#she’s built to be quick and maneuver tight spaces

[liatorii]

Maul and Ahsoka as some lizards of the fire variety. Putting both bc why not! You can’t stop me!

My buddy @phi-guy. This Maul is only for you, no one else can have him.

[rvp32]

Whisper of uncontrollable desire

4.5K, Omegaverse of sorts, Power dynamics, overstimulation, and a little dirty talk. Overall, it is a pretty fluffy smut. Any and all feedback is appreciated. Hope you guys enjoy it!

"Please, alpha," Chaewon moaned, her voice filled with desperate longing. "I need it. It hurts so much." The stage was set for a magnificent performance, but fate had chosen this precise moment to unleash the torment of her heat upon her.

Chaewon had forgotten her suppressants and her scent was spiraling out of control, a potent aphrodisiac that threatened to shatter the fragile peace around her. In this futuristic world, where dominance and hierarchy determined societal norms, any other alpha catching even a whiff of her scent would ignite a savage frenzy, tearing apart the very fabric of their meticulously built company and tarnishing its reputation forever.

As her dedicated guardian, it was up to you to ensure Chaewon's well-being, to tame the wild storm brewing within her. You knew that for her to perform flawlessly, her primal desires had to be appeased. The weight of responsibility pressed upon your shoulders as you gazed into her pleading eyes.

"Pretty girl," you whispered, your voice tinged with a mix of authority and compassion, "I am going to be quick, but you will face the consequences once we return. Do you understand?" The words hung in the air, a delicate promise of both pleasure and punishment.

Chaewon's mind was clouded with an overwhelming need, her thoughts consumed by a single craving. Unable to resist, she nodded fervently, surrendering herself completely. At this moment, consequences and concerns faded into obscurity, replaced by an all-encompassing yearning.

In the confined space of the washroom cubicle, a labyrinth of desire unfolded, teasing the boundaries of your shared passion. The small enclosure offered little room for maneuvering, especially with your imposing stature, leaving you no choice but to surrender control to Chaewon's graceful movements. A tantalizing prospect danced before your eyes, as anticipation mingled with lust in the charged atmosphere.

With an unyielding hunger, you pulled Chaewon close, your lips crashing together in a kiss that ignited a fierce craving for a deeper connection. The taste of longing lingered upon your tongues, a tantalizing promise of the pleasure yet to come. The world outside the cubicle ceased to exist as your bodies molded together, bound by an insatiable need for more.

Seating yourself on the toilet, you drew Chaewon onto your lap, an electric pulse of desire coursing through your veins. The heat between you intensified, as your mouths remained locked in an intoxicating dance of tongues and teeth. Every touch and graze fueled the fire that consumed both of you, building an uncontainable tension.

"Alpha, please," Chaewon's voice echoed with a plea, her words a seductive melody that seeped into your very core. Her whine, a symphony of desire, tugged at the strings of your self-control. At this moment, inhibitions were discarded, and all that remained was an overwhelming need to quench the ache that enveloped you both. 

Giving in to Chaewon's plea, you swiftly strip off your pants, granting her access to what she craves. With a pang of hunger in her eyes, she wastes no time and removes the final barrier between herself and her desires. She's already drenched, and time is of the essence, so she wastes no time in sinking down onto your length, inch by glorious inch until you're completely intertwined.

The sheer stimulation is enough to send Chaewon spiraling into a world of ecstasy, her body trembling and her control slipping away. You instinctively pull her closer, ensuring she doesn't lose her balance amidst the mind-blowing pleasure. Werewolves are known to get ultra-sensitive during their heat, so it's no surprise to witness Chaewon losing her mind from such a simple action. 

"Ah, so tight for me, aren't you, my pretty girl," you whisper huskily into Chaewon's ear, relishing the shivers that raced down her spine. A playful bite on her earlobe elicits a deliciously wanton moan from her lips. "But naughty girls like you don't get the satisfaction of me doing all the work."

In the depths of her gaze, you catch a glimmer of vulnerability mingled with untamed desire. Chaewon's eyes glisten with tears, a testament to the intensity of their connection. Yet, the tightening of her body around you reveals her true pleasure, a silent affirmation of her carnal hunger. With a shared understanding, she embraces her role, preparing to take charge of their intimate dance.

As she begins to move, a symphony of moans cascades from her lips, unabashed and unrestrained. It's as if time itself ceases to exist, and the only reality that matters is the intoxicating pleasure that courses through their intertwined bodies. Your mind is clouded with desire, longing to explore further with your free hands, but the constraints of her delicate outfit restrain your primal instincts, adding an exhilarating layer of restraint.

Suddenly, the bathroom door swings open, breaking the spell that has enveloped them. "Chaewon-ah, how long are you going to take?" The voice, unmistakably Sakura's, one of the Betas from your pack, punctures the heated atmosphere. Chaewon, unable to form words in her state of delirious pleasure, sinks her teeth into your shoulder, drawing in your scent, which only intensifies her arousal.

"Sakura, Chaewon will be out soon," you reply, your voice laced with a commanding yet tantalizing authority. With that, Sakura retreats from the washroom, realization dawning upon her. The brief interruption only adds to the charged tension, heightening the forbidden allure of their clandestine encounter.

As Chaewon continues to ride you with unbridled eagerness, the intensity between you reaches a fever pitch. Her mind, now blissfully lost in a haze of pleasure, prevents coherent thoughts from forming. Her eyes roll back, disappearing into a world solely focused on the sensations pulsating through her body. Unrestrained moans escape her lips, filling the air, as her scent wafts around, a fragrant declaration of her desire.

With your free hand, you skillfully tease her swollen bud, sending a surge of electricity through her system. The unexpected jolt causes her to yelp, and a rush of liquid gushes forth, coating both of you in a sweet mixture of satisfaction. Her body trembles, overwhelmed by the cascading waves of pleasure that wash over her.

Caught up in the all-consuming whirlwind of sensation, the boundaries of reality blur, and nothing exists except the searing pleasure shared between your intertwined bodies. The irresistible tightness enveloping you fuel an instinctive rutting motion, deepening the connection and pushing you both toward the brink of ecstasy.

As the climax subsides, Chaewon collapses against you, her body seeking respite from the intense activity. In the aftermath of their passionate union, you find solace in each other's arms, reveling in the intimate aftermath of their wild desires. While the outside world may be a blur, within the sanctuary of their embrace, time stands still, allowing them to bask in the euphoria of their shared experience.

"Hey, Chaewon-ah, you need to get the final touches done on your makeup. The stage is waiting, and we don't have all day," you call out to her, reluctantly untangling yourselves from the embrace. She nods, understanding the urgency, and hops off your lap to fix herself up and look somewhat presentable. But deep down, you both know that this little intermission is just a temporary break from the heat.

Before she leaves the stall, Chaewon turns to you with a mix of guilt and determination etched on her face. "Sorry, Alpha, I should've been more careful. I promise this won't happen again," she says, her voice filled with unwavering loyalty. With that, she heads out, leaving you to deal with the aftermath.

You pull up your pants, only to realize they're damp and clingy from your wild encounter. Letting out a sigh, you reach for your phone and dial your secretary's number, requesting a fresh pair of pants. It's just one of those things you have to deal with when you're in charge, right?

As you change into the new pants, your mind drifts to the seating area in front of the stage. How the hell did you end up in this situation? Well, long story short, you're the Alpha of a kickass werewolf pack. Yeah, that's right. Being an Alpha comes with a truckload of responsibilities, especially when your pack is filled with other alphas. But thanks to your impressive power and leadership skills, they all agreed that you're the top dog.

Werewolves have a longer lifespan than humans, so you've had to adapt to human society over time. And to keep the pack fed and happy, you decided to start an entertainment company in South Korea. Who knew werewolves could rock the stage too, right?

Being an Alpha ain't all sunshine and rainbows. It's a juggling act of power, emotions, and keeping your pack in line. But here you are, taking your seat, ready to witness the magic unfold on the stage. 

The electrifying performance of Unforgiven by Lesserafim left the audience in awe, and you couldn't help but feel a surge of pride as they owned the stage. The thunderous applause and standing ovation were well-deserved, and once they made their way backstage, you followed suit.

Entering the room, you were greeted by a chorus of cheerful voices and friendly hugs. The pack members were buzzing with excitement, and Yunjin, the ever-enthusiastic werewolf with a personality like a golden retriever, couldn't contain her excitement. "Alpha, did you see how amazing we were? Was I a good girl?" she exclaimed, practically bouncing with anticipation.

Grinning, you playfully ruffled Yunjin's hair. "You were all fantastic. Of course, you were a good girl, Yunjin-ah," you praised, earning a wag of her metaphorical tail and a beaming smile.

Directing your attention to Chaewon, you couldn't resist a teasing remark. She looked at you with apologetic eyes, seeking solace in the company of Kazuha, a docile alpha who always seemed to defy expectations. Finding amusement in the situation, you couldn't help but say, "Unlike you, Chaewon Unnie," which caused her to hide behind Kazuha, clinging to her for support.

Yunjin, ever the innocent soul, seemed perplexed by the exchange. "But Alpha, Chaewon Unnie did great on stage," she innocently pointed out. Before you could respond, Sakura chimed in with a mischievous laugh, shedding light on the situation. "Chaewon forgot her suppressants, and well, it's that time of the month. That's why Kazuha is covering her nose like someone let out a real stinker," Sakura explained, followed by laughter from the group.

Yunjin's innocent remark unintentionally tugged at Chaewon's heartstrings, her heightened sensitivity due to the heat making her teary-eyed. Stepping away from Yunjin, you approached Chaewon, a tender touch caressing her cheek. "Hey, I was just teasing, princess. No need to be sad," you reassured her, pulling her into a comforting hug. "I'm right here for you, don't worry."

As the day's events concluded and the girls changed out of their stage outfits, you all hopped into the car for the drive back to the pack's mansion. It was a bit of a trek from the city, but you didn't mind the distance. Chaewon and Yunjin nestled close to you, seeking comfort during the ride. Chaewon ended up dozing off on your shoulder, while Yunjin took a nap on the other side. It was a peaceful journey, with Eunchae and Sakura also catching some sleep.

"Kazuha, you look kinda out of it. Everything alright?" you asked, glancing over at her with concern.

She let out a tired sigh. "Just exhausted from the busy schedule, and being near Chaewon during her heat is adding to the mental strain," she replied, rubbing her temples. You understood the struggle of controlling one's urges around an alluring werewolf in heat.

"Well, hang in there, angel. We're almost home, and once we're there, you can relax. No more promotions for a while," you reassured her, hoping to lighten her burden.

The car rolled to a stop at the pack's grand mansion, a place that served as both a residence and a base for operations. You gently woke Chaewon and Yunjin, prompting Yunjin to groggily make her way to her room to continue snoozing. The rest of the pack followed suit, but Chaewon clung to your side, unwilling to part ways.

"Hey, don't you wanna catch some sleep, princess?" you asked, raising an eyebrow. Chaewon shook her head, giving you a puppy-eyed look that was hard to resist. "Can I stay with you, Alpha? Cuddle a bit, maybe?" she requested, her gaze filled with longing.

"Sure thing, let's head on in," you agreed, scooping her up in your arms. Walking together towards your room, you set her down on the bed and took a moment to change out of your suit. When you returned, Chaewon was zoned out, staring at the doorway.

"You wanna change, princess? It's gonna be tough to sleep in those clothes," you suggested, motioning to her attire. However, you held onto her hand before she could step out, stopping her. "No need to go all the way to your room. Just grab something from my closet," you offered, a playful grin on your face.

With a shy nod, Chaewon disappeared into the walk-in closet while you settled onto the bed, scrolling through your phone. Moments later, she emerged wearing nothing but your shirt, which practically swallowed her up. She looked incredibly cute in it, tempting you to pull her close and steal a kiss. Chaewon padded over to the bed and settled down beside you, cuddling up. It was a relaxed and cozy atmosphere, the perfect end to a long day. 

*****

You were awoken by a sudden wet feeling, wondering what happened. You down to notice that the source of the wet feeling was none other than Chaewon. When she noticed you, she met your eyes with such innocent ones, like she wasn’t doing anything wrong. With how cute she looked, you didn’t have the heart to tell her to stop and it wasn’t like you weren’t enjoying what she was doing. She was exceptional at giving head, playing with her hair you throw your head back in pleasure. “Oh yeah, that’s it, Princess, keep going deeper.” 

Following your instructions Chaewon goes deeper, reaching the back of her throat, to increase the pleasure you push her head toward your crotch but stop when you feel Chaewon tap your thighs, letting fo she takes a deep breath. 

“Princess, come here and give me a kiss,” Chaewon obeys, her thighs on each side of your body, she leans down and kisses you. The kiss was full of lust and longing, Chaewon’s hands exploring every inch of you while your hands explored every inch of her. 

Their lips parted, leaving a trail of desire and aching need. The air crackled with anticipation as Chaewon's gaze locked with yours, her eyes smoldering with a fiery passion.

“What is it that you want princess?” you tease, though you know exactly what it is. Chaewon turns away from you and mumbles “I need you, alpha.”

Holding her chin you turn her toward you, “You have to be more clear, princess, what exactly do you want your alpha to do you.” “Alpha, I need you to fuck me, use me how you want! Break my mind with pleasure, make sure that the only thing I can think about is your huge alpha cock,” Chaewon said her voice getting louder and harsher. 

You smile at her and slowly insert 1 finger into her sloppy pussy, earning a moan from her which soon turns into a whine, “Alpha, don’t tease please, I don’t want your fingers! Please fuck me with your cock I beg you!”

"Princess," you whispered huskily, your voice laced with desire. " I want to taste every inch of you, feel your body surrendering to mine."

Chaewon's breath hitched, and her cheeks flushed with a mixture of anticipation and vulnerability. Her hands trembled as they traced the contours of your chest, leaving a trail of electrifying sensations in their wake.

"Alpha," she murmured, her voice a mere whisper. "Take me. Make me yours."

You couldn't deny the plea in her voice, the urgent longing that mirrored your own. The hunger between you intensified, an unspoken promise of ecstasy waiting to be fulfilled.

With a swift motion, you flipped her onto her back, positioning yourself above her. The world around you faded into oblivion as you leaned in, your lips hungrily seeking hers once more. The taste of her was intoxicating, igniting a fire within you that threatened to consume everything in its path.

Your hands roamed freely, exploring every curve and dip of her body, igniting sparks of pleasure with each touch. Chaewon's moans mingled with your own as the boundaries of time and space blurred, lost in the dance of passion and desire.

In that moment, there was only the two of you, entwined in a symphony of raw emotion and unspoken promises. Every touch, every caress, sent shivers down your spine, building the tension to unbearable heights.

"Master," she gasped, her voice filled with a mixture of longing and urgency. "I need you now."

A smile tugged at the corner of your lips, savoring the anticipation that hung in the air. You positioned yourself, slowly inserting it, her moans got louder, and her nails clawed at your back to help deal with the pain. “Oh my god, it feels so good, alpha,” Chaewon manages to say in between her moans. As you bottomed out in her, you let her adjust, leaning down to kiss her.

Once you felt her relax a little, you began moving slowly, making sure to not hurt her but that changed when Chaewon said “Is this the best you can do, alpha,” this flipped a switch in your mind. Picking up the pace, you pounded into her like a battering ram, Chaewon’s moans turned into screams of pleasure. Her pussy tightened around you, signaling that she was close to her orgasm. 

“I-i am going to c-cum, yes! Right there alpha, fuck! It feels so fucking good,” Chaewon’s back curved in anticipation of an orgasm but you denied her of it when you pulled out.

“No-no, alpha put it back please I need to cum, please let me cum, Alpha I beg you!” Chaewon pleaded with you, her mind and body were going desperate for pleasure. 

“Only good girls get to cum and princess you have been a very bad girl,” you tease her, using your dick to flick her clit.

“Please please please alpha, I will be a good girl, I will do anything that you want, so I beg you please make me cum” Chaewon screams, getting more and more desperate. Knowing she can’t hold on any longer you put it back in one go without a warning causing her to yelp and start pounding. 

“Oh my fucking god, it feels so amazing to be filled by your cock alpha,” Chaewon continued to mumble incoherent things, her brain melting from pleasure. “Alpha, going to cum, can princess cum please!”

“Go ahead princess, cum all over my cock like the fucking slut you are,” with your permission, she lets go and cums, her pussy gushes all over your cock, her eyes rolled to the back of her head, and her legs trembling. 

Chaewon looked completely spent but you decided that it wasn’t over, before she can calm down from the brain-shattering orgasm she just had, you stimulate her clit and start pounding her again, the pleasure now multiplied.

“No, Alpha, no, too much, please… stop. YOU WILL BREAK ME, PLEASE NOO,” she was responding very well to the overstimulation her pussy was clamping down around you like there was no tomorrow. The tightness drove you closer to your orgasm.

“Chaewon-ah, I am going to cum, where do you want it?” You ask as the pounding continues. “Inside- do it inside please, cum inside me. I need your cum inside me alpha,” Chaewon manages to say.

Her permission was all you needed, after a few more thrusts you unload your seed deep inside Chaewon. “Fuck! Take all of it, Princess, don’t waste a single drop,” after coming down from the high of your orgasm, you lie down next to Chaewon. She is still recovering from the overstimulation. Pulling her into a tight embrace you whisper “Such a good girl, you did an amazing job, Princess, I am so proud of you.” 

As the night embraced the lovers, a sense of tranquility settled upon their intertwined bodies. Chaewon, nestled in your arms, radiated an ethereal beauty even in her slumber. The moonlight filtered through the curtains, casting a soft glow upon her peaceful face.

With gentle strokes, you caressed her back, tracing the contours of her delicate form. The touch of your fingertips against her warm skin elicited a subtle shiver, awakening a dormant desire within you.

Lost in the labyrinth of your thoughts, you leaned in and placed a tender kiss upon her forehead, a gesture laced with unspoken affection and adoration. Chaewon stirred slightly, a contented sigh escaping her parted lips.

"Sleep well, Princess," you whispered your voice a soothing melody in the hushed darkness. 

As the night deepened, the rhythmic rise and fall of Chaewon's breathing serenaded your senses, creating a symphony of intimacy that resonated within your very core. Her slumber was a testament to the trust she placed in your arms, an unwavering surrender.

*****

As the morning light filtered through the office windows, you found yourself buried in a mountain of paperwork. It was a never-ending battle against the endless forms and contracts that seemed to multiply overnight. Sighing, you longed for a brief respite from the monotony.

Just when you thought the day couldn't get any duller, a soft knock on the door startled you. Chaewon stood there, her eyes filled with a mix of innocence and mischief. She had a way of brightening up even the dullest moments.

"Hey, princess, what brings you here?" you greeted her, a playful grin tugging at the corners of your lips.

With a shy smile, she stepped into the room, and before you knew it, she had settled herself on your lap. The unexpected closeness sent a jolt of excitement through you, breaking the monotony of the office.

As you tried to focus on the task at hand, Eunbi barged in, ready to spill some important info. But her alpha instincts kicked in, and she couldn't help but catch a whiff of Chaewon's pheromones.

"You didn't take your suppressants, did you, Chaewon?" Eunbi asked her tone a mix of concern and authority.

Chaewon's voice wavered as she confessed, "I forgot, Eunbi-unnie."

Eunbi's gaze bore into Chaewon, her words carrying a warning. You knew the pack's rules all too well, and consequences were a part of the deal. It was a delicate balance between love and discipline.

Chaewon's grip on your arm tightened, and you couldn't help but feel protective. Eunbi handed her the suppressants, a tangible reminder of the responsibility she held as an omega within the pack.

With a mixture of resignation and determination, Chaewon obediently took the offered suppressants, her eyes never leaving yours. It was a silent promise, a commitment to control the wild flames that burned within her.

The office fell into a hushed pause, the air thick with unspoken tension. But amidst the lingering scent of desire, you remained a beacon of support and understanding.

As the day continued, the mundane tasks blurred into the background, and you found solace in Chaewon's presence on your lap. 

The rest of the day goes by with you getting work done and Chaewon clinging to you, and from the looks of it, Chaewon’s heat might end tomorrow because of the suppressants. 

****

Chaewon had fallen asleep in your arms again, but this time there weren’t any extracurricular activities. Both your slumber was interrupted by none other than Kwon Eunbi, she barged into the room. “Eunbi-ah, what are you doing here so early,” you questioned. 

“Oppa, first of all, it's noon, I woke you up because Chaewon needs to be punished today, her heat ended and she needs to be taught a lesson,” Eunbi said with a smirk and winks at you. You always found it funny how Eunbi loved punishing I*zone girls when they broke the rules. 

“Alright, let’s get this done with,” You say, picking up Chaewon to take her to the basement where the punishment room is located. 

You followed Eunbi as she weaved through the halls until you ended up in front of the punishment room. This was going to be Chaewon’s first time in the punishment room.

he heavy metal door creaked open, revealing the dimly lit punishment room. Its cold, sterile atmosphere sent a shiver down Chaewon's spine, her eyes widening in both anticipation and trepidation. She clutched onto you, seeking solace in your presence, her voice trembling with a mix of fear and pleading.

"Alpha, please be gentle," she implored, her eyes filled with an undeniable mix of innocence and desire. "I won't break the rules ever again."

Your heart clenched at the vulnerability in her voice, your protective instincts kicking in. With a nod, you tried to convey a sense of reassurance, hoping to temper her fears. But all reassurance faded into thin air as Chaewon's gaze fell upon Eunbi's face—the face of the one who delighted in enforcing discipline upon the I*zone girls.

Eunbi's smirk widened, a mischievous glint dancing in her eyes. She thrived on these moments, relishing the power and control she wielded. It was a game they played, a dance of dominance and submission. And in this twisted ballet of pleasure and discipline, Chaewon was about to take her first steps.

Taking a deep breath, you carried Chaewon further into the room, its cold air wrapping around you like a sinister embrace. Eunbi followed close behind, her presence a constant reminder of the impending punishment.

The room was adorned with various restraints and devices, each designed to both heighten sensations and test limits. It was a place where boundaries were pushed, where pleasure and pain intertwined. As you settled Chaewon onto a padded surface, her eyes darted nervously around the room, taking in the tools that would soon be employed upon her.

Eunbi's voice cut through the silence, her tone dripping with calculated dominance. "Chaewon, my sweet, you will learn the consequences of breaking the rules," she purred, her gaze locking onto Chaewon's with an intensity that sent a shiver down both your spines.

Chaewon's breath hitched, her body tense with a mixture of anticipation and anxiety. But amidst it all, there was a flicker of something else—excitement, a desire to surrender to the sweet agony that awaited her.

With a steady hand, you reached out to caress Chaewon's cheek, your touch both comforting and electrifying. "Princess, trust me," you whispered, your voice laced with a blend of tenderness and authority. "This is a lesson you won't forget."

To Be Continued

[starr-fall-knight-rise]

HASO, “Perfect Timing.”

Alright everyone. I am beginning to realize that maybe expecting myself to write a story every week day with a job and trying to get into grad school and writing a second novel might be a bit..... excessive?

So I am going to try for three times a week. I hope you all stick around :)

And I hope you enjoy today’s story as well. 

Adam stood with his hands behind his back, feet spread to shoulder width. He would never have noticed by himself, but the men and women around him stood a little straighter and stepped a little faster under his watchful eye. Once upon a time they might have only hastened their work if he directly asked them too, but just his mere presence these days could send his crew scurrying to do their work. He hadn’t really changed anything about the way he commanded his men. He was firm when he needed to be but allowed for brevity when it would suit the situation.

However, a few years and some tough lessons was slowly shaping him into the kind of man who could command thousands, sharp posture, calm confidence, and a keen eye. 

But then again anyone who could appear professional while wearing high top heelies was a man to be reckoned with.

Sunny walked up next to him her pearlescent white armor glowing under the light as she leaned on the shade of her matching spear. Her head was held high like his. Where once she had been locked up, and defensive, she now stood with the calm confidence of someone who understood what control meant.

Together they had come a long way.

She tilted her head, “You really think he’s going to let you race this…. It’s a million dollar piece of military hardware, they don’t stand a chance.”

Adam didn’t move, hands still clasped behind his back as he  stared up at the F-90 Darkfire he was preparing for the race, “I wouldn’t be so sure…. I’ll be lucky to come in last place.”

Sunny frowned confused, “I saw those shuttles, they were junk shows.”

He lifted his head as the F-90 was rolled across the deck.

“This is a race, it isn’t combat. She was built for dogfights which means she is going to be heavier than the others. Wing tip to wing tip she is also going to be a little longer than the other shuttles and jets making maneuvering around obstacles more difficult. Sure she likely has a more powerful engine, but that can be as much of a detriment as it is a leg up.”  He gestured in the vague direction of the race course, “We are going to be racing through the planet’s smaller rocky ring. It has an unusual amount of larger, thick chunks which we are going to have to manuver around: the kind of conditions you might see in science fiction movies when they talk about an asteroid field. Asteroid fields are generally too far apart to cause any real issue, but here the rocks are dense, and my flying is going to have to be on pont, having a more powerful engine is going to make her more touchy, and my fitness on the controls is going to have to be absolute.”

Sunny tilted her head listening as he continued. She liked it when this side of him came out. There was something about the analytical, logical side of Adam she found….. Very appealing.

He walked forward to examine the jet himself, “Furthermore, I don’t know if you noticed, but there were a few jets there that weren’t exactly junk shows. A few of them were pretty top of the line, and most of them were built for racing. Lighter, sleeker, faster, and with more engine control than mine.

A lot of my maneuverability is lost out of the atmosphere. This isn’t about how well you can manipulate wind currents, this is going to be all about the very minute rotation of the rear and and wing engines. Their wings are smaller and closer in meaning they are going to rotate more easily than me.

She walked up with him and put a hand on his shoulder, “You forgot to fact in one thing.”

He frowned and looked up, “Oh, what did I miss.”

She smiled slightly, “The skill of the pilot, and I know for a fact that we have the best pilot this side of Andromeda. You can have the best plane in the world, but if you have a shit pilot, then a good pilot in a flying trash can has a chance of winning.”

He Smiled, “Thanks, I needed that.”

He stepped back, “Still it doesn't pay to be too cocky. I have a feeling these people have raced this before, they are going to know what they are dealing with, and I am going tinto this completely blind. This is a test to see if my instincts are better than their practice…. Who knows it could be a very close run thing.”

He moved forward to do an extra check on the outside of the ship despite having a whole team of people to do it for him. Adam had learned to delegate a lot of his responsibilities onto others to avoid burnout, but this was one thing he never left to other people. He came back after a thorough check of the ship and stopped next to her.

His head was tilted to one side as he looked at the machine sitting before him.

“It is missing something.”

Sunny turned her head to look at him, “What?”

He smiled, “Do we have anyone here who has experience with graffiti?”

***

Donavan Red met him when he entered the hanger, wearing his flight suit and holding his helmet under one arm. He had gone for some of his more simple equipment. Didn’t want to give the guy an excuse to blame his skill on technology.

Red looked him over.

“Nice suit, princess.”

Adam just smiled thinly looking around at the other pilots, “I see I might be under-dressed.”

To be far though, he wasn’t exactly sure what he would have described the dress code, if he had to put it on an invitation. 

The most apt description seemed to have been.

Dress for Pissing contest.

The men and women wore their uniforms in the same way NASCAR drivers might, covered in logos and patterns. Some of them were clearly custom ordered with personal designs on the backs or the helmets, some sporting flames, others cartoon animals, one guy was just covered in black and white skulls.

The affect up close was ok, but from a distance he just looked like an over excited dalmatian, or maybe some kind of flamboyant cow.

A few of them went for color themes, neon red on black. Neon green on blue.

Most of them tried to coordinate with the matching colors on their ship, each trying to outdo the next.

Red smirked.

The docking bay light began to blink red as the airlock was engaged, and the all turned to watch as the doors opened, and Adam’s jet rolled into the docking bay. She was simultaneously both very impressive and very not impressive. She was an instrument of war, and he rockets lined up on either side of her wings said as much. Adam had once considered her rather sleek in comparison to other jets of the day, but looking at her now in comparison with the racing planes and he couldn’t help but compare her to a pitbull or a bulldog next to greyhounds or whippets.

She rolled up slowly and Red raised an eyebrow.

“A whose guy huh?”

Adam smirked, “I don’t know, I kind of like it.”

They both looked up as the F-90 stopped in place, and along her side in delicate blue cursive script was the name Cinderella. The man who had done the graffiti  had even taken the time to add some stylized pink roses to the front and end of the word giving it a finished look.

Donavan seemed both amused and annoyed at the same time.

The men and women around him turned to look over ridicule dying on their lips as they saw the smirk on his face.

It was made pretty clear.

He was going to beat them, and when he beat them, he was going to have a princess logo on the side of his jet, never mind all of their cool paint jobs.

Donavan frowned but then turned to everyone, “Alright load up!.” Adam did as ordered, switching seats with the young pilot in the cockpit and strapping himself in. he adjusted his controls, did a quick once over, and then pulled some power from his engine.  There was going to be an overwhelming desire to go fast, but he knew that speed wasn’t going to win him this race.

The jets began lining up next to each other, and to his surprise, one of the sleek racing models sidled up next to him, and when he looked over, he saw Donovan Red cambering into the cockpit.

That didn’t exactly bode well, but what was there to do about it.

He felt cool oxygen spilling  onto his mouth and nose as the orange tinted visor dropped down over his eyes. He opted not to use the heads up display preferring to see everything around him as he was flying. 

They were all in a line now, and up ahead a large projection appeared on the docking bay doors.

Red lights began to blink as the docking bay was cleared of everyone except for the jets.

The image of a woman appeared on the screen before them.

It was one of the women he had seen before in her cut off jean shorts and tight tank top.

“Ladies and gentlemen start - your - ENGINES!”

All around him the room was filled with a roar as the group of people pushed their engines to an idle.

He could feel the jet underneath him as it thrummed and whined vibrating into his gloves and down into his skin.

His very bones could feel the trembling.

“The course is simple, one lap around the rocky interior ring of the planet. Rules are only this, no leaving the ring, no weapons, and no teams, every man for himself. If the race moderators see any of this, you will be thrown from the race.”

She smiled and leaned back to reveal two green flags in either hand.

She began to wave them.

“On your mark!”

He took a deep calming breath forcing his hand to relax.

“Get set.”

He felt his heart beating  hard against his ribcage, his stomach crawled up into his throat, and he felt the sudden and overwhelming need to pee.

“GO!”

THe airlock doors shot open faster than they should have been able, a clear sign someone had bypassed safety protocols. Caught off guard by this, Adam shot out of the gate slower than he would have liked. Already the racing  jets streaked ahead, their quicker sleeker designs looking right at home against the blackness of space.

He had to remind himself that in space, without wind resistance, sleek didn’t mean shit.

If he was good enough he could have piloted a brick to win.

He gave more joice to the engine and shot forward. He cut under one of his other opponents and then cythed up next to a second.

He was there for only a moment when he saw something coming in from his right.

Instincts had him move fast, and he turned horizontal  shooting upwards just as another jet tried to push him out. He was flying over the two of them now, and gave another burst shooting forward and past them.

This open stretch was the only time he was going to be able to use the power of his engine to his advantage, so he gave her a little more juice and shot forward catching up quickly with the racing models at the front. Two of them cut sideways attempting to block his path. He cursed, forced to fire his engines backwards so as not to go crashing into them. 

The ring was approaching quickly now, and he could see very clearly that they had not been kidding. The belt was dense, less mate out of fine sand, and instead made up of billions of rocks some the size of him, others the size of cars, and even some the size of large houses. It was the strangest sort of formation he had ever seen around a planet, and he wondered idly how they stayed in orbit.

The two jets ahead of him cut right and then left as a rock came barreling towards him.

He shouted and rolled to the side barely avoiding a head on collision, his instincts saving him where his active brain could not.

He snarled.

“Pull it together.”

There was no time to be thinking, there was only time for flying.

