#its always just a mess of tangled limbs and metal

[scruncheduppaper]

do you guys ever think abt v1 getting stained more and more with blood as they go thru hell and ending up looking like v2. like ik that not how it work but man even in death theyre still there yknow. like how v1 keeps v2 alive technically thru their arms.

[brattyfics]

Summary: Set against the eerie backdrop of the Florida swamps in the 1980s, this supernatural tale follows Adla Bennett, a woman navigating life after the loss of her father. When she discovers a wounded creature resembling a wolf on her porch, she takes it in for the night, only to find out the creature is a shapeshifter named Terry Richmond. He asks Adla for her help in locating his missing cousin, Mike, intertwining their fates in a way she never expected.

A/N: Divider by firefly-graphics. This is the beginning of my Swampbound story for Scary Terry Night (October 30) featuring Werewolf!Terry Richmond with my fave @uzumaki-rebellion! If you haven’t already, check out her Tattoos and Bloodsucker Blues preview. I struggled to choose an excerpt, so I’m sharing the entire first part. This story features supernatural elements and some mild gore, so please keep that in mind. Happy Reading!

Adla had spent all of her life in Florida, yet the strange things that washed ashore after storms still startled her. Destruction was to be expected—broken tree limbs, uprooted plants, even splintered pieces of homes carried away by the wind.

Tangled in seaweed, turtle hatchlings, along with frogs and crabs scurried frantically, struggling to reclaim their place in the chaos. Sometimes she'd find the occasional oddity: a tattered shirt, a weathered cloth bag, knotted fishing line.

But she'd never come across anything like this—a mangled, bloody deer carcass strewn across the tall grass, torn flesh and fur mingling with pieces of shredded cloth. 

Her instincts screamed at her to back, but curiosity got the better of her.

She knelt down, the air thick with the metallic scent of blood. Something violent had happened here. She scanned the scene, trying to make sense of it. 

A gator? No, they usually dragged their prey back into the water. 

Maybe a hawk? But even with its sharp talons, a bird of prey wouldn’t make this kind of mess. 

Possibly a bobcat? They prowled the swamps, their hunting disturbed by storms, always opportunistic. 

But no, the tracks didn’t match.

These footprints were too big—far too big. The prints were wolf-like but larger, deeper, as though the creature was far heavier than any wolf she'd ever heard of. 

Four prints ran parallel, perfectly spaced in the mud, until they faded into something stranger—two flatter, elongated impressions. 

Like feet. 

Human feet.

The footprints appeared far too big to be her own, and there shouldn’t have been anyone else wandering around the property.

A chill ran down her back even though the sun was shining. The mangrove seemed way too quiet, like the world was holding its breath. The usual racket of gulls and cicadas had vanished—like even they knew the storm had left more than just broken branches behind. One of the first lessons her father had drilled into her as a girl was to never run; not from a person nor an animal. 

Running makes you prey.

Adla pulled her hunting knife from her waistband, steadying her wrist as her eyes swept over the wide, open space around her. She was ready to defend herself if it came down to it, but there was nothing– no one hiding in the brush, no animal stalking her. Just thick humidity, carrying the earthy scent of wet soil and decaying leaves. 

She figured it was time to head back. 

With caution, she began her trek home, her footsteps muffled by the spongy ground, all while keeping a watchful eye on her surroundings. This land held secrets—some of which she had come to accept, and others she feared. 

The old myths— of beastly protectors with vengeful spirits, born of the swamp’s dark magic during the era of slavery— often lingered like shadows in the back of her mind, but today, the possibility felt much closer. The swamp was alive; gnarled roots of mangroves twisted out of the water like skeletal fingers and casted dark shadows on the surface of the water. 

Adla focused on the worn path ahead, until the low rumble of an engine made her pause.

She wasn’t expecting anybody—she never did. As a child, she had hated the isolation of living out here, but now? It kept the outside world at arm’s length, just as she wanted.

She hurried up the muddy incline, her boots kicking loose clumps of wet earth. At the porch of the old Cracker house, she leaned against the weathered wood, squinting down the overgrown path. A boxy, faded green Jeep Cherokee from the late '70s bounced along the uneven track, its tires struggling for traction in the soft ground. With an exasperated breath, she lowered the knife to her side.

It was none other than Jesse Hampton. She should’ve known.

The vehicle pulled to a stop, and Jesse stepped out, scanning the trees before his eyes settled on her. His mahogany skin glistened under the humid late-afternoon sun, and his damp t-shirt clung to his chest. His cap sat low, shadowing his normally neat hair, now curling wildly in the moisture. A few days' stubble covered his jaw—unusual for him but understandable after the chaos of the storm.

Even so, he was as handsome as ever.

"Adla," he called, his voice steady but laced with urgency. "You shouldn't be out here alone." His gaze darted behind her, as if sensing unseen dangers lurking in the shadows. "I get that it feels peaceful, but it's still dangerous."

The last thing she wanted was to give him more reason to worry or lecture her, so she swallowed the uneasiness she’d just felt moments before.

"You sound like my father, Jesse." She rolled her eyes, dismissing his caution. But Jesse's expression tightened, a hint of something unspoken hovering between them. He stepped closer, lowering his voice. "Adla, just... promise me you'll watch yourself. You've got a light in you that attracts attention, and sometimes that attention ain't the kind you want."

The weight of his words hung in the space between them. She could feel the worry lacing his words and caught an uncharacteristic flicker of fear in his eyes that was hard to overlook. “Quit that. I’m fine,” she shot back, the nagging feeling returning to her chest. She hated when he used that tone– like he knew something she didn't. 

She couldn’t understand the source of Jesse's recent worries. They had grown up playing in the wild jungle that was her backyard, always safe. The worst they ever faced was a snake that sent them running to her father for protection. Wild boars and gators lurked about, but they didn't bother anyone who didn’t bother them. 

“Live and let live” had always served her well.

“What you doing out here?” she asked, crossing her arms tightly.

“Do I gotta have a reason now?” Jesse countered, flashing a charming smile. She wrinkled her nose, picking up on the mischief in his tone. “You always have a reason when you show up at my place unannounced. So, what’s the story this time?”

Jesse owned a bustling convenience store in town, but most of his income came from various side hustles. He was the go-to guy for anything anyone needed, always finding a way to get things done, no matter the cost. 

“Just checking in on you, that’s all. Wanted to see how you were holding up after the storm. But if I’m not welcome…” He paused, a mock-serious expression crossing his face. “I can turn right back around.”

Adla scoffed, turning her back on him as she ascended the steps of the screened-in porch. “You say that every time, but you always end up following me inside.” He fell into step behind her, his boots thudding against the weathered floorboards. “You don’t even bother asking if you can come in anymore,” she teased, shooting him a sidelong glance.

“After all the times I’ve been here, why would I bother? Especially when you’ve welcomed me in plenty of times.” He leaned against the doorframe with an easy grace, arms crossed and a playful glint in his eye. “Sometimes at night, if I’m not mistaken.”

Adla shook her head as she headed to the kitchen. “Come on, Jess, that ain’t the same, and you know it.” 

She opened the fridge and retrieved a pitcher of cold water, then grabbed one of the glass cups from the cupboard. After she poured, she handed it over to him, her hands wrinkled from long hours spent clearing debris in the yard. When he took the cup, their fingers brushed against each other, stirring the subtle tension that always rested just below the surface between them.

“Now, why you gotta put it like that?” Jesse asked, a pouty frown appearing on his face as he took a sip.

“'Cause I need you to get this,” Adla paused, choosing her words carefully. “I don’t like folks showing up here without a heads-up, and that goes for you too.” She hoped her sweet smile softened the message. Before anything, he was her closest friend, and she never wanted to hurt him. 

He grinned, leaning casually against the counter beside her. She considered asking if he’d been snooping around her property without her knowing— Jesse was sneaky like that— but figured it’d raise too many questions if he said no.

He set his glass down, inching closer with a mischievous glint in his eye. “I thought I was special, though.” 

She arched an eyebrow, a smile tugging at her lips. “Now, where’d you get an idea like that?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” He tugged a curl loose from her messy ponytail, the spiral bouncing back like a rubber band. “I figured if I did that thing you like enough times, it might earn me a few privileges around here.”

She fought a smile. “What kind of privileges are we talking about?” 

“The kind that lets me show up whenever I feel like it.” He leaned in, his intentions clear as he tried to kiss her, wanting more than just a friendly chat. Adla pressed her palm against his chest, stopping him in his tracks.

Jesse was undeniably handsome, and she enjoyed having him around, but she wasn’t about to let anyone—no matter how charming—think they had a claim on her. She was in charge of her life, and she liked it that way. Getting serious with Jesse, no matter how often he hinted at it, simply wasn’t part of her plans. Especially knowing other women were enjoying that thing she liked too.

“No, sir,” she replied, a playful smile tugging at her lips as she shook her head, trying to lighten the mood. “You thought wrong. But since you’re already here, you might as well lend me a hand with something.”

“Oh yeah?” He leaned in, steadily pressing closer, an eyebrow raised as his interest deepened. “And what would that be?”

“You can come help me set these traps and see what else washed up after the storm,” she said, avoiding his lips to steal a drink from his cup. She hoped to score some fat crabs and a few fish to stock the freezer for the next few days. Her generator had held up well during the storm, keeping the food fresh, but it was always smart to restock. Hurricane season wasn’t over yet and she felt a bit uneasy about heading back into the woods by herself. 

“Aww, man,” Jesse groaned dramatically. “I should’ve known that coming over here meant I was gonna have to work. You’re a real slave driver, girl, you know that?”

They spent the next couple of hours working side by side, enjoying a comfortable rhythm of silence mixed with casual conversation.

First, they checked her garden for storm damage while Jesse caught her up on the latest town gossip—apparently, Mrs. Flowers had been caught with Mr. Jenkins in Mr. Flowers' house. The mustard greens were ruined, uprooted and twisted by the wind, so she pulled them up. Thankfully, the okra and sweet potatoes had weathered the storm just fine; she just hoped the excess moisture wouldn’t lead to any rot.

Next, they moved on to setting her fishing nets and traps, but instead stumbled upon another surprise.

Like the mangled bird she'd spotted earlier, several fish heads littered the bank where she usually set her traps, alongside crab skeletons missing their claws and backs, stripped bare. This wasn’t the typical gator damage—no, this was something far worse, disturbingly messy and strange for the area’s usual predators.

She scanned the ground for any more footprints but saw nothing. No paw prints or torn cloth either.

“What in the world?” Adla muttered, staring at the destruction. “What you think did this? A gator?”

Jesse leaned down, his brow furrowed. “A gator wouldn’t leave pieces like this.”

“Something else did this,” She finished his sentence. Adla’s skin prickled and suddenly, hiding her unsettling feelings from earlier felt foolish. She described the strange prints and the shredded bird she’d found to Jesse as he listened intently. He ran his hands over her shoulders, trying to soothe her.

“You shouldn’t stay out here alone tonight, Addy. Why don’t you spend the night at my place?”

Adla couldn’t shake the feeling of unease about what the darkness might bring, but she couldn’t take Jesse up on his offer, even if his grandmother’s old house was just a few miles up the road.

The old woman had adored her, having been the one to deliver her. Still, it just didn’t feel right to spend the night in another woman’s house, even if that woman was no longer alive.

Plus, sneaking around with Jesse where others could see was out of the question. 

She wasn’t about to give anyone a reason to stir up drama or question her independence. Lord knows she couldn’t bear the thought of becoming the next Mrs. Flowers, her good name dragged through the mud to anyone willing to listen.

“No one—and nothing—is gonna run me out of my house,” she replied, her stubbornness rising to the surface. This place was her sanctuary, the fruit of her labor and her ancestors' struggles. They’d fought hard for what they had, and she felt a fierce pride in maintaining the one thing that truly belonged to her. 

Out here in the swamps, peace was something you earned, not given. She would defend her home if it came to that.

“You don’t even know who or what it is, and you want to stay out here alone? That doesn’t make a lick of sense, baby doll,” Jesse insisted, his persistence typical but unusually intense.

“I’m not your ‘baby doll,’” she shot back, irritation rising. He seemed to be making a habit of testing her clearly established boundaries more recently. 

“I already told you—I’m staying here. You should head out before it gets dark.”

“Come on, don’t be like that—” Jesse began, his voice smooth like molasses. He might’ve been charming, but today, she wasn’t about to let those sweet words sway her.

“Go,” she pressed, stepping forward to cut him off. “I’ll handle the cleanup and make sure everything’s locked up tight, but I want you to leave—now, please.” 

Jesse held her gaze for a long moment, recognizing that determined look in her eye. He knew better than to push too far when she was set on something. “Alright, I’ll go,” he finally relented. “But I need you to promise me you won’t leave the house tonight. Whatever you do, don’t cross that threshold, okay?”

Her face contorted at his strange choice of words.

“Why would I be outside? I’m not foolish enough to wander around out here at night. What’s got you so riled up today, anyway?” She reached out and grabbed the hem of his shirt, pulling him closer. 

“Just trust me on this,” he urged, his tone serious as he finally locked eyes with her. She’d never seen him look so grim before—what was he hiding? 

“You’ll be safe if you stay inside tonight.” He repeated carefully. 

Last she checked, danger didn’t give a damn about doors, but it was clear he wasn’t leaving until he knew she’d listen to his advice. 

“Alright,” she said, dragging the word out as her confusion showed. “I’ll stay inside tonight. Not like I was planning on wandering around anyway.”

“Good,” he murmured, pressing his lips to her forehead and lingering there as she wrapped her arms tightly around him. “I’ll call you tonight, and you better answer. If you don’t, I’ll be back out here, with or without your blessing.”

As he turned to leave, Adla couldn’t help but smile after him. Jesse could be a handful, but beneath that cool exterior, she knew he cared for her as fiercely as she did for him. 

In the wilderness of the swamps, that bond meant everything.

He lingered in her driveway while she hurried to gather the crab shells, tossing them into her compost bin—no sense letting them go to waste. He didn’t start his engine and pull away until she was safely inside with the door closed, waving his goodbye from the street as she watched him from the window.

After locking up, she sank into a well-deserved bubble bath, a simple yet sweet reward for a day’s hard work. The clawfoot tub, older than she was but still in impeccable shape, had become a beloved fixture in her home. 

The bathroom, filled with the soothing scents of incense and candles, wrapped around her like a comforting hug. After her father’s passing, her top priority had been to breathe life back into the old house and make it feel like home again.

Every now and then, she spotted reminders of her past, like the doorframe where her father had marked her height on the first day of school every year or the cast-iron pans he used to whip up their dinners each night. But mostly, she had truly claimed the space as her own—weathered yet undeniably new in some ways– hers. 

Her short time in the city had been a far cry from the peace she now enjoyed in the country. Balancing multiple jobs just to get by, she constantly dealt with nosy neighbors prying into her life, questioning why a young woman like her was living on her own. The men she met often couldn’t take “no” for an answer, turning her daily life into a constant struggle against unwanted advances.

Worse yet, she had attracted the attention of a stalker—someone she’d never even seen who kept slipping threatening handwritten notes under her apartment door, claiming they knew who she was and had been watching her. It was both terrifying and emotionally draining, but she hadn’t tucked her tail and run home until her father died. 

Whenever thoughts of him lingered too long, the guilt of not being there when it mattered most consumed her, so she kept herself busy. 

Her part-time job at the new bed-and-breakfast in town helped her pay the bills and left her enough time to create. On weekends, she sold her art—pieces made from found objects collected in the woods—at the flea market a couple of towns over. Any spare moment was spent bringing something to life, whether sculpting or tending to her flowers. She loved working on the coastal hibiscus that grew in her yard, their bright blooms a small splash of beauty against the swampy backdrop. Her life wasn’t glamorous, but the peace she found in it was worth far more than anything else.

“When You're Young and in Love” by The Marvelettes played softly on the record player. It had been one of her mother’s cherished favorites, or so her father often reminisced. To Adla, the song captured the slow, simple peace she felt only at home. While she couldn’t completely understand the carefree idea of being swept away by a fleeting romance, it still forged a bond with the mother she never got the chance to know.

Her father had only a handful of pictures, but from those, she could see the resemblance. She had inherited her father’s height and perhaps his temperament, but everything else came from her mother—her rich skin tone, flat nose, and wide, expressive eyes. Those features made her feel close to a woman whose memory was etched in her heart but absent from her life.

With a soft sigh, Adla rose from the now-cool bathwater, wrapping a towel snugly around her waist. Taking a moment for herself, she slathered on a generous layer of cocoa butter lotion, the rich, nutty scent enveloping her like a comforting embrace from home. Her earlier worries faded into the background. Satisfied, she slipped into an oversized cotton nightgown, covered in bright floral patterns that mirrored the blooms in her garden. 

She went through her nighttime routine, carefully checking that everything was turned off and every door was locked tight. As she switched off the last light in her cozy home, the old wooden floors creaked softly beneath her feet—a comforting sound that added to the charm of the place.

Just as she was about to settle into bed, faint sounds echoed from outside—rhythmic, insistent scraping and thumping carried to her ears by the wind. Strange noises weren’t uncommon out in the boonies, but something about this one sent a shiver down her spine, drawing her into the hallway.

Adla glanced toward the door, a strange compulsion tugging at her, urging her to step outside despite Jesse's warnings. It felt as if something—or someone—was calling her, and the pull was too strong to ignore. She hesitated, biting her lip, fighting the overwhelming temptation.

Something clattered loose as she unlocked the heavy door and pushed it open. Through the screen, a flicker of movement caught her eye. Adla squinted, trying to make sense of the dimness outside. There, bathed in the cold glow of the moonlight, lay a massive creature. Its shadow loomed so large that it seemed to stretch across the entire porch.

A knot twisted in her stomach. What in the world? This wasn’t no bobcat. This creature was more like a coyote, but much larger. It resembled a wolf, though she knew they didn’t roam these parts of Florida. Its amber eyes glowed like lanterns in the dark of the night, locking onto her with an intensity that sent chills racing down her spine. Jesse’s warnings echoed in the back of her mind. What if this creature was more than it seemed? 

I know this fool ain’t lookin’ at me like I’m dinner. 

Adla squared her shoulders, drawing on every ounce of strength she had. “You don’t belong here,” she called out, her voice steady and commanding. “Now, git!”

The wolf let out a low growl, a deep rumble that reverberated through the still night air, commanding her silence. It took a slow step forward, large paws thudding against the wooden floor, and she noticed it was limping. 

A deep gash ran from its back down to one of its hind legs, blood dripping from the wound and staining the old wood beneath it. The sight of its injury stirred something deep within her—a mix of concern and fascination that left her momentarily spellbound. It was odd but something kept her feet rooted in place, drawn to the creature and its imposing presence for reasons she couldn’t quite understand.

“Don’t you come any closer,” she warned, her heart racing as she reached for the shotgun she kept above the door, her gaze fixed on the beast. Adla tightened her grip on the cold metal, the weight of the gun both comforting and alarming as she aimed it at the creature through the screen.

The wolf paused right in front of her, as if held back by something she couldn’t see or understand. She glanced down at the door’s threshold, recalling Jesse’s cryptic words.

This was her moment—a choice between life or death. But Adla found herself frozen, her finger hovering over the trigger, unable to pull it. 

