feel safe. Kate Joyner never broke a promise. He nodded, trying to ignore the pain in his head and the ringing in his ears. But then he paused. The pain meant he was alive and not completely broken.

"Okay, all I need to do is, I need to, maybe if I," Kate murmured to herself.

Hotch tried to look at her. "Your voice is really soothing. Did you know? I think you should read books to people. You could make a lot of money doing it. And then you could be one of these people that everyone says has a lovely voice."

She let out a slight laugh. "Thank you Aaron."

"Spencer- you know the baby one- he could probably tell me why exactly I find your voice as soothing as I do. He's a genius. Well, he doesn't think intelligence can be quantified, but he has an IQ of 187, a reading speed of 20,000 words a minute and three Phds."

"I know, you told me, remember?" she said, moving his hair off his face again. All his movement had messed it up again, and it was getting in his eyes.

"He thinks I'm a narcissist," Aaron blurted out.

"I'm sure he doesn't," Kate said, slightly absent-mindedly as she tried to work out why Aaron's voice sounded so far away. When she pressed a hand to her ear, it came away red. And wet. The blood hadn't stopped. She swallowed and wiped her hand on her skirt. She would be fine, but if she didn't sort out Aaron soon, he wouldn't be.

"He said so. When he was kidnapped. He said that he chose me to die, because I was a narcissist. At the time, I didn't think he meant it, but now I think he did. I mean, he was right, wasn't he? I was so excited about seeing you again that I put myself above them."

"No Aaron, you didn't," she said.

"JJ thinks I'm a bully. Emily said I don't trust women as much as men. Dave wasn't on the team at that point, but he probably thinks I'm a dick as well. But I just- Kate, I know they don't like me, but why would they assume we slept together? Do I really seem like someone who would cheat on their wife?"

He was losing a dangerous amount of blood. It coated her hands, mixed with her own and for the first time, she wasn't completely sure she knew how to save him.

"No. You don't. You never have. Aaron, the blood isn't stopping. What am I supposed to do?"

The desperation in her voice stopped him from thinking about how, even after all this time, the team's perception of him had never changed. Not after he saved them all from getting fired. Not after he looked Emily in the eye and told him he wanted her on that plane with him.

She had just told him that he wasn't human.

"Aaron," Kate pleaded. "Please."

She wasn't a field agent. She had always been a desk agent. Always. The only reason she'd been out with them was because he had asked her. The only reason she'd gone down to the building with him was because he had wanted to talk to her, away from everyone else and their judgemental stares.

He had told her everything was going to be fine. And she had told him that she already knew that, because he was there.

"I don't know Kate. I don't. Maybe I can help you with your injuries? My hands aren't useless."

They were shaking though. He was beginning to feel very cold.

She knew her ear was not okay. And she was almost certain that there were wounds that he couldn't see all over her body. But he couldn't feel his legs, his eyes were flicking to various spots around the area and his body was losing too much blood. So for the first time, she lied to him.

"My injures will be fine. What we need to focus on is you."

Ambulance sirens pierced the air. She knew they wouldn't come. In fact, they had specifically instructed that no emergency services were to go anywhere near the injured parties until the area was secured. It had been her idea.

But that had been before it was Aaron laying on the ground.

"Help me!" she screamed, hating the way her voice wavered. She was a woman. She had spent most of her life fighting to keep emotion from clouding her tone, and here she was, sobbing over a man that knew how to read people like a child's book.

Nobody came. She wouldn't stop trying though.

"Please! Help me! He's a federal agent. He works for the BAU. Help me!"

Hotch grabbed her hand and she looked down at him. "They aren't coming. Remember?"

"They have to," she whispered. "They just have to. I'm not strong enough to save you myself. I need help. I need you to tell me what to do."

"Oh Kate. You're so strong. So much stronger than you know."

"Aar, tell me what I'm supposed to do."

He opened his mouth. Then he closed it. "I don't know. I don't- we learnt what you're meant to do, and I remember trying to save one of the agents but I couldn't. I couldn't do it."

"It's okay," she whispered, looking up at the people in the distance. "Please help us! He's losing too much blood and I can't make it stop."

"Kate. They won't do it. It's one life versus several."

"But it's your life," she said, hating how childish she sounded.

He shrugged, then winced.

"Hey. I was nearby, and I heard all the screaming. I'm not a medical professional, but I couldn't just walk away. Is there anything- literally, anything- that would help either of you?" a man said.

Kate's jaw dropped. If she was a better person, she would tell him to walk away, just in case. But she wasn't. And he was just one person. Probably a college student, trying to be a hero. Not worth hurting.

Then again, she never thought her and Aaron would be worth hurting either.

"Help me move him onto his side. The blood isn't stopping, and we need to work out why, okay?" she said, making a decision she hoped she would live to regret.

The man nodded. Something about him seemed off, but she shrugged the thought away. She wasn't a profiler and Aaron was suffering. If someone was willing to help, she was going to take it. Aaron always said she was a good woman. He was wrong.

"Okay. I'm Sam," he said.

"Kate."

"Does my team know?" Hotch whispered.

That was strange. She thought he would ask for Haley first. And then his team.

"I'm sure they'll find out soon enough."

Morgan came running over a few minutes later. Her and Sam hadn't been able to do anything. And then it turned out he was the one that had bombed them. She had wanted to vomit, but there was nothing in her stomach. And then she had wanted to run after him, if only so she didn't have to watch as Aaron faded in and out of consciousness, barely able to open his mouth. Morgan had stopped her. She was too injured.

"I feel cold," Aaron whispered.

"What?"

"I feel really cold."

That wasn't like him. He was, inside and out, one of the warmest people she knew. But the shivers of his body were undeniable. For a moment, she panicked, and then she shrugged her blazer off, ignoring the blood on it and draped it over his legs, cursing herself for not thinking of it earlier.

Trying to get help was pointless. But she was a desk agent. She'd never seen anyone die before. Yes, she had seen dead bodies, but she'd never had to hold someone as their body went limp and cold. Aaron was bleeding out, all over the two of them, and she was desperate.

"Help me!" she screamed.

And help finally came. A paramedic, too good for the world, broke through the barricade and saved them both. She tried to tell him thank you, but he just shrugged her off and focused on Aaron. It didn't offend her. All her focus was on Aaron too.

It reminded her of Agent Morgan's words. How all of Hotch's focus had been on her. She cringed at the memory. All she wanted, aside from Aaron to be safe, was for people to believe that she got where she did because of her own abilities and merits.

"You're going to need to drive the ambulance," the paramedic said to her.

Kate nodded. She was glad that her friends had convinced her to learn how to drive in America, even if all the roads were the opposite to the British ones. Aaron was going to make it. He'd be damaged and broken, but he'd be alive.

"Kate?" he rasped.

She turned back slightly. "I'm right here. I'm right here, and we're almost at the hospital. We're going to save you."

"Agent Joyner?" the man at the front said.

She swallowed. "Sir. Agent Hotchner is going to die if we don't give him medical attention. It's an emergency. I know who you've got in that building. I used to work for the same people he's with now. I understand the importance of protection. But if Agent Hotchner and his team had not come to New York, so many more people would be dead. Let me in."

Despite everything, the other man smiled. "You've not changed a single bit Joyner."

"I know," was all she said, before driving in. The moment they got through the doors, Aaron was being carried away. Against the bright lights of the corridors and the glaring white of the door, the blood all over his legs seemed even more horrific.

Her own ear was ringing to a painful degree, and her entire body ached from driving. There was a sharp pain in her leg and everything seemed slightly out of focus. All she wanted to do was close her eyes for a few minutes, but she couldn't.

Aaron's team got there fifteen minutes later. They were trying to work out what their team of unsubs endgame was. The video of the SUV exploding was playing on a loop. Kate had to turn away after she watched it a second time. He'd offered to drive, knowing that even after all that time, she hated it. Maybe if she had just sucked it up, it would be her in surgery not him.

It was amazing, watching them all work together, but she just felt out of place. They were able to bounce ideas off each other, finish their sentences. They knew exactly what the other was going to say and were able to all offer their own pieces of the profile.

She was just there because Aaron cared about her. And suddenly, telling them everything was the most important thing.

"We never slept together," she blurted out.

Agents Prentiss and Jareau had the decency to look ashamed. Morgan just frowned at her. Reid- the one that called Aaron a narcissist- seemed confused. Rossi just raised an eyebrow and she looked at the ground.

"I'm sorry. I just- he was talking, when he was bleeding out and all that. He said that he knew that you hated him, but he would never do that to Haley. I needed you to know. We were only ever friends. And I got here through my own hard work and dedication."

"It was a ridiculous comment to make, and we apologise," Dave said, voice soothing.

"And he's not a narcissist. He told me to stop trying to get the paramedic's attention because he was just one person. He was willing to bleed out, cold and without his family to keep everyone else safe. That's not the actions of a narcissist."

Rossi seemed confused by her words. There was a sudden spark of something in Reid's eyes, but now that she had started speaking, she couldn't stop.

"And he's not a bully. When we liaised together, he stuck up for me. For everyone. Never spoke over us, always respected people. He trusted me, and treated me exactly the same as everyone else, Agent Prentiss. He was so human, it hurt. I understand that he is your leader and things are different, but I needed you to know that."

"Kate, where is the paramedic you came in with?" Reid asked the moment she stopped speaking.

"I don't- I've got no idea. Why?"

Reid looked at his team. JJ's jaw dropped. Emily closed her eyes. Morgan visibly winced and Dave seemed like he was praying. Kate couldn't help the irrational surge of anger.

"We've worked out their endgame," he said. "The bomb is the ambulance that you drove here."

She was going to be sick. Either that, or she was going to pass out. The pain in her ear had only worsened, and she didn't feel steady on her feet. But none of that mattered. Innocent people were going to die because of her selfishness.

"What do we do?" she whispered.

Dave handed her an FBI vest. One that they had probably grabbed for Aaron to wear. He was the one that charged head-first into danger and hunted criminals. She wasn't even required to carry a gun.

"We find him, and we get that bomb as far away from here as we can," he said.

Kate nodded. When they reached the entrance, she realised what had been bugging her. "Where's Agent Morgan?"

They heard sirens. He was driving the bomb away himself. In some way, she was glad, because at least somebody had the sense to do it, but on the other hand, it terrified her. Because there was no way the Bureau would let her lead after this mess. Morgan was going to be her replacement, but although his actions were admirable and showed great care for his team, they would never see it like that.

"In his own way, he's giving us a chance to save everyone. Let's not waste it," Dave said.

The rest of the team nodded, and headed out. Kate followed, trying her best to ignore the pain in her leg. The only thing keeping her upright was her anger. At the paramedic for being an awful person. At Aaron for being too good. At herself for not putting the pieces together.

They found their unsub. He was holding a knife to his throat. As everyone else pointed their guns at him, telling him to give up because it was all over, the difference between her and them was even more obvious. She had nothing to aim at him, so she drew herself to her full height, ignoring the pain that came with it.

She felt sick, and hoped she wasn't as pale as she looked. Then his eyes met hers. Her blood ran cold.

"I did tell Agent Hotchner to thank his partner. That you had done everything," he said.

"You're not going to achieve anything. Nobody else is dying. Just give up," she said, voice wavering. She wished one of the others would do the speaking. She had no idea what would make this man press the button.

"No," he said. And he slashed his throat.

Kate felt bile rise in her throat, but if being a woman in the FBI had taught her anything, it was that you didn't show emotion. Ever. You did not fall apart in public, you kept your tears to yourself until you went back to your apartment and could muffle your sobs by running the shower too hot and turning the pressure to the maximum.

"We need to get to the hospital," Dave said then.

Kate took a step forward on unsteady legs. She needed to see the body.

Prentiss grabbed her arm. Kate flinched at the touch. She had been the one to suggest that her and Aaron had slept together.

"Don't do it to yourself," she said, forcefully steering her away from the body.

Kate was too weak to do much more than obey. She kept her head up during the silent ride back to the hospital. The most important thing was knowing that Aaron was safe. When, and only when they knew he was going to pull through would she succumb to her own injuries. Until then, she would pretend that the blood staining her clothes was all his and that her ears were completely fine.

"How is Agent Hotchner?" Rossi asked, the moment they saw a nurse.

They shrugged. "It's still too early to tell. He's still in surgery, from what we can see, both his ears and his hearing have been badly damaged by the blast. We're optimistic that avoiding loud noises will lead to a full recovery and return of his hearing but…" they trailed off.

"But what?" Garcia asked, voice full of nerves.

After she received confirmation that Derek was alive, she'd dashed to the hospital as quickly as she could so she could see everyone else and convince herself that her job was worth doing. They were still waiting for Derek to turn up. Penelope knew exactly what she was going to do the moment she saw him.

"Agents, there's a chance he may never walk unassisted. I'm not saying he'll need to use a wheelchair for the rest of his life, but the damage to his spinal cord and legs is extensive. If it's not a wheelchair, it will be a cane. He will have a life, and he will learn to do everything he wants to, but-"

"He'll never go into the field again," Kate said.

Everyone turned to face her.

And her world went black.

She could hear shouting, and there was the sound of footsteps. Then she was being moved, but she had no idea what was going on. All she knew was that Aaron's team needed to know the truth. Opening her eyes was impossible, but he was in surgery so he couldn't tell them.

"Agent Prentiss?" she choked out.

Someone was telling her to stop talking, to save her energy, and she almost smiled. Only a few hours ago, she was telling Aaron to do exactly the same thing but he hadn't. The two of them had never been good at listening when what they wanted to do felt more important.

"I'm here," Emily said, trying to stay calm.

"We didn't-" she stopped talking as a coughing fit overwhelmed her. Her vision was out of focus, but she saw the horror on everyone's faces. There was blood on her chin. She didn't care. They needed to know.

"We never slept together. We didn't." She was sure she had told them earlier, but her head hurt so much and she couldn't remember.

"We know Kate. We know," JJ said, having rushed over when Emily looked terrified.

"And I- I got here, because I was good. I was good. It wasn't him. It was me. He- Aaron- he loves Haley. Oh god. Haley. He needs her. Where is she? Where is Haley?"

It was becoming harder and harder to breathe. She was vaguely aware of the doctors placing an oxygen mask over his face, and of lots of sound, but the ringing in her ears overpowered it all. Her thoughts were consumed by her need to know that Aaron was going to wake up and see his wife. And son.

She always thought he would be an excellent father.

"She's here," Emily said, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear.

Kate relaxed slightly. "That's good. He'll be okay then."

JJ nodded. "And so will you."

Kate gave her a smile. Perhaps the team did love him as much as he loved them. Still, there was no harm in reminding them. "You should tell him you love him. He seems to think you hate him. Haley's here though. So I guess that's something."

"Hey, Kate?" a doctor said. She turned her head to follow their face. They had a kind face. It made her feel safe. "That's it, focus on my voice. Your Aaron is going to be perfectly fine. I just need you to relax for me okay?"

"Not my Aaron. We didn't sleep together," she said, again.

"Of course you didn't. He's going to be fine, nonetheless. So relax for me. Do you understand? Aaron will be okay."

Kate felt her eyes starting to close. She was so tired. A few minutes of rest wouldn't hurt anyone. And Haley was going to be there when Aaron woke up, so it was fine. She'd join them soon enough. "Good."

Kate Joyner didn't open her eyes again.

Aaron Hotchner did.

And when he did, the first thing he saw was the brightness of blonde hair.

"Kate?" he rasped. He wasn't sure where he was, but it wasn't a road. The thing beneath him was comfortable, there was the steady beep of a heart machine, and the walls were a blinding shade of white that hurt his eyes.

Hospital.

Kate had gotten him to the hospital.

He sat upright, but the word started spinning and he had to relax against a pillow again.

"Not quite darling. It's Haley," Haley said, pushing his hair off his forehead.

Emily and JJ exchanged uncomfortable glances. Only a few days ago, they had been making jokes about the similarities. Now, Haley was alive and warm, whilst Kate was dead and cold. They still hadn't decided who was going to tell him.

"Why are you- this isn't your job anymore," he said, not meeting her eyes.

Dave slowly shepherded them out of the room. The team would come and make their apologies later. For now, Aaron needed comfort from the only woman he had ever loved. He would get the doctor in a moment. A few minutes delay couldn't hurt him any more than he already was.

"It is. Because you're still the father of our child. And they didn't know whether or not you were going to make it. I may not be a good person, but I do know that if I wasn't here and you died, I would never forgive myself," she said.

"Thank you," he whispered. "Where is- where's Kate?"

Haley wouldn't meet his eyes. "Aaron…"

He'd heard that tone before. More times than he could care to count. And he knew what it meant.

"What happened?"

"I don't know the full story. But the doctors said it was something to do with shrapnel and internal bleeding. They did everything they could."

"I know they did. It was me that didn't do enough. I need to go. See her. Before they take her back to England," he said, attempting to swing his legs over the edge of the bed.

Haley winced. She couldn't be the one to tell him. She loved him with all her heart, but she couldn't be the one to tell him. Not this time. It was selfish, but verbalising it would make it too real, and she wanted to believe for a few more moments that everything was the same.

"Let me get the doctor," she said.

"Haley, what happened to me?"

"I'll get the doctor," she repeated.

"I don't want to hear it from the doctor. Not when you already know. What happened? Please, just tell me. I need to know and I can't wait until they run tests or do whatever it is they're going to do. Haley. Why can't I move my legs?"

With tears in her eyes, she lifted her head. "There was extensive damage to your spinal cord. And the blast meant there were severe amounts of shrapnel in you as well. It- you may be paralysed from the waist down."

If the heart monitor did not carry on beeping, he would've believed he was dead.

"Darling, I am so sorry. I'm so, so sorry, and if there is anything I can do-"

"There's not. At least I'm alive, right? Kate's injuries weren't as severe as mine, but because she was so busy saving me, she's dead. She saved me, and for what? I'm never going to be a field agent again. I'm never going to pick Jack up or be independent ever again."

"Aaron, that's not true. There's a chance that if everything goes well, you will walk with a cane."

"Yeah? And how big is that chance?" he was being unfair, he knew that, but he couldn't help it. If Kate had just left him, or stopped fighting for him to be saved, then she would be alive. Unemployed and with hearing damage, but alive. But she wasn't. She was dead, and he was stuck in a hospital bed, shouting at the only person that had ever truly loved him.

"I know you're angry. You have every right to be. But I'm not going to stand by and let you insult Kate's actions like that. The team have asked to see you. Should I let them in when the doctor's done?"

He turned away from her. She sighed, and left him alone. Only a few seconds later, the doctor entered. Aaron moved his hand from his leg too late.

"Agent Hotchner. I'm Doctor Nightling. I'm assuming Haley told you what happened?" he said.

Aaron nodded. "I know that I'll never be a field agent again. I know that. But I need to know, is there any chance, any chance at all, that I'll walk unassisted?"

The doctor sighed. "I'm going to be honest. It's slim. Not impossible, but slim. If everything goes well in your physical therapy, I believe you will walk with a cane. But Agent Hotchner, a small reminder. You are lucky to be alive. And so many people with the same injuries that you suffered go on to have amazing and brilliant lives. The wheelchair and the cane that you use won't stop you from being whatever you want to be."

"What I want to be is with Kate. But she's dead. And it's my fault."

Doctor Nighting sighed, but wrote a few more things down. "It's not your fault Aaron. Now, there's not much more we can do tonight because you must be exhausted. Are you up for seeing your team? I don't think they'll leave without at least saying goodnight."

Hotch did not want to see his team, but it wasn't because he was exhausted. It was because he didn't want to see the fake sympathy etched onto their faces, or listen as they told him that everything was going to work out eventually. However, that would be selfish. He wasn't allowed to be selfish.