WIth a practiced hand he toggled a switch on the side of his thumb, and his helmet was suddenly filled with the sound of music and drums. His brain focused inward and stopped thinking. He shot over and then under rolling between rocks just inches away on either side. Off to his right the planet below was glowing with the light of it’s star, a lightning blue halo around it where the atmosphere glowed.

He cut the left dove down and then rolled up.

He could see the other jets ahead of him cutting in and out through the rocks. His breathing grew even, his body relaxed, his brain heard nothing but the beat of the music and saw nothing but the obstacles ahead of him.

One of the jets pulled up next to him from behind recklessly rolling around one of the rocks. They were racing wing tip to wing tip now.

They cut right and left under and over he rolled left they rolled right. They were shaky just hanging on, but his flying was smooth.

Up ahead one of the other jets lit up with glowing orange as a set of flares broke from it’s back end shatting against the debris behind it.  Rocks were thrown off their normal course and went smashing into each other turning the rock field ahead of them into a meat grinder. Adam shot forward and dived downward while rolling tight, behind him the racer was unable to replicate the move and a piece of rock caught their wing sending them spinning off to the side and out of the ring.

Adam dodged a piece of debris coming in from his left, flipped upside down and shot diving upward and then righting himself just under the jet up front.

He could see the leader now, and recognized it as Red himself .

The jet above him attempted to drop down and knock him out of position, but he gave a burst to the engine and shot forward.

The jet behind him punched downward and nearly collided into a rock before pulling back into the palace.

Adam took their place in second.

Red could see him coming.

Another set of flares was released.

He checked his forward momentum and rolled three or four times to his right. G forces tugged at his consciousness forcing blackness to the edge of his vision. He tightened the muscles of his chest and stomach forcing blood back up into his head as he breathed out in short controlled bursts.

A rock flew overhead, he cut low, bumped up and then executed a rolling turn over a massive rock pulling in behind red and just up to the right to avoid another burst of flares.

The two of them were fighting for the front now.

And red was good, he knew how to handle a jet, but so did Adam.

They roared past a field of rocks splitting apart as a massive chunk came between them. Adam roared forward, and panicked for a single moment as he saw an impenetrable wall of rock appear just before him. Then a crack appeared. He fired the forward engine and cut horizontal passing through an opening that left him only feet to spare. Rock rose up to meet him, and he rotated his engine up dropping vertically before cutting sideways and passing under a rock. Teeth gritted, he punched upward passing through a gap just as it closed behind him.

A yell of exertain escaped his lips as he pulled straight up cutting up the side of a massive mansion-sized rock before diving right back down into the thick of it.

Red was gone, he didn’t see him anymore.

Was he up front?

And then the sleek black jet dropped down from above cutting him off.

He cursed and swerved low past another rock forced to cut diagonal back into line.

He pulled up wing to wing with the men again.

They dove, they pulled up and they took a wide turn ac coordinated together as a military formation never more than four feet apart.

They were going faster than they probably should have reacted. second by second he rolled left Red went right. They both met in a dive rolling past each other, wings almost touching before cutting upwards mirroring each other in opposite directions. The sound of the music melded with the path of his flight.

They were racing side by side just as one of the other jets roared over them careening out of control in a desperate attempt t o reach front. They watched him dive pull up cut left, and then a rock rolled right into their path. The two of them barely had time to react as the rock hit their right wing and then sent them slamming into the next boulder. There was an eruption and a brief ball of fire as oxygen was consumed from inside the cockpit. Debris blossomed up around them in a miniature explosion.

Adam greeted his teeth, eyes wide .

What was once a race suddenly turned into a battlezone. He and Red dove together rolling around the debris desperately trying to avoid getting cut in two. At these speeds, one hit would be the death of them. His heart raced in his chest as he pulled forward cutting  in the triangle made by three boulders side by side. Red mirrored him below.

A chunk of metal shot towards him, and he toggled his right wing burst just in time, lowering his left side just in time for the chunk to go flying past him. He pulled up with a gasp as a massive chunk of rock cut up before him. Red shot below and he rolled over the top coming into second place.

Up ahead a mining barge ascended through the line of rocks.

Adam roared with exertion as he pulled up and leveled out shooting right under the attached arm of the barge. Red lights erupted over it’s hull in a proximity warning as he went just inches overhead.

The barge driver, clearly spooked twisted to the side and the arm of the barge rolled with it, catching a boulder and sending it flying towards the grouping next to it, there was a sudden explosion of rock and again he was forced to roll to the side. Up down, over and under, cything between lines of rock.

He was almost hit once, then twice.

He toggled the forward engines, slowing himself down and then shooting straight up before continuing forward.

The rocks around him were rolling unpredictably colliding and then exploding into smaller pieces. There was no way he was making it through that alive.

He was rolling diving spinning twisting, and then, he felt it…. Something he had only felt on occasion. The world around him went silent, everything seemed to slow, and he was filled with…. With a feeling. It was like light, bursting out from his chest, rolling up through his skin and into his head.

He entered a moment of perfect execution. He cut into a tight roll his wings cything through the minute gaps between debris with timing so perfect it shouldn't have been humanly possible. Rocks passed by him at hundreds of miles an hour inches away  from the glass of his canopy, one wrong move and he’d be dead. He cut through a gap that gave him inches on either side rolld right dove down, turned left, spun once and then twice, and made a completely vertical ascent. Rocks flew past him on his right and on his left.

Up ahead he could see a gap slowly closing before him. He opened up his engine and shot forward so fast everything was a blur.

The rocks collided behind him as they snapped shut, and he flew into the clear firing forward to slow himself, and then red was there too descending from above spinning and wobbling, almost out of control and careening directly towards a house sized boulder.

He panicked firing up and down at the same time and sending him into a spin.

He was heading directly towards the rock .

WIthout thinking Adam locked onto the rock, and fired. A rocket under his wing detached and shot forward exploding violently just in time for Red to pass through unharmed. Red jolted awkwardly and rolled to one side. Adam cut past under from right to left and rolled straight over red to avoid a rock.

There was a moment where the two of them were staring at each other through the clear canopy.

Eyes met for an instant, and Adam could see the wide eyed fear on the man’s face., Then Adam rolled ahead ducking under the last rock and then bursting out into space.

He let the F-90 have her moment, and completely opened the engine shooting forward and cutting through the finish line which flashed bright green. In that moment He was hit with such a sense of exhilaration and joy that he couldn't imagine anything better. Who needed drugs, who needed love, who needed any of that when you could fly.

Hed did a triumphant loop whooping the whole way.

Of course, a feeling like that can never last long and slowly began to fade away. THe reality of what he had just done was both terrifying and amazing to the point he felt his body begging to shake. The tension and fear he had been holding back exploded inside him just like that joy and he found his hands trembling on the joystick.

He let it overtake him. He had been like this since he was young and fighting it would only make things worse. Despite his shaking hands he flew back to the docking bay and landed his jet with the precision of a surgeon. Finally when the engine was off and the flood stable underneath him he slumped back in his seat shaking and racked with rolling tremors. He closed his eyes and breathed long and slow.

Behind him the others came limping in.

None of them were completely unscathed, at least one person was dead. His hands continued to shake as the airlock doors shut, and as soon as the room was pressurized, he opened the cockpit. As soon as it did, Sunny came running into the room and up the ladder. SHeleft her spear on the floor and helped him to climb out.  His legs were shaking and he almost fell if it weren’t for her support.

She knew him too well, sitting him down on the lowest step and kneeling next to him.

“Are you ok?”

He grinned at her, “That was…. Holy shit.”

He held up his hand to watch the shaking, “I’m having an earthquake.”

It was just then that Red jumped out of his jet onto the floor. He staggered when he did but pushed away the men who tried to help, “What the ever loving FUCK just happened. The field had NEVER been like that. Jaz DIED out there, what the FUCK.” 

The people milled around in confusion.

Red turned to him, eyes narrowing as he stalked over. Adam sighed and looked up as the man stopped to stand over him

“I’m sorry, I’ll get out of your hair.”

The man paused confused, “What?”

“I broke the rules. Means I forfeit.”

Red looked almost nonplussed, “What are you on about?”

Adam slowly took to his feet taking a few more deep wreaths to steady himself before drawing to his full height. He was stead now and looked down at Red with an unwavering gaze. He held out a hand, “I used weapons during the race, that was against the rules. These weren’t flares to move the rocks. I used a targeted missile during the race and that means I broke the rules.”

Red stared at him.

Then he snorted, “Damn the rules. You saved my ass.” he turned to look at his people, “I am more than man enough to acknowledge that.” HE turned back to Adam, “You saved my life you crazy bastard. I am not even sure how you are still alive ….. Because that flying…. That was….. Holy fuck.” He grinned and took Adam by the shoulder, “you shaking, man.” He held up his hand to show a tremor, “Me too, now let's go get some drinks and talk this out. I owe you after all.”

The two of them walked off through the forest of shaken pilots, “You are the kind of man I can see myself doing business with.”

[wordynerdygurl]

Skin Deep ~ Part 4

Author’s Note:  Hi everyone!  As @that-one-person​ reminded me, we were overdue the next chapter of Skin Deep!  I hope this has been worth the wait. As always, if you’d like to be added to my tag list, let me know!  Also, requests are open and I love when you re-blog and like my work!  Thanks for all your kindness!!

This is the 4th Part of our Story with links below to the previous chapters!  ENJOY!

Skin Deep Part 1

Skin Deep Part 2 Skin Deep Part 3

Pairing;  Loki x Reader, Steve x Reader, Bucky, Natasha, Nick Fury, Thor and Valkyrie round out of cast! Summary:  Picking up where Part 3 ended:  You’re on the run with Loki, who wants answers.  Steve comes clean to an old friend, Natasha and Fury make a plan. Warnings:  References to violence, smut, intergalactic travel, and some kissing!

From his vantage point at Steve’s grill Bucky noticed the almost frantic vibration coming off his oldest friend from all the way across the lawn.  And Steve wasn't carrying any champagne.  In fact, he was whispering furiously to Natasha, shaking his head.

Looking to the skies, Bucky smelled the electricity in the air.  It made the hairs on his human arm rise, antenna to trouble, tuning into the wrecked wavelength his friend was putting out.  It was about you, of that Bucky was certain, and with your own strange behavior tonight, he knew trouble was en route. He had let you sneak away, sensing your breaking point, knowing your need for a minute alone.  It was the reason you were such great drinking buddies.  You let Bucky be himself and he returned the favor.   Besides, something in Steve was different these days, something Bucky didn't exactly like.  His friend, Captain America, hero to the weak, was pushy.  Aggressive.  Angry.

And when Steve looked at you, there was a gleam, a spark of possessiveness that gave Bucky pause.  Sure, you were amazing.  Funny, smart, undeniably sexy in a way all your own.  Bucky understood wanting you, he even got the need to have you, hold you, lock you down with a ring.   If only Steve could see how unhappy you were.   Each time Bucky saw you, the strain had pulled more of your joy away.  Sure, you baked pies, smiling the whole way, chirping platitudes and teasing Steve.  That happiness, though, it never reached your eyes.   Telling Steve that an engagement ring was too much, too soon, Bucky had tried in his very stoic way to prove that you weren't ready.  Never fully able to give his buddy his blessing, Bucky had opted instead to provide you a shoulder to lean on.  And lean you did. Slugging back vodka shots at all these parties, in the quiet and seldom used spaces of kitchens and dining rooms, you had talked easily with Bucky.  No topic was too wild or off limits, with the exception of Steve.  Anytime the name of your new love came up, the subject would change.  You'd deflect and Bucky let you. Maybe he should have pushed harder, he thought as Steve stomped his way.  Maybe Bucky should have forced you to talk about whatever issues you and Steve faced, tried his hand at advice, or offered excuses for his best friend’s erratic behavior.  If Bucky had done that, then perhaps the stifling stench of trouble wouldn't be pooling around the party, pulsing through all the high energy people gathered together.  “Buck… come here, would ya?”  Sure, Steve sounded like himself.  Jovial, a little concerned in that serious way he had, but not mad.  For some reason, it reminded Bucky of the way Steve’s father would talk, just before he’d beat the ever loving hell out of Sarah… or Steve.  It soured the stomach of battle tested Sergeant Barnes.  War was coming. “Sure thing, punk.”  Cocking his head, Steve couldn’t quite look his friend in the face, opting instead to focus on the open back door of his farm house.  Would you come strutting out of it, unaware and un-phased?  Steve prayed for that, even if his gut told him otherwise, “Bucky, you said my girl was in the ladies’ room?” Tucking his hands in his pockets, nodding solemnly, “Yea, Stevie.  Yea.  She had to piss.  It happens.”  Waiting for the battle was exhausting and Bucky just didn’t have the patience to stew in the slow burn of Steve’s anger. Clapping a broad hand along the neck of the Winter Soldier, Steve pulled his friend close.  To anyone looking, the embrace would seem brotherly, kind.  What they couldn’t see was the tight grip used to keep Bucky contained, or hear Steve’s heated harsh whisper, “Where the fuck is she, Buck?  I know you know.  So tell me.” Reacting instinctively, pulling against the restraining hook of Steve’s palm, “I don’t know what you’re talking about… she went to the bathroom, I came out here.” “Well she’s gone now and so is Loki-” Stepping back out of Steve’s reach, “Wait.  Loki was here?  I thought you said he left.  Opened the Bi-Frost or whatever.  Disappeared.” Almost growling, Steve ran desperate hands through his blonde hair, ignoring Bucky and turning to Natasha, “We need to let Fury know.  Set a perimeter.  Loki won’t be able to get off the planet, not without help anyway.” “Fury’s involved?  Steve, what is going on?” Jabbing a finger into the chest of his best friend, Steve spun, spitting, “You let Loki kidnap my fiance, that’s what’s going on!  And now I have to find her and rescue her before that greasy alien asshole does something else to the woman I love!” Rearing back, Bucky inhaled, lifting his shoulders.  If you have to fight a friend, fight fair, he thought.  Already Bucky could read violence in Steve’s muscle movement.  The graceful way Steve bounced on his toes to build momentum into his fierce throw was minute but effective.  Dropping his right arm, just a touch before stepping into his swing, Steve's eyes screamed murder and they were locked onto James Buchanan Barnes. A swish of air brushed at Buck's dark hair as the blow missed.  Bucky easily blocked the punch, grabbing his pal at the wrist and twisting until his chest was pressed into Steve’s back.  It was as fluid as the ballet you had forced them to attend a few months back, quick and clean movements, executed flawlessly. Bucky felt Steve spin in his grasp, planting his feet, preparing to toss the Winter Soldier on his ass.  His counter maneuver was a leg sweep, one Bucky was ready to use, when Steve went limp in his grip.  Natasha had sucker punched her mission partner in order to get his attention, “Steve.  You gotta relax.  Bucky didn’t know and you’re drawing attention.  Too many eyes around here, ya know?”   Natasha waved to Tony, a gesture that said, no worries, everything is ok over here.  It was enough to satisfy the playboy, who turned back to his cocktail and conversation with Rhodes. “I'm fine.  It's fine.  I’m just…” unable to find the right word, spiraling, Steve sagged towards the ground. Catching him at the waist Bucky steadied his woozy friend as Natasha brushed off help from the other guests.  Returning to the pair of soldiers out of time, The Black Widow, barely containing her disgust, “Bucky, get him inside.  Steve, I'm sending everyone home, then I’m going to make a call.”   True to her word, Natasha whispered something to Tony and Pepper, Bucky clocking their reaction of concern for both you and Steve.  It was very clear to the Sergeant that The Avengers were not in on this mission.  None of them were permitted to hang around the farm house with Nat going so far as to walk out with Clint and Rhodes.   Bustling Steve into the kitchen, Bucky kicked a chair free from the table, dropping his buddy on his ass.  Still a little amped up from the almost altercation outside, Bucky decided to put a bit of distance between him and his childhood friend, resting his hip against the counter, "What the hell was that, Steve?" "Stay out of it, Bucky." "It's too late for that, punk.  Either you start talking or we take this back outside." Side eyeing the super soldier with a metal arm, Steve tugged at the corner of a pretty place mat sullenly, "Fuck you." "Language!" "You think I give a shit about bad words?  Now?  No… things are too far gone." Waving his hand, begging for more, "Care to elaborate, Cap?" Steve had a second to consider his options.  He could let Bucky in, tell him what was going on, hear his opinions on the situation at hand.  Or… not.   "You don't need to be involved.  Once Nat gets back, it's best if you go." Thunking into the opposite seat, Bucky leveled his grey gaze on his pal, "And if I say no?" "Look, it's an off the record thing.  Tony, the rest of them?  They know nothing.  I don’t need you sticking your nose in-" That was all it took for the dam of Bucky’s own outrage to burst.  With a wood rattling slap to the custom built dining table, open palm connecting enough to make Steve jump, "Damn it, Rogers!  My nose is in this already.  Hell, you were ready to half kill me over this… over her, not fifteen minutes ago!" Sighing, hard and heavy, Captain America pressed back in the wooden chair.  He saw the questions in Bucky's look, the need to unravel this mystery, the desire to find a way out for his friends.  And Steve realized that to accept his buddy's help, Bucky would need the full story. The truth hurts and Buck's words stung Steve.  Bucky was right and in the end, he reasoned, they might need him to help bring down Loki.  After a second of consideration, a rough hand sliding through his blonde locks, "Fine.  FUCK!  Fine.  What do you know?" Crossing his arms over his chest, stern voiced but curious, Bucky started, "Just you and Nat reporting to Fury?  Small team." "Small mission.  At least, at first."  Trying not to give anything away, making Bucky work for it felt good, almost like a return to his life before Loki, before you.   Tapping his metallic finger on the table, Bucky resumed his questions, "So, how does Loki figure into this?" Leaning forward, Steve lowered his voice, “Weapons tech.  Power.  More than when he attacked New York.  He’s been off world gaining followers, an army, and a throne.” “So the plan was to keep Loki away, right?” Nodding, Steve’s inflection solemn, “By any means necessary.” Rocking his head back, as if slapped, Bucky’s eyes widened.  Just the implication of those words, by any means necessary, used by Nick Fury meant that this mission was crossing a line from mundane into murderous.   "And she was your way in."  It started to take shape, the whole sorted plan, Natasha’s involvement and Steve’s role in it all.  Bucky felt that prickly sensation again. Bowing his golden head, Steve shook it yes, "Only… I wasn't brought in… I… volunteered." "Ok, but why?"  Inching closer to the truth, waiting out the Captain, Bucky nodded for him to continue.  When Steve wasn't forthcoming, Bucky nudged his foot with a sharp kick, eager to accelerate the story. For a second that frantic, frenzied energy flashed through the room again, pulling on Bucky's sixth sense, "Because I wanted what Loki had… who Loki had.  I wanted her, so bad Bucky.  So bad."  “Steve… come on, man.  There are other girls out there-” Cutting his friend off with a shout, “Why should that asshole have her?  He doesn’t deserve her.  Before he left, she was always so sweet, so cute… then he… abandoned her!  Left her!  Man, that was… just so hard to see.” “Yea… I know.  I mean, I remember when she and Loki were together.  And I know his leaving was hard on her.” “Hard on her?  She… she stopped eating, stopped sleeping.  God, I could hear her crying all night.  Know how hard it was to keep away?  To know that Loki had forgotten her?”   Steve kept talking, about you, about loving you, and the lengths he went to in an effort to court you.  He followed up with all the ways you denied him, over and over, until Natasha intervened.  That all of it played into Fury’s plan was a convenient cross-point, coincidence, until things had gone wrong this afternoon. Bucky let him tell his story, knowing full well it was merely a version, a fairy tale wrapped around the rotten apple of truth. In Steve’s world he was the hero, wronged by fate, Fury and Loki Odinson.  His path had been paved with good intentions and pure hearted motives.  It was everyone else who misunderstood, miscalculated and mistook his actions.  Could Steve be blamed for that?   Of course, this edition of Steve’s tale didn't include beating up a cuffed prisoner.  It also omitted the fact that Steve had been pursuing you while actively lying about Loki's whereabouts.  Glossing over the details allowed Steve to paint a picture highlighting the best of him, but Bucky had known the little punk a long time.   During a long pause that found Steve with his head in his hands, Bucky took a deep breath and asked, “And how did you and Fury know what Loki was up to?” “He was sending mission reports weekly.  Loki had been tasked with helping promote peace across the Nine Realms.  That he gained so much was the tipping point.  Fury felt like a return to Earth would be 2012 all over again, only this time… total annihilation.” Something was still nagging at Bucky, “Had Loki made any threats?” A guilty look passed over the face of Captain America and his normally solid voice wavered, “Not that I was told about.” “So, Fury...?” “Fury needed… no, that’s not right.  He wanted to keep close tabs on Loki, monitor his return, his mood, his movements, if he ever came back.” “And since she was his lover, she was a potential point of contact… the entry point?” “A possible one.” “If you were dating her and Nat was posing as her friend, then you’d know if Loki reached out, spilling the details on his plans, and be able to head him off at the pass.” “Exactly!”  Oddly proud, Steve was almost happy that he no longer carried the burden by himself.  Sure, Natasha knew, had even engineered some of it, but having a friend on his side made Steve feel better. “But Loki didn’t do that?  He surprised you today?” Blowing out a frustrated snort, “Natasha went to meet him at the base.  Apparently, the high and mighty Prince expected to be greeted by Fury and his forgotten lover.” “That didn’t sit well with the God of Mischief?” “Nope.  Somehow he froze Nat.  Confined her, I don’t know… Anyway, he came here and…”  Trailing off, Steve could still picture his lady’s body, your body bent under his own, your eyes pressed shut in ecstasy.  How you ground against what looked like his own sculpted skin, moaning through an orgasm that appeared amazing, and left you with shaky legs. Going silent, Bucky didn’t push, not this time, but he did feel the moment Steve surrendered fully.  His shoulders let go with a deep inhale, his voice sounding like that scrawny kid from Brooklyn after a bad scrape,  "She loves him, man.  And I fucked up.  Loki’s got my girl and I don't have any way to find her or fight him." Tears?  Sighs?  This wasn't Steve.  No, Captain America was an unstoppable, unflappable hero.  Spinning out was Bucky's move, not Steve’s.  Putting his fleshy hand on Steve’s shoulder, trying to console the broken man in front of him, "Come on, kid.  There's always a way to win.  It's what you and I have been doing for over a century." “Not this time, man.” "Why not?  Did you come clean?  That’s why she left, isn’t it?  You told her what was going on and she went after Loki."    Shame filled Steve’s heart, his cheeks burning, "I… I didn’t get the chance.  She left here, but not alone." "She'll be back."  Words, pathetic platitudes, were all Bucky could offer.  He had seen you tonight, skittish and jumpy.  He saw Steve’s reaction to your disappearance, angry and hurt.  Bucky thought that a snowball in hell stood a better chance than you're returning. "Not happening.  I lost it on her, Buck.  Smashed up mom's dresser, yelled… It was like being outside myself, watching myself do and say these terrible things.  And it wasn't her fault.  Not really.  I mean, yea, she fucked him but he was me, so-" "Whoa.  Stop.  Say that again?" Steeling himself to relieve this afternoon’s nightmare again, Steve swallowed hard, "Loki, you know how he can… shape shift?  Well, he came here as me and I walked in on myself screwing my girl!" Bucky's eyebrows lifted, his full lips curling into a cockeyed grin, "Wait.  You're telling me that you came home and saw yourself banging your future fiancé?" Pausing, catching Bucky barely holding back a smirk, "Yea… why?" And for some reason, after all the incredible things Steve had shared tonight, it was the idea of Steve catching himself balls deep in your naughty bits that made Bucky laugh.  Once he started, Bucky couldn't control the mad giggles from overtaking him, much to Steve’s astonishment.  But then Steve laughed, too, "I guess it is pretty funny, when you think about it." "I mean, your face must have been priceless!"  Clutching his stomach as the laughter grew stronger, Bucky had tears running down his cheeks at the image Steve described.  Sure, it was a horrible thing, but who could say that they watched themselves having sex like that without being in porno?   It took them both a minute to calm down, with Steve settling enough to counter, "Shit, Buck!  I was pissed!  I probably looked crazy." "That I do believe.  What did you say to her?  Them?" Now his face flushed scarlet, burning with embarrassment.  The lie was just easier to get out, "Um… I don't really remember.  I know I surprised Loki and well, my girl fainted from being used by him.  The shock of it not being me, ya know?" Bucky didn't buy it, but he let his friend sell the story anyway, "Must have been scary for her.  And that's when you secured Loki in the locked shed?  And set Nat as your watchdog?" "Yup."  Unable to meet his friend’s stormy stare, knowing that it would undo him completely, Steve focused on the edge of the table, running his fingers back and forth along the rough wood.  If this were an interrogation and Bucky were sitting across from a suspect and not his best friend, he’d have no problem beating the guilty man into submission.  But Steve was his strongest connection to this world, this time, and it was hard to walk away from family, even if they didn’t deserve the benefit of your doubt.  To that end, one thing still bothered Bucky, "Why not cancel the party, man?" "Because I still want to marry her."  Pulling the small black box from his front pocket, Steve toyed with the thing, his vision of a future with you still so close to realized. Whistling at the size of the sparkly rock enshrined in white gold, "Fancy.  What do you think your chances are?  Think she'll say yes?" "My chances went down to zero the second Loki dropped down to Earth.  As for her answer… Dunno.  I… I hope so, but now…", Steve faded off, knowing there was little hope for your romantic reunion if he didn’t have a clear idea of where you were at the moment. "Now Loki’s back." "Right." “And they’re gone, together.” “Right.” “And Fury’s on his way.”  Striding in on impossibly high heels, Natasha folded her arms over her chest, eyeing the two gossiping men in front of her.  It was going to be a long night. --- Somehow you had made it to the treeline undetected, using the orchard as a shield, ducking behind trunks as you and Loki scrambled toward the edge of the property.  You couldn't help looking over your shoulder, checking for pursuit, worrying that Steve or Natasha were going to find the pair of you.  There was no possible way they would let you get away, not after today, not with Loki. It was a bit treacherous, though.  There was only natural light to guide you through twisted branches and raised roots, so your progress was slower than you wanted, but Loki was with you.  Even beaten and bruised, he radiated calm, a soothing balm for your frayed nerves.  Something about that made this whole situation seem better, manageable.  You were no longer alone, Loki was here, holding your hand, not directing you but consulting.  "Pet… the roadway is up ahead.  Stay here, tucked out of sight." Pulling your long lost lover close, a small kiss passed between you, a passionate promise to sit still.  Stepping tentatively out onto the gravel filled shoulder, Loki surveyed the highway quickly.  When he was satisfied that the coast was clear, Loki waved at you, motioning you forward.   Striding confidently at your side, Loki stopped in the dead center of the yellow lines, his grounding arm around your waist.  A car, low, black, expensive, came racing round the bend, barreling towards you.  Tucking your chin to Loki's chest, you gripped him tight, readying for the car's impact.   A roar of wind swirled around you, grabbing at your skirt, whipping around your legs.  For a second you thought you'd been struck.  Breathless, your lungs emptied.    There was nothing solid under you, just the feeling of Loki and a current of warm air.  Next, you felt the impact of hard earth under your feet, vibrating through your shins, then Loki's grip loosening a touch, "Ok, darling?" Peeking from under his arm you saw lights everywhere.  A bar was to your left, filled with noisy drinkers, barely discernible from the traffic around you.  Honking horns made you jump, "Where the hell are we?" "Cleveland.  I can't yet take us off world.  I'm still a bit weak, I'm afraid… but at least we have a bit of a head start on Rogers and Fury." People pushed past you on their way to dinner, chirping happily, not seeing you in their tunnel vision.  Being anonymous was a nice change, welcome even, as your personal life had been lost to Steve's intergalactic presence.  On the busy streets of Ohio no one took notice of the two well dressed people standing on the damp sidewalk. "Um, you changed?", no longer sporting his battle gear, Loki was dapper in a black suit with an ebony tie.  Leaning closer you straightened it, not because it was crooked, but because you needed to feel it… him.  The whole look was just shy of too much, but that was the space Loki filled best and honestly, looking at him made your heart swell. Loki was back, and yours.  After more than two years, having him close again felt natural, easy.  In so many ways, the opposite of your life with Steve.  As if somehow sensing your tug into nostalgia, Loki knuckled your chin up, "Just keeping up with you, love." His nose brushed against your own, so weirdly intimate and innocent for a man who had slapped your ass red only hours ago.  Resting his forehead to yours, you inhaled that magical combination of burning sparklers, broken in leather with just a hint of honeyed citrus, "God, I forgot how great you smell." "Hmm… dove, there is nothing on Asgard that smells or tastes as wonderful as you.  Believe me.  I looked." "Careful Loki… people will say we're in love."  At your cheekiness, Loki claimed your lips, his hands sliding over the soft fabric of your dress.  Clinging to him, unwilling to let go now that he had returned, you puffed out a pouty sigh as Loki withdrew. “Norns.  You know how badly I want you again?  I can barely think straight for wanting you.” Oblivious to everything around you, lost in the sweeping pools of Loki’s desire filled expression, you toyed with his collar, “We have a lot of catching up to do, for sure.” “I’d love to get reacquainted-” here he paused to lick over his full lower lip, hunger for you dripping from every word, “-but we are on the run from the Earth’s mightiest heroes.”  Snickering, you rolled your eyes at the thought of the Avengers, hours away eating charcuterie in Steve’s backyard.  Stepping back, you sighed, “You’re right.  So, have you got a plan?” Hanging in the air, your sentence had just left your mouth, your tongue still savoring the syllables when a sizzling crack snapped next to your ear.  Swinging you away, forcing you to the sidewalk, Loki spun in a blaze of green.  Crouched over you, snarling, “Fury!  Always a pleasure to see you.” Stepping from the blazing golden circle supplied by Dr. Strange, Fury crossed onto the Cleveland sidewalk from your now empty garden party, weapon trained on Loki’s broad chest.  “Wish I could say the same, Loki.  You know it’s time to end this.  Let’s take our… deliberations back to the office.  Talk about this man to man.” A barking laugh left your lover, “Man to man?  I am a GOD!  And you… you are pathetic.  Your attempts to keep me off Earth, imprisoned, away from my woman have all failed.” “Where are you going to go?  You can’t get off the planet without help.  My help.  And it’s yours, Loki, if-” “If I come quietly?  Tail between my legs, submissive and compliant?”  As the words left his mouth, you watched, focused on the way Loki was shifting closer to you.  The long fingers of his right hand were visible, reaching back for you, a silent signal of his escape plan. Fed up and furious, Nick Fury’s voice was flat with frustration, “Loki.  Enough.  Let’s do this somewhere people aren’t.” “Oh, I don’t know, this seems as good a place as any!”  Circling Loki, edging nearer, Fury tried reasoning, “Endangering civilians isn’t going to make things easier.  You know that.” “You know, I’d love to talk about how you betrayed me.  How you stonewalled my lady… how you put Captain America in my place, as if he could ever be worthy of her.  But, I’m a little busy at the moment.”  Snapping his fingers, you jumped to your feet, grabbing for Loki’s outstretched hand.   The second your palm connected that feeling of floating overcame you once more.  This time you were ready for the roar of traveling through space by Loki’s magic, the push of meeting the ground, the curl of Loki’s body against yours.  Blinking, you opened your eyes on new scenery, the chill of a beautiful sea soaked morning breaking around you. Straightening the coat of his pristine suit, Loki smiled at you as his fingers wove between your own, “New Asgard.  My brother’s realm, now ruled by Valkyrie, by his abdication.  We need to find him.  He has a lot to answer for.” --- "Just what in the hell happened?  I thought I was very clear about avoiding this exact problem."   Pacing, hands firmly on his leather belted waist, Nick Fury growled at the bent head of Steve Rogers.  "Now Loki’s on the run, dragging your… Well, what is she exactly Captain?  Girlfriend?  Fiancé?  Mark? along for the ride." At those harsh words, Steve started, ready to focus his own anguish somewhere, anywhere.  Fury was as good a target as any, as far as Steve was concerned.  Pushing off the paving stones, he was stalled from rising by Natasha's firm hand and quiet words, "We have an idea-" "I don't want ideas.  Not from you two.  What I want are answers, Romanoff, and I want them now." Sitting on the emptied bench of the picnic table, still covered with your pretty tablecloth and jars of peonies, Natasha sighed, "I didn't have time to alert Steve.  Loki made it here first and… reconnected-" "Is that what we're calling it?"  Snapping, Nick glared from his good eye, his last name never more appropriate. Exhaling deeply, Natasha Romanoff squared her shoulders, "Sir, Loki… manipulated the circumstances." "Just what in the hell does that mean?" All three available eyes locked onto Steve, “What it means, Fury-” lifting his golden head with a jaw clenched tight, “- what it means, is that the son of a bitch showed up here and had his way with my woman. “After Loki… took advantage of her, I had him.  He was contained, here, in my shed.  It was modified with the restraints Tony provided with Thor’s direction.” “And still, he got away?”  Disbelief clouded every syllable from Fury.  That his two top agents had failed and so badly, had the normally stoic director steaming. Standing now, Steve was almost chest to chest with the man who’d been pulling the strings of this entire operation.  Natasha, watching closely, knowing that she would only be able to subdue one of them if it came to it, gently palmed the dagger concealed in her waist band.  Steve thrust forward, brushing past Fury before facing him once more, “Yea, Nick.  He did.  He got away.” “Do you know how?”  Fury’s fingers were curled around his pocket taser, just in case Captain America needed a jolt, reminding him of who was calling the shots here.  It wouldn’t do much except give Nick a head start, but with the Captain looking so rough and so raw, the SHIELD director would take any advantage available. “We believe that… he was set free.”  Natasha didn’t want to say the words.  You had let Loki go, that much she knew to be true, and she supposed that it made some sort of sense. Steve had been right all along.  You and Loki did have some cosmic connection that even time and distance couldn’t eliminate.  Intervening for the sake of Fury’s mission and Steve’s pining heart, Natasha had no qualms about why she’d guided you into a relationship, in fact, she still believed that he was a better man for you than Loki. But no.  No matter what Rogers did, you had never let go with him like you had with the younger son of Odin.  Not that you complained.  You had taken all of Natasha’s words of praise, her seemingly well intentioned advice, her flat out advocating for Steve in stride.   Sure, your friendship suffered for it.  Natasha, never having been one for close ties to anyone, had enjoyed the talking and gossiping.  It was nice to have a girl around the tower.  One who understood period cramps and cravings.  A person who would put on high heels and makeup for a night of dancing then suggest hoodies and shorts for watching Pride and Prejudice.  That was over now.  When she had been, well, frankly, overpowered by Loki and his new paralyzing weaponry, Natasha knew the plan for a peaceful capture of the prince was over.  Having seen the aftermath of your reunion with the space god, having seen Steve’s seething anger, the Black Widow felt her own ire spike. Didn’t you know how hard she had worked?  How tireless her efforts had been to keep you and Loki apart?  Just how invested she was in joining you and Steve together?  It was like you wanted to throw all of that away, squandering those bonding moments where you had become something more than a mission, those times when you were Natasha’s only real friend. Couldn’t you just go along with the plan, unknowing, quietly?  She knew you couldn’t, wouldn’t.  It wasn’t in your nature.  So, channeling that frustration into the cold facade that so many had seen just before they met their end, Natasha had to compartmentalize the “you” she cared about away from the “you” she was responsible for trailing.  Both had pissed her off. Now, hearing the gruff grumble of Director Fury bearing down on her, Natasha could only accept the berating tone of his hard words.  He wasn’t wrong.  She and Steve had fucked up royally, the whole mission was blown, and while Bucky had certainly aided in your escape, he was blameless collateral damage.  The consequences fell to you and the Captain.  Killing you was going to be hard for them both, but if it had to be done, so be it. Shrugging, Natasha started again, “Nick, we have a tracker on her.  We know that she and Loki made it to Cleveland, but he can’t get away from Earth without some aid.” “Well, that’s good to know, if only it was some new intelligence.  You’re tracking her?  Great!  Where is she now?  Don't know huh?  Well, she and Loki tele-ported from a city sidewalk, in front of me and hundreds of civilians, with no word on their next destination.  “And make no mistake.  Loki will find a way off of this planet and when that happens, there’ll be nothing else we can do.” “So what?  Let him go!  He’s won, Nick.  It’s over.”  Throwing himself down onto the bench, Steve’s dejected voice breaking, he slumped over his feet. “That’s not an option Cap.  Loki is more powerful now than he’s ever been.  You both read the reports.  He wasn’t just hanging around on Asgard.  No, Loki was negotiating peace between his native realm of Jotunheim and his adoptive home.  He was gifted with tools and technology that no human could hope to wield.  Earth ending stuff, Captain.” “Whatever plans you had of making peace are over now.  There’s no way Loki gives us any help… and why would he after all this?” “Rogers, I’ll do whatever I must to keep this planet and the creatures on it safe.  Loki is a threat to that, just by existing.  With his new powers, high placed connections and intergalactic royal title, he had the potential to be unstoppable.” Seething breath puffed out the chests of the two men standing toe to toe.  Machismo made Natasha want to vomit.  Men. “Look, I’ll go after them.  Steve, stay here, in case she reaches out.  I’ll take the quinjet and trace their path.”  Standing now herself, Natasha turned to the depressed super soldier, patting his arm, “Bucky’s still here.  I’ll let you know when I’ve found anything.” “No.  Nat, I can’t let you go alone.  It’s my fault, too.”  “You’re no good to me like this, Rogers.” “But, She’s-” Cutting him off, Natasha stepped closer to Nick, “I know, but you’re too involved.  If tough choices need to be made, can you?” Gulping hard, passing a rough hand over his face, Steve frowned, “I can do my duty, if that’s what you’re asking.” “Steve.”  Her tone said it all the words she wouldn't vocalize.  I don’t trust you, not now, not like this.  I don’t believe you will have my back at the cost of the woman you claim to love.  I don’t think you can do the job. Fury didn't allow her the chance to elaborate, jumping in with his definitive voice, “Natasha’s right, Rogers.  You’re staying right where you are, on the bench.  Romanoff and I are going to resolve this issue without any further problems.”  Half hearted, strength sapped, Steve raised his eyes to the leather clad figures before him, “Please.  Please, Nick… Nat.  Don’t hurt her.” “I promise, Steve.  I won’t.”  And in the second, all three knew she was lying.