The large, beautiful creature let out a mournful whine before collapsing in a heap on her porch, nearly at her feet, its strength finally giving out as if it had resigned itself to whatever fate awaited it.

Despite its pain, something flickered in its amber gaze—a silent plea, asking not to be seen as a threat. The creature’s body shook, not with aggression, but with a desperate need to protect itself rather than harm her. The sight of that defeated animal struck a chord deep within her, stirring up memories of her own struggles not so long ago—exhausted by the burdens of life, yet somehow still pushing forward. 

A lesson her father had once shared echoed in her mind: “Listen, baby girl, we only take what we need from this world, and we don’t kick folks when they’re already down. Respect the creatures out here, just like you respect yourself. Life's tough enough without us makin’ it harder on each other.” She could almost hear his voice, the warmth of his wisdom wrapping around her like a protective blanket. 

Adla let out a deep sigh, lowering the shotgun. She hoped the wolf had enough sense to slip off her porch and find its way back through that little doggy door, the one that had been shredded and left with a gaping hole. Sure, it was already intruding on her space, but it showed no signs of being able to bust down her doors with its weakened strength.

The blood staining the porch was already beginning to dry, and she knew she’d have to scrub it down in the morning. If the wolf didn’t make it through the night and died on her porch, she could always call Animal Control to handle it— it wouldn’t cost her a dime to let the creature have one more night of life. 

That thought offered a flicker of comfort as she triple-checked that both the screen door and the sturdy wooden door were locked tight for the night.

Adla placed the shotgun within arm’s reach and settled into bed, her mind lingering on the wolf outside. She couldn’t shake the strange pull she felt. Yet, there was a quiet resolve in her heart—she would let the creature be. 

Maybe it wasn’t just a wolf. Maybe it was something more—a mirror reflecting her own struggles and wounds, a sign sent from her father to teach her something. The night was thick with uncertainty, but she felt no fear, only calm curiosity. She’d done all she could for now. 

As sleep tugged at her, she hoped that the wolf, with its heavy wounds and haunted eyes, would make it through the night. Tomorrow, she’d face whatever came next, but for now, she surrendered to the stillness, trusting that both she and the wolf would both survive until morning.

I’m open to any feedback, especially since this is my first time finishing and publishing something of this length. Does this preview raise engaging questions that make you want to know more, or is something unclear or missing? Did it draw you in or did it drag on? Please let me know your thoughts. Any insight would be invaluable to me as I continue to develop the story. (Send an anonymous ask if necessary).

[allthelittlecreepycrawlies]

For day six - Hard decisions

Meng Yao never goes to Lanling because the madam finds some jin cultivator to burst that bubble (because of compassion or malice or secret third reason) with a bunch of stories of sect leader Jin.

Years later bookkeeper Meng Yao on his way home sees a wen carriage fall down over the edge of a path. He gets to the bottom, finding dead soldiers and a golden cage. A boy in a golden cage. Still alive.

Though the storm had ended by morning, he couldn't shake the ominous feeling that prickled up the back of his neck as he set out for home.

He hadn't wanted to come on this trip in the first place. He was a bookkeeper, not a delivery boy. But the brothel madam, tightfisted as ever, had threatened to dock his pay for the courier fees, and he couldn't afford that.

At least the kitchen staff had been nice enough to pack him a small bag, sparing him from having to buy food while he was out. He was down to his last package of buns, so he decided to wait until lunch to eat anything.

The first storm of spring always left the roads a mess, blowing down branches and trees that had been weakened by what winter weather they actually got and leaving the dirt paths thick with mud and standing puddles. He'd already almost lost a boot twice by the time he heard a horse in distress.

Rounding the next bend, he stopped, wide-eyed, when he found the source. A riderless horse was trying to free its harness and bridle from where they had tangled in a thick gnarled branch that was poking out of the mudslide that completely covered the road. Smashed wooden wheels and limbs of other horses -and people- were also visible, and the slide was wide enough and tall enough that there were probably more underneath.

Well. This... explained the uneasiness he'd been dealing with all morning.

Very, very slowly, he approached the horse, whistling a 'calm down' noise he'd sometimes heard the local farmers use and hoping for the best. It seemed to work, because while the beast kept snorting and stomping as it -she, he corrected himself- watched him warily, she made no attempt to bite or struggle while he untangled her from the branch.

Still holding the reins, but giving some slack so as not to spook his new friend, he began cautiously picking a path around the worst of the mudslide, since it was too unstable to go over.

Though everything was shattered or ripped or caked in blood, it quickly became evident that this hadn't just been a group of merchants or otherwise normal travelers, and his mounting dread was confirmed when he spotted a very familiar red sun on a saddlebag that had torn loose from its horse.

He'd seen Wen sect cultivators before. Some of them even showed up at the brothel every few weeks, despite it technically being in Jiang territory. But he'd never seen any this far southeast before, especially not in a caravan this heavily laden.

Despite himself, he couldn't help wondering what could possibly have drawn them-

As if to answer his question, the clouds that had been hanging overhead all morning shifted just enough for a little bit of sunlight to glint off something metallic.

He shouldn't go see what it was.

He shouldn't- damn.

"Stay," he ordered the horse, and immediately felt stupid for doing so. But he didn't know what other command to give her, and besides, the horse seemed to obey, only fidgeting a bit and continuing to keep her ears laid back as he left her behind to investigate.

Pushing a broken panel of what had been part of a carriage out of the way, he was stunned to find a cage.

An actual cage. He couldn't tell immediately whether it was merely gilded or made of gold, but it was still a cage.

With a person in it.

What kind of creepy-

He jumped in surprise when the small figure curled in a defensive ball made a noise.

Recovering from the sudden scare, he reached through the widest gap he could see between the warped bars and pressed two fingers to the stranger's neck-

-and sucked in a sharp breath when he found a pulse.

Okay. Now he had a horse and a survivor.

A survivor who was being kept in an actual fucking gold cage by Wen sect cultivators.

Through the mud, he could see that the captive's clothing had at some point been green and silver, and was of high quality make.

Green and silver... green and silver... Why did that combination sound familiar?

...Wait...

This was getting more confusing and alarming all the time. Wen sect cultivators in a place they shouldn't be, transporting someone from the Nie sect in secret, in an elaborate yet clearly not just decorative cage? They weren't anywhere near the straightest path between the Nie and Wen sects either, which meant this wasn't something meant to be seen by anyone, and probably wouldn't have been had the weather not completely screwed them over.

The realization that he'd very likely just stumbled on a fucking kidnapping made him dizzy enough he had to find a somewhat stable part of the busted carriage to sit down on.

And, of course, the next question was... now what?

The simplest, most logical answer was to return the way he'd come and report what had happened. It was the shortest distance and would bring the quickest help.

But what if the captive died before anyone got back? Or someone decided he'd seen too much and killed him as soon as he reported?

He could take the captive with him... but that posed its own risks. Again, he didn't know how injured they were, or who might be waiting on the path for the Wen contingent to arrive.

There was... always the option to just leave. Go home, say nothing. Let it be someone else's problem.

But...

He looked down at the unconscious captive. Boy or girl, he couldn't quite tell just from what he could see, but they looked young. Younger than him, even. And evidently, they were someone important to their sect.

If he could get them somewhere unnoticeable, send a message directly to one of the sects...

Obviously, the Wen sect wanted them. But he'd heard enough about Wen Ruohan and his unstable temper to know it was probably suicide to contact him. He might even, however illogical it would be, blamed for the deaths of the cultivators who'd been doing the transport, and then he was still as good as dead.

Five years ago, he might have tried sending word to his father. The other sects were... supposed to be on fairly friendly terms; it would have been a way to get his father's attention, prove he could be dutiful and heroic and worthy of being brought into the fold.

Now, he knew that was as laughable as contacting Wen Ruohan with the expectation of a reward.

Given their current location, that left the Jiang or the captive's home sect, the Nie. The Jiang were certainly the closer between the two, but... If he contacted the Nie directly, there was less risk of having to give up credit for the unorthodox rescue.

A little wheezing cough drew him out of his mental debate, and he looked down to find the captive had curled into an even smaller ball and was shivering.

Ah. All that mud and water, and the weather hadn't completely warmed into spring yet-

The cage must have been made of real gold, because the bars bent easily under even his meager strength. One piece even snapped free, and he couldn't resist tucking it away into his bag.

Even if he didn't get a monetary reward for getting this little Nie home, that one piece, if melted down, would have been enough to buy his way out of the madam's hands by itself.

When his hand brushed the captive's face, they tried to nuzzle into his palm like a lost kitten seeking warmth, and he had to swallow down a sudden flutter in his chest.

Okay. Okay... okay. Focus.

Despite being soaking wet and dead weight, the captive was surprisingly easy to pull out and onto his back. Keeping his balance in the mud with that weight proved a lot more difficult, though, and he nearly slipped onto his face more than once before finally making it back to the horse.

Now, then.

To find a safe place to hide and send a message to the Nie sect leader.

And hope to the heavens that this wasn't going to just blow up in his face.

[alexanderlightweight]

I don’t even know if you like Taylor Swift but something based on Mastermind, only it’s Alec whose the mastermind. Like as the future HotI Alec has studied all NYC down world leaders and has always had a ‘celeb’ crush on Magnus so when they have to meet, he makes sure he’s where he can get face time with Magnus. I guess this works best for the Show. So the meet cute is the same its just that Alec purposely found Magnus in the loft when it was being attacked.

Hey! So I don’t have any particular feelings about Taylor Swift, so I was happy to go listen to the song (I hadn’t heard it) and look up the lyrics. Hope you enjoy:

—

Alec stares at his tablet and licks his lips as he studies diligently.

It’s long past dawn. He knows he should be asleep but he’s been planning this meeting for years.

It was nearly ruined earlier —by Jace and Izzy’s stupid little girl— but Alec can salvage this.

He knows that.

“If we’d been parabatai we could have used tracking to find his lair, since you won’t let us go to rave.” Jace had grumbled earlier and Alec sighs at the memory.

Alec fell in love while preparing for his parabatai bond, but surprisingly and despite where he first thought he was headed, not with Jace.

In fact, Alec fell in love with someone so outside the realm of possibilities that he’s spent nearly five years since then building plans.

Because Alec has been learning tactics and strategies since he could breathe and when he was a desperate, self-loathing, angry seventeen year old learning about Shadowworld Leaders, he found and picked the future he wanted.

And he hasn’t strayed from it yet.

Jace is still a little sore from Alec deciding against becoming parabatai, but he’s Alec’s brother and his subordinate.

Parabatai are supposed to be equal in rank, but Jace has never studied and has never been interested in command.

Jace is a fighter. An incredible fighter who wields a sword like it’s another limb, but he never thinks.

Jace will already create a mess and expect someone else to clean it up.

And Alec has too many important things resting on a very delicate balance to risk that kind of personality tied to his own soul.

Because Alec knows that at the end of the day Jace wouldn’t think about any consequences of their bond, he would take and take until Alec couldn’t give anymore and then and only then, would Jace mourn his own actions.

When Alec thought he was in love with Jace, he would have accepted it.

But he’s not, so Alec denied them a parabatai bond to protect them both, and to protect his personal plans.

Jace will never understand strategic protection and planning. But then again, he’s never had to.

So Alec taps his tablet off and sends a fire message.

He has a plan to implement.

—

Alec shows up at the rave alone. With his siblings and Clary thinking he’s in a Clave meeting.

He dresses as casual as he can, taking care to wear his nicest clothes.

He’s not sure what will appeal to Magnus Bane, but he’s hoping to find out

—

Magnus isn't there to enjoy the rave, he’s here as bait, to see what shows up. To get a better understanding of what he’s protecting his people from.

And then his personal wards warn him of an approaching nephilim and he turns, only to see divinity turned flesh approaching him.

He straightens, gives a dark smirk and offers a hand, daring the gorgeous shadowhunter to take it.

Magnus is surprised when he does.

—

Alec has plans, so many plans and all he can do when faced with the reality of Magnus Bane is blink and a hand is reached out to him.

He takes it. And then instead of shaking it. He tangles his fingers with it like an idiot. Marveling at the callouses and the thick bands of metal that press against his own.

“I’m Alec.” Is all he manages to get

“Magnus Bane, pretty boy.”

And it takes every ounce of self-control for Alec to not blurt out, ‘I know’. Magnus calling him pretty is not good for his composure.

“Hi.”

Alec finally says, not realizing that they’ve gained quite a few looks. He’s too mesmerized by the delighted and quickly growing smile on Magnus’ face.

“Won’t you sit?” Magnus asks and Alec very carefully does not climb into his lap.

Maybe next time, but he has to wait, he reminds himself.

Magnus hasn’t had a chance to get to know him, so Alec will wait.

So he sits, pressed too close to Magnus on a sofa not meant for two men their size and Magnus’ smile grows.

Alec doesn’t notice, too busy breathing slowly when Magnus’ firm, muscular thigh presses against his own.

“Oh, this. Payment since this is an informal request for a formal job.”

“This is worth a little more than a meeting to discuss a job.” Magnus tells him, reaching out with his free hand to take the necklace.

“Hazard pay.” Alec murmurs quietly as he releases the necklace. “I was hoping to set up a meeting to discuss a ritual the institute needs done.”

“And the head of the Institute is allowing such spending? In my rather long memory, they are rather frugal with their pockets.”

Alec blinks in surprise and hopes what he says next doesn’t make Magnus pull away.

“Oh, no I’m the head. I mean, I only officially took over about two months ago. But I was interim head before that.” Alec pauses, brow furrowing as he tries to figure out how to explain, “and it’s hazard pay. Because times are hazardous.”

“I thought the New York Institute had been given to the Lightwood line?”

Alec tilts his head in confusion, wondering just what he’s missing.

“Yes? I’m a Lightwood? Alec Lightwood? My parents used to be the Heads. But they retired—“ a forced retirement that no one talks about, “and they reside permanently in Idris now.” Actually, they weren’t allowed back in New York. “I’ve been taking control over the Institute gradually.”

Magnus’ hand tightens around Alec’s own and his eyes flicker gold and Alec can’t help the fact that he licks his own lips. And he doesn’t notice when Magnus’ gaze lingers on his mouth.

“Is that bad?” Alec finds himself asking, mentally wondering if he should figure out a disownment spell. The Trueblood family magic likes him well enough, he could probably take on that name.

“No, I’m actually incredibly pleased.” Magnus tells him, dousing his plans for disownment, and he’s pressing closer. “So why are you here, Alexander?”

Alec’s pretty sure he introduced himself as Alec but he’s also certain he’s not going to say anything, because the sound of his full name on Magnus’ tongue is exquisite.

Alec mentally recalibrates. This wasn’t his original plan, nor even in the first dozen. But Alec has a small half-shadowhunter problem and he will use it to his advantage.

“Clary Fray recently found her way to the Institute. Apparently she has some memory issues, as you are the High Warlock of Brooklyn, I’d like to request a ritual to get them back for her.”

“Oh, no mention of who took them?” Magnus asks, eyelashes fluttering and smoky with a dark shadow.

“Uhm-“ Alec takes a deep breath, he cannot be distracted. “She was a minor when they were taken and whoever was involved had a contract with her mother. I’m not going to try to break a confidential agreement that might have magical consequences.”

Magnus seems delighted by the answer and Alec gives a tiny sigh of relief. He knows it was Magnus and Magnus will understand what Alec isn’t saying.

He knows of Magnus, but he doesn’t know him, and he's risking so much but for what he wants, it’s worth it.

“Well then, why don’t we—“ and Magnus pauses, a dark look flickering over his face. “My presence is required. Immediately. Will you come with me, Alexander? To finalize the details?”

It might be a test but Alec says yes immediately. Magnus needs to leave and Alec has to go with him. Has to make sure Magnus doesn’t think Alec is part of a trap, is trying to distract him. Alec can’t let Magnus go into possible danger when they’ve finally just met.

“Okay.” Is all he says and he stands first, still holding Magnus’ hand and pulling him up. “I’ll follow where you go.”

Magnus gives him a deep, searching look and then summons a portal. Alec steps through it with him and when they come out in a fighting zone, he reacts instinctively.

An arrow is in a body before he even realizes he’s let go of Magnus’ hand. Alec doesn’t have time to mourn the loss as he throws himself forward because there is a child and a parent and the adult can’t protect both of them.

So Alec does what he’s trained for, he brings death from the shadows.

At one point Magnus is pressed up against his back and it’s such a euphoric feeling that Alec stays in step with him. When Magnus moves, he moves, using every sense he has to keep Magnus as close as possible.

And when Magnus gives an angry snarl and curses out, “my wards were tampered with. I don’t have the strength to protect everyone and raise them.”

And Alec doesn’t think, he just wraps his arms around Magnus' waist, creating a shield with his body and murmurs, “then take my strength.”

And Magnus, after a soft, surprised gasp, does.

Alec gives until his eyes are heavy and his vision dark, but he can feel the intimate press of layer after layer of magic around and against him. And as he falls into unconsciousness, he only barely manages to register Magnus catching him and he smiles.

Alec was raised to be a mastermind and while he didn’t know it would happen like this, his goal has always been to get where he is.

In Magnus’ arms.

[rainestorm-days]

Shin didn’t dream of the voice this night.

She saw winding tunnels, crystals glistening through them all. A certain glow to some, speaking of a greater power within. She almost wished it had been the voice that woke her, not the whistling in her mind, one crystal particularly violent, dragging her towards it. As she reached out towards it, hoping she would stop, Shin was lifted out of the dream and into the real world. Though, her dream was too real. The pull was still there. Even blinking awake, seeing nothing in the space. Just gentle breaths beside her on the ground. Sabine must have laid them down at some point. Shin barely was aware of anything once she was in her arms. Tucking into her hair, her side. Keeping her tucked so close, nothing could tear her away.

All Shin could really think of was the friends she had, so many years ago now. All kids on the street, a tangled mess of limbs at night as they tucked close for warmth and safety, all waking up if one got taken by stormtroopers. Or clones? It wasn’t always clear. She was lucky. They never paid her much attention. Until…they needed to. But by then Baylan arrived. She was safe. Everyone else…well they didn’t really matter. Burning not much later. Their faces were a blur in her mind now, just some little part of her past she wanted to forget.

Power flared to life in her, slumbering just moments before with her. She wished she would have been able to sleep longer. Not sparked awake by some little sound. Some energy. She tucked herself closer to Sabine, taking deep breaths, hands gently against the cold metal of her armor. Sabine responded mindlessly, pulling her closer, not ever wanting to let go. Shin didn’t either, taking Sabine’s hand on her side between her own hands, gloves taken off at some point, by Sabine perhaps, warmth touching her bare hands, little thin scars across her palms. She tried to quiet the power, the chaos. Think of Sabine next to her. Closing her eyes, she felt the space between them, the bond. No longer some gap to jump across. More like stepping into a soul so similar to her own, it felt no different. Just more colorful. Sabine lived in color, in art. She ran deeper, carefully so as not to wake Sabine. She tried to remember the feeling she’d been guided through, to where she could see their bond physically. Where it stood before the void. She saw a glimpse of it, coming closer to herself again rather than hidden within Sabine’s soul. The golden scarred building was less crumbly, but something like an earthquake rumbled around her. Dust and small debris falling around it. She saw the tangle of threads of herself, knots everywhere, string stretching out, consuming more into its mess. All green. She couldn’t even see the gold threads anymore. As if it was lost within the chaos. How much was herself? What was true?