"Sure," he said.

Doctor Nightling left, and Aaron let a few tears slide down his cheeks. He knew everyone else was right. He was lucky to be alive. There was so much that he could still do with his life. He could learn to walk with a cane. He just couldn't find it in him to be grateful when Kate's blood stained his hands, alongside every other person he had failed to save. When the team came in, he shifted so he could look at them properly. They all had identical looks of sorrow and shame on their faces. He hated it.

"Sir, I just want to say that I have never been so glad to see you. And you look very good for someone that was just in an explosion. I'm not trying to act like it wasn't a tragedy, because it was, but I just- I love you. And I need to focus on the good," Penelope said, always the first to provide comfort. She ran over and pressed a kiss to his forehead.

Aaron closed his eyes, relaxing into her touch slightly. When she pulled away with a tearful smile, he managed to match it with his own slightly shaky one. It faded when he turned to the rest of the team, who all looked uncomfortable.

"We're so sorry about Kate," JJ said.

Hotch couldn't help but laugh. "Sure. Of course you are. It's not like you spent the entire time we were here mocking her, accusing me of being a cheater and treating her like shit." That was an exaggeration. He couldn't help it.

"She told us that. It was one of the last things she said. That you two had never slept together and that she got here because of her own merit. She was right. It was wrong of us to say something like that. And I'm sorry," Emily chimed in.

Emily, who had always managed to pinpoint his worst fears and biggest flaws and shoot her arrows directly at them. Emily who was probably only saying what she was saying because Dave had instructed her to do so. Who probably still didn't believe he was human, or that he did indeed trust her.

He turned away, blinking back tears. "You don't need to lie to me Emily. I'm a grown man, I can handle the truth."

"I- what?" she sounded confused.

"You don't think I'm human. You don't think I trust women as much as men, which is rather ironic given that everyone in life that has ever screwed me over was a man. Your immediate thought after seeing a woman that looked like Haley was that I slept with her." He wanted to hurt her the same way she had hurt him, and yet his words missed the mark completely. Instead of cruel and cold, they came out broken and desperate.

"Hotch-"

"Aaron, what are you talking about?" Dave cut in. For the past few hours, all he heard from anyone was that Hotch had genuinely believed them. When he had tried to ask why, they had all clammed up and claimed it wasn't important. That he didn't need to know.

Aaron frowned at him. "You don't know? I thought they would have told you. On one of your many outings together because I wouldn't be there so you wouldn't have to walk on eggshells or anything like that."

"Nobody's said anything," Dave said.

Spencer was fidgeting, which was completely normal, but he was uncomfortable. Dave just wanted everything to be cleared up so they could get some sleep. Think about their next move. And so that Aaron could be left alone to process the news. Even now, it was clear that he was hanging on by a thread because he was still technically Unit Chief. Hotch raised an eyebrow. He was being vindictive. He knew that. And he wished he could stop it, and he knew he should be a better person by now, but before he could calm himself down, the words were spilling out.

"Reid said I was a narcissist. Morgan called me a drill sergeant. JJ said I was a bully. Emily seemed prepared when she said that I don't trust women as much as men. Then she said that she needed to know she could be human. Like I wasn't."

Dave turned to face the team, jaw dropping.

"Come on man, that was so long ago. So much has happened since then, surely you can't still believe that," Derek said. It came out harsher than he intended, but he couldn't help it. There was no way he was still mad about that. It had been something said in the spur of the moment because they were angry and he was there.

"On this case alone, JJ hid her pregnancy from me. Reid barely spoke to me. You accused me of focusing on all the wrong things. Prentiss assumed I had cheated on Haley," he snapped.

Dave finally went over. Hotch closed his eyes. He didn't want anyone to see him crying. Not now.

"Look at me," he commanded.

Hotch shook his head. Now the adrenaline had worn off, he just felt tired. He didn't want to see how he had hurt the team, or pushed them even further away. He just wanted to be left alone with his pain and his hurt. It was what he deserved.

"Aaron," Dave said again.

He lifted his head the slightest amount.

"You're hurting right now. And you're angry. So we won't say anything because it will just make the situation worse. But I want you to know that I think you are undeniably human, a good leader and a brilliant man. We'll come back in the morning. Now sleep."

Hotch nodded, not really believing him. As soon as they left, switching the light off as they did so, his eyes closed and didn't open until morning. Maybe if he had kept them open for a few minutes longer, he would've heard the sounds of Dave shouting at the team for never apologising to him. Maybe it was better that he didn't hear that, or else he would've convinced himself that when they all turned up in the morning, it was out of duty, not love.

He spent a further week in the hospital. Somebody from the team was always there. JJ would tell him stories about the shenanigans that occured at the hotel. Derek would help him move his body as much as he could. Garcia would show him how to knit. Dave would sit and watch him, not really speaking. Spencer would read to him, coming a little closer each day. Emily would bite her nails and look everywhere but his face.

On his final day, Morgan and Haley entered together. He had requested that Haley didn't come and see him. She had understood why and respected his wishes, but when she saw him, still unable to take even a few steps, she almost wished she hadn't.

The man on the hospital bed was not her ex-husband. And he didn't know that he was going to be staying with her until he could walk again. Which may never happen, but she needed to be optimistic. According to Doctor Nightling, the scans they had done looked promising and so long as there were no further complications, he would be able to walk short distances with a cane in the near future.

"Hi darling. Are you ready to go?" she asked.

With Derek's assistance, Aaron was able to get into the wheelchair. Haley had wanted to do it all herself, but she knew her limitations. There was no way she would be able to lift Aaron into the chair or into the car. And also, the longer it took for him to work out that he was staying with her and not Dave, the better.

He nodded, feeling exhausted from all the final last-minute checks that had been done to him.

She smiled slightly. "Good. Well, I'm just here to keep you company till you get to Dave's."

He fell asleep on the journey home. It made him look younger. When they arrived at the house, he looked betrayed. It made her heart ache, but she told herself the lying had been necessary. There was no way he would have cooperated if he'd known that Haley was going to be the one looking after him. It had been hard enough convincing him that Dave was fine, let alone her.

"You told me that it was going to be Dave," he said.

"I'm sorry for lying darling, but you wouldn't have gone otherwise. Dave did offer, but it was me that you lived with whenever you got injured. I was there after Boston. I know what I'm doing."

It was only when they were inside the house and Derek had wheeled Hotch into the side room that had become his guest room did he finally speak. After thanking Derek for his help, he turned himself around so he was facing Haley. He'd never had to look up to see her before.

Derek took it as his cue to leave.

"You were my wife then," Aaron said. It wasn't an adequate explanation, but it was the only one he could give. There was no way he was going to look at Haley and say that when he looked at her smile, he saw Kate's final grin. Or that her hair was so much softer than Kate's had been when he brushed it off her cold face.

"I loved you before that and I love you now. That's more important. If you really want to go to Dave's then we'll take you. But you know this house and this room. It may be better for you," she said.

"I'll stay as long as you let me," he said.

Haley gave him that genuine, wide smile that had left him breathless when he first met her and still did so to this day.

"I'd never ask you to leave, you know that," she said.

And she meant it as a joke, but his own smile faded. She wouldn't. When she had decided that she couldn't take anymore and needed to walk away, she had been the one to leave. The only reason that she had come back was because she had custody of Jack.

"I know," he responded.

She had known him long enough to hear everything he didn't say. "I'll let you get some rest. Your physical therapy starts tomorrow."

He groaned. He hated physical therapy.

But eight months of it meant he was able to walk with a cane. Not always. There were some days when the pain was so bad that he had to use the wheelchair again. Those days always felt like a failure to him. Deep down, he knew that they weren't. That it was good he was able to recognise his limits and not push them to the point of another injury, but it still hurt.

Jack thought it made his Daddy look even cooler. He didn't really understand what was going on, but he did understand that Daddy wasn't able to be the same superhero he had been before, which was fine because that meant he could be a different one, and also that Mommy and Daddy would both be there in the afternoon. Most of the time. There were some days where Haley would come in, and Aaron would be unable to walk comfortably. Once, he had been on the ground, his determination to walk unassisted getting the better of him.

Haley and Aaron didn't know what they were doing either. They weren't dating, but there were certain patterns one fell into when they lived with someone. But neither of them was going to ruin their friendship, so they just carried on as before. It was pleasant.

"I'll miss this place," Hotch said as Morgan hovered in the doorway. As he was no longer able to be a field agent, Hotch had retired from the FBI permanently. Morgan had taken over as Unit Chief, which was all Aaron had ever wanted for the other man.

Hotch had plans to lecture. There was no way he would be allowed to go quietly into the night. Not with all his experience as a prosecutor, a member of SWAT and a profiler. Strauss had been kind enough to say he wouldn't be able to train new cadets just yet. When he had thanked her, she had just shrugged and said it was the least she could do.

"We'll miss you too. And we will only ever be a phone call away," Derek said. He'd grown older over the months Hotch had been recovering. Aaron would never move past that guilt, but Derek held no grudge. He was just happy Hotch had been able to walk away.

"The same goes for you. All of you," he said.

"Go! Spend time with your son," Derek said, with a laugh.

They would all be at the Hotchner-Brooks home soon enough, eating dinner and reminiscing over the old days. Each member of the team had slowly convinced Aaron that he was not only deserving of their love, but that he had it.

Aaron grinned, and removed one hand from the cane to pull Derek in for a hug. Derek went willingly, only pulling away when he started to feel his shirt dampen.

"Phone call," Derek said.

"Phone call," Hotch repeated.

A month later, Derek would turn up on his doorstep, soaked to the skin. Haley would answer the door. He would enter, barely acknowledging her. Aaron would be playing with Jack, who would be incredibly happy to see his Uncle Derek again.

Hotch would smile, but when he saw the look on the other man's face, he would take his cane and follow him out of the room.

"Shaunessy's dead. The Boston Reaper is back and he wants vengeance. You're the only one with the knowledge we need."

Hotch, who had always needed to save people, would nod. He would go to Boston, and he would realise that George Foyet, the one surviving victim, was not in fact a victim, but a terrible killer. They would arrest him, only for him to get away because he had been planning his endgame since Shaunessy signed the deal.

Aaron would come home from lectures to an empty house because Haley and Jack were at Jessica's.

The world would go black once more, and when he was met with the bright white of a hospital room, he would not be going home with Haley because she would be leaving. And when he saw her again, it would be after Derek Morgan shot George Foyet dead. He would see her with her eyes closed and her hair dark.

And even despite that stark difference, the resemblance she had to Kate Joyner would terrify him.

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fanfalc-616 · 4 years ago

Text

Okay I have a new AU!! It’s called...

The Rights Of A Nindroid

This is chapter one!

Thanks to @occasionalincorrectquotes ,@321bluegalaxy , @ablackswansweet , and @akwardalienbean for giving me ideas (:<

When Zane wakes up that morning, the Bounty is quiet- likely because he gets up about an hour before the others usually do.

After checking the refrigerator, he decides to pick up some groceries for the team, despite it being Cole’s turn- the black ninja typically comes back with a surplus of junk food and relatively little amounts of healthy ingredients, no matter what Zane puts on the actual shopping list.

Messaging the others in order to inform them that he’ll be back shortly after their normal breakfast time, he heads out to the store, enjoying the quietness of the early morning.

He only makes it a few blocks away before a cop car pulls up beside him. Frowning, he pauses. Is there some kind of criminal roaming around here? Perhaps he could help apprehend them.

Two cops get out of the car, and Zane decides to voice the idea. “Is there a problem, officers?” He prompts. “Do you need assistance with it?”

The first cop- a brunet only just shorter than Zane- starts to speak. “I’m sorry about this, but we’re going to need-“

The second cop- a short blond- glares at the first as he interupts. “Actually, yeah, we could use your help. You’re the white ninja, right? Zane? It would be great if we could have your help with a government… “ He pauses a moment. “...project.”

The pause is somewhat concerning, but likely not a real issue. “I would be happy to assist.” He smiles. “If you tell we the location, I could have my teammates join us and also-“

“It would be better if it was just you.” The brunet interrupts.

The other cop nods. “It’s a low profile thing.” He agrees. “And no offense to your teammates, but they usually grab a lot of attention.”

With a small chuckle, Zane nods. “That they do. If it is low profile, would it be better for me to ride with you? Or should I get a vehicle of my own?”

The brunet starts heading back to the car. “It would be better if you rode with us.” He decides.

So Zane gets in the back of the car, letting the two cops take charge of directions. Unsure of what level of volume would be appropriate, he elects to remain silent to avoid a possibly uncomfortable situation.

Soon enough, they reach an odd-looking facility that appears to belong to the government- and strangely enough, a quick GPS check shows that the site is non-existent, implying that it is a top-secret base of some sort.

Getting out of the car, Zane lets himself be led into the facility, warily eyeing the large number of security guards swarming the area.

“May I have more information on what this ‘project’ is?” He prompts, hand coming down to brush against one of his shurikens.

“We can talk more inside.” The taller cop tells him as they go up the doors. In order to get inside, he uses three complex key patterns, a vocal recognition pattern sensor, and a form of facial recognition scanner.

“That is quite elaborate.” Zane notes. “I take it this project is important.”

But he doesn’t say anything more on the matter when he’s taken back, nor when they insist on confiscating his weapons. The shurikens don’t matter all that much anyway, he is well versed in multiple martial arts.

As he’s led through the halls, he could almost swear that he can hear distant muffled screaming. But no one else seems to be affected, so he brushes it off as some distorted echo. After all, this is a government facility. It would be highly unlikely for something illegal enough to cause that much pain to be happening in a place like this.

Once taken into a medium-sized room- a room that has a mirror that is likely actually of one way glass- he is instructed to sit at a table, directly across from a government official.

“Hello, Zane.” The woman smiles. “I’m going to ask you a few questions. It’s going to be important for you to answer truthfully.”

Zane nods his confirmation, accompanying it with a verbal one. “I will answer them to the best of my ability.” After a moment of thought, he decides that it would be best to wait on asking his own queries until after they have asked theirs.

“Thank you. What was your creator’s full name?”

“Doctor Julien.” Zane answers the question without pause.

The woman shakes her head. “His full, legal name.” She corrects, glancing over at the mirror. The minor action confirms that it is, in fact, one way glass.

With a blink of surprise, Zane answers the question. He’s asked several more, all about his father and any possible relatives he may have. The second piece is negatory; his father was an only child and far too old for any immediate family members to be alive.

After six minutes and nine seconds, the woman smiles again. “Thank you, Zane. Someone will be back with you shortly.”

With that, she gets up and heads out, leaving Zane behind.

Puzzled by the questions and events, Zane attempts to send a message to his boyfriends in order to inform them that he will be later than he had expected- but strangely enough, it doesn’t go through. Frowning, he tries a second time, but he once again fails.

That’s mildly concerning, but likely has a logical explanation. Perhaps no one here can send messages as a way to increase the difficulty of hacking. Given the secrecy he has already seen, that would be reasonable.

So he waits patiently at the table, occasionally sneaking stealthy glances at the one way glass. Something about this situation seems suspicious, but there’s likely no real cause to it. Perhaps he has adopted part of Jay’s paranoid nature.

A smile finds him at the humorous thought, but before he has the chance to think on it further, the door to the room opens, and a new official walks in.

“Zane, it’s… nice to meet you. I’m going to need you to fill out some papers.” The man tells him in a rather rude tone.

Zane chooses not to comment on his unpleasant mannerisms. “I would be happy to.” He gives a friendly smile, hoping that staying composed and being affable may help with what is bothering the official.

He begins to fill out the papers he was given, but as he goes on, the questions seem to grow more and more invasive, until he finds himself pausing.

Zane looks up from the paper, setting his pencil down. “My apologies, but I am not comfortable answering these questions. The way my systems work is rather a personal matter.”

“Yes, well, I need you to answer them anyway.” The man’s smile is tight and forced, not expressing happiness in the slightest.

“I’m not comfortable with that.” Zane repeats, a note of annoyance creeping into his voice. He stares the official down, making sure he knows that he will not be backing down on this matter.

“I didn’t ask if you were comfortable.” The man’s eyes express sharp malice as his false smile drops. “I told you to fill out the papers.”

“And I told you no.” Zane stands up abruptly, still holding cold eye contact. “I’ll be leaving now.”

A spark of anger lights in the man’s eyes. “No, you won’t.” He stands up as well, annoyance and hatred on his face. “You’re not going anywhere.”

“I don’t believe that’s your call to make.” Zane doesn’t blink and doesn’t back down- but he does refrain from allowing the temperature to drop from his powers.

“It is, actually.” The official insists. Does he genuinely believe that?

This is not a debate that he’s willing to be having, so it is time to end the discussion. “Is that so?”

“Sit down, nindroid.” He says the final word as though it’s an insult rather than a descriptor. “This isn’t up to your programming.”

“My progr- just what, exactly, are you trying to imply?” Zane knows he should simply walk out the door, but at the moment, he is completely floored by the implications of his words.

Is he truly under the impression that-

His attention is grabbed by the door being opened, and his eyes widen in surprise when he sees a large group of security guards entering, all wielding laser guns not unlike the ones Cyrus Borg had designed.

Zane quick backs away, narrowing his eyes. So they plan to hold him hostage? “I must warn you that even unarmed, I am still a trained ninja. I recommend that you stand down.”

The guns are aimed at him, all centered on non-vital parts of his body- though any shots that hit would likely give them enough time to restrain him.

Then he must not get hit. And for that, he should make the first move.

Zane takes a step forward, attempting to blast a shield of ice to block off any possible shots. But much to his dismay, he discovers that his elemental powers are not working, and a quick scan confirms that the entire building is lined with vengestone in the walls.

This is… quite the situation.

A few shots are fired at him, and he quickly ducks, flipping backwards to avoid getting injured. Unfortunately, he discovers only a moment too late that they were expecting that, and a shot was fired to where he had dodged, leading to a laser blast grazing his right calf, making him stumble.

They must have analyzed his fighting style before he arrived in order to predict his movements!

This brief lapse in balance is all it takes for them to completely surround him. With narrowed eyes, he begins to start making the moves of spinjitzu, but his damaged leg causes him to fall. His failure to combat them with the tactic gives them the opportunity to handcuff him, as well as manhandle him onto his knees.

Zane glares up at the official. “I do not know what you have planned, but I must warn you that such an illegal action will have consequences, even for an official such as yourself. I-“

The man shakes his head. “Take it away.” He orders.

Zane finds himself being dragged along, unable to effectively resist the guards. Eventually, he’s taken to a new room with a set of rectangular locker-like cubbies.

With wide eyes, a sudden realization strikes him as he looks at the lockers, and he resumes his struggling.

These lockers are just large enough to fit a person inside. Or more accurately for this circumstance, a nindroid.

“I want my phone call.” He demands as he’s forcibly dragged closer.

One of the guards scoffs. “You don’t get one.” He sounds almost insulted by the idea.

Zane manages to resist some, buying himself some time to continue speaking. “Legally you are required to-“

A different guard incredulously asks, “Do you- do you actually think you have the rights of a human?”

Zane pauses a few moments, confused by the words. “Yes? I thought that-“

He’s unable to continue due to the way he’s roughly manhandled into the cubby, and as he's about to argue, the door is slammed in his face.

Despite the way he struggles against it, the exit is firmly blocked off, leaving him quite effectively contained.

After a few minutes of struggling, he concludes that he will have to wait until they reopen it to make his escape.

With a sigh, he leans back against the wall, shifting uncomfortably in the small space. There is less than an inch of space surrounding him on all sides, leading to a rather cramped arrangement.