--- Finding Thor’s shanty was easier than you expected.  A friendly fisherman was only too happy to point you in the right direction.  What you saw upon arrival was not entirely what you had expected when visiting Loki’s brother. It was a beat up looking cottage, surrounded by empty cases of cheap Midgardian beer, crumpled take out containers, and a collection of well fed seagulls situated near the edge of the village, “Ugh.  What a pig.” “Loki!  It’s… charming?”  Your admonishing whisper turned the statement into a question at the sight of Loki’s disgusted face.  For a second you just stood at Loki’s side, staring at the weather beaten front door, your hand clasped in his strong one. “It’s disgusting.” Agreeing with a small nod, “Um, yes.  Yes, it is.  But, this is your brother’s house and you said we needed to talk to him.  Step one is ringing his bell.” “No.  I won’t do it.” You had forgotten about this side of Loki.  Fastidious, precise and obstinate, Loki could cop an attitude that had the ability to drive someone crazy.  Someone like you. Over the last two years it had been easy to forget all the little things that made Loki prickly.  It was even easier to forgive him.  Since he’d left, you had looked at your life together through rose glasses, through a gentle fog of missing him, and those elements of your relationship that were less than perfect had been abandoned. Now, standing outside the hovel that Thor called a home, as a fresh day dawned over New Asgard, you were reminded of all those imperfect things that came with loving Loki.  A wave of need, love, and longing for him rolled over you.  All of those imperfections made you perfect for each other. Rising up on your toes you pressed a small kiss to Loki’s pout, taking the tall God by surprise, “What was that for?” Shyly grinning, you bit into your bottom lip, “I missed you… missed kissing you.” “Then perhaps you should come over here again?”  That was all the invitation you needed.  Stepping into Loki’s space, your chest resting against his own, you savored the nearness of him, as himself.  He wasn’t playing at being Steve.  Loki was here, he was with you, and if you weren’t mistaken his hands were drifting down your backside.  The rush of it, well, it was familiar and new at the same time.  How Loki seemed to inhale your breath, inhale you, as his mouth opened to accept your lips.  His gentle exhale, a moan, as his tongue licked over your own.  It was overwhelming.  It was wonderful. Stepping back, you started to pull away, only for Loki to wrap his arms around your waist, “Not so fast, darling.” Losing yourself, you focused solely on the firmness of his body, the weight of his hands on your hips, the intensity of Loki’s desire.  Intoxicating, heady, you leaned into those feelings.  Kissing Loki back, you tangled his hair in your hand, earning another one of those sultry sounds that made your legs weak.  How had you lived without the passion and pleasure he provided for so long? A smashing crash broke the quiet morning causing you to jump in Loki’s embrace, “What the hell was that?” Immediately on the defense, Loki pushed you behind him, crouching into a protective stance.  From over his broad shoulder you watched, worried about the new danger coming your way, unsure how to help your reactive lover.  Another rattle had Loki palming his dagger, anticipating an attack.  That’s when a raccoon, bigger than your childhood terrier, scuttled from under an overturned trash can carrying what looked like a half eaten slice of pizza in its mouth. “Appalling!  Mother would be modified!” Loki cursed as he offered you his hand, kicking away an empty glass bottle, "Why is he living like a dirty animal, surrounded by trash?  One would think they were back on Sakaar!"  “I don’t know what’s going on with Thor, but we came here for a reason.  Let’s get it over with, ok?” Loki shook his head, refusing to step any closer, “He’ll have to come out here.  I won’t go inside this… dilapidated shit box.” Sighing, “Fine.  Fine, I’ll do it.”   Stepping around a pile of broken electronics, you carefully picked your way to the front door, gracefully knocking on the splintering wood.  After an answerless few seconds, you tried again, rapping lightly with your knuckles before turning to flash Loki a small smile.  That’s when you noticed the striking woman striding towards you and your returned lover. “My, my… is that pretty Prince Loki I see?”  Even her voice was sexy, you thought, as the sarcastic words dripped from her full lips.  The swaggering stranger radiated cool, calm, sensual energy.  Otherworldly energy that made you feel mortal and boring.  You couldn’t help tugging your skirt straight and fluffing your hair as she got closer. “Ah… Valkyrie!  How are you?” Hugging her tightly when she opened her arms, Loki found that he was genuinely happy to see the fierce, battle tested warrior. Smirking at your man, she countered, “That’s King Valkyrie to you.  Your brother crowned me, or have you forgotten?” “On the contrary.  It seems like he finally realized what I’ve known all our lives.” “Which is what, exactly?” “He’s not fit to be the ruler of Asgard, obviously.” Drawing right up to Loki, hands on her hips, Valkyrie leveled her dark eyes at his, “What would you know about ruling, Mischief?” “Enough to know that you’re good at it.  Enough to know that I no longer want to be the King of Asgard.” “Is that so?  And what’s changed your mind?” At those skeptical words, Loki wound an arm around your waist, tugging you close, “I’ve got more… important concerns these days.” Looking you over with her shrewd, searching gaze, but speaking to Loki, “And she likes you?  Are you sure?” Laughing, the sound deep and rich, “As much as you like fighting and drinking.” “I hardly drink anymore.  As King I have mead only on important occasions, I have to keep my wits about me the rest of the time.” Sharing a laugh, the two shared another small hug before Valkyrie turned to you directly, “Alright.  Who’s this then?” Loki started to respond but you cut him off, extending a hard towards the newly crowned King of Asgard, “Uh, I can answer for myself, thank you, Loki.  Valkyrie is it?  Nice to meet you.  And, yes, I love Loki.” Making a face that was part disgust, part pride, Valkyrie smirked, “Love?  Oh no.  Hasn’t anyone told you yet?  Loving the Odinson boys is hard on a girl.” Pulling Loki in for a small kiss, taking him by surprise, “I’ll take my chances.” Shrugging nonchalantly, “Suit yourself.”  Focusing on Loki once more, Valkyrie shifted on her feet, “Listen, if you’re looking for Thor, he’s not here.” “Oh?  And where exactly is the lovable oaf?” Hitching a thumb over her shoulder, pointing up the hill, “At the palace… the new palace, that is.  You can come and, please, don’t forget your girlfriend.” Falling in line behind the King, Loki couldn’t help but add, “You know Val, I think I liked you better when you were drunk.” Snorting in response, “And I know I liked you better when I was drunk, weird right?” Bringing up the rear, your own sarcastic comment dying on your throat when the Palace of New Asgard came into view.  Banners of gold shimmered in the light of the rising sun, flapping in the breeze of the young morning, beckoning you closer.  You hugged Loki’s arm tighter, excited and exhilarated by the sight before you. “Home is a people, not a place.  Those were some of my father’s last words to Thor and I… and while I can never take you to the place where I grew up, this… this is the home of my people.” “Loki… it’s beautiful!” Valkyrie, stopping so you could both catch up, “It’s getting there.  Thor’s been a huge help.  Come on, let's show you around the palace and let your brother know you’re here.” ---To Be Continued!

My minxes:  @sammy-jo1977 @vodka-and-some-sass @just-random-obsessions @brokenthelovely @lots-of-loki  @thefallenbibliophilequote @iamverity @iluvsumbucky @unadulteratedwizardlove @wolfsmom1 @procrastinatinglikeabitch @mizfit2 @shxdowofdarkness @nonsensicalobsessions @ahintofkiwistrawberry @alexakeyloveloki @jessiejunebug @rorybutnotgilmore @crystalizedcaramel @lokislittlecorner @scrumptious-finicky-illusion @capcapcapsicle @jamielea81 @caffiend-queen @thenatalie @otakumultimuse-hiddlewhore @jenjen8675309 @that-one-person

[amillionmillionvoices]

13th doctor/river song for #river song appreciation day!!! this got wildly out of hand / pg13 (violence) / thank you to @mygalfriday for the cheerleading, and so so much to @atheneglaukopis for reading so many times and holding my hand and all our chats i couldn’t have written this without you <3 / word count: 29k jsyk

i am the distance you put between all of the moments that we will be

By the time they make it back to the TARDIS, by the time Yaz has put Graham in a chair and fetched cups of tea none of them drink; by the time the shouts and screams have faded into the quiet of the vortex, the hum of the TARDIS calming her mind enough to think clearly, she’s already come up with and discarded over a dozen plans.

There are schematics on the console screen, a brief history of the planet pulled up in text, words leaping out at her like prisoners of war and no survivors. Graham is quiet, sitting on one of the ledges, watching her. Yaz stands beside him, saying things like, we’ll get him back and the Doctor will figure it out, just give her a minute.

There’s a tightness in her chest that reminds her too much of failure—of Amy, dissolving into flesh on the console room floor; Clara, split into thousands of lives across all of time and space. She thinks of Donna, weeping, begging to stay, everyone alive but at what cost?

She glances at the screen, the running text, absorbs phrases as they scroll by like fiercest guards in the galaxy and no aptitude for negotiation.

She knows what she needs to do. Has known, from the moment Yaz stumbled into the TARDIS, breathless, her hair singed and a streak of dried blood on her arm and said, “They took him. They took Ryan.”

But knowing is different from moving. From careening around the console and pulling the lever that will put them into flight, put them on this path—put her on this path—that once she’s on, she can’t avoid.

It will change history. Their history.

The thought makes her eyes sting and her throat close and there has to be another way, someone else she can call.

She can’t do this to her, not again. She shouldn’t.

It’s not just history, but her history, their history, their past coming back to haunt them. She has her suspicions, but there’s no reason to tell her friends, not yet. In case she’s wrong—but she glances at the readouts again, reminding her:

Kushiel—the Angel of Punishment.

It’s a terrible idea.

But there’s another, quiet part of her, a nudging in her mind that sounds suspiciously like the TARDIS, that whispers of opportunity. Of chance. Timelines swirl in her head and she thinks she could do it, somehow—thinks they could have this, that she could see her, and keep everything intact. She doesn’t know how, exactly. But it’s there, a cruel whisper.

And then there’s Ryan. And Yaz, and Graham, staring at her expectantly, with all the trust they haven’t learned yet how to break.

She needs time, but there isn’t any. She needs help, but there’s only one person she trusts.

Cuing in the coordinates, she stares at them for a long moment, hand hovering over the lever.

“Doc?”

It’s Graham, his voice trembling.

She drops her hands and turns to them, holds her hands together in front of her to keep them from shaking.

“Right, fam. We’re going to need some help.”

Yaz moves closer, and Graham follows, and they stare at the coordinates, though they mean nothing to them, and everything to her.

“Help from who?” Graham asks.

The Doctor opens her mouth, the words nearly tumbling out without regard. She turns away so they can’t see her jaw move, biting the name back in. “An old friend,” she says.

She can feel Yaz’s hesitation. “He’s not… your last old friend, yeah?”

Graham snorts despite himself, and the Doctor flinches, covers it with a twirl and a wide smile. “Nah, she’s much better.”

“Who is she?” Graham asks. “Can we trust her?”

The Doctor swallows, her smile falling away, the lump in her throat so thick she can barely push the words out. “I’d trust her with my life.” With everything, she thinks.

Graham nods. “Well then, let’s go get her.”

The Doctor nods. She hesitates, just a moment, just long enough for Yaz to ask, “Doctor?” before she takes a deep breath, and sends the TARDIS into flight.

—

Luna is exactly how she remembers it. 51st century technology, disguised to look like 14th century architecture. The hallways are wide, the arches high, and it smells like old books.

“Are we on Earth?” Yaz asks, looking around, and the Doctor shakes her head, shutting the TARDIS door behind them.

“The moon. 51st century.”

“Then why does it look like Oxford?”

“Nostalgia,” the Doctor says, walking a familiar path, muscle memory dragging her down the hallways even as her mind and hearts reel in protest. She wants to run. Wants to turn back to the TARDIS and fly away and pretend they’ve never come here, that she’d never said a word.

But Graham is behind her, and Ryan is not, and she pushes forward, winding down a staircase, maneuvering around humanoids and aliens alike. No one pays them any attention—they don’t look any more or less out of place than anyone else, and she focuses on Yaz and Graham’s quick footsteps behind her, trying to level her breathing to the sound of theirs.

“Is this a school?” Yaz asks, and the Doctor nods, and rattles off information about the University—when it was built, how many students, famous discoveries and anything else she can think of to keep her mind distracted as they get closer and closer.

She thinks she should have parked elsewhere, saved herself the long walk through familiar halls, but she’d needed the time to center herself, to swallow down the bile in her throat.

“So your friend, she’s a student?” Graham asks, somewhat skeptical.

“Professor.”

“Of what?”

“Archaeology.”

Graham frowns. “How’s an archaeologist going to help us get Ryan back?”

“Not just any old archaeologist,” the Doctor promises, just as they turn the corner, and the Doctor can see her office at the end of the hall, the door shut. The door is rarely shut. The only time she remembers she ever closed her office door, it was because she was with a student, or with him, and she remembers so abruptly—pinning her against her desk, his hands wandering, her lips on his neck, her breathless laughter—“You’re going to get me fired!”—her first day, but she’d been so irresistible, in a pencil skirt and bright red blouse, red lipstick to match, her hair wild around her face and he’d grinned—“No, I’m not.”—and she’d moaned softly, his lips on her neck, “Isn’t that spoilers?” and he’d chuckled, slipped a hand under her skirt.

The Doctor slams her eyes shut and shakes her head quickly, dislodging the memory.

There’s a new desk sitting outside it, with a short woman with four arms behind it, typing frantically on multiple computers.

She looks up as they approach, takes in their gait, their severe expressions, and immediately shakes her head before the Doctor can even open her mouth.

“Professor Song is in a meeting.”

“Professor Song doesn’t take meetings in her office,” the Doctor counters, and the woman blinks, startled.

“She’s asked not to be disturbed.”

“So she’s in, then?”

The woman purses her lips. “She’s not available.”

“She’ll want to be. Tell her The Doctor is here.”

“Doctor what?”

The Doctor glances over her shoulder at Yaz and Graham. “I hate it when they say that.”

The woman ignores her, turns back to her computers and types with lightning speed on three of them, eyes flitting between the screens faster than a human could ever be capable of.

“What’s your business with Professor Song?” She gives them all an assessing look. “You’re not students.”

“How do you know?”

“No textbooks,” she says flatly.

“Right, you got us. I’m an old friend.” The words stick in her mouth.

The woman—a little sign on her desk says T’unera D’galaati, Administrative Assistant, Department of Archaeology—shakes her head. “You’re not on the registered list of acquaintances.”

“Since when does she have a list of acquaintances?”

T’unera glares. “If you were a friend you’d know that,” she says smartly, and the Doctor likes her instantly. Turning back to the computers, she announces, “If you tell me your name and point of business I can schedule you for an appointment next week.”

“Too far away,” the Doctor says, “I need to see her now.”

“Too bad,” T’unera says, “She’s not available.”

The Doctor eyes the distance to the door, thinks she could probably get there before T’unera could get up.

She looks back at Yaz and Graham, then eyes the door. Then looks back.

Yaz steps up immediately, clearing her throat and trying very obviously not to stare at T’unera’s many fingers.

“It’s important,” she says. “We need her help. My friend, he’s—in trouble.”

The Doctor inches out of her way, slightly closer to the door.

“I’m afraid your friend will have to wait until next Tuesday, at 11:15am.”

Graham shakes his head. “We can’t wait. He’s in danger. Doc says the professor can help us. He’s my grandson.”

“My condolences,” T’unera says without looking up.

The Doctor moves further to the side as Yaz and Graham approach the desk.

“Do you have family?” Graham asks, and T’unera scoffs.

“Of course I have family. I’m Abergarrean.”

Abergarrean, the Doctor thinks—hatched from eggs, hundreds of siblings, communal parenting, other stuff.

“So… you’d do anything for your family, yeah?” Graham asks, and T’unera sighs.

“Your attempts at pathos are endearing but misguided. I am merely a receptionist. My responsibility is Professor Song’s schedule, and since you are not approved acquaintances, I’m going to have to ask you to either make an appointment or leave the premises—”

She’s mid-speech when the Doctor bolts toward the door. She makes it two feet when a hand clamps around her wrist and drags her back in a vice grip. Yaz and Graham make startled noises, and the Doctor looks back to find T’unera still in her seat, one long, stretchy arm holding her back.

“Abergarrean,” the Doctor sighs, remembering suddenly their propensity for flexible limbs. The Doctor struggles, but T’unera doesn’t release her.

“I’m calling security,” she says, and with one of her other hands, presses a button on her desk.

“There’s no need for that—” the Doctor says, at the same time Graham finally cracks,

“We need to speak to the professor. My grandson’s life is in danger and the Doc says she can help and I don’t care what you say we’re going to speak to her—”

“Graham, don’t—” the Doctor says, at the same time he tries to push past. T’unera reaches out another long arm and grabs him, and he struggles, hard.

“Let me go!”

“Graham!”

“T’unera, please, there’s no need for this—” the Doctor tries, and then there are two men in anachronistic suits rounding the corner, and Graham’s yelling and Yaz is yelling and the door behind them opens and there’s a voice that makes the Doctor’s hearts stop beating.

“Is it too much to ask, T’unera, for one hour of peace and quiet?”

She isn’t angry, just long suffering, almost slightly amused, and T’unera—still holding the Doctor and Graham—turns to her with a chagrined look.

“I’m very sorry, Professor, these interlopers—” She tightens her grip on them both. “—are refusing to leave. I’ve called security, so there’s no need for you to—”

“River.”

She doesn’t mean to speak, doesn’t mean for her voice to break. Doesn’t mean to stare and stare but she can’t help it. River is there, right in front of her, in slacks and a blouse, unbuttoned to be just shy of appropriate. Her hair is pulled back from her face, her nails painted a light shade of pink, she’s leaning just slightly to one side, her nostrils flare slightly and she turns her gaze to the Doctor, all at once staring at her without an ounce of recognition and it hurts. More than the Doctor ever thought it could, more than she imagined. It isn’t even the lack of familiarity—she was prepared for that—but just seeing her, alive and whole and breathing when she’s not, when she’s dead and she’s been dead for so long, and the Doctor wants nothing more than to run to her, to bury her face in her neck and never let go.

River appraises her slightly, clinically, with an air of disinterest the Doctor knows is a farce. “Do I know you?”

She opens her mouth to reply, to say something, anything, and then Yaz, sweet Yaz, fumbles,

“She’s the Doctor. She has a new face, but she’s the Doctor. You know her.”

Time stands still. In the background, she can feel the security guards hovering. She knows Graham is still struggling under T’unera’s grip. She knows Yaz is looking between them, but everything has faded into the background. Everything is just noise. There’s just River, and her bright eyes, her frown. She turns back from Yaz to the Doctor and stares, eyes roaming over her face, her body, back up. She can see when it dawns on her, sees the recognition slip into her gaze, and she almost wilts in relief.

And then there’s nothing. No warmth, no joy, no sweetness or kindness. She knows her, the Doctor can tell she does, but she stares at her like she means nothing, and the Doctor can’t breathe. She can’t breathe, can’t think, can feel her hearts lurch and pain spikes through her chest and she doesn’t understand. Her whole body aches and she searches River’s gaze for something, anything—the last time she saw her, the morning on Darillium, she stared at him with such devotion, sadness, too, but it was anchored by love, so much love and now there’s nothing, and she can’t breathe.

“Get out.”

continued on ao3

[borderlandsthirst]

The City of the COV

The City of the COV

The Shopping District

The place to get your latest COV fashions from baggy hazard pants to freshly stitched psycho masks, you can even buy looted enemy mods for you guns and grenades here.

Fresh, recently killed Pandoran meat can also be purchased here. From skag, to spiderant, to varkid and all the other horrific things this planet has to offer. And human, and meat is the only thing anyone here eats.

You can also get more tattoos added to your body here as long as you don’t cover the symbol of the Gods.

Food, echo mods, and clothes are yours here. 

The Working District

Here is where work is done, the twins didn’t want the labor area to be in or near the Cathedral, best to keep that somewhere else where they don’t have to see it every day.

Here you’ll find the engineering department, weapon manufacturing facility, and everything else except the spa. Which is attached to the Cathedral on the lower level, Troy and Tyreen visit often. Someone fell asleep in there once.

The hospital is never full nor does it ever have many patients, if a follower is severely hurt then they are sent to the Cathedral for Tyreen to leech, no need to let good energy go to waste right?

The Holy Church

This is where the followers come to pray and give offerings, as well as where the sacrifice ceremonies, initiations and sermons take place.

The church looms over the gate leading into the city, it’s the second tallest building in the main hub of the COV. Initiations are very quick, a hot iron or lengthy tattoo across your back or chest and then you’re sent to the chapel to receive your welcome video from the twins.

Sermons are held every Sunday at six in the morning, every follower and priest is expected to attend every sermon, failure to do so results in death. Each sermon is at least three hours long.

Sacrifices are also once a week because of how extra bloody they are, depending on the mood of the twins and the angel, there might be blood all the way up to the ceiling.  

The Fun Square

This is where the twins get into trouble, bars, strip clubs, a “candy” store. This is the place Koetai probably hates the most in the city.

The Bars all carry a large variety of unique and exotic drinks from across the galaxy, drinks strong enough to knocks even Tyreen out. But the bars are just for drinking and conversations. It’s the clubs that they need supervision for.

The Backroom is the most popular of the strip clubs, plenty of exciting shows and even back room performances. Parties and even hands on activities, this place is the reason Troy and Tyreen need a “real” adult with them. Tyreen has crystalized more than a few orgies, and Troy as has woken up naked more times than he’d like to admit. Koetai has even found herself smashed between a few naked bodies, to her dismay and disgust.

These particular candy shops sell the best drugs, from pain numbing to ones that make you fly higher than Elpis. Here Troy and Tyreen go candy shopping to numb the feelings of self-loathing and depression. Koetai never buys her own, instead she settles for taking the twins supplements. Sometimes all three of them get high together and spend the whole day crying.

The Cathedral

The Cathedral is made of four floors, the spa on the first floor, the worker’s living quarters on the second floor, the saint’s and priest's room on the third floor, and the twin’s and Koetai’s room on the fourth.

The entire bottom floor is dedicated to the spa with an elevator leading to all the other floors, however each level an only be accessed by certain groups, the workers can go no higher than the worker’s quarters, the saints and priest can go no higher than they’re floor, only the twins and Koetai have access to the whole building. Each section of the spa is color coordinated. Massage rooms are green, the mud bath rooms are brown (fitting), steam bath rooms are purple. For security purposes the three highest individuals have their own special treatment rooms that come with everything the spa has to offer. Troy’s room is red, Tyreen’s is blue, and Koetai’s is orange.

The worker’s quarters are a bit compact and cramped, although the resting room is considered enormous, all the workers have to sleep in the same room in bed that are jampacked against each other with only one window. They only get five hours of sleep thirty minutes to get themselves together for the day. That means they must eat, shower, dress themselves, and do whatever else that needs to be done, in only thirty minutes. And there’s only forty or so showers with hundreds of workers.

The spa workers live in the spa in their own space so they’re always in tip top shape to massage and sere the higher ups.

The second floor is also very grimy and not well decorated or sanitized, not much thought went into the second floor because the twins don’t care about their “employees”, that get what they got and should be happy they even have a place to stay, be happy they’re even alive.

The third floor is more polished and better designed, mahogany wood floors and pearl white walls. Each saint and priest get their own room and bathroom, although they also have to share a kitchen, there are less of them and they get more time to themselves to prepare.  

There are two windows in each bedroom that allow them to see when the workers leave for their designated district. The saints are required to be their stations at least an hour after the workers are scheduled to leave. The priest must leave sooner to prepare the church for the offerings and prayers of the followers.

The fourth and final floor is home to the sirens, from the elevator is the large chill room known as The Lounge. On the left wall is a huge flat screen Tv built into the wall with games and a few gaming systems below it, on the right side is three big couches each positioned inward to face the Tv, and a big coffee table in the middle. Pass the Lounge is the kitchen with motion censored equipment. The twins buy so much high cooking utensils that the wide counter space really is necessary. They also have a big kitchen island for eating.

From the kitchen there are three hallways, each hall way leads to a different siren’s room with a bathroom connected.

Tyreen’s room is decorated with many shiny objects, her walls are covered in smoothed gem pieces, her carpet is made out of Bullymong fur, her bed is up against the corner opposite of her door and the corner across from her bed is her vanity. The down a few feet from where her bed is is the closet that opens with button switch on the wall, further down on the other side of the room is her painting area, there are four room length shelves holding her smaller paintings while the bigger ones sit on the floor.

Tyreen’s bathroom is filled with so many soaps and shampoos and bath salts. She likes smelling clean and fruity. Her tub is bigger than it needs to bed, Tyreen is the smallest of the three sirens but she has the second biggest tub on the top floor. And a jacuzzi, and a two-person shower.

Troy’s room the opposite of Tyreen’s, his room is brighter and full of rock like textures, his walls are made of asphalt, his ceiling is blood red, he has an in-floor pit bed, his fur carpet is made of something he’s never heard of before, but apparently he’s not allergic so that’s what really matters. On the left side of his room is his project station where he makes more little bots that Tyreen complains are too many of. The other side of his room is his workout spot, sometime he does his exercises in the lounge, but most of the time it’s in his own room. He has a closet that extends outwards so he doesn’t have to try and maneuver in a tight space.

His bathroom has a karaoke machine in it so he can lose track of time, his tub is big enough for him to submerge his whole body in. Lots of scrubs and essential oils to calm and relax himself. Sometimes Tyreen or Koetai has to check on him because he falls asleep in his tub.

Koetai’s room is decorated with a bunch of junk she grabs from every camp she helps raid, broken chest locks, guns and shields, even skulls of creatures she’s never seen. Her bed is in the middle of the back wall surrounded by handcrafted plushies that look like nightmares, but they make her more comfortable. Unlike Troy and Tyreen who have a theme with their rooms, Koetai does not, she likes plushies, broken items, orange and purple and blue and red and black. She likes trying to create things and whatever the twins like. She never really got a chance to develop her own personality.