Read the rest on Ao3!!

[sacrilegious-skeletal-scribe]

a knife to the floor, a swear between teeth (hubris, meet euphoria)

those concerned bystanding/ demand answers/

the second your tongue laced back into something they recognized/

offered smiles/ that glinted like evenly spaced fluorescent lights/

like the state-sponsored buzz of light bars and vomit/

you said it burned/ 

because that was the first word you could grate your teeth across/ without gagging/

they told you it felt like fire/ like ash/

that it must’ve charred your insides/ poor soul/

turned those softredpinks/ to bleedyellowpus/

they might’ve even been correct/

if fire feels like lightning/ and jagged metal/ and a conduit between heavens/

if the concept of fire is flexible enough/ to convey a bolt of the sky itself/

that slammed through your spine and refused to let go/

if ash/ is the correct word form for the gummy surety that blaze left behind/

something holy and agonizing seethed through your body/

and all that is left is debris/ and cold grey viscera/

you are clearly a patient/ in need of a hospital and supervision/

who better to asses your body then overworked strangers/

you wouldn’t want the news vultures to get ahold of your address/

assure the bloated ticks/ with microphones taped to their mouths/

there is a question on the tip of your tongue/ when the spotlights start to shift/

a knot of syllables/ that renders little more than perfunctory attention/

as dead eyes settle/ into knobs and bedsprings and what’s left of your blinds/

when the tangled sheets halfway down your throat really start to make a fuss/

burning still isn’t the right word though/ is it?

unless fire can feel like the back trail of an ice cube/

like a cool hollow/ the space between sunrises/

where insistence likes to scrabble toward the roof of bleeding mouths/

it feels like death/ like a barrel of roaches climbing over each other/ 

climbing over you/ climbing towards that refrigerated terror/ 

pain and fear and vomit thawing under the excited eye of a fresh-faced moon/

the cool loam of being waterboarded with pond scum/

the average weight of a lifespan slipping down your throat faster than your gag reflex can buck/

a horrid parasite/ content to curl in your stomach and subsume all that falls above it/

it feels like the worst eight hours of your life/

but keep that description to yourself/ in case of future use/

night’s still young/ after all/

scream until your anguish echoes back/

having filled the sky and found no other direction but back down/

let your chest empty in as many ways as you can manage/

turn that churning cavern to the air between the notes/

to black space in a packed theater house/

let silence define the edges of noise/

darkness is color and only the ocean could tell you otherwise/

find the depth within core metals and molten rocks and decompression sickness/

anticipation spoiling the dread already laced in exhaustion/

as much as lead could ever poison mercury/

let the poison reach your tongue and find surface tension/

let it dribble to the concrete/ without form/

no bear trap/ no lantern-fish/

just stomach bile/

past and future/

wander into the pool once the drains have swallowed all there was to take/

as tiles reach air for the first time in millennia/

and try not to scream when the lights kiss low fog/

lay against water-smoothed rock/ and breathe/

feel your limbs drag across sand/ and cement/ and breathe/

the stars were always a threat/ but they aren’t for you/

you need not breed fear for the silence/ the vast and empty/

it presses in only as greeting/ a directionless hello/

from the gash between the whole/ the filled/

the nowoncealways broken/

the hissing vacant/

whatever its worst qualities/ the hollow between orbits is not cruel/

fill a rusting pot/ and drown your callouses in pine needles/

but don’t take that waiting eye from your stove/

a saucepan of burnt water has little to fear of the hole behind your clavicle/

and the mess on your floor can’t seep into your cabinets by itself/

force the volume higher until your teeth ache with it/ until the air starts to claw at your chest/ 

beating its way into any cavern big enough to hold it/

let it scrabble and tear/ until the landlord slides out from the nest in your kidneys/

and really starts to writhe/ trying to cry and scream its way past the sheer noise/

let it peel back skin until somebody’s throat goes out/

burning really skews the pull of ash and crumbling teeth/

pulls at the edges of spotlight burns/ heat and pus and dangerorangecaputuredsun/

that lapped up cave paintings/ killed fields and devoured trees/

but what else is there/

the owner of those shrieking nerve endings is not known for their brevity/

and fire is nothing if not succinct//

[mediocre-daydreams]

bucky’s bluetooth blues (one shot)

pairing: bucky barnes x gn! reader

summary: bucky just tore his last pair of earbuds trying to untangle them. when tony brings home airpods for the avengers, he’s faced with problem number two

W/C: 1.4k

A/N: i’ve never written for bucky before i feel like in different fics he’s always got such different personalities so i guess this is grumpy! technologically incompetent! bucky

“goddamnit, these stupid electrostrings-” the wires of bucky’s brand new earbuds were tangled around his flesh fingers, tightening as he attempted to detangle them. his teeth were gritted with impatience.

“the fuck, man? you look like you’re stuck in one of those chinese finger traps,” sam threw himself onto the couch beside bucky, arm slouching over the cushion behind the super soldier’s back.

“leave me alone, sam.” bucky was very focused on his electrostrings. yesterday was his ma’s birthday, and he didn’t have anything to remember her by except her favorite songs, which is how he ended up in this predicament. last time he tried listening to 40s music in the compound, tony and sam ridiculed him until he gave up trying to fiddle with the volume buttons and just tossed his phone into a corner, where it cracked and went silent. tony stopped commenting on bucky’s music after that.

thus, bucky walked to the corner store this morning and bought himself a pair of electrostrings earbuds. now, here he was, back in sam’s firing range—the very place he had done all this to avoid.

bucky groaned, tossing his head back as his adam’s apple bobbed in frustration. he tugged a little harder. snap! there, in his metal hand, was a singular earbud with a cord hanging loosely from its end, like some fucked up electrical tampon. the exposed wires against bucky’s metal arm made him flinch.

“hey birdie,” you rounded the corner, giving sam a nod in greeting. “hey bu- woah, what happened here?” you rushed to bucky’s side, kneeling between his open legs. you couldn’t help the snort that escaped your mouth as you admired the mess he’d made.

“i don’t want to hear anything,” bucky grumbled. he was shrinking into himself, slouching, with his bottom lip jutting out just a tiny bit, you had to bite down a smile at the sight of him. you sat yourself down on bucky’s other side, stretching yourself out to sprawl over bucky’s legs and resting your head on sam’s lap.

“someone’s being a real sourpuss today, huh?” you raised your eyebrows at sam. he quirked one in return.

“how ever will we improve his highness’ mood?” sam tapped his chin thoughtfully. “ben and jerry’s americone dream?”

“we could take him to see his exhibit in the smithsonian and talk about how handsome he was in his youth,” you piped in. “or… you could wait for tony to come back in like-” you tapped the screen of your phone to check the time. bucky looked up in surprise, still used to reading wristwatches. “-two minutes. he just did a little photoshoot or dress-up play date or techie collab or something with apple and they’re giving him a bunch of airpods. it’s not like he needed them to be free anyway, but you know how tony is. the stingiest billionaire i’ve ever met… also the only billionaire i’ve ever met.”

tony sauntered in, swinging a plastic yellow baggie with a smiley face, shoes clicking on the polished tile. “hey bitches,” he announced, looking over his sunglasses to examine the tangle of limbs that had made a home on his very expensive white leather couch. you could hear the clinking of what you presumed to be airpod cases as he dug his hands into the goodies, trying to collect a generous handful. then, he tore his hand out of the bag and flung the airpods in the air at you, in the same fashion you’d “make it rain” with dollar bills for a stripper.

you scrambled into a seated position. bucky immediately adjusted himself to shield your body from the torrent of airpods, one hand coming up to cover his face while the other instinctively wrapped a protective arm around your waist. you noticed it was his metal one.

sam was the only one to leap out of his seat, hands cupped to catch one of the cases before they hit the floor. he held it up in a fist triumphantly, much to tony’s satisfaction.

“now that’s what i’m talking about! c’mon guys, your favorite billionaire brings you some toys and he doesn’t get a thank you?” bucky rolled his eyes, but you grinned, biting your lip to hide your amusement at the eccentric genius’ enthusiasm.

“thank youuuu, tony,” you drawled, extending each vowel out sarcastically. he seemed satisfied.

you reached to pick up one of the cases off the ground, presenting it to bucky. you were pleasantly surprised to see they were the unreleased airpod pro 2s—maybe tony cared more than he let on. he caught your eye, the tips of his ears tinging pink as he quickly unraveled his arm from around you, realizing he had been enjoying your comfort for far too long.

“so, bucko. do you know what bluetooth is?” he shook his head, lips pursed. you extended a hand. “can i see your phone?” from in between the couch cushions, bucky wrangled his phone—caseless and littered with screen fractures—into your hands. you were about to ask for his password when you realized he didn’t have one. we’ll get to that problem later, you thought.

“do you use spotify or apple music?” bucky looked at you as if you had grown a second head.

“that’s okay!” you smiled reassuringly as you looked up at him, peering from beneath your eyelashes with doe-like softness. his heart pounded as he glowed under your gaze—technology always did make him nervous.

“hm, it looks like you don’t have an account on either. i can help you set up a spotify account super quickly; you just need to sign in with your apple id!” there is was, the third head. you grimaced, realizing you had been severely overestimating bucky’s understanding of the modern world.

“you know what? let me just log into my own account. it was your ma’s birthday yesterday, right? are you trying to find 40s music? spotify has some pre-curated playlists…” you trailed off, tapping with technological prowess bucky couldn’t help but marvel at.

you had remembered his ma’s birthday, he realized. even steve hadn’t said something. not only that, but you had known exactly why he was trying to listen to music, and now you were finding him the songs from his childhood, and you were doing it because you were, well, you. kind, thoughtful, nurturing you. he barely registered himself as he tucked a lock of hair that had fallen into your eyes behind your ear. you met his eye once more and flashed him another dazzling smile.

“sorry. you looked so focused, i- i didn’t want to disturb you,” he smiled back sheepishly, blue eyes flickering down with hesitation. you brushed your hand over his, which had frozen midair after he had caught himself in the act, running your thumb up and down the side of one of his fingers. he was so glad for his flesh hand at that moment, relishing the feel of your warm, soothing touches against his dangerous hand.

“s’okay, buck. i appreciate it. here, all you have to do is put the airpod in your ear and press the big button on your screen, like this.” you wiggled one of the airpods into his ear and guided his finger towards the play button. his eyes widened as golden brass began playing.

he tore the airpod out of his ear. put it back in. he repeated the cycle a few times, baffled. “how does the sound get there? there’s no wire… but how does nobody else hear anything? where is the music coming from?” he held his phone up in bewilderment. “from here?”

you laughed, pushing the hand clutching his phone back into his lap. “i’ll explain everything to you some time. but you just enjoy your mom’s birthday, alright?” with one last look, you shifted your weight as you began to stand. bucky grabbed your forearm, eyebrows furrowed.

“wait…” he took the other airpod out of its case and held it out to you, almost like an olive branch. “listen with me?” your face lit as you accepted the airpod and settled back to where you were sitting before. struck with a burst of courage—perhaps a gift from his late mother as she smiled down at him—he wrapped his metal arm around your waist once more, and the two of you settled between the couch cushions, lost in the romantic tunes of the 40s.

[happybird16]

Cake

Levi Ackerman / Reader

Summary: Confined to bed rest after receiving an injury, you're bored. Beyond bored. And lonely. And now it's your birthday. Miraculously, your crush brings you cake.

Warnings: Some mention of blood, Idiots crushing on each other, fluff.

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/37154371

Word Count: 1.4k

Note: Hi! It's my birthday! I couldn't help myself and wrote a short little fic in celebration.

You’re sore, stiff and you shift in your seated position. Sitting is tolerable at best, but your body still protests the movement. The last expedition had been a disaster, though that wasn’t a change of pace. This time, however, you had paid the price.

A 7 meter Titan had wandered too close to your regiment. The kill should have been easy, it was something you’ve done dozens of times. The grip of your hooks was clean, your movement steady. However, you hadn’t anticipated a new scout moving to take your kill. They’d fired their wires directly into yours, metal twisting with metal. They twisted up, slicing into you as you frantically released your grip. Slamming to the ground, the wires had tangled with your limbs, pinning them against you in a bloody mess. Now a carefully packaged meal, the titan had quickly lifted you up in its tight grasp.

Delirious from your sudden impact with the ground, you could only watch helplessly as you were lifted towards the giant mouth. You hadn’t even been able to breath, it’s grip had been so tight. Levi had saved you, barking at the inexperienced scout as he flew through the air. Slicing the Titan down himself with a furious look in his eye. After releasing the wires from around you with a quick cut, he’d quickly untangled you from their biting grasp. You'd been delirious, bleeding, and barely conscious from the pain. He’d looked like a saving angel crouched above you, titan blood steaming off of his cloak. Beautiful.

He’s a relatively new part of the squad. After the massacre of Squad Flagon, he’d been sorted into yours, under the command of Squad Leader Erwin. He’s always been quiet, tending to stay in the background and observe. You could never tell if he’s moping or just shy. He’s cute. Handsome even. Mysterious. You couldn’t help but be entranced. You’d caught him watching you across the field a couple times, but he’d always immediately look away. You’d developed a bit of a crush, if you were honest, and now he’d saved your life.

Your vision started spotting with black as he checked the severity of your wounds. Blood pulsing in your ears, you could barely hear yourself whimpering and calling his name. Balancing you into his horse, you’d blacked out as he rose to sit behind you, arms holding you in place. He’d been calling your name, you think. You remember the deep tenor breaking through the ringing of your ears.

When you awoke, you were already in the walls. The infirmary was almost overflowing with scouts, Nurses bustling about in the commotion. Wrapping you in bandages, one of them informed you of your injuries. Your back and arms were covered in lacerations from the metal wire; stitches sealing the wounds in several locations. Several of your ribs were also broken, so movement would be limited for several months.

You're bored. Deathly, disastrously bored. You normally enjoy peace and quiet, but this is almost smothering. Having been moved to your room, you're now confined to short walks to the bathroom. You don’t even leave to get your own meals. Nothing but four walls and the attention of an occasional nurse to keep you company. Over the last few weeks, a couple people have come to visit, including that new scout, but it’s mostly just been lonely.

Terribly lonely.

And now it’s your birthday.

You don’t really tend to celebrate, it’s mostly just a normal day now that you're older. There’s always a letter from your parents; a couple of cheerful greetings from your fellow scouts. You’ve made a tradition of riding into town and buying yourself a slice of cake. Sitting alone in a small bakery and enjoying the silence. Now you can’t even do that and the silence has become too loud.

You can’t even read anymore, having finished book after book after book in your convalescence. Your eyes feel dried out, burning from staring at nothing but white pages day after day. You desperately wish you could get back to training, or at least get up and take a walk. Your fingers itch; you ache to do something; anything. It’s exhausting, saddening; you just want your slice of cake.

You're glaring at the pages again when you hear a soft knock on your door. “Come in?” You didn’t think anyone was going to visit today. It’s already late in the afternoon.

Levi walks in with a medium white box in hand, closing the door softly behind him. You're surprised to see him. He hadn’t even come to visit you once you’d gotten settled. He seems a bit hesitant, unsure as he moves to your bedside.

“Here.” His words are gruff as he drops the small box into your lap. It’s from the bakery you frequent. Levi got you a cake?

“I noticed that you go every year. Happy Birthday.” His ears are tinged red, there’s a soft pink blushing his cheeks.

“T…thanks.” The gesture is surprising. You didn’t even know he thought about you besides the occasional glance. You’d only shared a scant few conversations before he’d saved your life. They were nice, albeit short. He’d seemed so shy during them. At the time you’d wanted them to go on and on.

You open the box, the cardboard container creaking beneath your grip. The cake is round, coated in a soft white frosting. There are little frosted roses curling along the edge, wrapping the desert in shades of pink and red. It even has your name written on it.

“You didn’t have to do this.” There's a sudden heat building in your cheeks. He’d ordered you a cake.

“Shut up. Here.” He’d apparently brought along a plate and utensils too. The metal fork and knife clatter across the plate as he shoves them towards you.

“It’s too big for just me. Have some too.” Shifting with a light hiss, you grab a dish and fork from your bedside table, left over from lunch. He wrinkles his nose as you as you cut yourself a slice onto the used dishware. You smile, making sure your slice has a big rose on it. Another slice is placed on the plate he’d brought and you shove the porcelain back into his hands.

He seems befuddled for a moment, ears still red, as he pauses to stare down at the desert. He sighs before moving to sit at the chair by your bedside.

With a soft hum, you take a bite. It’s not your favorite flavor, but there’s no way he could have known that. The dessert is light and airy, the frosting sweet on your tongue. You close your eyes, savoring the moment. You got your birthday cake. Levi had gone out of his way to get it for you.

You hear the clink of metal against porcelain as he takes his first bite. Opening your eyes, you watch as he grimaces at the taste.

“It’s too fucking sweet.” He clicks his tongue, taking another bite despite his protest. It’s not, but you know he probably doesn’t have much experience with sweets.

“They have other flavors. You should try them and see if there’s one you like.” While he seems content eating this flavor right now, you think he’d prefer something with a bit of a darker or nuttier taste. “You know they have a green tea one I think you’d love.”

“Maybe next year.” He says distractedly, glaring down at the slice. His ears are now bright red, you feel your own heat up. Your breath catches, butterflies filling your stomach.

“Yeah. Maybe next year.” You hum in response. You can’t help but smile. He wants to eat cake with you again. “Or.. we could go as soon as I’m better. Celebrate.” The offer is shy despite his obvious interest.

“S..ure.” He stutters, still glaring down at his cake. His face is beat red as he raises his gaze to meet yours. “I’d like that.”

“H..how are your ribs by the way?” The words come out in a directed stammer, his eyes bouncing back down to the plate resting on his knee. You can’t help but smile wide. Happy. Responding, you take another bite of the soft sponge. Despite your injuries, this birthday didn’t turn out too bad.

[mishkakagehishka]

Maintenance

Dedicated to @meowyoi <3 thanks for being insane with me Fandom: Ensemble Stars!! Word count: 1846 Summary: Considering Mika's nature as an android, it is only logical that his maintenance should be very thorough, leaving no room for mistake or the possibility of something being overlooked. However, this maintenance is usually performed by Shu's skilled hands. In his absence, Mika is forced to complete his own maintenance for the first time, and it goes wrong in a way he couldn't even dream of. Warnings: angst with no resolution, body horror (though Mika is a robot here, I tried to evoke the imagery of it), lmk if I missed anything that should be given a warning

The sound of metal scraping, struggling to move, permeates the silence in the room lit up by a single candle. A pained moan escapes Mika’s lips as he leans on the wall for balance with one hand, a screwdriver in the other. Shu is in Paris, still. He can’t help Mika, so Mika has to help himself. But the pants and the groans come out sounding wrong, just as wrong as his words, his singing. It’s off, all of it. His voice sounds too unnatural, too robotic. He has to fix it.

