#Eb: You better get some sleep or so help me god . . . . .

[aevyternal]

EXHAUSTED MEME // ACCEPTING  @vitavitale​ whispered:    “Listen, I can … I can get up. It’s fine.

            ❝    You’re  MAD  if  you  actually  believe  I’ll  allow  you  to  stroll  out  of  here  in  the  state  you’re  in .   Sit  still  &  rest  for  a  time  until  you’ve  regained  your  strength .   I  promise  you  that  you  are  in  no  danger  here .    ❞        Her  voice  is  stern ,   though  not  out  of  harsh  cruelty ,   but  rather  coming  from  a  place  of  insistent  concern .   A  thin  breath  leaves  her ,   hand  hooking  around  the  crook  of  his  elbow  &  anchoring  him  with  an  unnatural  strength  belying  what  she  truly  is .  Regardless ,  the  motherly  concern  doesn’t  wane  even  in  the  face  of  his  STUBBORNNESS .             ❝    -------------  The  world  can  wait .   That ,  I  can  promise  you .   ❞

#vitavitale #█│☾ IC. ❛ ᴵⁿ ᶜʰᵃʳᵃᶜᵗᵉʳ #Eb: You better get some sleep or so help me god . . . . .

[janshu]

Inu!Bakugo...for @ultimate-astridwriting's Hybrid collab!

Summary: My part of the hybrid collab. I had so much fun writing an angry Pomeranian Bakugo. 10/10 would do again. I'm not completely happy with it but who ever is? I'm still proud of myself!

Word count: 2.2k.

Warnings: Fem!Reader, Bakugo being an ass, sexual content, somnophilia, collars, choking, humping, creampie, name calling (bitch, slut, whore etc.), use of the word cunt.

You sigh as you rummage around in your pocket to produce the key to your home. After a long day's work all you want to do is get some dinner, take a bath and go to bed but none of those things would be possible would they?

No, not after the spur of the moment decision to adopt a hybrid of all things. The week earlier was one of torrential downpours and near freezing temperatures, the roads making a slushy substance of half-melted ice and salt to prevent the very thing it was being mixed in with. People stayed indoors the best they could when they weren't at work but life had to shit on you and make your car breakdown in the parking garage. Umbrella rested on your shoulder, rain boots on your feet with your spare in your bag and you trudged through cold, mushy hell back home. The streets were barren as a Walmart on a weekday at 4am, no life passing by you until you crossed an alley between two businesses. A pathetic whimper had caught your attention and your gaze drifted down to a soaked cardboard box. What was in that box you weren't sure if you should curse or love. A hybrid.

Narrow red eyes stared at you in suspicion, fangs bared at you but the creature didn't make any attempts to nip at your fingers when they neared to ruffle the spikey head of hair. The hybrid had leaned into your touch before recoiling away as if you had smacked him. The black and orange collar had seen better days, the charm that dangled on the hollow of his neck read "Dynamite" but he didn't give any indication that was his name when you repeated it outloud. He was barely dressed in anything, a thin t-shirt, shorts with ragged Converse that had more holes than Swiss cheese. Truthfully he looked a few days away from starvation and how could you keep that on your conscience if you left him there? After laying your warm coat over his shoulders you somehow, someway, managed to get him back to your place. Everything went downhill from there in the blink of an eye.

The weak puppy persona was gone the moment warm food settled in his belly and within the hour he acted as if you had crowned him king of the house. Beginning his rambles of curses, demands and biting at your fingers. The worst of it happened when you tried to take his collar off for a new one, one that wasn't frayed and barely hanging on. "Katsuki" as he spat out his name with enough venom to put a Black Mamba to shame had flipped over a coffee table, ripped up every couch cushion and went so far to chew on the linoleum on the kitchen floor.

No doubt you'd be greeted with the same sight as always. Messy, dirty, unknown stains everywhere and dishes still in the sink waiting to be moved to the washer. Maybe if he wasn't such a loud ass you could train him but your frazzled nerves were at their wits end. You didn't know what to do, you were about to throw in the towel and put him up for adoption. Yep, you were disappointed to be proven right. Katsuki reclining on the couch lengthwise, remote in his hand with the most bored expression on his face while idly flipping through channels.

"Fucking finally, you're home! I've been waitin' for fucking hours for your ass to get back! I'm hungry, get your shitty ass in the kitchen and make dinner." He barked. Barely giving you any time to hang up your coat and slip off your shoes before his orders began.

"Katsuki...I can't, not tonight." Could your voice portray anymore pleading? Apparently not because he didn't seem to notice, or care.

The fluffy ear at the top of his head only flicked in response, the top lip curling into his signature snarl. "Then what the fuck are you good for? Get your fucking ass in that god damn kitchen and fucking make dinner already."

All that you were good for? All that you were good for? How dare he! He's been freeloading off you for a week now without so much as a thanks for saving him from the streets, feeding him, clothing him, keeping him warm and dealing with his bullshit and this is how he repays you?

"I've fucking had it with you!" Your voice rose higher than you meant to but at this point you didn't care, a line had been crossed. "You fucking sit there and ruin my shit and yet I'm the useless one? I have half a mind to kick you out! You can make your own fucking dinner, I've had it! I'm done! I can't take this anymore!"

Despite not having any clunky shoes on your feet still managed to resonate in the small living room while you stormed past the couch. You had expected anything, anything at all. A slap, a punch, a groan, literally anything but you were met with only silence and that somehow pissed out off even more. How could silence be so infuriating?! You didn't even notice the terror that washed over his face as you screamed at him or the way his chest heaved with the sob or how he trembled underneath your wrathful gaze as you walked away. The bedroom door slamming made short work of that.

"Fuck I'm such an ass.." You mused to yourself already regretting blowing up at him but what would an apology do that wasn't already broken? So better yet why not send yourself to bed without dinner as some kind of punishment? He'd linger at the doorway to the kitchen, staring at you with those intense eyes if you made dinner anyways so why let him win? He could his own shit for fucks sake!

After a quick shower to dethaw your bones and warm up what was left of your dead soul the softness of your pajamas helped ease the guilt gnawing away like a puppy on its first bone. Laying in bed until sleep eventually overcame you and when he knew it was safe to slip in and sneak over towards your bedside.

Rustling was what woke you. The rustling of clothes and the jingle of something metallic in the darkness of the bedroom. Whatever grogginess you normally suffered when waking up was vanishing the more details were dissected and understood by your half-asleep brain, a process that took an embarrassingly long time. Clothes rustling, the bedsheets moving, heavy pants and something incredibly warm nudging up against the sensitive skin of your inner thighs. Naturally your brain assumed the worst and your eyelids flew open to show nothing; at first. As your eyes adjusted to the pitch black room they found the blazing stare of those vermillion eyes, the bared fangs that belonged to your hybrid.

What the hell was Katsuki doing on top of you?

Noticing that you were awake the snarl turned into a smirk as he huffed, his large chest expanding with each desperate pant. Why did your folds feel so good just as you were waking up?

"Feel that?" How could you not? The feel of a scorching cock bumping up your folds and sensitive clit, wet from the pre leaking from the tip. There was so much of it from what you could feel, too sticky to be your own. His hips had yet to cease moving, no word from your shocked form to still his rutting hips.

"W-what the hell are you doing?" Was the most logical question your brain could come up with in the moment.

"Humping...fucking dumbass." His warm breath created goosebumps on your cool skin, his head must've been so close to yours by the hair tickling your forehead. "Tryin'ta...help ya. Shitty woman.."

"Help? How the fuck is this helping?"

"You've been working so hard so I thought maybe...a good fuck would calm ya down, relax ya." Katsuki's voice was so desperate, so needy, the humping of his cock on your labia increasing.

He was trying to help? He was going to fuck the frustration out of you? Is that was he was offering? Having sex with a hybrid was common enough to not be considered taboo but you couldn't help but feel he was trying to worm his way into your good graces. Unless your words had struck some kind of cord with him. "Okay, alright, I'll let you help."

"Fuck yeah!"

With that the head of his cock nudged against your cunt, already spread and waiting for him. How long had he been doing this for? The burn of the stretch was delicious, he was just big enough to fill you up but not hurt. Settling right up to kiss the tip of your cervix when he bottomed out. His hands grip at your thigh and hip, pulling his back to slam his cock right back into you. Over and over, over and over, over and over. Practically using you as a fleshlight to get himself off but damn if it didn't feel good, him bouncing you on his cock so roughly each thrust was sending the headboard against the wall.

"Oh fuck...oh fuck, Katsuki!" Your hands pat around and eventually find his biceps and you cling on for dear life, your nails digging crescent shaped markings into his skin.

"Yeah, yeah...you like this form of stress relief, don'tcha you dirty slut?" Undoing the collar around his neck the frayed cloth of the strap is tied around your neck, the buckle clamping down tightly to constrict your airflow while two fingers slip under it to pull and tug. "You're my dirty fucking slut! Mine...mine...mine...mine, fucking mine!"

Your fingers trailed down the tiny amount of space between your bodies down to the precious, neglected nub between your legs. Barely able to wiggle your index and middle finger down there from the rabid fucking you were receiving to circle the bundle of nerves and send yourself over the edge. Each clap of your thighs smacking against each other forcing your hate for his behavior ebbing away. If he was going to act like this all the time how could you kick him out?

"F-fuck! Gonna cum...fucking cum..cum for me. Cum with me!" Katsuki snarled as the pressure around your throat increased. Your hand was smacked away from your clit and was replaced with the large pad of his thumb, frantic circles sending your body into a writhing mess of flails and kicks.

The orgasm that had been steadily building from your ministrations had been ripped away and replaced with one quickly approaching to push you over the edge. The white hot pleasure-coil that formed underneath your belly button snapped and all of it coursed through your system in one go. Paralyzing your body for a split second as you squirted all over the hybrids cock, his still rubbing hand sending the liquid everywhere. Coating his thighs, your thighs and the bed underneath you.

"Fucking fuck! Such a whore, such a dirty girl for me! Oh my fucking g-god!" One last slam of his hips and his own body stilled, burying his cock deep inside your cunt to shoot his cum deep in your womb. He stuttered before his body collapsed on top of you, suffocating you in his sweaty muscles.

Bathing in the afterglow, coming down from your high you could've sworn you heard something. Mumbling, soft mumbling too indistinct to understand. Katsuki's head laying on your shoulder, his nose brushing along your collarbone and was he laying kisses here and there? No, you must've been seeing things. Still buried to the hilt he turned his head to speak, his fluffy ears perked and his tail gently swishing behind him. The sudden light from your phone illuminated the room, casting light on Katsuki's face and the sight made your breath hitch in your throat. Clearly he had been crying. Tear stains streaked down his cheeks, brows knitted together and the same lost look he had plastered on his face appeared again.

"Please, please don't kick me out. I'll do anything, please...please don't abandon me. Not again." His arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer as he hid his face in your neck. Voice breaking, shoulders trembling, the verge of crying all over again quickly approaching.

Your heart broke and you returned the favor by hugging him around the shoulders, a hand carding through his hair to soothe him. Had he been abandoned? Did his previous owners not like him? Was all his aggressiveness some kind of defense mechanism? Was he giving you a reason to kick him out to keep himself from experiencing that kind of pain again? Oh, poor baby. "Never again...just don't destroy things anymore, okay? Help me around the place a little more will ya?"

"Yes." Katsuki snuggled on top of you. Finally believing he had a real home with you, a place where he could belong. "....Master."

#boku no hero academia #my hero academia #katsuki bakugo #inu bakugo #hybrid bakugo #hybrid au #bakugo katsuki x reader #x reader #tw:nsfw #tw:hybrid #tw:humping #tw:creampie #tw:collar #tw:choking #tw:naughty words #tw:name calling #tw:somnophilia

[noctumbra]

hi baby i hope your challenge goes well 🖤

can i request 3 from smut and 7 from fluff with chubby!bucky

sending you lots of love i hope that you are having good time 🖤🖤🖤

macccc <3 your icon is so freaking cuteee <3 thank you baby! i'm hugging you real tight right now <333

smut prompt #3: “I think we should try another position.” // fluff prompt #7: "When you smile at me, I have to remember to breathe sometimes."

warnings: fluffff, sexual innuendos lol, kissing, blushing bucky, pet names, hurt/comfort, mentions of injuries (chubby!bucky x reader)

───

"Ah, God," Bucky let out a strained moan as he panted with his head thrown back. There was sweat covering his forehead. He whined and grunted.

"Bucky..." You breathed. Bucky bit his lip as he pushed himself further. You watched him with careful eyes and kept breathing steadily. "I think we should try another position." Bucky shook his head stubbornly.

"No," he grunted out. "No, 's fine. I can do it." He pushed himself again ,but his arms trembled and he cursed as he fell forward.

"I got you," you grasped his arm. "I got you, baby..." Bucky whimpered. There were tears on his eyes. You wiped them away with your thumbs when they rolled down his cheeks.

"Dammit, it hurts," he hissed. You cooed at him and brushed his fluffy hair back. Kissing his temple, you rubbed his back.

"I know," you murmured softly. "I know it hurts. I wish I could stop it from hurting." Bucky snuggled deeper into your embrace.

He had a car accident a month ago, and it injured his left leg very badly and fucked up his left arm, leaving heavy scarring behind. Doctor told Bucky that he would be needed some extensive physical therapy, and Bucky readily agreed to it. He was a lefty, so he needed to get at least his writing ability back. He was working on his right hand, trying to get it better at writing and other small motor skills, but so far he was failing.

You were there every step of his way. You were holding his hand, letting him rest against you when his physical therapy became too much, and helped him write and use his right hand.

Bucky was so grateful for your presence in his life.

You helped him sit down on the plush ground of the gym-like place. Bucky panted for a minute. His extra weight was pushing him a bit about his leg. It was hard to carry the belly, and he knew he had to lose some of it, but he ate when he was stressed. Instead of losing weight, he gained.

He sighed deeply. He threw his head back and felt himself calming down and his pain ebbing away. "Thank you," he whispered to you. You smiled and kissed his red cheeks. Bucky watched you with a stupid smile on his lips for a while. The pain made him feel like he smoked weed like he once did back in college; he was all loose and a little fuzzy around the edges.

"What?" You whispered, chuckling awkwardly. You felt your cheeks warming up. He shrugged and inhaled deeply.

"When you smile at me, I have to remember to breathe sometimes," he murmured, making your cheeks heat up even more. You slapped his chest lightly.

"Sap," you muttered. He grinned. You stroked his cheek. "Ready to go home?" You asked. He nodded.

"Yeah," he whispered. "I could use a little rest." You nodded slowly and stood up.

"Come on then," you told him and extended your hands. He stood up with your help and grabbed his crutch that was standing on the corner. "I bet Alpine's waiting for you so that she can sleep on your chest." Bucky smiled at your words.

"Yeah," he said again. "So that you'll cuddle us when she takes her position, right?" You scrunched your nose and smiled at him.

"Damn right."

His chuckles and yours mixed and echoed happily around as you made your way to home.

───

join the drabble night!

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagines #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes drabbles #cuddlesdrabblenight

[whythinktoomuch]

attempt #37

This was the 52nd formula that Lena had come up with, the 45th solution that she had to wait several hours to synthesize, but only the 37th time she was injecting her shoulder with the resulting concoction. 

It was bright green this time, which only made it seem all the more promising.

There’s a rush and some mild nausea that Lena had come to expect with the experiments, but everything else felt the same. For now. Setting the syringe aside, Lena called out, “Hope, think of a number between one and a million.” 

Then, for the 37th time, Lena tried. She cleared her own mind, practiced the meditative mantras, stared intently into Eve’s eyes, bright blue yet blank with Hope’s quiet disinterest, and... nothing. Not a single digit came to mind. 

No matter how hard Lena tried, the only thoughts in her head were her own. 

With an exasperated sigh, Lena rolled her sleeve back down and directed Hope to log their latest attempt as yet another failure before storming off to start her day. 

// 

Lena emerged from the laboratory with wrinkled clothes and dark circles sunken around her eyes, which was probably why the first thing she heard as she stepped out of the elevator was her personal assistant’s hushed commentary of, Oh sweet Jesus, she looks tired. 

“Oh, I’m well aware, Hector,” Lena said, lofty and without much malice. “Nothing a little coffee can’t fix though.” 

Hector stared at her blankly. “I’m sorry, Miss Luthor?” 

“Never mind,” Lena said, rolling her eyes. She took the outstretched coffee in question as she walked by the assistant’s desk. “Just hold all my calls until the afternoon, please.” 

This time, when Hector grumbled under his breath about wow, she must be grumpy too, Lena ignored it. There were better things for the CEO to tackle, after all; as for example, some fitful sleep on her couch, perhaps? 

Hours later, Lena was relatively well-rested, so she pored over her notes again, trying to pinpoint the exact variable she must have overlooked in her carelessness. Because by all accounts, the formula should have worked—Lena had been certain of it. But then again, she’d admittedly thought that of almost every attempt thus far. 

When Hector walked into her office at some point in the late afternoon with a handful of contracts to be signed, Lena felt no closer to the solution and a slight headache coming on.

“Is there anything else I can help you with?” 

“Another coffee would be great,” Lena said, as she sifted through the documents. 

“Oh my God, if she takes in any more caffeine, her heart’s going to literally explode...” Hector muttered to himself. “Well, maybe she won’t notice if I get her decaf instead...?” 

Lena dropped the papers onto her desk with a scoff. “You know I can hear you, right?” 

Hector appeared startled, which seemed rather appropriate until he slowly said, “So... was that a yes on the espresso?” 

“What?” 

Hector maintained his slow cadence, carefully enunciating every syllable as if he were repeating himself, “Did you want to stick with your usual order... or maybe go with an espresso... because it’s a little stronger?” 

But in a normal cadence, also in Hector’s voice and somehow clear as a bell in Lena’s head came, “If this woman doesn’t get another nap in pronto, she is going to drop dead, and everyone’s going to think I poisoned her coffee, because she’s always in—” 

Absolutely stunned, Lena continued to stare up at Hector in silence, eyes narrowing as the assistant’s slightly panicked voice droned on and on in her head. Until a louder remark broke through the reverie. 

“Whoa, did she just fall asleep with her eyes open?” 

Lena blinked quite obviously, and her mild shock was accompanied with a loud and clear, yet unspoken Oh, thank God! from Hector. 

But the Hector standing before her hadn’t moved his lips once, only watching the bewilderment play out on Lena’s face with some polite concern. 

“The usual’s fine,” Lena interjected before her assistant could press again. “Or the espresso, or whatever. I don’t care, as long as it’s still hot and caffeinated.” 

“You got it,” Hector said. 

“Definitely getting her decaf,” Hector thought as he turned to leave, but Lena hardly minded. She was too busy restructuring the rest of her day around this most exciting realization. 

After some quick bit of arithmetic in her head, Lena set a timer on her watch for five hours, which was presumably the amount of time it would take for her body to break down the serum and render it useless. Then she logged on to her private interface and happily directed Hope to re-record attempt #37 as a success. 

//

The ability to read minds was, quite simply, quite the advantage. 

Though it wasn’t so much “mind-reading,” as mind-receiving. The serum seemed to have granted Lena access to the loud and active thought processes of everyone around her—their inner monologue, if you will, everything put into words but left unsaid. 

Lena had been hoping for more, to be able to break into other people’s minds so as to hack secrets, determine why supposed close friends would ever betray her, and the like. Maybe that would come with time and practice. 

But as it turned out, there was rather plenty to be gleaned from the forefront of someone’s mind, as people often thought about the things they weren’t supposed to say before choosing more palatable means of expression. Which made the rest of Lena’s workday somewhat informative, if not a little fun. 

For one thing, Lena found out that a lot more of her employees enjoyed working for her than she had thought. All of them respected her, several feared her, and quite a fair few entertained invasive thoughts about her décolletage before swiftly directing their attention elsewhere. 

She also found out there was one board member in particular who liked to fudge the numbers during meetings, and that his face took on a very unappealing shade of off-white when Lena could inexplicably confront him with the actual results of his findings. 

But most importantly of all, what Lena found out was that... she actually enjoyed this heretofore inaccessible sense of control this ability afforded her. She had taken on the experiments for a very specific purpose, but now, it was difficult to even imagine going back to how things were, even after the fact.  

// 

Lena walked into the DEO, and for the first time, the outpouring of distrust attached to the Luthor name was all but imagined. The disparaging thoughts followed her, even as the people who had them smiled or averted their eyes as she passed. 

Nothing she wasn’t used to though. 

Alex’s voice slid into Lena’s head in a whisper—... the hell?—one whole minute before she actually greeted her, “Lena, hey... Well, can’t say that I was expecting you.” 

“Yes, that’s what it sounds like,” Lena mused, and Alex gave her a slight frown. 

“So, did you need something?” 

“Where’s Kara? I want to talk to her.” 

Alex’s carefully composed face betrayed no emotion, but her thoughts sighed heavily, “Of course...” before ebbing away into something entirely indistinct and indecipherable.

Lena blinked. She hadn’t encountered anyone whose thoughts weren’t immediately accessible to her before. But here Alex was, giving directions to Kara’s current whereabouts, all the while muttering some underlying commentary in tones so hushed that Lena couldn’t quite make out any of it. 

“... Is there something on my face?” Alex swiped her sleeve across her forehead. “What are you looking at?” 

“What? No, nothing,” Lena said brusquely. “Thank you for telling me where Kara is. Bye.” She turned on her heel, headed for the hallway that would eventually lead to the training room. 

“Well, that was weird...” Alex’s voice drifted after her, a literal afterthought. “But I mean, I guess she has a nice ass, so—”

Lena shot a dirty look over her shoulder, but Alex was already back on her computer, mind rattling off coordinates and running through tactical drills like a well-oiled machine. 

// 

Kara was wearing short shorts and a sports bra, panting, and absolutely drenched in sweat when Lena stepped foot into the training room. She looked over at Lena, her skin glistening against the dimmed green of the kryptonite-lined walls, and smiled wide. 

“Oh, hey! What are you doing here?” Kara asked, giving the punching bag one last jab before tugging her gloves off. "Did something happen or...? I mean, not that I’m not happy to see you, of course.” She flashed Lena another bright grin before pressing a towel to her face and neck and chest. 

It was enough to stop Lena in her tracks, and almost enough to put a damper on her plans. Almost. 

“I need to talk to you,” Lena said evenly, eyes glued firmly to Kara’s forehead. 

“Yeah, sure! Jeez... I’d give you a hug, but I’m like sweating in places I didn’t even know existed. Alex says that this is the only way to learn proper form and all, but wow. I can’t believe there are humans who actually do this for fun—” 

“Kara,” Lena cut in, lips pursing in exasperation. “I’m serious. We need to talk right now.” 

Kara blinked, then slowly nodded. “Okay, yeah, let’s talk... You wanna sit down?” 

“I prefer to be standing.” 

“Okay.” Kara remained standing as well, towel now crumpled in her hands. “So, what’s going on?” 

Lena took a deep breath, quickly running through the meditative techniques meant to keep her mind clear and open, then asked, “Why did it take you so long to tell me that you’re Supergirl?” 

Kara’s shoulders slumped. “Lena, I...” 

“No, why did it take three years? Why didn’t you trust me?” Lena continued, her pace steady and firm just like she had practiced. “I trusted you. I trusted you with every part of me, which is extremely difficult for me to do, and you just... didn’t care, I guess.” 

“Of course, I care. Lena... I never meant to hurt you,” Kara said insistently. Her voice was loud, emphatic, and at the moment, the only thing Lena could hear.  

“Don’t!” Lena snapped when Kara started to approach her. “Don’t come any closer. And stop talking! Just listen.” 

Kara exhaled sharply through her nose and raised her hands in tentative surrender in absolute, utter silence. Lena even paused for a beat or two, just to see if any of Kara’s thoughts would breach the surface, but none did. 

“Why couldn’t you just trust me, Kara?” Lena asked, and regrettably her voice trembled on the last syllable. “Why did I have to hear it from Lex?” 

Kara’s eyes widened. “Lex? Lex told you before I did?” 

“Shut up. Do not talk,” Lena hissed out, waiting for Kara to snap her jaw shut before continuing with a bitter laugh, “Do you, do you even trust me now...?” Kara stared, gaze hardening. “And how do you expect me to trust anything you have to say for yourself now?” 

Lena’s questions—all of the above and beyond—were met with silence, strained only by the sound of Kara’s heavy breath and Lena’s own thoughts. 

Scoffing, Lena threw up her hands. “Do you even care that you hurt me?” 

“... Can I talk now?” Kara demanded, seething like she had any right to it. But when Lena shook her head furiously, she held her tongue and apparently everything else as well, because Lena couldn’t hear a single damn thing. 

When the alarm on her watch went off, Lena left, slamming the door on her way out. She contacted Hope through their private channel and had her re-log attempt #37 as just another failure. 

Back to the fucking drawing board. 

(next part here)

#who's ready for attempt 38 n' 39? #and did i honestly start another ficlet series when i already have so many ongoing? #WACK! #also wtf; why is this 2k words...? #my words.

[pot-of-terv]

Disclaimer: This starts soft but very quickly goes to a place I did NOT expect it to go so, just, be prepared. I guess there were some things my muse just couldn’t leave untouched :_D There’s also an additional drawing in there somewhere among the text. The ending is kind of a cliffhanger (dun dun duuun... part three is coming!!) but it’s happy (hurt/comfort y’all, MY BRAND)!

Also I have to say- oh my goodness this ended up having over 2,000 words and I’ve never written a fic this long! This feels pretty amazing but also, very scary, because as you know I’m a Finn so English is not my first language and this far I’ve stuck to just writing itty bitty things. Writing a story with multiple parts is also new to me, so wow, actually, thank you PuzzleJune for making me challenge myself in fresh and exciting ways 🥺

tw: breakdown

PuzzleJune2021, Week Two: Space (Quiet)

It is mesmerising. Intoxicating, even, Atem muses as he reaches up to rub his own sleep-soft face, eyes never leaving the still sleeping figure beside him. He shifts to lay on his side, slowly, with deliberate movements, trying to not disturb the quiet of the early morning.

Watching him sleep like this... I can feel the bed move when he moves and his warmth whenever he's close enough. I never had that before, he thinks and his heart clenches. I have it now.

Yuugi snorts in his sleep and Atem can't help but smile. That boy... no, that young man, has been through so much, too much, and yet he still sleeps so soundly. It's nothing short of incredible and the pharaoh wonders if he's ever met anyone more deserving of respect and admiration. Their journey thus far has only lasted for a couple of years and during that short time, the former spirit of the Millenium Puzzle has had the first-row seat to witnessing Yuugi's strength, his growth - how he slowly but surely had begun to trust himself.