Her closet is also an extending one like Troy’s, most of her clothes were designed by Tyreen, but sides her stuffed demons and bed, there isn’t much to Koetai’s room. (which will change over time)

Her bathroom on the other hand, is a quiet place for her to bath and think, or try to, her tub is really a three-person tub, but three people will never get in there at the same time. Her shower can fit plenty of people, but it will only ever be her in there. She has a three-person sink, but it’s just here in there. She doesn’t know which part of her living space makes her feel worse. 

I know everybody is calling their COV layout the City, but I didn’t know what else to call it. XD

[loopsforlupin]

  Remus Lupin Headcannons

- He curses like a sailor. While he normally does it under his breathe, Sirius, Peter, and James are normally close enough to hear the filth and curses that fall out of Remus’s normally polite lips. It makes Sirius feel a certain way, one that he tries not to focus on because certain anatomical parts seem particularly fond of those lips forming those words. It’s especially bad when Remus curses Sirius out for getting injured, because Remus seems to forget what personal space is then, and is man handling Sirius’s body in order to treat the various wounds Sirius didn’t realize he had. One time Remus stripped Sirius down with one hand while using his other hand to hold Sirius’s wrists above his head. Sirius has never been so turned on and confused in his life. He’s still not sure how it was possible to have all the blood in his body rushing in opposite directions and not die.

- Remus has depression. He’s unsure if he was born with it, or if it’s a direct result of being attacked by a werewolf at four years old due to his fathers hateful views. However, he tries many things to beat back his depression. He exercises regularly, going on runs around the Hogwarts grounds with James. He tries to eat a balanced diet, but Peter likes to sneak to the kitchen for food, and the house elves are always so sad when Remus refuses their offers of sweets. So he often just accepts that he probably eats way to much sugar, but at least he tries. He keeps a meticulous diary of his emotions, and when they start to go to far down the rabbit hole that is his disease, Remus will stick close to James and Sirius, because he’s afraid that if he doesn’t, the voice he tries so hard to ignore may shout loud enough to make him do something he’ll regret, and he’s never been more grateful for his friend’s silent and unwavering support than on those dark days.

- With depression comes bad days. On those bad days where even rolling over in bed seems like a monumental task, Remus is glad to have his friends. Because Sirius will notice first, and he’ll tell James who tells Peter. From there, a series of events happens. Sirius goes to the kitchen, and asks the eager house elves if they would please make a special pot of chocolate, only instead of a chocolate bar or chips, could they use the chocolate icing from Remus’s favorite German chocolate cake. Then he grabs large containers of whipped cream, salted Carmel drizzle, and a huge basket of various baked confections. James will have sent an owl to McGonagall telling her that Remus was unwell and would not be in classes for the day, and if she could please send any missed assignments with James for Remus to catch up. Then he would set about finding the softest and most comfortable blankets in the dorms. Most of which his mother had knitted and sent to him because they all knew James liked to be warm at night but cool during the day. Peter would tidy up the room. Making sure that when Remus felt better, he wouldn’t have to deal with a cluttered room, which Remus really hated. He would then find the newest book his mother sent him and he would sit by Remus’s bed and he would just start to read aloud. His voice soft and unhurried lolling Remus into the narrative with every word. Silence would spread around the room as the only sounds were the crackling fire, and Peter’s voice telling of some magical land beyond the “second star to the right”.

- Remus can’t stand to be touched. It’s partially due to his belief that his condition makes him a monster, but it’s also in part because his father had refused to touch him in anything less than anger since he was four now. Much like Sirius, sudden or quick movements may cause a flinch when directed at him. It took James awhile to be trusted enough to even put an arm around Remus’s shoulders.  Trust that was earned by constantly slowly approaching Remus, directly in his line of sight, and only reaching out after having verbal confirmation that the touch was accepted. Remus and Sirius both appreciated that James was willing to go so far just to show them affection. Especially, as he was such an affectionate individual. His love to touch and be touched was well known throughout the Gryffindor house, and to some extent even the other houses knew. Sirius thawed faster towards James, but then again, James had basically decided that the broken black haired boy was now his adopted baby brother and had looked at the walls Sirius had built around his heart and just blasted them away. Remus however, he had to carefully maneuver around those walls, because Sirius’s defenses were just thick walls, Remus  had his walls covered in Devil’s snare and thorns. But if Remus had ever asked James, James would have told him that the effort to take down those spikey and deadly walls was well worth the effort, because James gained not only one brother, but two. And James loved his brothers more then he had loved anything else. 

    -  Remus fell in love slowly. Oh so slowly, but the realization that he was in love, well that hit him like a freight train. James and Sirius were playing in the Quidditch game (Gryffindor vs. Ravenclaw), and Remus and Peter stood in the stands cheering for them. Aaron Blishen, a Ravenclaw beater, hit the bludger towards James, which Sirius gladly intercepted hitting it right back towards Aaron’s own team mate, but that meant that Sirius missed Brent Odgen’s well aimed bludger. It Sirius in the back, and knocked him clear off his broom. Remus’s heart leapt out of his chest and blocked his throat. Sirius was falling, Sirius was falling, SIRIUS WAS FALLING. James having realized his brother’s fate was desperately trying to catch the falling boy, along with Aaron, both boys laying flat against their brooms trying to catch up to the falling body. Remus couldn’t take his eyes off his falling friend. Sirius Black, his best friend, the person who made jokes about his condition, who cuddled up to him after nightmares, who brought him chocolate after the full moon, who hated his family’s dark views. Sirius Black who lit up the room when he came in, who made the dark days easier just by being in the room. Sirius was Remus’s star, he made the darkness not so over bearing, but right now all Remus could think was please please please Sirius! He loved the boy, and if James and Aaron don’t catch him, he was going to watch the boy he loved fall to his death. Not breathing, Remus didn’t even notice his hands clutching Peter’s arm, or the way that Peter was trying desperately not to cry out in pain from the tight grip. James barely managed to push the broom fast enough, but he managed to catch Sirius with 5 meters to square. The added weight of the boy, almost pulled James off his broom, but Aaron caught up enough to help stabilize both Gryffindors, and the trio landed safe enough on the ground. Madam Hooch was there within a second, casting spells at Sirius. Remus couldn’t stand still any longer, and sprinted down, along with Peter who was huffing to keep up, and emerged on the field just as Sirius was woken up with a quick “Rennervate”. He flailed for a couple of seconds before realizing that he was no longer falling. Remus knelt down and placed his hand on Sirius’s chest, which Sirius automatically covered with his own hand. “I’m fine Moony, promise.” Remus didn’t believe him for one second, but he kept his disbelief quiet, and just tried to remind himself why oxygen was necessary. It wasn’t until later that night, as Remus laid in his bed, that he realized his thoughts at the game. Love? He groaned into his pillow, he was too tired to focus on his suddenly new found homosexuality, and apparent love for his best friend. So Remus pushed aside those troubling thoughts and went to bed. 

    - Remus hates sharing. It’s a shock to the other boys at first, but they realize quickly that Remus has good reasons to protect his things. Remus may be an only child, but his mother Hope had multiple older siblings, who decided to have multiple children as well, meaning Remus had many cousins who liked to take his few toys or other valuable little treasures. Remus’s wolf was also possessive, and didn’t like to let others touch what was the wolf’s property. This often times included his friends. Remus couldn’t help but glare and often times growl under his breath when people touched James, Sirius or Peter. James was especially prone to being touched by strangers or people Remus didn’t like to touch his things. James was his pack mate, people shouldn’t touch his pack mate. Whenever Remus noticed James being touched, and his wolf was feeling extra possessive, Remus would proceed to touch James wherever the other person had, removing the other’s scent, and replacing it with Remus’s. It became such a pattern that James would even seek Remus out after someone touched him. Remus didn’t often have to do it with Sirius and Peter, but even they came to understand that Remus needed to do it for his own sake. Sirius most often came to Remus after he had been with one of his conquests, meaning Remus had to practically flop on top of Sirius to make sure the other’s scent went away. He needed to ensure that Sirius especially smelled like him, although it wasn’t until that fated quidditch game that Remus understood why. Stupid wolf had gone and decided that Sirius was his mate. Stupid wolf didn’t realize that Remus had no shot with the dark haired heir. 

   - Remus loved chocolate. This was not a secret. In fact, the few admirers who tried to get Remus to notice them, usually gifted him chocolate as it was a well known way to ensure that Remus was paying attention. But only the Marauders knew that Remus also had an obsession with sugar quills. There was something about the sweets that Remus couldn’t ignore. It was a complete accident as to how Remus developed this love. He had been studying for history of magic, and was reading allowed from the book, in an attempt to make Peter understand the work. Sirius, who had been trying to get Remus to help with a new prank idea grew tired of being ignored, and took his sugar quill which he had been gesturing with and shoved the quill into Remus’s mouth to silence him. James and Peter were stunned. Remus was unsure how to react. On the one hand, he was angry that Sirius had just shoved the sweet into his mouth, and had hit his teeth in the process, and on the other hand, well the quill was actually quite pleasing. The pleasantness won out, and Remus let out a little noise as he sucked on the quill. James and Peter both quirked an eyebrow at the noise, but Sirius turned beet red and his mouth fell open with an audible noise. Remus sucked on the quill hard enough that his cheeks hallowed, and his eyes lowered as he enjoyed the treat forced onto him. James and Peter shared another look before they broke into loud laughter, not that Sirius noticed, his eyes to fixed on the way Remus’s mouth looked wrapped around the sugary treat. After a minute of enjoying his treat, Remus pulled the quill from his mouth, creating a small popping sound, and looked at Sirius, still a stunned mess who couldn’t decide where exactly he should be looking. “Thanks Pads. You know, I haven’t ever actually had Sugar quill before. I like them!” Remus then started to pack away all his things, and got up to leave. He walked a couple feet towards the dormitory before he stopped and turned around, gesturing with his new treat and spoke. “But if you ever put something in my mouth again without asking, I’m going to bite it. Just letting you know.” Remus went up to the dorms, leaving a still laughing Peter and James, and a very confused and slightly turned on Sirius. 

[lovehugsandcandy]

Speeds So Fast (n*fw, Colt x MC)

A/N: Happy Birthday, Des @desireepow-1986! This is really old so the plot might not make sense but then I remembered-you didn’t exactly ask for plot for your birthday! LOL LOVE YOU!

Pairing: Colt x MC, RoD

Length: ~2,250 words

Rating: N*FW (people have sex. in a car. because why not? That’s basically the plot.)

Summary: Any good plan should have enough time built in to deal with contingencies. 

“Park there.” Colt pointed to the darkest spot in the lot, surveying buildings around them. “It’s dark enough to provide cover but you have a clear shot to the highway.”

Ellie nodded. It was late, dark, the few streetlights in the parking lot casting shadows against the stark concrete walls surrounding them. She was nervous; after they had fled prom to show up at her dad’s door, desperate and frightened, he had been understandably furious, spitting mad until she had finally interjected long enough to share the drawn-out, harrowing tale. And though he was still angry, he wasn’t willing to leave his daughter to be captured by a murderous gang of police officers on a mission for revenge.

Together, they had all created a crazy scheme to catch The Brotherhood. With Ellie as the rodent in their cat-and-mouse game, she was scared; however, she was even more worried for her dad, who would need to confront them, evidence in hand. They had all come up with the plan together, debating the details point by point, both her dad and Colt as methodical as ever while she and Logan interjecting where they saw weakness or flaw. 

Her stomach turned; the plan wasn’t great, but it was all they had and, if it didn’t work, they all were in danger, especially her dad. She worried her lower lip; she had already dragged her dad into this but now, to put him in danger as well? She couldn’t tell if the tremble in her hands was fear or guilt or some combination sitting heavy in her gut, but it wouldn’t stop.

“Hey...” Colt grabbed her hand as she put the car in park. “He’s gonna be ok, you know that, right?”

“You don’t know that. You can’t know that.” She looked at him and blinked, deep breaths to keep the tears from coming and the fears from crowding everything else out of her brain. 

He ran his thumb in soothing circles over her knuckles. “He’s good at what he does and this is his plan. He knows what he’s doing.”

“I know.” She looked down at her lap. “It’s just....he’s my dad.”

Colt sighed, eyes distant. “Believe me, I know.”

“Crap…I’m sorry, I didn’t-”

“Stop.” He squeezed her hand. “He knows what he’s doing. We need to stick to the plan; it’s the best way to get him out of this now.”

She nodded. “I know, you’re right. It’s just hard, the waiting, the worrying.” She groaned at the clock on the dash. “We still have a while to go.” She looked at her hands. If this didn’t work, if it put her dad in harm’s way, she would never forgive herself. If something happened to him, or they couldn’t free Mona in time, or if Logan or Colt...

“Hey,” Colt interrupted her spiraling thoughts, leaning over to kiss her forehead, her cheek. 

She turned to look at him, impossibly close, leaning over the center console, intent on her. “What?”

“We’re gonna end this…you can end this.” He brushed her hair off her face, hand gentle on her cheek. “Stop overthinking.”

Ellie smiled at him, taking a deep breath, and watched his eyes trail down her face, stop at her lips. A moment, a pause, and then it was if they were moving in unison, mouths crashing together over the center console, his hands threading through her hair while she grabbed his jacket to pull him closer. She couldn’t guarantee his safety, her dad’s safety, but this, this push-pull of lips and feeling? This she could do.

She couldn’t get enough, the way his lips met hers, making her stomach jump and her head spin, the way his hands curved into her hair, a gentle pressure that made her want to bare her neck, her soul.

Her eyes darted up, past him, a quick glance outside. Dark. Quiet. Deserted. Before she could reconsider, she pushed his shoulders and climbed over the console, shin banging on the gearshift, sliding into his lap. It was awkward and inelegant, but it did the job and she found she couldn’t complain when his hands found her waist and he pulled her close.

“Hi.” Perched over him, she could see his eyes, dilated even in the dark car, looking up at her.

“...Hi.”

“Mmm…what were we doing?” She bent her head and resumed kissing, mouths sliding together, losing track of time as she lost herself in him. 

When she was almost out of breath, lips swollen, he pulled back, mouth near her ear, breathing hard. “Fuck, Ellie, fuck. You’re so-” His voice was hoarse, breathy; she shivered. While he worked over the sensitive spot just behind her ear, she trailed her hands underneath his shirt, feeling the muscles twitch underneath her nails, the gasp by her ear. She trailed down, pupping the button of his pants and trying to edge the zipper down. The angle made it hard and Colt’s mouth, sliding down her neck, made it even harder. “This isn’t exactly the time for-” He gasped as she cut him off with a vicious kiss to the side of his neck, all teeth and suction; he turned his head, giving her more room, and let out a groan that filled the car. “Fuck.”

She worked her way up, delivering a nip to his earlobe. “It’s always the time for this,” she gasped.

With that, it was like a switch went off. Colt grabbed her hips and pulled her even closer, a deep grind, delicious friction that told her, yes, it was definitely the time for this. She could feel how hard he was beneath her and his hands trailed up, under her shirt, trailing over her stomach and sliding, all teasing fingers and gentle touches, under the line of her bra. 

She gasped into his mouth, one last messy kiss before shaky hands worked on her own pants. “Crap. Off, off, off.” She wiggled on top of him, fingers grabbing the waistband of her pants.

“Christ,” he moaned and reached down, frantically.

“Wait, don’t rip them!” She didn’t care about the leggings, but she couldn’t exactly be expected to stand in front of her dad if he ripped a pant leg clear off. She grabbed the waist and pulled, shimmying, sliding them down with her underwear and getting her right leg out and free.

Colt smirked. “Good enough.” Instead of helping her with her pants, she felt his hand trail up her leg, light touches to the inside of her thigh and finally, finally right where she wanted him, rhythmic pressure that made her squirm and grasp his shoulders, her fingers sliding on the leather jacket as she struggled to find purchase.

Fuck, it felt incredible, his fingers spinning, rubbing; she couldn’t balance over him anymore and fell, landing on his chest as his fingers continued over her clit before moving down, two fingers feeling how wet she was, how desperate she felt. “Colt....” The whine came from the back of her throat. She couldn’t think, could only feel, squirming on his lap, barely able to focus. She wanted to work on his pants, she really did, but she couldn’t get her hands to cooperate as those clever fingers worked her over.

Nothing was cooperating, especially not her brain, in overdrive with sensation and heat, muscles tensing as his fingers brought her closer and closer to the edge, his hand at the small of her back holding her close, even though there wasn’t far she could go, balancing on his lap, trapped between the window and the gearshift. An expert pass of his thumb had her quaking, shaking over him until her arms gave out and she collapsed, crashing onto him as the pleasure crested and peaked and finally ebbed, leaving thunder in her ears. She took deep, heaving breaths as her heart slowed, and the roar in her veins subsided.

Colt reached to the side and pulled a lever; the back of the seat slid down, him and Ellie with it. It was enough to give them slightly more room, but her car wasn’t huge. Space was still tight, as she learned when she went to pull Colt’s pants off and slammed her head into the window.

“Ouch!”

His hands were in her hair in a second, rubbing her temple. “All right?”

She rolled her eyes. “Definitely all right enough to do this.” She balanced against the door and could finally get a grip on his waistband, pulling down. It wasn’t sexy, but it got the job done, freeing him of his pants, sliding them off his legs in a pile on the floor. 

“About time.” He groaned against her lips as his hips twitched, seeking friction.

“I’m goal oriented.”

“I approve.”

Ellie squirmed, legs shifting until she could find her balance and crouch over him. The clothes were annoying; her leggings were stuck somewhere and his pants were making it hard to maneuver, but damn, she didn’t want to stop now. 

He looked at her, eyebrow raised. “You realize that-”

“COLT!” She grabbed his face, not really caring what sarcastic comment he had at the tip of his tongue. “Shut up and fuck me.”

“Demanding...” He bent his head to get at her neck again, teeth delivering equal parts pleasure and pain.

She would have been embarrassed at the moan that left her mouth if she had any sense left. “Colt, please, come on, you’re driving me crazy!”

He laughed, “This isn’t crazy.” His voice was muffled, mouth against her breast, taking his goddamn time because he was too busy scraping his teeth ever so gently over her nipples. “This definitely isn’t crazy.”

She could barely understand what he was talking about, the fog in her brain making it impossible for her to understand English, let alone conjugate a sentence. “What?”

“Crazy would be when our lives aren’t in danger and I get to take my time with you. When I hold you down and fuck you until the only word you know is my name. When you won’t leave the bed for hours because your legs won’t stop shaking. When I eat you out so good you scream loud and long enough to lose your voice. When you wear the lipstick you wore to prom, and it’s all smudged, rubbed off all over me, down the base of my-”

He cut off with a gasp because Ellie couldn’t bear it anymore and dropped her hips, feeling him enter her. It was a familiar stretch, slight pain, delicious heat licking up her spine. She closed her eyes, breathing hard, as she could feel everything, every inch, finally opening her eyes when they were joined completely. He was looking up at her, reverence on his face, watching every move of her mouth, every look in her eye. It was a lot. She had to shut her eyes, block out some of the stimulation in her brain, her body.

“Oh my God, Colt.” This wasn’t her first time, but she still felt like it was new to her, every touch magnified with inexperience. It took a minute for her to position her legs so she could move freely but, once she did, she could move exactly how she wanted, one hand braced against the car’s ceiling. “Holy-”

His hands found her hips and grabbed tight, pulling her down in unison with her movements, his cock dragging against her inner walls in a drag that made her keen.

“Fuck, Ellie.” Under her, Colt’s eyes were blown wide as he stared up at her, as if she were a goddess who could bring him to his knees and inspire worship with her body. She felt powerful, watching him run his hands over her body, her clit, and she was so entranced with memorizing every flash of pleasure across his face that her second orgasm took her by surprise, heat exploding again as she shook on top of him. He followed, hips surging up in one last thrust, thighs shaking as her name was punched out of him, shout echoing across the car as she could feel him release.

She fell, boneless and weak, landing again on top of him, winded and spent. He didn’t stop kissing her hair, but she could barely move. Slowly, she came down from her high, safe in his arms, oblivious to everything.

Until the radio went off.

“Guys? I have a visual.” Logan’s voice crackled, and they both jumped. Ellie met Colt’s eye; he looked a lot less guilty than she felt, barely suppressing a grin.

She hit his shoulder and grabbed the radio. “10-4. Give us 5.”

She dropped it and looked around. Crap, they were a mess. Half-naked-there were her pants!-disheveled. Colt’s hair was a mess, and she was sure that hers wasn’t any better. Frantically, she grabbed her leggings and slid into the driver’s seat, pulling them on as Colt shimmied up his own pants. She knew she should feel guilty about losing track of time but, as her fingers glanced over her hips, phantom imprints of Colt’s fingers that she could still feel, even now, she couldn’t really find any regret.

One last look down to make sure she was decent, and then she turned the ignition. Go time. She went to grab the gear stick when Colt grabbed her hand, giving it a squeeze. “You’ve got this.”

She nodded at him, once, and put the car in drive. Time to end this.

[lilhemmo]

uh another sweet pea fic please!!! i would like the following tropes - baby!fic (can't wait to see what you do with this one!!) and fake dating or fake married!!

send me two au’s from THIS list + a ship/character

a/n: sweet pea and babies is a weakness of mine, hopefully i make you suffer as much as i did writing this!!

-

“Sweets, I don’t know what to friggin’ do, she won’t stop crying!”

“Do you need reinforcements?”

“I-uh, well, ugh–yes, please,” you admit through tears.

It takes him an hour to get to your house, and the little baby in your arms still hasn’t ebbed her sobs. It doesn’t matter what you do - rocking, feeding, singing, kissing, whispering, anything. You’re crying as you try to sing to her through your tears, watery words leaving your lips.

“Honey, I’m home!”

At least that gets you to laugh.

You swallow and chuckle wetly, wiping at your face before he can come in the nursery to see you in your blabbering mess.

“Hey,” he’s quiet as he enters the room, reaching out to hug you around the shoulders. He coos down at the tiny human in your arms, “And how are you tonight missus?”

You roll your eyes, “You don’t get to ask her how she’s doing, Sweets. She’s killing me. Would you ask a killer how they’re feeling?”

Sweet Pea smiles wryly down at you and proceeds to take her from your arms and coddle her against his chest. He bounces her up and down, gently caressing her back as he hums in her ear.

It takes another hour, but finally he gets her to fall asleep in his arms at three in the morning. You’re struggling to keep your eyes open on the couch that is placed in the nursery.

“C’mon,” he murmurs in your ear as he reaches down to pluck you from the couch. “Let’s get you to bed.”

You nod numbly, your head lolling against his chest. Sweet Pea manages to get you under your covers before grabbing his keys.

“Stay, Pea,” you murmur, dumbly reaching out for his shadow. You pout just enough to make him feel guilty, “Please?”

His shadow gets larger as he gets closer and you can’t fight the smile on your face. Sweet Pea leans down onto his knees, his fingertips brushing through your hair.

“I’ll be on the couch, then.”

You shake your head and reach up to cup his cheek in your palm, “No, Sweets, just stay in the bed. I’m cold and tired.”

He laughs but it’s different than usual. Sweet Pea peels his jacket off and slips in beside you. Immediately you turn to face him and wind your arms around his waist, “Thank you. You’re warm.”

Sweets kisses your forehead and you see something hovering in his gaze, so you breach the subject and ask, “What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” Sweet Pea answers immediately.

You shake your head and run your fingertips over his shoulder blades, “I’m not an idiot. I have been your best friend for almost two decades.”

“Yeah,” he says softly. “I know.”

Your hands maneuver to his cheeks and you can’t stop your thumbs from rubbing over his warm skin. His legs tangle with yours and you feel heat spring from your toes to your chest.

“I-If it’s about Evangeline, I’m sorry,” you push yourself away from him and feel tears soaking up your vision. “I didn’t mean to call you so late, you could’ve said no.”

“No, no, shh,” he brings you back in, tucking you under his chin, “that’s not it, I’m so sorry. Look, I just-” Sweet Pea hides his nose in your hair and takes in a deep breath, “I’m just mad Layton split on you and Eve. And it’s late, so I’m spewing crap. I’m sorry, let’s just go to sleep.”

“Sweets,” you speak desperately. You pull his cheeks so he’s looking at you and your heart is racing, “Please don’t do this, don’t shut me out.”

His lips press against your forehead and you feel your eyes grow heavy from his warmth, “We’ll talk in the morning, okay?”

One of his hands dips under your shirt and his palm is soft and hot against your back. He runs his fingers up and down your spine and it lulls you to sleep.

-

“I can’t believe you agreed to come to the game with me,” Sweet Pea throws an arm around your shoulders. He pulls you close and presses a quick kiss to your temple before looking down at the bundle in your arms.

“And you too, Miss Evie,” he pulls her beanie from over her eyes and kisses her forehead before settling back into his chair. 

A young couple comes up to you and squints down at your baby in your arms and smiles at her chunky cheeks, “She’s so beautiful! Looks just like her daddy, huh?”

You go to correct her, but Sweet Pea sits forward and thanks her, “She’ll be one in a couple of months.”

“She’s adorable,” the woman comments again before she and her partner walk to their seats.

You throw a look at Sweet Pea, wide eyes and raised brows, “What was that?”

He shrugs, “Can’t hurt, can it? We don’t know them.”

His arm is warmer around your shoulders as he tucks you into his side, Evangeline cradled between your bodies.

-

“Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday dear Evangeline, happy birthday to you!”

Everyone cheers and you nudge Evangeline towards her cake that’s meant for her grubby little hands only. There are a few other mothers here with their children, but it’s mostly family - and Serpents.

“Happy birthday baby,” Sweet Pea holds one of her hands gently and pushes it into the frosting. She looks at him with wide blue eyes and begins laughing hysterically. Afterward, it’s every person for themselves as cake and frosting begin to fling all over the house. Luckily, you’d thought to protect your walls and floor with plastic tablecloths so the cleaning should be easy.

Sweet Pea grabs you around the shoulders and pulls you into his body, his arms warm and tight around your shoulders. He kisses your forehead and then your hair, a smile evident on his lips.

The party begins to wind down, all of the young children - and the mothers, too - worn out from the sitting outside in the sun and keeping up with their toddling tots.

One of the single mother’s you met in your support group comes to give you a hug, her daughter already in her carrier. She smiles, “I’m so glad you and Sweet Pea could find one another. Evangeline is going to love her parents.”

You open your mouth to tell her that Evangeline’s father is an ungrateful coward, but Sweet Pea sidles up next to you and thanks her before you can get a word in.

You look up at him to question his antics, but his lips are on your cheek before he’s on the move again, helping out the mother’s put their children in car seats and carrying their bags for them.

Your hands are on your hips as you study him, his tall, built frame squatting underneath SUV trunks to load in frilly bags and tiny babies into their car seats. You can’t help the smile on your face, but you try to hold it back with your teeth against your lower lip.

-

As soon as the word slips from her lips, you feel your whole world drop out from under you.

“Daddy! Can’t catch me!”

You drop the dishes in your hands and Sweet Pea looks up from where he’s chasing Evangeline around in the living room to watch as the color drains from your face. 

He catches her by snatching the back of her shirt, her thick legs unable to balance her so she falls on her bottom. Luckily she’s still tiny and so the fall is relatively short. Sweet Pea picks her up and takes her to her play pen, the area roped off from the rest of the house.

“If you stay here and play by yourself for a minute, I promise I’ll play with you until bedtime,” he nods to her as he sets her down on her feet. Evangeline tries to pout, but realizes it won’t work and instead pushes herself up onto her tip-toes to press a sloppy kiss to his lips.

“Okay, daddy,” she hums, “I’ll be waiting.”

You’re not sure how your daughter became so articulate at the young age of two, but currently it’s not helping your situation.

“Sweets, I am so sorry,” you shake your head and start plucking up the large pieces of porcelain as he makes his way into the kitchen. Tears stream down your cheeks but you busy yourself with the clean up. “I-uh, I didn’t-I’m so sorry, she doesn’t know any better.”

“Hey,” he reaches across the space between you to help guide you out of your mess, “it’s okay. Like you said, she doesn’t know any better.”

Sweet Pea props you up on the counter, your knees open so he can fit between them. You shove your hands over your face and shake your head, “I’m so sorry, Pea. Really. I’m so friggin’ embarrassed.”

“Don’t be,” he speaks softly. His large hands encompass yours, guiding them down so he can look in your watery eyes. He chuckles, his gaze softening the longer he has to take you in.

“How could she know any better, hm?” Sweet Pea asks you indignantly. He shrugs his shoulders, wiping your tears away, “Everyone else can’t even tell if we’re together or not. I practically live here, sleep in your bed. How does she know that I’m not her father?”

“That’s my fault,” you whimper, your lip trembling as you realize what he’s saying. He’s trying to get out of your life, and he needs to. He doesn’t deserve this burden that you and Evangeline put on his shoulders. You nibble on your lips to try and create words, “I-I pushed you to do this, I wrangled you in here and I made you some sort of pseudo-father for her. I should have never-”

Your lips can’t form words because Sweet Pea’s mouth is on top of them.

You’re frozen and therefore you cannot react, which gives him the wrong impression entirely. You gulp and he pulls himself away from you, distancing your bodies and your mouths.

Instantly his face turns bright red and he tries to stammer out an apology. Instead of listening to it, you yank him by his leather jacket and seal his lips with your own.

Sweet Pea’s hands are on your hips, digging into your skin as if you were some sort of anchor, and your fingers are in his hair. His throat shakes as a groan escapes his lips, your name tumbling from his teeth.

“Sweets,” you whisper, feeling his mouth track down your cheek to your jaw. You can’t open your eyes as his lips trail over your skin, “Pea, I-”

“You what?” he asks, looking up at you through dark lashes. “Want me to stop? Want me to leave?”

Your fingers secure themselves in his hair, holding him steady so he looks you in the eye, “I want you to stay. Here.”

“I already do that,” he chuckles, his fingertips dipping under your shirt and searing your skin. You swallow thickly, “I-I mean permanently. I want you to live here and not have to go home to get more clothes.”

“Darling,” his voice is soft, softer than you’ve ever heard it before, so soft it almost breaks. You feel a tear drip over your eyelid and he catches it on his thumb.

“I-I love you, Pea,” you push the words past your lips even though they’re not foreign between the two of you. “And I’m so sorry you’ve had to deal with me, with us, in the past. I don’t want to make you do anything you don’t want to - but I want to ask you to stay, to be with me, with us.”

Sweet Pea kisses you again, feverishly, his hands roaming over your back and biting into your skin. You gasp as his lips connect with your neck, your hands roaming over his abdomen to hold him closer.

“Mama! Daddy!”

You hear the slap of feet against the wood flooring, Evangeline’s tiny figure teetering in front of the two of you in the dining room. She giggles as she sees the two of you so close, “Pway now?”

Sweet Pea ducks his head into your neck and you feel his tongue swipe over your collarbone, unbeknownst to your daughter. You grind your teeth together and dig your nails into his sides. He winces, but chuckles against your skin.

“Yes, darling,” you smile as Sweet Pea retreats from his beloved spot on your shoulder. He turns and picks her up, twirling her before planting a comical kiss on her cheek with a loud smack. Evangeline giggles and you can’t help the grin that tugs your lips skyward.

Sweet Pea runs in circles around the living room and into the kitchen, pausing for a moment to look you in the eyes, “Oh, I love you too, by the way. In case you were wondering.”

You bite your lip, wondering how in the world you got so lucky.

[spring-emerald]

true to your heart (pt. 4)

“Daichi?” Daichi looks over his shoulder and sees Moniwa hesitantly standing by the door to the locker room.

“Oh, hey,” he says, turning around on the bench to face his friend properly. “What are you doing here?”

Moniwa steps inside the locker room. “I just wanted to wish you luck,” he grins. He gives Daichi and once over and nods approvingly. “You know you look good wearing that. It really suits you.”