He pulls his hand from the wall, using it to palm around his neck instead. Searching. His nails hook themselves in the gaps between the rest of his neck and the small compartment, hidden away behind a panel. Unable to see it in the floor mirror he stood in front of, he keeps the panel pressed under his palm to lock the position in his mind, before bringing the screwdriver to his neck. He takes a deep breath. There are no screws to unscrew. “Too unseemly,” Shu had explained. He has to do it the hard way. Mika hooks the screwdriver in the gap, prying his neck compartment open in a single turn of the wrist, crying out in pain. With his free hand, he wipes away the tears that gathered in his eye. He breathes out. The panel squeaks, dangles open.

With shaking hands, he reaches in. He’s afraid to mess up, to make a mistake, to break himself, but nevertheless he reaches in. His fingers curl around the cords that make up his flesh, pushing them out of the way, creating a path to his vocal box – a literal, small cube that housed his “voice” and all it was capable of. “N’ah!” His hand pulls back, and he yelps once more when he accidentally pulls one or two – he couldn’t tell – of the cords out in his haste. He burnt his finger on the fried vocal box. Biting his lip, he steels his nerves and reaches in once more, pulling the cords to the side with his other hand, hoping it would make the job easier. His breathing quickens. “Oshi-san…” he whimpers, as if calling for his teacher would transport him to him. Like a child calling for its mother in fear. He takes a breath. He holds it. And with a quick motion, he plucks the vocal box out of his throat. His cries – muffled. The vocal box was left, thrown, onto the bed alongside the screwdriver.

But Mika still has work to do. His maintenance is hardly over. His eyes are still dim, his limbs squeaky, and his innards tangled. He can’t dance in this state, he can barely sing, and the last thing he wants is to become useless. To be thrown away. He can’t just sit on his hands waiting for Shu to return to fix him, he has to learn to be independent. He has to learn to take care of himself, he can’t just stay a burden on Shu. It’s about time he learnt to do maintenance solo, anyway. Well, the hardest part – taking out his vocal box – is over with now, at least. Even rearranging the main cables in his torso never hurt as much as that. And, as he was thinking on it, he decided that that would make for a good next step. But he still feels breathless, nauseous just from the vocal box. Shaking fingers once more find themselves on his neck, touching and grazing until they find the panel. Its dangling makes his skin crawl, it always does, but he can’t close it – he doesn’t want to pry it open again when it’s time to insert the new vocal box. He wants to sigh, but with no voice, all that comes out is the mechanical whirring of his vocal gears spinning around emptiness.

Soon enough, his shirt finds company among the screwdriver and fried box on the bed, and Mika started fumbling about the drawers. He knows Shu keeps spare parts in one of his dressers, he just can’t remember which one. And though he feels guilty about going through his teacher’s belongings, there’s nothing he can do about that in this situation. He will simply have to beg for forgiveness if Shu notices something is out of place – which is exactly why he’s trying so hard not to make a mess. Thankfully, he only saw Shu’s shirts before he hit the jackpot, and found the compartment dedicated to his upkeep. The oilcan, a small bottle of motor oil, more tools – among which are specialised rods and pincers that made sorting his wiring out easier – and then some rags, detergent, and polish. His gaze paused on the spare parts, sifting through the eyes and limbs to get to the new vocal box. With the box and tools cradled in his hands, he walks back towards the mirror, and sits in front of it on the floor.

Stretching backwards to reach the bed, Mika grabs the screwdriver. He’s going to have to pry open the panel on his torso this time. Opening it took only a single motion that he barely even felt, as his torso isn’t as sensitive as his neck. But it seems like the mess was worse than what he was expecting. The moment the panel flopped open, out came various cables, all tangled among each other. “That don’t look right…” he thought, pressing his lips into a pout. The screwdriver discarded once more, he gathers up most of the wires in his hands, keeping them from touching the floor too much. There was a trick to this, he remembers Shu mentioning it once. He sure does wish he were a bit more attentive back then. But it’s his own body – he can figure it out. He knows he can.

With the help of a rod, he managed to detangle about a third of the cables. Tongue sticking out from between his teeth, brows furrowed in concentration, he struggled against the more complicated bunches before ultimately giving up. His hand clenches and unclenches around the rod, out of frustration, out of confusion. His eyes jump from wall to wall as he tries to come up with the solution – and then it hits him when his glance once more falls on the mirror. He can’t see. If he could see, this would go so much easier. Of course, with neither the candle that still burnt on the table next to the mirror helping his sight, he knows that the problem is in his eyes. They must have collected dust, or gotten otherwise dirty, which is why his sight is so fogged up, so dark now. He was planning on polishing them, anyway. Perhaps, he should have done that first and saved himself the trouble, but he never was the smartest robot.

At least the eyes are a piece of cake. They aren’t exactly secured in his head, so taking them out and putting them in is about as simple as doing the same with contact lenses would be to a normal person. First, he makes sure the rag is prepared with the liquid Shu uses to shine and clean his eyes, knowing he won’t be able to do so blind (or, at least, it would be much harder). And then Mika leans forward, holding a hand under his eyes before slapping the back of his head with the other hand – and out pop his eyes, dangling by the cords that connect them to his “brain”. Shu never liked that method of taking them out. Using nothing but his sense of touch to get around, he cleans and polishes his right eye first to the best of his abilities. And he leans back, holding that same eye with the tips of his fingers above his head, letting the cord bunch up and fall back into the cavity, before he’s able to push the eyeball itself into the same hole. He blinks that eye once, twice to sharpen the image, and glances back at the mirror to see if all looks right. And he pauses.

In the reflection, he doesn’t see the human he has been convinced he is. No. He sees something unnatural. Mika sees himself, clearer than ever. One polished-to-a-shine amber eye staring back at him. The other, dangling, swinging from a cord in the most disturbing manner, revealing a cavity with nothing but deep, sterile darkness behind it. And the more he looks, the more he wishes he could find the strength to look away. His main panels were still open. He did more damage to the cords in his throat than he thought. One sparking dangerously, a few more pulled out and hanging down to his clavicle. Not to mention the horror that was his stomach; the untangled cables that reached the floor, or the still-tangled bunches that gathered in his lap – he couldn’t decide which made him want to throw up more. How could he have ever been convinced he was a human? He’s a monster. A mistake. An abomination.

Mika stopped breathing for a moment when those words registered in his mind. Stopped breathing. Did he ever even need to breathe? Does he even have a mind? His hands are shaking, why are they shaking? He has no heart, so what is that pounding in his ears and chest? He leans forward, cold, metal hand meeting the cold, glass mirror. The eye that looks back at him holds no soul behind it. The pupil can’t widen in shock, neither can the whites of his eye redden from the tears. Tears. How is he crying? Violently, his hand rubs away his tears, one after the other, but they don’t stop. How is he crying? Who is he? Mika Kagehira. Who gave him that name? Who made him? Both hands now lean on the mirror, he’s abandoned even trying to stop the tears, but no sounds come out. He can’t make any, not without a metal box in his throat. His mouth still opens and closes, trying to make a sound. In vain. Only the gears respond in desperate whirring. Desperation. Terror. Panic. Why can’t he see anything in his eye? He leans in far enough that he could kiss the mirror if he so pleased. He wants to see, he wants to see something so bad. He wants to see proof of himself, of his existence, of a soul, of anything. Of him being more than just a machine. More than just a doll. Who is he? His hands clench into fists, he wants to scream, he wants to cry, he wants to… What is he? Does it even matter? This is proof – the cables spilling out from where his guts should have been, all those gears and the cold metal he calls his skin, that emptiness, the soulless look, in his eye – it’s all proof. He can play pretend, he can dance and sing, he can imitate and mirror.

But he will never be a human.

[another-fantasy-world]

The Missing Link Pt. 2

gif isn’t mine

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Title: The Missing Link

Pairings: Natasha Romanoff x Reader, Wanda Maximoff x Reader, Natasha Romanoff x Wanda Maximoff, Natasha Romanoff x Reader x Wanda Maximoff, Avengers x Reader

Summary: in which the deadly spider and the girl with red wisps find their missing piece in an ancient technophile.

Or in which the lethal couple learns the full extent of the soulmate bond through their missing link.

Chapter Summary: The Council pesters their youngest's mates and effectively annoying her as the Avengers come up with a decision.

Warnings: Blood. Violence. Mentions of War, Manipulation and Insecurities. 16+, Mentions of Seggs and Implied seggsual activities, a whole lot of cuss words. Mind games and Manipulation

Additional Tags: Reader being an idiot. Hidden leaders manipulating the world in the shadows. Poor Characterization. 

Reader Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 5,709 words

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You always woke up with a scowl on your face, your nose picking up the scent of oil, metal and coffee while you rubbed your eyes to get rid of any drowsiness and morning ickies before taking a shower, changing clothes and take your breakfast while doing work.

Yet today you woke up with stiff limbs, and a comfortable weight draped across you. You shot your eyes open only to be bombarded with a mess of red hair from both sides of you. The scent of spiced peaches paired with strawberries and fresh baked bread almost lulled you back to sleep. You blinked, not quite yourself yet, you lean up to move only to be gifted with annoyed groans and a slap to the chest by a certain Russian spy.

“Okay, okay I'm not getting up then.” You rasped out, bringing your hands up to stroke their hair.

“Not yet.” Wanda mumbled, hand moving across your chest to find Nat's hand and intertwining them together.

“Why is it so bright in here” Natasha groaned

“The windows and lights mimic the natural light and scenery outside despite being so deep underground, it's currently 1:26 pm so it really is bright out.”

The three on you stayed tangled in bed for a few more minutes, your arm bent at impossible angles and your wrist elongated just to play with their hair freely.

“You seem like Rapunzel but with wrists instead of hair.” Wanda chuckled after yawning, getting up when Nat shook her to get her to get up.

“Well, I can make every part of my body the way I want them to. I just need to consume metals for me to do so. I can make myself taller, or make my fingers longer and so on.” You say while putting a shirt over your head, your lovers somewhat feel annoyed at how innocent you sounded

“Is there anything on our agenda today?” Natasha asks

“No. Well, aside from my paperwork. You guys can borrow the training room if your team wants to go and train.”

Wanda smiles brightly as she walks between the two of you, both of you were talking about stuff that was work related and she couldn't help but giggle at the thought of having 2 workaholic soulmates. She remembers the first night they arrived, after settling in their own separate rooms, Natasha and Wanda walked with you to your own side in this underground mansion of yours. Natasha remarked that this mansion of yours seemed more like a maze to which you just laughed gleefully saying that it's supposed to be a maze and continued on with the small game of getting to know each other.

You had slept on your desk that night because you didn't want them to be uncomfortable. (despite them saying that they want you on the bed and just settled with your excuse of “Oh okay, I'll sleep beside Wanda later, I'll just finish my report.” You didn't. You slept on your desk and they had to witness a traumatizing scene when you cracked your neck to get it back in its place) When you woke up, you went to your kitchen but LILA intercepted saying that she should use the kitchen on the Avengers' side because they will be freaked out when they wake up. You grumbled but walked to the other side anyways, cooking meals for the Avengers before elaborating things the best that you can. You then toured them around the base, advising them to ask help from LILA to get around or else they will get lost.

Now, five days later, they have become accustomed to the technology that was surrounding them (Excluding Steve who grumbled about having more things to learn and not being able to catch up), from the floor cleaners to the wall and ceiling polishers up to the highly sophisticated humanoid robot assistants that made the whole place seem like it's filled with people.

“-nda”

“-anda”

“WANDA” Wanda blinked in surprise, looking back and forth between you and Natasha

“Sorry. What?”

“Are you okay?

“I asked you what you wanted for brunch.” You added after Natasha, worried looks plastered on both of your faces

“I'm okay, and is it okay if we do a European dish? I'm getting tired of American and Mexicano.”

“Beef Stroganoff it is then. I've been meaning to cook that dish since it rhymes with both of your surnames.”

And so the three of you prepared and cooked in perfect sync, a soft tune playing in the background, soft hugs and kisses shared every chance you get. Laughter and giggles accompanying the sizzles and sounds of the knife that Natasha wields, the sound of Wanda's spatula scraping the bottom of the pan and your soft humming while you prepare the other ingredients.

“Talia~” You cooed, bothering Natasha since she's done with her task and is now leisurely sipping coffee

“What?” She chuckled, the nickname you gave her made butterflies thrash wildly in her stomach and was slowly fluttering to her heart.

“Can you taste this custard cream for the Sfogliatella?” You say while lifting the spoon up to the smirking woman's lips

She took the spoon into her mouth without moving her hands, looking up to your stunned, blinking eyes, amusement shining in her own. She then took the spoon and made a show of licking it all off. Enjoying the way you were practically shutting down and malfunctioning.

“Nattie, what did you do?” Wanda peeked out from behind you, staring at Natasha with a playful scolding glance.

“Nothing! I just ate what she gave me.” Natasha shrugged, licking her lips. “It's sweet. It's perfect, love.” You just nodded and turned around as if on auto-pilot

Wanda giggled and pulled Natasha for a kiss, the taste of the custard cream and Natasha's lemon chapstick mixing. Only Natasha would choose lemon flavoring for a fucking chapstick. They pulled away when they hear the sound of metal clashing together.

“Shit.”

They looked at you and the half absorbed baking pan that's sticking out of your abdomen.

“It's not my fault!” You panicked and rambled on about seeing them kiss and getting distracted which only got cut off when they both pecked your lips before resuming to the task at hand

–

“Sfogliatella! Techie give me one!” Ilaria whined as she slammed the door open, making you groan

“Ugh I knew it.” You grumbled, pushing the plate to the 6 menace that invaded your private quarters

“The tingly feeling warned you?” Vik asks, draping herself across your couch.

“It's more of the annoying feeling of underlying irritation.”

“Rude. You have gotten so rude.” Daria pouted like a child making your soulmates wonder if these people were really the same creatures that scared the shit out of them just a few days ago.

“Let's get down to business.” Alexandria sternly says, stiffly sitting on one of your reclining seats with Lucille beside her, sitting on its arm

“Y/N can you get the Avengers from the other side? You “room” is big enough to be a comfortable conference room.” Wyanne says calmly

“Why don't we just walk to the actual conference room then?” You snarked

“Don' wanna.” Ilaria mumbled

“I don't wanna walk that far.” Daria sighed

“Your circular mansion is literally bigger than my house.” You rolled your eyes, hands wandering to your lovers just to calm yourself. Bickering with your sisters often turn into a violent playfighting and you were ready to whisk your lovers away in case that happens

“This is more of a dungeon than a house dorogusha moya.” Vik smirks, her russian accent strong and it makes Natasha perk up

“You make me sound like a pervert.” You grumbled

“Come on, I'll join you.” Wanda says, moving to stand up, only to be stopped with Daria who was grinning and gripping her arm, not enough to hurt her or you would absolutely blast her through and into the sand outside your walls.

“Absolutely not. SHE is gonna go out there and fetch your friends and WE are going to talk.”

“Daria.” You gritted out

“I agree.”

“Me too.”

And other sounds of affirmation sounded out from your sisters' mouth, making you realize what they truly came into your room for.

“Absolutely unbelievable. You all are jerks. Assholes. A bunch of arrogant bitche-” Wyanne had enough of your crude insults and sent you off with a sigh. A soft glimmer of gold flashed before you completely vanished, making Wanda quirk her eyebrow

“You can totally do that too if you want.”

“You can also use your wisps to make a wall and bump Y/N into it when she's being stubborn. We can teach you.” Daria grinned wider, obviously thinking of teaching Wanda stuff just to annoy you

“Pardon them. They're just excited that our youngest finally found her other halves.” Lucille smiled warmly at both of them

“So how is it?” Ilaira grinned, now sitting infront of Natasha

“How is what?” Natasha quirked her eyebrow

“Ugh! How is Y/N in bed! Duh?”

“Did she use the toys she collected throughout the years?” Daria starts

“Did she make her fingers longer?” Ilaria followed

“Did she make her fingers vibrate?” Wyanne wiggled her brows

“Did she make her tongue vibrate?” Vik smirked

“Oh enough you lot. Their faces are as red as their hair.” Lucille smacked all of them on the head

“They haven't done it yet.” Alex's voice cuts through the air

“Bet you 10 gold they haven't even kissed yet.” Her voice turns playful as she smirks

“I'm in.” They all say simultaneously before turning to look at the red-faced pair

“I bet that they at least kissed once.” Ilaria's eyes twinkled

“I bet that Y/N can't take her hands off them” Daria smirks

“Y/N's not a horndog like you Daria. I bet Y/N's shy and haven't initiated the kiss” Wyanne swats her lover

“Oh come on! They've gotta kiss once! Right Alex darlin'?” Lucille turns to her wife who just shrugged

“Agreed, Or else my lessons would've been in vain.” Vik scoffs

They, however, didn't get to know who the winner is due to the rest of the Avengers arriving.

“Please tell me you haven't traumatized my soulmates.”

“I wouldn't call them traumatized per say.”

“Holy shit! This is your room? This is a fucking mansion!” Sam exclaims

“She's rather much isn't she?” Daria laughs

“She's anti-social. Whenever we need to stay here, she forces us to stay on the other side and locks herself in here.” Ilaria rolls her eyes

“Oh shut up. It's called privacy you nosy cunts.” You scoffed, pulling Natasha and Wanda to a couch to claim it, once seated however, you didn't let go of their hands and instead kept playing with them

“Please don't just stand there. You lot look like misplaced décor. Golden Boy, come sit.” Vik snarks while smirking, patting the space beside her, making the Avengers clamber to find a seat despite having a lot, too much seats, inside your living room.

You snickered when you saw Steve look like the cherry Vik had just been eating a while ago. He sat rigid and stiff beside Viktoriya who languidly draped herself over Captain America himself

“Let's get on with this, I'm sure everyone is antsy, especially since there are a handful of you who don't have their soulmates by your side. Have you made your decision yet?” Alexandria inquired, a steely gaze towards Tony Stark and Steve Rogers, both she considered to be the leaders of the band of misfits they couldn't help but adore.

“We wanted to know the implications upon doing so.” Steve said, coughing to get Vik to stop playing with his hair

“Vik, lay off your soulmate for a while would you? He looks like he's about to turn into mush.” Daria giggled from Wyanne's side

“Well, for one we would need you guys to disappear for a few weeks. It'd be fun to see those uppity dumb-asses in your so called government. I swear to the Gods, we look away for a minute and they go straight down to shit.” You say, rolling your eyes

“That's true. We need to make them realize that imprisoning the very people who risk their lives to save this universe is something that should never cross their minds, nor is putting them on a leash.” Lucille says, a faraway look in her eyes as she tries to come up with a plan that wouldn't play with other people too much.

“HYDRA might run rampant with the Avengers missing from public eye for more than they already have.”

“Then we let them.” Alexandria smirks

“Absolutely not.” You scoffed

“Reason?”