Atem turns his gaze away from Yuugi and mulls over that thought. It hurts him somewhere deep in his core to remember how little worth Yuugi had seen in himself during those first months after Atem's consciousness awakened. He touches his chest where his heart is and leaves his hand there, feeling the slow rhythm beating under his palm.

That feeling of self-doubt could as well be his own, for he did think he was Yuugi for a while back then. It's a troubling realisation and he frowns at the ceiling. Despite not having any memories, how many of those insecurities had been Atem's own that he subconsciously reflected towards Yuugi's heart and by doing so unknowingly meddled with Yuugi's self-image as a whole? Objectively he knows that his emergence helped Yuugi gain confidence even though he didn't remember those first few times Atem took his place, but subjectively...? Atem's brows knit tighter together and he balls the hand that rests on his chest into a fist.

To call these thoughts troubling is an understatement. Suddenly Atem feels uncomfortably restless, he can't keep still, he needs space, he has to move. But moving would mean leaving the warm blankets and the even warmer form next to him and risk waking him in the process.

His chest feels so tight and it aches in a way Atem hasn't felt in millennia and he squeezes his eyes shut, holds his breath and with one swift movement pushes the blankets off of himself, sits up and rolls to the side to plant his feet onto the floor. The wood is cool under the bare soles of his feet and that sudden feeling makes him pause for a moment. He releases the breath he was holding.

It's almost funny how he already feels better. He glances over his shoulder to see if he had woken Yuugi up but the other youth seems undisturbed, still fast asleep. Relieved, Atem stands up... and doesn't know what to do. It's still practically night time and the house is silent. Mama Mutou and Grandpa will be getting up in one to two hours and Yuugi much later than that if his previous findings are to be trusted. Normally he would happily snooze the morning away with Yuugi but he doesn't want to go back to bed, the restlessness still buzzing under his skin even though that unpleasant tightness in his chest has ebbed and is now just a nuisance instead of actual, painful anxiety.

He turns around to face the bed so he can take another look at Yuugi, properly. A glance wasn't enough. Will never be enough, he realises all of a sudden. I want to be looking at Yuugi, and only Yuugi, forever. How can his heart feel so big and full but so small at the same time?

Atem is overwhelmed, not yet used to the absolute link between his feelings and his physical senses, and he lifts his hand once more to his chest, almost desperately grasping his shirt and pressing his fist against his heart, to feel the beat of it, and the warmth of his body.

He has this body now and he should be so, so thankful for it, but at this moment he can only feel guilt. He loves Yuugi but has still put him through so much and he knows, oh how he knows, that the trip to Egypt broke him. Atem had felt Yuugi mourn him weeks beforehand, felt his grief he so valiantly tried to conceal - too bad their bond at that point was the strongest it had ever been and Atem knew. It took everything in him to keep on going, to keep on telling himself that this was the right thing to do, this was how he could repay Yuugi's kindness and let him go on with his life, let him be free. He had heard the modern phrase “if you love them let them go”, and wouldn't that have been so grand? To prove his love in such a poetic, profound way?

All that in spite of Yuugi's feelings screaming at him that to be separated was the last thing he wanted.

Atem chuckles, a bitter taste in his mouth. Despite having shared such an extraordinary bond, communication had never been their strongest point, duels usually excluded, and talking about their feelings was not an exception. Still isn’t. They both had just kept on doing what they thought was the best for the other and in the process ended up wounding each other in ways that Atem isn't sure he can ever truly understand. Yesterday he had come down to the kitchen to find Yuugi folding laundry, eyes puffy and red, yet when he talked he sounded so happy. Atem had left it at that because there's nothing he could do when confronted by that smile that can put even the Sun in shade.

Slowly he realises that he's been staring at his partner for such a long time that it must be bordering on creepy. How did he get here from that warmth he first woke up to, from that love he so deeply feels for Yuugi? Why hasn’t he thought about these things before? It's like all he has in his head are questions with no answers to calm his mind. It's only been a week since... since it all should've ended, but didn't, all because of Atem's selfishness. Selfishness... and love. His own heart had broken when his life points counted down to zero and he saw the utter hopelessness he felt surface in his heart reflected right back at him on Yuugi's face. The memory of it is still so strong that he has to grit his teeth together to keep his jaw from trembling.

He hadn’t been able to stand that expression, to stand the knowledge that he was the cause of it. He wasn’t good enough. He wasn’t good enough. The pride he had felt toward Yuugi's skill was completely overshadowed by the grief that hit him in waves, his legs feeling like lead as he slowly walked to Yuugi, his own voice distant to his ears as he offered words of consolation and praise. Empty words, they were, he knew it then and he knows it now. How could he ever leave this person who had gone through so much for him, because of him, who had loved him so fully, who had risked it all to be there for him in his quest to regain his memories even when knowing that the price for that would be too steep to consider if Yuugi ever stopped to do that?

Atem had never wanted to leave. He had learned to live again, to have friends, and grow as a person, no matter how minuscule that growth might have been. Yuugi had been him and then Yuugi had become his world. There's no other way to explain it. As much as Atem had longed for his memories, for those people he loved and lost all those thousands of years ago, he couldn't bear the thought of losing another family. Even when the prize would be to regain his first one. 

But he had to. He had thought he had to.

Yet when he was just about to take the last step, he had faltered. Had wondered - does it have to be this way? What if there's another choice he could make?

And the gods had answered him. He didn't have to beg, he didn't have to fight, he just had to ask.

Just ask.

It had been so simple, in the end, so effortless. Of course, Atem asked for that third choice - or didn't really even ask, he didn't dare, he wished for it, his heart on the verge of breaking a second time. He had been painfully aware of his friends behind him, holding their breaths, waiting for the end. Atem felt their feelings wrap around him like a cloak and he bore the weight of it, accepted it, as he couldn't quite believe that it would be that easy to stay. So he had wished.

And that wish had been granted.

And now he is here.

Standing in the middle of the floor in Yuugi's room while Yuugi sleeps, hands closed into fists, both grasping his shirt now, holding back tears that threaten to spill forth. Wondering why did he even put Yuugi through all that, when in the end, it was for nothing? Oh, he thinks, oh, how it hurts. His own shortcomings, his own pain, the pain that he had caused others. Especially the pain that he had caused Yuugi. He hadn’t deserved it, he never deserved something so cruel and insincere as Atem's decision to leave had been.

A sob wrangles itself up and out of his mouth, he's not able to stop it in time and that breaks his resolve. He sways on his feet as tears force their way out and streak his cheeks, fall into his shirt and seep into the fabric as he hiccups and tries half-heartedly to stop it. He shouldn't be crying, not after everything he’s done. He doesn’t deserve to feel so sorry for himself - he should be the one to take responsibility, to carry that burden without a hitch. But, the thing is… at this moment, he’s no longer the prince-then-pharaoh from 3000 years ago. He’s no longer the amnesiac spirit occupying the Puzzle. He’s not the King of Games.

At this moment, he’s just a 16-year-old boy who is desperately trying to deal with every responsibility he’s imagined are only his to bear and failing spectacularly. So he cries, and cries, and he can no longer see with how blurry his eyes have gone. He prays Yuugi won't wake up to it, he just has to suffer through it and he'll be fine. Crying is fine, actually. He would laugh at himself if he could - aren't tears an actual luxury, after all? He wasn't able to cry his own tears with his own body before, but now he can.

There's a hand on his shoulder and Atem's heart drops into his stomach - oh no, now he's woken up - then another on the other side, then a tug, and Atem follows blindly. He's guided back to the bed and coaxed to sit down where a warm body presses against him and he's enveloped in an embrace.

Atem finds that he can't talk, he tries to draw breath to get the words out but sobs are the only thing he can produce and finally, he hears a voice call his name. It's so soft and warm and loving that Atem somehow feels worse and buries his head into Yuugi’s shoulder, his chest heaving and he almost wails from the struggle of it.

“Shh, other me. Cry it out. It helps. I know.”

He listens to Yuugi and does just that. It’s not easy to give up the reins but with Yuugi by his side, he finds the will to allow himself to succumb. He clutches his partner's shirt, holds him and is held in return, and lets himself cry. Lets his tears come like he's never done before and faced with the force of them, he feels like there's no end to it.

But there is an end. After a period of time that feels like an eternity, his sobs subside, his tears slow down, and he feels like he can finally loosen his hold of Yuugi's shirt to let blood flow into his fingers again. His nose feels snotty and he's sure there's no dry spot left on his partner's clothes and somehow that thought makes him laugh.

“See? All better now,” Yuugi murmurs against his temple and presses his lips there. That sign of affection almost makes Atem's eyes well up but he squeezes them shut, refusing to start crying all over again. He feels drained and empty and he's pretty sure he should be ashamed. He had woken Yuugi up and made him comfort him without asking but all he can feel is gratitude. Gratitude and love and endless adoration.

“Aibou,” he sniffles, voice congested and raw. He means to thank him but his throat closes up, yet Yuugi seems to catch his meaning.

“No need,” the shorter of the two says and Atem can feel his smile against his skin, “it's okay. You're okay, we're okay, everything's okay.”

Atem wants to argue but finds no energy for it. And - as he thinks about it, he realises that Yuugi is right.

They're okay.

He wraps his arms properly around Yuugi and squeezes, sighing softly. His mind is comfortably quiet now and he presses his ear against Yuugi's chest, listening to the beat of his heart (his heart's heart?) and feeling his own fall smoothly into the same rhythm. It's natural, it's right.

“I think,” he manages to croak out, “that we need to talk.”

Yuugi holds him closer and nods before pressing his face into Atem’s hair.

“Yeah,” he replies, sounding relieved, “we sure do, other me.”

#ygo dm #yugioh #puzzleshipping #puzzlespace #puzzlejune2021 #puzzlejune #puzzlequiet #atem #yuugi #tervdraws #tervdrabbles #fanart #fanfic #this bad boy can fit so many headcanons and projection in it #i am in the possession of the crybaby beam and i'm not afraid to use it (for real though. my agenda is to Normalize Boys Crying) #(no i will not be taking criticism)

[my-unmanageable-mischief]

New Norm Part 2

Hello!!! I’m back with the highly requested part 2 of my New Norm series. I am defiently open to a part 3 as well if people continue to enjoy it. Not too too much ‘plot’ here, just getting back to school while trying to navigate a new relationship. Some tender moments, and some very cuddly Sirius. I hope you all enjoy it as much as I did writing it!!

Part 1

Sirius Black x Reader

The last few weeks of summer we’re the longest and most brutal weeks of your life, and for the first time you felt you understood Sirius and how he became the lighthearted boy he portrayed daily at Hogwarts. When dealing with trauma, and Merlin his mother was traumatizing, people adapted in different ways. Never have you seen such polar reactions as you saw with Sirius and the dutiful Regulus. 

Sirius spent the first week you were living at Black Manor picking fight after fight with his mother. Not that she didn’t start her own plethora of ‘disagreements’. You could tell Sirius got something significant out of disobeying her and making her angry, much to your demise; as the woman began taking it out on you as well. She would nitpick you worse than your own grandmother. Sit up straight, ladies shouldn’t speak out of turn (Not that she didn’t do plenty of speaking), and most recently, a wife should know how to cook. So you spent hours of your day locked up with the awful Kreacher in the kitchen. 

After a conversation one evening in hushed voices, curled up under the covers he had apologized to you.

“I’m sorry about my mother,” 

“Sirius, it isn’t your fault,” You assured, playing with a loose string of his duvet. 

“I don’t help it,” He admitted, staring up at the ceiling. Your hands paused and you turned your head to look at him sadly. 

“Maybe not, but I can’t blame you either. She’s a witch, and I mean that as an insult. Like the Snow White kind.” Sirius turned to you making a face.

“What’s a Snow White?” You chuckled, shaking your head. 

“Oh nevermind, just.. God I know it’s easier said than done, but, try and ignore her? We’ll be back at Hogwarts in no time, away from her. And then my mother said next summer we will have our own home.” Sirius gazed at you for a moment before turning away to look at the ceiling again. He didn’t answer, though you gave him room to do so. Finally you stopped your fiddling with the string and reached over, taking his hand in yours and squeezing. 

“We’ll be alright.” You promised him as well as yourself. You had to be, you had no choice. Sirius squeezed your hand back and didn’t let it go for the rest of the night. Eventually silence ebbed into static breathing and light snores, and when the sun peeked through the window, you were still in bed, fast sleep, hands clasped. Sirius woke up first that morning and laid there for a while longer as you slept. He remembered his vows, that he would protect you, and that included from his own mother. If that meant becoming complacent in her demands for these next few weeks- that was something he was willing to do. For you. 

Finally the morning of September 11th, 1978 came, it was a cool morning for the end of summer, but sunny. You and Sirius were dropped promptly at Kings Cross station, receiving lectures on behavior. Sirius and his father shared a few words in private that left him scowling for a good majority of the morning, even after you had found Potter, Pettigrew, and Lupin in one of the train compartments. 

They eyed you funnily the entire train ride, and you did your best to ignore the gazes. Sirius had told you that he had told them about his wedding, but it was different now in person. 

“So is she going to be hanging out with us now? All the time?” James eyed you skeptically and you raised your eyes from your novel to narrow them at the boy. 

“She has ears, and is capable of responding to you herself.” Sirius glanced at you, the corner of his mouth twitching slightly. It was the closest you’d seen him to smiling since you boarded, and that fact was not lost on the other Marauders. 

“Are you going to be hanging around all the time now?” He asked, pouting slightly. James Potter could have received straight Os if being a git was a class at Hogwarts, but you knew he was also a sweet and caring boy, when he wasn’t being 17. You had a feeling he wasn’t keen on sharing his best mate, not that you blamed him. 

“James, she’s my wife now.” Sirius muttered, glancing out of the window. Potter made a face. 

“I know and it's weird.” You rolled your eyes, opening your book back up and slouching in your seat.

“And you think that is lost on us? We know it’s weird. We’re living it.” James looked ready to continue but Remus cleared his throat and gave him a warning look. A silent conversation you weren’t privy too took place between the two boys and James shrugged, going back to his Quidditch magazine. You finally reached the doors to the Great Hall hours later and Sirius turned to you.

“Sitting with us?” He asked, you looked past him to James and shook your head. 

“I think I’ve intruded on boy time quite enough for one day, I’m going to go find my dorm mates.” You admitted, James had the decency to look guiltily at his feet. 

“Alright, I’ll see you later.” You hadn’t kissed since you were pronounced man and wife, but you had taken to holding hands in rare private moments you had gotten together. He reached out to you, allowing his hand to awkwardly drop onto your shoulder. He squeezed before letting go and you offered him a smile before turning to go find your friends, you had missed them. 

That night was the first night you had not eaten together in a month, and it was weird for you. You glanced down the table a few times, making eye contact with Sirius. When your eyes would meet he’d smile at you reassuringly, and you always returned it. Meanwhile, your friends gushed about how lucky you were, married to the most gorgeous, the most wanted man at Hogwarts. You didn’t feel very lucky, nor did you think they could understand. So you smiled and nodded, and laughed, like things were how they always were. But they were not. They never would be. 

When you entered the common room that night Sirius and his crew were already sitting in their seats closest to the fire, Sirius waved you towards him, but you were in the middle of a (dull) conversation with your friends about whose bum had gotten the fittest over the summer, so you shrugged, going to sit with them. About half an hour later someone approached your group and you looked up surprised to see Sirius. 

“Y/N,” He greeted you, and you smiled. 

“Hey, what’s up?” Your friends around you tried to stifle their giggles and hid smiles behind hands, something Sirius was used to, but for some reason, in that moment it bothered him. Were they laughing at him? Had you been laughing at him? 

“Can we talk for a mo?” He asked, and for a moment he almost looked nervous, but mostly he looked slightly ticked off. You frowned. What had you done? 

“Of course,” You nodded, getting up from the armchair you had been longing in. You followed Sirius silently through the common room, aware of his friend’s eyes on you as you went. You reached the corridor and he walked you a little further before sitting in an alcove. You sat with him. 

“Are you angry with me?” He asked so suddenly it took a moment to process, your frown deepened. 

“Merlin, no, should I be?” You asked, turning to face him, with your hands rested in your lap. He shrugged and wouldn’t look at you. “Have I done something to upset you, Sirius?” You asked gently. He shook his head no before shrugging. 

“Why were your friends laughing at me? Why didn’t you sit with me?” He asked, and you sighed, taking his hand gently in yours, causing him to look at you. 

“Because they think you’re cute,” You smiled slightly, nudging him, “And they think it’s brilliant I’ve gotten to marry you when half of Hogwarts would die to get ten minutes in a broom closet with you.” He smirked slightly, which made you feel better. That was the Sirius you knew. “And I didn’t sit with you because.. Because I am trying to give you space. This is new and scary. For both of us I’m sure. I don’t want you to feel like I’m smothering you, and I can tell James isn’t too keen on me, I don’t want him thinking I’m stealing his best mate.” 

“But were different. I’m not married to James.” You laughed at that,

“I wouldn’t tell him that.” You joked and Sirius let out a small chuckle himself. 

“You’re not smothering me. I... I enjoy you being around. I would like you to know my friends, they’re my real family after all.” You squeezed his hand again and he lifted your hand to his lips, kissing the back of it. 

“I’ll sit with you lot more often then, just tell James to go easy on me. And don’t think I will be helping with any of your tomfoolery,” You chided jokingly, “My mother will have a cow,” 

“Well good thing I’m your husband, I’m in charge of you now,” He grinned and you used your free hand to whack him. 

“In charge of me?” You laughed, “Watch yourself, Black.” 

“Oh Black huh? Well you’re Mrs. Black.” You froze at that, and something truly haunting dawned on you. Tomorrow classes started. You were no longer Ms. Y/L/N... would your teachers be calling you Ms. Black? If the whole school didn’t already know by now, they certainly would tomorrow. 

“Penny for your thoughts?” He asked, resting your entwined hands in his lap. 

“I’m Mrs. Black,” You repeated, he nodded, not catching on. “Everyone will call me such.” 

“Does that upset you?” You shook your head. 

“No no, not upset. I mean, everything is just different now? Even my name.” 

“I don’t really fancy it either, don’t worry,” He joked, but you knew he was serious. “We can change it.”

“Sorry?” 

“When you graduate, when we move and have jobs we can change it- to whatever you’d like.” 

“I’m not sure your mother will allow that.” Sirius shook his head defiantly. 

“Once I, well now you I suppose, graduate, I have no intention of doing anything that old bat has to say.” He puffed his chest out slightly, putting on an air of confidence. Your head swum slightly. If that were the case, wouldn’t you simply divorce? “Y/N,” He continued, voice lower and more gentle. 

“Hm?” 

“It’s going to be weird sleeping alone tonight,” He admitted sheepishly, glancing at your hands, “I’ve gotten quite used to you, I admit.” You smiled at that, leaning against him. 

“I won’t miss the snoring,” 

“Oi, I don’t snore!” He laughed and you grinned nodding your head. 

“You do, love. But I will miss it too,” 

“Come visit?” He asked wiggling his eyebrows at you again, you whacked him once more. 

“No I think I’ll let you suffer, just for that.” 

“Evil.” 

“That’s me,” Sirius stood up, bringing you with him before releasing the hand he was holding to put his arm around your shoulder. 

“Come sit with us?” He questioned, “I promise James will be good.” You nodded, leaning into the boy's touch. 

“Alright, you’ve convinced me.” You spent the rest of your night at Sirius’s side.

 James was civil but you could tell he still wasn’t fond of you or your newly added presence. From that moment forward you spent nearly all your time out of class with the group of boys. You found a friendship in Remus, he was a kind boy, with similar interests. You enjoyed studying together while the others mucked around, and you talked about literature together. Even James was coming around on you, though you two still bickered constantly. Sirius once called it “Sibling rivalry.” which made you laugh. But you could tell how fiercely James cared for Sirius, it made your heart feel warm, knowing he had people to look out for him. Even Peter wasn’t bad to be around, he was funny when he wasn’t being vulgar, though he loved making jokes about the fact that Sirius was now a married man and ‘on a leash,’. 

You didn’t feel like Sirius was on a leash, and certainly not your leash. You were married by your parents' request, not dating. If he wanted to go snog some slag he was more then welcome to. At least that was the lie you told yourself. Girls continued to throw themselves at Sirius, I guess a wedding ring didn’t mean much to them, and you were increasingly more surprised every time he politely turned them down. You began to relax more, maybe he wouldn’t? 

One evening you all sat in the boys dormitory. Peter was practicing chess, Remus was reading and taking notes. James was laying on his back at the foot of Sirius’s bed, you were sitting back against the boy’s pillows, as he was resting his head in your lap. Sirius and James were debating the validity of some prank they wanted to pull- whether they could pull it off or something like that. You weren’t paying attention, you were reading, occasionally running your fingers through the hair of the boy who was in your lap. 

“You’re making me sleepy,” He suddenly yawned, turning away from James and burying his face into your jumper. You smiled, not looking up from your reading. 

“So go to sleep,” 

“Get a room, you two.” James complained, whining from the bottom of the bed. 

“We’re in a room, you’re the one in my bed mate.” Sirius laughed, wrapping his arm around your middle and cuddling into you. As time past Sirius became more and more physically affectionate with you. Not that you minded, it was comforting having someone around whom you could simply touch. James huffed, dramatically getting off the bed, pulling the curtains shut with a great flourish. 

“Use a silencing charm for our sake!” He called.

“Piss off mate,” Sirius laughed and you chuckled slightly rolling your eyes. 

“He’s just jealous you don’t cuddle him like you used to.” James made an indignant noise from the other side of the curtain and you heard him stalk away to his own bed. You carded your fingers through Sirius’s hair for a few more moments before letting out a yawn of your own. 

“I should go to bed,” You murmured, hand stilling. Sirius let out a small whine and you smirked, gently tugging on one of his locks. 

“So go to bed,” He joked, mirroring your earlier words. You started to move and Sirius’s arms around you tightened, pulling you to him. “Here,” He asked and you sighed, patting his head. 

“And if we’re caught?” You questioned. 

“Live a little, love. Girls are always sneaking into the boys dorm for sleepovers, at least we’re married.” 

“I doubt McGonagall will care for that small difference.”

“Please?” Sirius asked, looking up at you through his lashes, batting them at you sweetly. You sighed, shaking your head. 

“Fine, you’re a bad influence one me, you know that?”

“That’s the kindest thing a woman has ever said to me,” He grinned, peeling himself from you to sit up, “I’ll get you something to sleep in.” You hummed softly. Sirius disappeared for a moment and came back with a t-shirt for you, handing it over. You watched from your position on his bed as he undressed himself, you felt your cheeks going rosy. Once Sirius was down to his boxers he crawled back into bed beside you, nudging you. “Get changed, I wanna cuddle,” He murmured to you and your blush deepened. You stood up, standing beside the bed and facing away from Sirius as you removed your jumper, pulling the shirt on over your head. It was plenty long on you. Next you removed your skirt, leaving your clothes in a pile beside his head. You turned back around and Sirius was watching you, his own small blush. “C’mere.” He offered you his hand and you took it, allowing him to pull you down to him. 

You situated the covers around you both before allowing the boy to snuggle up to your side, his head on your chest. You resumed your earlier activity of running your hands through his hair. 

“Thank you for staying,” He murmured and you smiled, dropping a kiss onto the top of his head before you could think about the action. 

“Of course.” 

“You’re welcome in my bed, anytime.” He promised and you rolled your eyes, gently tugging his hair again. 

“Don’t ruin the moment, arse.” He chuckled, tangling your legs together beneath the duvet. Sirius fell asleep to the sound of your heart beating firmly in your chest, it was the best lullaby he had ever heard. You played with his hair until his quiet snoring started before simply resting your hand on his head. It took you longer to fall asleep but you eventually did, enjoying the company of the other- you hadn’t realized how much you missed just sleeping with the boy. And this new found cuddling between the two of you really added to the whole experience. 

In the morning you were rudely awoken by James, who threw the curtain of your bed open with a scowl. 

“Are you wearing clothes?” He questioned, “I was kidding when I said to use a silencing charm, I don’t want you two shagging when I’m five feet away-”

“Mate,” Sirius groaned, rolling over, glaring at the boy, “Shut up,” James huffed, crossing his arm. 

“Y/N better get back to her dorm before all her roommates wake up and wonder where she’s been all night.” You groaned, stretching your arms over your head. 

“Thanks Jamie,”

“Don’t call me that!” He whined, shuffling away, you laughed as you untangled yourself from Sirius’s limbs, standing up. 

“Do you have to go?” He asked, frowning.

“I will see you at breakfast,” You rolled your eyes, grabbing your discarded clothes from the floor. Sirius frowned, flopping back onto the bed, crossing his arms. It made you laugh, god how he and James had grown to be alike over the years. Or maybe they found each other because they were already so alike.

 “Do you want to go on a date?” Sirius asked you one morning during breakfast, your mouth full of food. You raised an eyebrow at him as you swallowed. 

“Hm?”

“A date, Y/N.” Like that clarified anything. 

“Is there a Hogsmeade weekend coming up?” You questioned him and he grinned, shaking his head no. 

“So what, you want to go on a date in the common room?” You laughed, shaking your head at the boy, “Don’t we do that every night?” 

“Not the common room, I want to show you something.” You eyed him suspiciously and he flushed slightly laughing, “Not that, who's got a dirty mind now?”

“Still you mate,” Remus interrupted and Sirius shot him a glare, but he quickly recovered, grinning at you again. You weren’t sure you liked that look. 

“Sure,” 

“Brilliant, be ready tonight at 8pm, in the common room.” You nodded your head, continuing to eat. Whatever he was up to, you were sure you’d be finding out soon enough.  That night you got dressed, listening to advice from all your dorm mates.

“Wear a dress!”

“Let me do your makeup please!”

“No no wear the blue skirt with the cream jumper.”

“Do you think you’ll snog?” You shrugged helplessly, ignoring all of their advice and going with your favorite pair of jeans instead and a black and white striped jumper. 

“I hardly know.”

“I think it’s weird. You’re married but you don’t snog.” 

“They cuddle, that’s for sure.” You flushed slightly, rolling your eyes.

“We sorta skipped a bunch of steps. It’s hard. Our relationship is unique.” You tried to explain to them. You and Sirius didn’t have some play book you could look to to figure what you should be doing and when. You were all on your own in this, on your own; together.  You allowed your friend to apply a small amount of makeup to you, no more than you would wear any other day. You didn’t want to seem like you were trying too hard- because you weren’t. You shouldn’t be. It’s not like you had to woo him or anything. Right?

You went down to the common room at 8 where Sirius was sitting with the boys waiting for you. 