Daichi almost snorts but stops and looks down on himself instead. He’s wearing the standard training clothes that the Auradon athletes wear when practicing for R.O.A.R. which consists of a sleeveless hoodie, tights, and even trainers, all in Auradon Prep’s colors of blue and yellow, but a shade darker.

It’s not the colors Daichi usually wear, since this kind of fabric and shade isn’t even available at the Isle in the first place and he’s not one to mind how he looks like on whatever clothes he’s wearing, but it’s also the first time that Moniwa openly tells him something like that and perhaps that ought to count for something. “Thanks, I guess.” He says, shrugging awkwardly.

Moniwa just smiles. “Is that the sword you’re going to use?” He nods at the weapon resting against Daichi’s thigh.

Daichi gives him an affirmative hum as he skims his fingers across the sword’s hilt. He was given the chance to choose from the selection of training swords earlier and found this one to have the perfect balance. It’s a bit shorter than what he’s used to, but it feels the most comfortable out of all the ones he’d tried. It makes him think of his own sword he left back at the Isle and feels a bit of longing for it, though he dismisses the thought as quickly as it came.

“Anyway,” he glances at the clock perched on the wall on top of the door. “It’s almost time,” he says, standing up. “You better go too and find a good spot.”

The match today had been the talk of the whole school since this morning. And if before, the other students were trying to be discreet with their staring and whispering, they had become bolder, openly talking about Daichi and giving him an assessing look as he pass by. Some even loudly bragged about how much they waged on Kuroo which, frankly, made Daichi want to roll his eyes in such occasions.

So yeah. Even without actually knowing the turn out, it’s pretty much given that the whole school body would be watching.

The teachers don’t seem to mind, as they didn’t say anything to stop or discourage the spectacle. Well, save for Ukai-sensei who stopped him on his way out of class, gives him a once over and nods to himself before patting Daichi on the shoulder and leaving him alone. Which was really weird to say the least, but he just shrugs it off. Daichi’s kind of scared what the Head Mistress’ reaction would be if she were here though.

“Don’t worry about it. Tsukishima’s got us covered. Good luck!” Moniwa claps a hand over Daichi’s shoulder, then pumps a fist with the other.

“Thanks. But honestly,” he says, mouth quirking in a mischievous grin, “Kuroo’ll need it more.”

----------

When Daichi steps into the arena, Kuroo’s first thought was damn, Daichi cleans up nice, followed immediately by ‘look at those arms!!!!’ as he starts checking Daichi out in a way that isn’t necessarily meant to size up an opponent.

And then it’s ‘I might actually lose this match. I might need more luck than I thought.

Daichi looks intimidating as he is handsome, carrying himself with confidence Kuroo hasn’t seen on him before, but one that he always should have, in Kuroo’s opinion because it looks really good on him. And did Kuroo mention his arms? Because damn, it’s a lethal weapon on its own. Kuroo swallows audibly, somehow feeling parched.

A hard slap on his back snaps him out of his thoughts and almost his spine. “Bro, he looks tough. Y’sure you can beat him?” Bokuto asks, draping an arm over his shoulder as he whistled low at Daichi’s appearance.

“Of course,” he replies absentmindedly and not with the same amount of confidence he’d held before, shrugging Bokuto’s arm off at the same time.

No wait. He shouldn’t think like that. Winning mindset!

So what if Daichi looks good and his arms are distracting? Kuroo’s not going to let him win easily. Wait, Kuroo’s not going to let him win, period. Yeah, that sounds better.

Daichi stops just a few steps away from him, a challenging glint in his eyes and cocky smile on his face, sword casually resting on a shoulder and held in a way that flexes his arm.

Kuroo’s thoughts about winning falters. Just a little.

He mentally shakes off his worries and channels his own cockiness because two can play at this game and he’s not going to lose this kind of posturing because being suave and having swag is in his genes.

“You’re late,” he says in lieu of greeting, stepping closer to meet Daichi. “I thought you’ve bailed.”

“Nah. But I thought I would give you time to bail out, just in case.”

Kuroo grins and steps closer and relishes at the way he seemed to have caught Daichi off-guard because of the action.

“I wouldn’t bail on you, Daichi.” And he doesn’t mean it just for fighting.

Daichi’s breathe hitches, brown eyes widening and Kuroo almost gets caught in it. Almost, but he’s quick to put some distance between them again with a short clearing of his throat and offers his hand as he does so.

“May the best man win, Daichi,” he says with a gracious tilt of his head.

Daichi blinks, but regains his composure quick enough to give Kuroo a smile of his own, however, a little more sarcastic.

“Thank you, Kuroo,” he replies, equally gracious, taking Kuroo’s hand and shakes it. In a completely petty and childish spur of the moment, he squeezes it for good measure. The only indication that Kuroo felt the tight grip is the twitching of his eye, but his face remains impassive otherwise, impressing Daichi.

Watching from the stands, Tsukishima and Moniwa share a meaningful look at the way Daichi is handling this. Moniwa shakes his head.

The stand-off gets interrupted by Ushijima clearing his throat as he stands between them. Only then they realized that they’re still holding hands and promptly let go and step away from each other. Ushijima looks at the two of them curiously, seemingly catching something amiss but ultimately shrugs it off in favor of officially starting the match.

“I’ll be your referee for today,” he nods at them before he drones out the rules modified for only two players, which are pretty standard. Only hits on the opponent’s torso are counted, and the first to get ten points, or the one with more points after three minutes, win, unless one of the player’s sword gets put down on the ground or the obstacles by the opponent more than three times, or is effectively disarmed.

Ushijima asks them to salute then be on guard before he steps back and blows his whistle, the short, shrill note echoes around the gym, signaling the start of the match.

Daichi drowns the shouting around them out, focusing on his opponent but doesn’t attack first, and instead backs away to study Kuroo’s posture and footwork as they circle each other. He can tell that Kuroo’s also doing the same, observing his movements, trying to find an opening. After a few seconds of this impasse, Daichi experimentally swishes his sword causing Kuroo to react and block it with his own in reflex and that action spurs the two of them to start trading blows, their blunt swords clashing against each other.

Daichi keeps his distance, letting Kuroo follow him into his space instead of being the one to do it, since doing it while having the shorter reach would spell disaster for him. Kuroo’s smart enough though and doesn’t fall for his obvious trap, and this actually emboldened him to attack to try and hit Daichi on the side, but Daichi is quick to dodge, swiftly moving under Kuroo’s sword to get to the other side, aiming to hit Kuroo in the exact same spot. Kuroo narrowly avoids it by spinning in place and his sword meets Daichi’s once again.

He doesn’t let up though as he drops on the ground and sweeps a leg at Daichi, the latter jumping back in reflex although the movement clearly left him unbalanced. This gives Kuroo the opening he needed to lunge forward and hit Daichi on the side, just above his hips. The audience goes wild with their cheers.

Kuroo smiles in victory, relishing the frustrated huff that escaped Daichi because he managed to get the first hit. Daichi, on the other hand, feels even more competitive. He swipes a hand over his forehead to get rid of the sweat that built up there then begins to counter attack, starting with a wild slashing maneuver of his sword across Kuroo’s chest, the force causing the air to make a whistling sound and Kuroo to back away, and turn into defense, deflecting the barrage of attacks Daichi is doing, until he landed a heavy one that forced Kuroo’s sword down on one of the boxes.

Kuroo, needing to put some distance between them, swipes his arm in front of Daichi, meant only to distract and make Daichi ease up on him. It’s effective because Daichi backs away and this gives him enough time to roll over one of the boxes behind him and escape. But Daichi doesn’t stay distracted for long, as he gets back to attacking Kuroo, which is easier now that they’re back in the center again. Daichi throws caution to the wind and moves closer to Kuroo, all while swiping and swishing his sword every way, keeping Kuroo scrambling to deflect and only focus on the sword coming from him.

To others, it may seem that Daichi’s movements and attacks are reckless and had no thought behind them, and maybe a bit of that is true, but others well versed in fighting would see that he’s slowly gaining the upper hand because of his boldness, until he eventually did by pausing his attacking in favor of dropping to the ground and sweeping his leg, the very same movement Kuroo pulled earlier, but this time more effective as it sent Kuroo toppling down and land on his back.

Daichi quickly sends Kuroo’s sword away, swishes it off with own, making it spin across the floor, before straddling Kuroo, pushing him down with a hand on his chest and sword poised above Kuroo’s neck. He doesn’t notice that one of Kuroo’s hand instantly finds itself on his waist. He grins down victoriously at Kuroo and Kuroo’s never seen a sight so dangerous and lovely before that he knows his heart is beating fast not just because of the fighting he’d just done, but also for something else, because of someone else.

Kuroo’s eyes drifts on Daichi’s lips, as he wets his own before meeting his eyes again, feeling his face flush at excitement and embarrassment. “I thought you can’t fight with swords,” he says in between breathing heavily.

Daichi inhales deeply and deems it fit to remove his sword away from Kuroo’s neck as he quips back. “I said I don’t. I didn’t say I can’t.”

Kuroo grins then chuckles. “Well, it was impressive,” he remarks. “But unfortunately, against the rules.” Instead of getting the surprised reaction Kuroo’s expecting, Daichi turns the table on him because the man smiles roguishly and leans down, inching their faces closer.

“You seem to forget Kuroo,” Daichi begins, and Kuroo swallows and wets his lips again because of the way Daichi said his name. “I’m a villain kid. I don’t play by the rules.” With one last huff, Daichi moves away and stands up, lifting his heavy weight from Kuroo.

Kuroo doesn’t immediately sit up though, and stays lying down, looking up at the ceiling, wondering if that really just happened and not just a fevered dream or a figment of his imagination. He doesn’t get the chance to ruminate further because Daichi enters his field of vision again, looking down at him and he sees him roll his eyes before a hand is extended in front of him. He takes it, allowing Daichi to help him stand up and gain his bearings again.

“Are you alright?” Kuroo blinks at Daichi’s question, and while it’s nice to finally be taller and be the one looking down on him, he kind of misses being under him as well. Kuroo shakes his head vigorously to ward off those thoughts before he realizes that he’s sending the wrong message especially when he sees Daichi frown at his response.

“No. Yes, I mean-no, ugh, yes. YES. I’m fine! I’m alright.”

Daichi studies him a few seconds more before he nods. Kuroo doesn’t get to say anything else because Ushijima’s beside them again. “I have to announce the winner.”

And Ushijima did, raising Kuroo’s arm and declaring him as the winner, much to the relief of the student body, and the gym is promptly drowned in their cheers again. Daichi catches sight of Moniwa and Tsukishima from where they are standing, and offers a sheepish smile and shrug at Tsukishima’s frown.  

“It was a good match,” Ushijima speaks, turning to Daichi, “but unfortunately Daichi, Kuroo won by default. While using the limbs are not forbidden, they are not allowed to make contact and can only be used as means of distracting the opponent. Although, I must apologize for not stating that rule clearly in the beginning. You could request for a rematch, if you wish.”

“Or maybe we shouldn’t count this at all, since Daichi doesn’t know the rules completely,” Kuroo interjects.

Daichi looks between the two of them and waves a hand dismissingly. “It’s fine Ushijima. It’s okay. And no, I don’t want a rematch. I’m fine with the results. Because either way, I still got to disarm you and pin you down,” he says, teasingly.

“Anyway,” Daichi offers a hand to Kuroo, “good game,” he says with a genuine smile this time. He doesn’t seem too upset, even knowing that he lost.

Kuroo accepts the proffered hand and shakes it. “Good game. Now, how about joining the team?”

Ushijima nods at the suggestion. “You clearly have the skill and you have a distinct fighting style. You would make a wonderful addition to our team.”

Daichi feels a little uncomfortable to be put on the spot again, but he remains steadfast on his decision. “Thank you for the offer, but… I can’t accept it.”

“Why not?” Kuroo doesn’t try to hide his disappointment at the refusal.

Before Daichi can say anything or explain why, Bokuto appears beside him and gives him a vigorous back rubbing. “Daichi! You son of a Hun! Why didn’t you tell us that you could play like that?!”

“Ah, yeah…”

Bokuto didn’t notice the way Daichi stiffened at the remark, but Kuroo definitely did and it starts making sense. Kuroo now has an idea why Daichi is so adamant about not wanting to join them. “Bokuto-”

“You we’re totally awesome man! Who taught you that kind of sword fighting because it’s different from what we learned here- Oh! Did you dad teach you?”

“Bokuto, enough!” Kuroo hisses, pulling Bokuto towards him, away from Daichi who’s now visibly uncomfortable, and looks like he’s ready to bolt anytime soon.

“Daichi, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.” He says, with a tight smile and shake of his head. “And yeah, Bokuto. My father taught me. Anyway, I have to go now.” Daichi immediately takes his leave, not waiting for any of them to say something.

Bokuto, bless his soul, looks at Daichi’s retreating back with a frown and scratches the back of his head. “Did I say something wrong?”

“No, Bo. You didn’t.” Kuroo assured him.

“…But he seemed mad,” Bokuto deflates, his exuberance dwindling down at an alarming rate.

“He’s not mad at you. Don’t worry, I’ll talk to him, okay?”

[giggleandtears]

Crimson Renegade, Part 1

Enter me, (s)he says in parentheses  

Summary: It’s not even her first day and she’s already getting the Enterprise out of trouble

Pairings: OC/Jim Kirk(Platonic), OC/Leonard McCoy(Eventual Romance)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

My journey to Gamma quadrant has been wholly uneventful. Thank the gods. I had a few gas giants and nebula to befriend but other than that, I had only my thoughts to keep me company.  It has been pure bliss but I know it will be swiftly ending in a matter of days. Well, if I'm lucky, I'll get days.  The USS Enterprise is not known for its tranquil environment.  

Speak of the devil-

As I exit warp, at my assigned rendezvous coordinates, my view is littered with debris. Shards of metal and tempered glass glitter around me in the vast expanse. Small chunks bounce off my shield and wings, but it's nothing my ship can’t handle.  

"Battle on my first day. Of course," I mutter to myself.  

I trigger a quick scan to follow the trajectory of the debris and any lasting remnants of the Enterprise's unique energy signature. Oh, this is bad. Looking at the projected course the Enterprise took, it spans roughly 3.7 parsecs. On any other day my pulse engines would suffice in traversing such a distance. You never know what new wonders might be tucked away, but by the sheer magnitude of this scrap heap rotating around me, the Enterprise may be in need of immediate assistance.  

What the crap, Kirk?

I set my course and engage my warp drive. In a matter of moments, I exit. My proximity alert sounds as a wing of some kind careens towards me.  

"Shields to max," I shout, then roll right only to have the debris lightly skim the stern. "Gotta love voice commands. Engage cloak and lock onto Enterprise coms."  

"Cloak engaged and locking onto Enterprise coms." Making the onboard computer's accent a deep Scottish brogue was the best decision I ever made. I smile while engaging thrusters to find a better vantage point.

The coms are silent for a beat then the familiar voice of my new Captain sounds in my cockpit.  

"Chekov, I need to know what came out of that warp window," Jim orders in his own polite way, controlled concern lacing his voice.  

"I am sorry sir, but the window closed with no discernable trace of a ship."  

"Great. Just what we need. Invisible ships."

I start to hail the Enterprise to alert them of my presence when their flank is bombarded with phasers, erupting in lightning like sparks.

"Oh no. Today is not the day."

I double back smoothly with a half loop into a spin to right myself and shoot any foreign ships in my path.

"God, these things are sturdy."  

I inflict a significant amount of damage to the closest ship on my way back to the Enterprise but not enough to completely disable them. They themselves look like piles of scrap, perfect for an ambushing any unsuspecting ship that meanders by.  

"Mirror Enterprise targeting system," I command.  

One of my secondary screens flicks from the continuous diagnostic readings of my ship's system to the Enterprise's view of the battle field. An analysis of the enemy ship's unique variants begins to stream in, surely from Spock's order as protocol dictates. This is one disadvantage to being the lone pilot of a ship. Though the solitude matchless, multitasking can become cumbersome. Vigorously defending your future crew whilst sifting through scrolling logs, with the intent of finding one useful piece of intel, is quite a hassle.  

"Idiosyncratic element detected. State: volatile," My on-board computer informs me.  "Hmm, I forgot I built that alert. Isolate element and target any vulnerabilities."

The Enterprise and I both target the element, used the in foreign ship's power coils, and watch the inky expanse erupt in reds and oranges. A ring of explosions cascade from the Enterprise badly damaging two of the larger ships. The vast battle field is quiet for several steady beats until a swarm of guided missiles head straight for the Enterprise warp engines. Federation ships are made for explorations, not all out battles. If the missiles reach the engines, the Enterprise will be left stranded and completely at the mercy of the enemy ships.

I push my thrusters to the max and reach the Enterprise before the torpedoes do. I loop back, hovering right above the Federation vessel. Facing the incoming barrage, I fire at will. I gun down each missile, one by one, and the Enterprise is left mystified as to why the torpedoes are exploding before they reach them.

"Sulu?" Kirk asks, his mono-syllabic question loaded.  

"Not us sir."

Two missiles skirt my defenses, but the Enterprise picks them off. Broadcasting the comm, I finally hail the Enterprise.  

"Artemis to Enterprise. Artemis to Enterprise."

"We hear you loud and clear Artemis. Thanks for the save." Kirk replies, relief emanating from his voice.  

"You're not safe yet. We have incoming!"  

Kirk calls for evasive maneuvers as two more torpedoes hit the right side of the Enterprise.

"Shields at 83 percent." Sulu informs.  

"Enterprise, I'm going back into the fray. Sending data packet now, so you can track me."

Because it would really suck if you shot me down after all this.

"Receiving data packet. Tracking location." Sulu announces.

"Enterprise, if you target the ships, I'll run interference on the torpedoes."

"Copy that Artemis."

The Enterprise rights itself, and I float above the bridge once again. Using my phasers, I push back the incoming projectiles until there is sufficient space between the Enterprise and the rival ships, four in total.  

Diving back into the battle, I sweep left, dropping small cloaked devices as a wall of defense for the Enterprise. Hopefully I won’t have to use all my prototypes in this one skirmish. With the Enterprise focusing on the ships themselves, I press on into the raging battle.  

Swiftly flicking a sequence of switches and key strokes, my back phasers are trained onto the enemy weapon’s distinctive energy variants. A steady stream of soft vibrations ripple through my chair as the rear weapons system fires without prejudice. I maneuver in and out of the impeding projectiles in a whimsical dance, touching nothing. Upon my order, I release a string of rudimentary instruments in my misshapen path. My back phasers stop and start intermittently as to not shoot the Enterprise when it veers into its sights.  

Various torpedoes and rail weapons hurdling towards the Enterprise trail behind me. With a tap of a single key they halt as if suspended in an invisible dragnet. The second load of devices I planted begin to spin, glowing a pale violet. With each rapid rotation, the stagnant weaponry shakes and swirl in a mechanical tornado. When the revolutions seem to reach a fever pitch, adding more and more trapped shrapnel, the twisting conglomerate is sucked into a jagged mass. A wide-spanning quake emanates from within my magnetized EMP bombs, rendering the expended weapons inert.  

A sly smile ghosts onto my lips as Sulu utters an astonished, 'wow'.  

Time stands still in the continuous volley of weapons fire.  The Enterprise and I work in unison to vanquish the incoming threat. Coming out of a tailspin, I survey the wreckage surrounding me. I initiate an updated scan for remaining energy variants as I chart my way back to the Enterprise. The unhealthy pace of my rocketing heart finally begins to slow. I manage a labored swipe of my arm against my damp forehead. I haven’t experienced such a rush in far too many moons, but I wished it was under better circumstances of course.  

Swerving in and out of the wreckage, my readings remain nominal and steady. It’s a testament of my skilled crew that each oscillating piece of debris cluttering my view is from the enemy ships, not the Enterprise. Jerking to attention from reading the Enterprise’s running damage log, my ship alarm blares, signaling an incoming alert. Reacting a fraction of a second too late, a torpedo careens over my bow.  

“Where the bilgesnipe’s tail did that come from?” I grind out.  

The portable shields I dropped in front of the Enterprise activate as the expelled torpedo collides with an invisible wall. The proceeding explosions curve around the Enterprise in a fiery swell. The Enterprise and I are left scrambling as the incoming bombardment breaks through my defenses. We have no visible target to fire upon.  The Enterprise is pushed back a great distance but remains intact. Compressed air or some type of coolant spews into the atmosphere from a possible hull breach on the lower deck.  

Sulu apprises us that shields have dropped to 63 percent, his voice tight.  

Running a series of more in-depth scans, the results reveal nothing that indicates any active ships in our vicinity. The onslaught has seemingly come from nowhere.  

“How is that poss…oh crap,” the realization dawning on me. “I don’t think I'm the only cloaked ship.”

Trying to buy the Enterprise, as well as myself, more time, I turn sharply away from the battle, haphazardly dropping more EMPs.  

“Artemis to Enterprise, there are other cloaked ships. I repeat, there are cloaked ships in our vicinity.”

Shooting at full speed towards the outskirts of the battle, I triangulate the probable max missile range according to the size and type of these particular ships.  

“Artemis, what are you doing?” Kirk asks, no doubt tracking my locator along its seemingly nonsensical route.  

Ending this

“We can’t fight what we can’t see and my EMPs can only do so much. I'm sending 2 sets of coordinates. Once you move aft to the first set, on my mark, put auxiliary systems on standby. You’ll find cover out of the blast radius.”  

Kirk commands Sulu to reverse thrusters without question. A swell of pride blooms in my chest, his confidence in me unwavering.  

Reaching the edge of the target zone, I face the battle once more. Reverberations of my charging cannon thrum as it nears full power.  

“When the blast dissipates,” I continue, “you should have enough time to fire her back up and skip bail.  I'll meet you at the second set of coordinates.”  

Almost instinctively, Sulu plots a course to the coordinates, likely in response to Kirk’s commanding nod.

"Artemis, is this course of action wise?” The measured voice of Spock asks. “Firing an energy weapon of that magnitude while your cloak is active, will no doubt render it unstable. In all probability, there is an 87% chance of complete failure. You will be vulnerable to attack."  

An audible whirl sings in my cockpit as streams of energy cascade along the edge of my wings, forming small balls on the tips. With each passing second, the swirling spheres grow and before long they shoot forward, unifying into an even larger expanding concentration of blue brilliance. In all my test fires, the sight of my weapon is truly something to behold. The base was always left at a standstill until its blinding radiance had diminished. However, the neighboring combatants haven’t a clue as to what is brewing underneath my cloak.  

"Don’t worry Spock. I have every intention of giving you a run for all your Energy Credits.”  

“I am not concerned with my energy credits but your...”

Before Spock can finish voicing his unease, I waste no time informing the Enterprise my energy weapon has reached full power.  

“And mark!”  

In the distance, the Enterprise maneuvers around two missiles before its faint glow is temporarily extinguished.  

Releasing the energy burst, a bright pulse emanates from my ship, breaking through the confines of the cloak. A silent wave rolls lazily into the dark blanket of space. Azure, edged in a startling chrome, the Plasma shockwave advances forward, igniting each ship it touches. The corners of my vision begin to spark and fizzle, finally revealing the fleet of vessels that were completely surrounding us.  

The muted radiance of the Enterprise returns as her systems come back online. The space encircling the craft begins to warp, defining the warp cores very namesake. The Enterprise catapults forward, into safe harbor. I allow myself a moment to rest my head and expel a sigh of relief. The Enterprise would have been decimated in short order without my canon’s successful reprieve.  First battle down, likely many more to come.  

I start another fly-by and scan for life and power sources. The varying ships are still mostly intact. The blast only managed to disable their cloaks and short circuit their systems. My own cloak is barely holding at 6 %. Using my tractor beam, I manage to get a sizable piece of the only ship we managed to completely destroy. Hopefully it’ll help me determine where they originated from.  

My radar beeps as the surrounding energy readings begin to climb. Red indicator beacon after beacon blinks and solidifies on my screen. The legion of ships will be back on line shortly.  

Resilient little buggers  

My cloak slips down to 4% and I hastily set my coordinates to the rally point. Engaging my FTL system, I escape toward safety, before a battle begins anew. Exiting warp, I pick up the Enterprise’s comms.  Chekov’s distinctive accent notifies the Captain that a warp window has been detected.  

The Enterprise hails me but I’m entranced by the amalgam of colors enveloping me. It’s as if I've nestled myself in a cloud that has been dipped in the ink of a sunset. Moseying forward, the Enterprise is exactly where it should be, tucked away in the heart of a nebula. The visceral urge to reach out and touch the intangible is still the most fantastical yet unnerving feeling I’ve ever experienced in the black. The radioactive nature of the gases concealing us leaves me wondering if I’m witnessing the death of a star or its birth.  

Jim calls to me again. “Enterprise to Artemis. Artemis, do you read?”  

Snapping to attention, I guide my ship to the Enterprise and loiter in front of the Bridge. As if my cloak senses the danger has passed, it dissipates like fine silk rippling to the ground.  

Leaning lazily over my console, the Bridge crew is clearly in view.  “You rang?”  

A cocky grin alights my face and Jim can only shake his head and smile. He instructs me, knowing full well the reason for my delay in answering his hail. “Once you finish star gazing, you’re welcome to board.”  

“Copy that,” I chuckle and make my way to the shuttle area.  

Settling in the shuttle bay, I'm acutely aware of the grandeur of the Enterprise. I’ve been assigned to multiple ships, but never one of this magnitude. Artemis is a respectable size, far better than the average federation shuttle. But against the backdrop of the massive shuttle area, I feel all the more minuscule.  

Artemis is a 4th generation Stealth Fighter, equipped with warp and cloaking capabilities. Both were installed under my care, among other rare accoutrements. Her dark hue blends into the pitch of space, even without her cloak. In those rare moments I desire to be seen, illuminators are strategically placed along the wings and cockpit. On all accounts, she handles with a viperous grace. Beginning the power down sequence, a low hiss sounds as my wings retract inward. The outer wings smoothly lift vertically at their hinges, fully compact.  

Leaving the cockpit, I disconnect the emptied power cell belonging to the cloak. Adding four controlled isotope pellets, the canister begins to warm before the top spirals shut. With a gentle shake, the inert embers reignite, blossoming in blues and yellows. The tiny explosions build and expand into a thick congealed mass. Clear observation panels on the sides display the chemical reaction shifting from a vibrant green to a blinding white. Replacing it snugly back in the panel, the power cell will need about an hour to reach full power. I’m not expecting to use Artemis for more than the occasional joy ride and practical simulations but it never hurts to be prepared.  

Stepping off my ship, bag slung over my shoulder, I take in the hustle and bustle of the scampering crew. Breathing in the familiar scent of recycled air, an innate sense of ownership washes over me. This is not a temporary post. This ship, these people, now belong to me.  

Jim leans casually against a stack of crates. Anyone else would have surely fallen. “That’s definitely not regulation.”  

“My ship or me?” I ask, meeting him where he stands.  Jim takes a thoughtful pause to fully take in the sight of me and my ship. We stand in stark contrast to the other docked ships and scurrying crewman.  My lack of federation issued jumpsuit and unruly curls are a testament to my lax attitude while traversing the galaxy to meet the Enterprise.  

He replies with a cheeky grin.  “Both.”

A knowing smile sweeps across my face as I step into his arms. Jim radiates a warmth that is synonymous with our long friendship. There could have been a palpable sting of jealousy as I watched Jim being handed his own command ahead of me. But I have never desired the captain’s chair. It's a privilege to be back under the command of someone I respect so greatly, and a treasured friend no less.  

Squeezing me a little tighter, Jim chuckles into my ear. “And I thought I knew how to make an entrance.”

I laugh at the thought of Jim’s many memorable arrivals and daring escapes. Immersing myself in every detail of the Enterprise’s mission’ reports has been one of my secret obsessions for many years.  

“Hey, it’s not my fault you somehow found trouble in an uninhabited area.”

He concedes the point with a shrug but Jim’s cheerful demeanor has slipped away. His posture has grown taut, his grip tight, as he holds me at arm's length.  He studies me with an intense gaze under a deeply furrowed brow. When he speaks, his voice is quieted in concern.  

“Are you ok?”  

“I’m fine Jim-bo," I say, patting his hand in reassurance, “not a scratch on me.”

Jim would have known if I had been hit during our scuffle with the Scrap-yardigans. I would have voiced it, as would Sulu. But he doesn’t look convinced. Even with my assured answer, his scrutiny continues. I think he knows I felt the concussive aftershocks of the explosions, even though I wasn’t expressly hit.  

“Well, we’ll be taking a trip to Medbay just to make sure.”

I’ve been on board all of 10 minutes and I’ve already resigned myself to using my patented pout. That definitely has to be a record. “Come on Jim, I just got here and isn’t there a hull breach I can help with?” Hopefully it will still have the desired effect. Jim was never immune to its power but that was before he was my Captain.  

Strolling up to Jim and I, Spock interjects before Jim can answer. “There is indeed a hull breach on decks 16 and 17.” He says.  

Taking a deep breath, my eyes plead with Jim to let me help. The faster we’re done with repairs, the quicker we can leave this sector. Those nearly impenetrable ships left a bad taste in my mouth.  

“As you have only just boarded Commander, your mandatory physical has yet to be completed. Until such time, it is against regulation to assist in any repairs unless under direct threat, in which we are not.”

Jim smirks in agreement. With that, I deflate in defeat but still greet my fellow Commander with a genuine smile. "Spock, you always were a stickler for protocol but it is good to see you.”

Bowing at the waist, Spock welcomes me in return. “You as well, Commander.” Shifting attention back to the Captain, Spock hands Jim the PADD resting at his side, and readies himself for his report. Gathering my bag, we make our way toward the Turbo lift.  

“So, how’s our girl? Injuries?” Jim asks his Second in Command.  

“We are currently reporting 11 injuries, all minor in nature.”

“And the hull breach repairs are underway?”

“Yes Captain. They should be completed within the hour.”

“Thank you, Mr. Spock. Eloquent and informative as always.” Jim says offhandedly, all the while sending me a pointed look.  Translation, the crew has everything under control without your helping hands. “Do we have any idea who they are? Where they came from?”  

“Not as of yet. The database inquiries thus far have been inconclusive. Without a piece of the enemy ship I believe we are at a loss.”

“I may be able to help with that.” I say, stepping into the lift in front of Spock and Jim. “I was able to retract a sizable piece of ship debris.”  

“That will be most useful. When will-”  

Spock stops short when a familiar Scottish lilt rings out into the bay. ‘Until next time lassie’, reaches into the lift before the doors close. Artemis has fully powered down and is awaiting her next mission.  

Both turning to me, Jim and Spock wear the same incredulous expression, complete with matching arched brows.  

Jim is the first to speak, low and deliberate. “Was that Scotty?”

Staring holes into the floor, I nod yes.  

“Does Scotty know you use his voice for your on-board computer?” Jim’s voice is alight with mischief. A looming dread slowly creeps into my stomach.  

This lift is taking much too long. It’ll be the first thing I inspect tomorrow.  

“No, and there’s no reason to tell him.” In all honesty, I forgot to switch it back to the standard voice setting. I’ve always found Scotty’s excitable voice infectious and soothing. But in the wrong hands that knowledge will only be used to torment me, i.e. my astute captain.  

Jim crosses his arms and levels a knowing smirk. “That was before you tried to use your pout against me.”  

Well, that was a massive miscalculation on my part.  

[imaginetonyandbucky]

Bucky's therapist tells him to set goals for himself, and after encountering a sleep deprived and injured Tony, he found it. Protecting and taking care of Tony Stark. Even if the genuis says he doesnt need help.

Crazy Random Happenstance

The plant was dead.

Not even maybe salvageable. Dead. Most of the leaves werelittering the potting soil and the few that remained were shriveled and brown.Even the plant’s main stem looked like someone had mummified it. There wasmildew in the soil. Well, at least that part of it was alive.

Bucky stared at the plant like he could possibly will it back tolife.

Nothing happened. Which was probably for the best really.

