#the one time we actually went to the hospital for a dislocated rib it popped back in while we were in the waiting room

[thethingything]

did you know if your connective tissue is fucked up enough you can dislocate a rib while changing your bedding? I am suffering

[even-after-a-millennia]

Falling into a New Life

For @nilefreemanweek2021 and the alternative prompt Canon Divergent AU! Andy doesn’t get to the base in time, and Nile is on the plane to Germany and tests.  When she dreams Andy calling Booker, what happens when Nile calls the same number?  You can read it below or over on my ao3 account here. Gen | Rated T | ~2.1k

“Corporal Freeman,” the soldier’s voice cut through her music and brief moment of peace.  “Been looking for you.  Wheels up on your ride.”

“Yes, sir,” she said. 

She felt a tightening in her gut, one that got worse as she flew away from base towards Germany.  Towards more tests.  Something was rubbing her the wrong way about all of this.

She hadn’t slept well since waking up in that hospital bed, so despite her nerves, she began to doze as the hours ticked by. 

“She’s just a baby,” she heard a woman say, looking down at a sketch of Nile’s own face.

“Damn it!”  A fist crashing into the side of a Humvee as a plane, the plane Nile was on right now, took off into the sky.

Numbers were being punched into the phone, then dialing.  “Book, I didn’t get here in time.  Word is she is being sent for more testing and you know what they will find.  You have to cut them off.  Get to her before they find out.”

The man closed his flip phone, turning to the other two men on the train.

“We need to get to Germany,” he said.

The plane rattled side to side and Nile woke, looking around frantically.

What was that?  A dream?  A vision?

She scrambled through her pockets, grabbing her notepad and writing down the numbers before she could forget them.  Pulling out her phone, she looked furtively around the vast open area, but aside from her, the only other people on the plane were the two soldiers who had escorted her to the plane, sitting near the cockpit, and the pilots.

If she called this number and someone picked up, she would know she wasn’t crazy.  And if no one did… then maybe it was a good thing that she was being carted off for testing.

Nile hit dial before she could stop herself.

It rang twice before a slightly accented voice answered, “Hello?  Who is this?”

“What the fuck…” she whispered, pulling the phone away to stare at it.  The call had connected, the seconds ticking by.  She pressed it back against her ear, shaking her head slowly.

“Is this the Marine?” the man continued.

“Yeah,” she answered, her voice rough.  

There was a rustle, then a different voice was speaking, “Can you tell us your name?”

A voice in the back of her mind was yelling about strangers and danger, but she didn’t think that the talks adults gave her as a child ever could have anticipated this.

“Nile,” she forced herself to say.  “Corporal Nile Freeman.  Who are you?”

“We’re like you, Nile,” a heavier accented voice said.  “We want to help you, but first, you have to help yourself.  You cannot get tested by those men.  It will lead to something much worse.”

“I don’t understand,” she murmured, keeping her voice low to avoid the other soldiers hearing.

“You have to get off that plane, Nile,” the second voice said.  “We will come and find you, we swear.”

“That’s insane,” she hissed.

“Welcome to the world of coming back from the dead,” the first voice said sardonically.

Holy shit.

That’s what had happened, wasn’t it?  She had felt herself die.  Dizzy had seen it.  Everyone thought she was gone.  They had even taken her dog tags to send to her family.

But then she had come back.

“Shit,” she whispered.

She looked around the plane and spotted the jump door and parachutes.

“No, this isn’t happening.  This is some bullshit.  Is this hazing or something?  Is this fun for you?” Nile demanded.

“Nile, please,” the heavily accented voice said.  There was so much emotion in his tone she stopped.  “Please, you are not safe.  I know you are scared and alone.  But they will do horrible things if they discover you can regenerate.  A jump off a plane is much better than an eternity in a cage.”

“I can’t go AWOL,” Nile said.  “My family-  I can’t do that to them.”

“Corporal Freeman!” One of the men who had brought her to the plane said, approaching.  “I need to take your phone.”

She lowered it without hanging up, alarms ringing in her head.  “What, why?” 

“Protocol for testing.  Could interfere with the machines.”

And he could be telling the truth, but the voices on the other end of the phone were getting desperate even though she couldn’t make out what they were saying.

“Are we that close?” she asked, buying time.

He shrugged.  “Somewhere over Ukraine.”

“I’d like to give it to you closer to Germany, sir,” she said, trying to toe the line of defiance and deference.

“Orders are orders,” he said, reaching for it and this didn’t feel right, something was so wrong about this whole thing.

“NILE!” the voices on the phone shouted all at once, loud enough it reached her ear.

She ducked his grab and undid her seatbelt, sliding away from him.

He looked at her, considering.  “C’mon, kid.  Don’t make me break out the restraints.”

She stared at him.  “What the fuck?!” she finally said, putting her phone in her back pocket.  “Nah, nope.  Come and get it.”

He swung at her and she ducked it and hit him in the ribs.  He let out a grunt and bent over.  She grabbed the back of his head and slammed his face into her knee, hearing a crack as he groaned in pain.  He stayed down, clutching his nose.

“Hey!”  The other guard had gotten up from his seat at the struggle and she turned to face him, trying to keep one eye on the other man.  

The man took out his gun and pointed it at her.  “You are under arrest for assaulting a superior officer.”

She raised her hands slowly.  “In fairness, he started it,” she felt compelled to say.

He didn’t think she was funny.  

“Stay still,” he said, taking a pair of cuffs out of his tac belt.  

Nile looked at them apprehensively, because those were not standard to have for soldiers in her division, and so why the hell did he have them?!

She stood still, weighing her options.  He holstered his gun, holding the cuffs in his other hand.  She watched him until he was close enough to strike.  She knocked the cuffs out of his hand and they flew down the plane.  He tried to punch her but she parried it and went to dislocate his shoulder, but he kicked out and caught her in the knee.  There was a crack and a searing pain, and she cried out, but kept fighting.

He drew his gun again and they grappled over it.  She knew that she was losing the battle with one leg out of the game and pain fogging her mind.

His finger reached the trigger.

She felt the bullet go through her side and her whole body went momentarily numb as it was overloaded with pain.  Nile fell to the ground, clutching her side.

The guard holstered his weapon and went to check on his buddy and get the cuffs.  Nile breathed through the pain and then paused.

Something was going on with her leg.

She looked down as much as she could without using her stomach muscles that were still screaming and watched as her knee popped back into place, no longer inverted.

Her side started to hurt less, and she lifted her shirt to see the skin that the bullet had torn through slowly knit back together.

Regenerate.  That’s what the man on the phone had called it.

Shit.

She pulled out her phone and spoke over the voices on the other side, “I’m jumping.  We’re somewhere over Ukraine.  I have your number.”

Then she hung up and put her phone in her zippered pocket, got up and ran at the parachutes and hit the button that opened the jump door.

“Corporal!  Don’t do it!”  

She looked back as she shouldered the parachute and clamped it into place.  The soldiers were reaching out to her, trying to get to her in time.

Nile jumped.

She fell, waiting until she was well away from the plane to pull the pin to activate the parachute.

Nothing happened.

“Shit!” she said, trying to pull the backup, but it didn’t budge.

Had they purposefully put dud parachutes in the plane?  Was this some kind of test?  Or had this been a terrible coincidence?

She kept falling, spreading her arms and legs to slow her descent as much as possible.  She forced herself to look down, scope out the area below her.  There was a lake in the middle of a field, and she angled herself towards it, gritting her teeth.  Neither option was good, but with no trees in sight to cushion her fall, she would splat either way.  At least the water would eventually mask her blood.

Nile really hoped that she could actually come back from the dead, cause it didn’t look like she was going to survive this.

The water got closer and she forced her feet below her so at least she wouldn’t meet it head first.  She tucked her arms close to her sides and felt herself shoot downwards faster than before.

She concluded, just before she hit the water, that any fall where she could think about how long she had been falling was too damn long.

Then everything was black.

The three men hopped off the train.

“She’s off the plane, haven’t heard anything since,” the blond said over the phone.  “Said she was somewhere over Ukraine.”

The woman sighed on the other end.  “Fine.  We’ll meet in the middle and find her.  Deal?”

“See you soon, boss,” the man said, hanging up.

“At least we will be able to keep Copley off our tail,” the man with a head of curls said.

“We will still need to go after him eventually,” the blond said.  “He knows about us.”

“Nile first,” the man with the heavy accent and kind eyes said.

Nile gasped awake and immediately coughed up water.  She was floating on top of the lake now, the waters around her red.  She groaned as her body slowly knitted itself back together again, bones and organs recovering from hitting water so fast it felt like concrete.

“Ow,” she concluded once the last shift was done.

She turned her head, looking for the closest bit of shore, and starting off towards it.

It took a lot of effort to drag her waterlogged body onto the sand.  She lay on her back, staring up at the sky for a moment.  

Then she reached for her phone, only to find it cracked and even more waterlogged than she was.

“Shit!”

She pocketed it anyway, because she might still be able to recover the memory chip, even if the rest of it was worthless now.