“Y/N!” He called excitedly, jumping up from the sofa, “You ready to go?” He asked and you nodded, coming to him and accepting his outstretched hand. 

“Be good!” Remus called jokingly, waving from his spot in one of the armchairs. 

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!” James added and Sirius threw them the finger over his shoulder before leading you from the common room. 

“So,” You started, skipping slightly beside him, grinning up at the boy, “Where are we going?”

“It’s a surprise, you’ll see.” You followed Sirius up to the 7th floor corridor and were met with an expanse of blank wall, you eyes him suspiciously. 

“Very nice, Sirius.” You put the hand not holding his on your hip. 

“Just watch!” He assured you excitedly, “Me and James found this place 5th year when we were running from Filch. Suddenly it was there,” You listened intently, still staring at the blank wall. Maybe you were missing something? “So we did some experiments, and I think we figured it out. Remus read about it in a book we nicked from the restricted section. Apparently it’s called the Room of Requirements, or the Come and Go Room.” You looked away from the wall up at Sirius, blinking at him. He smiled down at you, nodding towards the wall, when you looked back there was a door and you gasped. 

“How?”

“No idea,” He shrugged, “But it turns into whatever you need it to.” You looked at the door in awe. 

“Really?” You asked, shocked. 

“Yup, come on,” He tugged you forward, opening the door and ushering you in. Once you were inside you were met with a small room that closely resembled the Gryffindor common room, but maybe only one forth of the size. It had a sofa in front of a large roaring fire, there were candles lighting the rest of the room, and a few fluffy blankets sitting on the sofa. 

“This is lovely,” You breathed. He pulled you towards the sofa and you allowed him to guide you. He sat down and pulling you down beside him. You sat close to him and he placed his arm around your shoulder. You pulled one of the blankets off the back of the sofa and wrapped it around both of you, leaning into him. 

“Thank you,” He smiled, glad you liked it. It had taken him ages of brainstorming to decide what you both needed, for your first proper date. And in the end, he decided, simpler was probably better. You weren’t really one for grand gestures. 

“How are your classes,” He asked, playing with a lock of your hair, looking at you. You were warm from the fire, but your chest felt even warmer, something fire couldn’t cause. You shrugged, leaning slightly into his touch. 

“Alright, not as hard as your stuff I’m sure, but everyone’s making sure we’re preparing for the NEWTs already. It does my head in.”

“I’ve never asked you what you want to be when you graduate,” He tilted his head thoughtfully and you smiled slightly looking down. 

“I’d like to be a curse-breaker,” You admitted, Sirius nudged you until you looked at him. 

“That’s brilliant, you’ll do wonderfully.” You shrugged, flushing slightly at the complement.

“Maybe. I’m struggling with charms this year though.” 

“Is Remus helping you?” 

“Yes but still,” 

“You’re brilliant, Y/N.” He assured you, resting his forehead against yours. You smiled, leaning forward slightly to nuzzle your nose against his. “You can do anything you want to do, believe that.”

“I will try. What will you do? After you graduate.” Sirius hummed softly, and you cuddled even closer to him, practically sitting in the boys lap. 

“I want to be an Auror.” He spoke softly, “I want to save people, protect them. War is coming, Y/N. I want to make sure I am on the right side of history.” You took his free hand in yours and held it tightly. 

“That’s sweet, you’ll make a brilliant Auror.” Sirius smiled.

“James heard his parents talking about some... organization, they call themselves the Order of the Phoenix. I want to join as soon as I’ve graduated. Their goal is to be prepared for when Voldemort finally makes his move.” You nodded, trying to swallow down the worry you felt rising in your chest. You didn’t like the idea of Sirius out there battling dark powerful wizards without you there by his side. 

“Good,” You squeezed his hand tightly, “That’s good. You’re a good man.” 

“My mother will disown us, she supports those pure-blood ideologies.” He spat the words out and you flinched slightly. You didn’t want to think about what your own family thought of those horrible people. Especially not your father or your grandmother. 

“We’ll be alright.” You assured him. Sirius looked at you for a long moment and you smiled softly at him, nudging your nose against his again, “Alright?” 

“Alright.” He assured, “Y/N...” He started before trailing off. 

“Hm?”

“May I kiss you?”

“Of course,” You whispered, blushing slightly. Sirius smiled before leaning in, he didn’t have to go far before his lips were on your lips. He kissed you softly, his hand that was playing with your hair stilled, resting on the back of your neck to keep you close. You kept one hand in his and moved the other one to his chest, placing it over his heart. He broke the kiss and pulled back just far enough to look at you before his lips were on yours again, this time with more eagerness. He kissed you, lips smashed up against yours and you kissed back, moving your hand from his chest to wrap around him, pulling him closer. He parted his lips slightly, testing the water. You allowed your own lips to open as well, inviting him in. Sirius kissed you with emotion you were surprised were capable of being put into a simple kiss. Everyday Sirius surprised you more and more, and everyday you found yourself falling more and more in love with your husband. It might not have been traditional, or even preferred. But it was working, you were going to make it work. 

You spent the rest of the night alternating between speaking to each other in soft voices and snogging. It was the best, and last first date you had ever been on. Sirius was becoming you safe haven in a confusing world. He was becoming your new norm.

Tag list :  thebrigheststarinthesky ,  all-art-is-quite-useless ,  lindatreb ,  paosesposts 

Let me know if you’d like to be tagged in a part three! 

#Harry Potter #sirius black x reader #Sirius black #sirius black x y/n #james & peter & remus & sirius #sirius black x you #new norm

[taizi]

Hi! I love your works! 71 + 72 for Luffy and Jinbei?

PROMPTS LIST

71. “I’m going to protect you.”

smile again

x

As a watchdog journalist, Jinbei's work takes him everywhere. He isn't always in the best position to receive phone calls. Sometimes, depending on what story his group decides to chase after and what far-flung corner of the world it leads them to, Jinbei goes weeks without internet access.

By the time he gets news of the accident, Luffy has been out of the hospital for a month and Ace has been dead just as long.

Jinbei has to go home.

His colleagues-- a group of solid, hard-working people he's known for going on twenty years, has worked with on the field and off, in smoke and fire and claustrophobic office spaces-- are entirely understanding.

Tiger drives him to a small airport, the truck bouncing along a bumpy gravel road. There's a single, hastily-packed duffel in the bed of the pickup. Jinbei isn't even sure what he shoved in there, having only made one mindless pass through his room. He would have left without his passport if Hatchan hadn't shoved it into his hands on his way out the door.

"It may be time for me to retire," Jinbei says aloud. His mind is ebbing and rising like a tide, a vast ocean of grief. Thoughts go bobbing away like loose buoys before he can get a grasp on them.

All he can think of is the last video-call he made home, over a month ago now. Ace and Luffy, pressed cheek-to-cheek so they'd both fit in-frame, competitive in all things and unwilling to take turns, even as Jinbei laughingly promised he had plenty of time to talk.

They made him promise to call again soon. He meant to.

"Don't worry about us over here," Tiger says. His eyes are on the road, hands tight around the steering wheel. He carries Jinbei's grief like it's his own. "Just worry about your boy."

His boy, Jinbei thinks. Not by blood or by law, certainly, but by something less quantifiable than that. Those scrappy kids that spilled into his yard one muggy summer evening, hiding in the hedges from their well-antagonized CPS caseworker and somehow claiming a piece of Jinbei's heart from the moment he first laid eyes on them.

Ace was so angry back then, and Luffy was so easily frightened, and they clung to each other in a practiced way, as if they were so used to the world trying to claw them apart that they didn't expect anything else, even from a perfect stranger. They didn't seem to know what to do with kindness. Ace watched Jinbei like a hawk for weeks, long after Luffy warmed up to him. His trust, when he finally gave it, felt like a prize.

Jinbei was working long, unpredictable hours, and knew it wouldn't be fair to drag two children into his household if he couldn't afford them the time and care they deserved-- but after school? Weekends? Holidays? Those he gave up freely.

His days gained some semblance of routine again, for the fist time since he finished college. His kitchenware came down from the cupboard, the pockmarked kitchen table was often set for three. He made dinner at home, more than he ate in the office with his colleagues.

Hell, his colleagues ate dinner with him at home more often, too. Within an hour of meeting the boys, each of Jinbei's friends, to a man, would have taken a bullet for either of them, no questions asked.

The sense of structure did wonders for the brothers. With a safe place to return to when they needed it, and someone to fall back on, Ace stopped looking at every potential foster home as if it was a threat. Luffy came out of his shell, bolder with each new day. He made a friend in the village, a boy with vivid green eyes, and they hardly spent a moment apart.

They were finally placed with a couple who lived nearby. Shanks was wry and good-natured, and Benn had the patience of a saint. After a few weeks, when Jinbei asked how they were settling in, his worries were soothed: Luffy clearly adored them, and even Ace grudgingly admitted they weren't so bad.

And when the time came, and Ace applied for emancipation as well as custody of his brother, he had a small army in his corner. A patchwork family collected in little bits and pieces, ready to support him through anything.

"I will always be here for you both," Jinbei had promised him, countless times. "You'll never be alone as long as I'm alive."

"Thank you," Ace said, a little bashful. But he was so pleased, and so full of hope for the future, and he said, "I'll feel better, knowing someone's around to look after Luffy if I can't."

He immediately got shouted down by his entire strange extended pseudo-family for daring to suggest they'd ever let anything happen to him, and it made him laugh so brightly, and now the memory sticks like needles in Jinbei's throat.

Tiger hugs him hard before Jinbei boards the plane. In the back of his mind, where there is a tiny corner free from drowning, Jinbei can't help but wonder when he'll see his friend again.

He keeps thinking of that last video call. He can't remember everything they talked about. He doesn't think he said enough. He almost certainly didn't tell Ace everything he deserved to hear. Foolishly, he assumed there would be another time.

He's learned from this. He won't take it for granted any more.

"Call me when you land," Tiger says. "Give the monkey our love."

"I will," Jinbei replies. His heart is so heavy he doesn't know how he manages the steps onto the plane. He doesn't know how the pilot manages to lift them up from the tarmac. It's a wonder they aren't sinking, straight through the earth.

Nami and Usopp are waiting for him at the airport, wide-awake even though it's well past two o'clock in the morning. They're familiar to Jinbei from the stories Luffy has told him, from the numerous video calls they've bullied their way into over the years, and the handful of birthdays and holidays Jinbei was able to make it home for.

"Luffy wanted to come with us to pick you up, but he fell asleep," Usopp says, apropos of nothing, as they're waiting for their Uber. "Sanji said it was a small miracle, and Zoro looked like he was going to hunt us for sport if we even thought about waking him up, so--"

"He hasn't been sleeping, then?" Jinbei asks quietly.

"After he came home, he was on some pretty heavy meds, and he slept a lot," Nami says. Her arms are folded tight against her chest in the nighttime chill, her eyes trained somewhere far away. "But he had bad dreams and he would wake up disoriented. Now he fights sleep tooth and nail."

"We've all sort of become the insomnia squad," Usopp pipes up. "Thank god I'm not taking any classes this summer."

"Sanji's gotten really good at making lattes," Nami adds with a small smile. "Wait till you see his shiny new espresso machine."

"I'm like eight-five percent sure he stole it from the Baratie."

Jinbei listens to their chatter, feeling at once anchored by them and adrift at sea. It makes sense that they would be ahead of him. They've been here all this time, practically from the moment of the accident, facing it with all the bravery and endurance of sailors in a typhoon. Jinbei, meanwhile, had been living in an unchanged world.

For the last month, Ace has been dead. How many times had Jinbei thought about him? Mentioned him to a friend? How many times had Jinbei wrongly said his name in the present-tense?

The house is warmly-lit when they arrive, but quiet. An old blue Irish wolfhound greets them at the door, wagging his tail. Robin looks up from the papers she has spread out on the coffee table and smiles. Chopper is fast asleep beside her, his head on her shoulder. Behind them, Jinbei can see Sanji at work in the kitchen, shaping dough. Something is baking that smells of cinnamon and apples.

They weren't kidding about their sleep schedules being a mess.

"Hello, Jinbei. It's good to see you," Robin says. Her voice is soft, in deference to the sleeping teenager. "Luffy is asleep, but you can see him if you like."

"Please," Jinbei replies hoarsely.

"I'll take him," Nami says. "Usopp, would you bring his bag to the guest bedroom?"

"'Course," Usopp replies, but he makes a detour into the kitchen first.

Nami takes Jinbei's hand and leads him toward the stairs. "I feel really stupid about this, but I was so angry at you," she admits as they make their way up. "It's hardly the first time we haven't been able to contact you, and I know why that is. But-- I don't know, I think I was going crazy. I wanted Luffy to have everything he wanted. I wanted everyone who loved him to be here every time he woke up. So I-- so there might be some angry emails waiting for you, but please don't hate me for it."

"I won't even read them," Jinbei promises gravely, his heart cleaved clean in two. "I can't imagine how-- how hard it must have been. I-- if I had gotten the messages sooner-- "

"I know," Nami assures him, pausing outside a closed bedroom door. "Franky spoke to you like six hours ago, and you're already here. You dropped everything to be here. We know the kind of person you are."

She stands up on tiptoe to kiss his cheek, and Jinbei bends to accommodate her, the same way he does for Koala. Then Nami reaches out and pushes open the door.

Zoro is awake, sitting against the headboard with his phone in hand and earphones in, and his eyes are as bright and sharp now as they were when he was a child. He looks up when the door opens, and seems to relax when he sees Jinbei stepping in behind Nami.

"Go to sleep," Nami whispers, pointing at the second bed across the spacious room.

"Don't tell me what to do," Zoro replies, just as quiet, but he pulls his earphones out and extracts himself from the bed with all the exacting precision of a bomb disposal technician. Nami takes him by the arm, helping him get up so carefully that the mattress hardly moves. It's such a well-practiced maneuver that Jinbei thinks he honestly might cry.

"If one of you would stay for a bit, I'll grab a shower," Zoro says.

"Sure, stinky," Nami says, nudging him toward the door. "Jinbei?"

He nods, unsure of what he's agreeing to. Now that he's finally next to Luffy, nothing else seems to exist. He sinks into the chair beside the bed, only half-aware of Nami and Zoro leaving. Their murmured conversation is cut off by the closing door. The room is silent, save for the gentle, unobtrusive sound of Luffy's steady breathing.

He's lost weight since Jinbei saw him last. There are shadows on his face that don't belong there. He looks both older and younger than he has any right to, even now, when his face is untroubled and slack with sleep.

"Hello, little monkey," Jinbei says. His voice is quiet, but it still breaks. He's crying, he realizes, thick tears rolling down his face with abandon. "I'm sorry it took me so long."

He thinks of two little boys, spilling into his life on accident, taking up room in his home and his heart as if they always belonged there. They weren't his, not really, but he loved them anyway. Loves them still.

"I'm here now," he whispers. His hands are shaking. "I'm going to protect you, like I promised. I'm here, Ace. Please believe me, wherever you are. I won't fail you again."

#one piece #op #opfic #knight of the sea jimbei #cat burglar nami #god usopp #my writing #smile again #i woke up and chose violence #but i mean a couple people were wondering where jimbei was so u brought this upon urselves

[wordsnwhiskey]

Is It Living If You've Left Your Life Behind?

Pairing: Dave York & GN!Reader

Summary: Thanks to you, Dave escaped the showdown with McCall. You planned to take him to a safehouse on the other side of the country where he could recover and get started on living a new life. In order to do that though, he has to leave his wife, his daughters and his life behind. He can't help but wonder, is it really living if he has to leave his life behind?

Rating: T for Language I guess

A/N: This is my late submission for @autumnleaves1991-blog 's Writer Wednesday. I got into my feels tonight and Dave was calling to me. It's my first time writing for him and this is a different take on Dave than I'd normally go for. A softer/angstier Dave but honestly, given this situation where he survives? I don't see classic Dave shining through, at least not until something kicks his ass into gear. The man is injured and more than a little lost. Also, I'll probably edit this later, it's 03:30 and apparently I have a knack for posting things when I should be asleep.

Masterlist | AO3

There was nothing but the open road ahead of him as he sat in the passenger seat, a permanent grimace affixed to his face. His pain ebbed and flowed but at least that meant he was alive. Alive with nothing but the open road ahead of him and his entire life behind him.

Dave really only had you to thank for that. A life debt for a life debt even if it meant he no longer had his life, not really at least. His girls were well over a thousand miles behind him, everything he’d known and loved, he’d likely never see again. You were the only thing Mac hadn’t counted on and even though Dave had lost religion a long time ago, he thanked whatever god or higher power out there that you had kept your head about you during the showdown.

He had been furious at first that you hadn’t tried to kill McCall, only stalled long enough to get him and yourself out of there under the cover of the storm. His anger had quickly dissipated though, you had made the right call, of course. He still had trouble seeing out of his eye, a concussion from being blown off of his feet and plenty of bruises complemented the odd cut or two Mac had managed to land. Things would have been a lot worse had you not intervened.

You glanced over at Dave, hunched over, curling himself into the passenger window. Dave fucking York. He had really gotten himself in it this time but you couldn’t find it in yourself to blame him. In this industry, shit decisions had to be made all the time and Lady Luck was rarely ever kind. People died, that was the business. What else was the married father of two supposed to do when he was cut loose? Assimilate? That kind of thing wasn’t for people like you or Dave York, not really. McCall was too high up on his high horse to get enough oxygen to his brain and too blinded by his own grief to see it.

Then again, you were definitely biased.

“How’s your pain level?”

You asked, and were met with a withering glare, his newly-crooked, hawkish nose only served to further accentuate the harshness in his eyes.

He hadn’t talked much during the already several day trip. Not that you needed the conversation, but you understood better than anyone he knew who was still alive aside from the man you were fleeing from, what this felt like. You hated how people romanticized it, leaving everything behind and starting over. It never worked that way. Your family and friends lived and died and you couldn’t be part of any of it. And now Dave, Dave had two daughters and a wife but they might as well be poison now. Poison to his mind, torture to think about. Poison to the touch if he ever went to see them again, because surely McCall would be watching them from afar, waiting.

The same thoughts seemed to be on his mind, from the corner of your eye you could see him slump further into the window, clutching a small photograph he had pulled from his wallet. For all that he was, former agent, mercenary, murderer, assassin, he was still a family man, a soft man at heart and going into hiding away from this family had just as much likelihood of killing him as McCall did.

“I’m not going to see them again am I?” Dave murmured as he stared down at the photo, thumb grazing over his daughters’ faces.

You opened your mouth then closed it again, contemplating giving him platitudes or the truth. He chuckled at your reaction, a hollow sound devoid of any humor.

“Spare me the bullshit.”

Your grip on the steering wheel tightened and you let out a sigh.

“I don’t know Dave. If McCall winds up dead then yeah, that’s an option. I haven’t been back to see my family but I don’t have the same… things anchoring me somewhere or drawing me back.”

Silently, he turned to resume watching the passing orange and brown landscape fly by.

It had been about another two hours since he last spoke and he had been so still and quiet, you thought he might have fallen asleep.

“Why’d you do it? Why are you doing this?”

His voice is gruffer, made thicker from the knot of emotion in his throat. It startles you out of your own reverie.

“Do what?”

“Why did you bother saving me? You could have made it out of there and been in another country by now. Fuck, you could have dumped me at a hospital anywhere along this godforsaken road and still be in another country by now.”

You frowned, somehow you had hoped his relative silence meant you would be able to get through this journey without delving into any sort of feelings.

“It crossed my mind, on both counts.”

He raised an eyebrow, not so much in surprise that you had thought about it, more so that you hadn’t gone through with it.

“I didn’t have any part in Susan’s death so McCall would have stopped hunting me eventually.”

You spared him a glance, he was staring at you intently, analyzing.

“Is this the part where you tell me you love me?”

You scoffed and looked at him incredulously then shook your head.

“No, it’s even more pathetic than that, Dave. You’re probably the closest thing to a friend I have and we’ve tried to kill each other before.”

That got a small laugh out of him, because really, what was more ridiculous in their line of work than friends?

Probably having a family. Dave grimaced as the thought echoed in his mind.

“We were the best at what we did.”

He said, with an air of nostalgia and you nodded in agreement.

“And the worst, somehow even with us each taking on contracts for the other, here we are, still living.”

The small smile faded from your lips at his silence and lack of a response. Your gaze fell on him again as he shrugged his mouth and sighed.

“Are we? Is it living if I’m leaving my life behind?”

This was not the Dave York you knew. Occasionally, you had seen the wry humor, and suave exterior give way to the side of him that accepted “New Hamster” as an answer instead of “New Hampshire” but not even that remained. The Dave next to you had all of those layers peeled back. He was raw and unsure.

You didn’t answer him for a few minutes, honestly there wasn’t much of anything you could say that wasn’t a load of shit. You were both too practical for pep talks. Moreover, it wasn’t a question you had even stopped to ask yourself. The answer and the journey to that answer was a dangerous one.

“I- …. It’s the best option you’ve got right now, Dave. It’s a pretty fucked situation, my advice? Take it one hour a time and if you can manage that, take it one day at a time.”

“An hour?” Dave shook his head and rubbed his stubbled chin with his hand. “All I’ve seen for hours is dirt and sand. While Mac is probably watching Carol and the girls like a fucking hawk.”

You pursed your lips, and eyed the upcoming sign detailing the available lodging and food at the upcoming exit.

“Well you’ll have the inside of our next motel room to stare at in another hour.”

Dave slipped back into silence and you simultaneously welcomed and detested it. Things were simpler without him getting all philosophical on you and contemplating what made living actually living. It hardly mattered though because he had already gone and planted that damned seed inside your brain.

You pulled up to a not entirely shitty motel and paid for the night before going back for Dave who was waiting in the car. The room wasn’t terrible and after a thorough check, you could at least confirm there weren’t any critters who would be keeping you company. At least there were two beds.

After a dinner of pizza from the diner down the road you had taken Dave on a detour to the gas station to get a burner phone. In your haste to put as much distance as possible between you and McCall, you hadn’t bothered to get him one earlier. Once that was finished you both headed back to your room to unwind.

Dave sat in one of the rickety chairs at the small table that seemed to be actively trying to shed it’s veneer layer. With a sigh, he went to work stripping and reassembling his pistol. It was calming, relaxing for him. All of the pieces had a purpose, an order, to be pulled apart then reassembled, very much unlike his life right now. Nothing had purpose or order and everything had been pulled apart, leaving him broken shards to piece back together.

Hours passed and by the look of him, you figured Dave’s fingers might have gone numb from the repetitive movements and his eyes were drooping, well his good eye was drooping more than normal since the one McCall had nearly managed to gouge was still a little worse for wear.

“Dave, get some sleep. You’re no good to me or yourself if you’re half asleep.”

You know he’s been fighting sleep for a while now, he does every night just like he fights the pain you’re sure he’s feeling but refuses to take anything for. For the first time since you two set off, you’re not annoyed by it. He’ll sleep soundly at least once he let’s exhaustion take him. All the better for what you have planned.

It wasn’t until 01:00 that Dave was finally asleep soundly enough that you felt you could get up without waking him. Quietly, you made for the table, using the flimsy pad of paper and pen there to write a note before you walked out the door and shut it behind you. Thankfully, the city you had stopped in was populated enough that rideshare services were available and in less time than you had figured, you were on your way to the airport.

Dave woke up and immediately knew something was off. It was too quiet and there was too much sun trying to peek through the curtains for it to be the usual time you both headed out for the day. He sat up quickly and grabbed his pistol, then looked around the room for any signs of danger until his eyes fell upon the pad of paper on the table. A sharp pain arched through his skull when he stood up, a remnant of his concussion. He took the note in hand and began to read:

Dave,

I figure, if I’m lucky, I’ve got 4 hours on you. If I’m really lucky, I’ve got 6. Anything more than that and I’m disappointed in you, Dave.

He looked up from the note at the digital clock on the nightstand, it read 07:30. A wry grin threatens to take shape on his lips. You’d be disappointed.

I’m not going to make this some sort of sappy letter. I don’t have time for that shit. You were right. It isn’t really living if you’ve left your life behind. Out of the two of us, you’re the only one who really has one to miss. The only way you get to go back to Carol, Molly and Alice is if McCall is out of the picture, so I’m going to give it a shot. I left you enough cash to pay the room through the week and then some. If you don’t hear from me after a week, call the number at the bottom of this note and tell him you’re cashing in a favor for me. He’ll help you out. Might even know someone else who can help with your family. I left you the car, keys are on my bed.

Good Luck.

Dave’s throat went dry and then he saw at least four shades of red before he finally calmed down to assess the situation. Then all at once, it was like ice had been poured in his veins and things began to shift into focus.

What the fuck was he doing?

This entire time he had been wallowing, perhaps well earned, but he should have been planning. He had let his grief for the loss of Susan, the storm of emotions he felt seeing Mac still alive and a simple job that had spun drastically out of control, completely cloud his judgement. He was just as well trained as Mac, but he had let his anger and emotions get the best of him on that watchtower, he couldn’t let that happen again.

Dave moved quickly and methodically as he collected everything he needed from the room and headed out to the car. He really shouldn’t drive with his eye being what it was but he only needed to get to the airport and he could make it that far at least.

He couldn’t let Mac kill you, like Ari, Reznik, and Kovac. Family.

Like hell if he was going to let the closest person he had to a friend get killed.

If anyone was going to kill you, it’d be him, just for you trying to pull off something as stupid as this.

He knew this was the best move though, Mac wouldn't be expecting an attack this soon this time, the attack wouldn't be in the middle of gale force winds on Mac's home turf. You... and he would have the upper hand this time.

Dave got through the airport with relative ease thanks to him having TSA pre-check, no one bothered to ask him about his eye which he did his best to hide with a baseball cap.

He sat down and waited for his flight to be called. Mentally, he began going through the disassembly and reassembly of the rifle he had with him at the watchtower to help focus himself and pass the time.

The PA system broke his concentration and alerted him that it was time to board. Dave was tense when he finally got to his seat and sat down. His jaw was set in concentration as he started to come up with a new battleplan and weighing his options. Yes, he was injured but he'd been through worse on missions and come out on top.

At least one person was going to die by the end of the week and he'd be damned if you and him weren't the last ones standing.