He heaved a sigh, turned the plant over and dumped all its brokenbits, useless, over-watered soil, and the little plant food stick that Tash hadrecommended, into the kitchen trash can. He considered throwing the pot inafter it, but he could hear someone in the communal living room, and while Tonywould have no qualms about disposing of a perfectly useful, not broken flowerpot, Steve would give Bucky that look. It was the same look he used whensnitching jelly packets at the deli, or ordering water with lemon when they ateout.

You could take Steve out of the Great Depression, but you couldn’ttake the Depression out of Steve, apparently.

Bucky slumped back into the chair at the table, now staring at theempty flower pot. He wasn’t doing such a great job taking the depression out ofhimself, either.

How was he supposed to tell his therapist that he’d killed theproject she assigned him. In less than a month, he’d killed a supposedlyunkillable plant.

Great.

Winter Soldier. Black thumb gardener.

(more below the cut)

Bucky’d lived most of his life, up until he died, taking care ofSteve. But Steve didn’t need to be looked after anymore.

Hydra had given him a purpose. It was twisted and warped, but itwas something.

He still wasn’t cleared to be an Avenger. His therapist had to dothat. She wasn’t going to do it if Bucky presented a dead succulent as evidencethat he knew how to take care of things.

Fuck.  

“Yes, that is exactly what I’m saying,” came Tony’s voice, as hestrolled into the kitchen, phone held to his ear. He tucked it between hisshoulder and jaw and began trying to load the coffee machine. “The man is anidiot, I’m saying you should fire him and put that assistant of his in chargeof the project. She’s-- I know she’s never done it before, but sometime has tobe the first, right? ...Well, it worked great with you, Pep, so I don’t-- No.Yes, I know you’re the people person, but I’m telling you-- Just give it somethought, okay? The stockholders will only scream until they see what a greatidea it is. Yeah. No, that’s next week. Okay. See you then.” He unshrugged hisshoulder and let the phone clatter to the counter as he continued to makecoffee.

“Morning, Comrade Snowflake,” he said to Bucky. “Coffee?” Heflipped the switch on the coffee maker and turned around, facing Buckydirectly. His eyes landed on the empty flower pot, and his head cockedquizically. “Air plant?”

“Used t’be a fascinating hawthorne, or somethin’ like that,” Buckysaid. “But it’s so dead, I reckon its ancestors are goin’ extinct. Watchthat--” Bucky jumped out of his chair and grabbed the coffee pot off thecounter, jamming it in place under the drip before it overflowed watery groundseverywhere.

Tony blinked owlishly at Bucky’s sudden lunge, and then at thecoffee pot. “...Huh. Yeah, that. That probably would have been a better placeto put that.” He opened the cabinet over the coffee maker and stretched up ontiptoe, groping for a mug that was just out of his reach. He managed to hook afinger through the handle and drag it closer, just as what looked like a trulyepic yawn forced its way out of his mouth. The mug teetered on the rim of theshelf and then fell off, shattering into dozens of pieces.

Bucky stared at Tony. “When was th’ last time you got sleep thatdidn’t come out of a cup?” He grabbed another mug  -- someone reallyshould reorganize these, coffee mugs were the most commonly used item in thekitchen, they didn’t need to be on the top shelf -- and put it on the counter.

“Nyet, don’t do that,” he said, when Tony squatted down topick up the broken shards of pottery. “Get a broom, or better yet, you staythere, an’ I’ll get a broom, afore you bring the whole building down around ourears.”

“Chill, Elsa, it’s just a mug. I think the building can handle it.I mean, it handled some broken walls and floors and stuff after that robotinvasion, I’m pretty sure it can handle this. I built it, after all, and thingsI build tend to stay built.” He was rambling, which meant he was probablyrunning on less than three hours of sleep. “But if you want to be on cleanupdetail, far be it from me to get in your way.”

Bucky made a noncommittal sort of noise and went for the broom.Cleaning supplies -- which were barely touched, honestly -- hung in the sidecloset. Bucky did a quick check of the kitchen to make sure Tony wasn’t aboutto drop the stove on his head or something, then fetched a broom and dustpan. Seriously,he was out of Tony’s sight for less than thirty seconds when he heard a varietyof swear words and another crash from the kitchen.

He darted back into the kitchen to find Tony on the floor in apuddle of coffee and another broken mug. One of the kitchen chairs was lying onits side. The coffee pot was on the counter instead of on the coffee machine’shot plate, but at least it was still upright.

Tony lifted a hand and cursed again; there was a thumb-sized shardof mug embedded in his palm. Before Bucky could stop him, he pulled it out, andblood began pouring out of his hand. “Fuck.”

Bucky sighed, reconstructing the scene in his head. Apparently,being so offended at the idea that he might, Bucky didn’t know, accident himselfto death, Tony hadn’t noticed Bucky got a mug down for him, dragged the chairover, and was standing on it. How that ended up with Tony, chair and anothersmashed mug on the floor, Bucky wasn’t entirely sure. He pinched the bridge ofhis nose with the metal fingers.

He grabbed a clean dishtowel out of the rack. “Lemme see,” hesaid, squatting near Tony and holding out one hand.

“It’s just a cut,” Tony protested, but he held out his hand forBucky to take. “I do worse than that every time I rebuild one of the carengines, or overhaul DUM-E’s struts.”

Bucky ignored the words, squeezing Tony’s wrist in one hand andblotting at the cut with the towel. It didn’t look deep enough, or long enough,to need stitches -- and Bucky had been, at one time, an expert on people whoneeded stitches. Steve had looked like Frankenstein’s monster most of theirchildhood. But, of course, Tony’s hands were filthy, fingers smeared withgrease and God only knew what else.

Bucky had an absolute horror of infections; Steve got laid lowwith them all the time when he was a kid. “I’mma help you up, and we’re gonnawash this out, yeah?”

Tony pouted at him. “I don’t need help, I’m a fully-functioningadult with two working legs.” But he didn’t try to shake Bucky off when Buckyslipped an arm around his waist and lifted him to his feet.

“Yeah, an’ like five minutes ago, you was a fully-functioningadult with an uncut hand and two unbroke teacups. I shudder t’ think what youmight do to your legs with th’ next five,” Bucky scolded. “World needs IronMan, not Tony Stark with a broken leg.”

“I could totally fight evil with a broken leg,” Tony saidindignantly, apparently not even noticing as Bucky turned on the water andmaneuvered Tony’s hand under it. “I actually might have, once. The armor makesa pretty decent cast, actually, if I lock up the joints.”

“Don’t even doubt it,” Bucky said. Because of course Tonyhad engaged with the enemy while already wounded. He checked the cut again,then wrapped the dishtowel around it, pulling it tight for a makeshift bandage.He kept pressure on it for a few minutes, despite Tony’s flailing about in anattempt to get back to the coffee pot and coffee. “No. You don’t need any morecaffeine. What you need’s sleep.”

“No, I’m fine,” Tony said, but another yawn rather ruined theeffect. He pouted some more. “I can’t, I’m right in the middle of a thing. Ijust need some coffee and I’m good to go.”

Bucky recognized stubborn; he’d seen that sort of chin on SteveRogers every damn day. “What sort of a thing?” he asked, hoping to distractTony for a few minutes. Just a few. Please God, could he not break something,trip over something, or run into something for five. Minutes. Please. “Putpressure on that.”

Coffee. Fuck, this was such a bad idea. He poured the remainder ofthe coffee into the perfectly unbroken mug, stuffed the pot back onto the hotplate with about an inch left in the bottom. Someone -- Clint probably -- wasgoing to be pissed about that, but oh well.

Tony started rambling about charge retention and outputwaveforms and all kinds of technical-sounding things that barely made anysense until Bucky managed to piece together that Tony was trying to create aphone battery that would last longer. The longer he talked, the more he wavedhis hands around, nearly smacking Bucky in the face with the end of thedishtowel several times.

Bucky managed to understand just enough of it to keep Tonytalking. He cleaned up the mess on the floor, rinsed the coffee pot, got it setup to brew a new batch, because that was just nice, and made two sandwiches,all the while prodding Tony along with questions “-- is there some reason youcan’t make the battery smaller? Fit more in th’ same space?” and “-- don’tthink I’d thought about it that way,” and “-- so, a good shut down feature’dhelp some, from all them memory loggers? People ain’t need their solitaire gamerunnin’ in the background when they’re checkin’ google maps.

“Hey, roast turkey an’ avocado on gluten-free bread?”

“Yeah, but that’s a software fix and I’ve-- What?” Tony lookedover at the counter where Bucky had spread out the sandwich supplies. “Nothun-- Well, maybe a little. Sure, that sounds great.”

“Well, it’s like a gas tank; can’t increase capacity, might aswell lower th’ weight of the car, right?” Bucky commented. “Jus’ saying.” Hefound himself almost humming as Tony continued to brainstorm, mouth full ofsandwich. There was something satisfying about getting Tony to slow down for afew minutes, eat, rest. Might be good to get him out of the coffee stainedclothes, a shower, and some damn sleep, but Bucky would take what he couldget-- except, just maybe…  For someone to claim not to be hungry, he wasputting a dent in that sandwich. Tony’s eyelashes fluttered a few times as hechewed another bite.

“...so the real trick is...” Tony paused to yawn and take anotherbite. “..is...” He drifted into silence, eyelids drooping. “Uh.” He put theremains of the sandwich down -- no more than two bites left. “Think I might gocatch a nap, actually,” he said, sleep-slurred. “Come back to it fresh.”

“Okay,” Bucky said, very softly, not wanting to draw attention tohimself. “Come on, then, I’ll walk you up.” He hooked his arm around Tony’swaist, slung the uninjured hand over Bucky’s shoulders. Very gently, he pulledTony to his feet and started toward the elevator. “I got ya, no worries.”

“You don’t gotta...” Tony waved his free hand around aimlessly,dishtowel flapping. “Could’a just fallen on th’ sofa.”

“Clint’ll be back from th’ range soon,” Bucky reasoned. “An’ he’llwant to watch Dog Cops. Come on, resident genius, bed.”

Tony literally fell asleep on his feet before the elevator made itdown to their floor. He barely stirred when Bucky scooped him up,princess-style and bridal carried him up the elevator, and onto his floor.JARVIS opened the door for him, and Bucky made his way cautiously through thelayout of Tony’s penthouse suite, where he’d never been before. Finally, a hugebed. He lay Tony down on it, removed shoes, stained tee, and belt, then rolledhim up in the quilt like an engineering burrito.

Bucky looked at him for a long moment, amazed at how relaxed Tonylooked when he was sleeping, all the worries dropping off his face. There was asmudge of motor oil on his cheek. Bucky rubbed it off with his thumb. “Get somesleep,” he said. “Everything’ll still be waiting for you in th’ morning.”

Tony woke up feeling warm and amazingly well-rested and the faintsmell of coffee.

All in all, it was a pretty great way to wake up.

He wriggled his arms out of the blankets and stretched, thenflinched when his hand hurt. He pried an eye open to look at it, and found asomewhat bloodstained dishtowel had been tied around it. He pried the towel offto look at the cut on his palm, clean and scabbed over.

He frowned at it. He didn’t remember cutting himself -- and thenhe did. He’d climbed up on the kitchen chair to get a mug, and then pouredcoffee into it without bothering to climb back down first, and as he’d startedto take a drink, he’d overbalanced and tipped the chair over, and himself withit.

Embarrassing. Why did they even keep the coffee mugs on the topshelf?

Bucky had washed out the cut for him and wrapped it in the towel,and then... made him a sandwich? Was he remembering that right? And then...Tony couldn’t remember what had happened after that. He couldn’t even rememberfinishing the sandwich. And he’d meant to just take the coffee down to theworkshop so he could finish that battery overhaul. Why was he in bed?

He struggled free of the blankets -- they were wrapped all the wayaround him -- and found that he was still wearing his pants, but had beendivested of his shirt and shoes.

Which meant he hadn’t come back to his room on his own. If he’dbeen running on autopilot he would have just fallen face-first on top of thebed and passed out, not gotten half undressed and rolled up into the blankets.

“JARVIS? Did... Did the goddamn Winter goddamn Soldier put me tobed?”

“Indeed, sir,” JARVIS agreed.

“Show me.”

JARVIS obligingly popped up a holoscreen showing the slightlyfisheye-distorted view from one of the security cameras of Bucky carrying apassed-out Tony into the penthouse like a goddamn princess.

“I must’ve been more tired than I thought. How long was I out?”

“Just over ten hours,” JARVIS said, sounding warmly approving.

“...Huh.”

Well, it was Avengers Tower. Weird things happened.

“Hey, Tony,” Bucky greeted him over the Tower’s comm system, “ifyou've got a minute, I'm havin’ a joint issue in the thumb? Can I come downwhen you're free?”

It wasn't entirely a lie. The thumb was sticking just a bit, butnothing really worth a full maintenance. Bucky could open the same thinghimself and blow it out with a little compressed air. He personally hated doingit -- compressed air was cold -- but he could.

Not the point.

The point was he'd gotten street tacos from one of Tony's favoritefood trucks and he was curious to see if Sam's trick worked on Tony as well asit worked on Steve.

“Watch this,” Sam had said, unwrapping a candy bar and setting itnext to Steve's elbow during movie night.

Sure enough, about ten minutes later, Steve had absently picked itup and ate it without even noticing.

“Milky Way principle,” Sam had called it. “Sooner or later,everyone eats the Milky Way.”

“Sure thing, Red Menace,” Tony agreed. “Whenever it suits, come ondown. I’ll leave the door unlocked and the lights on.”

Bucky made his way down to Tony's shop, bag of tacos under onearm, drink holder in the other hand. JARVIS opened the door for him when he gotdown there. “I appreciate this,” Bucky said, putting the bag down. He unloadedthe tacos onto Tony’s workbench, pushing the rare flank steak and lime cilantroones toward Tony, chicken and black bean on his end. “Just a little sticky,here.” He rolled the joint, which made a dry, clicking sound as it moved, likedirt in gears. Probably exactly what it was, really.

“Sounds like you got some dirt in the gears,” Tony said. He kickedout a lab stool toward Bucky and turned on a desk lamp. “Bring it over here andlet’s have a look.”

He took his time, carefully disabling the nerve-conduit receptorsbefore prying open the small plates and starting to examine all the fine motorsand servos. He pulled a magnifying glass over to look at the tiniest parts, andabsently picked up one of the tacos, taking a bite and chewing as he reachedfor the can of compressed air.

At least it wasn’t as bad, when Tony did it. For reasons thatprobably made sense if you were Hydra and therefore, a fucking sadist, Buckycouldn’t disable the nerve-conduits himself. It still felt fucking weird,having air rushing inside part of his body. Psychosomatic, he told himself. Allin your fucking head. “How’s the battery project goin’?” It bothered him,sometimes, that nobody else really seemed to listen to Tony. They cared thattheir gear worked, but not why, or how, or the amount of work that Tony putinto it.

Bucky was the guy, when he discovered he was in the future, readthe manual for the microwave. And then he’d taken it apart, to see how it allfit together. He had not, mind, been able to reassemble it into workingcondition. Thankfully, Tony hadn’t asked questions when Bucky told him it wasbroken, and could he expense a second one. Bucky’d mostly not taken that one apart.

Mostly.

“Oh, I finished that,” Tony said easily. “I was able to come upwith a new alloy for the conductive sheets that maintains signal integrity 143%better than the standard stuff, and the bump in cost is only about eightpercent, so hopefully that will translate when we start production.” He glancedup with a grin, and there was a little bit of cilantro stuck to his frontteeth. “Turns out you can make the gas tank bigger, if you know whatyou’re doing.”

“Sounds good,” Bucky said. “So what are you working on today?” Hetook the drinks out of the carrier and sat one next to Tony. Italian soda, ofthe non-caffeinated variety. Tony probably wouldn’t notice, and the man ran onstraight high octane way too often. “You’re always poking around down here,what do you do for fun?”

Tony jerked his thumb toward the cars at the back of the workshop.“That’s my fun project,” he said. “Soup those babies up and take them for adrive -- not that you can really open up in New York, but I’ve found some goodback roads upstate.” He dug out a little whisk-looking brush and startedcleaning out Bucky’s joint. “Not that I have much time for it, with everything.Today’s project is an armor upgrade for the team.”

Bucky hadn’t really looked at the cars, they had just been part ofthe background clutter, but wow, they were nice. “Huh,” Bucky said. “I ‘memberyour dad, tryin’ to build one that could fly. Didn’t, but for a few minutes ithovered and that was pretty nifty. You’ll hafta show me what all’s changed, butI used to work in a garage, back before the war. Used to have a ‘38 top-downStudebaker that I won off a punk, didn’t run worth a damn, but I was alwaystinkerin’ with it, thinking I could get it going, and have me a really sweetride for dates, and that stuff. Don’t know whatever happened to it.”

“Yeah? I have a few older cars, but that was mostly my dad’sobsession. I tend toward the newer ones. Engines have changed a lot since then,but come down sometime and I’ll give you a tour.” He finished up the last ofhis tacos and picked up the soda without looking away from Bucky’s thumb.

Bucky smiled down at Tony, the dark head so intent on themechanical arm. “Yeah, okay, it’s a date. How ‘bout I’ll bring lunch tomorrowan’ you can take a break then?”

‘Hm? Yeah, sure,” Tony said. He closed up the plates andreconnected the nerve conduits. “There, that should do the trick. Let me knowif it starts acting up again.”

Bucky flexed his hand a few times, everything was in working orderagain. Nice. “Thanks, ‘preciate that,” he said, then, “oh, you got something onyour cheek there.” He rubbed the metal along Tony’s face, catching a dollop ofthat lime aioli sauce.

“What?” Tony looked startled, but didn’t flinch away from thetouch. “Oh, right, thanks.” He picked up the soda and took another long drinkfrom it before looking at it with a slightly confused frown. “Did you bringthis, is this yours?”

“No, this one’s mine,” Bucky said, pointing to the other drink.“That one’s yours. Don’t forget to wrap up early tonight, it’s movie night, an’we’re s’posed to be watching some Alien? Aliens? Something like that. Thoughtyou might wanna watch it with us. I ain’t never seen it.”

Tony’s face lit in a grin. “You’re in for a treat, Barnes,” hepromised. “I won’t miss it. Save me some popcorn.”

Bucky left the shop, grinning like a fool. Two days of lunches,movie night, and maybe, maybe he’d be able to talk Tony into going outside andgetting some damn sun on his skin so he didn’t turn into a mushroom. It wasgoing well. He already looked better rested. Happier, too.

Mission, success.

Tony woke with a start. The last thing he remembered, Ripley hadbeen warning the Alien queen away from Newt like the true badass that she was.He must have fallen asleep watching the movie.

His surroundings bore out that hypothesis: he was still in theliving room, though it was dark and quiet now. There was a scatter of popcornon the floor, a couple of beer bottles abandoned on the coffee table thatsuggested the marathon had continued after Cap had gone to bed, because Stevewould’ve pestered everyone to clean up if he’d still been up.

Tony could already tell he had a crick in his neck; he was too oldto be falling asleep sitting up and then slumping over in his sleep. He huffedout a sigh over not having been woken when everyone else packed it in (whichwas patently unfair; none of the Avengers woke each other up for anything otherthan an emergency, because all of them were toting around enough trauma that itwas not only possible but likely that anyone rudely awakened would come out ofit swinging).

Well, maybe he’d have to find an hour in his schedule -- somewhere-- to hire a masseuse to take care of his neck for him. He started to sit up--

--and that was when he realized that he’d had his head pillowed onBucky’s thigh.

Bucky was sitting in the corner of the couch, head tipped back inapparent sleep. His hand was loosely curled on the cushion next to Tony’s head,as if he’d fallen asleep in the middle of petting Tony’s hair or something.

Weird.

He probably wouldn’t wakeup with a crick in his neck.

Tony sat the rest of the way up and tried, fruitlessly, to stretchout his shoulder muscles to relieve the tension.

“Oh,” Bucky said, softly, although why he was bothering to whisperwhen there was no one else in the room, Tony wasn’t sure. “Here, let me--” Heflexed the metal hand a few times, ostentatiously, and Tony wasn’t sure why hewas doing that either, except when his hand came down on Tony’s aching neck, itwas pleasantly warm, and the smooth pad of the thumb pushed in right on thesore spot, encouraging the muscle to relax.

“Oh, Jesus,” Tony half-moaned, feeling his muscles quiver and thenmelt under the steady pressure. “That’s good.”

“Huh, it’s a wonder you can walk straight,” Bucky murmured,prodding the muscle in Tony’s shoulder, working out a knot just to one side ofhis spine. “My Christ, your tension has tension.” He worked his thumbs downTony’s shoulders, just shy of too hard, enough so that Tony went all limp,pushing back into it shameless as a cat while Bucky petted and prodded thestiff, aching muscles. “Oughta get you t’ lay down sometime.”

Normally, Tony would’ve answered that with a quip about Buckytrying to get him into bed, or even just a salacious grin and a waggle of theeyebrows, but Bucky was turning the hot steel rods in Tony’s back intoputty-like muscle, and all Tony could do was moan in something like agreement.“Christ, that’s good. We should get you a massage therapy license and put youon staff.”

Bucky flexed his metal hand again. “Yeah, I don’t think that’llwork out so good. Normal people don’t really like me touchin’ em.” He hitchedin a breath. “You don’t… seem to mind.”

“Why the hell would I mind?” Tony wondered. “That arm’s amiracle.”

Bucky probably shrugged, based on the way his hands moved onTony’s back. “People don’t like it,” he said. “It’s, like, creepy or somethin’.Oh, wait, wait, there it is.” His fingers started easing another knot loose,like a kid untying their shoes. “Deep breath, let it out slow. This might stinga mite--” As Tony let the air out of his lungs, Bucky wrapped his flesh armaround Tony’s chest and pushed at his back with the heel of his hand. There wasa popping sound like the last few kernels of corn in a microwavable bag, andeverything seemed to unravel.

“Oh, god.” It hurt for a moment, a sharp flare of burn, andthen he sagged in sudden relief, not even caring that he was making Bucky holdhim up. “I think I’ll keep you,” he said, only half joking. He couldn’t rememberever feeling this limp.

“Yeah, okay, sugar daddy,” Bucky said. “C’mon, let’s get you tobed.”

“I don’t think I can move,” Tony said. “You melted me.”

“Well, we can’t have that, can we? Iron Man’s not so impressivewhen he’s a puddle,” Bucky said. He stood up, stretched magnificently, back andshoulder crackling. “You need me to carry you again, princess?”

Tony snorted. “No, just... Help me up, would you?” He held up hishand. “I’m too old for this.”

“Pfft, you’re like half my age,” Bucky said. He linked his handwith Tony’s and hauled him off the sofa, gripping Tony’s shoulder with theother hand to keep him steady, which-- Tony looked right up into those darkgrey eyes, and they were almost kissing close, Bucky’s breath puffed warmagainst Tony’s cheek. “Oh.” And Bucky didn’t move in, but he didn’t back off,either, just stood there, like a wild animal trapped by a set of high beams.

Huh. “Is, uh. Is this why you’ve been... I dunno, sort of takingcare of me lately?” Tony wondered.

Sergeant Barnes, hero of the Howling Commandos, the WinterSoldier, feared assassin, made a tiny little squeaking noise, sounding for allthe world like a kitten that had pounced on a bug. “Um… no? I mean, not… kinda…yeah, it’s… no. No. I been lookin’ after you ‘cause it seemed like you neededlookin’ after, an’... I need it. I mean, I’m just all at loose ends, ain’tnobody around here really needs me for anything, and I… need to be needed.Can’t take care of a damn houseplant to save my life, an’ I didn’t wanna get a cat,you know, I don’t even know if you let people have pets in this building, and…it just happened. And I was feelin’ better about me, and seemed like it washelping you, and…” He waved his hand briefly in the very narrow space betweentheir bodies. “This just happened.”

Tony nodded thoughtfully. “I can work with that.” He swayedcloser, watching as Bucky’s eyes widened and flicked down to Tony’s mouth.“Yeah?”

“Yes,” Bucky agreed, a breathless whisper. He nudged in, nuzzledlightly at Tony’s mouth with lips that were full and plush, the upper liptwitched as he encountered Tony’s facial hair. Tenderly, Bucky slid his handinto Tony’s hair, metal fingers slipping through the locks and very lightlytugged at the short hairs at the back of Tony’s scalp. “Yes, Tony.”

Tony smirked a little, then leaned in to kiss Bucky more fully,licking past those sweet lips to tease at the corner of Bucky’s mouth, to trythe taste of him. “Well, come on, then,” he said. “Let’s go tuck me into bed.”

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Haworthiopsis_fasciata ← this is the plant. Tisfan has murdered at least four of thesedamn things.

[edourado]

Complete

Here lies another beggining of the  year indulgent thing. 

I have written fix-it fics and AU’s before, but none, I think, as sticky-sweet as this one. But it is also a lil smutty. So be warned. 

The first fic of 2019 had to be bright, given what Netflix and Disney are hell bent on doing to us all. 

Here it is. I hope you like it. Please let me know. The writer needs affection/validation. 

Much love. Happy 2019 to all of us. 

(Also #SaveDaredevil while we’re at it)

Frank caused a commotion the first time he visited her at her office.

She had not been expecting him at all. He was supposed to be in Florida with his kids, a Disney World event for Lisa’s 9th birthday. His flight was not scheduled to arrive until eight that night.

But then there he was, at 11 in the morning.

“Hey”, he called from her door, that voice full of gravel that still made her skin shiver, almost a year into their relationship.

“Oh”, she let out, looking up from her computer, surprised to see him. “Hi!”

Frank has this thing about him, that no matter what he put on, he looked good. It can be a bit infuriating, actually, especially on those days that she couldn’t decide what to wear or what to do with her hair. Frank just threw on a hoodie and some jeans and those boots he would wear to bed if he could, and he was ready.

Walking into her office, he made his way to her and she realized her strategy of not thinking about him during the week he spent away had worked. She had focused on everything but Frank Castle and everything she had to do so as not to think about him and, consequently, miss him too much, but now that he was here, placing the white roses that he always presented her with behind her pencil case, she felt the tightness in her chest that told that she had missed missed missed him but now was so glad that he was here.

Oh, she just knew this office was about to implode because of him.

He bent over her desk to place a kiss on her lips, and she angled her face up, but as soon as he backed away, she got up to close the door and shut the blinds, ignoring the protests of her nosy coworkers.

“I thought you were supposed to fly back tonight.”

“Yeah”, he started while she shook her head at Arlene through the window, who was making faces and mouthing “oh my God??” at her. “Leave it to those kids to not follow the plan.”

Turning to him, Karen smiled and moved to better greet him after a week of texts and quick calls to say good night.

“What happened?” She asked after a proper kiss and a tight hug, pulling him towards the couch, moving to sit sideways on his lap.

“We got a dog.”

She was on her way to kiss him again, but stopped and moved back to look at his face.

“You got a- the dog you were planning on getting Frankie?”

“Nope, not that one. Well, now, I guess, yeah.”

He had been planning on getting a dog for his son for his birthday, two months from now, in order to maybe teach some responsibility to the young boy that, unlike his sister, that took to their father and developed her organization skills from an early age, was truly content on being the spoiled youngest sibling, leaving a messy trail wherever he went.

“I took them to dinner last night”, he started to explain, one arm behind her, hand on her hip, the other caressing her thigh over her jeans.

Karen has never been happier to have a private office.

“We went to this sea food place-”

“You got a dog at a seafood place?”

“Almost. We get there and I’m looking for a parking spot when these two little maniacs yell ‘SHELTER!’ and hop off the car.”

Karen smiled, knowing exactly what he meant. They had picked this up a while ago, under the impression that, as long as the car was moving very slowly and they loudly announced why they were exiting the vehicle and where they were going, it was ok to simply unbuckle and leave.

“So I park the damn car, and when I get there they go ‘daddy daddy please!’, thrusting this puppy on my face.”

“What breed?”

Here, he sighed.

“A pitbull.”

“Oh, these kids are good.”

Frank loves pitbulls. Everyone that knows him knows this. He had forfeited the privilege of having one when he married Maria, who is very allergic to dogs, leaving the one he already had to live with his parents. Old Max had died soon after Frankie was born, and Frank has been puppy orphaned since then.

“Yeah”, he says, softly, as he always does when talking about his children, picking on a seam of her jeans. “I made it a little difficult, though, made them promise all kinds of things about taking care of it, going for walks and shit, but Lisa hit me with the birthday bribe thing, and Frankie said he never wanted anything more in his entire life, even if he had met the dog three minutes ago.”

With hands on his face, Karen bent to take her kiss, and the familiar warmth of him made her want to go home.

“So now you have a dog.”

“Now I have a dog. Its technically the kids’ dog, but he’s gonna live with me full time, so yeah.”

Weaving her arms around his neck, she pulled him for a hug, aware that someone was going to knock, any second now.

“I’m happy for you”, she said, feeling his arms tighten around her. “And I’m also glad you’re home a whole nine hours earlier.”

She had been right. Right when he was weaving his fingers inside her hair, opening his mouth to her kiss, someone knocked on the door, and she got up from his lap.

“Yeah, come in.”

Simone and Andre, of course. Everybody had been asking about Frank, wanting to meet him, but these two have been the worst.

“Hi-i, excuse us”, Simone sing-sang, walking in as Frank slowly got up from the couch. “We just wanted to know if you’re gonna join us for lunch. Hi, I’m Simone.”

Frank moved to shake her hand, and Andre stood there sizing him up.

“Frank Castle.”

“Ah, the famous Frank. I wish I could say we’ve heard all about you, but this one has built a mystery”, Andre said, taking his turn in shaking his hand. “She doesn’t say anything, no matter how much we beg.”

Karen would have sent them away, but it was a little fun to watch Frank squirm under her coworkers’ scrutiny.

He smiled his polite smile, and touched a hand on the small of her back.

“I’m afraid I came to steal her away for lunch.”

They tried to convince him they could all have lunch together, but he explained that he had just touched down in New York, his suitcase was still in the car, he had his kids waiting for them back home.

After a lot of probing, a lot of insistence, Alex and Sam joining them in the office, she managed to shoo everybody away and, finally, pull him by the hand to the elevators.

“I feel like The Bachelor or something”, he whispered to her while they waited, mouth to her ear, and she put one arm around his torso.

“They’re a bunch of reporters, and I have been retaining information about you for almost a year. You’re lucky they’re not dissecting you over my desk.”

The door pinged and opened, and they stepped into the empty elevator. Frank kissed her discreetly, a sweet hand on her face while they descended to the lobby for his car.

“Sorry for showing up unannounced”, he said against her cheek. “I thought I’d surprise you.”

“It’s ok. I’ll have to hold a press conference in the break room when I come back, but it’s worth it.”

He smiled against her face, placing a lingering kiss on her temple just as the doors opened to the lobby.

She asked about the trip on the way to his apartment, a hand on his hair while he drove, and he told her about long lines and kiddie rides, but how it was worth it, just to see the kids so happy. How they had to smuggle the puppy to the hotel, and Lisa forfeited a day in Sea World so they could go back home early and how they almost cried along when the puppy whined in the plane, the loud noises hurting his little ears.

When he parked in his usual spot, Karen tugged on his sleeve before he even started gathering his stuff to get out of the car.

Unbuckling, she leaned to kiss him and, after quickly bunching up her skirt to her hips, moved out of her seat and maneuvered herself on top of him, laughing out an “ouch!” when she banged her head on the car ceiling in the process.

He was smiling when she moved to kiss him, hands eager on her, going from her face to her hair, down her neck, over to her back and down her hips until he was gripping her ass firmly, kissing her slow and deep, making her sigh against his lips.

“I missed you”, she whispered when he dove to kiss and nibble on her neck, arms around his shoulders, feeling warm and tingly from his kisses.

“Fuck”, he sighed against her skin, looking up again to catch another kiss. “I missed you more.”

Frank had his hands full of her and everything was already spinning when she took her hands from his face, lowering them down his chest.

“The kids are gonna sleep over?”

“Yeah”, he said against her neck while she pushed his shirt out of her way.