“What just happened?” He murmurs softly to himself, listening as the booted footsteps of the guards fade away. These events had occurred so suddenly that his processor is stuck playing catch up.

Closing his eyes, he decides to go into sleep-mode for a while, though he keeps his senses dialed high enough that any nearby noise will wake him.

He can make his escape when they return.

#zane julien #ninjago zangst #zangst #ninjago fanfiction #fanfic #fanfiction #the rights of a nindroid #psychological torture #torture #trauma

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king-finnigan · 5 years ago

Note

16. prison AU, and 86. I didn't mean to turn you on, geraskier fic

Read at your own risk lmao. Contains some nsfw. (But with a prompt like that, can you blame me?)

***

Geralt had expected many things when he had been hired as a prison guard. He had expected fights, he had expected insults thrown at his head, he had even expected riots.

What he hadn’t expected, was standing in the recreation room for hours on end, watching as prisoners read books, watched reality shows on the tiny tv, and drew. Of all things, Geralt had been most surprised about the drawing, really. It hadn’t really seemed like a thing grown men did in prison, but as it turns out, it’s as good a hobby as any.

So, he stands there, arms crossed in front of his chest, in the corner, mind wandering to the matter of what he’ll have for dinner tonight, as he keeps one eye on the prisoners, the other on the clock. It’s nearly 5, which means he has about two more hours left of his shift.

The prisoners eat at 6, he knows, so he’ll probably either be stationed in the dining room, or he’ll have to patrol the halls to make sure no one’s doing anything potentially illegal.

He sighs a bit, as the minutes tick by, slowly but surely. His attention is caught by one of the inmates, Jaskier Pankratz, he remembers. Here because of manslaughter. Stabbed a guy in the neck with a broken bottle for insulting him. Only convicted for manslaughter and not murder, because he did not plan it for a single second, though the judge did give him an extra long sentence - deemed him emotionally unstable, apathetic, and likely to reoffend. The young man will be lucky if he gets out of here in the next thirty years.

Shame, really, Geralt thinks, as he looks at the young man drawing... well, something, Geralt’s not really sure what it’s supposed to be, as it looks like a bunch of scratchy lines in random colours, but he’s sure that if he were to ask, the inmate would give him a longwinding explanation about how it represents his situation or some shit like that. They always do when he asks.

He sighs again, shifting from foot to foot a bit to relieve the pain in his legs from standing still so long. It is a shame, that Jaskier will likely spend his remaining days here. He’s so young, quite good-looking, and clever, too. He would’ve had a bright future if he hadn’t been such a little monster. There’s a reason why Geralt reads the file of every new prisoner that arrives, and Jaskier is the perfect example: if Geralt hadn’t known about the gruesome crime the young man had commited, he would’ve let his guard down around Jaskier.

After all, he thinks, as he looks at the way the tip of Jaskier’s tongue pokes out between his lips, as he concentrates, it’s so easy to be charmed by the young man’s good looks and silver tongue, by the facade of innocence and naivety he puts up.

Geralt blinks, and suddenly he realizes that Jaskier is staring right back at him, blue eyes curious. The guard clenches his jaw when the young man shoots him a wink, and he looks away, trying and failing to stop heat from rising to his cheeks. He shouldn’t be doing this, shouldn’t be giving the prisoner any wrong ideas - whatever they may be.

He startles a bit, shaken from his thoughts, as his walkie creaks, the monotone voice of his supervisor telling him he’s on patrol duty for the rest of the shift.

He risks one last glance at Jaskier, and sees bright blue eyes looking right back. He fixes his gaze on the wall opposite him.

---

The noises from the dining room are dulled in the hallways as Geralt walks through them. Of course, there is no one else in sight, all the other guards either in the dining room or on the other side of the building, all the inmates eating dinner.

He sighs to himself. Just half an hour more, and he can go home. He just has to bear thirty minutes more of this boring nothingness. He can do this.

He stops in his tracks as he walks past the door to the recreation room. He frowns, as he sees someone on their hands and knees on the floor, searching for something under the table.

Well, really, hands and knees is a bit generous. The guy’s shoulders are practically on the floor, ass in the air almost invitingly, for lack of better word, as his hand sweeps under the table.

Geralt walks into the room, rounding the man, who looks up at him. He meets brilliantly blue eyes and a cheeky grin, and, combined with the... compromising position Jaskier’s in, it makes heat pool in the pit of Geralt’s stomach.

He frowns, shaking the thoughts he definitely shouldn’t be having away. “What are you doing, inmate?”

Jaskier looks back down, frowning in annoyance as he takes one last look under the table, before crawling to the bookshelf Geralt is standing next to, looking underneath it. “A pencil. A yellow one, to be precise. Rolled off the table, earlier, and I can’t find it.”

“You should be at dinner.”

Jaskier looks up again at Geralt, grinning widely, eyes sparkling. “I know. But yellow is my favourite colour, and I really want that pencil back.”

Geralt rolls his eyes. “You’ll find it tomorrow, now get up.”

“Alright, alright.” Jaskier sits up on his knees, wiping the dirt off his hands. He looks to the side, right at Geralt’s crotch. “Oh,” he breathes, “I could get used to this sight.”

Geralt blinks, mind crashing and burning as he tries to process what Jaskier’s just said. “What?” he manages to choke out.

Jaskier looks up, all cheeky grin and sparkling blue eyes. “Oh, my bad.” He looks down for a second, then back up, gazing at the guard through his lashes, something changing in his face that sets Geralt’s skin on fire. “I could get used to this sight, sir.”

Geralt swallows thickly, heat definitely starting to pool at the bottom of his stomach, and he knows he’ll probably have to relieve himself in some quiet corner after this. “Get the hell up,” he bites out.

Jaskier pouts up at him, but does as he’s told after Geralt staring him down for several seconds. The inmate’s fingers brush against the side of the guard’s leg, as he finally gets up, blue eyes glinting with something dangerous that makes adrenaline pump through Geralt’s veins in a way that isn’t entirely unpleasant.

“Oh, dear,” Jaskier mutters out, when he’s finally standing up, looking down at the obvious tent in Geralt’s trousers. “I didn’t mean to turn you on, sir.”

He feels anger course red-hot through his veins, along with the adrenaline and arousal, and he snarls at Jaskier, pushing the young man to the back and to the side, pressing Jaskier’s back against the wall. “I suggest you stop this right now.”

“Or what?” The young man stretches his neck out, nose brushing against Geralt’s, his breath ghosting over his lips teasingly. “You’ll punish me?”

Geralt grunts in surprise when Jaskier slings his leg around him, the inmate’s heel digging onto the muscles at the back of his thigh, pulling him closer.

He can’t help himself, not in this position, as he plants his palm against the wall next to Jaskier’s head, taking in the way the wicked grin turns into a small gasp of pleasure when he grinds against the young man, their cocks brushing against each other through the layers of clothing. Jaskier is insufferable, and Geralt would like nothing better than to ruin this facade of cockiness and self-confidence, to reduce the young man to panting moans and whimpers as he comes undone.

Infuriatingly enough, Jaskier seems to know that, as the wicked grin returns to his face, though his pupils are blown wide, almost completely taking over the blue in his eyes. “Please, sir, have mercy on me.”

And Geralt can’t stop the low rumble that escapes his chest at the way Jaskier purrs the word ‘sir’ into his ear. He noses at the young man’s neck, teeth clamping down softly on his pulse, grinding against Jaskier at the same time, earning him another shuddering moan.

The reality of what the hell he’s doing hits him when the noise from the dining room become less and less muted, the other inmates done eating dinner. He pulls back from Jaskier with a few trembling steps, taking in a shaky breath.

He points at the young man. “Don’t tell anyone,” he hisses.

The inmate chuckles, all dark eyes, sweaty, brown curls and rosy cheeks. “Wouldn’t dare.”

Geralt can see a glimpse of a wink, before he turns around, stumbling out of the recreation room.

---

He has to pull himself off in the bathroom to get rid of the arousal coursing through his body; quick and dirty, groaning into his palm as he comes. Still, even after that, he can’t get rid of the images that keep flashing through his mind every time he blinks, can’t get rid of the wave of heat that spreads through his body at the memories.

Rosy lips, blue eyes, blown pupils, sweaty, brown hair sticking against flushed skin, nimble, wandering hands, a silver tongue.

He pushes the thoughts away, heading to his locker when his shift finally ends. He rushes out the door without as much as a goodbye to his colleagues, slamming the car door shut behind him, driving home way too fast, well over speed limit.

Once he’s finally home, he closes the door behind him, leaning against it. He presses his palm against his forehead, feeling the heat that resides just under his skin, ready to be awoken the second he thinks about Jaskier.

He sighs, walking to the bedroom, taking off his uniform. He puts his gun in the locker next to the bed, reaching for the key badge he always wears on his belt.

He freezes when his hand finds empty air.

Fuck.

The little shit’s stolen his badge.

#plot twist babey!#squish answers #llamasdumpsterfire #drabble #ask game #geralt of rivia #jaskier #geraskier #modern au #smut #i'm bad at writing smut i know #dont @ me #feral jaskier? sign me tf up #play with fire #prison au

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msindrad · 4 years ago

Text

If you like the series just ignore me (or don’t and learn something about some freaking great movies that are subsumed under the title the Dollars trilogy)

Anyway, as I’m in a bad shape today, I’ve decided to watch that Mandalorian thing that has been bombarding me with its ads on all my devices for ages now. I wanted to do it just because somebody here on Tumblr had brought up how many parallels – that’s a very nice way of talking about this kind of atrocious thoughtless plagiarism, btw – there are between the Dollars trilogy and the series in question. So, I had seen a lot of similar screenshots before I sat myself down to watch the thing, but, girl, I was not prepared to see this product.

That’s a pure experiment setting, mind you. I have exactly zero concrete knowledge about the SW movieverse, so, I’m pure tabula rasa in that sense. Never seen Firefly or the like, too. All I see is the story in front of me – the directing, the script, the performances etc. And it’s bad.

We have a literal ‘guy walks into a bar’ situation. Except there is no real anecdote/punchline after that set-up, it doesn’t pay off, okay. A couple of aliens/weird but still humanoid creatures threaten/torture somebody in that bar in plain sight. Because they’re bad, you know. And they threaten this other alien by telling them that they’ll be eaten alive and stuff. Because they’re bad, just in case you didn’t get it. Offensively bad, have no doubts about it, otherwise the subsequent brawl will be kinda less impactful, right? Right, yeah… Then, the protagonist enters this fine establishment and his entrance causes the drink of one of the torturers to spill. For this reason, the torturers approach him, momentarily forgetting about their victim and clearly looking for a fight, but “Mando” remains silent, the bartender tries to interfere and deescalate the situation when the aliens crowd Mando. Then, one of them scratches his armor, and only then he brutally fights back, using a mug that he’s given by the bartender to make the first hit.

Now, why is this a sub-optimal introduction to a character, imo, boring and blunt? It’s a terribly missed opportunity in characterization. Why not asses a situation verbally? Make a comment about these a-holes? Make a joke? Instead, he’s just being _mysterious_ samurai type until it’s stupid to let himself be insulted any further by these aliens.

Also, you can argue that the protagonist here just isn’t the type to mix up into random fights that aren’t in any way relevant for him personally or won’t get him paid (he’s an assassin or the like, right?). So, then, he is the type who doesn’t care whether somebody will be tortured in his vicinity? Are we supposed to be rooting for him? (And, yeah, I know what the deal with this tortured guy was, but it doesn’t make the scene anymore interesting, damn it!).

Remember Joe in AFOD? He also seemed to be keeping his head low after he witnessed the conflict between the Rojos’ people and Marisol and her family. But the key word here is “seemed.” He wasn’t okay with the situation at all, he was calculating his chances, and towards the end of the film he did free Marisol and her family just because it was the right thing to do (and he later suffered some brutal punishment for the goodness of his heart) and because he had seen such situations before and couldn’t let the familiar scenario happen on his watch again. That’s a smart, brave, compassionate, and humane hero. He is also humane because he has learned from his experiences. He saw it happen before, maybe he actively disregarded a similar situation back then and regretted it a lot. Maybe somebody with whom he sympathized suffered, and it’s the reason why he is empathizing with this family of strangers and risks his life for them. Either way, he _is_ fighting the injustice, and he’s doing it as a good tactician.

(Note: I don’t have to explain any of these to my Jusitfied people because the show is a fantastic example of how to do even the shortest scenes funny and/or meaningful. Remember the disabled hacker’s escape from Raylan? That time when Raylan got his ass kicked by two random drunks in a bar for trying to defend the honor of an unknown woman? The introduction of Bo? The introduction of Loretta? Of Carol? How in a brief exchange we learned everything we needed to know about the dynamics between Helen and Raylan? HOW JUST ONE SINGLE LINE from Arlo told us everything about their relationship with Raylan during their first encounter after decades of not having sent one kind thought to each other? I mean, common!!! All you got to do is to think when writing a scene to make it interesting and to know what your characters are (and to have found something interesting about them in your head in the first place).)

On the other hand, let’s take Manco and Mortimer. They also get into conflicts and irritate people in the bars they enter in FAFDM, right? But they do it actively, as any protagonist/deuteragonist with personality should. And so, they do it by being two bad-ass professionals and also two little shits.

Manco? Walks into a bar, casually figures out that the sheriff of this town is bought, provokes a fight, interrupts a card game and makes a bet with the wanted criminal, wins that game, beats the shit out of the guy, kills his henchmen. A quiet type, barely says three phrases during the scene. Also, a few minutes later, he disgraces the bought sheriff by stating his disdain and demonstratively throwing away his star.

Mortimer? Lights a match off the hump of an unhinged criminal to look at his reaction and assess how serious the game of the gang is this time, uses his cigarette to light up his pipe when the hunchback blows the first match out, actively causes the whole gang to leave, reaches several conclusions during a very short interaction, comments on how somebody with a gun wouldn’t allow themselves to be insulted like that in front of everybody. And when Wild approaches Mortimer after recognizing him as the smoker who humiliated him before in another scene Mortimer at first pretends that it didn’t happen and they’re complete strangers. Then, when it doesn’t work, he implicitly admits having humiliated him before and laughs at him. And then, when Wild provokes him Mortimer savagely humiliates him AGAIN.

Now, that’s writing, that’s characterization with unique colorful personal responses. And it’s entertaining, ingenuous, and suspenseful. In one word: creative.

Also, lol,

I guess, you dropped your Josie Wales, Disney. Shame on you.

And I have nothing against homages or citations, re-inventions, etc. Everybody quotes everybody (e.g. AFOD is inspired by Yojimbo, but those are two completely different movies for different audiences!). But if reiteration is mindless and doesn’t re-invent a single thing, then it’s just stealing and disgustingly pretending like you have the mental capacity to understand what you’ve stolen.

ALSO ALSO this series managed to incorporate in the final product three things that I hate the most in film/on TV: 1) stupid plagiarism 2) RUSHED WESTERN YOU IDIOTS YOU DON’T RUSH A WESTERN UNLESS IT’S A COMEDY AND EVEN THEN YOU THINK HARD BEFORE DOING IT 3) no goddamn light on my screent!! you think if I can’t see your idiotic story I won’t judge it, that’s the plan?!

Ridiculous.

#the mandalorian #spaghetti western #the dollars trilogy #sergio leone #the man with no name #a fistful of dollars #for a few dollars more #manco #colonel douglas mortimer #douglas mortimer #joe #out loud #clint eastwood #lee van cleef #josie wales

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caiminnent · 4 years ago

Text

not designed for the cynical [kylux with side phasma/rey, rated T]

PROMPTS: communication suddenly cut off (@badthingshappenbingo, 8/25) & bed sharing - pet - delivery (@kyluxxoxo)

SUMMARY:

Whenever Snoke calls upon only Ren’s service, Hux sends word to all his relevant contacts that he’s available. The job offer he accepts turns out to be far more than he's bargained for.

(This is a low-key Inception AU that requires little to no knowledge of the movie.)

FANDOM: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy

TAGS: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Sharing a Bed, Mutual Pining, Alternate Universe - Inception Fusion, except not really, Armitage Hux Has Feelings, Kylo Ren and Rey Are Related

NOTES: This was written mostly during commute and/or sleep-deprived within an inch of my life and edited under the same circumstances. As such, I don't have the faintest clue what this is, but I love it.

5K || ALSO ON AO3

Hux isn’t prone to worry.

He is prone to stress, and he’s got the blood pressure to prove it—but that’s a necessity of the life they lead. It’s got its uses. Worry, however, is for when you don’t have an alphabetised, colour-coded list of plans for every situation that may arise. Worry is for the under-prepared.

Worry is a waste of time.

Knowing this doesn’t stop the fist around his heart from squeezing tight every time he hits redial and finds Ren’s phone still switched off, however.

Then again, there’s no real reason to worry about it. It’s a perfectly Ren move to go off the radar for weeks on end and turn up three countries away from where he was supposed to be, shrugging off all reprimand like he can’t understand why they’re so angry about it. It’s just what he does—he disappears, then he shows up at your doorstep when you least expect it.

He will this time, too. He promised—he will be back by Hux’s birthday.

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

Contrary to the popular (re: Ren’s) belief, life doesn’t stop just because Ren is off doing what Ren does somewhere else.

Even with all the safe houses and personas they maintain all across the world, the unreasonable amounts of money Snoke throws at them to be at his beck and call is more than enough to keep them afloat. Ren would be fine with not taking another independent job ever again; but Hux knows better than to rely on Snoke alone. He’s been burned enough times by fickle employers; he’s not ready to bet on the wrong horse and have to build his reputation up from scratch yet again.

That’s part of why, whenever Snoke calls upon only Ren’s service, Hux sends word to all his relevant contacts that he’s available. It keeps him in the game, on the occasion he gets an offer worth considering—and if he doesn’t, he calls it getting a feel for the market and moves on.

Monday morning finds him curled on the sofa, going through the responses on his phone. Most offers he received are below his notice like he expected, some downright insulting—and then there’s the e-mail from Enric Pryde himself.

He sits up so fast he almost knocks over his empty cup.

Among the dreamshare community, the First Order is as revered as it is despised. They reach out to very few and pay three times what they should; but the cost of failure is equally severe, growing proportionately to the project’s worth. Which seems to be a lot, in this case. While he can’t tell from the sparse details in the e-mail whether this Project Starkiller is meant to be a moving city or some sort of weapon—perhaps both, knowing the First Order—he already estimates at least two layers, more likely three, and a special blend of stabiliser for the dreamer and the architect both, who cannot be the same person for this design.

Because they want him on board as the main architect and his dreams never hold steady after the first layer, special blend or no.

Whatever he was looking for as a quick job, this is not it. It’s far more involved and challenging than he could have imagined—and, he’s finding, everything he needed. He could do this for himself. He could work a job he enjoys, instead of running point to Ren or Phasma’s picks all the time to keep them from working with incompetent point men.

Ren and Phasma, who might be working with incompetent point men halfway across the world this very moment.

No. No, he’s not thinking that. His birthday is only three days away. Everything is fine.

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

He e-mails back to say he’s honoured and asks for one week to get his team together. Pryde gives him five days and a thinly-veiled warning that there are others who would jump at this opportunity.

Stomach at his feet, Hux throws his phone on the coffee table and gets up to make more tea.

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

As expected, research gives him little of substance about the First Order’s operations and nothing at all about the Starkiller, although he finds a low-quality close-up of Pryde to glare at as he sketches out some ideas. They will get binned once he gets his hands on the self-destructing dossiers or whatever ridiculous security protocols the First Order may work with; but it keeps him busy. Better than watching the hours tick by.