Thanks for reading, tagging a few people interested/who might be interested:

@wheresarizona @pascalsimp @beesting77 @boxdyeblonde @lackofhonor @kaybrownies @agentwhiskeypussyindulgence @elegantduckturtle @janebby @faithkeeper-81 @doin-stuff @danniburgh @pascalslittlebrat @mothandpidgeon @mouthymandalorianalso @phoenixhalliwell @kesskirata @starlightmornings @wyn-dixie

#Writer Wednesday #Dave York #Dave York x Reader #Dave York Pit #Dave York x you #my fics

[mshermia]

A Dream Or A Nightmare

By @mshermia for @blackchessknight

Rating: Teen & Up

Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark

Characters: Tony Stark, Peter Parker, Natasha Romanoff, Helen Cho, Steve Rogers, Ned Leeds

Summary: Peter gets hurt during a mission. When he wakes up, it dawns on Tony that Peter doesn't remember a few things; he didn’t just forget about Tony but also being Spider-Man. While Peter thinks he's living his teenage dream spending time with the freaking Avengers, Tony is petrified he might never get the kid back who remembered being his son.

Many thanks to @friendly-neighborhood-exchange for all their work on this! This story is part of the Friendly Neighborhood Exchange #4.

AO3 Link

There were post-mission problems - like when Tony had to iron out the kinks in his suit - no pun intended-and had to pick up the bill for the remodel of a skyscraper - but then there were post-mission problems - like when his kid was passed out in a hospital bed, both his legs and one arm in a full cast.

Like right now.

It had been a few hours since they had patched him up, but so far, there was no sign of consciousness in Peter. Cho had reiterated once or twice that his body simply needed the rest and Tony would just have to be a little patient for his healing factor to pick up the pieces. It would take a little time and a lot of energy and Tony would just have to sit there and let Peter's body do its job.

Which was just great. Really. Just awesome, because patience, well, patience was one of Tony's core qualities. He was great at it. Top tier.

With a groan, he buried his face in both of his hands. They were at 8 hours and 47 minutes now. 8 hours and 47 minutes since Cho had rolled Peter out of the treatment room, her face solemn but not unkind.

"Just go lie down, Tony," she had said. "It'll be a few hours before he wakes up. Just get some rest."

Like that line had ever worked on him. Like he had ever left Peter's side after a mission before. No, even if the thought of May's ghost coming back and haunting his ass for leaving Peter would have had its perks, he'd made a promise and meant to keep it. The kid was it for him. His responsibility. His job. Out of all of them, by far Tony's favorite job. His life, really.

There was no version of this where he would move from Peter's side.

The idea of sleep at this point was a farce. Whenever Tony even attempted to close his eyes, the memories of that afternoon washed back up. No matter how deep he tried to bury them, they just wouldn't stay covered. He could still see it, the force with which Peter had been smashed into the building. Could still hear the white noise of his racing heart as he had desperately tried to move the debris under which Peter had been buried. He didn't need the nightmares that were waiting for him to just give in, to rest and sleep. No, when Peter would wake up that was when he'd even start to think about getting some rest.

With all his determination - and the frequency that Tony had spent time next to Peter in the med wing over the last year or so - you'd think he might have invested in a few more comfortable chairs but there was something about him being in discomfort that made waiting for his kid to wake up a little more bearable. Only this time, it took a little too long. This time it wasn't just Tony's back that was strained and his legs that were cramping. His nerves were on edge. 8 hours and - now - 48 minutes. 

It felt like it was a little too long. He couldn't remember Peter ever being out cold this long before.

It took another 2 hours and 21 minutes until - thank the gods, all of them - Peter's eyelids fluttered. Slowly at first, confused and dazed until he squinted to the side, looking right at Tony.

"Good morning, sunshine," Tony greeted him, the smile on his lips entirely genuine.

For what felt like an unusually long moment, Peter simply looked at him like he didn't really see him. Like Tony was part of the wallpaper rather than sitting there, leaning in closer. The poor little buddy was still all punch-drunk, a little lost even.

"How's your head, kid?"

Peter blinked a couple of times, his eyes growing a little rounder, definitely wider, but his gaze never left Tony's face. "You... You're Tony Stark."

Panic flashed through Tony faster than lightning, goosebumps rising on his arm. Was he... did he not remember?

Peter's eyes on the other hand grew a little wider if that was even possible. "OMG, Iron Man... you're Iron Man." The corners of his mouth pulled into a wide smile.

That little prankster... Tony huffed out a breath, one hand clutching his heart. "Jeezes kid, you almost had me." Adrenaline was still pulsed through him but he couldn't help but laugh. It wasn't often, that Peter's pranks worked on him.

"H-had you?" The smile on Peter's lips faltered just as his brow furrowed. "Oh... oh, what the..." He pressed his eyes shut. Fingers and thumb of his right hand - the one left cast-free - rubbed across his temples. 

As fast as Tony's cramping legs allowed, he rushed forward, one hand on the back of Peter's head, the other on the side of his face. "It's okay..." With practiced ease, his fingers ran through Peter's hair, tracing back and forth across his skull with just enough pressure that it should help ease the pain.

Little by little, Peter's heavy breathing slowed, the tension on his face slowly ebbing away. 

"FRI, let's tilt up that headrest a bit." As the bed was moving Peter into more of an upright position, Tony tried to catch his eye. "That better?" 

When their eyes met, he couldn't help but flinch at the look of utter confusion on Peter's face. "Y-yeah," he mumbled, never looking away from Tony.

"Where else does it hurt?" Tony's fingers were still rubbing back and forth through Peter's soft locks, the pressure low just like Tony knew May used to do for him. Like he had done so many times ever since it had been just the two of them.

"I... I'm not..." He couldn't seem to find the words. "What happened?"

Tony tried to swallow the rising panic attack that was brewing just below his skin. "You don't remember?"

Just then, the door edged open. Natasha stuck her head into the room. "Well, look who's back amongst the living!" She smiled warmly as she stepped in.

Peter's face on the other hand went a little paler. "It's... it's the Widow," he mumbled to himself, then sucked in a shaky breath. "Black Widow and Iron Man. Black Widow and Iron Man. This is... this is... wow."

Nat glanced over at Tony, her eyebrows slowly rising. "Uh-oh... that doesn't sound good."

Tony swallowed hard. "FRI, can you get Helen for us? Fast."

 "Right away, boss."  

Peter's eyes blinked up to the ceiling. "Shit, that's so cool."

"Hey, buddy..." Tony's hand on the back of his head gave it a soft squeeze, just enough to get his attention back. "Pain level? On a scale of 1 to 10, where're we at?"

"Erm..." He wasn't even blinking, just staring at Tony.

"1 is stubbing your toe, 10 is Toomes dropping a building on you." His heart was racing but this was absolutely not the time for Tony to have a panic attack.

"A... a building," Peter asked, dumbfounded.

"Fuck." Tony's hands were starting to sweat.

A glance at Natasha didn't help his nerves at all. A deep frown and an unambiguous sense of worry had replaced the cool facade she usually displayed.

Once again, the door to the room was pushed open. Helen Cho was on the other side of Peter's bed before Tony had even blown out a deep sigh of relief. With Helen, Peter was in good hands, the best hands.

"Hi there, Peter." Helen smiled down at him before her eyes moved back to the monitor displaying his vitals. "It's good to see you up."

"Er... hello."

"His memory," Tony spluttered. "Please, do something!"

"Alright, relax..." Natasha stepped up next to him, her hands on his arms pulling him away from Peter. "Give her some room to work."

"It's okay. I got him, Tony." Helen gave him a smile that was surely meant to look encouraging. It was everything but that though. It resembled the one that she had given him right after the last time Tony had needed a long-ass session in the cradle, resembled it a little too closely for Tony's liking. Her smile turned a little warmer when she looked back at Peter. "Do you know who I am, dear?"

"You..." Peter blinked a few times, his cheeks turning pink. "You're the doctor? M-my doctor?"

"My name is Helen."

"Oh, right..." Peter gave a swift smile. "He-hello Doctor Helen."

"Do you know who this is?" She pointed at Tony.

The nervous little laugh that bubbled out of Peter would have been cute in any other circumstance. "That... that's Tony Stark," he whispered, repeatedly glancing at Tony, then added "Iron Man" just as quietly and with just as much awe.

Helen's smile didn't falter though. "Do you remember when you met Tony for the first time?"

"Er... well, yeah actually, it..." He rubbed a hand through his hair, eyes now on the sheets. "When I was... er... when I was 8. He..." The color on Peter's cheeks turned a little darker. "well, we didn't like meet-meet but kind of... met at the Expo. He... he helped me. Erm... blasted one of those Hammer drones away that... that was right in front of me."

Helen stole a glance in his direction but Tony could only shake his head. He had no idea what Peter was talking about. 

"Okay, what is the last thing you remember doing?"

Peter opened his mouth, then frowned. "I... er..." For a moment he just sat there, blinking at her, mouth still open. "I... I don't know."

"Alright. That's okay. Look at me for a moment." She leaned towards him, a little flashlight in her hand. "Do you know what day it is?"

"Er..." He struggled to keep his eyes open as Helen moved the light from one eye to the other.

She studied him closely, her frown deepening. "What year?" 

Peter didn't even try for an answer this time. His face fell a little with every passing moment, panic steadily replacing the awestruck expression on his face. "I don't... I don't know. I don't know!"

"It's alright," Helen soothed, patting his shoulder.

With wide eyes, Peter turned to Tony like he had all the answers but he was completely useless, struggling to even think of how to start fixing this. "What's happening, Helen? What... what do I need to do? Talk to me!"

"Okay, let's just... let's just stay calm." Natasha took another step forward, positioning herself between Tony and Peter's bed. "Tony, I'm looking at you."

His eyes shot up at her but the loud drum of his heart thundering in his ears made his head hurt.

"Right," he breathed.

"Listen, this, er..." Peter's voice was quiet, close to shaking. "Thank you, you know, but I... I should really call my aunt and uncle. They... they're probably worried and I don't want them to have to worry because if they worry then I worry and I—"

"Alright, just..." Tony's heart was racing. "We'll... we'll figure that out, okay?"

It took all the strength he had not to go running from that room. If his nerves had been rising before it was no contest to the adrenaline that was now pumping through Tony's veins. 

Peter didn't remember. Ben and May Parker were dead and the kid didn't remember.

Instead, he was staring at Tony, eyes wide in starstruck wonder. "Oh, okay," he nodded, cheeks burning. "Thank you, Mr. Stark."

Before Tony could even think about how he was supposed to deal with telling Peter the truth, once again, the door to his room was pushed open. This time it was Rogers, positively humming with his never-fading good spirits.

"Hi there, Peter." Steve cringed as he took in the casts on both his legs and arms, then winked. "You look a little tied up there."

"Captain America... Captain America knows my name," Peter mumbled as if to himself, eyes wide in awe. 

Eyebrows raised, Steve's glance shifted to Helen, then Tony. "Yikes."

The room was getting too crowded, giving Tony a fresh vibe of claustrophobia. Like she could smell it on him, Natasha grabbed him by the arm. 

"Maybe you should discuss the details of the situation with Helen in her office, hm?" 'Or anywhere but in this room' - was what her eyes were saying instead. 

"No," Tony mumbled. "I can't— I won't—"

"Nat and I will keep Peter here some company," Steve chimed in before flashing a toothy smile at Peter. "Sound good, kid?"

Mouth a little gaping, Peter nodded slowly. 

"Nat can tell you about the time she went to Kalkutta and tried to outsmart Bruce Banner," he smiled even wider. "That sound good to you?"

"Really... er... really good," Peter mumbled.

The idea of leaving Peter had Tony's anxiety spike but not as much as the thought of having to tell him about his uncle's murder and his aunt's illness. He didn't resist, letting his feet fall in front of each other one step at a time as Helen tugged him by the arm.

"We'll figure this out, Tony," she said after she closed the door behind them. "Just take a breath."

"I'll take a breath when I know he'll be okay," Tony hissed through his teeth. "What is going on? You said you did a scan! You said he'd be fine!"

She held up her hands like it was going to calm him. Like he was a fucking horse that got a little spooked.

"I'll have to run some more tests but with how you described his crash, it is likely that he suffered a traumatic brain injury which affects the memory-storage areas of his brain, which is why we originally did the first scan when you brought him in."

Goosebumps erupted on his skin and had him shiver in reaction. "He's got amnesia."

"Right," Helen nodded. "We'll have to monitor him to figure out how much of his memory he has lost and if it's limited to a retrograde amnesia or also impairs his ability to form new memories."

"Jeezes." His face buried in both his hands, Tony had trouble focusing on one coherent thought himself. He swallowed hard, eyes back on Helen. "Well, when are his memories going to be back?"

Helen's face was somber. "It's something we will have to reevaluate step by step."

"But..." Panic, worse than before, was making his heart race. "But he is going to get his memories back, right?"

"I don't know, Tony." Her sympathetic frown was not helping with his panic at all. 

"Well, what do you know?!" 

"Hey..." The door to Peter's room had opened and closed. Steve was next to him in a matter of moments. "You need to keep it down out here." One of his hands was on Tony's shoulder and led him further down the hallway as his head bowed towards him. "We'll figure this out, Tony. Just breathe, okay?"

It was easier said than done. Tony's lungs were reluctant to work. With every frantic beat of his heart, panic seemed to vibe in his core a little stronger. 

His focus was still on Helen. "There has to be something we can do, just... just tell me what I have to do!"

"I'm sorry, Tony, there is just too little that we know. With his healing factor, the injury to his brain might have been more severe than we could detect by the time you brought him to the Compound. It's possible that his body had already started the healing process and what we see now are the lingering symptoms from the injury." 

"He can't... he can't even remember his aunt and uncle dying! What..." Tony tangled both hands in his hair, pulling hard like the pain of it would ease the agony of his racing mind. "What am I supposed to tell him?"

"It's a difficult situation," Helen said, entirely unhelpful.

No longer able to keep his feet still, Tony moved away from her, back towards the door of Peter's room only to remember that behind lay his kid that didn't remember ever really meeting him. Didn't remember the months of agony after May's death they had overcome together. Tony couldn't do that again. He wouldn't be able to bear it, to see the kid hurting like that again, not now when Peter had finally managed to brave the heartache of his loss.

Tony turned away from the door to stalk down the corridor, running as far away as his trembling legs would let him, only to be stopped by Steve.

"Just sit down for a moment, okay?"

Tony shook his head. He couldn't sit. He couldn't keep the panic at bay any longer. He was going to combust.

But instead, two strong hands pressed down on his shoulders and he found himself sat in one of the chairs that lined the med wing's hallway. As fast as his knees gave way, so did his emotions finally bubble out of him. His face hidden behind both his hands, Tony tried to cover up the tears, his unsteady breathing as his anxiety got the better of him. Steve's hand that lay heavy around his shoulders actually didn't hurt. It grounded him just enough to cling to some of his composure.

"You should get some sleep," Steve mumbled. "He's not gonna be awake for long anyway with his body still healing. Just... lie down and rest and—"

"No," Tony croaked. Steve's arm slid away as Tony sat up straight again. "I'm not going anywhere." Repeatedly, he rubbed the sleeve of his sweatshirt across his face. "I'm all the family he has left. Just me and—" 

Right, there was one more person that was like family to Peter, like a brother.

"FRI!" Tony's eyes flickered up to the ceiling. "Get Happy to pick up Ned Leeds. Tell him to hurry."

 #

 For an hour and a half, Tony allowed Steve to distract him in the communal kitchen. He ate some of Sam's lasagne, snuck about 4 cups of espresso until FRIDAY finally announced the arrival of Ned and Happy.

It wasn't Ned's first visit to the Compound. Even though Tony and Peter usually lived at the Tower, he had taken the boys out to the Avengers complex upstate for a number of weekend trips. It got Peter's mind off his worries and the awestruck look on Ned's face was always a picture.

This was likely the first time that Ned refrained from gawking at the high ceiling of the lobby, his eyes on Tony.

"Let's go," Tony mumbled, dipping his head toward the med wing.

Ned didn't hesitate, his tension visible in his clenched fists. "What happened?"

Tony gritted his teeth, pushing the memory back down that wanted to send him spiraling once again. "He got thrown against a building and that hard skull of his brought down the whole thing on top of him."

Ned blew out a shaky breath. "But he's awake?"

"Yeah, only can't remember m-much." Tony had just about stopped himself from a 'remember me' slipping off his tongue.

Ned glanced at him. "And you think me being here will help?"

"He doesn't remember that May and Ben are dead. I think maybe... maybe a friendly face will help. Even if it doesn't trigger anything. Just to..." Tony sucked in a sharp breath, "to soften the blow."

Ned cursed then his head turned back to Tony. "Wait, but..." He shook his head. "He still knows who you are, right?"

Avoiding Ned's face, he tried really hard to keep the emotion out of his voice. "He remembers Iron Man."

Before Ned could say another word, Tony pushed open the door to Peter's room. Natasha was still sitting next to his bed but quickly receded to the back wall as Peter's enthusiastic voice echoed through the room!

"Ned! You're here!" Awkwardly with his legs and one arm a little elevated in their casts, Peter waved at him with his good hand. "Hi there, Mr. Stark," he added, his cheeks once again blushing profusely.

"Shit, dude, your legs!" 

A little hesitant, Ned moved closer to the bed. But when Peter stretched out his hand, ready to greet him with their signature handshake, the tension in Ned's shoulders lifted.

"I know right? It's sick!" Then he shrugged. "At least it should get me out of PE."

"For a little while at least." 

Helen had made her way back into the room right after them. She placed a hand on Tony's upped arm, squeezing it reassuringly. This is where they were supposed to start. Talk about Peter's physical recovery before they headed down the dark winding road of his amnesia.

"When you've eaten, we'll have to get a couple more scans in but right now," she continued. "But right now I see no reason why it should take you longer than the normal ten days for multiple broken limbs until the casts can come off."

"Ten days? What," Peter snorted. "What kind of doctor are you?"

"Dude..." Ned's eyes were wide, as he glanced over at Helen.

"I... I'm sorry! So sorry," Peter's face turned beet-root-red. "I just... last time I broke my arm it... it took like seven months till the cast came off. Re-remember, Ned? I...I couldn't even play with your new playstation all summer!"

It didn't come as a real surprise to Tony, not at this point. He didn't remember being Spider-Man. Tony had feared as much since Ben Parker had died a few weeks after Peter's bite.

"Yeah, but..." Ned looked right at Peter. "But that was before."

"Before?" Peter frowned at him, then shook his head. "Before what?"

Both Ned and Helen turned to Tony, waiting expectantly for him to say something but Tony couldn't find the words. He didn't know where to begin. Before panic could take hold of his body and soul once more, it was Natasha who stepped up.

"Before you got your powers," she said like she was talking about yesterday's weather.

Slowly, Peter's eyes shifted from person to person before he glanced back at Nat. "My powers?"

"Yes, that was before you were bitten by a radioactive spider and developed superhuman strength and healing abilities." She tilted her head a little, studying him like this was the key that would bring back the kid's memory. "You also stick to things. Like walls."

"Radioactive spider?" Peter's eyebrows slowly rose closer and closer to his hairline. "And I stick to things." After another glance at Ned who nodded enthusiastically, Peter bit his lip. "So, I have superpowers. And I guess... I guess being here with you..." there was another pause while he gnawed at his lip a little harder. "I guess that means I use those powers to like help you?"

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Correct." 

The corners of Peter's mouth twitched. It was painfully obvious how he tried to suppress a wide smirk. "Can you imagine?" He turned to Ned. "May finding out I'm a superhero? She'd lose her mind."

"Er... Peter..." Ned's face was long and a little spooked.

"What?" Peter mumbled, the smile falling off his lips. He looked from one person to the next waiting for someone to offer up more information.

Tony's chest was tight but there was no way around it. This was his responsibility. He would have to be the one and he'd catch Peter once again when he would crumble under the news.

"Peter, I'm afraid your aunt and your uncle, they are no longer with us." Tony did his best to keep his voice clear, his tone sincere. He edged a little closer to Peter's bed then sat done at the foot end of it, ready to pull him close. "Ben died a little more than 2 years ago. May a year later."

"Oh." For a moment, Peter's face was blank, then he grimaced. "Damn, that's a little harsh, killing off the family to hang out with the freaking Avengers. Your brain's messed up, Parker," he mumbled under his breath. "I'm gonna have to bake them a cake."

"Pete..." Tony frowned and reached his hand out, not quite finding the confidence to take Peter's hand, he awkwardly squeezed the side of his bed instead. "I'm really sorry."

"Yeah, no, right..." Quickly, Peter nodded, his eyes on the hand Tony had edged towards him. "Me too. Me too. That's... that's not cool. I mean like... like bad."

Dread was crawling up Tony's spine. 

"So then," Peter cleared his throat. "I guess I'm not staying in the apartment anymore or did I..." He squinted at Natasha like she was the best source of good information. "Did I get a job?"

"No," Ned shook his head, a subtle sense of irritation swinging in his voice. "You live with Tony."

"With Tony?" Peter followed Ned's finger that was pointing straight at Tony's chest. "I'm living with Tony." His hand flew up to cover his mouth a little too late to cover the snort he hadn't been able to hold back. "Sorry, of course I do..." Peter mumbled through his hand as Ned turned around looking right at Tony, his face full of shock. 

All Tony could do was sit there. This was worse than he would have thought. This was a whole different level of denial.

"I'm sorry," Peter mumbled again then pointed at Ned, "you'll get such a kick out of this." The hand now rubbing across his face, he shook his head and mumbled, "God, I hope, I'll remember this when I wake up."

Tony's heart sank. It sank all the way to his stomach where it lay like a heavy undigestible piece of useless flesh. Which was worse, Peter's refusal to believe the painful truth or that the idea of him living with Tony was such a joke? A sense of bottomless sorrow washed over him unbroken as Natasha pulled him out of the room by his arm.

"He'll get there," she mumbled, squeezing both his shoulders. "It's a lot to take in all at once but there is no way around it."

"I... I don't know how to do this," Tony whispered.

"We're here with you." One of her hands forced his chin up, forced him to look at her through his tears. "We're right here with you. Every step of the way, okay?"

###

Of course, I couldn't resist making this a longer story, so there'll be a second chapter (probably) tomorrow ;)

#irondad #IRON DAD AND SPIDER SON #amnesia #friendly neighborhood exchange #spiderman fanfiction #tony stark fic #tony stark #iron dad fic #spiderman

[rainbowvamp]

"Your Grace."

A royalty/knight AU. Merlin as a prince. Lancelot is a knight of Camelot. They fall in love because of course they do. :)

--

The carriage he’s riding in bumps and drags through the streets of Camelot. Because he’s here as a prince, a visiting dignitary, he was asked to behave as a dignitary and ride inside the carriage, not on his own damn horse. Which made the ride entirely out of his control and fairly uncomfortable, and worst of all boring.

He could hear his father’s knights laughing and joking right up until they reached the gates of Camelot. He wasn’t jealous, per se, but he wished he could at least pretend he might be able to participate in the joking.

He couldn’t even entertain himself with magic because the carriage curtains were partly lace embellished and it might show through. That Ealdor allowed Magic openly was no secret in Camelot, but that the crown prince had it… that definitely was. And for the sake of certain trade negotiations, it was going to have to stay that way.

Merlin sighs with relief when the carriage finally stops and he hears himself being announced. Someone opens the door to his carriage and he puts on an air of princeliness that his mother would have been proud of as someone offers him a hand to help him step down.

The hand offered him is not the hand of one of his father’s men.

It’s the hand of a truly beautiful man, with dark brown eyes that look so earnest Merlin could’ve tripped over them. He did start to trip over his own feet, but the knight (and he must be a knight in that gorgeous Camelot red) quickly took Merlin’s waist in one hand to steady him.

Merlin might have looked gangly, but he was far from a waif of a damsel, so the feat required no small amount of strength. Merlin tried not to think about it too much, lest he become distracted.

“Your Grace,” the knight helped Merlin the rest of the way down (no more tripping) and bowed when he released Merlin’s hand. “I’m Sir Lancelot, knight of Camelot. It will be my honor to escort you during your visit. The king and the prince are unfortunately occupied with a trade deal that is taking much longer than anticipated. He had hoped to be done before your caravan arrived, but I’m sorry to say this was not the case.”

If Merlin were at home, he might have said something like, “Oh, great. Uther’s a nightmare.” Or better, “Arthur’s always been a prat anyway. I don’t send any regrets.”

But Merlin was here representing his father, his mother, and his kingdom. He’d do as was meant to be done, and he’d be amiable. “I understand. These things happen. I’m quite tired after the journey. Could you show me somewhere I might lay down for a minute?”

Truthfully, Merlin was a ball of energy, but he knew himself well enough to know that he was barely holding himself together, and a quick reprieve from society, with all doors shut and windows covered, would be the best thing he could do for himself right now.

“Of course. I can show you to your chambers. Prince Arthur offered the ones nearest his to you.”

Merlin tilted his head. “I was under the impression those were usually knight’s chambers.”

“They are, but certain improvements are being made to the guest areas of the castle. I promise you will not find them lacking.”

“I believe you.” Merlin didn’t, but he wasn’t going to make a scene. He hated that he was going to have to be close at all to Prince Prat. Why had his father sent him? What had been the point of this whole diplomatic visit? Merlin didn’t have any authority yet. It was just a cutesy show of alliance.

Or his Mother was trying to marry him off again while he was gone. It had only happened the once, and she’d promised it was an accident, but Merlin was skeptical.

“If you’ll follow me, Your Grace, I’ll show you to your rooms.”

“Yes, that would be great.” Lancelot offered Merlin his arm, and while usually Merlin would’ve refused…

Well, how could he refuse such a chivalrous knight. He put his hand in the crook of Lancelot’s elbow and was careful not to outwardly relish the contact. Even through the chainmail, Merlin could feel the sheer strength in Lancelot. It wasn’t at all unpleasant.

If her were home, he might’ve made a move to get Lancelot into his bed. But he was supposed to be amiable, so he settled for just smiling as Lancelot explained what new was being done to improve the castle’s fortitude and kept his mouth firmly shut about how it all sounded unnecessary.

“Here you are,” Lancelot opened the door to a chamber near Arthur’s. Merlin only knew it was Arthur’s because he’d been forced to take supper with the prince in them once while their parents discussed “private matters.” Whatever that had meant. It had been a stilted and awkward dinner, only barely saved by the grace of the Lady Morgana. “I hope you will find everything to your liking. If not, the servants have orders to bring you anything you might need to make your stay more comfortable.”

“Thank you,” Merlin walked into the chambers alone and… was actually impressed.

It was obvious the place had been very thoroughly cleaned, recently, and the drapery on the bed, the curtains, and the linens all looked incredibly beautiful. Well preserved or possibly even new. An obvious Camelot Red that looked much less fetching on bedding than it did on Sir Lancelot.

“Your grace,” Lancelot bowed and left Merlin to his rest.

He collapsed onto the bed as soon as the door was closed.

By the Gods, how was he going to make it through the week with this gorgeous knight around? Merlin was very glad this was only meant to be a short visit. Or maybe not so glad.