Okay.  Priorities.

Nile was still wearing her uniform, as wet and bloodstained as it was.  She shucked off the long sleeve shirt of her uniform and surveyed the damage to the short sleeve brown shirt beneath.  The cold water of the lake had washed away much of the blood that had been saturated in it, but she took it off and scrubbed a bit more, just to get as much as she could out.

There was still a hole where she had been shot, but she would deal with that if it came to it.

She found a large rock and tied her shirt around it.  

Then paused.  Rested her head against the rock and the uniform she was about to toss away.

She had been a Marine, like her dad before her.  It hadn’t been an easy decision to join, not with how it had ended for her dad, the imperialism that was steeped into the US military, or the fact that she was a black woman and that would affect her entire experience.  But it had been her life, her brothers and sisters in arms had been her family, and she felt like once she heaved this rock into the water, she would be irreversibly throwing that part of her life away too.

She breathed.  Then she lifted the rock and with a grunt, sent it flying through the air.  There was a large splash and it sank, taking her uniform with it.

Nile watched it go, her throat burning with emotions she couldn’t even name.

Then she turned to find the others who could regenerate like her.

[bootyassnodt]

Nocturne - Our kind of love

An angsty, intimate, soft and vulnerable fic, featuring a very wounded Prosciutto, and fem!reader, from one of the first ideas I ever had about him, months ago. Potential trigger warning for blood and injuries. The music is Nocturne No.20 in C-sharp Minor, by Chopin

Your eyes were strained on the clock for god-knows how long. His voice was echoing in your head, as you were mentally replaying his reassuring way of saying goodbye for the millionth time. His usual, cold, cocksure promise of being home by 11 at latest, calling tonight’s hit a low-risk small job, before setting out in the night made your stomach knot to the verge of nausea. It was ten minutes past one and you already lost the sensation in your fingertips from continuously tapping on the kitchen table for the past two hours. 

You were cursing and scolding him mentally in the first hour, like an old wife, it was even comical, and if he could have heard it, you two would have had a good laugh over it. But as time passed, you felt smaller and smaller, your skin colder, your palms clammier, your throat more and more dry as the possibility of him never coming home crept into the back of your mind. It was always an option, he often reminded you despite your constant protest against the topic, this was part of dating a mafia man. A hitman, to be correct, and these times the reality bit into your heart a little harder than usual. Your lover, your partner, your sweet companion of years, the man whose arms around you were the closest thing to heaven on Earth, was killing people for a living. He was nothing more than a very professional murderer in an expensive suit, and he wouldn’t be the first to fall victim to his lifestyle. 

Half past one. He had never been out for this long without letting you know the reason behind it. Never broke a promise, never missed a date, never made you feel secondary in his life. Prosciutto was a good man, or at least good to you, and while you felt like you could kill him yourself for making you feel like this if he turns up alive, in your heart you were already bargaining with whatever god was up there, to bring him home to you safely, in one piece. 

Your mind barely registered the faint scratching coming from the front door, yet you shot up on your feet, only to fall back onto the chair, blacking out a little around the corners of your vision. The scratching became clearer, it was the sound of a key failing to find its way to the keyhole. Like those nights when you hastily tried to open the front door after making out in the taxi on the way home from clubbing all night, only to sloppily make drunken love on the couch and to fall asleep tangled into each other. This memory brought warmth into your heart and power to your limbs, so you hurried to the door with determination. It was him out there, no doubt about it, and a part of you truly hoped that he just went out for some drinks with his team after the job, and got hammered beyond the point of coming home on time. It was very unlikely, still, the most comforting option possible.

As you opened the door, Prosciutto basically fell on you with a tired grunt, his body like dead weight on your shoulders, but instead of the expected smell of alcohol, the heavy, metallic stench of blood filled your senses. As you tried to wrap your arm around his waist, you noticed the wide smear of dried blood on the white door, where he was probably leaning in the past minutes. Your hands were already getting sticky, and your face squirmed in horror when your reflection stared back at you in the mirror, with the off-red stains on your pajama shirt growing more prominent. You tried to lower yourself a bit so that you could match the gaze of your man, who was breathing heavily with his head hanging low.

- Prosciutto, is this your blood? - your voice was weaker than you hoped for.

- Some of it - he huffed, trying to straighten his stance. His right shoulder was unnaturally stiff, and as he tried to support his elbow with his left hand, he groaned loudly in pain, and leaned back onto you. - Okay, most of it.

- Jesus fuckin Christ, and what’s going on with your….

- Tesoro - he said firmly, looking into your eyes. - Bathroom. Now.

You carefully led him through your apartment, noting how his breath hitched at every step, indicating at least one broken rib. The pictures on the wall with that perfect, overjoyed couple looking back at you, seemed to be slightly judging this mess in the dim light. You tried to bite back your tears as you kicked the bathroom door open, and sat him down on the wide edge of your bathtub, carefully removing his shoes, socks and pants. At least his legs didn’t sustain any injuries, which was good news, but as you moved up to take off his jacket, Prosciutto instantly grabbed your wrist with his left hand, gritting his teeth in pain.

- Bring in the scissors from the kitchen - he growled, his voice being even deeper and raspier than usual. - You will need to cut the jacket off of me.

- Cut it off? But… - you looked all over the dark blue, well-tailored worsted wool piece, now fully soaked in blood, remembering the day he first came home in it with a beaming smile, looking like a movie star, ecstatic about his latest paycheck well spent. Tears welled up in your eyes. - This is your favourite....

- Babe - his expression softened, and he gently caressed your arm. - My right shoulder is dislocated, and I cannot put it back while wearing a jacket, and if I try to remove it with my arm sticking out in that angle, I’m afraid I will faint from the pain, or shit myself, or both. And we don’t want that, do we?

- It must be really bad if you are trying to be funny - you let out a dry laugh while wiping off your tears with the back of your hand. - I’ll be right back.

You placed a gentle kiss on his forehead, and tucked his disheveled fringe back behind his ear. The mixture of sweat and blood you could taste on your lips from his skin occupied your mind as you absent-mindedly raked through the drawer under the kitchen counter, looking for the biggest, stainless steel scissors you kept at home. It was more like a weapon and less like a tool, and you cannot remember if you or Prosciutto ever used it around the house before.

You knew all too well, how much Prosciutto loved to fix everything on his own, whether it was a dripping faucet, or a wound, or a ripped shirt, even after years of sharing his life with someone like you. Seeing him slumped at the exact same spot you left him, looking up to you with tired eyes, and a telltale expression of him fighting to hide the pain from you, was truly heartbreaking. You have never seen your man like this before, and you really thought you have seen everything from him. 

In the hopes of getting it sewn back one day, you started cutting the jacket along the seams, paying extra attention not to ruin the fabric itself, but the blood seeping out of it under your touch made this task more difficult than you hoped for. Freeing him from the heavy wool garment, you had to hold back your tears once more when you saw his graphite grey shirt also completely soaked in blood.

- The shirt too?

He nodded.

Putting a dislocated joint back in place was a way more arduous task than you have seen in the movies before, and you just did what Prosciutto said, as he seemed way too experienced in the matter. At that point, you didn’t even want to know, so you kept the questions to yourself. You put on some Chopin, as he asked, held his right hand firmly to his body from behind as he asked, closed your eyes as he asked, and kept yourself from vomiting when you heard the wet pop of the joint finding its place and felt your lover’s whole body twitch from the agonizing sensation against you. 

After taking a deep breath and acknowledging the good riddance of the tension, you ran the bath, and took the emergency kit out of the cabinet, sorting out the antiseptic, the gauze, the bandage and some adhesive plaster, before turning back to him.

- You of all people - you started while cleaning the blood off of his skin with a wet cloth. - How the hell did you manage to get this roughed up?

- Work, tesoro. You know how it is.

- Yes, I know, and this is not how it is! - you looked him straight in his ever glistening, bright blue eyes. - Prosciutto, what happened? 

- I got outnumbered - he shot his glance to the floor while exhaling sharply. - The intel was wrong, and I couldn’t use my stand. There were civilians, I had to go in.

- And I guess you were expected to show up, too - he nodded, while you uncovered more and more wounds, the water down there in the bathtub turning red. - One more question, why didn’t you go to the hospital? Or whatever is that back-alley butchery is called where you guys go after getting injured… 

- That was… not an option - he really didn’t like to involve you too much with his job, but you looked at him with an interrogative gaze, and he let out a defeated sigh knowing that he cannot escape. - That is where the job was, actually. Riz got intel that the lead doctor went rogue, giving over medical and stand info to an American gang.

- So you were sent there to clean up.

- Exactly. It seemed easy, the plan was letting Grateful Dead in while I have a cigarette outside, then burning some papers, then picking up a nice amount of cash on my way home to you.

- But there were civilians. Patients? Let’s see... children of crooks in debt, placed there as a bait to distract you?

- That’s my clever girl, give me a kiss - he pulled your chin towards him, and you couldn’t help but smile against his lips. Prosciutto was there, he was alive, and you finally let yourself relax into his presence.