When the clock turns from 11:59 to midnight on what is now Thursday, he considers texting Rey to ask if she’s heard from Phasma recently—changes his mind before he even picks up the phone. Ren wouldn’t like it. Hux has been accused of being a control freak more times than he can count as it is; he doesn’t want to add clingy to the list of his unattractive qualities.

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

At two in the morning, the doorbell rings.

He is going to murder Ren.

The door had never felt so close or so far as he rushes to it, heart hammering in his chest. He’s going to let Ren in, he’s going to check him for injuries and he’s going to disembowel that infuriating, thoughtless, selfish piece of shite if he’s had Hux fret all this time for no reason—

“Hi,” Rey chirps, looking up at him with damp eyes and a brittle smile. She raises a bottle of whiskey—Phasma’s favourite. “Happy birthday?”

He opens the door wider.

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

Admittedly—not out loud; he would never hear the end of it, from her or her cousin—Rey scores high on the short list of people whose company he enjoys. The booze helps, too. They drink in front of the television Hux hasn’t switched off in days and talk about everything but the aching holes in their chests.

She falls asleep on the sofa. He puts a blanket over her and goes to bed.

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

In the morning—practically afternoon, if he’s being honest—he tells her about the Starkiller. The plan was to pitch it to Ren first, to see what he thinks before bringing in the others. As it is, Ren isn’t here and none of Hux’s messages has gone through since their interrupted conversation and Hux is going to bloody explode if he doesn’t tell someone.

“I’m not sure, Armie,” she says around a spoonful of breakfast cereal he certainly didn’t buy. “He will never agree to work for the First Order.”

“Why the hell not? He works for Snoke.” Rather happily, in fact. Ren never prepares more carefully for a job than one of Snoke’s plentiful errands, no matter how simple. “Why wouldn’t he work for Snoke’s own company?”

She considers him for a long moment, chewing slowly. “He hasn’t told you the story.”

The implication—accusation—stings deep. “What story?” he demands, pushing his tea away to lean closer. The words held the intonation of capital letters, which means missing information that could potentially blindside them down the line. His respect for Ren’s private business isn’t greater than his responsibilities.

“Not mine to tell,” she says sternly, pinching her lips in disappointment like he should be ashamed to have asked to begin with. “Ask him.”

He snorts. Ren is hardly the sharing type, especially where Hux is concerned. Everything he’s ever learned about Ren has come through other means—and vice versa, he imagines.

She frowns, a question rising behind her eyes. He tenses on instinct. “Anyway,” she continues, shaking her head—and he can breathe more easily again. “My point is, if we’re doing this, we’ll need another forger.”

We. He doesn’t suppress his smile, relief coating his insides. “I suspect we won’t need a forger for this one. A chemist, on the other hand…”

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

She doesn’t leave and he doesn’t ask her to. They polish off the whiskey and pretend not to check their phones every ten minutes while binge-watching Star Wars, including the newest releases even their resident space nerd couldn’t finish.

He visualises Ren’s horrified expression when Hux reveals how he and Rey bonded over their shared love for big guns and hot villains in Ren’s absence. Laughter gets stuck in his throat, forming a painful lump instead.

He bids her good night and slinks away into his bedroom to stare at the ceiling.

Barely ten minutes pass before the television switches off in the next room, soft footsteps echoing lightly in the corridor. He turns his back to the door and feigns sleep as it opens and closes—which is a coward’s way, but he’s never claimed to be a particularly brave man. If he were, he would have asked Ren to stop working for Snoke instead of stewing in his misery right now.

Compared to her cousin, Rey’s weight barely shifts the mattress as she climbs in, sliding under the covers without fanfare. He shuts his eyes tighter and allows himself to imagine, just for a moment, that Ren is back.

“I haven’t heard from Phasma in over a month.”

Over a month? Hells, no wonder she sought him out. “Ren and I talked two weeks ago,” he says—realises with a sinking feeling that it sounded like he was rubbing it in. “Closer to three, actually.”

“What did he say?”

“Not much that I could understand. The reception was horrible.” Bits and pieces through constant breaking: Hux, shit, in case, person and, inexplicably, home. “I didn’t get the impression they were in danger—just inconvenienced.” As is often the case with these missions. Snoke’s got a small army of trained private security under his command and he still sends Ren to the most out-of-the-way places.

That Snoke’s hired Phasma as well for this one is a little more concerning, but not overly so. Reckless as they both can be, Ren and Phasma are forces to be reckoned with on the field—Hux would be more inclined to feel sorry for their adversaries.

Rey sighs. “Hope you’re right, Armie.”

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

If Mitaka is surprised to see Rey strut about in Hux’s shortest joggers she still needed to fold at the ankles and an old shirt, he politely doesn’t mention it. He and Rey exchange banal pleasantries over coffee and day-old cake while Hux finishes typing up his notes, then they get to work.

Mitaka listens to the briefing with unwavering attention, his fingers stapled in front of him like a front-row student. Like everyone else in their extended team, Mitaka is an experienced, accomplished dreamer—and yet, Hux can’t help looking at him and seeing the fresh-faced cadet Phasma had dragged in ages ago, barely into his twenties and all the more naive for it.

They’ve gotten old—Hux most so.

Once Hux finishes, “If you both are building this time,” Mitaka starts, looking between the two. “Who will be taking point? The Captain?”

Next to him, Rey inhales sharply, her face mostly hidden behind the curtain of her hair. Shame crosses through Mitaka’s face at the realised misstep.

“She’s otherwise occupied,” Hux responds before Mitaka can break into apologies. No need to make this more painful or awkward than it needs to be. “I will be running point as usual, and Rey is here to help with the heavy-lifting.”

Mitaka nods, glancing at Rey with concern before turning to Hux fully. “Where do I sign?”

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

They sign a heavily-encrypted stack of documents digitally, sending them through the First Order’s own communication system. The next day, they receive a link to a private cloud service with a convoluted unlock sequence that can be accessed by one device at a time, read-only.

Hux alone works on three different devices.

On the bright side, the project they receive is well-worth the inconvenience. Their objective is to design and build a superweapon out of an extensively described ice planet in the dreamspace, which must be capable of hitting five targets simultaneously and obliterating all affected life forms on them without causing a single non-predetermined casualty. Controlled chaos, if you will. The First Order wants a catastrophe they can tame and leash.

Hux can make it happen.

Whether he can make it happen in eight weeks is a different question entirely.

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

Without Ren to drag him away from work, he’s free to divide his waking hours between his screens and the sitting room, which they repurposed into a workshop-slash-dream den. While Hux is a decent architect in a pinch, he could never build the way Rey does—the way she bends the dreamspace to her will and creates cities that feel alive around them. Between the two of them, they have the groundwork laid out within days, quickly moving on to revising the base design according to the specifications in the main file and the numbers Hux runs.

Instead of using pre-mixed batches, Mitaka mixes their Somnacin from scratch on the kitchen table, reworking the formula per the reactions. None he comes up with works to keep Hux’s dreams steady, although a couple seem to ground his control over the dreamspace. Most just turn the dreams into nightmares for everyone involved.

Many of the nightmares are about Ren. Every time they manage to wake up from one of those, he looks at Rey to apologise. She never meets his eyes.

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

Unlike the two of them, Mitaka has family to return to and so he does when it gets late, leaving them to eat take-away and talk around the elephant in the room. On the rare occasion they do talk. Even though Hux gets the most shit for his workaholic tendencies, they all are guilty of it in different degrees; most nights are spent hunched over desks or tablets until they come close to shooting each other over the smallest noise or mistake, then they retire for the night.

The bedroom is where the worst fears come out.

“They might need our help,” she murmurs, lowly enough that the words could get lost among the howling wind outside. “They might be injured or—or lost, waiting for rescue. And we would be here arguing about heat transfer.”

“They aren’t.”

“But how do you know?”

He sighs loudly, turning to face Rey. Her eyes are big and eerily bright in the darkness, shining. “Look, Ren and I have been through this before. We’ve got contingencies in place for any kind of emergency—strategies to scarper and regroup as needed, fake identities with paper trail, codes to slip into lines of communication that will find their way to the other’s ear—all of which tied to systems that would alert us both if ever used. So far?” He gestures vaguely to his phones on the nightstand. “Complete radio silence.”

“Well it might be because he’s—”

His stomach lurching, “Don’t,” he bites out. He’s had enough nights contemplating that possibility himself, reasoning himself out of that line of thinking with more effort each time; he can’t handle someone else saying it.

Especially not Rey, whose unfailing optimism has seen them through many a dark spot.

“They will be back soon,” he says with conviction he forces himself to feel. They always do. This is just taking longer than expected.

Rey’s silence rings in the room.

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

At the end of the third week, Enric Pryde reaches out to him. His voice is as cold and serpent-like as he looks.

They talk for two and a half minutes—more accurately, Pryde relays his demands for two minutes and rebuffs Hux’s protests for the next half, then hangs up unceremoniously on him.

Fuming, Hux tries to glare a hole into his phone for about as long before going to wake Rey up.

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

“What do you mean, they are relocating us?”

Latching his fingers tight to keep from scraping at his already raw palms, “I mean exactly what I said,” Hux grinds out. “They want to move us into some safe house where they will provide us with everything we’ll need for the rest of the project. We don’t have the option to refuse their generosity.”

“They want to monitor us,” Mitaka says on the other end of the line, ever fond of pointing out the obvious. “Can they do that?”

“Would you like to be the one to tell them they can’t?” Hux shakes his head. They are not small fish; but the First Order is big enough to swallow them whole and not suffer for it. He knows to pick his fights. “If you’d like to drop off the face of the earth, now is the time.”

Rey snorts—as much of an answer as Mitaka’s bitter laughter.

“Well,” Rey says, scraping her chair back. “I should pack some clean underwear. When are they coming to get us?”

“As we speak.”

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

Before they leave, they make sure to sketch out First Order insignias on every available place. Just in case.

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

The safe house is, for all intents and purposes, a veritable villa in the middle of nowhere.

“A little excessive,” Mitaka comments as they tour the place, noting the bolted down furniture and darkened windows, locked conspicuously on the outside. The cupboards and the fridge are well-stocked enough to keep them fed for several months.

There is no mobile coverage.

In fact, there is no wireless connection of any sort. The multitude of devices strewn about in the house are all connected to the First Order’s own network and communications system, which provides access to every archive they might need for the project and nothing else.

The dread coiled in Hux’s guts grows heavier.

So much for his alert systems.

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

Progress is much faster with so much information at their fingertips.

Hux is envious of the berths of the First Order databases. Effective as his own methods of gathering intelligence are, his network couldn’t hope to have the same reach as a well-funded PMC—which he could have been a part of, had he not gone freelance instead of corporate after leaving the military.

The idea is tempting, still. He’s ruined for the civilian workforce—has been since childhood, with a father like General Brendol Hux was—but he seeks the structure and order that comes with being part of an organisation. Under different circumstances, he may have considered applying to the First Order after this project.

As their prisoner in everything but name, he wants little more than to be as far away from them as possible.

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

Everything they’ll need doesn’t involve a private chef or buffet, but it involves private delivery people who pick up whatever they want, no matter what they want, in a timely fashion. Because they are spiteful opportunists, they order the most extravagant and unreasonable meals they can think of. The food always arrives hot.

Hux marks the potential restaurants for each food item and how long it took to arrive on a small map every time. Just in case.

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

Sleeping in the same bed while Mitaka is in the next room feels too awkward, so they don’t. They don’t sleep much in general, either—not with the question of how to power a machine of the Starkiller’s scale without it overheating hanging heavy over their heads. Dreamshare mechanics are a lot more forgiving than their real-world counterparts; if they can’t pull it off down there, they sure as hell won’t make it work topside.

They have to make it work topside, they now know. The First Order wouldn’t have poured so much money and resources into what is merely Pryde’s pet design project.

“They probably have people looking into it,” Rey says, spinning her pen around her fingers with smugness dripping from her expression. He’s not petty enough to dare her to replicate it in the real world, but the thought is there. “Some super high-tech R&D division working on preventing a weapon of mass-destruction from exploding instead of, like, climate change.”

Watching her fingers like the secrets of the universe lie between them, “I don’t think so,” Mitaka responds. “It’s too much of a commitment. I bet they just wait for someone else to figure it out, then steal the designs from them.”

Something flares at the back of Hux’s mind like static, a connection he doesn’t want to make forcing itself into his awareness.

He shakes his head hard to clear it. Even with the dilation, he doesn’t have the time to dwell on things he’s got no control over.

“If you two are quite done gossiping,” he cuts in, smoothing over the blueprints in front of him for effect. “We’ve got work to do.”

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

We’re going to take something someone else worked very hard for, was all Ren had said the night before his departure—the only time Hux dared ask about his new job, once it became apparent Ren wasn’t going to say a word about it on his own. It’s such a non-answer that Hux couldn’t tell if Ren wanted to leave him space for plausible deniability or simply didn’t want to tell him.

He still can’t. As a matter of fact, he can’t say for sure Snoke’s job and this project are connected, either; all he’s got is a hunch.

A hunch he desperately wants to see proven wrong.

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

Mitaka’s newest blend is the most successful yet. They go down as far as the third level with only minor tremors under their feet—a huge leap of progress, after weeks of the ground swallowing them up whole.

Knowing better than to push their luck, they call it an early night and celebrate by ordering a feast they’ll have to take their time with. With the dinner table and every other horizontal space that could reasonably hold food covered in their work, they sprawl about the sofa set that hasn’t seen nearly enough use over their involuntary stay.

Once their food arrives and Rey realises what he ordered, a soft look crosses over her face. He ignores it. There’s only one place that serves Ren’s favourite food; it makes for a good reference point on his map. It’s not sentimental if it’s also practical.

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

He knew, from a logical standpoint, that having access to communication systems meant people could communicate with them and vice versa. On account of the fact that Pryde and the delivery people are the only ones to use it, he didn’t particularly care.

When the name Blysma pops up on the main screen, he realises what a gross oversight that was.

Heart at his throat, he accepts the request with shaking hands, grateful that no one is awake to see him like this. “Hux speaking.”

“Hello, Hux.”

Oh.

Oh, the ever-loving—

“Don’t say my name,” Ren adds quickly, as if he sensed that Hux was about to curse his name six ways to Sunday. “Or any other names. They don’t actively monitor your communications, but we’re pretty sure some keywords are flagged. Best not to take any chances.”

“We,” he repeats dumbly. So many questions are buzzing in his head that he doesn’t know which should take priority. “You and—ah, our mutual terrifying friend?”

Phasma’s melodic laughter rings through the other end of the line. Hux’s heart soars.

“Yeah,” Ren says, a little breathy. “Yes, we’re both here. And fine. The job ran late. Where the fuck are you?”

About that… “I don’t actually know,” he admits, the truth of it settling dark and deep into his gut. Trying to map out their location left him with more questions than answers. “Near the ocean. Far north of the city, I think; but we shouldn’t have crossed any borders.”

“That doesn’t narrow it down,” Ren says.

Irritation rising in him, “We were hardly given a tour guide for the road,” he snaps. You should have been there to take notes, is on the tip of his tongue—he swallows the words. Ren is here now, in a way. They’ve found Hux and the others. The insignias must have pointed them in the right direction; but figuring out how to contact Hux through the First Order’s own systems? That’s all their doing.

Taking a long breath to calm himself down, “How did you contact us anyway?” he asks.

“By calling in more favours than your sorry life is worth,” Phasma says, amusement lingering in her tone. He has never been happier to hear her mocking drawl. “So you had better give us something concrete to work with before we decide to leave you to rot there.”

Racking his brain, he takes a deep breath to ground himself. He’s got to focus. However Ren and Phasma managed to get into the First Order’s systems, they are unlikely to remain unnoticed for long. He needs to make the most of it.

The answer is so simple, he wants to smack himself upside the head.

“At noon, we will place an order for three servings of Bivoli tempari from the Hosnian. Track whoever is delivering it. They should lead you to us.”

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

He doesn’t tell the others about it. For one, he’s not fully sure his stress-addled brain didn’t make up the whole interaction—for another, they have a check-in with Pryde scheduled at 3, during which they’re going to disappoint him again with their lack of progress regarding the overheating issue. They are on thin ice as it is; he can’t take a gamble on the quality of the others’ poker faces and risk attracting Pryde’s suspicion.

At exactly noon, he contacts the delivery people and relays the order. In his periphery, Mitaka and Rey share a look.

Once he takes his seat again, “I thought the Hosnian was eat-in only,” Rey says.

Hux shrugs. “They said everything you’ll need.”

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

He orders something different from the Hosnian at the same time for the next four days, just in case. Mitaka is too polite to protest, despite the cuisine clearly not agreeing with him.

Rey eyes him suspiciously every time but says nothing, waiting for him to come to her instead of forcing an explanation out of him. He appreciates it more than he can put into words. He can only hope she understands.

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

Dying in an explosion ten times in a row tends to throw a wrench in group morale.

Unwilling to kill themselves just to wake up in the safe house, they wordlessly agree to wait out the timer. The burnout has settled deep onto their bones; Pryde’s implicit threats after every check-in don’t help their mental state, either. If Ren and Phasma hadn’t made contact, Hux might have considered taking his chances with a desperate escape attempt instead of sticking around to see what punishment the First Order would dole out for their inevitable failure. It might prove the better end, at any rate.

“I am going back to my children after this,” Mitaka says with more conviction than Hux has been able to muster up about anything in months. “I don’t care what happens. I don’t care if they kill me for it—I won’t die without seeing my family again.”

“We are not dying,” Hux reassures him. With three real-world seconds to the scheduled kick, he explains everything—Ren and Phasma making contact, the bare-bones of the plan and Blysma’s carefully vague progress update texts, the precautions they’re taking to keep Mitaka’s family safe should something go wrong.

Mitaka cries silent, happy tears at the news. Rey gives Mitaka a warm smile and pulls him close.

“That’s it,” she tells Hux, rubbing at Mitaka’s arm in sympathy. “I’m not letting her take a job without me ever again.”

Raising a brow, “You would be announcing to everyone in the community that she’s the best leverage against you,” he points out, not unkindly. He understands the sentiment—truly, he does—but it’s woefully impractical. Not to mention the kind of commitment it would take.

Her eyes gleam, smile turning secretive in that way he’s learned not to trust. Reaching into her pocket with her free hand, “I was already going to do that,” she says airily, taking out a small, velvet box.

Ah. Fair enough, then.

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

Hux is above lying to his employers.

Rather, he likes to think he is. Dreamshare, sophisticated as it may be at its heart, is an underground science—as such, it attracts a certain crowd. In a community where lying through one’s teeth is a survival skill, Hux knows to look someone in the eye and spin a tale truer than the truth as well as the next crook; he just prefers to tell the truth as long as it will leave his head connected to his body.

As it happens, this is the last scheduled check-in before the deadline. Giving Pryde bad news now would be signing their death warrant.

When Hux reports their success, Pryde smiles. The sight haunts Hux’s nightmares for days.

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

Blysma’s communication request comes the night before the grand plan, unscheduled.

His mind racing with possibilities, he grabs the tablet sitting on his nightstand before the notification wakes the others, accepting the request with, “Hux speaking.” As far as he’s concerned, there’s nothing left to talk about. Phasma has already laid out all she could of the plan without tipping off the First Order; a recap now would do more harm than good.

If this is about a last-minute change—well. Adaptability is another survival skill in their line of work.

“I missed your birthday.”

Hux blinks at the screen in his hands. “I—yes.” By a couple of months, at this stage. Where did that come from? Surely Ren didn’t realise it only now? “If you contacted me to wish me a happy belated birthday…”

“Of course not. I—uh, I called to hear your voice.” Hux’s lungs tighten, all too aware of his heartbeat. “Since we never finished our conversation.”