“What of the efforts they have pitched in thus far? We both know that HYDRA's heads regenerate and multiply faster the longer they remain unsupervised!” You were filled with white hot anger, perhaps because you felt like they were disregarding the Avenger's efforts or maybe you just felt like Alex was scrutinizing your soulmates and their friends either way, you couldn't organize your thoughts right now and you couldn't bring yourself to care anymore

“Look at Y/N being so protective.” Vik chuckled

“We'd coordinate with Fury. I'll have him feed information they have about HYDRA to your own network, if your system didn't already have the information, and you can prioritize the organizing their missions. Your council duties can be distributed among us, since you have the second biggest workload among us.” Alex threw you a side eye

“She's a workaholic, let her be.” Lucille smiled

“So we'd still be going on missions?” Natasha asks

“Yes, the only difference is that you'd be working even harder due to the fact that you have to actively hide from public eye. That means that Stark can't use his flashy inventions, Sam can't fly, Thor can't summon a lightning for no reason and so on. For the next few months every mission you guys do would have to be as stealthy as possible.” Alexandria breathed in

“Should you approve, Tony and Bruce would stay here, along with Natasha and Wanda for obvious reasons. Tony would help Y/N with deactivating cameras, intercepting connection and continuously skim through every piece of technology there is to look for anything that can tip the public about the Avengers whereabouts, while also helping your team navigate HYDRA buildings and such. Steve and Sam would stay at Viktoriya's, Clint and Vision would stay at Wyanne and Daria's.” Alex explained

You just sighed out, you really didn't know why you were so worked up and annoyed at your sisters. You really did have a good relationship with them, you just tend to ghost them a lot and would often bury yourself in your work so as to forget the coldness of your home and the stiffness in your limbs.

Yet ever since you met the couple, you had not finished nor touched a single thing related to your work at all. The coldness was filled with warm coffee and soft hugs, the stiffness you felt only came back whenever you find yourself longing for more and you would often chastise yourself for moving too fast. Your days were filled with mini-dates as you cooked for them, and the rest of the avengers but they are hardly important as of this moment. You have binge watched 2 long sitcoms with Wanda promising there were tons more, You have, albeit reluctantly, thrown knifes at Natasha just for the fun of it. You have trained with the both of them, although it can hardly be called training with the amount of straddling and flirting involved. You have shown them your abilities as Wanda showed you hers with Natasha playfully groaning of being the only to not have something that was usually impossible. (Both of you assured her that having the ability to bewitch a witch and the ability to make a technophile feel old school is pretty impossible on its own.)

You were drawn out of your daydream by Nat and Wanda squeezing your hands and the sounds of your sisters' teasing as you found out that they had actually finished the meeting while you were daydreaming. The Avengers had agreed and you joined them in organizing their schedule, from their training up to which days are their day off.

Your “underground dungeon” as Viktoriya say, has always been at the center with your sisters' own home surrounding it, their houses symbolize the four corners of the world with Viktoriya's Castle in the far north, Alexandria and Lucille's Mansion in the south, Ilaria and her wife who settled in the west in their cozy and surprisingly modern home and village, and finally Wyanne and Daria in the east with their circular mansion that really resembled a school for they have their own coven. (You questioned them about their choice of infrastructure, with it being circular and all, and they just responded that it was aesthetically pleasing and unique. Daria snarked that it was better than your disorienting maze of a dungeon and you couldn't snap back at her because she was technically right.) Each house has a room that is hidden from the naked eye, only your sisters and you could see the passageway that connects all 5 of you that was made through magic and technology, a deadly pair as you all discovered.

Once everything was done, everyone scattered and your sisters took their charges and went off to their own territory, promising that they would be back the day after tomorrow after they have settled down. You led Bruce to the medical facility that they have been to before and taught him how to use all of the technology in there along with top notch medical supplies and medicine, plus the potions that Wyanne and Daria concocted. After you finished explaining to him everything, you have him a hand-made book and told him that everything he needs to know and everything you had taught him are all there. You also told him that LILA was always available for every questions he might ask or anything that he may need. He thanked you and you smiled at him, assuring him that should he need to go green, there was an indestructible room down the hall that was usually used whenever you made new weapons that were of nuclear or catastrophic class and he looked horrified at how you just told him that as if it's a regular everyday thing.

The next thing you did was properly tour Tony around, since you know he's been snooping around, thinking of himself as sneaky, you enjoyed his little quips and sarcastic remarks as you tour him around. You also quite liked the twinkle in his eyes when you gave him one of your spare lab (which he shared with Bruce later on) and gave him free reign over it, under the condition that he wouldn't make another Ultron and that he wouldn't destroy it. Any testing needed for suits or weapons would be done in the testing chambers. You also asked him to make a list of everything he needs, materials wise, so you can go and get him his stuff. You pointed to a door just beside his lab and told him that's the door to your own lab and he'll often find you there if not in your room, you encouraged him to share his ideas as you taught him how to use your self made network that was completely separate from the rest of the world. You also told him that during his day offs, he could go to his soulmate, Pepper, and inform her of what is happening should he decide to, only if Wyanne goes with him to protect him with her freaky magic spells.

At the end of the day, you had called the four Avengers with you to the control room where you told them that this is where they would spend majority of their time in. You taught them how communication worked and gave them their communication bands. You taught them how they can browse and search up any information related to their missions and winked at them when you told them that they can view confidential information easily, except of course, those that The Council has hidden themselves.

Once everything they need to know was done, you let Natasha and Wanda drag you back to your room and you let them guide you to rest. They can obviously feel how tired you are, this was the longest time you had socialized and talked with somebody, other than your sisters, that didn't require violence.

They then told you what happened with your sisters when you were gone from the room while cuddling and sleepy and you absolutely just shut down in embarrassment. You woke up apologizing to them, still embarrassed, they smiled and laughed happily, making your embarrassment feel worth it.

–

A couple weeks have passed and there wasn't a single week that hasn't been enjoyable for your slowly growing family

The first week was filled with training sessions and meetings about plans that now included Fury and Agent Hill. The plans were finalized by the end of the week as you watched the world slowly collapse into chaos with the Avengers missing. Come Friday, you found one minor HYDRA base and got ready to proceed with your first mission with the Avengers or Avengers 2.0 as you called them. The moment the Avengers took off in your own fighter jet (that you had to teach Natasha and Clint how to pilot so they can teach the other Avengers if they want to. They both felt like their souls was ripped from them the moment you sped through the skies in full speed and looped around Earth 2 times before finally slowing down as you laughed at their faces. Magic and Technology are truly a dangerous pair) you had also leaked the final copy of the Sokovian Accords and laughed gleefully at the chaos you started. Especially when Thaddeus Ross released a rather sloppy speech about it. Majority of the public blamed the Accords for the disappearance of the heroes that soon evolved into rumours and theories that The Avengers refused the Accords and so the Government imprisoned the heroes themselves. And so it sparked a global debate that quickly spiraled out of hand.

The second week was filled with more missions as the Avengers got used to their new way of fighting, under disguises and more stealth was applied while they were still learning how to use your “clones”. The team quickly adapted and mixed their new and old moves, which was quite fascinating to watch, especially since you're excited to when they actually use your clones and be safe from actual harm. At the end of the week, HYDRA was severely confused and tried retaliating by trying to lure the Avengers out, which ended in a disaster because what they had actually managed to do was expose themselves, which sparked more debate about what the heroes were actually dealing with and soon majority of the world sympathized with the Avengers and silently pleaded for their return. All the while local reinforcements as well as global military forces were at their wits end due to the increase of crime. Alexandria chastised them for being too dependent to the Avengers before holding a meeting with Fury to ask them what their opinions were on partnering SHIELD with the said force in terms of training, which can also serve as a venue for scouting agents for SHIELD. Everyone agreed and they made quick work to make it happen. The United Nations, which was now shattered and barely holding on, quickly approved of the proposed project and soon the new division was created.

The third and fourth week was filled with quiet and peaceful times. As peaceful as it can be between missions and the arrival of 2 new members. A certain metal armed man and a God. They were quickly debriefed and caught up to speed before Bucky was settled to be with his soulmates, Steve and Viktoriya. While Thor had Asgard to return to, so he settled in your place whenever he comes down. You can only shake your head, the amount of interaction you'd experienced these past few days should've made you a cranky machine, but you somehow find yourself enjoying being with them. Enjoying how Wanda laughs at Ilaria and Daria with Tony and Sam joining in, enjoying how Natasha and Vik talked in Russian and them bonding over similar upbringings before you get dragged to join Alex, Lucille and Bruce talks about medicine and just general stuff that nerds talk about. (You got that phrase from Natasha when she dragged you away from your office because Bruce needed your help) You found yourself going with Thor to local stores, with him marveling over how no one could recognize him and you laughing at how he blabbers about his love for pop-tarts and his prank wars with his brother, Loki. You liked the snake incident the most. You then promised him that you'd show your snake collection to him when you have the chance to which he grins happily at and nodded wildly. You also enjoyed laughing at Vik whenever she forgets that Steve and Bucky were older than most but definitely much younger than her. You had to help her whenever “Steeb” and “Bruck” (you smacked her for her poor choice of nicknames) had questions about technological advancements. You also surprisingly enjoyed accompanying Natasha and Clint to his wife's place on one of his weekly day offs and you played with children for the first time. You got extremely sad when it was time to go and made trinkets for the kids. 

The fifth, sixth and seventh week was when everything started changing, Fury said that it was the ideal time to slowly return the Avengers as the authorities were slowly crumbling with all the intergalactic and extraordinary threats. (which were all just a tiny bit exaggerated by Alexandria and Lucille) And so they made it seem like the Avengers were hiding from the public, which first started when a sighting of the Black Widow and Scarlet Witch in Paris quickly went viral due to the fact that it seemed like they were being chased. (You three were merely out on a date. You expected a scolding from Alex but she merely smirked and teased you because of your choice of venue for a first date) Conspiracy Theories started up again and by now it seemed like the whole world begged for their return, or at least tolerated them enough to acknowledge that they were needed and are indeed heroes. It was then followed by an “accidental” sighting of the Avengers fighting a band of robots with the HYDRA insignia imprinted on them, which was also the first run of the Avengers actually using your clones and you were delighted to report that they had done very well to Alexandria. After that, the Avengers were frequently sighted around as the Media tried to chase them around.

But of course the peace had went on for too long, and Samuel took it upon himself to ruin the peace you all have carefully crafted. On the Eighth week, in one particular mission, Samuel appeared unexpectedly, startling you and your team, as well as your sisters. He brutally massacred the Avenger's clones and sent a threat directly to you knowing you were watching.  And until now you still shiver at the thought of Natasha and Wanda actually being there instead of their clones, it made you feel utterly helpless, pathetic and filled with flames of anger. They all had to take a week of rest and time away from anything related to work whatsoever as they comforted themselves and each other, some with the help of their soulmates.

“Watch your back, your majesty. I'm coming for your crown of deceit and lies and I'll climb to the very top using a pile of corpses, which I'm sure would include you, your soulmate, your sisters, their friends, their soulmates, everyone! I'll kill each and every single one of you, and build this world exactly how it should be. Hail HYDRA!”

“Y/N?” Wanda approaches your rigid form, your hand clutching the ball of pure iron as it slowly absorbs into your body

“Wanda.” Your eyes soften and immediately tackle your girlfriend in a hug.

They're going on their first ever mission after being announced to be back and without using your clones, which made you as worried as a snake that's laid their first egg. You don't want to let them go nor do you want to release them from your hold

“Oh draga.” Natasha walks in to see the scene and rushes to join in, the spy already in her newly made suit.

“I don't want to stay here.”

“We know. But you are much needed here. I need your voice guiding us detka”

“Won't it be better if I was there with you? Or using the clones instead of it being actually you?” You choked out, separation anxiety hitting you like a truck with a drunken driver.

“Do you trust us?”

“Of course! What kind of question is that Natalia!” You ripped yourself from their hold and glared at both of them

“Then trust us to be back in your arms once again.” Wanda says with conviction

“I don't want you back in my arms broken and bleeding. Or worse! I wouldn't be able to handle that”

“Would you have preferred us not returning then?”

“Absolutely not! What is wrong with you?!”

“Then please, believe us when we say that we will come back for you. Alive, maybe bleeding, broken and bruised but alive nonetheless.”

“Also, don't think that we don't know about you sneaking around and coming back with some part of your body missing and needing repair. Yet we stayed quiet and cuddled you to sleep. Why can't you do the same?” Wanda and Natasha glared at you, which made you blink in surprise. You were being secretive- LILA.

“Because I know I can handle it!” You snapped

“No. It's because you treat us like we're fragile and sensitive then go and hide your feelings away in a chest and bury it in the sand.”

“But-” Natasha has had enough of  your blabbering and just pulled you by your collar and smashed her lips on yours.

Your eyes widened, your system slowing down and buffering for just a few seconds before rebooting and finally kissing Natasha back. This wasn't your first kiss, not by a long run. But this felt much more... intimate. Natasha's lemon chapstick that you have come to love, mixed with her spiced peaches made your body shiver with delight as you pulled her closer, flushed against your body yet it was not enough, it was never enough. She kisses with gentle ferocity, biting and pulling your lips. She was always such a tease, in the most delightful way.

Natasha pulls away and you just stared at her eyes that seemed like deep emeralds shining under the light of an eclipse, paired with the smug smirk on her face. You were sure you died and went to heaven. You also made sure to capture this specific scene in your mind and imprint it in your memory, so you can always rewind it whenever you want.

Wanda huffed and used her magic to pull you to her, Scarlet wisps tear you away from the former assassin's hold and into the witch's arms. Unlike Natasha, she didn't smash her lips to yours, instead she coiled her arms around your neck, played with the baby hairs on the back of your neck before pulling you to her, gently placing her lips onto yours. If Natasha was the ice cold drink you desperately crave in hot summer afternoons, Wanda was the warm drink you clutch with your chilled palms in a cold winter night. She kisses with gentle compassion, your body fills with warmth as she pulls you closer.

She pulls away slightly to kiss your nose and you sigh, relaxing into her her. Her bright green eyes resembles that of a lush green forest after the rain, her wiggling eyebrows and soft smile lull you to safety.

“Just... Please take care of each other. You'll be bringing a part of my world with you as you go. So please, stay safe.”

“I'll keep Natasha from being reckless”

“I'll keep Wanda from overusing her magic.”

You laughed as they bickered again, you can never guarantee their safety. You don't want to chain them down, but you can't help but be worried. The best you can do right now is wait for them to come home, prepare their comfort food and shows and hope that this isn't the mission that breaks them, for you know how it feels to be broken with no one there to fix you, you had to pick the pieces up for yourself.

You slap yourself internally, they have you now, and you have them. It'll be more than enough.

“I adore you both.” You mutter, smiling at both of them as you watch them freeze

“Say that again please?”

“Did I hear that right?”

They both say in sync as you grinned

“I love and adore you.” You say as you pecked Wanda's lips

“And you.” You say as you pecked Natasha's lips

“...Oh we're definitely coming back now. Wait for us okay?”

“Absolutely, I'll come back to try the vibrating tongue next.”

They smirked, walking out of your lab to join the rest of the Avengers

You were going to kill Viktoriya.

[rotshop]

GONNA B HONEST W/ YOU ,,,,,, i rlly dont like how this is written lmao ,,,, but also im sleepy tired so i get a pass dhmu /j

[ TW ; gore, some violence, death ]

notes ; based offa DIS ,,, u might wanna read it for some context n shit ,,, lawl ,,,

-

Between the two of you, it's hard to tell who's suffocating more. It's hard to tell if its you, with the little pants that pass by your teeth in shaky steps, hitching whenever they're cut down when you have to stop to cough up blood. It should be you, you who has your guts spilled out onto the floor and your blood staining all the concrete underneath the both of you. It has to be you, who's leaning heavy against 2b's chest and drawing unfocused circles onto his shoulder. It had to be you, you just had to go inside by yourself, you just had to be slow on the draw and nearly be ripped clean in two. It just had to go wrong with just you.

Even with all that in mind, he feels like there's nothing in him. There's no lungs to draw in breaths, no mind with clear thoughts on what to do and how to stop this once more, and certainly no heart beating steadily. In those places was instead viscera, a mangled, nameless mess of pink and red weighing him. There was some clump of pink that drew in some shaky puffs, barely reaching him as he choked on his own pride. There was nothing but tangled strings and weights in his head, making his skull pound as something in the back of his mind screamed to do something. There was a heavy weight behind his ribs that stayed put, a finality hanging over his shoulder as it always would.

He doesn't want to cry. He shouldn't be, you're the one with your innards exposed to the eyes of any and all and your face buried in the crook of his neck, it should be you who's crying in pain. He shouldn't be crying, he shouldn't be shedding tears when there's not a single bleeding wound on his skin. He shouldn't be and yet they're tight in his throat, threatening to tumble past his lips and create an embarrassment of himself. A shift brings him back from his thoughts, turning his attention back to you.

There's a little stutter in your movements, a quick pause as your vision momentarily fails you and your breath is wheezed past your lips. A quick, aimless grasp at your innards to have them follow your movements, rather than stay partially stuck to the floor, tugged further from your soon-to-be-cadaver as you readjust. You're just pulling yourself ever closer to him, little to no space left between the two of you as you support yourself on his figure. He can't help the way his own movements choke and pause as he moves his arms to wrap around you. He can't help the way he takes a sharp, shaking inhale as the skin of his arm ghosts over the start of your gash.

He remembers the first time he'd been with you in your 'final' moments. He remembers how the line had fallen dead on your side and the others all fell into a silence. They'd only told him later on why, they 'didn't want to scare him off.' He was still a little upset about it, even now. He had always been stubborn like that, it was a fact of him that you regarded with warm laughter and endearing teases.

He remembers the pure terror that'd gripped him as he came across you, choked squeaks and hisses leaving your lips as you writhed. The debris around you and the tangle of pipes and bars you'd been impaled on told the story he never bothered to ask, the one he'd never truly questioned you on even to this day. Something about the way you'd glanced at him in that moment never left him. Maybe it was how the pure agony you'd been in moments before shifted to confusion on his being there, shifted into something gentler yet still as forlorn and miserable, either way it haunted him endlessly. He remembers how you were such polar opposites after he'd managed to tear himself from his place.

The clatter of his goggles against the ground fell on deaf ears when he'd rushed for you. He barely even noticed how quick his breath was speeding up, he was far too focused on helping you, on getting you back to base so he could fix this. It'd taken your weak swipes at him and breathless pleads to just stop to snap him back, he didn't want to listen to you. He wanted to tear you from that metal and drag you back to base, he wanted to set you down and get to work, and then he wanted to grab you by the collar and ask just what was going through your head. He wanted to be mad, he wanted to argue and to let go of all the tension wracking him and making his hands shake. It was tearing him limb from limb in the worst way possible, in the one way he never wanted to feel.

He was afraid. Honest to god terrified from the moment his gaze fell on your bleeding-out form. It shook him to his core in a way he hadn't felt in forever, breaking past the facade he'd worked so hard to build in an utterly humiliating manner. He hated the way he had to clench his hands and bite his tongue as he stared down at you, his weak attempt at keeping his tears back that hung by a thin string. He hated how he fell to his knees, coming face to face with you as you looked back at him.

Your eyes were still soft with accepting misery in the moment, a weak smile finding it's way onto your lips as you reached for him. You'd struggled, finding it difficult to meet his face when the world was spinning so dizzyingly. He'd hesitated, hand shaking as it found your wrist, him leaning into your touch with an unsteady breath. If the tears weren't already hanging behind his eyes, they would've burst up with a vengeance when you started brushing your thumb over the bandages on his face.