- So you went in - you continued while wringing the crimson cloth into the bathtub. - Wait, where is your pistol?

- At the HQ, I had to leave it there to be repaired. Don’t ask.

- You were at the HQ and they let you go looking like this? Who was there on duty? Formaggio? Melone? I’m going to flay them alive!

- Calm down, gattina - he snickered, but held his side as the pain from the broken rib jolted through his body. - If anyone was there, they were sleeping already, I just left my stuff on the table with a note. Okay, now let me get up, I need a cigarette.

- The fuck you need a cigarette. With your blood pressure, and this kind of blood loss - you placed your hands on your hips. - Also, they were in your jacket, probably drenched too - He huffed, and shook his head, with a smile spreading on his face.

- All right, let me take a look in the mirror then - he stood up, taking a thorough look at his many injuries, some bullet grazes, some bruises, some cuts, most of them still oozing blood. - Bring in some whisky and two glasses if you may. We are celebrating.

- Celebrating? - You chuckled in disbelief, locking your eyes with his through the mirror.

- Tonight we are taking our relationship to the next level - he said, examining a particularly deep cut on the backside of his ribs. He turned to face you. - Because tonight, my love, I am going to teach you how to stitch up a wound.

It took you a second of blinking at him with hollow eyes. That was just so out of character for him, the man with a longer skin routine than yours, and the man almost ridiculously peculiar about the state of every inch of his flawless body. You decided to chalk it up for the blood loss.

- You really want me to do this? - you grazed your fingertips over his arm. - It surely will leave a scar if you let a rookie like me near your skin.

- Look how deep and nasty it is. Also, I cannot reach it properly. And you know, I actually wouldn’t mind getting a scar from you, it would be a nice change to have one worthy of remembering. Will you be a good girl and do this one for me? - He stepped closer to you, his left hand caressing down the small of your back as he pressed his forehead against yours.

- How could I say no to you - you whispered, and held his face in your hands.

You knew he was bleeding and in a considerable amount of pain, but that didn’t seem to bother any of you, at least not for that one, placid moment. You studied his face as if you still couldn’t believe he finally came home to you after those excruciating hours of waiting, and Prosciutto, well, he was looking into your eyes as if he knew exactly what you were thinking about.

- One more thing, tesoro - he leaned close to your ear to break the silence at last, in a hushed tone. - I know I made you angry. You worried about me, and I bet you were eating yourself alive waiting for me. It’s alright if you are mad at me, but please, do not think I don’t know what is at risk. I know I fucked up tonight, but I will always come home to you, as long as I am able to.

The tears you choked back in the past hours now let themselves flow without a barrier, and you buried your face into the crook of his clavicle, shaking. There was no further need for words, you just stood there, melting into each other’s embrace, trying to protect that little, perfect, safe haven you had amidst the kind of world your love was thrown into. 

Finally, you broke the hug with some gentle pats on his hip, and for a split second you could have sworn that you saw Prosciutto wiping away some tears too. God, he was beautiful. Beautiful, but bleeding, a matter that needed immediate assistance from your end.

- All right carino, let me patch you up - you said in a cheerful tone, turning to the emergeny kit. - I put on that white satin bedding you love so much, and if you bleed through that, I’ll have to kill you in cold blood.

He let out a hearty laugh, as far his ribs let him.

- As you wish, my love.

[solign0501]

Shall We Begin

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

Pairings: Bucky x Reader

Summary: As a SHIELD agent your work alongside the Avengers means you and Bucky start to get to know each other but then one day you are ordered to go under cover away from him. When the mission goes wrong, the Avengers are called in for a rescue.

Warnings: Reference to torture

A/N: This is my first time doing this so please go easy on me. Hope you enjoy! Let me know what y'all think! I’ll be throwing in another fan favourite character soon to mix things up a bit - so stay tuned!

Time was dragging in your tiny hospital room. It felt like the days just melted into one long string of days filled with check ups and fluorescent lights and nights of dark dreams that always made you wake with a start, covered in sweat and often roused by the sound of your own screaming. 

The one joy you had was when the others came to visit you. You had thanked Steve and Natasha profusely for playing their part in rescuing you and they had humbly waved it off and both said how happy they were just to have you back. Steve joked that the coffee had been awful since you had gone and you laughed, even though it hurt. Fitz had quizzed you about the chair until Simmons had hit him and told him not to be so insensitive. You had smiled, though, and said it was okay. Even the Maximoffs had come to see you and both Coulson and Daisy had promised they would when they got back from whatever it was they were doing. 

In fact, the only people who hadn’t been to see you were Fury, Hill and Bucky. The first two you got, they were busy. But Bucky... He had left that first day without a word and hadn’t come back yet. You had dragged out of Steve that it was Bucky who found you when he realised where you had been taken. After that you realised that he was probably keeping his distance because of the memories the whole thing brought up for him. It still hurt you, though. 

You sighed as you flicked through the latest puzzle book that Christine had brought you, suggesting that you try to use writing in it as an exercise to get the dexterity back in your left hand. Your right was far more badly damaged - Hydra had assumed you were right handed, you had joked dryly. For that, Christine had given you a small rubber ball that you were to squeeze periodically to build the strength back up. They had only broken your little fingers and dislocated the rest, luckily. You totted up the rest of your injuries mentally as you squeeze the ball softly. Two broken ribs, a further one cracked, two broken fingers, six dislocated, dislocated thumbs, two broken toes, several flesh wounds - some deeper than others, a burn to your upper left thigh and more bruised than clear skin right now. Not to mention your ankles. You hadn’t forgotten the concern that briefly shot across Christine’s face as she had examined them. The pain was almost unbearable, but you refused stronger medication just in case it knocked you out again. You needed to stay awake. 

You were so busy doing your mental inventory that you didn’t notice the door open or hear the footsteps moving across the room towards you. You jumped as a throat was cleared a few feet away from you.

“Ow!” you cried as the sudden movement caused pretty much everything to hurt. “Jesus, what the hell are playing at...” you began, but trailed off as your eyes met Bucky’s. “Oh, so you do remember the way here then?” you asked dryly. Bucky flinched a little and hung his head. 

“Okay, I deserved that,” he said softly. “I just thought you would be a bit busy with everyone else...” 

“It’s fine, really,” you said, recovering yourself enough to be glad of his presence. “I figured you might not want to be around me for a while, with the memories it could bring back.” 

“That’s no reason to stay away from you, though,” Bucky mumbled, 

“No,” you admitted, “but you’re here now, that’s what counts. Have a seat,” you slowly moved your legs over and made space for him to sit down, grimacing in pain. Bucky perched himself on the edge of the bed gently so as not to jostle you any more than necessary. You sat in companionable silence for a moment until you plucked up the courage to speak. Trouble was, so did Bucky.

“Steve said...”

“How are y...” You both laughed as you paused and like that, the awkwardness was gone. 

“You first,” you said, using your elbows to push yourself up a little further in the bed. 

“I was going to ask how you’re feeling?” Bucky asked, standing up for a second to help you move. You tried not to dwell on the warmth of his skin, or the pleasant mix of cologne and metal that seemed to drift from him. 

“I’ve been better,” you said honestly. You had been telling everybody you were fine, getting better every day, but you couldn’t now. Not with Bucky, he had been through this before, after all. True, he had had the serum to help him heal through it, but the scars were no less there. You sighed and decided to tell him everything. 

“I see the way Doctor Palmer looks at me when she examines me, like some sort of wounded dog she feels sorry for. She’s got a great bedside manner and her poker face is pretty decent, but she isn’t a S.H.I.E.L.D Agent. I know something is up, I’m not healing like I should.”

You saw Bucky’s eyes dart to the more visible wounds on your body as he swallowed hard. 

“What you’ve gone through, what they did...” he shook his head as if trying to fight the anger and nausea that threatened him at the memory of you sitting in that chair, screaming. “It’s a miracle you’re not dead,” he whispered, almost choking on the words. 

You reached out, almost without realising you were doing it, and took his hand in your bandaged one. He ran his thumb gently over an exposed patch of skin, sending a strangely thrilling mix of pain and pleasure shooting through your skin. 

“I have you to thank for that,” you breathed. “I know it was you who found me, you who carried me back here.” You took a deep breath as you remembered what Steve had told you. “I also know it was you who stayed with me constantly whilst I was out, talking to me, trying to wake me up.”

“I’m gonna kill him,” Bucky said, not unkindly as he shook his head. 

“I pretty much begged him to tell me,” you confessed. “I could hear you, you see. I didn’t know it was you, but I could hear you. Talking, singing, reading.”

“Oh god,” he chuckled, running his spare hand over his face. “Don’t ever tell anyone I was singing, especially not Nat.”

“I won’t if you won’t,” you promised, chuckling along with him. Your face became serious for a moment, however, as you remembered the dream. You weren’t sure why, but you wanted to tell Bucky about them, so you did. His face was a mask as you did, right until the end when you described waking up and he nodded. 

“I had something similar at first. I didn’t have the other voice though, not really. Not until...”