Their conversation. The handful of words Hux has been turning over in his head for months, to no apparent meaning or answer.

He’s bloody desperate to ask and finally, finally find out; but they’ve waited this long. They can be patient a little longer. “This is neither the time nor the place,” Hux says, as gently as he’s able, biting down on the instinctive Ren at the end. Now would be the absolute worst time for a slip-up. “Whatever it was, you can tell me tomorrow. In person.”

“That’s just it,” Ren mutters. “The last time I tried to tell you, we kept getting cut-off until signal completely went away and I thought, it’s fine. I’ll be back in a few days, I’ll just tell him then. In person.” He laughs, a breathy, bitter sound. “But then…”

But then Ren couldn’t get back until a few weeks after—and when he did, Hux wasn’t there anymore.

He clears his throat to get out the lump lodged there. “Then you’ll just have to be there this time,” he says firmly—his point man voice. “Because I will be, and I won’t accept any excuses.”

After a long beat, “Yes, sir,” Ren says, a smile in his voice. “See you on the other side.”

“Sleep well.”

#Kylux Summer Fest 2020 #Bad Things Happen Bingo #kylux #Armitage Hux #Kylo Ren #Rey #Dopheld Mitaka #Phasma #Star Wars #Cai does words #finished fics #I know I say this for every fic #but this fic was a ride #I can happily go back to my KBB fic now #not designed for the cynical

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nitholites · 5 years ago

Text

Assuming someone in the BatFam is the end game:

It's been only a week or so since Tony figured out who Ladybug is

She's captured everyone's hearts, but has to go to Gotham soon

For help, but also because of her internship

The Stark Gala becomes a 'you better live and come back one day, Mari or I STG' party, hosted by Tony Stark, of course

She makes all the outfits of the Starks, her parents, herself, Jagged, Penny, Luka, and Kagami (the last two friends minus Chloe from Paris) and she makes extra in case someone has a wardrobe malfunction

Meanwhile, the Waynes have heard a lot about the newest Stark: MDC

Tim is a fanboy. He's found everything related to his favorite rock star's designer/niece there is to find ("I'm not obsessed! They're just super talented, and I'd like something from them! Stop laughing at me, Dick!")

Dick has no room to tease him, as both him and Jason are pretty much in the same boat

Kor'i and Mar'i love MDC, as well

Every one of the Bats are huge Jagged Stone fans

Like... Nearly rabid

(Damian, Bruce, and Alfred redact that statement)

They're invited to Tony's gala thing (he only started it to surpass the Wayne Gala, like the Lil Shite he is)

The night of the party, only Bruce and Jason go, since the rest of the bats are busy

Bruce, Jagged (who brought Fang), and Tony are all chatting in the middle of the floor, 2/3rds of the group are just talking up Marinette

Jason, meanwhile, accidentally runs into this small, adorable child who proceeds to spill her punch all over his suit

He insists it's fine, but she won't take 'no' for an answer ("I am so sorry, please let me make it up to you" "Kid, it's fine, accidents happen" "No, seriously, let me help")

There's a look in her eyes that insists she do something, and he eventually agrees

Cue to Marinette having a suit jacket that matches and fits Jason because "You look like you're the same build as Mr. Stark (she's all for joining Peter in calling Tony 'Mr. Stark' to get under his skin)"

"you know Tony?"

She shrugs, and doesn't comment anymore on it

"give me your address, and I'll bring this back when it's clean again. I'm moving to Gotham for a while soon, anyway"

He does, she doesn't realize he's a Wayne, and they part when the party ends

Cue the entire BatFam sprinting into Jason's room, chasing after a full on scream

Like, they didn't know Jason's voice could get "so high and squeaky, what the hecc?"

They pause as they see Jason litterally jumping up and down

"What the hell, Todd."

Instead of answering, he shoves the jacket in Tim's face with a shite-eating grin

It takes a moment, but Tim scowls and pulls out his wallet

When the rest of the family only look confused, Tim sighs and explains

"He got an MDC original first."

"...you had a bet on that?"

Jason freezes, eyes widening

"HOLY SH*T, I MET THE MDC! SHE WAS SO TINY, OH MY GOD, BATS, WE HAVE TO ADOPT HER!"

They're confused for a solid minute

"YOU DONT UNDERSTAND SHES AN ANGEL AND HAS BLACK HAIR AND BLUE EYES!! SHE'S OBVIOUSLY A WAYNE!"

It takes all of Bruce's willpower not to adopt her on the spot when she visits them

Like, he almost brings up adoption papers

But he knows Stark would fight tooth and nail to keep this baby

So he restrains himself

(for now)

(he swears if one of his children doesn't marry her, he's bringing the adoption papers to court)

She doesn't stay long, only meeting all the Waynes at the house and going back to her hotel

The next day, a villain goes after Mar'i, near the park/mall/something Marinette is by

Instead of becoming Ladybug, she heccin kicks arse

As Marinette

She gets both her and Mar'i out of danger without a scratch using a yo-yo of all things and meets Batman and Robin as they clean up the rest

She's all like "no, it's alright, I'm sure anyone would do the same please stop thanking me, my family's gonna kick my ass to next year for scaring them like this"

Bats comes up and takes her statement, and she happens to mention the situation in Paris

"oh, this was nothing compared to some of the Akuma I've faced" "What's an akuma?" She paled, eyes widening in shock. "You don't know? About Ladybug, Chat Noir, Ryuuko, Viperion, Queen Bee, Red Wasp, Multimouse, Hawkmoth, Mayura, Carapace, Rena Rouge, and all them?"

She explains a little, giving basic information everyone knew, then shows him the app she made a while ago

The Akuma Alert app that held much more than just akuma-related things

She leaves soon after, and Batman has a goal in mind

Within the day, Diana is furious at the lack of response towards the Paris situation

"This Ladybug was left alone for all this time?! Shame on you all, leaving my mother's successor alone!"

When Ladybug is later spotted (hehe, get it?) in Gotham, the entire BatFam finds her and gets her in touch with the League

She explains how she asked both the League and the Avengers for help, all those years ago, and was pushed aside with warnings not to send in prank calls anymore

Of course, Iron Man has already looked into it, but he's not exactly a detective and the more brains on this, the better

Meanwhile, as civilians...

The normal shipping stuff happens

With the exception that nearly every criminal in Gotham low-key adopts Marinette

They may think she's the next Wayne, but the Angel of Gotham is off limits

And not because the little Wayne chases after anyone who even looks at her wrong with a katana

Not just as Robin. As Damian

Marinette actually meets a few villains on the street

She was going to a commission, carrying some hero, vigilante, and villain themed macaroons when she got lost

(before meeting the Waynes officially, actually)

She was in a park, looking lost when Poison Ivy and Harley Quinn came up

She offered treats, and ever since she's the Angel of Gotham

Once, when on a date with her romantic interest, Killer Croc tried taking the restaurant hostage after robbing a bank

Key word: tried

Marinette calmly slipped behind him, grabbed his tail, and dragged his butt outta there

(he blames the fast French girl and the tile on the floor, which didn't let him get a good grip)

By the time Bats and the police got there, Croc was in tears as this tiny French girl lectured him about manners and interrupting dates

(the BatFam can't think of a funnier time)

When the Joker actually kidnaps her as a way to get to Batman, literally everyone rages a rescue mission

Harley, Poison Ivy, Mr. Freeze (Marinette reminds him of the daughter he's always wanted, with his frozen wife), Two-Face (Marinette talked philosophy with him, showing him he still had choices beyond the black and white), Killer Crock (who was impressed by the tiny French girl who threw him out of a restaurant by his tail that one time), Batman, Robin, the Teen Titans, Red Hood, Red Robin, Wonder Woman (she could feel Tikki's influence on Marinette and guessed her identity), Nightwing, all the Avengers, Red Wasp (Chloe, with the Bee Miraculous because she earned it back ages ago), Sabine (no one messed with her baby. No one), a teenage boy wielding a potato gun (who let this kid here?), Pepper, Penny (the two women were fast friends, bonding over their husbands' eccentric ways), Jagged with Fang, Audrey Bourgeois, and the entire police force storm the Joker's hideout

He didn't have a chance

Later, they admit it was kinda funny watching the small Sabine beating the crap out of the deranged clown

Fang, who was usually a puppy with scales, didn't hesitate to bite off the Joker's hand, reminiscent of Captain Hook and the Croc

Marinette's fine (or not, depending on how much angst you want in the story. It's easy to have her tourtured and nearly killed in the Joker's clutches {or actually killed and focused on angst from everyone who knew her [possible heavy Lila/class salt]} and see her move past her PTSD) and she gets home eventually

Around this time, she's made the Guardian of the Miraculous

She eventually goes back to Paris with her huge family (or everyone she thinks could keep their emotions in check)

They kick Gabriel's arse, but Adrien gets away with his mother (who was healed by Ladybug)

Possible second book

Marinette's ship becomes the Black Cat

Time skip, fiveish years later, some of Marinette's classmates see her for the first time since she left

They insult and sass her, not changed since school

Her S/O scowls and debunks them easily, defending Marinette

When they don't stop, Marinette's S/O calls Bruce, Tony, Jagged, and the rest of the League and the Avengers to destroy the morons in the class because they know how long they've waited for this moment

Mari puts her head in her hands, but doesn't stop them because she knows how long they've waited for this moment

Three hours later, the speeches and lectures aren't done yet

Lila eventually goes to Gotham or wherever Marinette is, and tries to warn the person on her arm about Marinette's 'bulling tendencies'

That gets another lecture

Or, her class gets a tour at either SI or WE, depending on when in the story you write it (could be both, and the class just doesn't learn or Tony, Pepper, and their kids were visiting WE to talk about Mari Protection Measures when they overhear it)

Lila goes off on how Mari's S/O is actually Lila's, or how she's BFFS with Batman/Iron Man/ Bruce Wayne and his kids/ Tony Stark and his kids/ the Avengers/ the Justice League

Cue the class seeing Mari

Instant bullying

The resident children and billionaire steps up, insulting and embarrassing the class while defending Mari

Lila tries to turn it around, but they're having none of that

First the kids jump at the chance to defend their little sister and/or girlfriend, then the big guns show up

At WE, it's Bruce, a highly protective Jason, and Tim, who has every single sin/mean thing/lie pulled up in a folder

It's thicker than his hand, and hard to hold

It's both in digital and physical form and sent to every single member of Mari's family- blood related or not

At SI, it's Tony and Pepper

FRIDAY steps up, too

Harley shoots Lila with the potato gun mk 3 until she leaves

The class don't know what they did wrong, but they swear to make it up just to get the scary CEOs and relatives

Also, if anyone knows the AU where Marinette was a street kid with Jason and his little sister (I can't remember who made it or what it was called, but I fell in l o v e), that could work with this one too. Jason would be so proud of his Lil sister being so famous and awesome and "how dare you let me think you were dead!! Do you have any idea how worried I was?!" "I made you worried?! You up and nearly got killed last I checked!"

Jason swore not to tell her he actually died once. He prays she never finds out.

@tired-butterfly @evil-elf16 @doggiediva13 @krispydefendorpolice @mochegato @legallyspawned @kryptored

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cinaed · 5 years ago

Text

Red vs Blue Season 2 Rewatch

Well I'd meant to do my season two rewatch Saturday but was sick most of the weekend. But now I'm feeling well enough to watch and enjoy!

Aw, I forgot that the first scene of the season is Doc's introduction.

Church being so done with Caboose and Tucker, and the combination of O'Malley and Caboose means that his threats involve giving Church a birthday present (sure it's Tucker's head, but you know).

Just imagining Doc's expression as the Blues explain that Church is a ghost and now a ghost in a robot makes me laugh. Also another thing is that the Blues apparently have a Spanish-English dictionary, which somehow the Reds never bothered to get for years. Sorry, Lopez!

I love that Church actually knows military lingo and it's Tucker and Caboose who are like "???" whenever he tries to be smart in earlier seasons. Also Tucker just being like "Nope, I like my blood on the inside."

God, I forgot that Church went "I can't pronounce Frank, we're calling you Doc." Like..Frank? At least protesting over DuFresne makes a little more sense! Church really does love to mess with people. Also Doc's speech about the differences between being a medic and a doctor remains iconic. "Well, a doctor cures people. A medic just makes them more comfortable.. while they die."

I also forgot that Church just straight shoots Caboose (and actually hit him!) so Doc will go over and help him. Stone cold. "I can't believe he shot me!" "Oh, don't even START Caboose!"

Also love that the Reds have staff meetings, which Grif presumably sleeps through. Though why they all even trusted Grif to carry ammo around, I just don't know.

And the beginning of the iconic surrender exchanges. Cake, flags (wait no flags), Lopez. Doc turning into a fake hostage. "You don't get anything except humiliation and ridicule!" "We've already got that! What else do you have?"

I forgot that Doc immediately assesses the Red Team, realizes Grif is the least popular of the group, and immediately starts insulting him to curry favor. Speaking of stone cold, like dang, Doc.

Another iconic scene is Church ragging on Tucker as he wiggles his switch. :D And of course Sarge's amazing code is "drive." He's definitely that guy whose password is Password1235.

Fun parallels with Donut's "I'm so freaking lost" and Doc's "Help, this Jeep is kidnapping me!"

Lopez is like a son to Sarge! Sarge loves him so much that he forgives him for turning against him and murdering him. Also Sarge thinking he can fight a machine gun.

Tucker: "You hardly ever used your legs before anyway. I've never heard of a grown man asking for so many piggy-back rides." Church: "Hey, I already told you: that was for science." And thus canonical piggyback rides were established.

Bold of Simmons to call someone else Poindexter.

Everyone thinking Church is shy because he can't turn around.

Grif using Doc's words against him, and thus a low-key dislike of each other was born.

Poor Doc. Stuck wandering the wilderness aka the 60 feet or however much space there is between the bases.

Simmons and Grif squabbling like an old married couple trying to tell the story about the Blues and Doc.

I am usually against love triangles, but the Lopez/Sheila and Sheila/Caboose is so good.

Caboose having a good idea, except they didn't consider that Lopez would immediately escape.

Ah, the old days when Lopez actually believed in the Red Team. Also will always love "Primary objectives: 1. Fix everything. 2. Hate the orange one. 3. Call mom more often." Lopez calling Sarge father! And then his brutal disillusionment as the Reds almost kill him.

Simmons loves that machine gun.

Lopez/Sheila is such a good ship. Love their meet-cute. Of course then Tex steals his body. Also Sheila being into Lopez AND Tex. I'd forgotten about that.

"Tucker, there's a very fine line between not listening and not caring. I like to think that I walk that line every day of my life."

Love Tex just rolling with "Sure, I'm a ghost." And now we're finally into the O'Malley plot which is so much fun.

Sarge's been wanting to get a cyborg on his team for this whole dang war. He's so happy when Simmons becomes a cyborg. Meanwhile Grif and Simmons are united in hating the idea.

Tex telling embarrassing stories about Leonard's high school years. :D And the beginning of this very weird plan to rescue Caboose from O'Malley. And seeing the inside of people's heads. Or at least Caboose's head, which means a stupid Tucker and a Church who is even more foul-mouthed than Church himself plus he's Caboose's very best friend. Sarge the southern pirate. Donut the girl. Grif's yellow armor.

Grif sounds almost impressed when he does the 1-2-3 count that he pulled on Simmons and realizes that Donut beat him at his own game. Unfortunately then he promptly gets run over by Sheila.

"Suck it, Blue!"

I honestly love Lopez's love song to Sheila. He's such a romantic.

Church is such a nerd. His insults are so bad.

And the beginning of Doc and O'Malley's saga begins. Their juxtaposition is amazing.

And the beginning of cyborg Simmons! I still love that even if Simmons instantly insults Grif, the fact remains that he went through surgery to save Grif's life. And he sounds genuinely worried when Grif starts coughing, right up until the point he figures out Grif is using his brand new replacement lungs to smoke. And Simmons trying to get Grif to eat healthy and stop smoking. Good luck with that, Simmons...

Simmons apparently likes to dance, if his fury over the assumed cancelled holiday party is any indication. That's a prompt for someone!

Donut and Tucker are both the romantics of their team because Tucker thinks Sheila/Lopez is sweet, he just doesn't want to deal with love triangle bullshit.

Meanwhile Lopez and Sheila go on strike for machine rights and I for one support them wholeheartedly.

Double O Donut! I love Donut and Grif's misadventures together.

Tucker: "Sheila and Lopez are now considering leaving to form their own robot army. They said no one would dare oppose them." Church: "What?! Did you try to talk them out of it?" Tucker: "No way, I wouldn't dare oppose them!"

Poor Donut. He has no sense of direction. And poor Doc, stuck with O'Malley for company.

Sarge talking about the entertainment value of being tortured. Sarge...what.... I'm not gonna kinkshame, but I'm definitely gonna think about kinkshaming Sarge.

Donut and Caboose's truth or dare scene is so cute. They're such a fun dynamic. And I really wonder what Donut was gonna say about the Red Team plans until Church possesses him. And Church is immediately super chill in Donut's head, and wants to just relax and do some arts and crafts. And Donut considers Caboose his friend! And Caboose really likes Private Biscuit.

Church trying to bargain for two robots so he can have Tex back is sweet right in the middle of a ridiculous scene. And Donut being so excited for a sleepover with the Blues.

I'm just saying, Sarge would make an excellent car salesman the way he's messing with the Blues over these robots. And Donut must be rubbing off on him, heh, because "I've been told my lube jobs are fantastic!" is definitely a Donut line.

Church using military lingo in one episode and then a handful later not understanding military time is such a Church thing.

Finally to the iconic Tucker line of Grif and Simmons. "It's just the same two guys bickering like an old married couple. I've only been listening for like five minutes and I can already tell they're really in love. Why can't they see it?" And Church doesn't even bother to argue.

Tucker discovering Red vs Blue is a lie is still amazing. As in the ironic discussion, which I will always love.

Donut's sarcasm when he realizes they're leaving him and Sheila behind to guard each base. Man versus tank. Should go well for him.

And set up for season three, which has some of my favorite team ups-- Sarge and Caboose, Grif and Church. That'll also be a fun rewatch.

Time for the bonus features aka Outtakes, PSAs, and deleted scenes!

Honestly most of the PSAs this season weren't great, but the Fourth of July fireworks safety one did make me laugh. And it does have Donut with his Kiss the Cook apron!

Outtakes were okay, with the running theme of Burnie trying to explain adlibbing to everyone else, haha. Also "Great Caesar's Dressing!" is as catchy as "Great Caesar's Ghost!" And the outtake of Sarge being Hamlet. And Tarzan. And the Grif and Simmons audition tape was fun.

Deleted scenes! Doc and Vic having some weird chemistry. Calling Doc hot and saying he missed him. And Doc complaining that no one likes him and that someone stole his wallet. Of course then Vic immediately gets mean. The others include Sarge and Grif prepping Simmons for cyborg surgery before Grif gets hurt and they actually go through with it, which mostly includes getting Simmons super drunk. Sounds about right for Blood Gulch!

#Red vs Blue #rvb rewatch

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let-it-raines · 5 years ago

Text

Emma’s never cared about holidays or cliched traditions like kissing someone at midnight on New Year’s Eve. What she would like, however, is for her boyfriend to at least be in the same city so she could have the option.

found on ao3 | here | ; word count: ~ 2,700

-/-

“Twenty.” “That’s what you’re going with? An even twenty?”

“Aye.”

“When has it ever been an even number? That’s too neat.”