“Well then”, she said, closing her eyes when he pressed a chunk of her skin between his teeth, a reaction to her fingers unbuckling his belt. “We’ll have to make do.”

It’s not that they never had sex with the kids in the house. He shared custody with Maria, 50/50, and they’ve been going out 10 months, now, of course they had to make sure the door was locked and try to be as quiet as possible.

But he was just coming back from a week away, if they went upstairs right away, she would have to wait until bedtime to get her fill of him.

So the car it was.

“Hold on, hold on”, he breathed, one arm around her, leaning off the seat to start the car again, setting the air conditioner on high.

Frank came back to her with renewed gusto, and she kinda liked the rough fabric of his jeans scratching her bare thighs.

It had to be quick. No time or space to draw out anything. Plus, his windows were tinted and the garage was underground, but this was still a public space.

She groaned into his mouth when he slipped inside her, bracing a hand on the ceiling right above her head, rolling her hips on his, the vents of his (very impractical) Mustang blasting cold air on her back.

He had ripped the buttons out of one of her shirts, once, on a drunk encounter where he knocked on her door after drinking with his buddies, and as exciting as it had been at the time, she had warned him not to do it again, she couldn’t exactly afford this habit of his. So now he was always careful, going button by button every time.

This time, he stopped just after three, when her bra was exposed enough, and pushed the lacy fabric aside to attach his mouth over her breasts, hugging her to him, making her moan at what the movement did, he was just so good at this.

Oh, his hands. Frank knew just how to handle her, his fingers applying just the right amount of pressure. A little bit over comfortable, not enough to hurt, just enough to make her shiver, guiding her over him, pressing and kneading, and they have to hurry, the kids are waiting upstairs, one of his neighbors could walk in any minute, there might be a security camera or two registering as his car bounced.

“Now, Kare’, come on”, he growled in her ear after just a few minutes, dipping his hand between them and bucking his hips up towards her, and she pressed her lips together to keep the scream in, moaning loud against his face, the air conditioner too loud to let anyone outside the car hear her.

Frank let go just after her, face pressed against her neck, and she hugged him to her, moving her hips to and fro slowly as they both came down, sweating a little bit in spite of the cold air coming out of the vents.

“One fucking week”, he said, all mellow, head resting against the seat, a hand on her face, and she kissed him slowly. “Away from you. I never wanna do that again.”

They took a few more minutes to put themselves together and look around before exiting the car.

Upstairs, opening the door, they found the Castle kids on the living room floor, playing with their new puppy.

“Hi, you guys!” She greeted, and both Lisa and Frank got up from the floor, excitedly talking over each other, showing her the dog, trying to tell her all about the trip to Florida in less than a minute.

“Ok, ok, hey, calm down”, Frank said, closing the door behind them. “Take a breath.”

The plan had been for them to go out, and they would drop her off at work after they ate, but she ended up sitting on the floor with the children, playing with the new family member, trying to come up with a name for him, so Frank ordered in.

“He looked straight at us when we came in”,  Lisa was telling her, sitting by her side playing with the puppy while Frankie sat, technically, on the floor, but with his back against her chest, her legs crossed around his small frame while he played on her phone. “The lady told us he was born less than a week ago. We were the very first to come in and see them.”

“He has three sisters”, Frankie piped in, not looking up from the phone. “I wanted to bring them all home.”

“Yeah, in your dreams, buddy”, Frank said from the couch.

“But daddy, you love dogs”, he argued, calm as cucumber. “You would love all of them.”

“I think it’s good that you only got him”, Karen said, pushing the boy’s hair away from his forehead. “One dog is already such a big responsibility, can you imagine four?”

“I agree”, went Lisa, rubbing the puppy’s belly. “We would be totally overwhelmed.”

Nine years old and such big words.

“Right. Totally overbelted”, echoed her brother, sort of.

“By the way”, Frank said from his spot on the couch. “What’s this guy’s name?”

They thought about names for a few minutes, laughing while she and Frank suggested names like Tiberius or Leandrenous.

“Frank Jr Jr!” Suggested an excited boy.

“That’s too many Franks in one house”, argued his sister, shaking her head solemnly.

The food arrived and they jumped to set the table, babbling away about Disney World and how they couldn’t wait to be old enough for the “big rides” while Frank opened the door and payed the delivery guy.

They sat down at the table to eat and, while Frank served rice to Lisa, Karen spotted a stain on his neck, right below his left ear.

Lipstick. Hers, from the car.

Dropping her fork, she reached out to clean it, or, at the very least, smudge it away before the kids saw it. He looked at her, a question in his eyes, and she moved her hand to show him the soft pink tinge in her fingers.

She had to breathe deep not to laugh at the smug expression on his face.

“No chicken for me, daddy”, Lisa said. “I’m a vegetarian.”

He fixed her with a look.

“Since when?”

“Since today. I just saw on TV how they make burgers and chicken nuggets, so I’m not gonna eat meat anymore.”

“You could have mentioned that before I ordered chicken and steak, maybe?”

“Sorry. I’ll have rice and fries. And I guess I can have some cauliflower.”

They ate and the puppy whined, begging for food while Frankie listed all the disadvantages of being a vegetarian and Lisa listed the benefits.

“They eat dogs in China. Did you know that?”

“No they don’t!”

“They do, too! And in India, cows are sacred. So us having burgers is just as weird for them. You wouldn’t eat a dog, would you? So why should I eat a cow?”

There was a moment of quiet, while Frankie thought about it and Lisa tried not to make a face at the steamed vegetables she was munching on.

“What else do they eat in China?”

.:.

After teaming up to load the dishwasher, they all got into their shoes again, to go out and drive Karen back to work. They needed to also stop at a pet store, to buy the newest member of the family some proper food.

“You’re sleeping over, right?” Lisa asked from the back seat when Frank pulled over in front of the Bulletin, the dog on her lap.

“Yep”, she confirmed, twisted around to look at the girl.

“Good. We still need to tell you about the rest of the trip.”

“And I need to show you my new comic books”, Frankie - now also a vegetarian - added.

“I want to hear and see it all”, she smiled at them. “Bye, you guys.”

Moving back, she looked at Frank, who leaned in to collect a kiss.

“We can come pick you up.”

“No need. I have a Skype interview, don’t know how long it’ll take. I’ll get a cab, or something.”

“Ok.  But call me if you want me. I’ll come running.”

She took the kiss, and whispered just for him.

“I always want you.”

.:.

As she expected, the office was holding its collective breath waiting for her return. She had barely walked out of the elevator when Simone got up and started to follow her.

“You sneaky bitch”, she said, pinching her arm and Karen smiled. “You were hiding that all along?”

“I wasn’t hiding anything. Or anyone.”

“Karen”, said Sam, catching up to them. “That is your boyfriend? Jesus Christ, he’s so yummy.”

She didn’t say anything to that because, well, yes, he is.

She didn’t mean to keep Frank a secret. He wasn’t, really. But things had started very uncertain, with them.

He was married, when they first met. Just starting on his divorce process, and he was not in a very good place then. Neither was she, really, what with the break up with Matt and Wilson Fisk waging war on her over the exposè she wrote on him, Nelson & Murdock handling the case, it was a mess.

But then they met again, and she wrote a story on him, they teamed up to bring some corrupt CIA officials down, he became a source, she became his one woman database, he saved her life, and suddenly-

Suddenly they were in love. Crazy, stupid, inexplicable love, theirs was a completely new thing, for her.

Karen had boyfriends before, she had been in love before, but what she felt for Frank and what he felt for her was beyond her own comprehension. She’s a respected journalist, and she doesn’t have the words to describe it.

She’s his and he’s hers. That’s it.

But she never had envisioned herself falling so hard for a man as complicated as Frank Castle. A man whose divorce papers were still warm from the printer, the ink from the judge’s signature still fresh. A man whose job she couldn’t even understand right, so covert everything was. A man with two children (and a pretty spectacular ex wife, if she’s being honest. It was pretty much impossible not to fall in love with Maria Castle) and more redacted record files than she thought was healthy.

Still. There she was, ten months after the first time he kissed her, unable to imagine her life without him, anymore.

But if she was anything, it was a pessimist. Her own life and history too punctuated with heartbreak for her to be anything other than that.

So she kept him a mystery. Not telling her coworkers she was dating, at first, and then evading questions about him when it became obvious that she was indeed seeing someone.

Plus, it felt good, to keep him all to herself.

During that time, she had also developed the purest form of love for little Lisa and Frank Jr.. She met them after a few months of dating, and the kids took to her with ease, embracing Daddy’s new girlfriend with a warmth that, honestly, choked her up a little bit.

She loved Lisa and her curious mind, sharp wit and enormous heart.

She loved Frankie and his tenacity, his sweetness and his bravery.

And, Lord above, she loved Frank. All of him, even the parts that made her want to yank her hair out in frustration, sometimes.

They were, both of them, more than a little bit broken when they first met. The way they put each other back together made them stronger everyday.

“Come on”, Alex was saying as she put her hair up for her interview. “Dish.”

“There’s nothing to dish”, she lied. “Now shoo. I have a call with Tony Stark, if you don’t mind.”

They only left after she promised happy hour next Monday, so they could question her about her relationship over tequilas and margaritas.

And, while she waited for the call to connect, she conceded: that didn’t sound so bad.

.:.

Dinner was somewhat tricky.

Lisa was standing her ground with this whole vegetarian thing, and the last thing Frank wanted was to curb any of her impulses - especially when they were rooted in something valid -, even if they didn’t last long, so he had no choice but to adapt.

When she got there, they were, Frank and Lisa, in the kitchen, trying to make a cheese and broccoli soup.

“Tomorrow”, Frank started while he supervised the kids brushing their teeth after dinner, already dressed for bed. “We’re gonna go to the vet, get that little guy all the vaccines he needs to be healthy.”

“Can we go to the park after?” Frankie asked, standing on a little stool step to make him reach the sink, foam spilling out of his mouth.

“Depends on what the vet says.”

“We should get him a trainer”, Lisa said after rinsing, drying her face. “Like the one Kim Kardashian got. You know, to house train him.”

“I doubt I can afford Kim Kardashian’s dog whisperer.”

They said goodnight while Karen rubbed moisturizer on her face and Frank walked to tuck each of them into their own beds, maybe read with them a little bit. The dog - who still didn’t have a name - was going to sleep in Frankie’s room tonight (he had won the coin toss).

She was already in bed, browsing her phone when he walked in, turning the lights off and closing the door behind him, carefully turning the key.

Karen locked the screen and reached to put the phone on the nightstand, smiling when Frank reached the mattress and got a hold of both her ankles, yanking her to him, she giggled and bit on her lower lip, watching as he quickly shed his shirt and threw it behind him.

He bent to place kisses and nibbles on her belly, moving her own shirt out of his way, until he was pushing it over her head and lying down on top of her, his kisses slower than the ones they shared earlier in the car, but not any less intense.

Karen likes the weight of him on top of her. Likes to raise her legs and wrap them around his torso, feel the muscles of his back with her hands, tug on the longer strands of his hair. And she loves everything he does to her, he never disappoints.

But she felt him a little different this time. While his right hand holding her hips up for him was nothing new, the left one on her jaw, angling her face up so he can kiss and lick and nibble on her neck, lower, a tiny bit more intense than usual, was.

(Not unpleasant, by any means, but new.)

“Fuckin’ craved you all week”, he says against her navel, hands busy busy busy on her, and Karen feels violent shivers running all over her. “Missed the taste of your skin.”

This is what her coworkers meant when they said “dish”. They wanted the details of how Frank performs in bed, how his body feels on top of her, how thoroughly he fucks her and how expertly he eats her out, but that is something she was determined to keeping for herself.

She didn’t want to share how he makes her arch her back off the bed when he dips his head between her legs, or how he makes her shiver with the way he works his mouth on her, how she trembles while trying to be quiet, biting on her lip and seeking leverage on his hair.

Karen was not even a little bit eager to describe how he makes her come on his tongue, her skin erupting in goosebumps when he slides up to whisper how much he loves the taste of her, or how he is so good in reading her body that he knows just how to touch her to have her shivering for him all over again, or how perfectly he fits between her legs, how perfectly he fits inside her, her perfectly he moves within her.

This is just theirs.

But, maybe, depending on her mood, she can imply the way he rolls them around and perches her on top of him, and how very good she is at riding while his eyes inspect her, hungry and loving.

Maybe, just maybe, if the drinks are good and the mood is right, she might even tell them how hard he takes her from behind, and she has to scream into a pillow to avoid waking the kids, but even then he doesn’t stop, how he can go for so long she ends up dizzy.

Karen would never soberly admit how she begs for him, how he commands and she obeys, because this is the best she’s ever had, or how he tells her that he loves her so so so much while fucking her silly.

Her nosy and curious coworkers sure would like to know about the shower they shared after that, because they worked up quite a sweat, and maybe Sam, the hopeless romantic, would sigh if she told him that the way Frank looks at her makes her heart spread warmth all over her.

But she thought that it was private, just like the fact that her favorite position is when he’s fully lying on top of her and she is all tangled around him, or that is how the start and end most of their encounters, except when they’re too eager to make it to the bed.

Maybe she’ll tell them. We’ll see.

.:.

Frank is usually the first to wake up, so he’s the one that starts breakfast. Eggs and waffles with honey and jam, fruits, fresh juice for the kids and coffee for himself and the woman who stole his heart. A decent breakfast for a Saturday morning.

This morning, though, he had company. While he cracked eggs on top of melted butter, a tiny little puppy wobbled his way to the kitchen, no doubt following the smell.

After the table was set, Frank picked the dog up, feeding him a little treat, and walked back to the bedroom, to pick wake the rest of the house up.

And honestly. This boy is almost seven years old, now. Maybe it was about time he stopped climbing into his parents’ beds? He would have to talk to Maria about that.

Not that he didn’t like that his son felt safe and comfortable enough around Karen to sneak into bed with her and pass back out while Frank was in the kitchen, sleeping starfish style in the middle of the mattress, one of his feet on top of her stomach, his little chest rising and falling as he breathed.

(Good thing Karen insisted on changing the sheets last night after their enthusiastic reunion. Even tired as she was, she had the presence of mind to predict his kid’s behavior.)

“Go on”, he whispered to the dog, placing him on the bed, watching as he walked towards Frankie’s face to sniff and inspect.

Frank walked to the window and cracked the curtains open, letting a little sun in before lying back down on his side of the bed, moving the kid so he could fit.

“Morning”, Karen greeted, stretching, eyes still closed, moving her face towards his for a kiss. “Something smells good.”

“I made breakfast”, he said softly as the dog sniffed Frankie’s face and the boy turned away, groaning and rolling until he was lying on his stomach. “Hey there, buddy. When’d you get here?”

Soon, Lisa padded out of her bedroom and joined them, hair a mess, also woken up by her nose.

They walked to the table and Frank carried his youngest like a sack of potatoes over his shoulder, placing him on the chair and laughing at his sleepy face while he blinked awake, staring at the plate in front of him.

Deep sleeper, Frank Jr.. Barely ever cried when he was a baby. Slept through the night from the beginning. Unlike Lisa, whose lungs capacity had humbled her parents and their neighbors alike.

Finally sitting down on his own chair after making sure everybody’s plate was full, Frank watched his daughter make plans with Karen about next year’s birthday, when she would be old enough for some of the bigger rides at Disney.

He thought he lost his family when he got divorced. Had night terrors about becoming one of those estranged fathers, alone and unloved for the rest of his life.

Instead, he never even had time to miss his kids. He just got a new dog, and there was a ring burning a hole inside the safe in his office.

All there was missing was a “yes”.

[shadowdianne]

Ooh SQ Prompt Please: "Cyinide? I know it burns the tongue and taste acrid." Have fun with this please haha.

I had problems on deciding how to take this oneXd One of the things I wanted to do was to take this into my Of deals, magicand secrets ‘verse but that would have made me create quite the info-dump and Ichose against it Xd I absolutely love worldbuilding but I wasn’t sure thatwould have been enjoyed as the idea I had had very little SQ interaction perse.

So, that got me thinking into a canonicalscene, one that could have had that line or one that in where I could work theline on. And that led me to Jekyll and Hyde. (Seriously, killing both at season’s6 episode 4 was a waste for me, they built up these two characters only to killthem very quickly Xd)

So…

Set in at the end of 6x04. I hope you like itanon, thanks for the prompt

A03 version

“You don’tlike it.”

Reginalooked up as Emma entered into the living room; glasses of wine in hand.Schooling her features at the sight of the blonde offering her a drink thatRegina wouldn’t have considered to be the woman’s favorite, she tilted her headas Emma shrugged and sat the other side of the couch, maneuvering through the severalboxes here and there that filled the -up until now- almost ascetic space.

Taking theoffered glass, Regina stared as Emma put hers on top of the nearby coffeetable, nerves shinning through her in the form of sparks that clung to herfingers as she brushed her hands against her thighs, movements jittery. Turningto look at her, the blonde offered a weak smile that didn’t reach her eyes asshe rose her right hand, pointing at the living room as if that would explainher statement. When Regina remained silent, Emma sighed softly before speaking,her voice echoing slightly in the space.

“The house,I mean.”

Reginapursed her lips as she covered her stomach with her free hand, the movement notgoing unnoticed by the younger woman as her eyes fell into Regina’s lap. Lasttime they had been seated at the couch the blonde had been quite the differentperson and Regina wondered that, if she squinted, she could draw back the whitehair over Emma’s blonde locks, the black leather over the flowery pattern ofthe blouse the woman was wearing, the harsh angles of her cheekbones over the nervousnessshe now sported. She also wondered if Emma was doing the same with her throughstolen glances; comparing the differences she knew that were there on her, onthe way she walked and spoke, on the way she felt the Queen’s absence beyondthe bloodlust and anger.

Clearingher throat, she shook her head but stopped just as Emma’s lips curved slightly,disbelievingly.

“I guess ahouse is not something that I’d have thought that suited you.” She bit down thetip of her tongue, hating the way her back muscles tightened, just like theydid whenever her mother asked her questions, probing, examining, Regina’sthoughts. She never had had this reaction with Emma before and yet there theywere. Rising her chin, she also put the wine aside, the thud against the table’ssurface unnaturally loud to her ears. “An apartment, however…”

She didn’tfinish the sentence, but Emma nodded, subdued, and Regina thought back on thewoman that had created the house in the first place. The anger that had fueled hermagic in the same way her own had created the town they were still walking in.

She lovedher mansion, she thought, but ever since the split the place had felt as muchas a home as threateningly huge; a side effect she guessed. One of many.

Pursing herlips together, she focused once more on Emma. The blonde’s fingers had starteddrumming against the blonde’s lap and the woman’s eyes were darkened enough tobring out the specks of blue and gold rather than the green. Narrowing her own,Regina waited, curious as what could have made Emma ask her to come by,especially after what had happened hours before.

“I doubtyou have called me here for me to tell you I don’t like the house.”

Emma chuckleda little at that, shrugging and Regina thought once more on how smaller shelooked against the larger than life blonde she had met years before. Hands onher lap, shoulders hunched, the blonde looked tired, worried, and Reginapressed the still tingling tongue against the back of her teeth, her magiccurled on her throat.

“I wasthinking… on what you made me promise.”

Regina startled.She had asked Emma to go where she knew others wouldn’t be able to go becauseshe knew, just as Emma had known, that there would not be other capable ofsuch. No other who would see beyond whatever walls they both tried to putbetween them and the rest. Emma knew this. She knew this. Talking about this,however, wasn’t something they did. They reacted to things, they fought againstthem. But never talked to each other, not after all was said and done.

Herexpression gave her away because Emma closed her eyes and sighed, pressing herback against the one of the couch, the resulting squeak of the material just asloud as the glass had been at the table’s surface.

“I just…”Emma stopped and let her head hung limp for a second, blonde locks obscuringher face. Regina waited, the grasp of the red dress she still hadn’t changed fromtightening. She needed Emma into this, she thought, she needed to know that ifno other option was found Emma would be there.

“You askedme the same thing.”

Her voice,which at any other time would have been veiled with anger almost sounded as ifshe was begging and she closed her eyes tightly for a heartbeat. She knew shehad changed; the Queen had been more than her anger and hate but it was painfulsometimes when she tried to reach to the bottomless source of what had been herstrength for so long only to find it lacking. She was able to feel anger, tofeel rage, but, just like every other time she had had her heart plucked out,those negative emotions were subdued, softer now, more human, less like thetitle she had once displayed haughtily and proud.

Emma’svoice made her blink back into the present, the blonde moving slightly closerbut remaining well away from her; another change she supposed. But one that hadbeen brewing way before the split. Another one they didn’t truly talk about.

“I won’tback away from that.” Emma seemed earnest and Regina could see the sincerity onthat just like she could see and feel Emma’s magic sparkling at the bottom ofher eyes, dancing on her irises. “But I’ve been thinking.”

Impatient,Regina reached for the glass, taking a sip as Emma fiddled with her fingers,eyes lowering once more. Her tattoo peeked from the sleeve of her blouse and Reginaglanced at it. She knew the story of course, had pieced enough parts of itherself, but she still felt compelled to ask even if she knew she never would.Not in her current state that is.

“I want youto recreate Jekyll’s serum.”

Thesentence hit Regina like a punch, her lungs emptying as she gasped, surprised. Yet,when she zeroed on Emma the blonde was looking at her with her jaw locked,tense but ready.

Loweringthe glass but never letting it go, it was Regina the one who scooted closerthis time, enough that she could see Emma’s neck muscles tense and thenrelease, her eyes darkening even more.

“You know Ican’t do it without him.” She began, still trying to put the pieces together. “I’ma potion brewer, but the serum wasn’t a potion, Emma.”

“Then Iwill ask Gold. He helped Jekyll, knowing him he could have stored the recipeaway.”

The wayEmma spoke, brusque, emphasizing each word rather than muttering it, madeRegina dizzy with the sudden image it created. Not of the Dark version of thewoman but one farther in time, one she had almost accepted as gone and buried. Theblonde’s green eyes, suddenly lighter, spoke of that and the blouse she worefelt even more like a cage than ever before, the collar tight but askew as Emmarun one hand through her hair.

“You askedmy help.” She finally said, and Regina was brought back to the docks, the wavesalmost swallowing Emma’s almost question but not the way she had looked at her;trusting her wholeheartedly even when Regina wasn’t able to. They were in themiddle of a conundrum after all; if nothing else came up she needed to be…

“I didn’task that so you could ask me to brew the serum! What would you do with it anyway?”

Emma’s lipscurled in a short, sharp smile, one that was almost as cruel as her darkercounterpart, or maybe just as bitter and Regina realized exactly what theblonde was thinking about.

This timeit wasn’t all that difficult to reach for anger, for indignation, as bothfeelings were mixed with utter worry.

“You wantto split yourself.”

The blondeshrugged and, rising, she started to pace, shoulders still hunched, still somethingthe younger self wouldn’t have done but her face just as full of righteousnessas Regina had one known her. When she spoke, her voice was filled with agitationand Regina could feel purple beginning to pile up at the edges of her own eyes,tinting everything in mauve and lilac light.

“You wereright, back at Robin’s apartment.” Flinching, Emma growled softly beforespeaking once again. “I was just at the brink, I didn’t fall like you did. ButI came close, very close.” Stopping her pacing, Emma turned brusquely, offeringher empty hands to Regina before taking them back, her skin alight in dirtywhite cracks. “You might not need the savior, Regina, but Storybrooke does.They are asking for it. And if things get complicated, really complicated…” Shehalted once more, her teeth trapping her bottom lip for a moment before shereleased it once more. “I don’t know if I will be able to do it. If I took theserum…”

Regina felther head reeling, the way Emma had said her name, the way she had been so sureRegina didn’t need the savior herself, telling enough. Anger still seeping, butstill never enough to light her skin like it had once done, she stood as welland walked to the blonde, movements never as quick as they had once been. Muted,once again.

She longedfor the anger, the ire. But she found herself tired as she eyed Emma’s face andshe almost took a step back as the blonde simply stood in the middle of a fartoo empty living room, lips not even stained with the wine she was able totaste on hers.

“How about a glass of the best apple cideryou've ever tasted?”.

The memoryflashed in front of her eyes, quick and blurry but her voice felt as if she wasshouting it at herself from some dark corner of her mind. Wincing at it, sheglared as Emma shrugged.

“I’m notgoing to let you die.” She spoke, and her voice hold such finality that Reginashivered at it. She had already shivered like that back at Camelot, as she pushedand prodded at a quickly dissolving Emma, back at the well. That time she hadbeen the one holding cards against her chest but now it was the blonde who waseyeing her like she felt ready to barrel through whatever emotional bunkerRegina was trying to hide away from and that made the brunette pause. Unsure. Meanwhile,Emma spoke once more. “But that’s not enough for the others, is it?”

Reginaparted her lips, ready to say that yes, it was, only to realize that no; itwasn’t. Snow had gone back to teaching, David was more focused on the fact Emmawas finally taking a step away from their shared apartment and Henry…

Henry wasfinally being a true teenager, Violet floating the outskirts of her mind justas she thought about it. All of them looked at Emma and saw a Hero. They lookedat her and saw the split. None of them were truly free from that and Reginaknew how that pressure could mount behind one’s eyes until it felt ready toimplode, destroying everything in the process.

“You don’tknow what the serum would do to you.” Her voice came out high-pitched, worried,and she hated that, hated the loss of the deep drawl, the one the Queen seeminglyhad also taken from her. The loss had been greater than what she hadanticipated. What would do that to Emma? What else would she loss? The questionparalyzed her just as the possibility of an answer and so she kept pressing on.“You can’t know how you will be divided. And that only if it works! It could meanyour own death if the serum isn’t made correctly, worse than cyanide.”

Emmashrugged at that, curt, sharp smirk back in place.

“Cyanide? Iknow it burns the tongue and tastes acrid."

This timeRegina felt flames lapping at her fingers, anger redirected, and she squeezedthe fireball out before focusing on Emma’s eyes, realizing belatedly that theblonde was eyeing the fire as well, something close to pride glimmering there, lightingthe green.

“I’m not joking.”She could feel her shoulders tense and she took yet another step. That’s howthey had always done this, she considered, this pull and push. She had missedit far too much.

“Neither Iam.” The blonde crossed her arms in front of her chest, fingers pressed tightlyagainst her forearms.

“Have youthought what your worse part could be?” As soon as the words were out of hermouth Regina realized the mistake. That was yet another thing neither of them hadthe energy to dwell on about. Not when Emma had virtually divided the darkness,storing it into him. The one who should be there but wasn’t, the bite onjealousy and anger flickering in and out of her. She was far too tired however,and far too drunk on this sudden burst of strength she had felt lacking thelast couple of weeks. And so, she pressed on, not registering truly she wasscreaming now. “Sounds like a solid plan; rather than having one major evil intown ask the second one to come back and play! I wonder what my other halfwould think of that. She would be delighted.”

“I don’tknow, you tell me!”

The screammade everything around them still, deafening silence following up Emma’soutburst and Regina swallowed, realizing her breath was hitched, her throat hoarsewhere she had risen her voice. Sighing, the blonde shrugged, the sudden burstof anger replaced by meekness. One Regina wanted to slap away, destroy it, turninto dust.

“I’m notyou, Regina.” The admission came almost unexpectedly, and the brunette blinkedowlishly at it, not sure what the sentence truly meant. Fortunately, Emma kepttalking. “But once upon a time you asked me to let you die as Regina, not asthe Queen. I’m not my title. I’m not. I can’t be. If this… doubt, is destroyedwith a split I’m sure you could talk with my other darker half. Storybrooke needsit. And you as well. I know you won’t fail, I know we will find a solution. Butnot with me like this.”

“And whatdo you need? What do you want?”

Thequestion escaped her before she was fully aware she had even thought about itbut Emma chortled at it, as if she had been waiting for it.

“That doesn’tmatter.”

But itmattered, Regina thought, it truly did because Emma could read her, yes, but socould she. And, maybe because of that, she let her hand, still laced withmagic, to raise and touch the blonde’s shoulder, rising, inch by inch, untilshe could almost cup the younger woman’s cheek.

“I won’t doit.”

Emmabristled but Regina stopped her before she could move away.

“You areright. I asked you that. I always divided her and I, I thought that’s how thisworked but after the split I’m starting to see that it wasn’t like this. You areyour own person, Emma. So was I.”

And, sheadded in her mind, she needed Emma, beautiful, gorgeous Emma. Not the washed-outversion, the one that had cut parts of herself in order to fit in boxes thatweren’t hers to even begin with. The blonde didn’t deserve that. She, as shealways did, deserved better.

But she wastoo much of a coward now to even say it out loud and so, she said nothing.

[welcometophu]

Into the Split: Havenhill 1

Twinned Book 3: Into the Split

Havenhill 1

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They can’t all fit into the van, needing to split the group across all three vehicles. When Alaric moves to get in the van with Alia, she points to the third vehicle, a small sedan that’s seen better days. He hesitates, and she raises her eyebrows and points again; he heads for the sedan made of scrounged parts painted different colors. Pawel helps Nikita into the van and is about to follow her when Mac and Carolyn claim him, rerouting him to the second vehicle in line. Nikita waits, perched on the seat in the middle until Heather climbs in and helps her get settled in the back row. Nikita makes a pained noise, ending up with her foot propped across Heather’s knee.

“We should get in,” Seth says, and for the first time in years, Nikolai climbs into a vehicle.

He settles into a seat in the middle row, Seth next to him. As the van rumbles to life, Nikolai reaches across to hold Seth’s hand, tangling their fingers tightly together.

“You don’t like cars?” Nikita asks.

“I haven’t been in one since I was ten,” Nikolai mutters. “It’s been a while. And this one seems old.”

“We have people who are good with cars,” Alia says. Nikolai isn’t sure if that’s code for Talented with cars, or simply that they know mechanics. “They keep us running.”

The woman driving the car snorts softly. “Keep the cars running. Get us fuel. Deal with every little tinkering thing that needs to be done.”

“Val,” Alia warns.

“Alia,” Val mocks, fondness in her tone. She puts her hand on the console between them, palm up, and after a moment Alia puts her hand atop it. Val curls their fingers together, and Alia exhales.

“It’s going to be fine, Alia,” Val murmurs, her voice barely audible over the rumble of the van.

“Do you have Healers?” Heather asks from the back of the van, raising her voice to ask a second time when Val and Alia don’t respond to the first.

Alia glances back, and Nikolai follows her gaze. Nikita’s foot is propped on Heather’s lap, and she sits sideways so she can lean against the side of the van. Nikita’s expression is twisted and pained, her lips pressed together as Heather works to get Nikita’s shoe off.

“We have Healers,” Val says conversationally, as Alia makes a small noise, her nostrils flaring.

“Good,” Heather murmurs, pushing up the leg of Nikita’s jeans and sliding her fingers along her skin. She tugs the shoe free, then the sock; the ankle is already purpling and swollen. “Nik’s hurt, and I think she’s going to need more help than I can give her.”

Alia’s nostrils flare. “I can smell her pain.”

“That figures,” Nikita says. Her voice sounds purposefully light, like she’s trying to be cheerful. Nikolai doesn’t know her well, but the tone is at odds with the lines around her mouth and eyes, and the way she grips Heather’s hand tightly. “I mean,” Nikita continues. “Alaric smells everything about everything. Right? And he’s your son. I mean, he called you mom. I haven’t met his mom, but I have to figure you’re her.”

“I’m not.” Alia’s tone is flat, intended to end a conversation.

“Well, not here you’re not,” Nikita rambles on. “That’s got to be confusing, walking into another world and seeing someone who looks like your mom and isn’t. I mean. For him. At least the person who’s me isn’t exactly me, so it’s pretty easy to tell the difference.” Her gaze narrows slightly, head tilted as she looks at Nikolai. “We do look a bit alike. Like siblings. Twins.” The corners of her mouth turn up in a grim version of a smile.

“I understand that we have a lot to talk about,” Alia says slowly. She pauses, looking down to where Val runs her thumb along the side of her hand. “We will wait until we reach Havenhill. There’s no point in discussing everything multiple times. I want to have everyone involved in one place.”