“Not until Steve?” you finished for him and he nodded. “I’m glad you had someone to pull you back. I dread to think what would have happened if you weren’t around.”

“You won’t ever need to,” Bucky promised and as he flashed you that dazzling smile you started to believe you actually could get better after all.

Bucky came to visit you more frequently after that, spending pretty much all day with you talking about many different things and sneaking you in coffee and muffins from the break room, always quick to hide them when Christine stopped by to check up on you. 

One day during her visit, though, you noticed her face fall as she looked you over. You and Bucky had been chatting away about Tony and Fitz’s latest “experiment”.

“And Tony flipped the switch and there was this huge bang,” Bucky said, gesticulating wildly in re-enactment of the moment, “and poor Banner went flying back, knocking a hole in the wall.”

“They’ve only just repaired that wall from last time!” you exclaimed, trying not to laugh as Bucky nodded enthusiastically. 

“Right! But honestly I never saw a room clear so quickly, just in case the Big Guy decided to pop up.”

“And did he?” Bucky shook his head.

“Smoke cleared and all you saw was Banner with a cool new hairdo.” You both burst out laughing, but you stopped after a moment. Christine, who usually chuckled along with Bucky’s stories, wasn’t joining in this time. Instead, she was looking at you with an intense frown. Bucky must have sensed the sudden shift in mood too as he sat forward on his chair. 

“What’s the matter, Christine?” you asked, fighting valiantly to keep your voice level. She looked up, seeming to notice you both for the first time and gave a strained smile. 

“Nothing,” she said, moving the blanket back over your left ankle and busying herself with the chart she kept at the foot of your bed. 

“Doctor Palmer,” you said more sternly and she flinched. “You’re not that good of a liar.” She sighed and lifted her head, looking from you to Bucky and back again. 

“I’m concerned, Y/N,” she said honestly. You could feel your chest tightening and you almost sensed Bucky tense from across the room. Christine must have sensed it too as she moved to the opposite side of the bed, away from him. 

Reaching down, she placed a warm hand on your arm and looked you in the eye. 

“I’m concerned because you’re not healing, hardly at all. I mean, the wounds are starting to knit but it’s all happening far too slowly. I think the trauma inflicted on your body has effectively left it unable to heal itself.” You heard the words, but they sounded full of static to your ears. 

“What do you mean?” you asked, your voice sounding strange as though coming from someone else. 

“I mean, it’s been nearly a month now and there should be some noticeable improvement but there isn’t. To all appearances, these wounds could have been inflicted last week.”

Bucky slumped back in the chair and cursed, running his hands through his hair. Steeling her courage, Christine turned to address him.

“Sergeant Barnes,” she said, her voice wavering slightly as Bucky locked eyes with her. “I know you went through something similar, albeit much worse,” she hastened to add in fear of belittling his own experience. “Did you face anything like this?” Bucky sighed heavily and nodded. 

“I did, at first. When they removed what was left of my arm,” he raised his metal arm slightly as if to indicate the obvious. “I was losing a lot of blood, I was in and out of consciousness so much I don’t really remember and I think I blocked out the rest, but I do remember that I wasn’t healing. That was when...” his voice died as he looked at you, his face going pale as he realised what you needed. 

“When what?” you asked, wondering what could get that reaction from him. 

“That was when they gave me the serum,” he said. His voice was barely a whisper but you and Christine caught every word and turned to look at each other, a mixture of hope and concern showing in your mirrored expressions.

“No!” Bucky said, standing up as he caught your trains of thought. “Totally, absolutely no.”

“Bucky,” Christine said, using his name for the first time, causing him to stop short. “It might be the only way she’ll ever be able to walk again.”

@hillywooddestiel @imaginecrushes @fandomlover03 @rosep16

[havens-most-wanted]

Scraps 3 - Early Amore Amaro

2-for-1 scraps, possibly two more early iterations of Amore Amaro before it came to fruition. There’s a some borrowed elements from each.

I believe these are in order of date, ranging from 2009-2012, maybe?

Fic 1

Injury

A screeching of tires and a powerslide later, unable to turn the lead racer plummeted into a wall crashing and sending its occupant 20m away.

A red car drove over the finish line and pulled over to the wreckage of Jak’s Javalin, a young German man stepped out with an air of arrogance, his green eyes surveying the damage. Jak’s crew was already arriving, but Razer wanted to see if the blond man was alive or not for himself.

The hard snow crunched under his boots. No wonder the wonder boy crashed. It was slippery.

He popped out a cigarette, lit it, then took a puff, before walking to Jak’s unmoving body laying in the snow some ways away.

“My, my,” Razer breathed, looking down at the heap called Jak. Blood dripped from a cut on his head, staining the blond hair with streaks of crimson.

The raven haired one bent closer for a look, surprised to see one of Jak’s eyes open, the other unable to as his right eye was swollen already.

“Amazing feat, Jak. Winning the third cup and beating me again,” Razer sighed, then took the cigarette to his lips again, breathing out slowly, the smoke mingling in a hazy daze before drifting off beyond the track. “But dreadfully sorry. Your career in racing stops here.”

Razer knocked the ash from the cig onto Jak. “Shame. Was looking forward to actually beating you in the final race. Good luck for getting medical attention in Kras, my dear Jak. Pathetic,” he spat, kicking snow on the fallen hero before hopping back in his Havoc v12 and roaring off just after Rayn’s team arrived.

“Jak!” Daxter screamed.

Torn grumbled, “We need help, stat.”

--

Razer, as usual, was enjoying a nice drink of wine at the Bloody Hook later that night. When he told Mizo and the crew what had happened to Rayn’s lead racer, the Mizo team began to turn extremely cocky, and Mizo himself was very delighted, indeed.

Razer was not enjoying himself, however.

If he loses to anyone other than Jak now, he knew Mizo would have his head. Razer knew he and Kleiver were the only ones worth anything on the team.

And Razer was not one to die. Not yet, anyway.

At about 12-something AM, Ashley or something--Razer never really cared--slammed open the door into the bar, stomped over and promptly slapped him in the face.

Razer had never been slapped before.

“And what brings you here, madame,” Razer nodded curtly, as if nothing happened. By this time the whole bar fell silent for once since it opened. If the German man was irritated, he didn’t show it.

The redhead was fumming. “You damn well know what,” she spat, grabbing him by the collar and dragging him off the barstool. “You sabotaged Jak’s car!”

“Hey!” Cutter shouted, stopping over. “You don’t talk to Razer like that!” He went over to get rid of her but the raven-haired second-in-command of the Mizo team raised his finger, signaling for him to stop.

“Dear woman,” he stated softly, “I have done nothing to Jak’s car. I would never do such a thing.” Ashelin glared at him. “Well on a second thought, I did, but it definitely wasn’t this time.”

“You’re a horrible liar,” Ashelin snapped before dropping Mizo’s lead racer and retreating from the room. Some people whistled as she walked out, and soon the usual bout of chatter picked up again.

Cutter leaned down to Razer, who was leaning against the table on the floor, still smoking calmly. “Tell Mizo that I caused Jak’s crash,” Razer stated.

Cutter raised an eyebrow. “But you just told that broad you didn’t.”

Razer laughed. “I lied.” He took another drag. “And get the boys to find where the blond’s staying.

--

Torn circled nervously around the fallen renegade’s bed, before Ashelin burst through the doors.

“He’s an effing prick!” she stormed, walking up to Torn who was startled from Ashelin’s sudden entrance. “That son of a bitch is a liar, I swear. I will blow him up in the next race!”

“We’ll all have to step it up,” Torn said darkly. “Face it, Jak’s been carrying us through this whole tournament. If it wasn’t for him and Sig we’d be long gone by now.”

Ashelin glanced over at the sleeping Jak. Samos had patched him to the best of his ability. With a shattered wrist (left), and a dislocated shoulder (left), broken leg (right), and a bruised collarbone and three cracked ribs, plus damages to the right side of his face. Which, thankfully, was healing itself quickly, but he blond would have a nasty black eye for awhile. Thankfully, Jak was still conscious when they found him, but now he was under a green eco drip, and sleeping for a good 10 hours. Unable to get a doctor in Kras City--Rayn highly advised them not to--they had to make a make-shift hospital in Rayn’s workplace.

Daxter, Jak’s ever-faithful sidekick, had taken a toll, as fretting over his best friend knocked him out, he was currently sleeping by Jak’s good arm. Even though Ashelin--and pretty much anyone else--found Daxter annoying, but still, deep down he was loyal, caring, and clearly cared a lot for his best friend.

Everyone, except for Rayn, had been taking turns watching Jak, seeing he was in fairly critical condition. Samos had already patched his arm up mostly, besides the fact it could still hurt for a couple of months. There was nothing he could do about that. But the sage was having a hard time with Jak’s wrist, and it wouldn’t be fully functional until after a few months.

One thing was for certain though, Jak could not drive in the tournament. His Javalin X was beyond prepared, Ashelin, Sig, and Torn were the frontrunners for the final races of the Yellow Cup. Fail, and they all die.