His servant came in a few minutes later with his things, and Merlin asked him to draw the curtains. Once the room was dark and he was alone, he pulled at the thread of magic that ran through his soul and muttered a simple spell to make the room glow.

The glow purposefully mimicked candlelight, ebbing in a way that would fool most people, but instead of fire light, the room was filled with magic that came from him and could be shaped into anything he desired. He made it a little bird and watched it flutter around the room for a while, letting the energy of maintaining the manifestation still him a bit. The bird’s flying became hopping around on the bed spread and then slowly it nestled down in the blankets to sleep, and Merlin, lulled by it, did the same.

—

Lancelot knocked thrice on the door to Prince Merlin’s chambers before entering. He had been asked to fetch him for dinner. Though that was usually a servant’s job, Lancelot didn’t hesitate to go up to the room that was usually his to retrieve the Prince.

He waited for an answer, but heard nothing. He checked the hall to see if any of Prince Merlin’s servants might be milling about, but had no such luck. He knocked again, louder this time. “Your Grace. Dinner is to be served soon, if you would like me to escort you?”

He still heard nothing. The Prince had mentioned that he was tired, and so perhaps it was possible the man was asleep. Lancelot tried the knob and found it unlocked. With no guard to be seen. Lancelot sucked his teeth and made a vow to either make the man lock his door to station a guard. The palace might be safe, and Merlin may have no enemies in Camelot to speak of, but it did seem like there was always at least one traitor within her walls. He’d hate for Merlin to be their victim.

“Your Grace,” Lancelot called again, entering the antechamber and closing the door to give them some privacy. “Are you here?”

It felt strange to walk into his own room like it wasn’t his. For the next week it wasn’t his, but he hadn’t been able to handle the idea of Merlin being put in a drafty room barely suitable for a card game, let alone sleeping for a week.

Arthur had been fine with it, but Arthur was not particularly hospitable. When Lancelot had offered up his own room instead, Arthur had only raised an eyebrow and waved his hand, which was as close to permission as he was going to get.

It wasn’t ideal to be making his way to the bedchambers of a prince unannounced, but if Merlin wasn’t there he’d have to start a search, and so really it was just practical. It had nothing to do with Lancelot’s own personal curiosity.

“Your Grace.” Lancelot poked his head around the bedchamber door and for a moment, he lost his breath.

Merlin was gorgeous, sleeping peacefully on top of the blankets, shoes not even removed, strangely, but that wasn’t what caught Lancelot’s breath. Sitting on the bed, nestled against Merlin’s chest, was a glowing orange bird, no bigger than a sparrow.

Oh shit.

Oh shit.

Lancelot started to back out of the chamber to knock again, louder, but Merlin was already stirring, and as soon as their eyes locked the bird vanished.

They stood there, in quiet, tense silence for several moments, both of them trying to think of what to say. Magic was outlawed in Camelot, and they both knew what Lancelot had seen. To his credit, Merlin didn’t look like he was about to attack him with said magic, so that was good. But the threat of what might be about to happen hung heavy in the air between them, stifling any possible conversation.

Merlin was the first to clear his throat. “Did you need something?”

Lancelot’s mouth opens and closes without him saying anything, but soon enough he finds his voice, clears his throat, and says, “Um, dinner is to be served soon. If you’d like to dress.”

Merlin looked down at his travel clothes, now slept in, and sighed. “I suppose I must.”

Lancelot nodded and closed the door to the bedchamber.

Oh shit.

—

“Fuck.” Merlin whispered to himself as he rifled through the chest of his clothes. Sir Lancelot might very well be running to tell the king about him right now. He searched his trunk for the clothes that he would usually wear to battle but then decided against them. He took a deep breath, elbow deep in fabric and necessities, and forced himself to shaky feet, grabbing the ensemble he’d planned to wear to the first dinner of his visit. He’d never needed mail or anything else to go into battle. He’d trained to fight in his royal clothes for exactly this reason. He’d at least take the chance that Lancelot was too stupid to know what he’d seen before he went out magic wielded. It was for the best.

He dressed quickly, even for being on his own, washing his face and hands, combing his hair and carefully adjusting the delicate his mother had given him specially for this visit. Why she’d felt such a need, Merlin would never know. Hunith was a strange woman, and only getting stranger, while Balinor seemed to be getting more callused. Still, he loved them, and all their eccentricities.

He felt luxurious in the deep blue and green dinner clothes, and that steadied him a little. If he was going to have to fight, at least he’d look good doing it.

And he had a dagger stashed on his person just in case.

He opened the door and found Lancelot standing a few feet away, turned away from him. Merlin kept his back straight and his gaze level as the man turned to face him.

“It’s been a while since I saw Camelot’s dining hall. I might need help getting there.” He could definitely have gotten there on his own, but he wanted to keep Lancelot close, just in case. It was always easier to hide using magic on someone when they were closer.

“Of course, Your Grace.” Lancelot extended his arm again, and Merlin decided to take it again. It kept his arm inconspicuously close to the opening of his coat, where he could reach in and grab his dagger if need be.

They made their way to the antechamber, but they stopped at the door. Merlin tensed at the way Lancelot didn’t reach for the handle.

“Your secret is safe with me.” Lancelot said, and Merlin started to pull away, but Lancelot held his hand at his elbow. “I swear it.”

Again, just like when they’d met, Lancelot has such earnest eyes, Merlin can’t help but believe him.

“I’m not a danger to anyone.” He swore in return, and Lancelot nodded, with a soft smile.

“I know. You did trip getting out of your carriage.” Lancelot’s little chuckle would’ve been cute if it hadn’t embarrassed Merlin so badly.

“I’d been riding for hours. My legs were unsteady.”

“I’m sure.” Lancelot reached for the door knob now and Merlin breathed a sigh of relief.

“Your secret is safe with me.”

And somehow, Merlin believed him.

#merlance #mercelot #lancelot #merlin/lancelot #merlin x lancelot #minimercelotweek2021 #day 2: grace

[shittylongcatposts]

To Hell with love - Sinnerman ch. 2 Priest au!

word count: ~1200 trigger warning: mentions of religion, contains some swear words

“Jesus, men suck”, her friend stated and threw herself on Miriam’s bed. The young woman started to explain what happened, not leaving out a single thing, while she tried to tell her friend all the dirty details that happened since the last time they met. That her now ex-boyfriend betrayed her, and even started to harass her after their breakup, claiming that she was the guilty one in this part, guilty for not even letting him sleep with her whenever he wanted to, in fact Miriam was glad they didn’t get to this point of their relationship at all, because she wasn’t ready for it. The young woman felt relieved that she finally could speak about all of this with somebody. After Becca listened to Miriam’s whole story she sighed and held out a pot filled with ice cream, waiting for her friend to finally grab the spoon and eat it.

However, said friend sat on the edge of her bed crying. She didn’t want to cry, actually she hated to feel like this. Helpless, and hurt by this guy, she fell in love with all this time ago. Miriam still had some feelings for him, even though turned out to be an asshole. But she also knew that after giving it a little bit of time she would feel better. Relieved. Free, and maybe ready to move on. With her friend slowly stroking her back and her curly hair, her sobs died out, and eventually Miriam’s mood started to brighten up. Soon she grabbed the pot of ice cream and started shoveling the ice into her mouth.

“That’s more like it! Finally you’re eating something!” Becca cheered, attempting to hug the other woman from behind, at the same time Miriam tried to swallow a huge spoonful of ice. But she failed horribly. With loud laugh Becca and Miriam fell over, neither of them being able to get up again. Both women started giggling and eventually Miriam stopped coughing.

“You sound like I haven't eaten anything in days” Miriam pouted and rolled her eyes and sat back up. Her voice was still rough from the small incident.

“Hey, I’m just taking care of my friend, here, I could also just go home again.” Becca said jokingly, staring at her with a grimace.

“Hell no you can’t, we haven’t even started the movie yet. Plus I haven’t seen you for ages, you can’t just leave me again and disappear for weeks!”

They both looked at each other with weird grimaces playing on their faces. When the friends looked at each other again, they laughed wholeheartedly. Oh, how much Miriam missed hanging out with her best friend.

That night they decided on having a sleepover, and to watch some bad movies while downing some wine and snacks. After Miriam finished rummaging around in her apartment, on her mission to find said snacks and wine, the best friends soon cuddled up against each other on the couch, ready to start the movie-night.

While opening up the bottle, the movie started, but neither of the girls were paying attention to it, both friends were focused on each other, looking up memes on their phone, laughing about nothing and everything, telling funny stories about their ex boyfriends and their weird habits.

Every now and then the friends clinked their glasses together. Each time toasting to something different.

“may he roast in hell.” “ Here’s to a new life”

The movie got better in the middle so their talking ebbed down. Sometimes it was silent, then every now and then Becca quoted something out of the movie, while Miriam called out some weird facts or things happening on screen that she noticed.

The movie ended with a glorious finale and Becca held up her glass one last time humming a very familiar tune, both women were slightly tipsy and had some difficulties grabbing their glasses.

“ To hell with lies, to hell with love, The pain, the tears, the broken heart, all of the above” They sang together.

When Miriam finally laid down in her bed later that night, Becca already snored softly, she closed her eyes listening to the sound of the darkness. She quickly thanked her friend for being there for her, but merely received a tired moan as an answer.

This was something she felt like she needed for such a long time. Balm for the soul or whatever people may call it, and she hoped this would never end. That their friendship would last forever.

The next day Miriam drove down the street after she dropped Becca at the Bus station. It was a pretty warm day and she hoped that her friend didn’t forget her water bottle. (“stay hydrated, Rebecca!!!” “Yes, Ma’am!!”)

The traffic light sprung to red and she stopped, quickly tying her curly hair up into a bun, hoping that it would help to cool her down at least a little bit. Then she took some time to look around, there was an old lady crossing the street and it took her quite a while. Miriam tried recalling the name of her, she probably knew her from her work, but she couldn’t remember. She knew she visited the elderly people’s home regularly when they planned their bingo nights.

Then there was somebody quickly walking over the grass in front of the church. The person dressed all in black stopped in front of the sign, rearranging the letters on it. “Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good.”

That’s some motivational quote. Miriam smiled and thought of the old father, he would never do something like this. Even years after getting that sign it always ended up saying the same. “Come join us on sunday” That’s it.

The young guy stepped back, proudly looking at his work, he closed the bible and turned around. Now that the young woman got a closer look at him she recognized him as the new priest, the one who stepped in for Father Smith. With this proud smile on his face and his slightly disheveled raven black hair he looked quite nice. Maybe he’d bring some joy into the community for the other people. Miriam didn’t really notice she was still staring at him until he stopped to wave her a small hello, an angelic smile playing around his lips. She smiled back waving too when she saw the traffic lights going from red to green. Stepping on the gas she left the church behind, a flush of red hushing over her cheeks. God, that was unnecessary, she thought to herself, when she finally arrived at her home again. Her thoughts were still filled with that priest, it must be pretty weird to come to a community where everybody just joked about the church, despite the real strict catholics of course, but this small “circle” consisted only of five people, the rest showed up either on easter or christmas to say that they at least visited the church once a year. Miriam thought about paying it a visit again, maybe it wouldn’t be too bad. And with Sunday being tomorrow she actually considered setting her foot into the church again. After all these godless years.

hey guys, I hope you enjoyed this chapter, i finally had the courage to post it, yay. Stay tuned there's more to come. oh and the song mentioned here is called "To hell with love" a song from a german punk band called the Donots

#mysme #mystic messenger #jumin han #shitty longcat #jumin #finally chapter 2 is here #only took me eleven years lol

[counterpunches]

End (Beginning Movement)

Fandom: The Haunting of Bly Manor Pairing: Dani Clayton/Jaime Taylor Rating: T Wordcount: 4,137 Note: all the thanks to the incredible @foomatic for being a fantastic beta and even better friend. so much so that she actual recorded herself reading the story to help ID and fix all the tenses to make it coherent and then just straight up turned it into a podfic set to the show's musical score. Its way cooler than I ever thought it'd be, so feel free to please check it out here

Summary: If standing silently and bearing witness was all Jamie could do, she gladly took the weight of it if it meant one less thing for Dani to carry. Jamie coiled it tight back into herself and created her own waiting, lurking beast. Jamie was quiet with her rage for a while, until she was shaking with it. Until it threatened to explode out of her skin like a bomb and she wouldn’t ever - ever - let Dani come close to the shrapnel. Instead she was the steady rock that Dani needed and imploded later, somewhere else, somewhere safe. She just wanted to fucking break something. Couldn’t get her hands on the Lady, couldn’t pull her out of Dani, so she had to find the next best thing.

Also on AO3 

It was easy, Jamie thought, as her head pounded and temple throbbed. 

Well, not so much now, at this moment, with a hangover thundering out a pulse on the timpani of her skull as she clung to the toilet like a lover in the night. Every joint and muscle aches, a combination of sleeping half slumped over in the bathroom, age, and the consequences of booze. She leans back with a groan, back twinging, shoulders popping, and as nausea roils, takes a few deep breaths to settle her stomach. Evidently spending the rest of last night praying to the porcelain god didn’t buy her any grace today.

But in general, it was easier, spending the night chasing the bottom of a pint glass, in a way nothing else was these days. Christ, even breathing was hard. Been hard since the day her lungs fought for surface despite her best intentions. Been burning with it, since, taking in air in a world that Dani Clayton no longer existed in. 

The water refused to take her, so she’d found another way to drown. 

So yeah. It was easy, sliding into bad habits like an forgotten favorite jacket. A glass of wine became a bottle. What was one or two nights to forget against a million more? A bottle quickly became too slow. Why waste time, Jamie thought, chasing one cup after another? Best to jump straight to the hard stuff, then.

Jamie never beat around the bush before, seemed no point in starting now, her bluntness having been softened over the years by Dani’s love. The very edges of her ebbed into the waters of an ocean that was no longer there. Jamie was parched. She was so thirsty. So she drank. 

Wrong kind of love can fuck you up. Right one can, too. 

Just as bad, really. 

Worse, if you’re lucky. 

Love and possession may be opposites, but Jamie had given her heart away a long time ago and she didn’t know how to keep it beating when it was no longer hers. Everything she was had already been given over to Dani. Given eagerly. Freely. Like all things best loved are. And that’s the thing about a freed thing, isn’t it? Doesn't come back just because you want it to. Just because you miss it.

This part of her - it isn’t peaceful, Dani had said. And Jamie had understood. 

Understood in blood and bone, in the way something so small and insignificant can snap. Remembers how rage can end with kneeling in a rain-soaked alleyway, groaning from an ass kicking she probably deserved, probably was searching for, blood trickling down from a split eyebrow. Remembered how she grimaced, the twinge in her ribs matching the bitter taste of metal in her mouth, but it’d hurt and there was a sick measure of comfort in that; making part of the world match the brokenness inside her. 

So yeah. She knew rage. Recognized it. Hated that something so ugly and angry and raw resided inside of Dani, something that couldn’t possibly exist naturally - there wasn’t an atom of that kind of violence in Dani’s body. She wouldn’t give into the wrath, Jamie knew even then, in the cradle of knowing her. Dani would never. And the unfairness of her having to suffer through the struggle of it anyway made the part of Jamie that resonated in recognition with Viola burn. 

It’s you. It’s me. It’s us, the rage said, taunting her through the fissures of Dani’s struggle.

It was all she could do to hold it in that day, her teeth cracking under the weight of it, in the horrible quiet of the room as Dani confessed. As she gave voice to the terrible truth that now resided in her. She’s waiting, Dani had whispered. If standing silently and bearing witness was all Jamie could do, she gladly took the weight of it if it meant one less thing for Dani to carry. Jamie coiled it tight back into herself and created her own waiting, lurking beast. 

And Jamie knew from past experience that the only way to control the beast was to let it out of captivity from time to time. To let the monster run wild and exhaust itself so she could wrestle it back into the cage. 

The rage festered. Jamie felt it rumbling deep in her chest.

So when Dani finally left the room with a shaky determination (“Better find out what those kids are getting up to,"), Jamie knew she had to let it breathe.

No one would remember where the dent in the wall came from. It was chalked up as an accident, caused by one of the many pieces of furniture having knocked into things on its way out to the moving truck. Jamie had to hold in the scream that broiled inside and searched for a safer place for it to land.

She still had to walk by that fucking lake to get to the greenhouse. 

Under cover of the potted sanctum, Jamie let loose the beast. Anger clawed, scratching out her throat. The greenhouse was excellent at absorbing sound, plants and leaves shaking with the echoes of her cries, and if Jamie’s voice seemed a little hoarse, it was easy enough to blame it on something else. Easy enough, to explain away her split knuckles on mis-gauging the distance while bringing one of the heavier boxes outside. Or scraping it against some gravel. Or anything other than slamming her fist into the wall again and again and again. 

It was new though, needing to find ways to hide it from Dani. Never had to hide it from anyone before. She used to display her beast proudly, a mark of pride that said ‘don’t fuck with us.’ Didn’t have to hide her beast in prison, either. Everyone had one of their own; it was why they’d all ended up there in the first place. More than a few learned how to deal with it in therapy. Jamie tamed hers in the jungle of a garden.

Not a single part of her looked in the rear view mirror as they drove away. Would never have stopped the truck if it could’ve kept Dani safe. So she did what little she could do. All the fear, the terror that already threatened to split Dani further in two, the new shell of a person Dani had to live with, Jamie took it from her. Buried it deep within herself, felt it so that Dani wouldn’t have to. Drew out the poison from Dani’s soil and into her own roots.

And then, in her most private moments - few and far between, really, for there was nothing unshared between them - Jamie let out the venom, the resentment, the fury, that she collected. Outrage that the world dared spin, indifferent to the unfairness of it all. 

She just wanted to fucking break something. Couldn’t get her hands on the Lady, couldn’t pull her out of Dani, so she had to find the next best thing.

Viola was quiet in her rage. Jamie wasn’t with hers. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. She was, for a while, at least.  

That first year was full of small moments: the way Dani’s shoulders would never fully relax, tension rarely leaving her body, even in sleep. How she kept looking over her shoulder at rest stops and gas stations, as if the Lady were a drifter, following them on the highways, across states, through the unfolding ribbon of their adventure. Jamie found she could cover up those incidents with the smug satisfaction of having bested the unavoidable for another day. Another week. Another month.

Her demon was dormant for a good long while, in the solace of Dani’s love. Dormant like Viola’s fucking ghost, it turned out. Things were so good for so long, it almost seemed to purr, content in it’s hibernation.

Jamie’s beast woke with a sudden and curious start, after that night in the kitchen after Paris. Started to sniff, hungry for any little scrap. Found too many for comfort - the way Dani started to wake up earlier, as if perhaps she hadn’t slept at all; how it would take her just a moment longer to turn off the water; the times Jamie had to repeat Dani’s name until she jerked, as if suddenly finding herself transported somewhere new - it began pacing in its cage, hungry now, banging on the bars.

Jamie was quiet with her rage for a while, until she was shaking with it. Until it threatened to explode out of her skin like a bomb and she wouldn’t ever - ever - let Dani come close to the shrapnel. Instead she was the steady rock that Dani needed and imploded later, somewhere else, somewhere safe. 

She could see how close to the edge Dani was, on some days. How it seemed even the barest breeze would blow her from herself entirely, leaving an empty, unblinking husk behind. It was all Jamie could do to steer her back from the cliff each time. 

Jamie had to coax Dani back to the world, breathe life into her lips some mornings as she stared into the ceiling, eyes open and blank; her very own Sleeping Beauty. Each time it felt like a kiss goodbye. Stay with me. Please. Come back to me. A miracle, when she did, even if Dani slipped further and further away each time like a boat on the horizon. Jamie would stroke her face with trembling hands, afraid even the gentlest touch would cause the delicate thing to disintegrate beneath the pads of her fingers. 

Dani always came first. Even as Jamie’s own creature grew stronger and louder, she held it in. Found controlled environments to let it run wild.

There was something oddly comforting about the alleyway. There’s a familiar landscape all back alleys share - brick, concrete,  dumpster, a car or two, usually a fair amount of scattered garbage, and the near ubiquitous empty, overturned storage crates used by the weary for smoke breaks or breakdowns of all shapes and sizes - an alley was an alley was an alley. 

The only thing that marked it as theirs was a few hanging ferns on the corner of the doorway. Something to signal the threshold, announce the life bursting and growing just inside. Something growing in the barren landscape of a back alley. Something to remind a younger Jamie of what could lie on the other side, if she stood long enough to reach up for it. 

So she destroyed things in the alleyway. When the cruelty of the matter absolutely broke her - when Jamie had to sew the fraying pieces of Dani back together because Viola was slowly pulling the seams of her apart; when she desperately scooped handfuls of Dani even as she was slipping through her fingers like sand - Jamie would break something else. 

Jamie took her rage, and smashed it against the brick or asphalt in a shower of pottery in the alleyway. Pots, planters, saucers, she grabbed damaged items from the shop and broke them even further, until her chest heaved and panted from the effort of it in the shards under her feet. When the alley wasn’t a possibility and her screams of frustration and the clatter of smashing ceramic would would threaten to draw Dani out from the thinning fragility of their life together, Jamie would punch bags of soil in the storage room until the they burst, earth pouring to the floor, and leaving her standing in a shallow grave of her own making.  

Nothing to hide, once Dani is gone.

Easier to get lost in the anger, and Jamie let it consume her like an uncontrolled blaze until nothing but ash remained. Fitting, she thought, for the daughter of a coal miner. It came to claim her, pulling her into itself, not to grow, not to nourish, but to press her into something that burned. And oh, she burned. 

It would scare her, she thought, that she hadn’t changed. In all this time, in all these years, underneath the layers of soil and earth, below the roots, the same creature lurked in the dirt of Jamie’s own jungle. A monster that threatened to take her too. That she wished would. A demon of wrath and anger. Of pain and suffering and the shit end of the stick every time. 

Despite the years, despite the love and relative calm that settled over her life - since gardening, since Dani - she was still the same enraged, lost, thing. Every living thing comes from every dying thing and it’s natural and she knows that but what she didn’t understand is how to keep living when the core of you is already dead; how was it possible for these two things to co-exist at once. The impossibility of the thing. The decaying mortality. This unholy living. Feels unnatural. 

Jamie couldn’t breathe. She couldn't, she couldn’t-

And there, there it was. Specks of dried toothpaste on the mirror. It shouldn’t have been the thing to undo her. After all, it could’ve been hers or Dani’s. But it could have been. Dani’s. Such a casual, mundane thing - a flick of the wrist, rinsing off the toothbrush, spitting into the drain - leaving behind a stain. A mark. Something to be thoughtlessly wiped off and cleaned later, leaving no sign it had once been there. No indication someone had been there at all. No impression of a life built together, their hips casually leaning against one another while flossing, or the yelp of surprise at the shock of cold water after flushing the toilet while the other is in the shower. The apology that came after, sliding through the shower curtain to make it up to them, a tongue sliding into the folds of their ear, hands slipping down to the folds of thighs, into slicks of wet and warm. The absolute mess on the floor afterwards of errant water sloshing out the tub. 

The tub. 

The floor. 

The water that had taken them both. The water that refused to take Jamie. 

Not the water, she corrected. Dani. Dani, who refused to take Jamie along on one last adventure. Do you want company? She had asked, all those years ago. Can I walk by your side? Will you take me with you?

And there it was - her beast - clawing up her spine, smashing with a roar into the mocking mirror pane. Again she roared, again she cried, until a dozen fractured shards were all that was left of the toothpaste, left of Jamie’s broken heart, all that was left of Dani. Again and again she struck the mirror until the pain from her bleeding knuckles pulled her out of it and she sank, depleted, sobbing on the floor. 

So she drank.

And got into more than a few fights while she was at it. Needed a better opponent than flower pots and dirt, though - she’d already destroyed a decent part of the shop. She needed something to twist her fists into, something that would punch back, something that would make her hurt. 

When she drove home, she’d try to ignore the voice in her head that sounded so much like Dani (“You could kill somebody, Jamie. Jesus!”) she almost veered off the road looking at the passenger’s side.

Left the fucking mirror in the bathroom where it was, a broken and half empty self-portrait. Tossed the glass in the bin and swept it away where the edges of a life that no longer existed wouldn’t cut her. Pleased there was nothing to look at getting ready in the mornings, nothing to catch her eye stepping out of the shower, nothing to reflect. Nothing to look at. Nothing at all. 

And so it stayed as the weeks wore on. The medicine cabinet pulled open for badly needed aspirin after a particularly rough night or tougher morning, band-aids for the cuts on her knuckles, no mirror on the outside to mock the bruises on her cheek or the split eyebrow from what might have been a night of bad choices but were the only ones that seem to make sense anymore. 

The only thing that helped ease the ever-throbbing, dull ache from every corner of her heart was to press the hurt. A walking bruise, Jamie desperately sought solace to cauterize the bleeding wound of loss.

The less Jamie had to look herself in the eye for it, the better.

Which left her here: waking up on the bathroom floor, slouched over the toilet, curls of hair plastered on her cheek from a substance she can only assume to be last night’s dried vomit.

Left here, on the bathroom floor, as empty and hollow as Dani had been in what turned out to be her final few days.

Left here, left behind. 

If Jamie squints, she can almost see the glimmer of Dani, twinkling like fairy lights on the tile. 

But the longer Jamie sits there, legs growing numb from her cramped position, the sparkle doesn’t go away. Matter of fact, it starts to get annoying. She swats at it, trying to suffer her grief and hangover in peace.

She pulls her hand back with a hiss. The light has an edge to it. It bites. 

A piece of the shattered mirror. Must’ve been there for weeks now, having fallen behind the toilet, forgotten. Jamie holds it carefully, staring at the broken reflection of her face for a long time. Stares until it stares back. Until the beast, she realizes finally, the one who has stalked her her whole life, has quietly slinked away. She listens for it - the telltale heat of it simmering just under her skin. But she doesn’t feel anything.

The unfairness of it all remains. But there’s something else in the emptiness, she realizes.

Dani. 

There’s a chance - far fucking fetched, she knows - but a chance that maybe, just maybe, the emptiness will stare back. And it will look like someone she loved. Loves, she corrects. Loving Dani will always be in the present. Jamie, crumpled on the floor, bleeding from an aching heart, will always be surrounded by the ghost of Dani. Haunted by a life built and shared and grown. A life taken. Cut short. A leafling, snipped from the vine at the most beautiful stage of maturation. Haunted, sure. But not alone. Something to be said for the chance that Dani will appear. 

Jamie will be haunted by Dani for the rest of her days regardless, she knows, phantom or no. Might as well wait, Jamie thinks wryly, got a lot to tell her off for. 