“Havenhill is real,” Seth says quietly.

Alia’s expression eases as she smiles. “Yes,” she says gently. “It is. And all Talents are welcome. We will even find a place for Mattie, although I am concerned about trusting someone who walks through shadows.”

“She’s not your typical Shadowwalker,” Nikita volunteers before falling silent at a look from Alia. “Fine. Yes. When everyone’s together, I get it.”

“Since I’m pretty sure they won’t stop talking, no matter how frustrated it makes you, my dear wife, why don’t I give them a little of what they want, then we can distract them.” Val lets go of Alia’s hand, then lifts her fingers to wave. “I’m Val Munroe, and this is my wife Alia Davis, the founder of Havenhill. We’ve built a safe place for Talent, and I’m aware that it’s a bit of a legend. That’s entirely intentional. The more work we do for humans to forget that our place ever existed, the harder it is for Talent to find us. That last bit is a side effect, but it keeps us safe. And if we hear of anyone looking, we try to get them brought home. Like you.”

Val points at the space in front of Alia, and Alia opens a hatch, withdraws something. “And now, some in-flight entertainment for the passengers,” Val announces. She takes a slender silver disk, slides it into a slot, and music starts to play.

“I still have more—” Nikita cuts off as Alia twists a dial and the music grows louder.

The music is vaguely familiar, but it’s just another thing where Nikolai thinks it’s been so long since he’s heard it, it’s a little like slipping into a dream. If Seth’s hand weren’t so solid in his own, he’d wonder if he’d wandered during his sleep. But no, this is reality, with the van rumbling beneath him, and the music playing loudly. And after a short time, Val taps on the steering wheel, matching rhythm as she drives, singing along.

Nikita closes her eyes and slumps, while Heather continues to look worried.

There’s a soft wave of warmth from Seth. “Sleep,” Seth says, his voice low beneath the music. “I’ve got you.”

Nikolai takes advantage of the moment of safety to rest his eyes. He’s not sure if he sleeps, his mind whirling with imagery, some of which seems normal, some seems like a memory, and other things seem alien and strange to him, while familiar at the same time. It’s easy to let himself float, sifting through different scenes and places, filing away the emotions to be catalogued later.

He dimly registers periodic conversation around him, and the crackling of something and a voice he doesn’t recognize at one point.

“Open the wards, Ethan.”

“Yes, mom.”

Nikolai falls deeper into sleep then, walking a path in his dreams. He walks next to Nikita, a woman around their age, with dark skin and many tiny braids, skipping along his other side. When Nikolai hesitates, the girl skips away, disappearing down the path before veering off and between trees.

“Don’t go off the path,” dream Nikita says seriously.

“Wake up.”

Nikolai jolts when Seth tugs on his hand. There’s a whimper from the back seat, and Nikita stretches with another soft groan.

The van rumbles to a stop; a squeal of brakes announces the other cars stopping as well.

“We are here.” Alia opens the door, climbing out as Val does the same. One of the side doors slides open and Seth gets out while Nikolai helps Heather maneuver Nikita to the ground. They gather together in front of a house that is larger than any single home Nikolai can ever remember seeing. It stretches three stories up, with a covered porch and heavy columns holding up the roof. The front of the house is a typical size, but to the right and left there are diagonal buildings which seem to be attached, as if it’s grown over the years, increasing at random times when there’s been need. He wonders if the space between them in the back is also part of the house, or if it’s just open land.

Alaric takes a step toward the building, stopping when Alia is there in front of him, her hand on his chest to keep him back. “No,” she says quietly, and Alaric rocks back on his heels.

Mac takes his hand when Alaric whines his annoyance.

“It does look exactly like his home,” Carolyn murmurs. Nikolai isn’t sure who she means to talk to, but the quiet words are easily audible, even without Clan hearing.

“Welcome to Havenhill,” Val says. She stands with one arm around Alia’s back, fingers resting possessively against her hip. There are three other strangers who have come from the cars as well, and a few more emerging from the house.

It’s overwhelming, so many new faces all at once, when Nikolai’s barely managed to learn these new people who arrived out of nowhere. He clings to Seth, relying on the calm that washes over him.

“I am Alia Davis, and Havenhill is our home,” Alia says. “We are open to all who are Talented and need a safe haven. When Mattie arrived, her story was unusual, but we could not deny those in need.” She glances at one of the men who came down from the house—he looks like he might be about the same age as Nikolai.

“She’s inside,” he says, and Alia nods.

“Allowances have been made to allow a Shadow within the borders of Havenhill.” Alia looks at Pawel, who stops before speaking, his mouth snapping shut. “We will discuss the particulars of Havenhill and your expected behavior later; for now, let us begin with introductions, then Ethan can take you inside to get settled.”

She runs through the introductions too quickly for Nikolai to get more from them than quick mental notes to attach names to faces. The Asian woman who is wearing shorts and no jacket in March and drove the sedan for Alaric is named Sakura. Amaranth is a tall woman with curly hair pulled back from her face with a knit headband, and laugh lines crinkling around her eyes. Jefferson is short and broad-shouldered, black leather gloves on his hands and an expression that remains pinched tight despite the smile of welcome. Ethan is the younger man who spoke earlier, his eyes lighting up when he smiles a hello. Val introduces him as her son and Marybelle as Ethan’s cousin and Val’s foster daughter.

From the way Alaric looks around, gaze narrowed and nostrils flared, Nikolai is sure that there are more people here, that these are only the ones in human form. When a cat walks up to him, meows loudly, then twists to rub against his ankles, winding between his legs back and forth, Nikolai isn’t sure if that’s a person or an actual cat, and Alaric’s expression doesn’t help him figure it out.

Nikolai steps carefully when Ethan motions for them to follow.

“Mattie’s already waiting in the suite we’re going to give you, for now anyway,” Ethan says. He repeats their names back to them as he points at them each in turn, frowning when Pawel scoops Nikita up to carry her in his arms. “You’ve been injured.”

“I’ll get Genevieve,” Jefferson says with a deep bass rumble, before heading toward the left wing of the house. “We’ll meet you in their rooms.”

“Come on,” Ethan motions, waits for them to keep up. He moves slowly, as if making allowances for Pawel and Nikita.

When Alaric barges on ahead, Marybelle shoots a look at Ethan. He nods quickly, and she races after Alaric, who strides determinedly through the door and the halls. Mac disappears and reappears by Alaric’s side, keeping up.

“We couldn’t believe it when your friend stepped out of the shadows and started talking to us,” Ethan says. “We’ve never met a Shadowwalker like her before.”

“Neither have we,” Carolyn says quietly. “I’m pretty sure there isn’t one. And she was just as bad as the rest of them until we put her soul back into her body. She killed Alaric’s brother.”

“Alaric is the big one…?”

Pawel jerks his chin at the space ahead of them. “The one who took off like he knows the place. Which he does, in our world.”

Ethan opens his mouth, shakes his head. “I’ll wait until we’re upstairs,” he says. “It’s a small suite of rooms—three bedrooms, a small sitting room, and a private washroom. There’s a shared bath on the hall… are any of you Clan?”

“Alaric,” Pawel says.

“Right. So. Let him know that there’s a bath—”

“He probably knows,” Carolyn cuts him off. “This is awkward for him, being here. This is where he grew up. In our world.”

Ethan pauses at the base of the stairs, turning to look at them. “Every time you say that, you make it more difficult to not ask questions until we’re upstairs.” He grins. “But, Mom raised me to be patient. Or at least, Alia expects it, so I try.”

There are people everywhere Nikolai looks. They watch as the group trods along the path; small children peering curiously, and adults who try to pretend disinterest. Nikolai can feel their regard, their curiosity at the newcomers. He grips Seth’s hand, and is relieved when Seth squeezes tightly in return. Nikolai exhales, tries to map this place in his mind as Ethan leads them into what Nikolai thinks might be the right hand wing of the house. They go all the way up to the third floor and down to the end of the hall.

He can hear voices as they approach, Ethan pointing out occupied rooms, and the location of the bath as they go. Nikolai peeks through the open door, spots a tub the size of a small pool set into the floor, steam rising, and shower nozzles set into the wall along the side. Public bath. Okay.

Seth smirks and brings Nikolai’s hand up to kiss his fingertips, and Nikolai fights the flush that warms his cheeks.

“Ah.” Alia is in the room, and Nikolai thinks she must have taken a different path to arrive before them. Mattie sits on a chair in the corner, slouched down in the shadows, her legs crossed at the knees and hands folded in her lap. Marybelle is off to one side, eyes wide, while Alaric stands with his feet set and arms crossed.

“I just want to be sure you understand,” Alia says quietly, her tone firm. “Our trust in your Shadowwalker friend relies entirely upon our trust in you, as newcomers, to have no harm in your hearts. Should we discover differently, it will be dealt with.”

Alaric growls under his breath.

Alia glances at him, then looks away. “Ethan, Marybelle: please ensure they eat tonight. We will welcome them properly at another time. I am certain they need rest, and that good food and beds will be a luxury.”

“We need to explain that it isn’t the same for all of us,” Mac says.

Nikolai isn’t going to fight with her. To him it sounds like bliss, even if they are still crammed into a space too small for their numbers. Even if he is forced to share space with these seven strangers.

“Try doing without for more than a day, and you’ll appreciate it more.” Seth wraps his arms around Nikolai, and Nikolai enfolds him, kisses the top of Seth’s head. He just wants to stay here like this for a moment, forget that all these people are here, that everything is so new. He wants to luxuriate in the idea that they can stop running. That they’ve finally found Havenhill.

That they’ve found a truly safe haven.

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[spidergwenstefani]

Holy Dimensional Gateway, Batman! | 1/?

oh fuck look out cause I’m about to attempt a multichapter fic and my track record with finishing those has been um. not great.

but here’s to new beginnings! I couldn’t justify cutting my idea of a plot for this down enough to be a oneshot so we’ll see how this goes.

In which Clint gets dragged through a hole in space and lands in a universe that’s dark, violent, and… not entirely unfamiliar. It’s populated with a whole kooky cast of masked vigilantes, which sucks because Clint just wants to get home. Bucky just wants to stop making dumbass decisions, like diving into a wormhole to save his crush.

TW: guns, the writer’s own open hostilities towards the DC universe

Rated: T?

The future has a way of surprising you, Bucky thinks as he stares out into the blackness of space. He allows himself a small smile that it’s Steve’s voice saying the words in his head, because Bucky was doing a little more than sleeping during the seventy year gap. It took Steve a while to realize that Bucky wouldn’t be bamboozled by the fucking coffee machine, that the years in between are just blood-splattered snapshots in his mind, but yeah, Steve, he noticed cassette tapes.

Still, his memories from HYDRA are patchy at best, and Bucky doubts that watching the moon landing on TV would have come anywhere close to preparing him for actually being up among the stars, drifting through the void in an impossibly thin Stark-branded prototype space suit. It’s awesome, in the oldest sense of the word. It’s terrifying, only a few layers of metal between him and imminent death, but it’s a kind of terrifying that envelops you like a soft blanket and almost starts to feel safe.

“I hate space,” Clint grunts out next to him through gritted teeth. Bucky turns enough in his harness to watch Clint, eyes shut tight and knuckles white against the edge of his seat, and maybe the siren song of the cold expanse has made him a little poetic, but he thinks there’s some kind of a simile there. Clint’s like space a little bit. Ever-present, easy to get lost in. Terrifying, but only because he makes Bucky feel so safe. Beautiful.

“God, can you get space-sick? I don’t want to know what happens if I puke in zero-g.”

Alright, so it’s not a perfect metaphor.

“Robin Hood, if you puke in my ship I’m chucking you out the airlock,” Tony calls from the pilot’s seat. Clint clenches his jaw and groans.

“Why am I here? Nobody even knows how arrows work in space. I’m not enhanced. I’m soft. One wrong hit and I get vacuumed out of this thing and liquified into meat jelly.”

“Obviously we brought you for morale,” Steve answers from his seat next to Tony.

“And the scientific inaccuracies. It adds charm. Like we’re in a movie,” Tony contributes. “By the way, I’m not even going to touch all the problems with what you’ve just said, but I am absolutely having JARVIS replay them for Bruce when we get back.”

“Also, the SHIELD station has artificial gravity, so arrows will work just fine,” Steve says, pointing through the disturbingly large windows to the giant donut they’re steadily approaching. The station is big and white, glowing bright against the pitch black.

“Putting me in a giant spinning loop is not gonna solve the problem, Cap. I do my best work where the air isn’t canned.”

Bucky wishes the harnesses weren’t so restrictive. He’d give Clint a reassuring shoulder bump, maybe nudge him with an elbow like he does when their eyes catch before a big mission. But the way Stark has them strapped in means it’s mostly just forearms that are free, and even if Clint has been returning his flirting a little more lately, he doubts a pat on the inner thigh is particularly welcome right now.

“Why isn’t Thor on this mission? Dimensional portals are totally his thing, right?” Clint lets his head thump back against the seat, eyes still tightly shut. Bucky finds his gaze drawn to the lines of his neck.

“Thor’s fighting style isn’t very… containable,” Steve says. “We don’t want to cause too much damage.”

“You mean we don’t want to punch a death-hole in the tissue paper hell-donut,” Clint whines. “Only SHIELD would build a research station around a newly discovered dimensional portal without checking to see if anything could come out of it. This is my last mission. I’m going to fucking retire. Go live on a farm or something. Somewhere with a lot of ground.”

“You say that every other mission,” Bucky says, not bothering to hide the smile in his voice. Clint actually cracks his eyes open at that, giving Bucky a half-hearted glare.

“The portal was stable when they built the station,” Tony says, maneuvering them around to the docking bay and flipping a dizzying amount of switches as the ship glides into place. “It’s only recently that things have started coming out. My theory is that the connection to the other side has frayed. It’s not a door that only opens to one room anymore.”

“Awesome,” Clint says weakly, and the ship settles into the port with a mechanical thunk.

>>==========>

The space station isn’t nearly as cool as the space ship, Bucky decides. There’s no windows, and Clint’s kind of right about the artificial gravity being disconcerting. He’s not even upset when an alarm goes off, painting the cold plastic walls a startling red and making them skip the grand tour. The SHIELD astronaut that helped them out of the docking bay seems a little concerned, however. She jogs ahead of them, unholstering some kind of stun baton, which must be the only SHIELD weapon trusted in a place like this. Bucky would be concerned too, having to face the possible horrors of the universe with something that’s barely a step up from a taser. It had been a hell of a time for him to convince Steve and Tony to allow him a sniper rifle, conceding that he wouldn’t use it unless he ended up on the wrong side of the gateway.

“We’ve had things coming through more and more often,” she says as they near a sealed door, warnings plastered across it in glossy red. “There was almost four months between the first visitors and the second. Now it’s every few weeks. Our last batch was only six days ago.”

“Are there any similarities between the creatures? Patterns, maybe?” Tony asks, with what Bucky thinks is too much excitement. At least he closes the helmet on his suit, not too starry-eyed with the prospect of alien lifeforms to remember the situation at hand.

“Not exactly, although the ones that breathe oxygen best seem to come through in groups. Most of them end up asphyxiating before they can do too much damage. That’s what the last ones did.”

“So they come in clusters that breathe similar atmospheres?” Tony hasn’t reduced himself to scientific babble yet, although Bucky can sense he’s close. “It might be opening up to a few gateways on each planet. Maybe the link up is affected by gravitational pull, or solar radiation.” Yep, there it is.

The astronaut keys in a code, stun baton held at the ready as the doors slide open.

“What the hell?” Bucky says, ducking as a thick vine immediately whips toward them. He blocks it with his left arm on autopilot, and Clint pins the thickest part of it to the doorway with a quick shot. Their eyes meet and Bucky manages a nod of thanks before another one of the freaky vine tendrils slithering out of the dimensional gateway tries to sweep his feet out from under him.

The gateway itself is kind of hard to look at, like it doesn’t interact with light the way a solid object should. There’s definitely edges, although Bucky doubts he could point them out if asked, and it only seems to open on one side, letting the vine monster tentacles straight out into the center of the room.

Tony keeps his repulsor blasts to a minimum, waiting until he’s got a vine closed in his hand to let one loose, and Steve does more hacking with his shield than throwing. They make short work of the thing, considering none of them know what the hell it is. The floor is littered with gently smoking, slightly wriggling vine chunks by the time the thing gives up, if it’s sentient enough to understand surrender. The rest of the vines slither back into the void, and as Bucky watches, the not-quite-edges seem to fold in on themselves, shrinking down to a pinprick of black before shooting back out into the giant circular portal it was moments ago, this time sans plant-tentacles.

“Cool. We’re done with space. Let’s go home,” Clint says, rubbing his wrist where the woody bark of a vine seems to have scraped it. Tony ignores him, circling the gateway like a cat presented with a new toy.

“That’s fascinating. This side of the gateway isn’t static. It’s like a whole new portal that’s just opened up in the same spot.”

“Yeah, fascinating. Let’s go back to Earth and tell some scientists all about it,” Clint says, the hope dying from his voice as Tony reaches cautiously for the edges of the gateway.

“Not so fast, Legolas. We don’t leave until the portal is closed for good, and we’ve still got about a million tests to run on this thing before I’ll even begin to know how to do that.”

“I hate space,” Clint says petulantly, kicking at a particularly large coil of slightly spasming vine.

Bucky barely has time to blink before the vine grabs a hold of Clint’s leg, the severed end shooting straight for the gateway and pulling Clint along with it.

“Fuck,” Clint manages, and Bucky lunges for him, almost getting a grip on Clint’s forearm before he slips away, him and the vine sucked into the giant gap in space without so much as a ripple.

“Clint,” Bucky shouts, the sound of it not reaching his ears. He moves automatically, barely registering Steve’s warnings, every noise suddenly far away, like he’s under water. He’s jumped feet-first into the gateway before he even has time to think.

>>==========>

>>==========>

>>==========>

Clint hates space.

It comes with an unease that settles into the very bones of him, makes him feel like he’s off balance at his innermost core, farther out than he was ever meant to go. Artificial gravity doesn’t do much to help. He still feels the wrongness with senses he never knew he had.

So when he comes out the other side of the doorway, the fact that he’s no longer in space registers before anything else. The tug of real, Earth-strength gravity settles his nerves before he’s even noticed that he’s too high up in the atmosphere to see anything but stormy grey clouds, and falling like a stone.

Clint’s never been inside a cloud before, but the charm wears off quick as the puffs of foggy grey drench him to his core on his way down. At least he’s still got his bow in his hand, and his quiver on his back. He gives the alien vine around his ankle an angry kick, but the thing already relaxed its hold the moment they came out the other side, and it slithers off more than willingly, plummeting out of sight.

Then suddenly the clouds are gone, and a rickety roof is rushing up to meet Clint, looking like some kind of dilapidated train that got it’s directions all turned around. Clint has time to turn shoulder-first against the oncoming building, and almost enough time to wonder what it says about his life that falling through a roof is a welcome experience after the violent emptiness of space.

The rooftop splinters immediately on impact, as does the attic floor, and the next floor, too. He plummets into some kind of dusty couch with enough impact to snap the thing, but the floorboards beneath hold fast. Some part of Clint’s brain manages to register that the building looks decrepit and abandoned, enough that he’s surprised to see about six guns pointed at his face when the dust clears.

“Who the fuck are you?” A voice spits out, and Clint follows the barrel of the gun directly in front of his nose to find the speaker. The guy is human, at least by every way Clint knows to check, and his friends are too. He’s not dressed exactly like a 1930’s gangster, but he’s sure dressed like he grew up admiring them. He’s got a nasty sneer and an accent that’s so deep New York, Clint might laugh if he hadn’t just had all the wind knocked out of him. He wraps his fingers tighter around his bow, which, through a combination of being cradled protectively during the fall and being made out of a fucking adamantium alloy, seems to have survived unscathed.

“Woah,” he manages to cough out through the dust. “You look like an asshole.”

The guy shifts his weight, finger tightening on the trigger, but Clint’s already rolled off the former couch and pinned one of the other goon’s wrists to the wall by the time Asshole manages to get a round off into the couch cushions. The goose feathers that erupt from the pillows do add a nice ambiance to the fight, though, and Clint takes down two more guys while Asshole chokes on one of them. One of the gangsters gets a shot out, putting a few holes in the drywall before Clint gets him through the shoulder. He knocks the fifth guy out with a blow to the head, just in time to shoot the gun out of Asshole’s hand and pin it to the far wall. Asshole lunges for him, but ends up tripping over a floorboard Clint must have brought with him. He goes down hard, and Clint plants his boot on Asshole’s chest, drawing an arrow and letting the tip hover directly over his forehead. Asshole almost goes cross-eyed trying to look at it.

“Are you Green fucking Arrow?”

“Do I look like Green Fucking Arrow?” Clint spits out, going out on a limb and guessing Green Fucking Arrow’s signature color isn’t purple.

“Who do you work for? Penguin? Scarecrow? Bats?”

Clint weighs his options, because he’s getting the impending sense that he’s not in Kansas anymore, and this guy might have some information on what kind of gritty noir universe he’s crashed into. On the other hand, he can’t even begin to parse through the words that just came out of Asshole’s mouth, and he’s starting to feel a post-space-travel headache coming on. Maybe he can look for answers later. After a nap.

He only manages to to lower his bow by a fraction of an inch before someone else makes the call for him. Something heavy hits Clint in the back of the head, hard, and the whole world crumbles into darkness.

>>==========>

Clint wakes up to a blinding spotlight shining directly into his eyes. His arms are strapped down to something that feels like a chair, and the way his aids are picking up on sounds tells him that the background noises are off here. Too echoey, maybe.

His eyes adjust slowly, and he can’t see far past the column of light trained on him, but wherever he is seems cavernous. The air is damp and cold, and Clint swears the shadows up above look like stalactites. Or stalagmites. He’s never figured out which is which. His mouth feels like sandpaper, and he’s got a headache that feels more like it’s brought on by a concussion than space travel. A true connoisseur like him can tell the difference.

There’s movement on the edge of his vision, and Clint manages to follow the shape of a shadow, lurking just on the edges of the darkness. His aids don’t do so great with low noises, but Clint’s pretty sure the thing isn’t making any sound as it glides across the cave floor.

“Who are you?” a voice echoes out, low and fucking chilling. It makes Clint’s throat hurt just to listen to it. It sounds demonic, like the shadow’s been gargling glass shards instead of listerine. Fuck, it sounds like Thor with the flu.

“Nobody important,” Clint says, and his own voice doesn’t sound too great either. He’d kill for a glass of water right now. It might come to that. The shadow doesn’t seem like it’d be easily swayed by asking nicely. “Who are you?”

“You don’t know who I am?” the shadow growls.

“I don’t know if you were there, but I fell from the sky a little bit,” Clint says. “I’m not from around here.”

“I am darkness,” the shadow says, voice rumbling through the cave in a way that Clint thinks might be ominous if it weren’t filtered into static by his hearing aids. “I am the night.”

“Yeah, and I’m clearly from another fucking universe, so if you’re trying to intimidate me you’re going to have to add more context.”

He feels the shadow approach more than sees, and Clint thanks whatever gods rule over this grimdark universe that Natasha isn’t here to see the shiver that runs down his spine as a figure materializes out of the blackness.

“I’m Batman,” it says, and even with the gravelly voice fuzzed to shit through his hearing aids, Clint gets the sense that this should be all the context he needs. Batman is- well Batman’s kind of a nightmare. His costume is all shadows and odd edges and he seems to shift between phantom and solid even as Clint watches him step further into the light, although that might just be his concussion settling in. The whole outfit sparks a memory through his haze of disorientation. It looks like the joke costume Bucky talked Steve into submitting when the Avengers PR team was pushing for a Winter Soldier rebranding. One look at the nightmare grimace mask and tattered cape and the costume department had clammed right up, although Steve wasn’t too happy about the extra therapy hours they had enforced after seeing such a dark glimpse into the psyche of Captain America.

“You don’t seem impressed,” Batman rumbles, looming in closer. Clint realizes he’s grinning like some kind of psycho, and shoves the memory back down. Probably better not to piss off some kind of demonic creature within a day of entering it’s universe.

“No, sorry, you’re very impressive. I was just thinking of something else. You remind me of someone.”

That… actually seems to throw Batman off. He looms backwards, and Clint’s mind clears enough to realize that he’s less demon-cloaked-in-shadow and more human-cloaked-in-cape.

“What are you doing in Gotham?” Batman rumbles, and that’s somewhat of a relief. Clint had been hoping the glimpse of crumbling skyline he got wasn’t some horrific version of New York in shambles.

“That’s a really long story. And I’ll pass out before I finish it, so you should probably untie me.” Clint coughs for effect. Batman seems unphased.

“What were you doing in one of the Falcone hideouts?” Anger seems to rush back into his voice with the question, and Clint shrinks back against the chair a little.

“Woah, woah. I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time, alright? Your friends greeted me with some guns to the face so I reacted in self defense. I didn’t have any sort of agenda, I swear.” Except he sort of did. Alternate universe or not, Clint knows bad when he sees it, and Asshole and his friends reeked of malintent. Batman definitely registers on the scale as well.

Batman falls silent at that, although Clint can practically see the rage curling off him like smoke. He gets a sudden pang of loneliness in his chest. He wishes Bucky was here. He makes the anger look a lot sexier.

“So you don’t know the Falcones?”

“I don’t know you, you think I know them? I told you, I’m not from this hell of a universe. I fell through a fucking gateway in space and landed here. All I want to do is get home.”

Batman looms contemplatively.

“It would be very, very stupid to try anything,” he rumbles carefully. Clint holds back an eye roll.

“Yeah, I’m picking up on that.”

Batman reaches out a clawed, no, gloved hand, pushing down a button. The restraints keeping Clint to the chair fall open with a mechanical hiss, and he gingerly rubs at his wrists.

“So, when you kidnapped me out of an abandoned building, you didn’t happen to pick up my bow, did you?” He looks up hopefully, sighing as he’s met with an unrelenting scowl. “Yeah, alright. Just thought I’d ask.” Clint slides off the chair, keeping his movements open and cautious. Once he’s out of the interrogation spotlight, his eyes adjust to the cave much quicker. Clint’s mouth falls open as he stares into the depths of the cavern.

“Fucking christ, what are you, Victor Von Doom? How many gadgets can a supervillain possibly need?”

“I’m not a supervillain,” Batman growls, sounding almost offended. Clint blinks, and his eyes fall on something behind his darkly shrouded shoulders. There’s a display case. Well, a row of display cases. Most of them are full of haunting iterations of Batman’s current costume, but Clint’s eyes catch on the brighter ones. Red, green, yelllow, and purple spandex glint back at him through the gloom.

“Well, fuck me. Are you a good guy?”

>>==========>

>>==========>

>>==========>

The blackness of the portal gives way to bright blue skies and a sparkling metropolis. The first thing Bucky notices is that Clint isn’t below him. There’s no flailing dumbass hurtling towards the ground, and no black and purple smear on the pavement below, which is almost upsettingly spotless. The glimpse Bucky gets of his surroundings as he hurdles downwards feels like a creepy utopian image of New York, all the litter and grime and graffiti and heart scrubbed spotless and gleaming. He allows himself a little smug satisfaction as he drops past a skyscraper and punches his hand into the brick to slow his descent.

There’s an explosion from above, and Bucky looks up to see the other side of the gateway still gaping out against the clear blue sky, two figures racing up toward it.

One of the flying figures looks like some hideous green version of the hulkbuster suit, but with a crackling cannon-like device strapped to its’ back. The second figure is a blue and red streak against the sky, its’ goal clearly being to impede the green monstrosity from reaching the gateway.

There’s a crowd gathering in the plaza below, and Bucky’s destructive descent doesn’t get half a glance from the people with their necks craned up to the sky. Another explosion sounds off, and a chunk of the green suit comes hurtling downward, heading toward a cluster of onlookers on the edge of the plaza. Bucky wonders if this twilight zone New York is some kind of haven for fucked up villains. It sure looks like it. He isn’t sure anyone who would willingly live in a place like this is worth saving. But his legs don’t seem to care, and his arm certainly doesn’t hesitate as he rips the front panel off of a mailbox and jumps in front of two kids that are too scared to move, using the metal sheet to deflect the smoking debris.

“Get back,” he growls, and the kids scream and stumble backwards, clearing the area in time as the green hulkbuster falls from the sky like a stone, the blue streak racing after it. Bucky retreats as well, although not as far as the rest of the crowd. The blue streak catches the hulkbuster about twenty feet off the ground. Bucky unstraps his machine gun from his back, because he’s just realized that the blue streak is shaped like a man, and he’s not about to let his guard down on any man that can lift a thing like that with one hand.

A guy tumbles out of the hulkbuster, dropping to the ground and scrambling away as Blue drops the empty shell with a pavement-cracking thump. The crowd behind him cheers, all eyes on Blue, and naturally misses the second guy pulling out some weird blaster that looks like something a Flash Gordon villain would use. He aims the sci-fi blaster at the crowd, and cheers turn to screams.

“Stay back, Superman,” the guy calls, the sun glinting off his bald head. “Or the whole crowd gets it.”

Bucky isn’t sure if this is some kind of elaborately immersive live theater, or if he’s just ended up in a universe modelled after saturday morning cartoons. Either way, baldy doesn’t seem to notice as Bucky puts him in his scopes.

“Not so fast, Luthor,” Blue, Superman, calls back. “Think about what you’re doing.”

“Oh, I’ve thought about it. I’ve thought about it long and- AAGH” Bucky’s bullet goes clean through Luthor’s arm, sending the blaster spinning away and giving Superman the opening to scoop the guy up by the back of his shirt. Bucky can’t see any reason the guy can fly like that, but that doesn’t seem to stop him from hovering a triumphant ten feet above the crowd.

“Evil never prospers, Luthor. You’re headed straight for Stryker’s Island.”

The two of them disappear in a blur of blue.

Bucky needs a drink. He thinks about his odds of finding a satisfyingly seedy bar in a shiny place like this and decides he needs more than one. The approaching police sirens suggest he find himself a few bottles.

He ducks into an alley as the crowd disperses, cursing whatever absolute sociopath of a city planner made these alleys so wide open and well lit. He considers chucking the domino mask and weapon in a dumpster, but decides there’s not much point when he still has a metal arm and is clad head to toe in combat gear and leather. He doesn’t even make it out the other end of the alley before there’s a flash of blue and he finds himself staring into the very intense glare of Superman himself.

“You’re not a civilian,” Superman booms, apparently not caring if the police find them or not. His fights must end in a lot less paperwork than Bucky’s tend to.

“No,” he agrees.

“What are you doing in Metropolis?” Superman raises his chin challengingly, showing off a heroic jawline and a stubborn glare that’s uncomfortably familiar. Bucky bites back a laugh because of course this hell hole is called fucking Metropolis. Instead, he holds his hands up placatingly, although the effect might be ruined some by the gun still in his hands.

“I’m looking for a friend.”

“And you thought the best way to find him was to go jumping through portals and tearing up buildings?”

“There was only one portal, really, and it’s not like we went through on purpose.” That’s half a lie, but Superman doesn’t seem to notice. “He should’ve come through right before me. Or maybe a while before. I don’t pretend to know anything about travelling through universes. His name’s Clint Barton. Tall, blond. Wears purple, shoots arrows. I think you’d know him if you saw him.”

“That portal opened up only a second before you came through,” Superman says, and he actually seems apologetic about it. “The only reason Luthor was heading for it is because he’s been studying interdimensional rifts for months. If your friend had come through, I would’ve seen him.”

“Figures he’d fuck it up like this,” Bucky mutters to himself, holstering his weapon. “That’s the last time I let my guard down around a fucking sentient vine.”

“Sentient vine?” Superman actually perks up at that, and Bucky raises a brow.

“Yeah, it pulled him in. Sound familiar?”

Superman beamed at him, and Bucky resisted the urge to punch him right in the gleaming teeth.

“I don’t know where your friend is, but I know someone who might.”