Ashelin left the room after a lengthy pause between her and Torn. Torn took over for the rest of the night before he traded off with Samos at sunrise.

Samos gave a nod to the ex-Underground commander, and stepped into the room. Both Jak and Daxter were still asleep.

The sage looked over at the pair with sad eyes before placing himself in a chair. Keira had taken this event hard, only emerging from her room when it was her turn to watch Jak. Even then when her shift was over, tears were still falling as she gave it to Sig.

First dark eco, losing his father, and now this.

The sage wondered how much more Jak could take before breaking.

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

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

Fic 2

Mercy

"Jak! Bank left, bank LEFT!"

The roar of the ottsel was nothing compared to the roar of the wind whipping against him, everything was going so fast...he had a lot of turbo, how could anyone keep up this well?

He turned the Road Basher to the left and up a ramp, thankfully putting some distance between him and his pursuers. The blond quickly glanced down to his right. There were three racers, Ashelin, Torn and Shiv. Where were the other two?

He soon got his answer. 

Bullets pettled against the chrome exterior of the car. "It's Razer!" Daxter yelled. Without casting a glance back, Jak hit the turbo as hard as he could, and both the man and ottsel flew off the ramp and landed hard in the white sand. 

"JaK!" Daxter screamed, holding onto the car's frame."Be careful when you do that!" the furry creature adjusted his stance, motioning towards the metal bar he was wrapped onto. "I'm not going to walk right for days!"

"Sorry Dax," Jak quickly apologized, but his mind was set elsewhere. He was still slightly behind the three ahead, if he could nab just one more blue turbo he could take the lead on this round. 

His tires screeched against the gravel as he turned to the next stretch, then nabbed up some yellow eco. The dial landed on missiles and a smirk rose to Jak's face. Perfect. That should throw Shiv right off. 

Slam! 

A noise like nails on a chalkboard grated on the man's ears, he looked to see the cause.

"Hello Jak," a raven haired man smirked from inside his Howler, hair slicked back even more because of the wind. "Enjoying the sunday drive?" The other vehicle slammed into the Road Basher once again, veering Jak slightly to the right. The man's smirk quickly faded though as he realized he had just sent Jak into the blue eco, and gritted his teeth in an ugly snarl.

"Sure am, Razer," Jak smirked as he boosted his turbo and flew off ahead down the track.

"Have fun pickin' the sand out of your teeth!" Daxter screamed back behind them. 

Before long, as Jak passed through the tunnel he had managed to come neck to neck with his two fellow racers and the one from Mizo's team. It was a tight squeeze however as Ashelin drew back, but Torn pulled forward. 

"How's it goin'?" Torn waved from Jak's left. Beside Torn, was Shiv, giving an absolutely murderous glare at the pair of them. 

"Could be better," Jak shrugged nonchalantly. "Here, let me take care of your little problem there." Suddenly Jak dropped his acceleration as he fell behind the two, then focused on his target and fired the pair of missiles. 

With a high pitched whooshing noise the missiles found their target and landed hard on the back of Shiv's Basher. The racer roared as he suddenly lost control, thrusting him forward and into a wall. He slammed his fists on the steering wheel as he watched the other racers fly by. "Damn you, Jak!" he yelled. 

"Haha!" Daxter laughed, "Nice one Jak!"

"No problem," he said as he used the last of his turbo, smirking all the while as he took the lead.

It was pleasant driving for a good ten seconds of just the roaring of his engine and the squealing of wheels, the power of the vehicle rumbling beneath him. Jak felt exhilarated. Only a few more races like this and he would win. Then they could all get the antidote and go home away from all this craziness. That is, if Jak decided he wanted to leave. As dangerous as it was, racing always held a certain interest to Jak, no matter what the stakes were there was nothing like the feel and rush of speeding towards your destination.

The danger usually wasn't that much of a concern.

This time, however, it was a little bit different.

He felt immense pain as small bullets ripped through the shoulder of his jacket. It was almost nails falling like rain driving into his skin. He grunted and the car swerved out of the hellfire. 

"Jak! You're bleeding!" Dax screamed as he climbed down from the roll cage and sat in a much safer portion of the vehicle--in front of Jak. 

"Yes, Dax, thanks for noticing," he gripped his teeth as he looked over his shoulder, seeing the black Howler once again catching up to him. 

Razer pulled up beside him, but just a good 5 feet away. They were close to the finish line, so it was wise not to get into any trouble. 

"Sorry, I guess my finger just...slipped," Razer chuckled,"I guess I should be more careful next time, hmmm?" He roared off ahead. 

"My furry ass it slipped!" Daxter screamed. "Floor it, Jak!"

With his left shoulder burning, he pushed the vehicle to its limits as he tried to keep up with Mizo's best man. They were at the last stretch in the race--damn it, they were so close, but now without a turbo there was no way they'd be able to catch up to him, let alone pass him. 

Jak swirled hard and went down the stretch in a sideways drift. Keeping his eyes on his destination, he straightened the car.

"What's it at Dax?" Jak asked, gesturing towards the meter.

"Got some life in it! Waste that loser!" Daxter shouted and Jak floored it, picking up the last bit of red eco as he went.

Soon he was caught up again with the raven haired man, his shoulder steady bleeding now and aching terribly. 

"Too late Jak!" Razer laughed, as the finish line drew closer and closer. "I win!"

"Like hell you will," Jak snarled as he set off his defense, a drome bot. Hails of gunfire spilled down on the other racer from the tiny floating robot hovering around Jak's car. From the size of the robot it didn't look like it would do much damage, and to be honest with himself, Jak didn't even know if this was going to work at all. There wasn't really enough time for the bullets to totally destroy his opponent's car. 

However, luck seemed to be on his side as one of Razer's rear tires flew off, sending the racer spinning sideways and away from Jak until he hit a pylon and his car skidded to a stop, just a few feet away from the green banner. Jak zipped across the finish line with ease. Razer jacked the turbo to max which sent his car spinning once more, but this time it spun past the winner's circle, the back right axle sparking as it came to a full stop. Razer's teeth were clenched with an angry look in his green eyes. He got out of the wrecked car with graceful ease, the end of his red coat fluttering slightly from the movement.

Jak sighed with relief as he slumped forward on the steering wheel, panting heavily. Even with all these races, he had been lucky and sustained only minor injuries. He knew these races were no joke, but he never took it seriously beyond bent fenders and bumpers. This had been the first time he had actually been injured fairly badly, and the weight of the situation that was forced on him hit him with full force. Either he'd die from the poison or die in a firey ball of inferno on the track. Neither looked that appealing, but he wasn't the type to give up. Even if they did lose the races, the young man kept reassuring himself with false hope, telling himself that maybe, possibly, he'd survive the poison or get the antidote himself. Though with each passing race that little spark of hope seemed to fade just a bit more. 

"Jak!" Kiera screamed.

"Hey we need medical here! Medic!" Daxter yelled, jumping down from the car and running as fast as his little legs could carry him. Torn and Ashelin arrived, both quickly shutting off the engine to their cars and leaping down quickly to see if their friend was alright. 

But Razer beat them there first.

Jak raised his head as he heard the heavy boots approaching. He was not surprised to see the former champion's hard expression, he knew the man well enough from racing that despite his cool demeanor, underneath it all he was completely enraged.

"So you win again." the racer hissed.

"Yeah, so I guess I did," Jak replied coolly, his steely eyes meeting Razer's equally cold green orbs. 

"Congratulations, Jak," Razer spat out, and deliberately hit Jak on his injured shoulder, trying to pass it off as a sentiment of good sport's manship. But both men knew it was all completely bullshit, one of them would die on the track someday. Jak winced as Razer sauntered off. 

"Jak!" Ashelin yelled as she ran up to the car. "What happened? I saw you and Razer going head to head--"

"We lost you at the turn though," Torn cut in with his raspy voice. "What exactly went down?"

"I--"

He was cut off when another sound of someone calling his name caught his attention and he looked back to see his ottsel friend, followed by Keira, Samos and Sig. 

"Jak!" Keira cried, moving to help him off the vehicle. Jak held up his hand.

"I'm okay, really," he assured her, with a slight wince as he helped himself out of the car rather gingerly. He hadn't been shot in awhile, and certainly not at the rate of fire the small bullets of the car's machine gun. In fact, it was only then he realized the amount of damage he really took, as he tried to look behind him. All he could see was a large dark stain and ripped cloth, torn from the hail of gunfire.

He was lucky. 

Rayn jogged over, a clipboard to her chest and her pencil behind her ear. Her face was deep set with worry, Jak could see it etched into her skin. 

They all wanted to know the same thing.

Rayn came up and held Jak's good shoulder. "Are you alright, Jak? What happened?" 

It was obvious what happened, who had caused it and the impact it had now left on his racing. There was one thing left unsaid however that he felt was worth mentioning.

"I got lucky," he said simply when Daxter returned to his shoulder, and they both headed off to the garage, ignoring his teammates fussing over him while they kept up behind him.  

"Your wounds should heal up fairly quickly, as long as you take it easy," Ashelin told him, nodding at the blond.