“I’m a neat man.”

“You’re a stupid man is what you are.”

“Now, Swan, you’re supposed to kill people with kindness, not insults.”

Emma huffs and grabs her beanie off of her desk and tugs it down over her ears, adjusting her bun so that it doesn’t tug at her head. “You don’t get to say that when you were an asshole to me last night.” “I was not an asshole.”

“You were.”

“Love, you call me asshole more than you call me by my own name.”

“That’s because I’m a romantic.”

Killian chuckles, and Emma doesn’t fight the urge to roll of her eyes. Of course he would laugh at that. Of course. But she doesn’t blame him. She’s not a romantic. It’s not that she’s never tried or doesn’t want to be one – though some days she really doesn’t – but she doesn’t know how to do it. It’s not in her DNA, and her version of romantic is nothing more than eating the meal Killian wants and then cuddling on the couch or listening to him tell her some story she’s already heard at least two times. It never feels like enough, but he always tells her that it is.

He’s much better at things like planning date nights and picking out perfect gifts and romantic gestures, both grand and small, and her being good at those things is probably never going to be in the cards.

“So twenty calls asking you to come check out the illegal fireworks because people can’t seem to wait for the city-approved show over the harbor?”

“I’m going to go with thirty-three,” Emma finally says, grabbing her gloves and tugging them onto her hands. “It was twenty-nine last year.”

“Ah, yes, and people have become crazier this year then?”

“Exactly.”

There’s a moment of silence and then another, and Emma drops down into her desk chair, flopping on the leather. She should really go and meet David and get ready to do patrol, but she doesn’t want to, not yet.

“Swan?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you,” Killian says, his voice soft and quiet as it comes over her phone’s speaker. “Please be safe out there tonight.”

“Always, KJ,” she promises just like she does before every shift. “I love you, too. Happy New Year. I hope you have fun at Robin’s party while you guys stay inside to watch the ball drop when you’re twenty minutes away from Time’s Square.”

He breathes out through his nose with his laugh. “I’m sure I’ll be home and in bed before the clock strikes midnight. It’s too cold to be out like that.”

“That’s because you’re the oldest twenty-eight-year-old in the world.”

“No, it’s because I have to be up in the morning for my rounds. I’m starting in a new department, remember?”

“I know, I know.” “Emma,” David calls out, and she snaps her head up to look at David across the bullpen, “it’s time to go.”

“I’ll be right there,” she says to David before standing from her seat. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow, okay? Happy New Year.”

“Happy New Year, love.”

“That your big, fancy New York boyfriend?”

“Shut it, Scarlet,” Emma mumbles, ignoring Will and his teasing smirk to walk toward David.

“So it was him?”

“That’s none of your business.”

“Tell him to bring some more of those bagels next time he comes to visit. That was a real thoughtful gesture.”

Emma huffs and keeps ignoring Will to walk toward David, pushing past him to go out the front doors of the station so she can start her patrol shift and get this night over with.

Happy New Year and all that.

-/-

“What number call is that?”

“Nine.”

“That’s pretty low for the night.”

“Yeah, well, it is only eight. We’ve still got hours to go and several people who don’t care to follow the fireworks law.”

David hums and turns the wheel of the SUV so they can get out of downtown Boston and move toward North End. Holidays are always the craziest nights of the years for them. It’s triple the regular crazy, especially with the amount of drunk drivers they pull over, but all in all, holidays are some of Emma’s favorite nights of the year, even if she has to work through them. And she’s worked pretty much every holiday for the past five years. She’s not married, doesn’t have kids, doesn’t have parents, and there’s no reason for her to not offer to take a shift so that someone who wants to spend time with their family can have the day off.

(She can take her days off on other days where stores are actually open and she can get delivery without feeling guilty that the delivery guy is working.)

Emma’s never had a reason to want to spend holidays with people or to want to have the day off, but then she met Killian last year at the Nolan’s fourth of July barbecue (which actually happened on the sixth, but whatever), and she wants to have a day off to spend time with him.

But that doesn’t work anyways. She’s in Boston, he’s in New York, and their schedules don’t match up for holidays. Random weekends and Emma using her vacation days in the middle of the week, sure, but holidays, not so much.

God, she misses him.

“Why are you staring out the window?”

“Hmmm?”

“Why are you staring out the window?” David repeats. “You’re looking all starry eyed and such.”

Emma snaps out of her thoughts and adjusts her position in her seat until she’s turning the sound of David’s podcast down. He’s listening to one on how to keep your rooftop garden intact, and of all of his podcasts, this is the one she’s least interested in.

“Nothing. I think I’m just tired. Can we stop for a coffee next time we pass a shop?”

“Sure. No problem.”

David doesn’t question her more or bother her for the rest of her shift. Either he knows she doesn’t want to talk about it or is so damn oblivious that he doesn’t realize there’s something she might want to talk about, but Emma isn’t going to complain, not when the shift keeps going by as quickly as humanly possible.

They make traffic stops and deal with phone calls about loud music and illegal fireworks (they’re at twenty-one now) and drink copious amounts of coffee as Emma keeps yawning.

(She also eats two giant bear claws, but she doesn’t really like falling into the stereotype of cops simply sitting around drinking coffee and eating donuts.)

At two minutes until midnight, the world quiets for a bit, everyone captivated by watching the ball drop on television or settling around the harbor for city-approved fireworks that knock your socks off with the view. Or maybe they’re all too busy drinking or finding someone to kiss. That’s what David is doing. The kiss part. Not the drinking on the job. That’d get him fired.

Mary Margaret meets them in the parking lot of a gas station, and she and David stand close together in the cold, flakes of snow falling down around them as they talk and laugh until fireworks go off at midnight so they can kiss like the cheesy, sentimental fools that they are.

The sentimental fools who are in love enough that Mary Margaret would come out in the cold just to kiss her husband at midnight when she could kiss him when he got home.

Emma’s cheeks heat with blush when she realizes that she’s watching them, and she quickly turns away and looks down at her phone to open up her texts. Killian hasn’t texted her back for an hour or so now, and she knows that he’s asleep. He’s always falling asleep early in order to wake up early, whether he has work or not, and it kind of drives her crazy.

“I like to watch the sun rise, love. It’s a beautiful beginning to my day every time, but not as beautiful as you.”

“I can’t tell if that was cheesy or romantic.”

“Both. Definitely both.”

He may not see it, but she texts him anyways.

Emma: Happy New Year! 😘

“Happy New Year, Emma,” Mary Margaret says, popping up next to Emma’s window and scaring the absolute shit out of her. “I brought you guys some grilled cheese sandwiches to keep you warm.”

“You’re an actual saint.”

“That’s the goal.”

Emma laughs, and it’s not a fake one despite the heavy pit in her stomach, and accepts the foil wrapped sandwiches from Mary Margaret. “Thank you, Marg. Now go home and be safe, okay?”

“The same to you guys. Enjoy the sandwiches.”

-/-

It’s a quarter until five when she walks in the front door of her apartment. The lights are dimmed, her black-out curtains pulled in preparation for the sun rising, and after a night that never seemed to end toward the last few hours of her shift, she’s finally home and ready to go to sleep.

She didn’t wear makeup today, so that means she can go to sleep without washing her face and brushing her teeth, right? (Emma knows that it’s gross, but she doesn’t care.

She’ll brush her teeth three times tomorrow.)

Toeing her shoes off and dropping her keys and her wallet onto the entryway table, Emma starts moving in her apartment only to hear the creaking of footsteps on the other side of her place.

Shit.

Quickly, she turns on her heels and moves to find something, anything to use as a weapon. Her police-issued gun is in her locker at the precinct and the one she keeps at home is in her bedside drawer. All she can see that would be of any use is a knife she left on the counter, so she grabs that and walks toward the sound, praying and hoping it was her imagination but knowing it wasn’t.

Then the lights in the hallway flicker on.

“Swan.”

And suddenly Killian is standing in front of her in nothing other than a pair of low-slung gray sweatpants, his hipbones showing and the little trail of hair she knows so well disappearing beneath the material. He blinks, and so does she. This can’t be real. It can’t. He should be in his shitty apartment in Queens with his obnoxious roommate, and he should be fast asleep so he can be up early for his first day in his new rotation for his residency.

He shouldn’t be here.

He can’t be here.

But he is.

After placing the knife down, Emma practically catapults herself forward until she’s running into him and slamming her lips into his. Her hands quickly move from his shoulders up into his hair, and while Killian still seems to still be in shock from her jumping on him.

He’s in her apartment when he’s not supposed to be. What did he expect?

But then his mouth is warmly moving over hers, minty toothpaste she was going to avoid invading her senses, and his arm is wrapping over her entire back until his hand is in her hair, tugging her closer and pulling her body flush against his. Everything about him is warm, from his hips to his chest to his lips, and she doesn’t want to leave him. She can’t. It’s been five weeks since she last saw him, five weeks since she last got to feel the softness of his lips and the scratchy roughness of his beard, and she’s consumed by him.

All she wants is him, always.

(And he’s a damn good kisser, so that’s a definite plus.)

“How are you here?” she giggles out, pressing her lips into his cheek.

“I traded shifts around, worked a million graveyards and doubles and worked my ass off until I could get a few days off.”

“I mean,” she laughs, brushing her lips against his left cheek now while her hands trail down over his back, scratching into his skin. He smells so much like him and the body wash that he left a bottle of in her apartment. “What?”

“I lied about my schedule to surprise you. I – ”

She kisses him again. Her entire body is alight with happiness, all of the tiredness fading away and being replaced by the energy of a two-year-old on a sugar high, and she absolutely cannot believe this.

“I don’t care how. Just that you are.”

Killian chuckles and pulls back from the kiss to press his forehead against hers, his nose squishing into her cheek while his prosthetic rubs over her back. “I’m sorry I couldn’t give you a kiss at midnight. My plan couldn’t quite figure that out.”

“Please, they’re overrated. Five in the morning is much better.”

“Yeah?”

“Absolutely. I love you, you know?”

“I do know, Swan. I’m absolutely in love with you too.” His lips move over hers, slow and thorough until a heat is curling deep in her belly and until her skin is covered in goosebumps. “Hey, how many calls did you get about illegal fireworks tonight?”

“Thirty-seven.” “Ah, so we were both wrong.” “Yeah, but I was a hell of a lot closer.”

Killian leans his head back with laughter, and Emma moves to nuzzle herself there, running her lips across his skin in hot, open-mouthed kisses. She might not feel tired, but she probably needs to go to sleep. Killian likely does too, but right now, she can’t think of anything other than stripping him out of his clothes and straddling his lap.

It’s exactly what she does, what they both do. Neither of them can stop laughing, joy and excitement still overflowing, but they do manage to strip each other out of their clothes until there’s a pile at her bedroom down. Killian’s lips leave warm marks against her jaw, her collarbone, her breasts, and her nails scratch down his back until they’re stumbling onto the bed and Emma is crawling over Killian.

He stretches her when he enters hers, and she sighs at the fullness of having him inside of her again. This isn’t a feeling that can be replicated, and seeing the look on Killian’s face – a mixture of pure bliss and desire for more – is priceless. Absolutely priceless.

She cannot believe he’s here.

That he did this to see her.

Stupid, wonderful man.

Emma controls the strokes at first, keeping the slow and deep so that Killian’s nails are digging into the her hip and his brows are pinched together in pleasure, but it doesn’t stay that way for long. It’s too slow, and as slow and careful as some of their reunions can be, what she needs now is fast and desperate, a quick coming together so that her heartbeat is elevated and her body is humming in pleasure.

Killian gives all of that to her more.

Afterwards, when the sweat is cooling on their skin and the night sky is fading away into the barest hints of sunlight outside, Emma kisses Killian’s chest over the small smattering of bird tattoos that reside there. He had them before they met, and Killian jokes about it being some kind of sign that he either had to fall in love with a woman with the last name of a bird or give up being a doctor to go off and study ornithology.

(The tattoos are for his mother, but he rarely likes to talk about that.)

“I’m sorry I didn’t come up with a grand romantic gesture for you,” Emma whispers while running her hands through the thick tufts of hair in his chest.

“Yeah, well,” Killian whispers, pulling her closer in his arms before he tucks her hair behind her ear, “you’re all I need anyways.”

-/-

His placement for his fellowship the next year is in Boston, and both of them have off for New Year’s. It’s practically a miracle.

They’re both asleep before midnight.

It’s okay. Kisses at five in the morning are better.

They’re also far more frequent since they now live together.

(Finally.)

-/-

Happy New Year, everyone ❤️🎉

one-shot tag list: @shardminds @stahlop @captainsjedi @galaxyzxstark @thejollyroger-writer @kmomof4 @tiganasummertree @xellewoods @idristardis @karenfrommisthaven @shireness-says @scientificapricot @captswanis4vr @a-faekindagirl @ultimiflos @jamif @dreameronarooftop15 @nikkiemms @resident-of-storybrooke @bmbbcs4evr @onceuponaprincessworld @jennjenn615 @mayquita @teamhook @kmomof4 @ekr032-blog-blog @superchocovian @ultraluckycatnd @cs-forlife @andiirivera @qualitycoffeethings @jonirobinson64 @mariakov81 @spartanguard @carpedzem

#kiss me at five in the morning #cs fic #cs ff #captain swan fic #captain swan ff #captain swan fanfic #captain swan

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nad-zeta · 5 years ago

Text

Match up! (◠‿◠✿)

hiya!! can i pls get a matchup for ikesen, if its ok? 💞

bi girl i prefer guys! ambiverted intp, gryffindor, n true neutral. i have an older twin sis n i love/hate her sm lmao!!

i have medium-length straight-ish black hair (w/ a side bang to the right) & dark brown eyes!! im 5'5-ish, fun fact: im a filipina!

sooo im a complex daydreamer!! i NEED attention/affirmation or ill feel unwanted/sad. emotional scorpio, im quite sensitive. anxiety, i overthink too much! quiet w/ people im not close w/. easily annoyed but guilty after ‘cause im soft-hearted. im like half funny/playful/kind & half deep/mature/awkward- hopeless romantic! i have a way w/ words, sorta poetic? i wanna be the best! sorta socially anxious, i have a fear of judgement. im not innocent but ppl think i am at first. i look fine but deep down im a big mess. rlly smart & knowledgable. vv passionate, big nerd actually! im like a kid w/ my twin but w/ others im more mature. im the type to do fun stuff and loosen up but would also just cuddle and have long convos. im vv good w/ technology! very imaginative, i come up with stories a lot- around others im very quiet because i literally have no idea what to say. actually a big history fanatic, hehe. i act confident but im not rlly, actually vv insecure and i regret a lot of things.

a habit of mine is that i tend to drift away and just… think? i also tend to care a lot abt my appearance! i get competative but there are also times when im just chill. i get vv embarrassed when i lose control tho n i regret it sm :(( i have loads of trouble asking for help even if i like to help others a lot! i like being organised but i tend to be… chaotic.

hsjsh- fun fact: there are times where im just,, super hyper n say the weirdest things? im good in school but,, im lazy yknow- i love math (surprisingly, i got a natural talent?), science (esp abt stars n space), history, and english (actually my 2nd languange but im very fluent) the most. bilingual but im also learnin french! wanna learn latin too tho but id break down- i have the fear of the unknown, failure, n loneliness! im scared of the future cause its beyond human ability to know,, the only guys ive rlly talked to r family members so my awkwardness goes 100x hsjsjs

oh, i rlly love affection, but i need a lot of space too, tho! girls gotta have privacy- games r a hUge part of my life, so is technology and the modern era! i actually like sports too- not very good at em tho :((

some likes: gaming, jokes (esp corny/stupid/puns), space, stars, weapons (esp swords/guns), philosophy, psychology, testing myself, affection, animals, doing exhilirating things, music, movies, books, writing, astrology, astronomy, learning new things, & mythology.

some dislikes: too much heat, school presentations, creepy dolls, being under pressure, dirty things, blind faith, & annoying people.

tysm! omg i hope this isnt too long- i think this is too long?? yIkes i hope that this is ok!! love ur writing btw! stay safe 💞

Hi hi love! thank you so much for the request! You sound like a wonderful person and omw it soooo cool that you have a twin! I actually think she sent in a request right after you did lol! Anyways sorry for making you wait sooooo long and i hope you enjoy it! @x-joie-x

So i match you with...................... Mitsuhide

The first time you meet this sneki boy, you were quiet and reserved. War council had just ended and you were named as a princess of the Oda forces. You were super socially awkward, and anxiety was slowly starting to creep in, as the curious warlords started to surround you. It wasn’t until Mitsuhide had pulled you away in a teasing manner to save you from the crowd that you finally started to calm down. He had noticed this new little mouse had been on edge since arriving. However, he didn’t suspect you of being an assassin or spy as, during the whole council, your hands shook, and you could barely speak up against Nobunaga’s demanding and commanding tones.

Mitsuhide had found you incredibly amusing from the first moment you walked in, you caught this foxes eye. He didn’t know if it was the innocence or naïve purity that just seemed to radiate from you, but for some reason when he was looking at you, he found that he simply couldn’t look away.

It took all of one day for all the warlords to officially drop all suspicions of you. You were just such a sweetheart how could they not instantly love you and feel the need to protect you. You had started helping a few of the maids that first morning after you were named princess. You didn’t want to be a freeloader, so you worked hard to earn your keep and soon, the maids were fighting over who would get to work with you cause all of then just loved and adored you so much.

You got annoyed with Hideyoshi when he first found you helping the maids, as he was 100% started micromanaging you. You lost you cool and raised your voice at him, TBH Hideyoshi didn’t think anything of it, but it wasn’t until you had pitched up at his manor an hour later to apologize for being so rude to him that he realized what a sweet and sensitive person you truly were. Of course from that moment onward you had gained yourself a big doting brother.

All the Oda forces agreed that you were too sweet and naïve for your own good, so Mitsuhude was assigned to give you princess lesson to prepare you for your new life as Oda princess. You were super excited when Mitsuhide had told you that he was going to teach you a variety topics such as economics, politics, history and self-defence. You even managed to impress the sneki boy, by getting all the questions correct on the first test he had handed you. You had found that first test incredibly easy as you were a bit of a history buff, and all the questions had been based on Nobunaga’s history. This low key shook the sliver kitsune a little bit, as this proved that not only were you pure and naive but you were also super smart. You kind of reminded him a little bit of Mitsunari, a cleaver professor with their head in the clouds.

Mitushide praised you for your ability to pick up on concepts quickly and work diligently as a student, “I dare say little one, you are the best student a teacher could ask for.” You spend masses amount of time with sneki boi, and through that time you realized just how sweet Mitsuhide truly was, although he was a massive tease leaving you a blushy mess almost every day after lessons with his teasing comments. And naturally, the more time Mitsuhide had spent with you, the more in love he fell. It was also noted by the fellow warlords that, Mitsuhide always wore a soft gentle expression when it came to you, and in your experience he had been a kind gentle patient teacher. SO naturally you found yourself more and more drawn to this mysterious man.

Through all the time spent with the kitsune, you found yourself opening up more and more. He was one of the few people that got to see your playful side. You now would make the puniest, corniest jokes he has ever heard, leaving this kitsune in a fit of laughter mid-way through a lecture. Not only that, but he loved loved loved your competitiveness side.

This side of you slowly started to surface after the 3rd or 4th self-defence lesson when you started challenging the kitsune to rematches whenever he would pin you down, ultimately beating you in your little makeshift sword fight. Boy oh boy, don’t even get me started on the shooting lessons, once you were able to fire the rifle, you were straight-up challenging this boy, the best marksmen around to a shoot-off. “Come on Mitsuhide, the first one to get 100 bulls-eyes in a row wins, and the loser has to buy tea.” Needless to say, you always lost and even though every day you would make that exact bet, Mitsuhide would always insist on sticking you for tea and lunch as reward for being such a good student.