He couldn't remember how exactly you'd spoken, how you'd been able to between the gurgle of blood in your throat and the copper piercing you, but you had. It was a request ; a final wish of sorts he didn't want to deny you. You could've asked for anything in the moment and he would've done it for you, he would tear through whoever and whatever he had to for you. He would rend flesh and ruin relationships and scar the world if he had to in that very moment. He'd never been an especially generous type, he could extend a certain amount of kindness to others but there was a limit to his softness. Yet, you managed to turn him so, managed to make him give an excuse of 'it wouldn't hurt,' or 'it's just a one time thing,' when it came to you.

Even so, you'd made such a simple request. One he would've asked you himself in other circumstances if he weren't so stubborn with what little ego he clung to. One he would've been happy to hear from you in the comfort of home and privacy. Even so, he'd nodded when you asked. Even so, he'd ignored how his own hands shook as he held his over yours gently.

It was an odd feeling, your blood seeping into his mouth, iron heavy on his tongue as his lips met yours. The taste would've been revolting under any other circumstances, making him recoil and pull away with a note to never repeat the cause. Yet, he didn't. He kept his lips against yours gently, experience slipping him in the thick anxiety of the moment. Even then, reluctance followed when he pulled away.

Content lost its footing when you'd given him once last smile, then it fell with a crash when your gaze grew glassy and unfocused. He'd never forget the panic that gripped him so tightly, enough of a disturbance to slip past his guard and make the tears start to fall. He didn't even notice them in the moment, all he saw was your corpse and the end of the compassion and emotion you'd helped him regain over time. He never asked the others if they heard him then, if they heard him plead with you, if they heard the sobs and begs he never would've given if it weren't you. He's glad they never brought it up, it was just a touch easier to forget how he'd completely broken down for the first time in a long time when you'd fallen still.

He was glad you weren't able to hear them. He's sure you would've made some dumb comment about it as you stood before him, alive and well as though nothing happened. He's sure you would've smiled and hummed a question he wouldn't answer, he's sure he would've reacted all the same. He's sure he still would have grabbed you by the collar and shoved you back against the wall, he's sure he would've still hissed at you to explain yourself, ignoring the desperation laced in his voice as his eyes began to burn again. You had an effect on him, one he wouldn't ever admit to even if you poked and prodded at it time and time again by simple virtue of you being yourself.

You were a surprisingly good kisser for someone on the brink of death once more, but you were better at it when you could count how many of him there were.

He's not sure what pulls him back as he looks down at you again, noting your still form blankly. He's not sure why he pauses for a few long moments, simply keeping his arms around you as your body grows colder and colder. He's not sure why he tucks hair behind your ear and lets his hand linger, warm by contrast against you. He's not sure when he pulls himself up off the floor, careful of your innards as he pulls you up with him.

He is however sure he feels a hell of a lot better when you sit up from your previous place on the table, hand trailing over the stitches that line your stomach and chest as you give a little hum of approval. He's sure he's smiling a little at that simple bit of praise. He's sure you'd make a comment about it if you noticed.

"Happy to see me, huh?"

He's happy to be right.

[kaiparker-avengerssmut]

Our Doll 1 // Oh Baby

B.Barnes x S.Rogers, B.Barnes x Stark!Reader, S.Rogers x Stark!Reader

Series Synopsis | After the events of the horrific past, y/n Stark, Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes have finally admitted their feelings for each other. But is life as an avenger whilst dating two super soldiers any easier than anything y/n’s experienced in the past?

sequel Series to Their Doll

Series Warnings | smut, violence, torture, swearing, threesomes

Chapter Summary | y/n, Steve and Bucky finally admit their feelings for each other

Warnings | swearing, SMUT, mmf threesome, oral (m and f receiving), choking, fingering, anal sex, vaginal sex, hair pulling (kinda), this shit gets filthy

Masterlist | Series Masterlist

"I love you too, punk." Bucky whispered against Steve's blonde locks, making both of the avengers before his raise their heads and look at him. Bucky smiled wide, tears pricking his own eyes now as he stared into Steve's eyes. "I love you."

"As a friend?" Steve asked with a furrowed brow. Bucky shook his head. "As- as more?" Bucky nodded his head this time, a relived laugh leaving his lips as Steve smiled.

Before y/n could even being to comprehend what just happened, Steve was crashing his lips to Bucky's in a searing, desperate kiss that seemed to say much more than words could. His hands tangled into Bucky's luscious locks, giving a firm tug that enticed Bucky to groan into his mouth. The assassin's hands were clawing at Steve's shoulders hungrily as he moaned against Steve's mouth.

Y/n just watched. She watched as they painted and groaned, trying to touch everywhere they could as they made out. For a moment, she considered leaving, feeling as though they wanted her gone now they'd finally expressed how they felt. But as she went to move a cool, rough hand wrapped around her wrist, spinning y/n into Bucky's chest as his lips pressed to hers. Hard.

She moaned against him as Steve's lips danced over her neck, his body pressed into her back as his hands found purchase on her hips. Bucky's hands grasped her ass, one staying there as the other one travelled higher, wrapping around her throat and pulling y/n closer into him as he pulled away. Our breath mingled with hers as she panted, trying to get her breath back.

"Be our doll." Steve murmured against her cheek, hands squeezing her hips.

Y/n gasped, leaning her head back against Steve's shoulder, Bucky's hand leaving her neck and trailing down her chest, the cold metal grabbing and groping at her breast.

"C'mon, doll, what'd you say?" Bucky mumbled, lips feathering over the expanse of her throat, Steve's grip growing tighter on her waist.

"Please-" y/n gasped, an involuntary moan slipping from her perfect lips as Bucky's hand on her ass gave a firm squeeze. "Please let me be yours." Y/n moaned out, eyes fluttering shut when she felt Steve finger the waistband of her pyjama shorts, the tips of his calloused fingers dipping beneath the fabric and crawling their way towards her aching heat.

"Mmm." Steve hummed, amusement in his tone, "looks like someone's not wearing any panties." Steve announced, making Bucky smirk against the skin of her neck.

"That's our good girl - always so ready for us." Bucky smiled, nipping lightly at her skin before letting his tongue snake out and smooth over the sore area, soothing the ache. Steve gasped exaggeratedly, as if he wasn't expecting the dripping slick when one of his fingers traced y/n's slit.

"She's soaking, too." Steve informed, dipping the tip of his finger into y/n's heat before pulling it out, holding his finger before Bucky. "Would you like a taste?"

Bucky smiled, greedily taking Steve's finger into his mouth, moaning around the digit at y/n's taste. The sight drove both Steve and y/n mad with lust, Bucky's plump lips wrapping so perfectly around Steve's finger causing the blood to rush to the blonde's cock. Y/n moaned loudly at the feeling of Steve's hard on pressing against her ass, winding her hips back against it and attempting to grind back against it. Steve chuckled in amusement, his grip on her hip too tight for y/n's actions to do anything.

"Such a greedy little girl, just desperate for our cocks, hmm?" Steve whispers against her ear, and y/n whined - needing some friction. "You like watching Bucky clean your juice from my finger? Do you like watching Bucky suck it off like it's my cock?" Steve taunted, words teasing and making y/n moan a breathless, 'yes, captain' that made both men groan. "Yeah you do, you like watching us like a little slut." Steve said, and it was more of a statement than a question.

It was then that Steve retracted his finger, shoving his hand back into y/n's shorts and letting his thumb brush over her clit. The slight friction had y/n's hips bucking, desperate for more. Both super soldiers chuckled, Bucky's metal hand dinging its way back to her neck and squeezing lightly at the sides of y/n's throat.

Steve let two fingers slip into y/n's heat, pushing them past her folding and groaning at how tight she clenched around him.

"Fuckin' squeezing the shit outta my fingers, doll." Steve growled against her ear, making y/n's walls flutter at the vulgar praise. Bucky groaned too, pushing his hips into y/n's hand as she begun to palm at his cock. The brunet leant forward, connecting his lips with Steve's in a messy kiss over y/n's shoulder.

The whole scene was downright dirty - y/n palming at Bucky's cock whilst getting fingered by Steve, who was grinding his hard on against her ass. Bucky and Steve's kiss was dirty too, teeth clashing and tongues tangling lewdly and all y/n could do was stand in the middle, moaning wantonly as Steve's fingers slammed into her, his thumb rubbing tight circles against her throbbing clit whilst his digits bumped that spot deep inside her with every thrust. Bucky's metal hand still wrapped around her throat, but only the ghost of a choke as it loosened to merely a possessive grip.

Her free hand grasped Bucky's shoulder, y/n's legs buckling beneath her as the knot in her stomach tightened significantly. Steve's lips were gliding along Bucky's jaw now, his fingers working y/n like an instrument as he pulled her to the brink.

"C'mon, baby, soak my fuckin' hand." Steve grunted against the shell of her ear, teeth nipping at the skin as Bucky's thumb ran over her bottom lip, the metal clinking against her teeth as he pushing the tip into her waiting mouth.

"F-fuck!" Y/n screamed, falling limp in the super soldiers' arms as her release hit her like a truck, her knees giving way and her eyes rolling so far back in her skull Bucky was worried they'd come back up from the bottom.

"That's it, pretty girl, coming so hard for us." Bucky mumbled, lips claiming hers in an attempt to swallow down her desperate and hungry moans. "You got a bed we can use, Stevie?" Bucky pondered, raising his gaze to meet the blonde's as Steve slipped his fingers from y/n's shorts. He nodded, smirking at y/n's gasp as he scooped her into his arms and whisked the babbling girl away to his bedroom.

Y/n must've really been out of it, because next thing she registers she's laying sprawled out over Steve's bed, the soft white linen plush beneath her already aching limbs and the filthy, wet sounds of Bucky's mouth wrapped around Steve's cock are clogging her ears.

Bucky's hands rested against Steve's thighs, the latter' she as thrown back against the pillow as grunt and groans spilled sinfully from his pink lips. Y/n craned her head, a new flood of arousal that made her crave crawling between her legs at the sight of her boyfriend literally choking on Steve's dick.

She actually moaned at the sight, and neither Steve nor y/n missed the way that Bucky's lips quirked into a smirk at the sound at he pulled off Steve's length. The super soldier looked over at his girl slowly, curling a finger to beckon her between Steve's thick thighs. She didn't hesitate, climbing between the blonde's legs as Bucky pushed them wider, creating a space for both of them.

"Why don't we remind Stevie here how good our kisses are, yeah?" Bucky rasped, met with a hum of approval from y/n. It was sloppy from there on out, sloppy like you wouldn't believe. Tongue slapping hungrily around hard flesh, lips fighting to lock, obscured by a thick, veiny length. Moans shared, teeth scraping, clashing, in a messy fight for dominance won by two clenched fists twisting, tangling in clumps of hair.

"Good fuckin' god." Steve groaned out, face red and veins popping, decorating his neck and forehead in lines of protruding green-tinged-blue. "Feels so good, fuck." He moaned, bucking his hips up as his head fell backwards, crashing into the plump sheets as his cock slid between the messy kiss, up and down. "M'gonna come." He warned, those fateful words elating a new found hunger in the two people kissing filthily around his dick.

Both doubling their efforts, y/n and Bucky worked together to push steve over the edge. Bucky's fingers tracing over Steve's tight hole - which was slick with spit that had trailed down from the mess above - and y/n's small fingers massaging, playing with his tightening balls.

"F-fuck!" Steve whined, hands fisting their hair even tighter, thighs tensed and jaw clenched. "Baby," he moaned, if it could even be described as that. It was more of a breathy plea as he came, whispered desperately into the dimly-lit room that smelled purely of raw sex.

Kisses, littered lovingly, now planted up the firm wall of muscle that was Steve's chest. Bucky's lips murmuring in his ear, teeth tugging teasingly, provokingly at his lobe as y/n locked him clean, swallowing every drop of his come she could reach.

"I want to fuck this tight ass of yours while you fuck our girl." Bucky husked, hands running the lines between his abs, fingers dancing enticingly over the smooth skin.

"Please." Was all Steve breathed out, and before anyone could breathe another plea, whine another whine, Bucky was pulling y/n off Steve's cock and shoving her face-fist into the mattress, using a cool metal around tucked under her hips to pull the girl's ass up, her shorts ripped down and her glistening cunt on display.

Steve climbed up behind her, letting his fingers caress over her soft skin, dip between her folds. He groaned at the feeling over her slick, the wetness stringing between his fingers and lathering over her quivering thighs.

"Oh, baby." Steve cooed, letting a fingers brush in small circles over y/n's clit to relieve some of her obvious tension.

"Please," she croaked, "fuck me."

Steve couldn't say no to that, wrappings firm hand around his aching cock and gliding the tip between her puffy folds, chuckling as she pushed back at him, spearing herself on the mushroom tip of his unnaturally long cock. If there's one thing y/n had figured out since dating the super soldiers, it's that the serum really did enhance everything.

"Fuckin' hell, doll." Steve growled as he sheathed himself inside her in one, slow thrust. She sucked him in, walls pulsating around his thickness as she groaned, twisting the sheets tightly between her fingers as her back arched painfully.

"Steve!" Y/n cried out, soo joined by Steve himself as he felt a lubed finger prod at his tight rim.

"Ready, baby?" Bucky cooed almost mockingly, squeezing a generous amount of lube over Steve's asshole. The strained nod Steve gave him was enough for Bucky, the super soldier pushing two thick fingers into the tight whole without a second thought, smirking widely at the sinfully loud main her pulled from Steve's lips.

As Steve pistons his hips into y/n's - skin slapping beautifully against skin - he pushed Bucky's fingers deeper, faster into his hole. The sensation only made him louder, more vocal, and Bucky loved it.

A fire in his eyes, one of burning hunger, Bucky pulled his fingers out, quickly lining up his heavily-lubed cock with Steve's ass before thrusting in sharply.

"S'tight. So fucking tight for me." He groaned at he bottomed out, balls deep. He begun a punishing rhythm, one that Steve was quick to match with y/n. Her eyes were rolled back into her skull, back arched and ass cheeks juggling with every slap of Steve's thighs against her's.

Steve's balls slapped lewdly against her clit, only making the knot tighten and twist deep in the out of her stomach. Steve grasped her hips to ground himself, his grasp on her so tight all three of them only knew there'd be pretty purple bruises decorating her skin tomorrow.

Bucky grabbed for something to hold onto, his flesh hand finding it's way to curl deliciously around Steve's thick and veiny neck, the action making a guttural moan rip from the blonde super soldier. Bucky bit his lips in a smirk.

"You like that, huh? You like my big hand wrapped around this fucking thick neck?" Bucky rasped against Steve's ear, breath hot, intoxicating. Steve moaned as he attempted to nod, his pace picking up even more as a small wheeze to the sides of his throat sent him hurtling towards the edge. "Filthy fuckin' boy. Look at this, got two fuckin' whores who just love to be choked in front of me, don't I?" Bucky groaned, metal hand grasping and palming the flesh of Steve's ass.

"G-gonna cum!" Y/n screamed, and Steve smirked this time - a finger moving to fidget with her throbbing clit. "F-fuck!" Y/n cried, walls fluttering, spasming, clenching, clawing at Steve's cock - a harsh smack from Bucky to his ass sending him over the edge with her. Steve stilled his hips, heavy pants washing over them as Bucky chased his release, a dirty string over moans and grunts signalling his own orgasm, his cum filling up Steve's ass perfectly.

Bucky pulled out carefully, disappearing momentarily with a small, muttered 'I'll be back' and a quick kiss to the back of Steve's neck. Steve caught his breath, pushing himself up from where he'd collapse in a heap on top of y/n, slowly pulling out of y/n and hastily apologising as she hissed.

Steve could feel himself getting hard again, the sight before him like a dream. Y/n's count was pulsating, a mixture of her and his cum dripping slowly, crawling down her thighs as her legs shook.

Wincing, y/n pulled away abruptly at the feeling of the warm cloth running between her folds, gently cleaning the mess there.

"No more." She claimed, voice weak, crackling, strained from how much she'd used it today.

"No more, just need to get you clean, doll." Bucky hummed, feeling y/n relax slightly as he ran a warm hand soothingly down her still arched spine. "There, all done." Bucky promised, tossing the soiled cloth into the hamper and leaning down Dow kiss a soft trail of kisses across her spine.

By the time y/n and Bucky were curled up in bed, Steve had joined them - back from cleaning himself up in the adjoining bathroom to his room. He claimed between the sheets with them, pulling the duvet over the three of them and moulding his body to y/n's, arm thrown over her waist and hand intertwined with Bucky's over her hip. Y/n smiled fondly, hand resting against Bucky's chest as her fingers ghosted over the collection of scars.

"Good night." Bucky mumbled into the now-dark room, met with the guns of the two nearly-knocked out avengers wrapped up before him. He grinned softly, fingers playing with Steve's hand. He placed a lingering kiss into y/n's hair, letting his heavy eyes slip shut, falling under the best sleep he'd had since- well, ever.

He could get used to this.

[brattyfics]

Swampbound I

Adla had lived in Florida her whole life, yet the strange debris that washed ashore after storms still startled her. Broken tree limbs and splintered pieces of homes were expected, but today was different.

Tangled in seaweed, she spotted frantic turtle hatchlings, frogs, and crabs struggling to reclaim their place in the chaos. But nothing compared to the sight before her: a bloody, mangled deer carcass lying in the tall grass, torn flesh and fur clinging to shredded cloth.

Her instincts screamed at her to turn back, but curiosity pulled her closer. Kneeling down, she caught the metallic scent of blood, and a chill gripped her. Something violent had occurred.

A gator? No, they dragged their prey into the water. Maybe a hawk? But even a bird of prey wouldn’t leave this kind of mess. Could it be a bobcat? They prowled these swamps, opportunistic in their hunting. But as she examined the prints—large, wolf-like, and deeper than any she’d seen—her heart raced. Four parallel prints faded into something far stranger: two flatter, elongated impressions.

Like feet.

Human feet.

The footprints were far too big to be hers, and she knew she was alone out there. The air felt thick, the swamp unnaturally quiet, as if the world was holding its breath. Her father’s voice echoed in her mind: “Never run from a person or an animal. Running makes you prey.”

She gripped her hunting knife, steadying her wrist, eyes scanning the brush for hidden dangers but there was nothing– no one hiding in the bushes, no animal stalking her. Just thick humidity, carrying the earthy scent of wet soil and decaying leaves. 

Time to head back.

As she treaded carefully over the spongy ground, the low rumble of an engine caught her attention. She hadn’t expected company—she rarely did. As a child, she’d hated the isolation of this place, but now it felt like a shield.

Rushing up the muddy incline, her boots kicked loose clumps of earth. At the porch of her old Cracker house, she leaned against the weathered wood, squinting down the overgrown path. A boxy, faded green Jeep Cherokee bounced along the uneven track.

Jesse Hampton. Of course.

He stepped out, scanning the trees before his gaze settled on her. His mahogany skin glistened under the humid sun, damp shirt clinging to his chest, hair wild from the moisture. Stubble covered his jaw—unusual for him but understandable after the chaos of the storm. Even so, he was as handsome as ever.

“Addy,” he called, voice steady but laced with urgency. “You shouldn’t be out here alone.” His gaze darted behind her, searching the shadows. “I know it seems all quiet and nice, but it ain’t safe.”

She rolled her eyes, not wanting to give him more reason to worry. “You’re soundin’ just like my father.”