Jak sighed. "But the next race is tomorrow night."

"Relax chilli pepper, we've got it covered," the wastelander, Sig said with confidence, giving the other a thumbs up. "Trust us, we all know how to work the wheel."

The blond renegade sighed, feeling completely useless. He rested on the couch in the lounge room, bandages wrapped around his left shoulder and torso. They were right, but by the Precursors, he was so bored. He could already feel the excitement and adrenaline at the thought of racing again. Even if he did get a little banged up and bruised, at least he won, right? 

Plus he got to wipe that cocky smirk off that bastard Razer. That was always a plus. 

A snore from behind him jolted him out his thoughts, Daxter had sprawled out on the couch behind him, peacefully in sleeping bliss, his arm dangling off the couch and his leg occasionally twitching as he slept. Since the end of the race Daxter had not left his side, he wanted to make sure Jak was fully okay. Jak smiled at this. If there was anyone out there that was reliable, it would have to be Dax. 

The green eco in the bandages warmed his body comfortably and he felt himself starting to relax. Taking it easy. Tonight, and tomorrow he could actually relax and be at ease...for now. And he had his friends by his side. He was starting to feel better.

Somewhere out there, Razer wished he could say the same.

Razer crushed what was left of the filter on his used cigarette and dropped the dead butt into the ashtray. He was nervous. He could feel it, it was something that slowly started to bubble and coil at the pit of his stomach, nagging him on until he told himself, yes Razer, you are in trouble for sure, you poor bastard. Already he craved another cigarette. But Mizo had told him to ease up on the smoking--not that it was something Razer had ever abided by, he didn't really see a point to that rule--it wasn't like he needed athlete's lungs to drive a damn car. But, if it bothered Mizo, then it really bothered Mizo. He'd pass it off as just a small comment, something so casual that any normal person would have just shrugged it off. But Razer knew him better. Mizo didn't like to ask twice. The raven haired man took whatever Mizo said to heart--no matter how silly and quite stupid Razer thought it was. After all, Mizo was his boss. 

The door clicked open and Razer lifted his head, expecting his boss. Instead, Shiv peaked through the crack in the door, hesitating when he noticed Razer looking at him. 

"Sorry--" he made a move to close the door but Razer held up a yellow gloved hand.

"I need your help," Razer luled, leaning back in the chair at the desk, keeping a casual look in the dim lighting of the almost bare office. It was a dingy place, but it was one of their main meeting centers. If he had the chance, the raven haired racer would more than kindly offer up a chance to redecorate. He hated how Mizo, how rich he was, still wallowed in filth.

"With what?" Shiv asked, looking hesitant again, as he entered the room and shut the door. He took a seat at the desk beside Razer. Given the several moments of pause, he chose to speak again. "I heard how you got wrecked at the end of that race. Mizo won't be pleased, especially ending that closely. Then again, you did almost kill that golden boy. He should be happy enough with that, huh?"

"Somehow I doubt that," Razer muttered, his fingers themselves itching to hold another cigarette between them. He didn't know how long he could resist the temptation. 

"Anyway," he spoke up, shifting in the seat to cross his legs and arms. "Since I failed to finish off Jak--again--perhaps we need a new plan."

Shiv placed his right elbow on the table and rested his head in his hand. "Like what? That wiggly bastard pretty slippery to catch--he hasn't been at the Hook lately, not since our last meeting there."

Razer knew that of course. Of how many times they've been foiled by Rayn's racing team, he wasn't surprised they became accustomed to his antics, all of them avoiding the city at night and trying to hide like the little cockroaches they were. They were like a pest that required extermination--by any means possible.

If only Mizo would let him do more. 

"What do you think about going out tonight?" Razer asked, his eyes narrowing, a grin growing on his pale face.

Shiv looked surprised, then raised an eyebrow. "What, like a date? I thought I told you--I ain't into that stuff."

Razer's grin quickly turned into a sneer. "No you idiot, I meant taking care of some business, you know...getting 'ahead of the game', as you people say." He broke down, and reached into his jacket pocket, taking out the pack of smokes. 

"What does Mizo want us to do now?" Shiv asked. 

Razer flashed the lighter quickly as the end of the stick caught on fire. He took a small drag and paused for a dramatic effect, as if he was in thought, when in reality he had this whole plan set out before Shiv even walked in. He just wasn't sure who he could get to go along with this idea.

"It isn't what Mizo wants, it's what I want," Razer stated simply, leaning back again. 

Shiv rolled his eyes. "What? Come on spit it out already, I ain't got all day. My car needs some repair and fine tuning. What's the plan?"

"The plan?" Razer asked, playing the part of the smart superior. He took a drag again. It was...fun pretending to be the boss. "The plan is to break down that huge wall blocking our path to victory."

Shiv looked lost. Razer rolled his eyes at this. The short eared man sat up. "What the effing hell are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about taking a puzzle apar--" his thought was abruptly cut short as the door swung open again, a bald tattooed man entered the room.

"What puzzle?" Mizo asked, his eyebrows raised in interest. Shiv and Razer exchanged glances before Shiv excused himself and muttered something about the garage, before the door shut behind him leaving the crime boss alone with his subordinate. 

Mizo waited a moment, then pulled out the chair Shiv had formerly occupied, and placed himself down. "What was that all about?" he asked casually, blue eyes flickering from the ashtray to the still smoking cigarette still perched between Razer's gloved fingers. 

Razer had been observant enough to read his boss's body language, and quickly snuffed out the fresh stick into the ashtray. It really was a shame too--barely used, that one. It seemed like such a waste.

"It's nothing, just small talk between co-workers," Razer tried his best to smile, but it turned into more of a grimace. 

Mizo leaned back and placed his tattooed arms behind his head and sighed, his head tilting back as he stretched. 

It would have been so easy to kill him right now. Razer felt it again--not the cold dread but the annoyance of being told what to do, an annoyance he had tried to suppress for so long. And, he shall continue to suppress. 

The tattooed man glanced up at the dim light in the middle of the ceiling. His face held no expression but Razer was waiting for it--he was waiting for his punishment that would inevitably come. 

'You know," Mizo mused, using a hand to rub his chin. "Being a broadcaster is pretty fukin' hard work. Run here, run there. Film this, film that..." he sat forward again, lowering his gaze to his subordinate. "Toupee on, toupee off. It's hard work, not many can handle that sort of pressure." Razer kept silent, so the crime boss carried on. "Sometimes, I want ditch that crazy man and slink back into that invisibility I once owned."

[sparklycitrus]

Mafia AU Excerpt 3

The Rest of You Is Paradise - Side A Kanda/Lavi, Tyki/Lavi Mafia AU

(part 1) (part 2)

The man showed up exactly a month later, looking the same save for the hair pulled into a high ponytail. His opponent this time, however, was much more skilled. A stockily built boxer, he counteracted the man’s quick speed with precision and raw power. It was only by a very chancy kick in the last second that the man managed to take the boxer down.

Lavi did not get to watch, despite the fact for once he wanted to. It was Lulubell’s turn to oversee the proceedings, which meant he was constantly bombarded with additional bets. She couldn’t care less about procedure as long as she could squeeze in as many transactions as time allowed. After a while he told her off, said that this would just mess up everything later, but her only response was a flick of her cat eyes and the trademark disdain of her curled lip.

By the time everything wound down Lavi’s fingers were a cramped mess. He had double the transactions he normally did, which, depending on the Earl’s mood when he report it, could be great or disastrous. All he wanted right now, though, was a hot shower and the comfort of his bed. Maybe a shot of whiskey if he was up for it once he got back.

But alas, it looked like it had to wait. Tokusa, one of Lulubell’s men, made his way to him while gesticulating wildly. “Yo Bookman!” the man waved, dashing up and roughly grabbing his arm. “Wait up. Got a bit of trouble back there.”

“Yeah? What’s up?”

“One of the last guys got an arm loose. Need to get it back in before we can release him.”

Lavi raised an eyebrow. “And you’re asking me? I’m not the doctor, dude. Where’s Madarao?”

“Dragging that other one from his grave, looked like. Or making sure he’s actually cold before we send for the fuzz. Either way, he ain’t around. Told me to get you.”

“Uh… I’m still not a doctor.”

“Come on, man,” Tokusa dragged him a step. “Your old man was a fine fill-in before. I’m sure you can handle this, too.”

Lavi sighed. It was true that Gramps’ acupuncture knowledge had saved a few people from permanent damage in the past. “No promises.” He relented, following the man back down. They walked around the staging area and into a side room, where they usually put the injured for treatment. It was always safer to patch them up in-house before calling any outside help, even if they later died on the streets. Skinn Bolic, his guard for the current shift, nodded to Tokusa as they went in.

The fighter sat on a metal bench, one arm dangling off his side as he futilely tried to push it back in with the other. He jerked up as soon as the door opened. “Who the fuck are you?” came a barking order, the words warped by the split lip and the shiny, very swollen cheeks.