She spent more than a few years living with ghosts, anyway. Only difference is, this time she’ll be aware of it. Besides, no one else she’d rather be haunted by. It was Dani forever. Said as much herself that day in the shop. I’ve got a problem, Poppins. Dani would always be it for her. And some problems can’t be fixed. Can only sit and learn to live with them like old friends. 

So Jamie scrapes herself off the floor. She shuffles to the kitchen to grab the broom and sweeps the broken pieces of the last few broken months into the bin, cautious of the edges this time. 

She gets dressed. Puts away the bottles. Collects the half-eaten take out containers and napkins that litter the apartment. Takes out the trash. Waters the plants. Prunes the dead leaves. Repots herself and let her roots overcome the shock of replanting, remembering the work of living. 

Drives to the hardware store and buys a replacement panel for the bathroom. Mounts it in the frame, reverently touching the mirror’s edges. Because if there’s a chance, even a single chance - weeks, months, years from now - that Jamie’s personal ghost will come back to haunt her, she doesn’t want to miss a second of it. Doesn’t want to risk being too drunk, face down in a toilet somewhere, too angry to remember seeing Dani’s face. Doesn’t want Dani seeing that. 

Doesn’t want it all to be for nothing, hiding her secret beast for all those years. Having worked so hard to make sure Dani never saw that part of her, the one who went wild and feral, hissing and clawing at the world and it’s indifference. Never wanted to let her beast get close to Dani, close enough to scratch. Not Dani, who struggled so hard to keep tame her own demons. 

She’d be a rather shit wife if she started now. Just because Dani was gone doesn’t mean Dani wouldn’t see. 

Doesn’t mean it’s easy though, either. It’s hard. Hardest fucking thing she’s ever done, since pulling herself out of that lake when all she had wanted to do was drown in it. That wasn’t difficult, that was instinct. This will be a choice. Every day, for the rest of her life, will be a choice. One she has to make again and again. 

Jamie longingly traces the pair of earrings lazily forgotten, left out on top of the dresser, in a bygone act of normalcy to be left now in memoriam, and pulls out one of Dani’s favorite shirts from the drawer, that awful slinky pink one that snagged on every last thorn and branch in the shop. Pretty in love with you, it turns out. Inhaled. Breathed in every last atom of Dani until her lungs were trembling with her. She slid the shirt on like armor and prayed the delicate fabric would be strong enough to help withstand the weight of the world ahead.

She took a few steps to the bathroom, turned on the faucet, and did battle with the first night of the rest of her life. Let the sink fill, stared at the water, and took a deep breath. 

It took years for Dani to see the Lady. They were grateful for it then - relieved, actually, that they managed to get so much time. But now, all Jamie wants is for the haunting to come quickly. Do you want company? 

For a long time, all Jamie Taylor wanted to do was forget. Forget Lancashire, forget the taunts, the sound of banging, of Louise’s girlish flirting, Mikey’s crying. Forget the whirl of sirens, the creak of a door opening in the dead of night, a weight dipping on the bed next to her. Forget London, forget prison, forget her, forget all of it. Forget Bly, forget the Lady, forget Viola was ever a dark spot to stain the bright garden of their life. She drank thirstily, fought desperately, all to forget the pain, forget that Dani was gone, was never coming back, and that she doesn’t remember how to be Jamie without Dani by her side.

Except now, she realized, on the off-chance Dani’s face would stare back in the mirror or from beneath the water, she wanted to see every last line, every curve of her face. If that meant suffering the empty, aching, endless days to do so, then so be it.

It’s you. It’s me. It’s us, she’d screamed to the Lady, to the hatred inside both of them, the fury that stormed stronger than death. 

But after the flames expunge and the coals cool, Jamie remembers now, there’s more than just rage in the quiet parts. There’s patience. Love. Kindness. That things grow with just a little bit of water. A little, instead of all at once. 

Water can give life, not just take it away. 

It was easy to forget that small truth when the waves crashed and swept her below, unable to gain footing before another came crashing down and pulled her under. She did it once, on her own, in her youth and loneliness. She can learn how to do it again; to exist in stillness and quiet without Dani. A little, instead of all at once. 

She lets loving Dani warm instead of burn. Like a comforting hearth beckoning the weary home. 

She ran her fingers along the cool porcelain of the sink, reverently, as if it were Dani’s skin she was touching; Dani’s face she was caressing; Dani, she was loving. 

Jamie takes a deep, shuddering breath, and looks up. Squares her shoulders, baring all of herself to the mirror, forces herself to look.

She’ll wait forever if she has to. 

But first, just one night. 

Beautiful things worth loving and tending to can bloom at night; under the blanket of darkness, there’s still life. And if she keeps pouring all her love and effort into it, maybe one day it’ll all make sense. She can see where it goes.

#damie #thobm #The Haunting of Bly Manor #dani x jamie #dani clayton x jamie taylor #my fanfic #april's the best everyone go thank her for hammering this into sense

[enamoured-x]

18 & 32 on the misc prompts list for Angel Reyes 🥰

sorry this took years to get to, thanks for being so patient! (gif not mine)

Warnings: 18+, NSFW, Oral (M receiving)

You had felt Angel pulling away lately. At first you didn’t think anything of it, just that he was tired when he would come home from runs with the club or he had another fight with his pops or Ez. But then he started to come home later, and when you’d send him texts wanting to know if he was okay he would either not answer till hours later or just straight up ignore them. Immediately you thought the worst, maybe he found someone else or maybe he just didn’t want to be with you anymore and he didn’t know how to tell you. This warranted you driving to the clubhouse to see Ez and ask if he knew anything about what was going on with Angel. The problem was that when you got there Chucky told you he had orders to send you home if you showed up. Saying something about club business but you knew that was total bullshit, Chucky was a shit liar and he especially didn’t like lying to you. But you amused him and left, now even more concerned about what the hell was going on. You had tried calling Angel a few times but no answer. Your thoughts were running wild, you couldn’t help but think that maybe your relationship had run its course. Although that was not what you wanted at all, not how you felt. But as you stayed up late for Angel to get home, your mind kept straying. 

You were laying on the couch, not even close to being tired. Worrying for Angel always kept you up until he got home safely, and after his pullback lately, you didn’t want to sleep, you just wanted to talk to him and find out what was going on.

It was around 11 at night when you heard his engine revving down the street and then you heard it shut off once he finished pulling in. You sat up and rubbed your hands down your bare thighs. You were nervous, nervous because you were going to get answers out of Angel and either way you knew it would probably end in an argument. 

His keys turned into the lock and he entered the house, you saw him check his phone before looking up and seeing you on the couch. 

“Hey, what are you doing up?” He asked, coming over to you. 

“Waiting for you, I see your phone works.” You nodded at the phone in his hand. 

“Yeah, sorry I just got busy.” He shrugged and then walked past you to go into the kitchen. You shook your head and followed him. 

“Okay, well want to tell me why I wasn’t allowed at the clubhouse?” You asked, crossing your arms and leaning against the counter. He was grabbing a water bottle from the fridge. He tensed up briefly before shutting the door and turning to face you. 

“Club shit.” Is all he said. He wouldn’t even look you in the eye. You felt your heart restrict at his lack of attention, at the lack of concern. 

“Really? It’s always club shit.” You rolled your eyes. 

“The hell does that mean? You know I’m busy.” He finally met your stare. You had no problems with the club, you knew he was busy often especially with just being named secretary. But this wasn’t that. 

“Yeah and that’s fine, Angel. What’s not fine is the fact that you’ve been basically ignoring me these past few weeks and every time I ask what’s going on it’s always the same bullshit answer, club business. The club has nothing to do with our relationship.” You honestly didn’t understand why he was hiding behind the club. Why it was his excuse for everything. His pulling away wasn’t club business and you knew it. 

“The club has everything to do with our relationship.” He said, setting his bottle down. Frustration lacing through his features. 

“Yeah? How do you figure?” He sighed at your question, rubbing his hand down his face. You could tell he was tired, not just physically but lately he had a lot of shit resting on his shoulders and it was beginning to drain him. 

“Because what I do for that club falls back on you. I don’t want you caught up in any of the shit I have to do.” He finally said, shoulders relaxing a bit. You rubbed your eyes, tired yourself. So that’s what this was about. Pushing you away because he was scared of the repercussions of you being involved with him. 

“If that’s why you’ve been distant lately, why don’t you talk to me about it? Pushing me away doesn’t help either of us, Angel and I know you know this.” If he was scared of whatever was happening with the club you could understand that, what you couldn’t understand and what you wouldn’t accept, was him pushing you away because of it. Was him not communicating. You and Angel had always talked to one another, never leaving anything to just blow over with silence. 

“Because I don’t want to unpack all this shit on you. You don’t deserve it. It gets dark up here,” he points to his head, “and I don’t want that dimming your light. You’re the fucking son, corazón and I don’t want night to come just yet.” Your anger and your frustration slowly ebbed away. It was just like Angel to want to bottle things up. Well at least that was the way it was before he met you and you both agreed that it wasn’t healthy to do that anymore. But he was always wanting you to be happy, always wanting to keep a smile on your face. And you loved him for it but it made you worry sometimes the lengths he would go for you even if it hurt him in the process. 

“Mi amor,” you shook your head and walked over to him, cupping his face in your hands. His eyes were pools of despair and your heart ached. 

“When will you realize that I want all the ugly too? I want the bad too? I’m not just dating you for the good, Angel. I want all of you.” He sighed at your words, closing his eyes and placing his hands on top of yours. 

“Mami, being with me… I don’t want you to get hurt. It’s not safe.” Angel was grasping at straws, you knew what he meant. You knew some sad part of him thought you were better off without him, safer without him. It’s why he had been distancing himself lately, some part of him hoping you’d figure out you were better off and leave. Because he didn’t have the power to do it himself. But you couldn’t be mad at him, at what he was trying to do whether it was subconscious or not. 

You brushed your thumbs against his prickly cheeks, he opened his eyes. 

“I’ll follow you, even if it means the end for me. Because I love you.” You said, hoping your words were sticking. He leaned down and placed his forehead to yours. 

“I love you. I’m sorry for–” 

You shake your head, “no, don’t. I understand, Angel. But I’m not going anywhere.” You leaned in and placed a feather light kiss to his lips that had him sighing. You slid your hands to his shoulders and squeezed, feeling the tense and taut muscle there. He was still stiff, this conversation only putting him on edge further just at the thought of voicing that he’d rather lose you than see you get hurt. 

“Come.” You pulled away from him and grabbed his hand, leading him back into the living room. You motioned for him to sit on the couch and he complied. He was about to pull you onto him until you backed up and stopped him. 

“Let me take care of you, okay? Show you how much I love you. Yeah?” You asked, leaning over and rubbing his jean clad thighs. He shivered under your touch and relaxed a bit into the couch. 

“You don’t have to–”

“Shh, I want to.” You parted his legs and then kneeled down, your knees landing on the soft cushion of your carpet. He bit his lip as he watched your movements. You unbuttoned his jeans and he helped shimmy them off along with his briefs. Leaving him bare and already somehow slightly hard. You set one hand on his thigh and rubbed again and then grabbed his cock with the other hand. You leaned forward and licked a strip from the base to the tip, his breath hitched. You swirled your tongue around the head, dipping into his slit, making him shift and let out a groan.

“Fuck…” He muttered under his breath, dark and hooded eyes never leaving yours. You wrapped your lips around the tip, sucking lightly there for a bit before taking him into your mouth. He bucked up his hips, grabbing a hold of the back of your head to steady himself. 

“God, baby. You look so good on your knees.” His tone was soft, entranced. You two were used to the clashing of bodies, the heady thrill of trying to rip each other's clothes off, the desperation that came with skin on skin contact that had you both aching to just climb inside each other already. But not right now. Right now you were gentle, right now you were laser focused on him. 

You bobbed your head, tonging the bulging vein underneath his shaft. His groans and curses were only spurring you on. 

“I love you, Angel. You can let go with me.” You said, pulling off him for a second to get the words out and then went right back down on him. The double meaning furthered his hunger to reach his orgasm as his grip tightened in your hair. 

“Love you so much, baby. I’m sorry. I’ll give my all to you, mi alma.” He said, through gasps and moans. You pumped him as you bobbed your head faster and then pulled off for a moment once more. 

“Then give it to me.” Is all you said before taking him back in your mouth. His hips jerked a few times and then you felt his warm release coating your throat. You kept your mouth around him, swallowing everything he gave you, allowing him to prolong his high. You felt your own rush watching him come undone, watching him let go for you. His hand went loose on your head and his body went slack as he finally came down. You slowly pulled off him, licking your lips. His eyes were closed but he opened them, to look down at you once more. 

“So good for me. Always so good for me.” He said after tucking himself back into his briefs and then pulling you to straddle him. 

“I think my baby deserves a reward.” He said, hands stroking your thighs and a smirk painted on his lips. And just like that your Angel was back. Of course doubts and fears were always going to creep in through the foundation you had both built, but whenever that happened you always let him know that you were by his side no matter what. 

#angel reyes x you #angel reyes x reader #angel reyes #mayans mc

[asscreeds]

Heila - Chapter 2

(beautiful screenshot by @freyastrider​!)

You start the long road to recovery, albeit shadowed and full of doubt. Promises are made.

TW Graphic descriptions of blood/treating & stitching wounds, mentions of dismemberment (not of the reader). Also some elements that could potentially trigger EDs; you can skip “She then grabbed the bowl of stew…” to “Valka shrugged on an overcoat” if you like. If I ever miss something, please let me know! Read on AO3 | Masterlist

What you could see in your blurred vision was both a worry and a comfort. You were in some sort of healer's place, though where you were exactly, you did not remember. Combing your memory for what happened the night before made your head ache, and you felt like your entire head was submerged in water. Laying on your side, you could feel the cooling presence of a soaked cloth on your forehead and smell the herbal scent of whatever balm had been applied to your wounds. At some point you had been bathed by the smell of soap on your skin. All at once, it was too much, and you took a rattling breath that made your entire body ache.

You were not the only one surprised to see you alive. From the corner of your blurred vision you saw movement - a woman, dressed in an assemblage of fine clothing, fur and bones, noticed your eyes opening and the change in your breathing. She approached you slowly, and spoke calmly. 

"Hello, y/n," she said, and in your fever-addled state you thought she had the prettiest accent. "Can you hear me?" You tried to nod your head but the motion made your vision flicker & your eyes nearly rolled to the back of your head. A soft grumble emerged from the back of your throat at the sensation. The woman's brows furrowed, and she quickly turned away and began to make something. The clatter and clink of ceramics, even as gentle as they were, made you feel as though your head was splitting in two. A minute later, she returned with a cup of something herbal-smelling and warm. Tea.

"Please, drink this. It will help you," she said, gently lifting your shoulders so you could press your lips to the edge of the cup. Whatever tea it was it tasted like heaven and filled your belly with a warmth that spread across your body, collecting in your fingers. Even though you'd faced the darkest part of your life the night before, it still made you smile, and your vision slowly ebbed back. You could see much clearer now and found yourself examining the multitude of bone chimes, dried herbs & various other decorations in the strange woman's home. She gave a small chuckle upon seeing your smile. "I know you must be afraid, waking in a strange place," she paused, and your brain filled in the blank with 'after what you have been through.'

"But you do not have to be," she said, gently setting the cup down on the bedside table. "My name is Valka. I am the völva of the Raven Clan. Tell me, do you know where you are?" Remembering anything still hurt, but you had an idea of where you were. "England?" 

"Yes, we are in England. A village named Ravensthorpe. Eivor told you, remember?" No, you did not remember. The last 24 hours or so of your life were a blur of sensation, already locked behind something in your mind to protect itself. Who is Eivor?

You had your answer readily enough. Another woman turned the corner, looking worse for wear, blonde hair falling out of a messy-side braid. Something in you stirred, you did recognize her, but… it felt off, in a way, as if you'd known her forever yet forgotten about her still, like some old childhood friend or a distant family member. She stood there awkwardly in the shadows for a moment, the large woman endearingly nervous & fidgeting with her hands while giving Valka a nod. 

"Ah, there you are. Hello Eivor," the seeress said, greeting Eivor in her own way with a small bow and a friendly smile, though you could tell she immediately caught on to Eivor's nervousness. "Are you well?" 

"Yes, Valka, I…" she began, and as you sat up on the bed a little to try and squint to see her better, her ocean blue eyes snapped to your form as if she'd completely forgotten about you, too. She paused for a moment, squeezing her eyes shut and pinching the bridge of her nose. "...I am well." A lie. Valka hummed, then turned back to you. 

"You must rest for now, y/n. I will come back later to change your bandages," she said, feeling your forehead again and swapping the now slightly-warm strip of cloth for another cool one. Then she turned back to Eivor, gesturing towards the door on the far side of the hut, and the two left you to your fevered delirium on the bed. Your head swam with questions as you slowly remembered the ride to Ravensthorpe. Is Eivor okay? Did she find who she was looking for? Are my friends okay? What happened to the arrows in my back? Hmm, what was that tea that Valka made, it tasted good…

The soft embrace of sleep came quickly to you.

  Eivor took too much shit. She was practically a doormat at this point.

Between that snake bitch Fulke turning on her and Basim at the last moment to sell her brother to King Alfred, then Eivor chasing her across what felt like the entire damn continent to try and get Sigurd back even after he'd insulted her and her late family in some sort of manic state rambling about being 'something greater' and only finding dead ends. Mortifyingly, one of those was a literal dead end; Sigurd's amputated arm. And of course there was Dag, who'd begun to refuse to sail with her on account of her 'not looking for their Jarl while she chases glory.' When she came back from Cent and dropped you off at Valka's hut he'd cornered her in the Longhouse, accusing her of 'bringing back the wrong person,' that she'd somehow forgotten about her brother, as if she had not spent the last six months searching. Dag would have to wait a little longer, just as Eivor would have to wait for another letter from Basim.

It was a miracle she had not unravelled, nor burst at the seams from the amount of stress rolling underneath her skin. She grew anxious, reading too far into the looks of Ravensthorpe's denizens, even the slightest downturned glance sending her into a state where she did not know if she wanted to take it out on destroying something, or cry, or both. Despite it all she was still kind. Your rescue had been enough to prove to herself that there was still something human in her. Now she just had to hope you would stay alive, and that the vikingr she gathered to free your kin would not think too lowly of her for even trying while Sigurd was still missing.

To be honest, after a fitful night of barely any sleep, she'd completely forgotten about you. She had gone to Valka for guidance, and for the seeress to give her a chamomile & lavender tincture for restful sleep, and was caught off guard when you roused, already awake and seemingly coherent. You were your own blessing and she'd been grateful to the Gods that you had not passed on overnight. Seeing you suffer at the hands of the Saxons last night had nearly broken something in her mind, especially after Fulke's bloody gift. She had to force herself to stay her hand and not go on a berserked rampage in the middle of the city. She has seen her fair share of blood, war and torture, but for them to take you, something so clearly small and defenseless, and leave you to die an unjust death, alone, left a cold feeling in her bones. 

She took a deep breath of the chilly morning air to clear her mind once she and Valka left her hut, and the two of them walked to the small pond behind. Valka stayed quiet, and sat at the water's edge, motioning for Eivor to join her. The Wolf-Kissed did so, slowly, avoiding the seeress' gaze and stared into the clear waters of the pond, how the morning fog hung over it like a blanket of the fae.

Valka spoke first, looking towards Eivor with a soft expression. She could see the bags under her eyes even in the dim morning light. "Tell me, Eivor. What troubles you? Is it in regards to your brother?" 

Eivor continued to stare at the waters for a moment, contemplating on what to say. Yes, her brother's capture has troubled her greatly. How was she to convince the people of Ravensthorpe that she had not abandoned him, nor her quest of seeing him returned to his people? There was something else. Between her brother's ramblings of being 'something more,' Fulke's notes on him painting a vivid picture of his torture at her hands and that something was awakened within him, even just momentarily, and Basim's cryptic speech towards her for the entirity of it, she felt like she was… left out of something. Out of the loop. There was some connection between all of them that she could not see, nor comprehend. For now, anyway. And between her strange dreams (or maybe memories, she was not sure, they felt so real ) of Asgard and Jötunheimr, and the vision of the wolf-dragon, the blizzard and Sigurd's lost arm (that she now scarcely remembers) when she drank the potion in Rygjafylke, she did not like the inkling of what she thought was the truth. She was not ready to face that part of her. Not yet.

Her speech was quiet, with the hoarse sound of sleep at the back of her throat. "Everything," was all she said. She looked at Valka with an unreadable face, though Valka could see the pain behind her eyes. The Seeress simply nodded in understanding, turning from Eivor to pick at reeds growing along the bank.

"I do not claim to know what is running through your mind, Eivor, but I do feel your pain. The Nornir work in strange ways. Not everything is presented in clear light, as I have told you before," she began, beginning to weave the plants together in a braid. "I understand that your continuous failure to find Sigurd has taken its toll on you. But I do not believe this is the end of your saga , though now it may feel otherwise. What is important is to keep moving forward so that you may find him. Cast away any worry you may have, of what others may think of you. It is your fate to find him. I know so." She finished the braid with a twist, then used another, thinner reed to tie it into a circle; a bracelet. A small, if fleeting, gift. She held it out to Eivor, who gently took it and held it in her palm, running her thumb over the texture of the braid.

"I do not believe the betrayal of your brother lies here, while you strengthen Ravensthorpe and make alliances with the people of England. You are doing what you must for your people. To keep them safe, and fed, though some may not recognize your efforts."

The pair fell silent then, and the sun rose higher into the sky, warming their backs. Eventually, Valka rose. "I should change y/n's dressings." Eivor stayed there for a while longer, still fidgeting with the bracelet in her hand. Mulling over Valka's words, she found it difficult not to ruminate; if this was not her betrayal to Sigurd, what was? Would it be even worse than failing to save him from torture? 

Her thoughts were cut off by a long wailing sound coming from Valka's hut. Immediately, she rushed to the Seeress and you, her body seemingly moving without a mind. The reed-bracelet dangled from her left wrist.

 The sight that greeted her was not pretty. In removing your dressings, the lacerations along your back had become greatly irritated and were oozing fresh blood all over one of poor Valka's cots. You shook from the pain, seizing up as if struck by lightning when Valka removed the last strip of cloth. Eivor must have made a shocked sound, as Valka swung her head around to look at her with a pleading look. 

"Please, Eivor. Her wounds are too dire now that I may see them clearly, they are too large and must be sutured. Help me to restrain her," she pleaded, setting the strips in a pot of water to be boiled later and milling about, searching for her iron sewing needle and the catgut thread given to her by Yanli.

Eivor moved to your side, where you were huffing like an injured animal (you sure felt like one) on your belly, eyes unfocused and unmoving. Gently, she brushed your hair up and out of your face and out of the way of your back, and moved to put a portion of her weight on the cot, her thigh resting against the back of your legs and on a portion of your forearms. Too delirious to react, you could only stare forward.

Valka returned quickly. "The arrow-wounds are older, and have been untreated for some time. I removed the heads last night and have drawn out the infection as best I could but I am afraid that they were too close to her spine and have already caused damage. I do not think she will ever truly recover," she said, grabbing a cloth to gently wipe away the blood that had seeped down the length and sides of your back, setting it down on the bedside table. Eivor felt dazed, seeing so much of your blood soaked up by the cloth, even though she'd seen - and lost - much of it before. Despite Valka's words she hoped that you would recover; despite being a complete stranger, your death would do a number on her mind. 

 When the needle pierced your flesh, you let out another strained wailing noise, and Valka pulled back as if she'd been burned. She grabbed a jar of some cool-smelling salve off of a shelf and quickly rubbed it into the sides of the first laceration. It was completely alien to you, at first burning hot in a way that made you nearly break your teeth clenching them and then tapering off to a much cooler, nicer, numbed feeling. Your mouth hung open as you took rapid breaths, drooling onto the furs and squeezing your eyes shut. 

Valka quickly yet expertly sewed your flesh together, trying to make the experience as painless and as brief as possible for you, though there was only so much she could do. You'd black out at some points, began shaking again at others, and even with the cooling burn of the balm you could still feel the pierce and pull of the needle stitching you together. All the while Eivor kept a firm, grounding presence, the weight of her at your backside preventing you from squirming and injuring yourself further during the process.

After what felt like an eternity, Valka was finished, and she stood back for a moment to wipe at sweat on her brow. The brand new spool of catgut had almost been used up completely. You'd passed out completely by now, your body too fatigued to endure the last five or so minutes. Eivor had checked your wrist for your pulse again, and felt somehow even more relieved than the last time. She and Valka shared a weary look.

"Will she be alright?"

"I will give her new dressings, and change them each hour as needed… but it is now out of my control if she survives this battle. Her life is in the hands of the Nornir." Eivor looked down at your raw sutured flesh with a mixture of pity and frustration. Of course. Stay strong, little one.

 Eivor hummed, and bid Valka farewell with a nod. As soon as she stepped into the cool spring air of Ravensthorpe, she felt something cold against her thighs and forearms. Looking down, she apparently did not realize the volume of your bloodloss, and there were small - yet very noticeable - stains in the cloth of her tunic and pants. There goes brand new tunic number thirty three. Sighing, she rinsed her hands and her fingernails of your blood in the pond, and made to go to her room in the longhouse to change. As she passed the curve of the building, she spotted Dag storming away from the shipyard towards her, a scowl on his face. Not wanting to deal with his disrespect, she speedwalked as inconspicuously as she could into the longhouse and promptly slammed the door to her room just as Dag entered the building. She felt like a teenager, running away from a responsibility and locking herself in her room, but she supposed that was a sacrifice she'd have to make if she wanted to relax.  

She leaned back against the door, listening to the rustle of Dag's armor and footsteps grow closer, then disappear as he decided to leave her alone, and she let out a long, slow exhale, closing her eyes for a moment, just breathing. 

When she opened her eyes she was greeted by a goofy grin from Mouse, the wolf she'd saved from starving in a cellar. As the settlement grew and seasons went by, she noticed she had a tendency to… collect animals. And people. You were an example. She gave Mouse a little smile. 

"How's my boy?" she chuckled, the wolf nosing her palm, smelling your scent. She reached over with her other hand to scritch behind his ear, making the wolf tilt his head in a funny way to lean into it. She looked at the way the sunlight streamed in through the windows high on the wall, and realized she'd forgotten to feed him on time. Reaching into her bag she procured some dried meat, holding it out to the wolf. "Hungry?"