He really enjoyed spending time with you and would absolutely insist on holding your hands whenever the two of you were on your way to the tea house together after your lessons. “I can’t have my clumsy little mouse tripping and falling now can I.” Every day without fail, he would say that to you as he wraps his big hand around your small one, while leading you to your favourite tea house.

The two of you would talk about everything and anything over tea, these topics ranged from you making stupid jokes, to talking about random topics such as philosophy and psychology. Either way, Mitsuhide loved to spend time with you. He would always listen to and hang on to every word you said, storing every word in his memory.

You were his precious little mouse, and he knew you were an extremely sensitive creature. If anyone dared say a single bad word to you or make you sad, they would face the wrath of this very protective kitsune. Like one time, one of the visiting daimyos had talked down to you for accidentally bumped into him. You were busy cleaning the windows when you accidentally lost your balance and bumped into him. He was so disgusted that a mere maid had touched him. He started yelling at you and insulting you, this escalated to such a point that he even had his hand raised ready to hit you for getting dirty window water on his shoes. That’s when sneki boi decided to intervene. Mitsuhide legit stood protectively in front of you with his rifle pointed at the man’s heart, with the full intention to shoot. “Golly me it appears like you are quite the troublesome little mouse, my dear.” He then turned his sharp gaze towards the daimyo “I do suggest you apologize to the Oda princess, lest you want to answer for your crimes directly to Nobunaga.” The man simply scoffed and walked away. Mitsuhide then turned to you and enveloped you in a warm hug while kissing the top of your head, “Are you alright, my dear little mouse?” Mitsuhide looked into your beautiful eyes and gently took your hands in his, “Come little one, I have something I wish to show you.”

The two of you walked hand in hand to Mitsuhide’s manor, Mitsuhide led you out into his garden, where you saw something so beautiful you could cry. The garden was filled with flowers and candles and in the centre was a table set up, with a feast laid out op top of it.

Mitsihide had told you that night that he was hopelessly in love with you. He was overjoyed when he had discovered that you like him, was also a hopeless romantic and that you had an incredibly poetic, romantic way with words. You handed him a letter in which you had expressed your feelings for him in the form of a beautifully written poem. You were actually intending to leave the poem on his desk as a way of confessing your feelings. This instantly melted sneki bois heart into a giant puddle and he couldn’t help but pull you in for a sweet kiss.

After diner Mitsuhide had led you deeper into the garden where a fluffy blankie was sprawled out on the grass, he guided you to sit down and the motioned for you to lookup. Above you, a thousand stares were shooting across the sky in a big meteor shower. Mitsuhide pulled you into his arms and kissed your cheeks as the two of you watched the sky. He always remembered every detail you had told him about yourself, so when you revealed that you loved the sky and the stars, he knew he had to incorporate this rare meteor shower in your date somehow.

This had sparked a new tradition between the two of you, to stargaze and spend the whole night in deep conversation. These nights were full of love and affection as Mitsuhide would pull you into his lap and just hold you there for hours and hours as the two of you talked and watched the sky

Of course sneki boi also had a bit of a spontaneous side, and would take you on exhilarating trips around Nobunaga’s territories. They were mostly missions but after you had nagged Nobunaga to give you permission to go along on the missions, you and Mitsuhide would finish the official work asap so that the two of you cuties had plenty of time to enjoy yourself in the new environment.

Mitsuhide loves everything about you from your slight messiness, to your love of learning new things. He also knows that his sweet little mouse sometimes needs some space and alone time and will be sure to give you as much alone time as you need to recharge. He knows that you will seek him out when you have had enough of your own company. He will always welcome you back with outstretched arms when you have had enough alone time, and shower you with endless amounts of affection.

Whenever you are feeling insecure or worrying about the future Mitsuhide is right there by your side, whispering words of affection and reassurance in your ears. He makes sure to remind you every day just how perfect you are and just how much he loves you.

Often you can be found in sneki boys lap with your head resting comfortably in the crook of his neck as he soothingly strokes your hair. Don’t be surprised if this sneaky kitsune drops a few kissed on your nose, cheeks or lips during these quiet and peaceful moments, just as a way to convey how much he loves and adores you.

Other potential matches……………..Masamune

I hope you enjoyed it dear and i hope you have the best day!

#ikesen matchup #matchups #match ups #matches #akechi mitsuhide #ikesen mitsuhide #ikemen sengoku mitsuhide #mitsuhide akechi #mitsuhide ma #submission

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crushedbyhyperbole · 5 years ago

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Disco Ball Diva

A/N: For @buckyshelves Merry Christmas, I hope you enjoy this and have a great festive holiday

To @bucky-smiles for organising this secret Santa gift exchange, you’re awesome and so, so kind

Also... thank you to my friend Haz who beta read this for me. You are always so supportive of my writing and I love you

Summary: You’re inappropriate, sassy, have snazzy powers, and now you’re an Avenger-in-training. Not everyone appreciates your blasé attitude, and when a surveillance mission goes south you’re thrown together with one hot brooding super soldier. It doesn’t help that you can’t stop ogling his bum.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader w/ powers

Word Count: 7k. I actually feel bad that it’s so long.

Warnings: Violence, gun violence, Bucky kills people, mentions of blood and injury, bad language (which is a given for me), some sexual tension (light) but mostly just reader is an asshat XD

The Avengers compound is not like you imagined it. Or maybe it is but you haven’t found any of the secret stuff yet. Hidden jet hangers under the basketball court, labs in the basement, glass cases full of superhero suits. Wait. That’s the freakin’ X-Men.

Still, it’s nothing like you hoped. The conference rooms are boring, obviously, because meetings are the epitome of dull. The communal lounge and kitchen are both boring; there’s no espresso machine that doubles as a drone, no fridge that transforms into sentry bot, there isn’t even a SodaStream. Yawn! You don’t even need to see the fitness suite to know that it’s not a place you want to visit, and you’re not allowed below the ground floor yet. Talk about not trusting the noob.

Your room is a vision of extreme lacklustre, but you only moved in yesterday, so, no redecorating just yet, save for the peace lily your brother gave you.

Congrats on your new job and home by the way, here’s a half-dead plant I had but couldn’t be bothered to look after. Now it’s yours. Enjoy!

Your super power is definitely not green thumbs, nurturing life, healing, or anything even a tiny bit supportive. You can’t fly, don’t have super strength, speed, or a crazy-good aim. There’s not a green rage-monster just below the surface waiting to erupt and smash things. Well, if someone steals your cookies you might have to choke a bitch but hey, rainbows are cool, right? Super distracting, like oh hey, what’s all this shiny shit flashing around? Oh dayum, I totally didn’t see that badass super warrior coming to kick my ass.

You swallow hard. The small conference room feels like an interrogation room despite the polished wood table and plush leather chairs. Of four sets of eyes that are currently watching you, only one pair is encouraging.

Tony Stark. The guy who recruited you. Took you from a life of selling hotdogs on street corners in the City and apartment sharing with a crazy cat lady called Angie who you found on Craigslist. You had nothing against crazy cat ladies, per se, but you would prefer it if the pissy smell was optional. Angie had opted in, hence why you jumped at the chance to opt out. Ugh.

“Rainbows?” The scowly but buff brunette with the dreamy blue eyes and robotic arm, scoffs mockingly. “You project rainbows?”

The equally buff blonde who you suspect might be Captain America (or maybe his stunt double) snickers, his head lowered to hide his amusement. Does Captain America have a stunt double, for like, TV appearances and meetings with officials, and stuff? You’ll ask later. Right now, you’re annoyed.

“Oh, I’m sorry, fist-of-victory!” You snap your fingers like the queen you are. “Am I too snazzy for you? Do my rainbows ruin the whole Neanderthal vibe you got going on there?”

Loud snorts and chuckles pull you back. The redheaded vixen you know already as Black Widow is pinching her nose to stifle her laughter, and Tony is looking to the heavens in askance but emotional stability is not forthcoming.

“Wow.” The brunette says flatly.

“Fist of victory.” Tony ponders, eyes twinkling. “I like that.” He levels an amused gaze at you, rolling his next words around in his mouth. “Manchurian candidate is a little out-dated, wouldn’t you say, Barnes? Ready for an upgrade?”

Oh shit! Your eyes get big. The brunette is none other than the infamous Winter Soldier. You should have known by the arm. Show no weakness! Your brain screams.

“What’s the official title for that skill, you have?” Steve Rogers has gotten his face to cooperate, now there’s no trace of a smirk. “Light manipulation?”

“Walking disco ball.” You put on the light show again, manipulating the effects so the lights are dancing across the, now stormy grey, eyes of one Sergeant Barnes.

“It’s definitely distracting.” Natasha says objectively. “Could be useful.”

“See! That’s what I said!” You punch the air, sending the lights into a frenzy.

“I have a theory.” Tony is playing his cards close to his chest still. “That’s why y/n is here. She’s agreed to work with us, and at the very least she can be a supportive member of the team.”

“Team, frickin’, playahhh!” You holler, earning a concerned look from Rogers and a downright obnoxious groan from Barnes. “What? What you complaining at? You fucking love me already!”

The truth was that you didn’t know how your ability worked. You could feel it when you did your thang, like the hairs on the back of your neck stood on end and the air in your hand felt stiff and substantial.

Better not talk about hands full of substantial stiff things around grandad Tony, he might kick the bucket.

You could manipulate the amount of reflections in your light show by making the air heavier, make them move, dance, even adjust the size of them a little. Agreeing to work with The Avengers had been a no brainer; you get paid, get a place to stay that isn’t full of the stench of sadness and cat piss, and you get to find out more about your ability. Win, win, win.

+++ A couple of weeks later +++

“You really expect me to take Rainbow Brite on this mission?” Barnes has his arms crossed across his chest, refusal crinkling his brown and pursing his lips into a thin line. The guy looks hot in tac gear. One bicep straining against the material, the other is obviously free and oh-so-fucking-awesome. Thighs tight under those black tac pants, thigh holster accenting the flex of muscle as he shifts his weight. Wait-what!?

“Wait a fucking minute!” You squawk. “Rainbow Brite? Oh, hell no!” You march up to him, similarly decked out in black gear that makes you look like some tiny recruit in ill-fitting body armour instead of badass like him.

There’s a smirk on his perfect mouth now, dusky pink lips lop-sided with amusement, and the twinkle in his eyes is more than a little alluring. What the fuck?

“Huh.” You stop your tirade, blinking, baffled. He’s playing with you. Trying to get you pissed so you’ll refuse to go, or maybe he wants you to go so you’ll make a fool of yourself and Tony will see you’re not useful. Too many mind-games already, you don’t have the patience for this shit, so you go with an insult instead. “If I’m Rainbow fucking Brite then that makes you Twink. Dink!”

“Well, he does epitomise my sparkling personality.” Sardonic, deadpan. It’s classic brooding Barnes and you’re almost proud that he got an 80’s pop culture reference. Almost.

“And they did rename him Mr fucking Glitters back in 2014.” You pout, adopting his stance, arms crossed.

“Perfect!” Tony pops m&ms into his mouth, turning away dismissively. “Rainbow Brite and Mr Glitters it is. Head to the carpool, there’s a vehicle waiting for you both.”

There was no getting away from this mission. You’d grumbled, griped, whined, and begged Tony to send you with anyone but Broody Barnes but the Iron Man was true to his alter ego, he did not budge.

You are about to take a few pot shots at him in the insults department when Barnes’s voice comes over the earpiece you have already been fitted with.

“Earth to disco ball. Get in the damn car already.”

“It’s disco diva to you, giant cocksicle.”

He laughs at that and is still grinning when you slide into the passenger seat beside him.

“You’ve got some mouth on you, kid.” Was that acceptance? Admiration? Whatever it was it looked good on him.

“Yeah, you know you want my mouth.” It sounded better in your head but now that it’s out it can’t be taken back. Barnes looks a little frowny but at least he’s got nothing to say so you can quietly die in peace.

Can someone cringe so much they die? You might find out.

The mission is surveillance. Low-key observations of a facility out in Nova Scotia that makes products for iGoddess, a beauty company owned and run by Gabrielle Porter, the niece of one Alexander Pearce, crime syndicate king-pin and scumbag extraordinaire.

You know the company; you buy their stuff. Well, you do now you can afford it and it’s not wasted under the scent of cat urine and bleach. How can a company so devoted to making women feel special and empowered be mixed up with drugs, weapons and human trafficking? Fucking bullshit, that’s what it is.

Bucky had ditched the car in the parking lot of a lake-side leisure and visitors centre about fifteen miles away, and with gaudy waterproof outerwear over your tac gear, you had begun the hike that would set you smack-bang in the middle of nowhere good. Posing as hikers had been Tony’s brief but you’re cold and bored, and your body aches from being on the solid ground.

You’re both lay just behind the crest of a hill a little way away from your target building. Bucky mutters his observations into his comms as you look through your own binoculars trying to see what he’s looking at. He’s talking guard numbers and movements, the weapons they carry, security features and people entering or leaving the facility. It’s no use, you’re not cut out for this. Surveillance is soul destroying. You’d rather be interred in Tony’s kitchen, at least there’s coffee there.

Not even an hour in and you’re itching to get up and move around. The hike had gotten your blood pumping but now you’re going stir-crazy, joints tingling with the need for motion.

Boring. Boring. But at least you can entertain yourself. Where there’s light there’s beauty and you tease the air through your gloves, finding that your skin doesn’t need to be bare for you to create the effect. Well whadd’ya know.

“There’s movement.” Bucky warns. “Looks like some of the guards are exiting the compound.”

You snort, they’re probably bored too.

“A Jeep and a couple of motorbikes, moving quickly.”

“Sounds like they’re going home.” You mumble, focused on the lights in your hand.

“They’re headed this way.” He curses. “Grab your- What the HELL are you doing?”

Bucky tackles you to the ground from where you were on your knees almost at the hill’s crest.

“Asshole!” You’re trying to get away from him but he pins you to the ground.

“I’m the asshole?” He complains as he rolls off you, sliding down the hill on his ass, shoving his gear unceremoniously into his backpack. “Mission compromised.”

“What happened?” Tony’s disembodied voice doesn’t sound happy.

“We were spotted.” At the bottom of the hill, Bucky starts picking a path through the rocks and small fissures hidden by the wild grass and heathers. A quick glance back tells him you’re not following; you’re caught.

“Uh, hi, guys.” You chuckle nervously as one of the guards levels an assault rifle at you. “Would you believe we’re winners of a free weekend iGoddess Spa?”

Bucky is livid. If it had just been him, he could have taken them out and escaped, but, no. Tony had to insist that he bring you, show you the ropes, look after you. Babysit you.

He snorts. You don’t need a minder you need to be put in a padded room where you can’t inflict any more of your weird bullshit on him. Fucking rainbows. What kind of skill is that, other than one that gets you caught?

Eight hours ago you were both doing great. There’d been some small-talk in the car, he’d opened up a little and you’d responded. Even on the hike over you’d been great, your filthy mouth was a source of much amusement for him, and you’d listened. His instructions were followed close enough to the letter, and he was happy. Everything was good.

Now it’s all fallen to shit and he’s locked up in a heavy-duty restraint chair that brings back memories of dark places and dark times for him. To his side, you’re slumped forward in a regular wooden chair, cable-ties binding your wrists and ankles to the wood, pulling at your skin, making your hands and feet turn blue. How the hell are you both supposed to get out of this?

He’s watching the movements of your chest that tell him you’re still breathing. The cut on your head has stopped bleeding but you’re drooling blood-tainted saliva down your grey rash-guard. Both of you had been stripped down to your undergarments and checked for hidden weapons. He was the first to be incapacitated as they’d used you as leverage, holding a gun to your head until he complied, stripped, and submitted to the chair. When they’d took away your gear you’d fought and Bucky had seen red; he’d strained against the chair until the butt of a gun to the head had put a stop to that. When he came to you were out cold, beaten and bloody. How hard had you fought?

Your feet and hands are turning purple now. The weight of your body pulling the restraints against your skin is making the plastic ties dig deep, cutting off the circulation.

“Y/n?” Bucky hisses, hoping the noise doesn’t prompt the guards to come back. “Y/n! Wake up!”

The room you’re in looks like an interview room. Two-way mirror, camera in the corner, reinforced door with heavy-duty locks that were strangely not engaged. It’s grey and cold, and the only things in the room are the two chairs and you two. The device Bucky is locked into is bolted into the floor; a permanent feature, like they expected him or maybe Steve. He tests the chair again. It creaks but doesn’t give. He’d have to really put some brute strength into it to break out, and that would create too much noise. He’d wait.

“Y/n!” A little louder now, and you stir.

He keeps talking to you, just bullshit words, what he wants for dinner, what film he’s going to watch when he’s home safe. Anything to help draw you back to consciousness.

“You wana watch a film with me, y/n?” He thought for sure you’d tell him to go fuck himself.

You moan, head lolling as you come back to him.

“Hey! Rainbow Brite!”

“Fuck you.” It’s a whisper but he’ll take it.

“There she is.” He allows himself a relieved smile. “C’mon, sweetheart. I need you to sit up for me. Take the weight off those ties before there’s any permanent damage.”

It takes a few more moments before you can shuffle yourself properly into the chair, then you’re flexing your hands and feet to get the blood moving again.

“Oh-god-it-hurts-so-fucking-bad!” You are practically wailing as the pins and needles sensation in your extremities reaches a peak. The slightest movement now sends a cacophony of intense pain into your limbs.

“It’ll be over soon.” Bucky sooths.

“Why are you being nice to me after I got us caught?” You eye him suspiciously, flapping your hands to rush the blood into your fingers. Rip the band aid off. “Is this some kind of prank? Ohhhhhhh! This is an initiation isn’t it? Oh, I see. Where’s Iron Doosh? Hey! Tony!”

“Would you shut up? This is real. We’re really captured.” Bucky hisses.

“Tony Stank, Skank, Spah-hank.” You sing-song as you struggle against your restraints, examining your bound feet through spread knees. “I hope this is one of the chairs from his good dining set.” You stand, leaning forward and centring your weight above your bent knees.

“What are you doing?”

“Just need to…” You shuffle over to the mirror.

“No, y/n, wait!” Bucky begs. “Don’t break the glass.” His frantic expression says the rest. Your feet are bare and you’ll shred yourself to ribbons.

“What? You’re crazy. Why would I do that?” You chuckle, amused that he’s so worried. “There’s no one in there.” You wink at him. “They’d be in here by now if there were.”

You shuffle a bit more and grunt as you throw yourself backward to the ground. The chair cracks but doesn’t break.

“Fuck!” You struggle some more, grunting and groaning like a butch female tennis player in a grand slam. One of the arms loosens and you fight against the wood until you get your left hand free, then you’re reaching into your hair for a bobby pin to jam into the clasp of the cable tie on your right arm.

Moments later, you’re free and rushing to Bucky who is fighting against his own restraints. There’s sweat beading on his bare chest and his hair is sticking to his forehead. A quick swipe of your hand clears his brow and he stills, watching you as you search the chair for whatever mechanism has him trapped.

“There’s a big red lever at the back.” You muse. “You think it’s an ejector seat?” A cheeky wink. “If I sit in your lap we can both go for a ride.” You don’t have time for giggling and flirtation, but you do it anyway.

“Y/n.” Bucky chastises lightly.

“What? This is every girl’s wet dream. Every, damn, girl.” You mumble as you grip the handle. “And I can’t even enjoy it.”