“We’re here to help you, dumbass.” Tokusa snickered. He turned to Lavi, spreading out his palm in a gesture of courtesy. “All yours.”

“Yeah, thanks.” Lavi inwardly groaned. He’d be lucky if guy didn’t deck him out of reflex. Exactly what he needed to deal with at the end of a long night.

The fighter looked a mess. His torso was wiped free of blood and grime, which only highlighted the staggering amount of bruises and cuts underneath. Both of his eyes were blackened, one almost swollen entirely shut. His hair resembled a rats’ nest barely held back with a single red-colored string. There was a tattoo on the left side of his chest, something kind of eastern symbol with extraneous flourishes in the ends. Too deliberately embellished to be strictly personal, Lavi concluded, although he did not recognize the style from any of the other sects. That dangling arm looked to be the least of his problems.

“You don’t look like a doctor.” The man said, eyeing Lavi the way he would an executioner.

“Didn’t say I was,” Lavi ignored the tone. “Relax, okay? If they wanted you dead they certainly wouldn’t send in someone like me. Now let’s take a look at that arm.”

The man hesitated for a moment before reluctantly letting go of his left shoulder. Lavi sat down next to him, pressing a thumb against the socket indent. The soft touch was answered with a jerk and a predicable hiss of pain. It was dislocated alright, along with beaten, torn, and covered in black and blue bruises. Lavi let himself the barest glance of the toned, bulging muscles on the man’s chest and biceps before looking back up, straight into the hard gaze of extremely distrustful blue eyes.

Perhaps fatigue had clouded his judgment, or he simply just realized his secret death wish, but Lavi felt his lips curving into a grin. “That guy gave you some trouble, huh?” Yes, do poke the wounded beast while you’re alone in a room with it. “Thought he’d had you for sure with that last punch.”

The man didn’t reply, only continued his ridiculously hostile stare. Lavi shrugged it off; he didn’t expect a response to his juvenile jab anyway. “Lie down,” he said instead, and moved to push the fighter onto the bench.

His hand was immediately snatched in a tight grip. He bit back a yelp, feeling his breath hitch as shooting pain traveled up the entire length of his arm. It took all of his control to not instinctively grab at the hand crushing his wrist and thumb. Or to hit back. That would certainly make it worse.

“Is he dead?” the man asked, voice low and calm.

It took Lavi a serious minute to realize he was asking about the boxer. Severe pain tend to interfere with thought processes, he’d found. “Don’t know,” he answered through gritted teeth. “Probably. Do you want your arm fixed or not? If it’s the latter I’d be more than happy to oblige you.”

The man held on a bit longer purposely before releasing his wrist. Lavi snatched it back, breath heavy and heart pumping. Bastard, he thought as he rubbed his reclaimed wrist. There were already finger-shaped bruises developing. What in the actual fuck? If he were the suspicious kind he’d think that Lulubell orchestrated the whole thing because he dared to mouth off her rule.

The fighter gave him another dirty look before proceeding to lie down on the bench. Lavi stood up, took the limp arm and began to pull it gently toward his body. The man grimaced, body stiffening with resistance. “No sudden movements,” he quickly said. “And don’t follow my pull. Otherwise I might have to strap you down.”

“Just shut up and fix it.”

“What do you think I’m doing? What do think this is, the movies? You can’t just knock yourself against the wall a few times and expect the shoulder to pop back in, you know.”

“Then just shut up.”

Lavi did. Partly because he actually had to concentrate so he won’t accidentally break the arm while rotating it, partly because he was just too goddamn tired to attempt banter. And that was exactly what they were doing –  bantering, like they’ve known each other for years. It was stupid and reckless, not to mention awkward, since he now had to basically hold the man’s hand for the next twenty minutes. He should’ve just not bothered, or better, said no to Tokusa to begin with. A bit late now.

When the muscles finally loosen enough and bones slid back into place the fighter gasped like he had been holding his breath underwater. He jerked and rolled to his side, almost off the bench as he curled into a fetal position. Lavi noticed the sheen of sweat on his back and belated realized how much pain he must’ve been in, with muscles that tight compounded with the multitude of injuries. He straightened up, careful not to make too much noise, and turned back toward the door.

“You should go to an actual hospital,” he said before stepping out. “I can’t tell if your organs are punctured from all the broken ribs you’ve got there. And check for concussions. And infections. And stay off alcohol while you’re recovering.”

“Anymore useless instructions?” the man responded gruffly.

“Yeah. Wear a sling.”

tbc

[mywebfoot]

Close Combat

Had to write a Strong Woman Do Bong Soon Fanfic. Because chemistry.

This fic is in the near future, just after the timeline seen in Ep 9′s previews. 

----

Min Hyuk, holding the knife’s edge forward, punched upward. The blade angled perfectly to maximize contact across Bong Soon’s chest. The curved edge of the knife landed on Bong Soon’s left upper chest and sliced across her body to her right shoulder. She squeaked, then gasped from the searing slice. She put her hand to the gaping hole in her fluffy daffodil yellow sweatshirt. She looked down at her hand, and it came away from her body dripping bright red blood. She glared at him.

“You didn’t,” she growled. “How could you cut me!”

Min Hyuk merely shrugged. She wanted knife training, she would have to put up with some slicing.  Despite his own superior height and training, he wasn’t going to go easy on someone who had the genetic advantage of super human strength. That made no sense. His coach had told that in close combat, a missed opportunity was death. That his chosen weapon, the SOG Seal knife was a narrow sliver of murderous metal was part of the strategy. Long, light, and balanced, it further enhanced his reach advantage.

That’s what he told himself to stem the tiny regret he felt at her gasp of dismay. Still, he strengthened his resolve – she would recover, and he knew the enemy would have worse in their armory.

Bong Soon struggled to get air into her lungs. Her chest burned where Min Hyuk’s knife had made contact. That had hurt.

Bong Soon’s eyes narrowed. Just because he was tall and lean, he would take advantage of his height and reach, would he? She tightened her grip on her push daggers. As her tiny fists curled around the handle of the T-shaped daggers, the blades between her index and middle fingers twitched. Elbows tight at her side, she charged at Min Hyuk. She might be small, but she knew how to focus her strength now.

Min Hyuk saw her curl up into a defensive ball, and saw her attack coming. He immediately shoved his arms up, forearms forward to bear the brunt of the attack, but she was ludicrously fast. In a double upper cut, she snapped her fists at him. Two shocks of pain punched into his armpits. Her inexperience shows, he thought amidst a wave of spreading pain.  She had aimed high and wide, too high to fatally puncture vital organs.

He managed to wheeze a mocking laugh at her. “You missed.”

She straightened. Then raised her chin.  “I didn’t.”

Min Hyuk went slackjawed. The true viciousness of her move hit him at the same time as he felt the gush of warm blood down his ribs.

“The armpit has no inconvenient bones, Ahn Min Hyuk.”

It felt like his arms were being dislocated at the shoulders.

His hands fell limply to his side. His knife clattered to floor, splashing it a lurid splash of crimson. He couldn’t believe it. He felt the trickle of warm blood dribble down his ribs. She got him, after just two hours of knife training. He had expected her to learn fast, but certainly not attain deadly precision this quickly. 

“Bong Soon,” he gasped as he bent over, wanting to cup his hands to his armpits, but finding that his arms hung uselessly at his sides.  He staggered toward the wall and leaned on it.

Bong Soon stood over him, 5-foot-nothing of victorious warrior princess, and punched her fist in the air.

“That was daaeeeebak!” she squealed. “Let’s do it again!”

He eyed her through the fog of pain that was slowly taking him over. She was so overjoyed to have won that she was practically wriggling. Her over-sized sweatshirt only hinted at the little lithe body under it, but Min Hyuk had had enough close combat grappling with her to know it was there. Despite the excruciating pain, a thought popped into his head. It stayed there and refused to leave.  It wasn’t exactly a PG 13 thought. Bong Soon inspired thoughts further down the alphabet. Like ‘R’ for restricted. Sometimes even X. Truthfully, he hadn’t had a PG 13 thought around her ever since that charged moment in the hospital. On the perfectly convenient hospital bed. With her slipping dangerously between his legs to dry his hair.  He could have sworn Bong Soon had had the same fixation on his lips that he had on her sweet curvy lips. He had nearly tested that theory, but of course, Gook Do, the supreme third wheel, lamp-post extraordinaire had to have walked in on that charged moment.

That moment had been lost, but not the lesson learnt from the encounter with the thugs. Ever since he’d been discharged from the hospital he’d been working on this new combat simulator for knife training. He never wanted to see her come this close to being stabbed again. He could have beat himself on the head for neglecting weapons training, but it didn’t seem at the time that she’d ever get that far. He should have known Bong Soon better. He’d already learnt that her jutting chin meant that she could get creatively mean. 