Jesse’s expression tightened, something unspoken hanging between them. He stepped closer, lowering his voice. “Promise me you’ll be careful. You got a light in you that draws eyes—sometimes the wrong ones.”

His words hung heavy, and a flicker of fear flashed in her eyes. “You’re fussing over nothing. I’m just fine,” she shot back, but unease gnawed at her. Jesse knew something she didn’t.

“What you doing out here, anyway?” she asked, folding her arms.

“Do I need a reason?” he countered, flashing that charming smile of his.

“You always got a reason when you show up without warning. So, what’s the scoop this time?”

Jesse owned a busy convenience store in town but thrived on side hustles, always finding a way to get by. She admired his resourcefulness, but it was a reminder that he always had some angle he was working.

“Just wanted to check on you, see how you’re faring after the storm. But if I ain’t welcome…” He paused, putting on a mock-serious face. “I can just as easily turn right back around.”

“Yeah, right,” she scoffed, turning away as she ascended the steps. “You say that every time, but you always wind up inside.” She shot him a teasing grin over her shoulder. “You don’t even bother asking to come in anymore.”

“After all the times I’ve been ‘round, why would I ask?” He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, a playful spark in his eye. “Sometimes late at night, if I remember right.”

Adla shook her head, heading toward the kitchen. “That ain’t the same thing, and you know it.”

She opened the fridge and grabbed a pitcher of cold water, pouring a glass and handing it to him. Their fingers brushed, igniting that familiar spark that always hung in the air between them.

“Why you gotta say it like that?” Jesse asked, his brow furrowing as he took a sip from his glass.

“‘Cause you gotta get it, Jesse,” Adla replied, picking her words with care. “I ain’t one for surprises. You should’ve let me know you were coming before just poppin’ up like this.” She forced a sweet smile, hoping to ease the sting. Before anything, he was her closest friend, and the last thing she wanted was to hurt him.

He leaned casually against the counter, a sly grin spreading across his face. Adla considered asking if he’d been snooping around her property—Jesse had a knack for being sneaky—but thought better of it. Questions would only lead to more questions.

“I thought I was special,” he inched closer, a playful glint in his eyes.

“Oh, really? Where’d you get that idea from?” She raised an eyebrow, her lips twitching with amusement.

“Just a hunch,” he said, tugging at a tight curl in her ponytail, the spiral bouncing back like a rubber band. He leaned in to whisper, “I figured if I play my cards right and keep doing that thing you like, I might get a little something in return.”

She fought to hold back a smile. “Like what exactly?”

“Ain’t askin’ for much. Just the freedom to come and go when I feel like it.” Jesse leaned in for a kiss, his lips hovering just shy of hers. Adla pushed against his broad chest, stopping him.

Jesse was fine as hell—fit, sharp, and always finding a way out of trouble. She liked being around him, sure, but no one—not even him—was about to think they had a hold on her. She ran her own life, and settling down wasn’t in the cards, especially when she knew other women were likely getting a taste of that same charm and quick thinking too.

“Nope, not a chance,” she said, playful but firm, shaking her head. “But since you’re already here, I could use your help with something.”

“Oh really?” he replied, his interest piqued. “What you need?”

“Help me set these traps and see what washed up after that storm,” she said, stealing a quick sip from his cup. She wanted to catch some crabs and fish to fill up her freezer, and the thought of going back into the woods alone made her uneasy.

“Aww, man,” he groaned dramatically. “I should’ve known coming over here meant I’d have to work. You’re a real slave driver, you know that?”

They settled into a rhythm, working side by side, their comfortable banter broken by the silence of the storm’s aftermath. They inspected her garden for damage while Jesse filled her in on town gossip—apparently, Mrs. Flowers had been caught in Mr. Jenkins’ house by Mr. Flowers. Uprooted mustard greens littered the ground as Adla pulled them up, but thankfully, the okra and sweet potatoes had weathered the storm. She just hoped the excess moisture wouldn’t lead to rot.

Moving on to the fishing nets and traps, they stumbled upon something concerning.

A mountain of fish heads littered the reeds where she usually set her traps, alongside crab shells stripped of their claws and backs. This wasn’t the typical damage—something worse lurked here, disturbingly messy and uncharacteristic of the area’s usual predators.

“What in the world?” Adla muttered, her heart racing as she scanned the ground for prints. “You think it was a gator?

“A gator wouldn’t leave pieces like this,” Jesse replied, his brow furrowing.

“Something else made this mess,” she finished, feeling her skin prickling as those unsettling feelings from earlier came rushing back. She described the strange prints and the shredded carcass she’d seen to Jesse, who listened closely, rubbing her shoulders to calm her down.

“You shouldn't be out here tonight, Addy. Why don’t you come stay with me?”

Apprehension settled in her gut about what the darkness might bring, but she couldn’t accept his offer. His grandmother’s old house might be just down the road, but it felt wrong to spend the night in another woman’s home—even if she had adored Adla.

Plus, sneaking around with Jesse where anyone could see was out of the question. She refused to give anyone the chance to stir up drama or question her independence. She couldn’t bear the thought of becoming the next Mrs. Flowers, her good name dragged through the mud for all who would listen.

“No one—and nothing—is going to run me out of my house,” she said, half to him, half to herself. This place was her sanctuary, the fruit of her struggles and her ancestors' labor. They had fought hard for this land, and she felt a fierce pride in maintaining it. Out in the wilderness, peace was something earned, not given. She would defend her home if it came to that.

“You don’t know what’s lurking out here, and you think it’s smart to be by yourself? That don’t make no sense, baby doll,” Jesse insisted, his usual persistence edged with urgency.

“Don't call me that. I’m not your ‘baby doll,’” she shot back, irritation flaring. She knew what was good for her better than anyone else ever could. Jesse had been testing her boundaries too much lately.

“I already told you—I’m staying. You should head out on out here before dark.”

“Don’t be like that—” he started, his voice smooth and sweet like molasses. Today, though, she wasn’t falling for it.

“Go on,” she said, stepping in close to block his path. “I’ll finish up and lock everything up tight, but I need you to leave now.”

Jesse met her eyes, noticing the resolve etched into her expression. Adla stood firm, arms crossed, one hip jutting out, her nose wrinkled just so. She had made up her mind, and he knew he’d already pushed her enough for one day.

“Alright, I’m on my way,” he agreed. “But you promise me you ain’t stepping outside tonight. Whatever you do, don’t go crossing that threshold.”

Adla frowned at his strange phrasing. “Why would I be out here? I ain’t foolish enough to roam around at night." His shoulders were knotted with tension. "What’s got you so riled up?”

“Just trust me on this,” he insisted, locking eyes with her, his expression serious. “You’ll be safe, no matter what, if you just stay inside tonight.”

Last she checked, danger didn’t give a damn about doors, windows, or any other barriers. But it was clear he wouldn’t leave until she agreed.

“Alright, fine,” she said, stretching out the words, “I’ll stay in tonight. Not like I was gonna be out and about anyway.”

“Good,” Jesse smiled, wrapping her up in his arms tight. “I’ll call you later, and you better pick up. If you don’t, I’ll be back, whether you want me to or not.” As he turned to leave, Adla couldn’t help but smile after him. Jesse could be a handful, but beneath his cool front, she knew he cared for her just as fiercely as she did for him. In the wild expanse of the Florida swamps, that bond meant everything.

He lingered in the driveway while she hurried to gather crab shells, tossing them into the compost bin—no sense letting them go to waste. He didn’t start his engine until she was safely inside with the door closed, waving goodbye from the street as she watched from the window.

After locking up, she sank into a well-deserved bubble bath, a sweet reward for a hard day’s work. The clawfoot tub, older than her but still in solid shape, had become a cherished fixture in her home. The bathroom, filled with the scent of incense and candles, wrapped around her like a familiar hug. After her father passed, her first goal had been to breathe life back into the old house, make it her own.

Reminders of him were everywhere—the doorframe where he marked her height on the first day of school, the cast-iron pans he used for dinner. But mostly, the house was hers now—weathered, yet undeniably new in its own way.

Her time in the city felt like a world away from the peace she found here. Juggling multiple jobs just to make ends meet, she was always surrounded by nosy neighbors and men who didn’t know how to take no for an answer. But the worst part was the stalker—a shadowy figure who slipped chilling notes under her apartment door. I know who you are. What you can do. It left her confused and drained, but she didn’t tuck tail and run back home until her father passed away.

The guilt of not being there at the end haunted her, so she kept busy. Her part-time job at the new bed-and-breakfast in town helped pay the bills, and on weekends, she sold her art—sculptures made from found objects—at a flea market a couple of towns over. Every spare moment was spent creating with her hands. Her life wasn’t glamorous, but the peace and was worth more than anything else.

“When You’re Young and in Love” by The Marvelettes played softly on the record player, one of her mother’s favorites. She couldn’t quite relate to the notion of being swept off her feet but it sounded good, romantic even. Her daddy had been left in pieces when her mama died, never even thinking about finding another. She yearned for a love that strong, but the idea also chilled her to the bone.

She had only a handful of pictures, but from those, Adla saw the resemblance. She inherited her father’s level-headed temperament, but her rich skin tone, flat nose, and wide, expressive eyes—all of that came from her mother. Those features made her feel close to the woman whose absence she felt deeply.

With a sigh, Adla rose from the cool water, wrapping a towel around her waist. Her earlier worries faded as she slathered on cocoa butter lotion and slipped into a floral-patterned cotton nightgown.

After her nighttime routine of checking the locks and lights, she settled in. The old wooden floors creaked softly underfoot—a comforting sound that added to the home’s charm.

Just as she was about to crawl into bed, faint sounds from outside caught her ear—rhythmic scraping and thumping carried on the wind. Strange noises weren’t rare out in the boonies, but this one sent a shiver down her spine. Something was different. She paused in the hallway, glancing toward the door.

A tug, almost physical, pulled her toward it, despite Jesse’s warnings. It was as if something—someone—was calling her, and the urge was too strong to ignore. 

The door creaked as she pushed it open. Through the screen, she squinted, trying to make sense of the dim shapes outside. A flicker of movement caught her eye, and in the cool moonlight, she saw it—something massive. A shadow loomed over the porch, too large to be any regular animal.

A knot twisted in her gut. It wasn’t a bobcat. This was more like a coyote—if coyotes were massive. No, this creature looked more like a wolf, except wolves didn’t roam Florida’s saltwater jungle.

Its amber eyes glowed like lanterns in the dark, locking onto hers with an intensity that left her feeling ice-cold. Jesse’s warnings echoed in her mind. Was this creature more than it seemed?

I know this fool ain’t lookin’ at me like I’m dinner. Adla squared her shoulders. “You don’t belong here,” she hollered, “Now, git! Get on outta here!”

The wolf growled low and deep, the frightening sound vibrating through the night air. It took a shaky step forward, and she noticed it was limping. A deep, ugly gash ran from its back down to its hind leg, blood darkening the wooden porch.

She didn’t move. Something about the creature—its pain, its presence—held her still. It was more than an injured beast. She couldn’t explain it, but she felt rooted to the spot.

A wave of instinct surged through her, a primal warning that clashed with her fear.

“Don’t you dare come any closer!” she warned, reaching for the shotgun above the door, her gaze locked on the approaching creature. She raised the gun, aiming through the screen, her finger on the trigger.

If it took just one more step forward—

The wolf paused at the door’s edge, held back by something unseen, something stronger than the flimsy screen. Her eyes flicked to the threshold, recalling Jesse’s cryptic words about things not crossing certain lines.

This was it. A choice. But Adla hesitated, her finger hovering over the trigger. She couldn’t pull it.

The wolf whined, collapsing in a heap at her feet, its strength giving out. Its amber eyes, still glowing, held no aggression—only a silent plea. The sight tugged at something deep inside her, stirring memories of her own struggles.

Her father’s words echoed in her mind: “Respect the creatures out here, just like you respect yourself. Life’s tough enough without us makin’ it harder on each other.”

Adla sighed, lowering the shotgun. The wolf’s blood was already drying on the porch. Tomorrow, she’d scrub it clean, but for tonight, she’d let the creature stay. She hoped it would make it through the night.

After triple-checking the locks, she placed the shotgun within arm’s reach and settled into bed, the creaking floorboards beneath her a familiar lullaby. Yet, the strange pull toward the wolf lingered in her mind. Maybe it wasn’t just an animal, but something deeper—a reflection of her own struggles, a sign from her father. Whatever it was, she’d reckon with it tomorrow. For now, she surrendered to sleep, trusting that both she and the wolf would survive the night.

Chapter Two.

@nayaesworld @nahimjustfeelingit-writes @sageispunk @megamindsecretlair @blowmymbackout @kindofaintrovert @avoidthings @zillasvilla @insidefeelingofanadult @theereina @slutsareteacherstoo @babybratzmaraj @senajaiaspeak @princessmakipala @writingsbytee @planetblaque @liquorlaughslove @judymfmoody @playgurlxoxo @theescorpiolovechile @keyaho @gg-trini i @vivaalenaa @li-da-savage @ash-ketchumzzz

[doiefy]

5 minutes // nakamoto yuta // preview

PART 1 OF SEOUL 2463

note: previously i published this as a series and posted the first three parts; i’m now putting everything into one work. 

genre: angst, fluff, sci fi, dystopia, partners to lovers pairing: nakamoto yuta x gn. reader (they/them pronouns) word count: expected 20k, 0.5k preview expected release: end of may 2021

taglist: @ncttboo​ @yongflm​ @koishua​ @neonun-au @sprngfeverr @doievoir @itsapapisongo @sungchanscult​ @jwoos-colored​​

Message, reply or Ask to be added! (specify all of seoul 2463 or just this work)

The year is 2463. Seoul is an infinitely-expanding metropolis, the centre of modern infrastructure and development. An undisputed powerhouse in technological advancements, Seoul promotes diversity, inviting people of all backgrounds, cultivating rare talents and providing them with the space to flourish. You live amidst it all, sheltered comfortably by the prestige and wealth of your family, sheltered from the darkness that thrives in the deep underbelly of the city. That is, until Yuta pulls the ground from your feet and shows you what lies beneath the capital’s smooth pavements, crystalline glass and liquid gold. Uncovering secrets, wandering off with him where you know you shouldn’t—you’ll pay for it dearly.

Your last five minutes. Before the inevitable is set to take its course.

A knife whizzes past you—singing through the air, cutting a silver arc dangerously close to your cheek, rushing by with a gust of coldness just as you tumble out of the way. You have only a moment to reposition; Yuta draws back in the blink of an eye, then strikes with a fervour that outmatches yours. A series of quick slashes in rapid succession pushes you all the way to the other side of the ring. He makes another swing at you, but this time you see it coming from a mile away. You launch yourself backwards to escape, flipping midair before landing safely on your feet.

A beat. Yuta scoffs, black eyes shining with incredulous amusement. “Show-off,” he laughs.

Eager to tear each other apart, you resume, immediately descending into a dangerous dance of steel blades and meticulous steps, an endless exchange of blows, parries and dodges. He’s nothing but a blur in front of you, almost too fast for your eyes to follow. But you commit his patterns to memory as best as you can, using them to predict his every move. The two of you whirl around the confines of the ring, the sound of metal clashing against metal ringing endlessly in your ears.

You’ve been at this for more than an hour now. Your shirt is soaked through with sweat and your hair has become a tangled mess that gets in the way of your eyes all too frequently. Yuta isn’t faring any better, and you sense that he’s getting tired from the way his swings are beginning to slow, the way he always takes just a little bit longer to reposition himself.

Breathe, you command yourself, even as your lungs start heaving for air. Your legs are begging you to stop, to yield so that they can recover from holding up your weight. But this is Yuta you’re sparring against—and when it comes to him, you will never stoop low enough to admit defeat.

You lose track of one movement, and suddenly he’s gone. Where he was standing now there’s only empty space, and a shadow closing in on you from behind. You turn just in time to meet his blade with your own.

“I thought we said that was against the rules!” You groan, but there’s really no time to complain. Yuta vanishes into thin air again, materializing a few feet away from you. His knife grazes your arm this time.

“I thought we said anything was fair game,” he replies, out of breath and visibly regretful of his decision now that it’s left him completely drained. Yuta might be able to warp through space at will, but his body will only allow him to do it so many times before he passes out—something he tends to forget. He shakes his head. “Yeah, you’re right, I definitely shouldn’t have done that. Give me a moment.”

You lunge for him, knocking the weapon out of his hand and using whatever momentum you have left to swing yourself onto his shoulders. The two of you go crashing into the mat of the training gym where you grapple with each other in a tangle of limbs. Finally, you have him beneath you, one knee against his chest and the other pinning his arm down.

[ace-of-spaders]

@my-robot-heart once upon a time sent me a prompt "I'm here. I never left." for Lizzington.

It was the kind of prompt I fell in love with from first glance but couldn't decide which direction to take right away, so I left it for a while.

I must admit, I'm rather glad that I did, because the idea I eventually went with came to me only after the season finale (because, like everyone else, I had to fix it somehow), but I'm also sorry, Robot, that it took me so long and can only hope that the end product is worth the waiting)

That is, considering your attitude towards the 8x22, I feel it's fair to warn you that this ficlet is set post-8x22 and is angsty - because Red is suffering and Liz is suffering because Red is suffering - but also hopeful because, guess what, Liz lives, so I really hope you'll like it!

(Also, it was supposed to be just a tiny ficlet but my fingers slipped... a lot, so it's now 2,000 words long))

Last but not the least, I think I need to tag @thetwistedargent, too, because her ghost!Lizzie stories low-key inspired this one. Even though I'm not brave nor strong enough to write dead!Lizzy.

Well, now enough with my rambling and on with the ficlet itself, I guess?)

---

She comes to him every night. Wearing loose sweaters that don’t constrict her chest, Liz slips past Dembe and into Red’s bedroom and invariably scrunches her nose up from the suffocating smell of cigar smoke that hangs heavily in the air.