The wolf sniffed the meat, then oh-so-gently took it from Eivor's hand, as if he was afraid he would hurt her, and trotted off to eat it beside her bed. While he ate, Eivor rummaged through the trunk at the foot of her bed for a new, cleaner set of clothing, changing and throwing the bloodied tunic and pants in the designated 'do this later' corner.

Sitting down on the edge of her furs, she rubbed at her eyes and only then did she feel the true effects of last night's broken sleep. Yawning, she reached into her bag for the chamomile tincture, pouring two or three drops of the bitter-tasting liquid underneath her tongue before swallowing, then washed it down with the last bit of mead in her cup from last night. I hope Randvi will not think less of me for taking a day or two to rest.

Laying down and pulling the furs up to her chin with Mouse quickly climbing onto the bed beside her, she quickly fell asleep with the help of the tincture, though she would be plagued with yet another vivid dream.

  She was in a clearing, surrounded by wood and bark and foliage, from what she could see lit by moonlight. The quiet drone of crickets filled the air, and no other sound could be heard. Then Eivor's gentle exhales echoed against the bough of every tree, and she willed herself to stop breathing, if only to stop hearing the quiet sound turn deafening within moments. The crickets quieted as her breathing stopped, and the forest was silent for what felt like an eternity. And then a long, baleful cry split the silence, and the once blue shades of the moonlight boughs took a red, bloody hue. Eivor moved towards the sound against her will and against her fear of the suddenness of it, still unbreathing. 

A second cry rang out against the trees, and as Eivor progressed they began to look less like trees, and more like angular cut stone, and they blurred together in her periphery. The ridges of the bark began to glow and formed strange, unreadable glyphs. She was still not breathing.

A third and final cry was heard closer by, and a distant flock of cawing crows was startled by the sound, and Eivor could hear every single beat of their wings and their hearts. Finally she came upon another clearing, and found a fox ensnared by a trap, whimpering, red vibrant blood running down the creature's leg to form rivers in the soil. It looked to her with wild, slitted, pleading eyes. As Eivor reached into the jaws of the trap to disarm it, the fox cried out again and again and struggled until Eivor had finally broken the trap in half. Instead of being grateful like she expected, the fox clamped its jaws around her hand and pulled with a force that should not have belonged to such a small creature. Crying out in pain, Eivor cradled the hand to her chest, watching the blood curl around her fingers and drip onto the forest floor, and wherever it dripped bright patches of red moss grew. When she looked up again, she did not see a fox, but saw you, dressed in a sheer white gown with the same slitted, now guilty, eyes and a bloodied mouth. You opened your mouth to say something, but the only sound that came out was a pleased moan.

 She awoke with a gasp.

  The next morning came, and when you stirred you were greeted by the savory smell of stew. There was a constant dull, radiating pain coming from your back, and though you could not remember what happened clearly, you knew that your split skin had been stitched together. Blinking rapidly you tried to raise a hand to wipe at the sleep in your eyes and the simple motion caused a new wave of pain as the muscles in your shoulder screamed and you hissed, forcing your body to relax and rest your arm again. This would not be an easy thing to recover from, but you knew that you would adapt.

Valka took notice of your sound, and moved to stand by the bedside. "Good morning, y/n. How are you feeling?"

"Like shit," you said with a hoarse voice, gently pushing yourself to lean more of your weight on your side than your stomach. The seeress pressed her palm to your forehead, and hummed, pleased. "Your fever has gone down a bit."

 She then grabbed the bowl of stew on the side table and held it towards you. "Are you hungry?"

Your body answered the question, your stomach growling and mouth watering at the smell of the hearty stew. You'd forgotten that the last time you ate was four nights ago, and it'd been only stale bread and water. Maybe eating a savory, hot meal was not the best decision but right now you'd kill for it. You eagerly accepted the bowl and spoon held out for you using your slightly less painful arm. It was amazing , melting over your tongue and perfectly spiced, and as you expected far too much for your belly after being empty for four days. You took three spoonfuls before a wave of nausea hit you, and you had to set it back on the table.

Valka had turned away to make another numbing salve and let you eat in peace, then heard you set the bowl down. She did not look up from the mortar and pestle for a moment, but still acknowledged you. "Are you well?" 

To be honest, no. "I will have to eat slowly," you said, sitting up slightly in the cot and fidgeting with your hands.

Valka, kind soul, was all-accommodating. "Would you like something simpler? Bread perhaps? Tarben bakes the best loaves, and I am sure he would enjoy a new patron," she said, sending you a gentle smile. Bread would be gentler on your stomach… you nodded, and settled back down in the cot for now. 

 Valka shrugged on an overcoat made of raven's feathers and thick bear fur, and bid you farewell with "I will return within a half hour," leaving you to blissful solitude in her hut.

With your fever quelled, you could think more clearly than before and remembered much more. The raid, Franklin's cowardice, being captured, being tortured… all in a few days, the life as you'd known it had been turned on its head, and here you were, half-dead in a town you didn't even know existed. All thanks to the mysterious woman that had saved you from a worse fate. And then your mind turned to Frederik, and despite being injured, your blood boiled with a new fury as you thought of all the ways you would confront and kill him for what he'd done not only to you but your clan as well. You could only hope that Gunnar, Vilmar and the rest of your friends were still alive.

Your furious thoughts were cut short when you heard footsteps from the entrance of the home, though they were not Valka's. Curious, you peeked around the corner to your ability, and were greeted by the figure of the giant Norse again. Eivor. She appeared rested, though worrisome, playing with the sleeves of her tunic. "Valka, are you here? I had another vision," she said, keeping her gaze to the floor… troubled by something.

You chose to speak up. "No, she left to get bread from Tarben." This startled the mighty drengr, and she almost comically jumped from the sound of your voice with wide eyes before forcing a much more stoic front, furrowing her brows. It almost made you giggle. Trying to spare herself from more embarrassment, she turned to leave. "Thank you."

"Wait!" you yelled out, a bit too loud and a bit too harsh, making you cough from your throat's sudden use after days of scarcely speaking above a whisper, and the action filled your ribs with fresh pain, making you wheeze. Eivor had stopped in the doorway, looking back at you with a puzzled and concerned expression. "Wait, I…" you began, clearing your throat and taking a deep breath.

"I wanted to thank you," you said, feeling suddenly small and anxious. "For saving me." The floor did indeed look very interesting.

Eivor blinked. "Of course," she started, facing you fully now. "It was the least I could do,  after what the Saxons did." You slowly sat up in the cot again, oh how the floor was so interesting, and there was a long pause between the both of you, as if you'd wanted to say more yet could not find the backbone to do so.

You spoke again first. "I remember why I was there," you said, running your fingers over and through the fur blanket. "What happened before I was captured." Eivor walked a little closer, leaning back on a table with her arms crossed. "Why?"

You met her strikingly blue eyes. "My Jarl betrayed me. My clan. Left us to die," you explained, voice laced with bitterness and remorse. Eivor stayed silent but held your gaze.

"He had a choice, of doing the best for his people, or for himself. He broke the only oath he promised to us. Left us to die at the hands of the Saxons after we'd raided Raculf monastery. Things went smoothly at first, then reinforcements came… there was no way we would have fought our way out. And instead of negotiating, even attempting something, he ran."

Eivor hummed. "...what is his name?"

"Frederik Mikkelsen."

She took note of this, filing it away into her memory. Another long pause. "Why did you raid Raculf?"

You sighed. "For supplies. Frederik made it out to be some sort of conquest. We'd been sailing to Normandy to establish a new settlement for his father but were thrown off course by a storm, landed here in England. We were still fucking drying our clothes when he sent us off to raid. Couldn't wait a damn week for assistance from another Dane camp. I swear something snapped in his head as soon as he saw that storm," you said, reaching over for another spoonful of the stew, though your stomach still complained.

At some point Eivor had looked down at the floor again, mulling over your words. She'd send out a rescue party tomorrow. "I will see to it that your kinsmen are rescued as soon as possible," she said somberly. She knew the pain you felt, having the direction of your life turned completely around. Of having to leave it behind to wither in the past, to let your rage fester and seek revenge for wrongdoings. "And if I hear word of Frederik, I will let you know."

Eivor's kindness was blinding. You could only muster a small "thank you," and Eivor took this as the time to leave. She went to duck under the door frame, then promptly bumped right into Valka.

Valka nearly dropped the basket of bread but caught it at the last second. "Oof! Oh, my apologies, Eivor. I did not know you would be here. Is something the matter?" Eivor only shot Valka a small apologetic smile and shook her head, and bid the two of you farewell. She would discuss her dream with the seeress some other time.

You ate a bit of the bread, your stomach still not properly enjoying the sensation of being filled after days of not eating but the loaves were soft and warm and far easier on you. Valka then made you more of the sweet-smelling tea, and suggested that you rest. Whatever was in that tea blissfully knocked you out cold. You can't be in pain if you're unconscious.

#my writing #ac valhalla #f!eivor x reader #eivor x reader #ac valhalla spoilers #valhalla #eivor #lady eivor

[imperialstark]

choke on me—chapter three

breathe me in (prequel fic)

chapter two

chapter four

a/n: no you did not read that wrong, this is chapter three. i’m not dead. 2020 did not kill me. this is a bit of a filler chapter but chapter four should be up before the month’s over. if not, yell at me, i won’t mind. 

rating: pretty gen this time but don’t worry chapter five is a goddamn trip

warning(s): n/a

—————

Despite being on opposite sides of the country, Tony and Pepper talk more often than people think. Pep’s an early riser, and Tony hasn’t gotten a good night’s sleep since he was born, so it balances out. 

“I should tell you to go to sleep,” Pepper says, sighing. “But I miss the sound of your voice too much.” She’s sitting at the island, a cup of coffee in hand. She had pulled her hair into a bun and still has her reading glasses on, the red ones that she hates because she thinks she looks like someone's grandmother.

Tony loves seeing her like this. Loose and comfortable with him. After they broke up, a part of him worried that things would be strained between them. He should have known that was impossible.

“I don’t know whether to be happy or insulted,” Tony says. 

“Both,” Pepper says. “Your sleeping habits are abysmal.” 

Tony shrugs and takes a sip of his own coffee. He had always had issues with sleep. He woke up frequently throughout the night and would only start feeling sleepy around two in the morning to the point where attempting to sleep at all felt like a waste of time. Give him a cup of coffee with four shots of espresso, and he'd be good to go.

“You can’t deny that I’m more productive, though,” he says. 

“Okay, you do work hard,” Pepper admits, pursing her lips. “But you work too hard. When’s the last time you had a day to yourself that you didn’t spend in your workshop?” 

Usually, Tony's quick with a quip, but Pepper's question makes him pause. Last week, Steve asked Tony if he wanted to join him on his run around Bryant Park, and what had Tony said? "No." Like an idiot. It's not that he hadn't wanted to go; it was just that between SI and Avengers business and—

Tony was making excuses. Even he could see that. Hook-ups? Hook-ups Tony could do, specialized in, even, but Steve's question had ventured dangerously into "date" territory. The last time Tony had tried to seriously date was when he was with Pepper, and that had been a piping hot mess in the end.

"Tony? Hello?  I swear to God if you've just been using your life model decoy on me, I'm going to fly directly to Manhattan just to—"

"What? No!" He says, raising his hands. Hell hath no fury like a Pepper scorned. "I'm here, in the flesh. I just got...distracted. I guess I haven't really taken a day for myself."

Pepper sets her mug down and levels him with a stern look that puts him in the mind of a school principal.

"Tony," she says in that way of hers that usually means she's worried about him, and Tony's heart twists. "Is everything okay?"

Tony's not a liar, but he does believe in omitting information. 

"Everything's as good as I can hope for, Pep. I'm going to therapy, and I'm still taking my meds. You know how it is," he says, shrugging. "Some days are better than others." 

Pepper nods, looking a little less concerned, which is all Tony can ask for. "And the others? They're not bothering you?" 

It takes him a second, but Tony realizes that she's talking about the Avengers. He shakes his head. "They're fine. It's...weird living with so many people," he says. Tony had lived alone for half of his life now, aside from that brief stint in Malibu with Pepper. "They leave coffee grounds in the sink, and last week, Romanov and Barton convinced JARVIS to play Iron Man every time I went into my workshop and—" 

"You like them, don't you?" Pepper says. It's not a question. 

He does like them. The entire time he had been complaining about them, he knew his face had been stretched into a grin. 

"Maybe so. It's refreshing having another scientist to go mad with," he says, smiling devilishly when Pepper pales. 

"Oh, God, you've corrupted Bruce. There's two of you now."

"Okay, I take offense to that," he interjects. "Bruce keeps me in line, promise.” 

“Give him my thanks,” Pepper says. "Is it just Bruce? What about the others? How do you feel about them?"

He speaks without thinking, something you'd think wouldn't happen so often to a literal genius. "Steve's been...Steve's been good." More than good, actually.

Pepper raises a brow. "It's Steve now? What happened to Rogers? Capsicle? Any other one of your incessant nicknames?" 

He's been caught. Lying isn't even an option; Pepper would sniff out the truth like a bloodhound. She was like Natasha in that way. If those two ever team up again, Tony feels sorry for whichever poor soul they set their sight on. 

His only choice is to play it cool. "First off, you know you love my nicknames, case in point, Pepper," he says, knowing damn well she hadn't gone by Virginia since she started working for him. "And…it's Steve now. He's not so bad when you get to know him."

Pepper looks unconvinced, but mercifully, she lets it go. "Hmm. You guys are friends now?"

No. Never. Not even close.

"What can I say?" Tony gives her his cheesiest grin. "I wore him down." 

She rolls her eyes, but it's all in good fun. "Well, then, I'm happy for you. You deserve all the love that comes your way." 

"Ugh, don't get all sappy on me," he jokes, even though his heart spasms in his chest. He doesn't love the Avengers, and he doesn't—

He doesn't love Steve either. 

And they don't love him back.

Pepper's eyes soften. "Tell you what," she begins, "since you're so adamant on working too hard to have some fun, how about I do it for you?" 

Tony latches onto the change of subject like the lifeline it is. "What do you have in mind?" 

"Carmen Solomita is doing a fundraiser event for A Helping Hand. Does that sound up your alley?"

Carmen Solomita was an old friend from his prep school years. A fellow gifted kid, and the daughter of the iconic Italian husband-wife fashion designer duo, Isabela and Marcello Solomita, it was a no brainer that Tony and Carmen would become friends. 

She had followed in her parents' footsteps, designing luxury clothes and even starting her own separate fashion house right here in Manhattan. 

“What’s she doing this year?” he asks. 

“She’s organizing a week-long carnival in upstate New York for local orphanages. Think you or any of the others would be interested in working a booth?” Pepper says. “Having all of the Avengers show up would drum up a lot of publicity.” 

Tony furrows his brows. A carnival does sound fun, and he has no problems with running a booth. It’s the others that are a problem. 

“Don’t you think six, let alone one Avenger, would take away from the cause? And that’s if they even agree to it.” 

Pepper raises her hands. “Just throwing it out there. Again, you need a break. And think of the kids when they see your faces.” 

Tony’s face wrinkles. So, maybe, he has a soft spot for orphans. He still can’t help but feel like Pepper has some ulterior motive. 

“I’ll ask,” Tony says, caving. “And if they say no, I’m not forcing them to go. Tell Carmen she’s getting one Avenger, at the least.” 

“Yes! I knew you’d come around.” 

“I hate you.” 

“Love you too, Tony.”

***********

Tony broaches the topic of Carmen’s carnival at dinner and immediately braces himself for the worst. He’s not a pessimist by any means, but he sure as hell doesn’t expect the best from people whenever he asks them for a favor. 

There’s a pause as they take the time to ponder over what he said, long enough to make Tony squirm. 

God, why did he even ask? He should have just told Pepper that the others were all unavailable or—

“What kind of carnival?” Clint asks, breaking Tony out of his reverie. 

"I'm sorry," Tony blinks. "Are you actually considering this?" 

Clint shrugs. "What's not to like? Just want to know what we'd be doing." 

"Um, okay," Tony says. He's never, never been at a loss for words in his life, and yet...

"We'd just be running booths, meet and greets, that sort of stuff.  Nothing too crazy," Tony says. Pretty run of the mill stuff for a fundraising event.  

"And the charity, A Helping Hand, was it?" Natasha says. "One of yours?"

"No," he replies. "Carmen Solomita's. She's big on philanthropy, always trying to help out in some way or another. She's always been like that."

"Solomita?" Natasha asks. "Fashion designer Carmen Solomita?" 

"That's the one," he says, some of his initial anxiety ebbing away. They weren't saying no. Not yet. Or maybe they were just trying to let him down gently. 

"She an old flame of yours?" Clint says, and Tony tries to ignore how quickly Steve's head turns to look at him. 

"No," Tony says immediately, putting an end to any questions before they can begin. "We've been friends since high school. It'd be like dating my sister." Not to mention Carmen had known him when he had still been under five feet and had a mouth full of metal. Any attraction on her part had either never existed or died as soon as Tony had opened his mouth.

"Hm," Natasha says. Tony's still learning how to speak Natasha fluently, but it's apparently enough for Clint. 

"Alright, I'm in," he says. "Dibs on the sharpshooting booth."

"You can't call dibs on a booth," Natasha says, rolling her eyes. "And it's mine." 

"I'll arm wrestle you for it."

"No," Tony says, pointing a finger at them. "The last time you two arm-wrestled at this table, you split it in half. You'll be assigned whatever booth is available."

Clint grumbles something under his breath, and Tony closes his eyes. 

"I think you annoyed Mom," Natasha whispers, and really, for a spy, she sucks at being quiet. 

But if he was mom, who was dad?

"Enough, you guys," Steve says, backing him up. "Stop messing around." 

"Thank you," Tony says, massaging his temple, trying to stop his stress headache before it begins."It's like having children." 

"Am I your favorite?" Clint asks with a shit-eating grin on his face. 

"No, it's Bruce," he answers immediately, his voice deadpan. 

"...You answered that insultingly fast." 

"You asked," Tony says. "Speaking of Bruce, Brucie, you've been quieter than normal. What's going on in that brilliant head of yours?"

Tony doesn't want to put him on the spot, but he knows Bruce will just try his best to brush his problems under the rug. 

Bruce is staring down at his plate, poking absentmindedly at his pasta with his fork. "I don't think I should go," he says. 

"And why not?" Thor, of all people, asks. The god levels Bruce with a heavy stare. "You deserve to amuse yourself like the rest of us."

"Is that a joke?" Bruce says, throwing his fork down, sending it clattering against his plate. "Do you really think unleashing a big green rage monster at a carnival with children present is a bright idea?" 

"Where's this monster you speak of?" Thor says. "I don't see one."

"Come on," Bruce mutters. 

"I don't see one, either," Tony says. "I see a genius nuclear physicist who moonlights as an equally amazing superhero." 

"And I see a kind, honest man who would never harm anyone intentionally," Steve says, jumping in. 

Bruce purses his lips but based on the flush spreading across his face, Tony can tell they're wearing him down. 

Oddly enough, it's Natasha who reels him in. "I've seen a lot of monsters in my life, Banner. You're not one of them." 

Bruce chuckles, but it's not a happy sound. Tony's familiar with it enough to know that it's chock full of bitterness. 

"I'll be there with you," Thor says, his voice a soft timber. "I won't let anything happen to you. None of us will."

"...It's not me you should be worrying about," Bruce says. "But...if you're going...I guess it'll be fine." 

Thor smiles, looking every inch the god he is. "We'll have a grand time, Doctor Banner."

Dinner ends quickly after that, the others petering off until it's just Steve and Tony left sitting at the table. 

Tony's glad the Avengers are helping him out, honestly. It's just...the thought of six Avengers...around young, impressionable children…

"Oh, God," he says aloud, burying his face into his hands. 

He can hear Steve stand up, rounding up the dishes left behind. "It's not going to be that bad," he says. 

"We don't know that," Tony says, his voice muffled. He looks up to see Steve raising a judgmental brow at him. "I'm letting not one, but two master assassins, the Hulk, and a fucking god, interact with children." 

"They'll be on their best behavior," Steve says. "Thor said he'll keep an eye on Bruce, and I know for a fact that wherever Clint goes, Natasha's gonna follow and vice versa."

"And that doesn't worry you?"

"No, because I actually have faith in our teammates. Clint's not gonna peg a kid with an arrow just because he feels like it. He's not the type."

Tony sighs but damn it, Steve's right. He's always right. Tony doesn't know much about Clint's life before SHIELD and the Avengers, but he knows it wasn't pretty. Seemed to be a common theme amongst their little team. 

"Must have a shitty parental figure in order to be a superhero," he thinks to himself. 

He rises out of his seat and grabs the few dishes that remain. Tony helps Steve load up the dishwasher. He tries not to think about how domestic it all feels, how it's practically become routine for Tony and Steve to look after the others and put away their dishes. He doesn't know what it means, but he has the strangest feeling that Pepper is smiling to herself halfway across the country.

***********

Carmen's beyond delighted when Tony gives her the good news over the phone the next day. "Thank you, thank you, thank you!" Her voice still does that weird squeaky thing when she gets really excited. 

"One more thank you, and you're going to rupture my eardrum," he says, holding his phone to his ear. He's making breakfast, which for him consists of swiping a yogurt cup and spoon from the kitchen. 

"I'll stop shouting," she says, which is a complete lie. "I just can't believe the Avengers are going to be at my fundraiser!" Case in point. 

There's still that gnawing pit in his stomach at the thought of the Avengers running rampant around a carnival, but they could use the publicity. Maybe it'd calm down some of those Daily Bugle conspiracy theorists who thought that the Avengers were Chitauri shapeshifters who actually started the invasion. Tony has a video of J. Jonah Jameson screaming about it saved to his phone whenever he needs a good laugh. 

"I know, I'm amazing," Tony says around a mouthful of yogurt. 

"You are, and I will literally owe you for the rest of my life," she replies. 

"I want your firstborn child," Tony says.

"Done," Carmen says without missing a beat. "That's how serious I am." 

He can't help but chuckle to himself. Talking to Carmen was always so fun. She had the same (admittedly dorky) sense of humor as him. He remembered the days when they sit in the back of their homeroom, laughing at each other's stupid jokes over the morning announcements while their teacher gave them death glares. They kept in touch after graduation but not enough for Tony's tastes. 

"But seriously, how does it feel to be a superhero? You guys all live together, don't you? Oh my God, you're just like firefighters. Do you have a little pole you slide down when there's an emergency? Ooh, is there an alarm—"

"Carmen, cool it before you pop a blood vessel," he says, mentally filing away the idea to add a pole leading directly to the tower's hangar. "And I promise you can grill them when you see them at the carnival." 

"I'm holding you to that, Stark."

"Figured you would." 

"Smart boy," Carmen says. "Any questions, comments, or concerns you want to pass along?"

"Actually," Tony begins, his brain chugging along at its usual speed of light. "I have some requests…"

Two weeks later, the look on everyone else's face when Tony presents them with the matching t-shirts he designed is more than worth the hour of alone time he promised her with Natasha. 

“She’s so mysterious,” Carmen had said over the phone. “Tony, I need to see if she’s as calculating as she comes off.” 

“Why,” he had said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Why would you do that?” 

“Because I’m bisexual and have no sense of self-preservation. It’s why we’re friends,” she had chirped. 

He didn't blame her, though. Had he not jumped at every chance to hook up with Steve like his teenage self would have wanted? 

"Is this another one of your strange Midgardian customs?" Thor says, holding the t-shirt out in front of him. They're done up in his signature hotshot red, of course with Carmen's charity, A Helping Hand on the front, but the back is the real masterpiece. Under the words, Super Helper was a personalized emblem meant to represent each one of the Avengers. Mjolnir for Thor, Cap's Shield for Steve, a bow and arrow for Clint, and so on so forth. 

"...Is it weird that I kind of actually like these?" Clint whispers to Natasha, who's tracing the lines of her hourglass on her shirt. 

"You would like them," she says. 

Tony blinks. "I can...get us normal shirts?" 

"Nope, too late," Clint says, shrugging his shirt on over the long sleeve he had been wearing. "I've already grown attached.” 

Tony looks at each of them head-on, noting the way Natasha’s slender fingers dance over the cotton and Thor’s curious gaze as he inspects the true to life runes Tony had painstakingly copied from the real-life Mjolnir. Bruce looks at the fist clutching the beaker on his shirt like it holds all the secrets to the universe, and Steve—Steve’s not looking at the shirt at all. He’s looking at Tony. Of course, he is. 

Tony's always liked puzzles, and right now, the biggest puzzle of them all is what exactly made Steve's face go slack, his eyes all clear and soft and staring directly at him. 

Tony shakes his head, clearing his head of puzzles and Steve and piercing stares. 

"So," Tony says, "we're good to go?" 

Later on, when they're all piled into Tony's limo like they're going on a field trip, Steve texts him even though they're sitting right next to each other. 

It's just four words, but it's enough to make Tony blush. He facepalms, under the pretense of annoyance at something one of the others had said. 

"I'm proud of you," follows him all the way to upstate New York.

#stony #steve rogers #tony stark #stevetony #steve x tony #superhusbands #marvel #mcu #imperialstark fic #my fic #my writing #choke on me

[sweater-daddiesdumbdork]

Life After Snowpiercer: To Good To Be True

Summary- 6.2k Curtis Everett x You. You are ready to be intimate with Curtis again after the assault. Edgar is told something from the past that shocks him, makes his world come crashing down. Warnings- Sex, mentions of assault, talks of cannibalistic survival, violence. NSFW. 

Chapter 11 / Masterlist 

“Babygirl, I got you. Your safe.”

Curtis was sure to pause, wait until the panicked ebbed from your eyes and you started to visibly relaxed underneath him, and although your eyes wide staring back up at him said you were afraid, he could see it ebbing from your face, even where his hand rubbed at your waist, you seemed to lose tension. “All you have to do is ask me to stop, and that's where it ends, okay?”

You give him a wide-eyed nod, and he lifted up enough to press his lips against yours, his voice soft against them. “I need to hear you say it Babygirl.”

Your hands, they seemed to have a mind of there own as they curled around his biceps and you let yourself forget the weight of another, but that it was Curtis’s slim hips pressing slightly against you and Curtis’s heavy masculine weight just pressing into you, not crushing as your previous experience had been, but grounding. If you think his name enough, then your assault will no longer have control over you. Your voice hovers in your throat, and he held himself still waiting, his hand still stroking you till you could focus on that alone. Comfort, soothing. Hands that never brought you any pain.

Even the callouses on his fingertips and palms were familiar to you, you've felt these hands a hundred times before and will continue to do so as long as you want to. You had nothing to be afraid of. Your fear that was locking your throat eased back, enabling you to answer him. “I will, Curtis.” Tilting back up to press your lips harder against his, and his tongue trailed the seam of your lips till you parted from him, and his tongue explored you, intimately.