From his crouched position he examined her happy dance. Through the VR glasses, her chest was still dripping blood, completely at odds with her sunshiny smile and the bouncing bob of chestnut hair.  The blood spatter had been easy to model for the simulator, as had been molding her sweet face. That one he could do in his sleep, and had done so in too many fevered dreams. He’d traced the contours of her nose and lips more times than he could remember. No, what was difficult had been setting up the tiny pain and pressure simulators he’d built into the second skin suits they were wearing. Even though the wound was virtual, the pain delivered by the nano shock units were quite real. Fortunately, the pain was already fading. The system recognized a ‘fatal wound’ victory, and was already resetting for the next bout. Her fuzzy sweater faded away, as did his street clothes, leaving them clothed in the silvery grey second skins. 

Bong Soon had gone on to full victory dancing now. She hopped and twirled. The sight of her slim curves gyrating in that tight body suit made him forget the last of the debilitating pain, and he straightened. Discomfort gave way to familiar bemusement at the combination of cheerleader and butcher that was Do Bong Soon. Frisky and frightening.

“Want to try something else?”

She paused in her dancing. “Will I win?” she grinned.

He thought for a bit. Who wins in a seduction? He couldn’t answer that one. He settled for “Maybe.”

“You’re just saying that because you lost. To me.”

“I did,” he acknowledged seriously. He reached over Bong Soon’s head and opened a panel on the now grey and blank wall of the simulacrum. The console slid out and he tapped a new set of conditions into the system.

Bong Soon’s face turned serious too, and she stilled.  “Is this another weapon? What will we use this time? Sticks? Pipes?” She waved the little remotes in her hand that had taken on the shape and form of daggers until a few seconds ago.

His woman was pretty gangsta, the thought popped into his head. She’d always been gangsta, but just not his woman. Not yet. Maybe tonight.

“No weapons,” he said. He reached out and took them from her hands. He set them on the ground and straightened, his eyes full of hot intent. Bong Soon didn’t notice. The room darkened to a midnight shade. In the VR screens of the headset she still wore, Bong Soon could see little except the square of Min Hyuk’s shoulders, outlined in a dim, red light that seemed to pulse. The best she could imagine, it seemed they were in some emergency chamber with the electricity cut off.  Oooh, dangerous, she thought.

She dropped to ready stance. Right foot back, knees bent, arms bent and hands ready.

“Relax,” Min Hyuk’s amused voice came out of the dark, somewhere to her right and above her. How does one seduce an adorable but prickly hedgehog?

“No fighting?” She straightened, confused. “Then what are we doing?”

“Trying out some new s...,” he hesitated. “Simulations.”

Bong Soon heard the gentle rush of a waterfall before the sensation of gushing water moved over her skin. She jumped at the unexpected cool tingling. Then she laughed out with delight.

“This is great! I can actually feel like I stepped under a waterfall!”

“How’s the temperature, too cold?”

His hand touched her upper arm, as if to check for cold.  She didn’t need the tight second skin to tell her that his warm, hard fingers were sliding up to wrap securely around her shoulders. She felt him take a step closer. His chest was in not two inches in front of her and she felt overwhelmed by his proximity. Was she imagining things or were there also waves of heat coming from him? A shudder ran through her.

“It’s a bit cold,” she lied. “Could you make it warmer?” 

“I could.” He ducked a little to look at her face, trying to judge if he was freaking her out, but she kept it averted from him. Doubt assailed him. Maybe he should just give up trying to get her to see him as a man, and not some Boy Genius Entrepreneur. After all, she was still infatuated with That Policeman.  

His entire being protested and his jaw tightened. Not another moment could he stand even imagining her with anybody else. He needed her. He had to have her in his arms, not struggling to get away in a fight, but fighting to get closer. As adults do when making love. As they nearly had on that hospital bed. 

“Liana,” he instructed the system, “Bath setting.”

The temperature rose, and the sensation of rushing liquid on her skin turned into one of gentle lapping. It started from the bottoms of Bong Soon’s feet, rose past her hips and waist, and stopped at about her breasts, where the sensation was particularly strong. Her breath caught. Her eyes slid shut because she felt a tingling sensation there that she’d never experienced before. Her heart was racing, and she had a distinct suspicion as to why, but couldn’t ask Min Hyuk if that was the case. They’d built up quite a friendship in the past few months, but somehow she didn’t think it was appropriate to ask a male friend what arousal felt like. Not this male friend. She asked a safer question.

“Is the water at my... my... chest height?” she choked out around the lump that had formed in her throat. She was dismayed that her words came out with halting puffs of air.

“Look.” His voice had changed. It seemed gentler. Understanding. Huskier. His hands, still clasped around her shoulders, tightened.

She hadn’t realized she’d closed her eyes. She opened them behind her VR headset and saw that they were now in some kind of underground bath chamber. Cerulean streaks coruscated on the glistening stone walls. The streaks emanated from the dimly lighted water, making it seem like liquid sapphire.  The water came up to her chest and sparkled around her. Her small gasp echoed, as if the cavern were low and narrow. She looked, but she couldn’t see the ceiling in the darkness above her. All she could see were walls with subtly patterned tiles and the twinkling liquid they were standing in.

“Do you like it?” he asked.

“It’s pretty.”

“You’re pretty.”

Her eyes darted to his face. Frustratingly, it seemed that he had masked his face in this simulation. 

“I can’t see you,” she complained. And she desperately wanted to. 

“You sound afraid.”

“I’m not. I just want to know...too see if...” she couldn’t say it. But she could try something else. Reaching out with her hands, she rested them on his chest. It looked slick and shiny from the simulation of water on their suits. In the tips of her fingers, she felt his pulse jump, and hers accelerated too. He took another tiny step closer. His grip shifted, from holding her to softly caressing her shoulders. 

“What do you want to see?” his disembodied voice came from the blank darkness that covered his face. 

She bit her lip, and decided to be brave. “No suits,” she whispered. 

He was shocked. And too turned on to celebrate. His breath snagged. “Li...” his voice came out in strangled croak. He winced. Cleared his throat. “Liana,” he tried again. “Nude,” he breathed. 

The word echoed in the chamber, meshing into the quite lap of the water. 

As Bong Soon watched, the grey of the suit faded under her hand, until she saw the simulation of his skin appear. It was as taut as she had imagined it, as dangerously tempting as well. Her finger, almost of its own accord traced the ridged center of his sternum, dragging down until it reached his belly and the water line. Beneath that the water distorted the illusion, giving a teasing glimpse of what lay below. His breath got deeper, the muscles on his chest shifting as he struggled for air. Bong Soon was slaying him with that curious finger on his body. 

“Bong Soon,” he breathed. “I don’t think I want to hold back any more. I don’t think I can. I need to know.”

I need to know too, she replied in her head. She looked up and searched his eyes, but frustratingly saw nothing but his mask. Why? Why would this confident, successful man hide his beautiful face, and all that he was? Surely he had nothing to be embarrassed about. But she knew he hid shame. The shame of being looked down upon. Being told he was worthless, valueless, pointless. His vulnerability gave her strength to be bold.

Soothingly she whispered, “I need to know too. I need to know whether you have that look in your eyes that you had in the hospital. Whether you’re staring at my lips the way I was staring at yours.” 

She reached up and in quick succession knocked her glasses and then his off their faces. Both clattered to the cement floor of the training room.  The sparkling cavern disappeared.

His tousled hair emerged, spiking in all directions. But she could see his eyes, and they were as searingly intent as she remembered. That look made her feel hotter than any simulator could, and in places that no simulator ought to be. She had not imagined the needy begging in his eyes. She reached up and stuck her hands into hair and accepted him and all that he was. 

She stood on tiptoes, dragged his face to hers, and kissed him silly.

His need exploded. His arms wrapped tight around her and he pulled her against his chest. The second skin continued to simulate the lapping waves of a warm bath, and between that and Bong Soon’s body pressed tight against him, his brains short-circuited. In his mind’s eye they were at once standing up against each other and also floating nude in a warm salty sea cave. The mental composite of slick, naked woman that it conjured drove him crazy and he kissed her without holding back.

Bong Soon, too, was drowning in the sensuality of simulator twisted with reality and had no mental space left for anything except exploring Min Hyuk’s deliciously male lips while cavorting in a warm bath with him. She hopped and wrapped her legs around him. She nibbled, she ate. She helplessly indulged every wicked thought about his mouth that she’d tried to put aside, and still found more things to do to them. Licking, sucking, and feeling drunk was involved. She twined her arms around his neck and wriggled closer. The sexy, wriggling thrust of her hips against his throbbing, thrumming center nearly killed Min Hyuk.

He couldn’t believe this was happening. He pulled away from her with a loud smacking of their lips being torn apart. He was panting hard, and so was she. He opened his eyes and looked at her, finding it impossible to believe that his yearned-for fantasies were coming true, each and every one of them crafted and specifically molded for months around the woman that was Bong Soon. She blinked dazed eyes at him.  

“Is this real?” he panted, unable to separate real from virtual any more.

Bright fluorescent light poured down from the ceiling lights, and glistened on her lips, swollen and damp from the savage loving. The seconds ticked away as both held their breath. Reality threatened their newfound understanding.

And lost.

That night, second skins were stripped away. Min Hyuk got his gangsta woman.

 ----

Hope you liked it!