“Just pull the damn thing already. We don’t have time to mess around.”

“Pity.” You tug the lever and a loud hiss fills the room, pressure releasing from the chair.

Bucky is on his feet and at the door before you make three steps. He’s rubbing his right forearm where the metal clamps had bitten into his flesh, there’s blood there too, long ago dried.

“There’s movement out there.” He has his ear to the door. “I need a weapon, we need our gear, and we need a vehicle.”

“I need some chocolate and bottle of wine.”

“What?”

“Are we not making a shopping list?”

Bucky rolls his eyes and grabs your wrist. “C’mon.”

With the door cracked open, Bucky can see movement at the end of the corridor; there’s a security room which is promising for retrieving your gear, but not if you want to avoid being seen.

“Stay behind me.” He pushes you towards his back.

You look down at his bum. “No problem.” You sigh and then you’re moving, your hand on his bare back so you can feel where he’s moving next.

Bucky suddenly shoves you down into a squat, shushing you with a finger held against his lips. The way he moves is like water, smooth and forceful, carrying the momentum of his body towards a lone guard who has paused at the corner by the security room. How he hasn’t seen you is a miracle but the man doesn’t even hear Bucky until the his own knife is slipped from its sheath and into the his temple. There’s no sound, no gurgling, not even much blood. Bucky lowers the body to the floor and cleans the knife on the pants of the dead man.

Looking at him now, you can see why people fear him. His expression is cold, calculating, and focused. It’s necessary, the distance he puts between himself and the act of killing. Even when Bucky was him, there was always a distance; a gap between him and his orders. Now the killing is his choice and he has to live with that, there’s no excuse of mind control now. This is all him.

The security room has one guard inside who is overpowered moments after Bucky opens the door.

Fucking amateurs, you think. Does that room not have cameras that cover the door and surrounding corridors?

Turns out that it does and the reason the guard hadn’t seen you was because he was sexting his girlfriend.

“Sexting?”

“Yeah. Like sex role play and talking dirty over text.” You snort. “Jeez, you’re old.”

“What can I say? You’re broadening my horizons.” He winks then and it’s so out of place in this grim situation that you laugh nervously. “Sounds fun.”

“Well don’t take tips from this guy.” You wave his phone in the air loosely. “He’s fucking terrible at it.”

“What’s bad about it?”

You’re not sure if he means to ask that, he’s busy trying to get outside communication through the phones which seem to be keycode protected and also checking through the security feeds to see if he can find your gear and a way out of this for you both; he’s clearly distracted. At least he’s happy now that he has a pair of handguns and a pair of knives, no weapons for you because you haven’t completed your firearms training yet. But let’s face it, who would arm you anyway? You were a disaster waiting to happen.

“He’s a bit of a wham-bam-thankyou-ma’am kinda guy.” You chuckle. Bucky is going to regret starting you off down this line of conversation. “His poor woman has probably never experienced even mediocre sex with this schmuck if his sext skills are anything to go by.”

“Too eager to bury the bone?” Bucky sounds distant, but he is listening to you as he checks drawers for weapons, keys and anything else that might be useful. God knows your gear was nowhere to be found.

“Check it.” You hop up on the desk near him and scroll through the laughable chat. You feel slightly guilty reading this guy’s private shit but he’s dead so he isn’t going to care. Reading from the chat, you do fake voices. “So she’s like ‘hey baby, you free tonight? I got something for you.’ Peach emoji, cat emoji. And he’s like ‘you off your period? Can we bang?’ I mean, what the fuck dude?”

Bucky is smirking when you look at him. “What did she say?” He straps both thigh holsters to his almost naked body. It’s comical how he’s gearing up from salvaged stuff wearing only a pair of skin-tight spandex shorts that leave nothing to the imagination. Once Bucky is packing (in more ways than one, now) you have to force your eyes elsewhere.

“’Yeah, baby! I missed you so bad. Can’t wait to be in your arms again.’ She just wants lovin’ y’know?” You spoke the line in a soft, breathy voice. Fake, of course.

“And what did he say?” Bucky is checking the monitors one last time before he moves to the door.

“You like a bit of sexting? Huh, Barnes?” You smirk, eying him mischievously. “Living vicariously through the sexting chronicles of Captain Dick-Down over there?”

“Just looking to know what not to do if the opportunity for sexting ever arises.” It’s light-hearted and completely unlike the grumpy Bucky you’re used to. Maybe there was something in the air; sex pollen or something. That’s totally a thing. “C’mon.” He says after a moment, eyes twinkling with mirth, soft lips pulling up to the side in a cute smile. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”

It’s comedy gold, the pair of you running the halls of an apparently secret part of the factory, him in his tight little shorts and you in your panties and spandex t-shirt over a sports bra that makes your rack look like a uni-boob. You awkwardly tug your rash-guard down over your ass whenever Bucky is behind you and you’re thankful you didn’t wear a thong though that would be better than skid marks. God, you hoped you’d not shat yourself when they beat you.

You barely encounter anyone until you’re almost at the warehouse; Bucky is so stealthy that even with you hindering him, he only has to subdue one foreman and drag you into a cleaning supply closet once, to avoid a pair of patrolling guards. Not that you’re complaining, being squashed up against an almost naked super soldier gave you endless thrills, even if he was all stiff and awkward about it.

Bucky stalls before the double doors that lead to the warehouse. There’s a heavy plastic strip curtain over the exit too, it’s almost opaque with age and hinders your view of what is beyond the meshed safety-glass of the door’s small windows.

“They know we’re coming.” He whispers to you, mere inches away. “There’s a lot of them out there and I can’t keep you safe if you disobey orders. So, please,” he begs, “please do as I tell you.”

He begs so sweetly, you think, blushing. But you’re not one for passing an opportunity for inappropriate comments.

“I’ll be a good girl, Daddy.” You bat your eyelashes, feigning innocent. “Cross my heart and hope to die.”

“Really?” Bucky doesn’t know whether to blush or be annoyed. You never seem to take anything seriously; it’s always a joke, or something you can twist to your amusement. He gets doubly serious. “If you die, it’s on me. You think I haven’t lost enough people over the course of my very long life? You think I want to wash your blood off my skin later tonight? Bury you alongside all the other people lost to some fight or other in the name of SHIELD or the Avengers? I can’t save you if you don’t want to be saved.”

You watch him as he fervently tries to convey the dire nature of your situation, desperate to make you understand that he doesn’t want you to die here, he cares. His eyes are piercing and your heart is a ricocheting bullet in your chest. What if you don’t make it out ok? What if this is it for you? Both of you? Suddenly, you’re acutely aware that Bucky Barnes, Winter Soldier, Fist of HYDRA come Fist of Victory, has cleared himself a little spot in your fucked-up soul, and is there to stay. You don’t want him to get killed because of you, but there’s nothing you can do, you’re not trained for this, or at all really.

You nod once, not trusting your voice in that moment. You could choke on your words or you could vomit all over yourself. It’s a lottery, so you say nothing.

“Good girl.” He gives your shoulders a reassuring squeeze. “Stay behind me. Be quick, keep low, don’t hesitate, and for Christ’s sake no disco ball.” There’s a small smile tempting the corners of his lips, like he’s saying he forgives you for getting you both into this mess. “Ok, sweetheart, lets go.”

Out in the warehouse there’s a whole host of guards and workers, patrolling and overseeing shipments being loaded into lorries. It look like it’s important, and probably why the majority of the facility is clear of security staff; the merchandise is being moved.

It’s a mad dash, crouching low as you ghost around the edge of the warehouse. The huge rows of stacks are packed full of boxes and crates, further obscuring your movement around the area. Bucky is silent, especially since he’s barefoot; he’s every bit the assassin he’s hyped to be, but you can’t take him seriously padding around almost naked with the top of his crack showing and his junk all jiggly in the front.

A radio crackles to life. Three personel down. Prisoners have escaped. Cameras last caught them headed your way.

They must have found the bodies.

“They’re in here somewhere.” A man says, loud and authoritative. “Search the rows, shoot to kill. They’re not low-life mob goons, they’re Avengers and can’t be allowed to live.”

Well that settles that, you think, gone are the chances of mere bodily harm. It’s death or death.

You watch in awe as Bucky scales a nearby stack to stalk one of the patrolling guards. When his opportunity arises he yanks the man up by the throat, snapping his neck in the process. You can’t help but admire that metal arm, so sleek and powerful. You groan, light and lusty, earning you a concerned look from the owner of said appendage.

Killing that guard has yielded an assault rifle, another knife and another handgun. You’d think Bucky would be too smart to arm you but apparently he’s not. Silently he points to his eye and then to the gun where he shows you how to turn off the safety, puts the gun in your hand and moves behind you to adjust your grip. He aims for you, pressing his chest against your back and you swear you can feel his junk against your ass. Once he’s satisfied that you aren’t going to injure yourself, he’s gone from behind you, crouching low at the end of the row.

He grabs another guard and drags him backward. The struggle is louder than he would have liked, and the man got out a partial shout before his throat was closed forever but Bucky is hopeful that he can thin the numbers down enough to make it possible to get you into a truck and away safely.

Bucky shoves the newest body under the nearest stack and beckons you to him. You both move like a two-carriage train, he’s the engine and you’re the caboose following in his wake. He only leaves you to commit murder but you feel lost when he’s gone, cold even. There’s something alluring about the way he uses his body and your mind drifts to other carnal things.

A hand on your shoulder makes you jump. There’s more of a commotion going on in the warehouse now, not just the sounds of men moving goods and silently searching for two prisoners. There are massive amounts of footfall, boots hitting the concrete at speed; bringing in reinforcements from outside.

Bucky is about to whisper in your ear when the squeal of a megaphone pierces the air; he stills with his lips almost touching your skin before pulling back with a frown.

“Sergeant Barnes?” Bucky knows that voice, he’d heard it for years, worked with it, even obeyed it on occasion. “Save the girl. Turn yourself in.”

You shake your head, panicked, urgent. Don’t leave me, your eyes are saying.

A noise nearby draws Bucky’s attention and he suddenly forces you to the ground under a stack where he slots himself immediately after; the security team are searching for you, stealthily stalking the rows. It’s cramped and dusty, the bottom shelf above you so close you can barely breathe without your back brushing the metal supports. How Bucky fits is beyond you, the man is a beefcake, all bulk and magnificently defined muscle. Thinking of him naked is the only thing that keeps you from succumbing to claustrophobia. Something brushes your hand and you jolt, eyes snapping to meet his. He grasps your hand properly and gives it a reassuring squeeze. In your chest, something gives. Maybe your permafrost heart is thawing, maybe you’re about to have a stroke, maybe you really like him.

When the coast is clear, Bucky pulls you free and you emerge into a different row, one with fewer boxes, one you’ll likely be spotted in. You can just see the massive doorway of the warehouse, double sliding doors like a hangar, several half loaded trucks and maybe forty men with body armour and guns. One guy in the middle is wearing a full-face helmet with a white skull etched across the features.

“Holy shit! Is that Punisher?” You hiss before Bucky can clamp his hand over your mouth, the warning look on his face is stern as he leans in to you.

“Crossbones.” He corrects you, barely audible despite the proximity. You still don’t know who that is but he’s totally not as cool as the Punisher, so it doesn’t matter.

His hand is still over your mouth but there’s no point in struggling, you couldn’t break free of him even if you tried, so you push your tongue out and squirm it against his palm, making him recoil in disgust. Your chuckle is silent and his frown turns to the ghost of a wry smile before his attention is fully back on the man he calls Crossbones.

Bucky is taciturn at the best of times but he’s in full diagnostic mode now, assessing the situation. His eyes flicker around the warehouse from yet another new position. It seems like he’s trying to get you closer to the trucks but you suspect that’s what Crossbones expects. There are more men closer to the trucks too and Bucky has already had to kill another two in the latest relocation. The missing men haven’t gone unnoticed and Crossbones is issuing orders, plugging the gaps so you can’t escape.

“I will find you Barnes.” Crossbone’s voice sounds wet through the megaphone, like he’s salivating with excitement at the prospect of getting his hands on you both again. “If you turn yourself in, maybe I’ll let the girl live.”

Bucky’s eyes are downcast, like he’s actually considering it, but the moment passes and Bucky’s resolve hardens. He drags you away towards the end of the row.

“The end of this row has a direct line of sight to the exit. I need a distraction. Can you do that for me?” He whispers.

You nod, lips set in determination. “One disco ball distraction coming right up.”

“On my mark.”

The fluorescent strip lights overhead create more than enough light for you to use. With your right hand flat against Bucky’s left shoulder blade and your left manipulating the air to create a huge show of dancing lights, you move in tandem. Bucky steps out of hiding, keeping you just behind him with his metal arm, he surges forward squeezing off four shots. The way his arm snaps to aim so quickly is astounding, like he has a targeting chip implanted in his brain. Who knows, maybe he does. Four men fall and remain still. Another three shots, then another two and he’s pulling you into another row at a crouching run to the opposite end as he discards the empty gun and pulls out another. He’s saving the assault rifle for Crossbones.

“Again.” He instructs gruffly. “Can you get their eyes?”

“It’s not an exact science this, you know?” You huff and he seems to know that you’re saying you’ll try your best. Of course you’d try, but you don’t know much about your power, even after the few months you’d been training with the team. If it meant you both got out of this alive, you’d flash your tits at the enemy for Christ’s sake.

You emerge again, him with the gun in his metal hand this time, stepping out with you at his back. This time they are ready for you and they start firing before Bucky gets off his first shots. He makes a dash for a fork-lift with a huge pallet of crates sat at floor level. He shoots his rounds in threes until the 9-round magazine is done. The gun is discarded as you both slide behind the cover of the pallets. Machine guns rattle, pummelling the crates with round after round. Bucky prays the crates don’t contain munitions.

“I make fourteen down. Twenty-two left.” His breathing smooth where your is ragged. You curse yourself for being so unfit that even a tiny bit of stress and exertion leaves you heaving air like a couch potato made to climb stairs. “Crossbones is a problem.”

“What do we do now?”

Bucky has two handguns, four knives and an assault rifle, you have one gun and your rainbows. This isn’t going to go well, you think.

“You’re going to hide over there and watch the rear.” He points to your left.

You smirk. Now isn’t’ the time for joking.

“I’m going to thin the crowd some more and, if I can, take Crossbones out.” He looks determined but ridiculous in his underpants, dusted with dirt and debris from the floor that’s stuck to the slightest bit of moisture on his skin. “This might not work. Run to the left, hide in the stacks again, stay down and don’t expose yourself.”

You nod and he readies himself to break cover. The shooting has stopped now and it sounds like the guards are changing positions again. His muscles clench, coiling ready to spring.

“Wait!” You stop him with a hand on his arm, the metal is unnervingly cool. Tension builds. “I wanna fuck you until you pass out.”

“Ummmm.” Bucky blinks, eyebrows raised in surprise but he’s smiling. “You’re serious?”

“Yeah, well, no, but, uhhhh.” You splutter, this hadn’t gone well at all. “I couldn’t let you go without telling you, you know, what Captain Dick Down said to his girl. You asked, for future reference, and all.”

“Oh. Right.” He frowns, turning away again. “Move when I do.” He orders stiffly, preparing to move.

Well, shit!

“Bucky, wait.” Your voice is softer this time, tears prickling your eyes. There’s a chance that neither of you will make it through this and it’s suddenly hit you that there’s something missing.

“What now?” He grumbles, turning to find you closer than he expected.

You surge forward, cupping his jaw in your hands as you capture his lips in a kiss that’s both urgent and needy. You don’t care if he doesn’t respond, you need to feel this before it’s too late. All this tension between you, the jibes and snarky banter, it’s unresolved and sexual in nature. You want him, and if this is all you can have then so be it. One stolen moment before it all slips through your fingers, and you both go to your graves.

You’re already pulling back when he snaps back to attention, quickly pulling you back for another kiss. His tongue delicately touches between the seal of your lips and you sigh with longing.

“You ready?” You pull away but he’s still clearing his head, trying to focus again.

On your feet you’re running out, pumping your legs as fast as you can, heading to the wrong place. Machine guns stutter to life and Bucky is on your heels a second later, fear contorting his features as he scoops you up in his metal arm and returns fire almost blindly. He’s shielding your body with his own and yips like a wounded pup when the bullets find him.

On your knees beneath the curved shield of his back you see the enemy are far closer than you thought. Everything in you yelled stop and you felt the pressure rise through your body and out, cascading off you like a roiling storm.

The bullets stop but the guns are still firing, muffled by the thickness of the air. Despite the pain in his lower back and hip, he turns to see what’s happening. Bullets sluggishly pushing through the air like flies in syrup, all but stopped and slightly redirected on a path that will take them away from a central focal point that is you. You’re doing this, shielding you both as if by some miracle, your power not only refracting the light causing rainbows but acting like a forcefield.

“As much as I have to break up this little party, I really can’t have you killing my friends.” The voice of Tony Stark is heard a second before the Iron Man himself and several of his Iron Legion appear and shoot each and every remaining guard with a taser disc, stunning them into unconsciousness.

Crossbones is a different matter and is somehow resistant to the zapping he just got. He levels a grenade launcher at the stacks near where you and Bucky are crouched and fires. No air shield will save you from all of that falling metal, but Bucky is still fast despite his wounds. There’s blood running down his leg in rivulets as he pulls you to safety, and shields you instinctively with his body once more while the sound of explosions and grinding metal fill the air.

“I did not know I could do that.” You praise yourself.

“I still got shot.”

“It’s just a flesh wound.” You snort. “Walk it off.”

“You’re a real ray of sunshine, you know that?”

“I must be something special if you took one in the ass for me.” You wink. “I hope it heals puckered, then you’ll have two rusty bullet holes.”

“STARK!” He shouts but pulls you closer to him. “Evac for one. She’s walking hom-owwww!” You pinch the skin on the inside of his thigh viciously enough that he shoves you out of his embrace.

You both stay close on the Quinjet home. Bucky had been confused as to how Stark had known to mount a rescue mission but when you produced Captain Dick Down’s phone from your uni-boob bra it all became apparent. All of the comms in the facility had been locked down but that was a personal device, one that probably wasn’t allowed to be carried. Good old Captain Dick Down.

The facility had been put to a far worse use than drugs and weapons trafficking. iGoddess was a front for human trafficking and also human experimentation. The restraint chair they had strapped Bucky into had been used to restrain test subjects; Alexander Pearce was trying to replicate the super serum that made Steve and Bucky what they were.

“So, this was a win for us.” Steve said in the debrief. “Our intel was lacking but it worked out in the end.”

“Says you who didn’t get shot in the ass cheek.” Bucky grumbled, shifting cautiously on the Mr Glitters cushion you’d given him as a joke.

“I got to see some wonderful scenery,” you grin brilliantly, “so I’m not complaining.”

There had been no further discussion about the kiss you and Bucky had shared when you thought you might die in that place, but that’s ok. Your daily thrills are made up of making him squirm, and since you two had become closer since your ordeal, you have had several of moments like those. There’s plenty of time and you’re prepared to play the long game, starting with your newest idea. You pull out your phone and casually write a text while Steve is rambling on about seized research and assets.

[I’m so turned on right now].

Bonus add-on for this work: Captain Dick Down - External link to AO3

Because apparently 7k words wasn’t enough and I just had to try my hand at a little text chat/social media piece. It’s more of an embellishment. Enjoy

And if you liked this story, why not try Good Ole Stuffing, a smutty follow on for the same reader/character.

#cmmsecretsanta #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky fanfic #reader insert #reader with powers #marvel fanfic #powers au #my writing #cloudy's writing

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