Red hasn’t left his room in days – ever since Dembe brought him home on that fateful night he lost ( or thought he lost ) the meaning of his life in the form of his beloved Lizzy – wallowing in his grief, choking on his own guilt more than the smoke of cigars he smokes more than ever these days and drowning ( or, at least, trying to drown ) his sorrow in immeasurable quantities of alcohol. Liz is acutely aware of this newly established routine of his and what it does to his health and wishes with all her heart she could do something more about it other than visit him nightly while he sleeps, wishes she could reassure him that she’s alive and well and he doesn’t have to mourn her. But she can’t, not yet. So she crosses the room to the window and opens it wide in ultimately vain attempts to chase the choking odor of cigar smoke away. Taking a deep breath of fresh air to try and quell the storm of emotions raging inside of her, Liz turns her gaze to the loaded gun lying discarded on the desk ( she knows that Dembe tried to take that gun away from Red out of fear he might do something… unreasonable in his grief but Red didn’t let him, speaking up for the first time in quite a while just to reassure his old friend that he doesn’t have any intention of ending his own life… it will end soon enough anyway, even without such act of cowardice ) and runs her hand over the cool metal, feeling her heart clench at the thought of how apathetic, how utterly hopeless Red has become in – because of – her absence. Then, her gaze usually shifts towards the always empty decanter of whiskey, which – she knows – is refilled a couple of times a day by Reddington, the equally empty glass discarded on his nightstand, and only then she finally turns to look at the man himself. He looks awful, to put it mildly, worse with each passing day. The clothes he sleeps in don’t quite fit him in the same snug way they used to, reminding Liz of the fact that it takes a lot of convincing on Dembe’s part ( that man must truly be a saint ) to make him eat every single day and that he does so without any enthusiasm or appetite and continues to waste away despite his old friend’s best efforts. Tears brim in her eyes as Liz moves towards the bed and carefully sits down on its very edge, her eyes roaming over Red’s slack face and taking note of the ever-growing stubble, the deepening dark circles under his eyes, the gauntness of his cheeks, and the sickly pallor of his skin. “Oh, Red,” she whispers hoarsely, unable to keep all the despair and helplessness she feels when she realizes that he’s dying without her and yet she can’t do much about it inside, and reaches out to cup his cheek with her warm palm, to trace the sharpened outline of his cheekbone with her thumb or stroke his head, the smile that stretches her lips at the feeling of his hair – now longer than usual – tickling her palm too wobbly and weak. Sometimes, he sleeps peacefully… or, rather, dreamlessly in his drunken beyond measure state, never once waking or even stirring, and on those rare occasions Liz just sits by his side, holding his hand or stroking his shoulder or head, till the first rays of sunlight come streaming through the window. Most of the nights, though, he suffers, thrashing around, tangling the sheets and throwing off blankets, panting and whimpering and crying, his mind tormenting him with vivid reconstructions of some of the worst moments of his life, and Liz hesitates, unsure of whether she should try to wake him or not, unsure of what he’s dreaming about… until her name – her seemingly long-forgotten nickname – spills from his lips and she knows exactly what he’s dreaming about. She doesn’t hesitate any longer. “Shh, Red, it’s alright,” she hushes him gently, leaning in close and settling her hands on his shoulders firmly but gently or cupping his cheeks with her warm, very much alive hands, “I’m here. I’m here, I never left.” Tears finally spill from her own eyes as Liz whispers quiet reassurances and sweet nothings to the suffering man, willing him to feel her

presence and wishing she could take the memories of that awful night away from him ( even though initially, she thought that it would be a good lesson for him, putting him in what could be her place if she pulled the trigger… but she didn’t think it would affect him that much, to the point where he isn’t really living anymore, just struggling to exist ), until she gets too choked up to speak… until Red jerks one more time under her hands and either finally settles into deep, exhausted, dreamless slumber with a heavy sigh ( in which case Liz picks the blankets he’s thrown off up from the floor, covers him with them again, tucking him in and making sure he’s warm and comfortable, and goes back to keeping her silent vigil, wiping her tears away and fighting the desire to climb into bed with him, wrap him up in her arms and never let go ) or wakes up. She always freezes when he does, when his eyes slowly open and he squints up at her in the dark, because she’s not sure how he’s going to react, even though his reaction is the same each and every time. He frowns up at her at first, his heavy with sleep and hazy from alcohol mind struggling to comprehend what is happening in front of him, but even though he doesn’t recognize her, even though in his eyes she might look like an intruder, he doesn’t even try to protect himself from any possible danger – as if he doesn’t care about what happens to him, if he lives to see another day or not – and Liz’s heart breaks at the thought. ( How did she manage to break him – the strongest man she’s ever known – so hard, so possibly irreparably? ) But then recognition dawns on his face and his lips part softly and he stares up at her with utter disbelief and very tentative hope, slowly reaching his hand up, as if in trance, to touch her cheek. She lets him, leaning slightly into his touch. “Lizzy,” Red breathes, so pained and intensely relieved at the same time that Liz hates herself for doing this to him in the first place and for not being able to go out of hiding ( but it’s not only her life that’s on the line, it’s also her daughter’s and, to a degree, his, so she has to wait out until her fame in the upper and under worlds quiets down ), to console him, to make him understand that she’s not just a figment of his imagination ( she learned pretty quickly that he doesn’t let himself even consider the possibility that she might be real and not just his hallucination or a surprisingly pleasant dream ) just yet, “Lizzy.” And every night when he wakes up to such a vivid, realistic image of his lost love, he begs her for forgiveness – for absolution – and kisses her hands, the scar on her wrist with such tangible, blatant devotion it makes her heart ache. And every night when he apologizes to her, she tells him that she’s already forgiven him for everything but never takes advantage of his fragile, weak, unguarded state to get the long overdue answers out of him ( after all, she had enough time on her hands while she recovered to understand that, at the end of the day, it doesn’t really matter who they were in the past… what matters is who they are now – Red and Lizzy – and that he loves her with as much ardor as she loves him ). They always end up in each other's arms, with Red pressing messy, fervent, desperate kisses to her cheeks and forehead and the soft cascade of her shiny mahogany hair and Liz rubbing his back in what she hopes is a soothing manner, their tears mixing and staining his shirt and her sweater. “Lizzy, Lizzy, Lizzy,” Red repeats in between kisses in his low, cracking from the lack of use voice, again and again and again, like a mantra, a prayer that sounds to her ears too much like Don't go, don't go, don't go... She knows she can't promise him that now. But she can promise to stay until the morning, which is why when he whispers softly, brokenly "Stay?" in her hair, his weight settling heavier against her after the emotional turmoil of the past few minutes? hours? – Liz doesn't know how much time they spend sitting there on his bed in the mess of tangled limbs,

the mix of apologies and reassurances and each other's names that sound for all the world like declarations of love, like I'm sorry and I miss you and I don't want to ever let you go spilling from their lips – leaves him even more exhausted than the pain and the grief of the day do, she simply nods and gently pushes him away and onto his back. Red doesn't take his eyes off her as she picks the blankets up and settles beside him and tucks the blankets around them both ( Liz is acutely aware of his gaze, burning with adoration and desperation in equal measure, on her back and the side of her face ). Even as she opens her arms for him in a silent invitation to move closer and he does just that, snuggling up to her side, resting his head on her shoulder and wrapping his arms around her waist tightly but not enough to hurt, he doesn't close his eyes. Liz can tell by the way he's breathing and his body goes practically rigid with tension that he's fighting the undeniably strong pull of sleep long after they've settled in for the night. That confused her on the first day but then she understood. He knows that in the morning she won't be there, that this illusion, hallucination, dream he's having will shatter once he closes his eyes and succumbs to exhaustion. And he doesn't want to lose her again. Not for the third, fourth, fifth, umpteenth time ( when she thinks about it, Liz is not even sure if her visits help him or hurt him more... but she can't stop, she can't go about her days without knowing first-hand how Red is doing ). So Liz does the only thing she can do to soothe him: she cups the back of his head, presses a light kiss to his forehead and lies. "Sleep, Red. I will be here when you wake up." "No, you won't," he whispers back flatly – just pointing out the obvious – with an undertone of finality that haunts her long after he obediently closes his eyes and his body finally relaxes in her arms. Because he's right: she always leaves long before he wakes up, giving Dembe a hug goodbye and asking him – rather unnecessarily but she can't help herself – to take care of Red, with only one thought keeping her going through the day: That one day – and hopefully, not in such a distant future – she will be there in the morning when Red wakes up.

[adsosfraser]

The Stone’s Toll - Chapter Four

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cw: medical trauma/abuse

They stripped her to the bone and prodded her towards the corner with the spigot about a metre above her head. Their eyes were focused intently on her every move, calculating each misstep. One of her guards called out into the hall and the water surged down in high pressured spurts. She had been naked with strangers before. Had been dressed by them. Bare and vulnerable. Mrs. Fitz came to mind. But this was not anything like that, it felt demeaning, dehumanising. It was intended to humble her. 

 The other guard threw a bar of soap which Claire fumbled with and fell to the floor. The grime on the floor had built up for years and mould dotted the edges of the shower. She scrunched her nose at the thought of picking the soap up from such an environment, but the stares of the guards burrowed deep into her skin.

 “Two minutes.”

Claire carefully traced the spot above her heart. It stung less than before when she was weaned off of the pain medication. Claire was heavily sedated for those six days in hospital. She felt like she had when she returned through the stones, a crushing weight bearing down on her body. And she was all alone. Her injury was monitored until she could be properly transferred to Danvers State Hospital, or rather the Danvers Lunatic Asylum, where they placed her unceremoniously in her cage-like room. The pounding force of the shower left a dull pain, almost opening the wound on her breast again. She scrubbed the dirt, the pain off of her skin until she felt she had no skin left. 

 Claire was soon in the plain cotton uniform they provided everyone. Her hair flew wildly above her head because she was unable to comb through her curls. They at least deemed her safe enough to not need restraints on top of the guards that flanked her. How kind. Those were reserved for the more violent afflictions.

 She watched as her tangled curls floated down to the tiled floor around her feet. Her hair was shorn to about her chin to conform with the other patients. 

 The institute had yet decided what to do about her condition, which they concluded was melancholia and the hysteria which accompanied it. All unnecessary consequences of her female persuasion. 

 “I assure you, sir, I am perfectly fine. Now if I could just speak to my husband.” She forced herself to put out the last word.

 “He is still considering the terms of your release and treatment. You gave Mr. Randall quite a shock.” Doctor Lionel Brown quirked his eyebrows at his patient, placing the pairs of his pointer and middle finger against his lips in thought.

 “I know. Now if you’d just-“

 A knock sounded at the door.

 “Mr. Anderson you may come in.”

 “Mrs. Randall, this is Mr. Anderson, our specialist in mood disorders. He’s shed some insight with me earlier about what may be best in order for you to be released. If you don’t mind, Mr. Anderson.” 

 “I think our electroshock therapies would be very conducive for her recovery. When repeated twice a week, these treatments help ease pain and reduce memories that are hard to pass on their own.” Anderson glanced at Doctor Brown and continued. “Another option if the treatments are unable to hold and improve your condition is the transorbital lobotomy which is guaranteed to permanently improve it. I can assure you ma’am this avenue has been thoroughly researched and our patients report a calm demeanour within weeks of the operation. 

 “I highly doubt that’s necessary sir.” Claire scoffed. 

 Claire slumped in her chair and considered for a second. She could be free of the pain, of the man who haunted her every waking moment. She could stop mourning her husband, her family at Lallybroch, and her children. Maybe she would forget and finally be able to return to Frank as Jamie had intended. But she could never forget Jamie, no matter what happened to her. Her mind may forget but her soul would always keep him within her. 

 It was four doors later that she reluctantly followed one of the nurse’s in the ward down the dreary halls. No matter her reluctance to it, her treatments would begin according to the doctor’s schedule. 

 Claire was instructed to take off her shoes as she entered the room. She glanced around the room only to be met with unfamiliar faces. She had comforted the woman who went before her who was convulsing and writhing on the treatment table. Claire tried to soothe her and soon her breathing evened out and a dazed look took over her face. There was no fighting this. If Claire refused to comply, it would be much worse. The woman slouched to the floor and began her walk away from the machine. 

 The orderly wiped off the metal table from the woman’s sweat and perhaps even a small amount of urine: the reactions to the terror. He sighed and wrote on the chart, detailing exactly how the patient’s body handled the treatment. He pointed to the table, not even sparing a glance at Claire. One. Two. Three. She thought as she forced each step. Her back and limbs arched away from the shocking cold of the metal and her muscles tensed reflexively. 

 The nurse placed a flat wooden stick in her mouth and instructed her to bite down. Her arms and legs were strapped down before she could change her mind and start thrashing against her jailer. Two firm ovals suctioned to her temples and a strap ran around her head securing the device to her head. 

 Perhaps it was her indifference that led them to choose this method of torture. She would be sure to smile and have all the warmth of a womanly countenance when she next met with Doctor Brown. Her fate depended on her first husband, and the doctor that held her hostage within the suffocating walls of the institution. She had made her feelings quite clear to Frank, and perhaps he was enacting his vengeance this way.

 As the first wave of electricity passed through her body straight to her heart and mind, her body convulsed under its strain. After the base time of thirty seconds for her treatment, her body slumped back down onto the cold surface that sent chills down her spine. She was left disoriented and stupid, waiting to gain back her senses. 

 “Who’s this, Smiley?” Claire’s mind could barely discern the shape of the figure hanging on the doorframe before her. The glum nurse who was addressed was the farthest thing from smiley. 

 “Mrs. Randall, your newest neighbour.”

 “Oh, how exciting!” The girl who couldn’t be more than fourteen slipped something into the nurse’s pocket. “I think I’ll call you Miss Curly Wig.” She grinned and eyed the mess of curls fanned out around on the silver surface enviously. 

 The orderly nonchalantly slipped a lollipop into the girl’s waiting hands and a piece of gum, payment for whatever she had smuggled in for him. 

 “You’ll be just fine Miss Curly Wig.” The girl who was barely a teenager patted her shoulder in comfort. Claire couldn’t do more than stare blankly at the girl, no words appearing on her tongue. “Sure the first one is a bit of a shock. But you get over it. Your brain is like cotton the first few days, and you look as dumb as ever, but if you comply, they shorten it to every three weeks instead. I haven’t gotten the shock in four weeks now because I’ve been on my best behaviour. Haven’t had the urge to steal in months. Isn’t that right Smiley?”   

 Smiley grunted affirmatively in a way that reminded her of Murtagh while he put away the equipment from the day’s treatments. Her heart ached along with her head and tears pricked at the corner of her eyes.

 “Can I escort her back to her room Smiley? You are done here for the day, aren’t you?” 

 “Yes, Miss Emily.” The nurse clearly was uncomfortable straying from protocol. 

 Claire walked back in silence to the plain white room, filled with only a white metal bed and mattress. Emily patted her hand on the sheets and Claire plopped down on them. The rambunctious child flitted out of the room, excited to find a new face in the dreary and tedious schedule of the ward. 

 Claire laid back against the stiff pillow of her twin bed. It was impossible to get comfortable here. Her brain was buzzing and her fingers felt tingly, like the static from the radio. In the night, when the other patient's cries filled her mind, she traced the fading scar on her palm where he cut her. The rings, sgian dubh, pearls and her old clothes were the only physical proof it had been real. Now she had none of them. No tangible proof in her grasp. The only reminder was the memory of the slight pain when he marked out the flesh into a J.

 “Milady!” Fergus screamed into the empty air of the great room. His body curled up into one of the velvet chaises by the fire and his whimpers woke Jamie, who rested his eyes on the floor beside the inconsolable child. Jamie had almost drifted off to sleep himself, but his mind buzzed with thoughts of his wife. He rose and gathered Fergus in his arms, hushing the boy. 

 “Milady.” The tears renewed themselves and tumbled without end down his cheeks. Jamie stroked the hair from his son’s face and cursed when his hand felt the hot and sweaty skin. 

 Claire woke up shaking on the sweat-soaked sheets. “Fergus.” Her guilt of leaving him, her family was insurmountable. But she felt deep in her bones something terribly awful. A dread that squeezed at her heart. Just like any other person could feel the earth shift under their feet, before possessing the actual knowledge of what happened to their loved one. A fellow war nurse once told her of her premonitions, and the next day she was sent an impersonal letter declaring his death in battle.

 She pressed the pillow against her ears, trying to block out the vivid visions of the young French boy. 

 Emily became an ally to Claire in the short amount of time she had been in the B ward. She followed her constantly like a lost puppy and accompanied her to the electroshock therapies every week. Claire supposed the girl had deemed her the sanest out of their fellow patients, so she must have felt more at ease in her presence. The girl had even taught Claire a neat trick, how to pretend to swallow her medicine and then spit it out later. 

 At night, the faces in the flecks of the popcorn ceiling above taunted her. Every move of the shadows was a demon reimagined in her mind. Of her family and those who wished her harm. They all played an equal role in the play stretched out before her. Two straight lines and a curve mixed together into one evil, Black Jack Randall and her husband. Her mind drifted to the sight of her son, curled up and shivering in his sickbed. She was stuck between the tormenting images in the ceiling or the all too real feel of Fergus’ small body pressed against her in a tight hug. 

 “Miss Curly Wig!” It took her a moment to recognise her young companion, the thoughts seeped slowly through her mind like molasses. 

 “Where on earth did you get these?” 

 “I filched them from Doc B when I was snooping through your files. I was going to trade them to Smiley, but I thought better. Hide them in your bra, they never look there.” The child winked at her. 

 “Thanks for the advice.” She slipped the silver down her shirt and was about to scatter the gold across the wooden boards of the floor when she thought better; it was a valuable chunk of money. “What do you want in return?” 

 “Nothing yet. But those locks of yours sure are pretty.” 

 “You want a lock of my hair?” 

 She stared at the child dumbfounded. Hers easily rivalled Claire’s, the fiery red waving around her ears and growing slowly towards her shoulders. What harm was there in giving a child a piece of a muddied brown curl? She gripped a strand of her hair from the base of her head and held it taut. Claire ripped the piece just below the hold her hand had on it so it wouldn’t be plucked directly from her scalp. Her palms opened, gifting the rare thing to the adolescent. Her face visibly brightened and she snatched it immediately. She tucked in safely within her shirt like Claire had done with her rings and skipped down the hall towards the dark wood staircase. 

 Claire plastered a sickly sweet smile as she sat on the plastic chair. Dr. Brown shuffled some papers on his desk and ignored her. He licked his finger to card through the pages and pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. He cleared his throat before finally acknowledging her.

 “Ah, Mrs. Randall. And what, might I ask, lead me to the pleasure of seeing you in my office today?”

 “As you can see, Dr. Brown, the treatments have worked splendidly and I would very much like to return home now. I see no need to be kept here further.” 

 “I’m sorry ma’am it’s just not how- oh looky here! Your husband signed for your release when he visited me yesterday.” 

 “Great, so now this has all been sorted.”

 “Just hold on Mrs. Randall.” He emphasised her proper name. “Yes, he’s clearly signed your release here, but we’ll need to keep you here for an observation period of at least three more days. Make sure you’ll do no more harm to yourself or others. But, you’ll be glad to know we have seen an improvement from your treatments, and your last one will be this Friday, a day before your release.” 

 She bit her tongue to hold back the avalanche of defiant words and insults she wanted to fling at the man who held her fate in his hands. Finally, she settled for a simple, “thank you,” and left back to the empty halls. 

 The bastards in the hospital had made zero progress in truly helping her. If she was asked, Claire knew she wouldn’t be able to recall any detail at all about the last few months of her life. If she could call it that, she was dead living. The therapies only added to her already failing memory. Emily was the only bright part of her day, and now she was leaving the poor girl in the hands of these people alone. 

 Her final night, when her brain sludged forward through its thoughts, a consequence of her treatments, she finally allowed herself to relax back into her bed fully. But that was a mistake. Fergus sat before the fire at Lallybroch, playing soldier with some chess pieces. The sight of the son of her heart pierced through her chest. He turned around and smiled at her softly. 

 “Come back, Milady, please. Milord needs you. I miss you maman.” He had never called her maman before, only Milady. 

 On closer inspection, his eyes were wide with fear at the apparition before him. He knew Milady would never harm him, but there was something otherworldly about her appearance now, much different than her usual strange demeanour. Sensing his trepidation, she kissed his forehead gently, taking the pain and fear into herself from that small point where her lips met his curl that dangled there. A tear dripped down the edge of her nose to his cheek. A flash of red and blue entered the dream, but by then she was already awake.