A stroke to the roof of your mouth had you tipping up further for him, slow, sensuous strokes to have your own following along the underside of his till he tilted his head, slotting close to take your soft moans that started to rise from you. A hand grasped your waist for a moment until it eased it's hold, shifting enough so that there was room between the two of you, his hand rubbing against your lower belly, where you would grow hot. He knew how you liked to be touched, as familiar with you as you were with him. Curtis's fingers danced along the band of your panties, and followed the seam to between your legs, just brushing fingers at your clothed core.

Doing nothing more than stroking the cloth, Curtis could feel the dampness building, and lifted from your lips, to watch your head fall back to the pillow, your eyes haze's as they looked up at him, your breathing turning more rugged, like drawing in the air was the last thing you were remembering you needed to do. “Feel Good Babygirl?” Curtis asked, and you gave a nod, spreading your legs a bit further for him.

Hitching a finger into the lining and pressing aside, he was sure to keep his touches light, still feeling the occasional quivering roll through you. The pad of his finger slides up and down, working between the folds into your warmth, gathering slick and spreading it to your clit, and along the outside of your folds. “Mmmmh, you feel really good to me Babygirl, your so wet and welcoming.” His finger swirled around that tiny bud, making you jolt your hips and whine out in a needy way. “Curtis, again please.” Your fingers traveled to interlace at the back of his neck, and he obliged, watching your face contort in the pleasure as he rolled your clit with just that right amount of pressure he knew was your undoing.

Now the quivers in your legs weren't from anything other than the feeling he was building in you, one lifting to hook around him. It was hard for the man, how badly he wanted to just sink into you, knowing just how good you would feel clenching around his member, the way your hands would scramble till they found the hold they wanted with your cries telling the world you were coming undone for him.

That you were only for him. Not anyone else, not the filthy fuckers that tried to use you before and break you until you were a shell of his girl.

It all became overwhelming to him in that moment, watching you as his fingers continued to make you tilt your head back into the pillow and roll your body, saying his name in a lovely chant to keep him with you. He dropped to covers your lips, muffled your cries as he let a finger start to press into you.

And that's when your eyes shot open and you started to freeze, your fingers curling into the back of his neck, and he stopped. All his movements froze right along with you, “Y/N, Babygirl, come back to me.” Curtis moved enough to try to catch your hollowed eyes, and they suddenly filtered back to his face, and you took a deep breath. “I'm here.”

He was getting ready to stop the whole thing, and just entice you to go to sleep, but you shook your head and tugged lightly at his hair you're managed to be able to fist in your hand, “Keep going, it's okay. I'm with you, I trust you. Let's keep going.” He looked like he was still going to pull away when you leaned up to nudge your nose against his own, breathing out softly. “Please? I need this.”

Searching your eyes, Curtis gave a soft nod and let his lips settle against your neck, whispering between kisses. “Do you know how strong you are Babygirl? A fucking warrior. I never would be here without you.” While saying this, he continued letting his finger stroke your channel, slowly working you open with gentle presses and strokes. “That’s my good girl.” he mummers as his beard gently scratches along your collarbone, lips still soft with the tip of his tongue gracing patterns in your skin. You start clutching around him, sliding your hands down from the back of his neck to his shoulders.

It felt better then you had remembered. Your mind so clouded with your last experience, that all the ways he was working your body in the way Curtis was so intimate with, made you moan out loudly. Clearing out those memories from before in this moment. Rocking your body into his hand as he pumped you for a few moments, Curtis pulled out to add another. “I still got you Baby” You vaguely heard him, arching a bit to rub yourself against him, but he pressed himself against you to lower back into the mattress, giving you that weight and friction you're craving against your stomach and open thighs.

It was a sight for Curtis, watching as you rocked underneath him as much as he allowed you to, your head tilted back to expose your throat, seeing how you gasped and dropped your mouth open trying to drag in some air. The corner of his mouth curved upwards, pressing lips back along your collarbone, and back up your neck, he could feel you squeezing and flexing around his fingers, moving so his thumb could roll and slide up and down your clit. “Curtis! Oh god.” You pressed up against him once more, and he let the warmth of his breath husk against your ear. “Come for me Babygirl, let me see you feel good.” You started panting, twisting your head to meet him, whimpering as you rocked onto his palm again, his fingers expertly stroking against your g-spot. “Come on Baby, feel good for me again.”

You nodded and cried into his mouth, clenching around his fingers and straining your thighs against his ribs from where he was draped between you. A hand came up, lightly brushing your hair back, and holding the back of your head as he kissed across your face. “Beautiful baby.” Lowering you to the pillow, slowly letting his fingers spread your slick around you, he loosened your thighs grasping him and say back, just admiring the way you looked, your body quivering and you weren't hiding away or trying to become small, curling in on yourself.

Blinking up at him, Curtis was bathed in a soft glow from the window above your head, your eyes went from his pleased expression and down, it had been a while since you really just appreciated his physically, hiding that from your thoughts but now, still on a high from a few moments ago, you couldn't help but take in the broad shoulders and his wide chest with the trail of hair that led down his belly in a tempting path. The pants he wore were slung low, that sharp V cutting into him, made you whimper softly, and he chuckled, watching you pull at your fingers to keep from reaching out. “Do you see something you like Babygirl?”

Your eyes shoot up and you feel heat warming your cheeks at being caught staring at him, never really been able to do that before in the dark of the tail end. He quirked a smile and leaned over you, letting a hand slide up your side and cup a breast, leaning his head down to lap at the nipple before sucking it into his mouth to roll and tug on it slightly till you said his name. “Yes, Curtis I was. Fuck do that again.” You clutched your fingers into the sheets beneath you and he did as you asked before popping his head back up, his blue eyes twinkling a bit as he stated. “Don't worry, I was to Babygirl. Can't keep my eyes off you when your like this.” He returned to give the same treatment to your other breast, making you squirm a bit, and give a giggling moan. “I missed this and you.” Your hands moved to the front of his pants, and he lightly grasped her wrist, lifting enough to kiss your lips.

“I missed you to Y/N, but don't feel bad if you ask me to stop, okay?” He loosened his hold and let you decide from there. Nodding, you wriggled his sweats down over his ass and down his legs. “Take them off Curtis, all the way.” Your eyes remained on his face, and he kicked his legs, finishing pushing them off while you reached between the two of you and took his throbbing member in your hands. His face contorted at the slight squeeze, gliding upwards, your fingertips tracing over the throbbing member. Part of you made your heart flutter in a small panic at his size, his girth. But the more important part took pleasure in seeing him clench his jaw and hiss in pleasure, how he had to close his eyes for a second feeling your fingers wrap around him. Your thumb swirling over his cocks head, and then back down  exploring, feeling that steady throb. Taking his balls into your palm, adding to his pleasure, you can tell he likes it by the way he pumped into your hand. “Babygirl, I’m not going to last if you keep that up.” He finally grunted, out and lifted his head to look at you, clearly trying not to get to carried away, but you would swear the way his eyes looked into yours, that he was happy at your boldness in touching him.

Wriggling underneath him till your comfy, and hooking a leg over his back, you pressed him against your entrance and nodded. “No more teasing Handsome.” You promised and he moved to his elbows along each side of your head, while he eased himself into you, and your leg tightened around his back in response as you wrapped your arms around his neck to hold on, breathing out. Fuck it felt good, the way he stretched you open, quick to lift your other leg to hold onto him. His hand moved to cup your face, and kiss you deeply at the first roll of his hips, nudging himself against you. It wasn't fast, or hard, there was no rush in the way he rolled against you, just brushing his cock through your flexing channel. Soft whimpers escaped against his lips, open-mouthed and breathing heavily against one another and then deep kisses while inhaling each other's moans and hungry sighs.

Curtis broke away, his mouth finding purchase down your neck, as his hips rocked against you again, which started to meet him, his upwards grind pressing against your pelvic bone and clit, a trigger for another urgent “again, please, more Curtis.” Your bodies rocking against each other, working together in a slow dance and his arm slid around your waist, angling your hips upwards and giving a slow roll, making you gasp and clutch his back while you arched sharply, “Oh fuck.”

Curtis watched as your eyes rolled back, your mouth turning into a O of surprise and your body locking tight with a quiver. He gave that slow deep roll again, you were so fucking tight around him that it was hard to keep control, wanting to rut his cock hard till he spilled, but he held back, ready to pull away when it got to be to much. To watch you though start to dance that edge into your orgasm, your nails making deep half-moon marks where you grasped his back, the soft mewling noises driving him crazy.

“Baby... please tell me your close,” Curtis said roughly, and you nodded urgently, rocking back to meet him again when your room burst in soft green, making you gasp in surprise. Another roll of his hips and reassuring whispers from Curtis “Fuck Baby! Just like that, so good how tight you are.” Your gaze fell to him, and the soft glow shimmered across his face, making his features sharp. The tendons in his neck sharp as pleasure riddled through him, full lips and dark beard that you had come to appreciate, the wisp of freckles across his nose, and the bluest crystal clear eyes you've seen coming through the green shimmers in the room, “Come for me baby, please”

It was enough, under the sky showing you one of the truest wonders of nature, you came undone in his arms, your crying his name while you withered and squeezed around him to milk his cock, and the moment he tried to pull away from you, you refused to let go, locking your arms and legs around him, and he shuddered against you, rolling deeper as you flexed around him. “Babygirl, you have to let me go, I can't stop it...” His voice groaned out against your shoulder as he tried to still himself, and you buried into him.

“I don't want you to. Don't leave me.” You wanted him, and weren't willing to sacrifice the moment by him pulling out, willing to take that chance. You had to forget, that feeling your assaulters made your body remember. Replace it, recall this moment, this feeling, full of Curtis, safe in his arms, right where you belonged. And he didn't try to fight out of your hold, his ruts turning more demanding, his face screwing up and head dropping as he eased himself enough to hover over you, and chasing his own orgasm, fill you with his seed with his own roaring cry, as he sank into you that final time spilling himself. Curtis collapsed into pleasured oblivion for a few moments, cause fuck if this wasn't the best thing he's ever felt, just being buried in you, and letting himself go.

This was the first time he had ever let himself release in you, and to say that bliss feeling wash over him wasn't a high all on its own for him would be an understatement. Sinking down, you let your thighs loosen till they were relaxed and your hands slid from that tight grasp in his muscles downwards to his lower back, rubbing softly while your face was tucked into the crook of his neck, just feeling him slowly loosen around you. Closing your eyes, his heavier body was pressing you into the mattress, but it felt good, being able to feel Curtis come down from his high, the soft groan as he slowly came back around, and he rose back to his elbows, his chest pulling off yours, his hand coming up to brush some of your hair back from your face.

“Fuck you were beautiful, watching you come for me.” Placing a soft kiss to your lips, he pulled out and shifted off of you to get comfortable once again. You rolled to your side to face him, and his thumb smoothed along your brow, smoothing it out. “What are you thinking Babygirl?”

Your hands reached up and took his, weaving your fingers together. “First... How much I missed being with you Curtis. Missed this, these moments where it's just us, nothing between us.” You smiled softly, and he lifted your hands, kissing against the knuckles. You started to blink back tears, getting a bit overwhelmed with how it was all crashing on you just then, and your voice cracked at the next part. “Then I was also thinking how different it all was going to be, but it wasn't Curtis, it wasn't any different, and I'm not broken.”

Curtis couldn't help the way his own eyes filled hearing the relief in your tone, the way you were just breaking with him. Letting go of your hands, he pulled you closer to him, and you sunk your face into your chest, your tears warm against him as your body shook in a few broken sobs. Finally letting more of it go. He let his hands soothe against your back, his lips pressed to the top of your head till you pulled back, red-rimmed eyes looking up at him. “I would have waited as long as you need baby, but I promise your not broken. I'm glad you finally see that, your still my girl regardless of what happens.”

The two of you settled in for some rest, your fingers trailing up and down his chest lightly as your head laid on his shoulder, the northern lights still dancing in the window behind your bed, and while you feel asleep, Curtis watched out the window with a slightly tilted head, recalling how you came right when they appeared, lighting up the room so nothing was truly hidden from you two. 

Maybe it's a sign things are going to get better...  

Edgar was waiting in the kitchen that morning, lost a bit in thought while some food was being put together for Matt. It had stuck with him for weeks Matt’s parting words shortly after he was locked up.

“How much do you really know about your precious 'leader of the tail end’ ?”

And he had left it at that. But they stayed in Edgar's mind, what the fuck did he even mean with that? Edgar known Curtis his entire life, and there was nothing hidden in the tail end. Everyone was up in each other's business, whether they liked it or not. A clang of a tray brought Edgar back, looking down at the mess of food tossed on. “What is this?” He dunked the spoon in and lifted it to sniff it, and taste it. Surprisingly it wasn't all that bad.

“Its called a stew, been going all night, and y'all can have some later.” Tess knocked the spoon out of Edgar's hand and he rubbed at it.

“Ow, really necessary? God damn.” He muttered while picking up the tray, Tess, waved a spoon at him, narrowing her eyes at him. “Now don't you go eating that. He may be the prisoner now, but we're not gonna starve no one.” 

Edgar gave a grin as he pretended to lift the spoon up and she tossed a hand towel at him, which he ducked out of the line of fire, laughing. “Course Tess! I wouldn't do such a thing.”  

He proceeding towards the car that was being used to house Matt still. Johanna sat with the door open, letting in a bit of fresh air into the car when Edgar arrived.

“You mind if I slip over to the kitchen for a bite myself while your here Edgar?” She pushed off the floor and stretched to get the kinks out. “Long night sitting here while he's sleeping, and I can use a pick me up.”  

“Sure, I got him till your done. Should be about time for the next shifts anyways.” He held out his hand for the keys, and stuffed them in his jacket pocket while Johanna handed off the rifle they used with each shift change. Edgar propped it against the wall and shut the door as Johanna left. “Hey, git yer ass up, got you some food.” Edgar was careful to approach the homemade bed Matt used, and shoved the tray over, moving back and out of the man's reach. Matt grunted, rolling to his side, to see the steaming bowl, and moved to sit up, ignoring Edgar for now and pulled the tray closer.

“Ahh Tess’s stew, the best there is.” Holding the bowel in his palms, he blew on it and took his first few bites while Edgar made himself comfortable, slipping off his jacket, and draping it over his knees, watching as Matt continued with drinking some of the liquid off the top. “Y’all should be thankful that she didn't die in the sabotage. Fucking Curtis doesn't deserve this.”

Edgar didn't bite back at his remark like he usually did. Matt's words echoing again, Edgar cleared his throat, broaching the subject. “Few weeks ago, when you were brought here, you asked me what did I know about Curtis. What the fuck did you mean with that.”

Matt looked up from his bowl, using a finger to run along the edge and suck on his finger, smirking. “What, having some issues, are you? Curtis cracking under the pressure of taking care of everyone?”

Scowling at him, Edgar rolled his eyes, and glared across the car at him. “No, in fact, best we've ever been. Why I’m wondering why you're saying that kinda shit at all, to be honest.” Matt set his bowl back on the tray and pushed it back over. “Come on Edgar, use your fucking brain. You heard the rumors, the stories surrounding the back end, and Curtis. What are they?”

Edgar gave a shrug, and casually repeated the rumors he had heard over the years, the ones he scoffed at cause there's no way in hell any of it happened. “They didn't feed the tail-enders when they first came on. Soon out of desperation people started to kill and eat each other. Until one day Gilliam made the ultimate sacrifice, cutting off his arm and giving it to the people. Fucking made-up man, I asked Gilliam himself and he told me that never happened, that his limbs got infected and had to be amputated by your parents.”

“Well fuck Edgar, they aren't going to tell you the truth. That whole place is Lies just to survive. You didn't think Gilliam was working for the front end, Wilford's friend. But guess what, nightly phone conversations. I was there, I heard them all. Talking about all of you, what you were up to, who's fucking who, who's planning what. Curtis, freak fucking accident. He was supposed to be killed at the tunnel. Funny though, you seemed to ALMOST take his place there. Let you get sacrificed.” Matt could see the doubt crossing Edgars face at that, and laid it on thicker. “Who knows Edgar, I mean... for all I know, Curtis was originally working for Wilford to. Lost his God damn mind, before it all went as it was supposed to. Curtis was offered to come up front you know. Almost took it to.” Matt smug when he said this, Edgar's gaze flashing in horror.

“He wouldn't, he hated Wilford with everything he had.” Edgar shot back to defend the man.

Matt scoffed, picking at his shirt and sneering. “Really? Cause as soon as Curtis was offered Y/N to come up to join him, he just about caved. So close, he was that close to taking it. Having the girl, living up front with us.”

“Lying fucker you are. Now I know you’re full of shit. Y/N wouldn't ever come up to live in the front end.”

Nodding Matt sighed. “I'm afraid in that your right, not willingly anyway. But she could have been forced into it. Y/N never was the brightest woman there was. She cuddles right up to that murdering fucker the minute she could. I always figured it was a protection move. My sister is pretty, is she not? By tail end standards. She is an easy target.”

“Your fucking sick, that is your sister your talking about like you don't even care.”

“Your right, I don't. She barely tried to get me back when I was first taken. Know who else didn't care Edgar?” Matt grinned coldly, finally prepared to drop the latest bit of information he had. “Curtis didn't care when he stabbed your mother right in the stomach. Dropped her and took you right from her arms as she laid, bleeding out all over the floor. He didn't care, took you, and you know why?” Matt leaned forward a bit, saying it as calm as if they were discussing everyday matters. “Cause according to people like Curtis, little babies like you were, tasted better.”

Edgar paled hearing Matt, and whispered darkly. “Your lying. He didn't kill my mom. She died due to complications having me.”

“Yea, that's what everyone told you cause probably half of them didn't want to admit that they ATE HER.” Matt shook his head at the man's denial. “You’ve seen that nasty scar on Curtis's arm? Where he tried to cut off his own arm to offer because of the fucking guilt at gutting your mother. Y/N fixed him up by the way.” Matt toyed with the chain next, trying to take some of the pressure off his ankle. “Probably only reason his arm got saved. She didn't help your poor Momma though Edgar. Nah, she watched as a whole group of people swarmed over her to finish her while Curtis carried you away, the knife still hot dripping your mother's blood. Drip... Drip... Drip.”

Edgar sprang up, his jacket sprawling across the floor. “STOP! STOP WITH IT!” He was pointing a finger at Matt, who just blinked at him, shrugging.

“Sorry Man, but it's all true. What have I got to lie about? I'm already chained the fuck up, probably for life. I mean, I've done some bad stuff for Wilford. But to eat someone, how fucking sick do you have to be?”

Edgar paced, back and forth, the look of horror plastering on his face as it started to really click into place. All those years he would question about his mother, the way Curtis would look at him and then away like a slap in the face, everyone would just say “oh she just died" with no further details. His gut clenched and bile rose up his throat. Making his eyes burn and his chest heave as he tried to get enough air to breathe through the way his mind was racing.

“Wanna know the worst part?” Matt said and Edgar stopped in his tracks, listening to what he had to say. “He didn't even need to kill her. The next day they brought the protein bars, handed them out, they weren't even finished processing her.”

Edgar lost it, he wrenched that door open and shot outside, leaving Matt all alone, with an ajar door, a rifle, and Edgar's coat, which had the keys stuffed inside.

Shifting to crawl across the floor, Matt picked up the coat and feeling them found his prize, pulling them out and sorting through them till he found the key to his ankle, opening it and rubbing at the raw skin.

It pays to be fucking patient.

Curtis rolled to his back, and stretched, you were right beside him on your stomach, sliding over with a murmur and pressing your face into his chest, hiking a leg over his hip. Dropping his hand to your head, he let his fingers slide through your hair and look down at you. “You awake Babygirl?”

It took a few moments, but you finally sighed with a contended “Yes, I guess we should wake up?” You look up at him, and he chuckles, shrugging. “Only if you want to, I would lay here with you all day if you wanted to.” He said honestly, and you grinned, moving to prop yourself up on an elbow and give a kiss good morning, taking a glance outside at the shimmering white snow being lightened up with a rising sun all orange and pink in the sky till a little later when it would go baby blue.

“I know you would, but we have a lot to do in the greenhouse from what Tess told me. And I don't want to miss out on any of it.” You crawled over Curtis, straddling him for a moment, and cupping his face, kissing him deeply, letting your forehead pressed against his. “Thank you, for helping me last night. I love you, very much.”

“Catching him by surprise at your open affection, he rubbed along your back, and down to your hips. “Thank you for trusting me.” You finished sliding off to pick up some of the scattered clothing and getting changed, Curtis sat on the edge of the bed, and was just getting his pants on when the door of the small room was slammed open, and Edgar stormed in, making Curtis shoot up in shock, and you screamed in surprise, yelling out as you tugged the shirt over your head. “What the hell Edgar?! Don't you-" you never get to finish as Edgar reared a fist back and shot it right into Curtis unsuspecting face making him stagger back and turn away. “WHAT THE HELL!” Curtis shouted in surprise as his hands flew to his busted lip.

The younger man full-on tackled him then, the two scuffling around the room, Curtis trying to block kicks and wild punches, shocked and not wanting to his Edgar back. You're doing your best to stay out of the way of these two huge men crashing around the room while screaming at Edgar to stop. Curtis managed to catch one of his hands flying at his face, when Edgar shocked him with a fist to his chest, knocking him back against the wall, and a kick made him double on himself. You hit against Edgar, knocking him out the door, screaming at him. “Are you fucking insane?!” Dropping to your knees, and trying to get Curtis to loosen his fetal position.

“Insane?! I'm not insane. Know what I just found out? Curtis killed my Mom to EAT ME when I was a baby.” Edgar wiped at some blood running from the corner of his mouth and tipped his head to spit out the mouthful. “You wouldn't know anything about that, would you Y/N?” You could feel Curtis coming back around, uncurling, and pushing to sit up.

“Edgar, I-" Curtis started and Edgar roared out at him. “DONT! Don't you fucking dare make some lame-ass excuse. Matt was right, wasn't he? That scar on your arm, half the people missing limbs. There were no infections, you all ate people. Killed them and ate them. Killed my defenseless mom!”

Curtis let his head hang in defeat, cause it was the truth, and you're kneeling next to him. “Edgar, please, you have to calm down.”

“Calm down? CALM DOWN? Fucking hell Y/N, were you a part of it too? Help him gut her?” Edgar snarled and seemed about to descend on them, which Curtis’s arm swept you back behind him, glaring at Edgar.

“Don't you touch her. Beat on me all you want, but don't you lay a fucking hand on her. She had nothing to do with it.” Curtis groaned and you stayed back, feeling the tension in his hand grasped against you. The thumps of footsteps could be heard, and Edgar spit out a mouthful of pink spittle once more, landing near Curtis.

“Don't worry Curtis, I wouldn't DREAM of hurting someone you cared for and loved. What do you take me for, You?” Edgar turned away, disappearing from sight when John appeared in the doorway, looking at the state of the room and you two still on the floor.

“We heard yelling, are you two okay? What happened? I saw Edgar leave.”

“Were fine John, just give us a few please,” Curtis said, and the man nodded, closing the door once more for privacy. Once it was just you two, you reached out to rest your hand on Curtis's shoulder.

“Curtis, he's just upset and when we can tell him all of it-" You started but Curtis pushed away from you, moving to a stand.

“Tell him what Y/N? He knows, and nothing he said was a lie. I did that, and I was going to do that.” He grabbed his boots and started to shove on socks before shoving his feet into them. “Now Edgars always going to wonder who else was involved. There is no way to make him forget what Matt told him.” He reached down, grasping his shirt and tugged it over his head, searching for his beanie, while stuffing it in his pocket. You had no way to rebut what he was saying, it was all correct.

“Curtis, where are you going? Just let Edgar cool down.”

“I'm not going to see Edgar, I'm going to see Matt. See what else he filled his head with.” Grabbing his jacket, he shrugged it on, preparing to leave when you grabbed his jacket to stop him.

“Wait, let me come. I can help you with Matt, he's not likely to talk to you.”

“There's plenty of ways to make him talk.” Circling around, Curtis grabbed your arms and made you back up till you were sitting on the bed the two of you were in not just moments ago, relaxed with one another. “Stay Here Y/N, that's not a request.”

Before you could protest, the door slammed shut hard enough to echo the walls, and your mind was still trying to process everything that just happened. Your mind playing catch up and you couldn't stop the way your chest tightened and your eyes burned as tears threatened to roll. Which they did, cause it was all just wrong again. Things had been going so well for everyone and now, your hands lifted to cover your face as you sobbed into them, and a soft knock was tapped on the door, and it was eased open, Yona taking a step inside. Taking one look at you, she went to sit next to you, her arm easing around your shoulder and the girl tugged you into her. “It will be okay Y/N, trust me in this. It needed to happen.” Yona said softly.

You looked at the girl, with her soft eyes that looked far wiser then the teenager you knew her to be. “More death and destruction? we left the tail end to get away from that.” 

“Just for now, later you see.” 

You had no idea what she was talking about, but at this moment you were just grateful you weren't stuck here alone while Curtis went to go drag the information out of Matt, Matt who was locked up and still managing to hurt the people closest to you.

Maybe it would just be better if you just stopped trying to protect Matt.

Curtis made his way down the train, passing people who avoided his gaze, not cause of fear of him, but because they to lived through it, done the same thing, and it was guilt riddling there gaze. Curtis paid them no mind as he brushed past the people he risked everything to get them here. His mind was just on one thing.

Beat the ever-loving hell out of Matt to get whatever else he knew out of him, and maybe spare his life. For You. Although at this point even you might not be able to save him. Just before entering the kitchen, Johanna burst out, her eyes wild and roaming till they caught sight of you. “Curtis! He's gone, Matts gone! Edgar was watching him, and I don't know. I got back, the door was wide open, and no one around. I don't even know how he got out of the chains unless Edgar let him go. I went around with Adam looking for tracks, about four cars up he met up with a group and they hightailed it out of here.” She rushed her words as fast as she could, and it sunk in Curtis who he must have met up with.

Wilford's ex- men.

Snarling, Curtis snapped out. “Get a group together, were going after them.” Johanna nodded, and went to gather some of there stronger people and Curtis, went to find Edgar.

He wouldn't have just let him go, not after everything, but now... Curtis wasn't so sure.  

#curtis everett #curtis everett and reader #curtis everett x reader #curtis everett x y/n #curtis everett x you #curtis everett fanfiction #snowpiercer #snowpiercer fanfiction #chris evans fanfiction #curtis everett fiction #snowpiercer fic #curtis fic #curtis everett fandom #snowpiercer fandom #amber writes #sweater writes