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xjoonchildx · 4 years

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greedy | myg x reader | chapter one: you like milkshakes?

summary: being a loner has never bothered yoongi until now. until you.

pairing: yoongi x reader

genre: mafia AU, pining, eventual smut

rating: 18+

word count: 4.3K

notes: confession, i am struggling these days with my insane attraction to min yoongi. this guy has it all. looks and talent and mystery and sweetness -- he’s the total package. so i really wanted to give him a story in this AU that i’ve come to love so much and i truly hope you guys enjoy it.

i also hope you guys know how much i appreciate every single one of you. i see your reblogs and comments and likes and i try to answer every one because it truly makes my day. you guys make my day.

i could not post this fic without shouting out the amazing @hobi-gif because honestly, if hope didn’t read it, did i even write it? and i’m sending major love to three people who are such a source of laughter and support for me, @ladyartemesia @ppersonna @taetaewonderland. you guys keep me in stitches.

this fic is a continuation of the Guarded Series but can be read as a standalone piece! Chapter 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05

*************************

Yoongi had fucked up.

He’d misread the massive man’s approach, tracking him in one direction when the guy was actually headed in another. That’s how the asshole managed to catch Yoongi off guard with one meaty fist to the face.

It didn’t matter that it was hundreds of pounds of fat -- not muscle -- behind that punch. It was wielding more than enough momentum to blow up the side of Yoongi’s face like a bomb.

That’s the night he landed in the ER at Songdo at nearly two in the morning, pressing gauze to his bleeding face.

That’s the night he found himself chuckling inside an empty exam room, reading triage paperwork that made him sound like some kind of war hero instead of just an idiot who got caught looking the wrong way.

That’s the night he met you.

“Rough evening, Mister Yun?”

Yoongi had looked up from the floor just as you’d breezed into the room, tablet in hand. That moment marked the second time he’d been caught off guard that night.

“That looks like it hurts,” you’d murmured sympathetically, eyes raking over the bloody mess on his face. Your gaze was clinical -- professional -- as you assessed his grossly swollen eye and the half dozen bleeding cuts that surrounded it.

But then you’d stopped looking at him -- and stepped back to really look at him.

Yoongi had taken one look at your enormous, dark eyes and your soft, sweet face and he was dumbstruck. He’d blinked back at you with the only eye that could still move.

“You’re a doctor?”

“Nope,” you’d replied casually, turning to reach for a pair of latex gloves. “I’m a janitor. But I’ve always wanted to give this medicine thing a try. You don’t mind, right?”

Your eyes had sparkled then, bright with humor -- and Yoongi couldn’t help but grin despite the pain pulsing from the left side of his face.

“Here’s the deal, Mister Yun,” you’d said, pulling on your gloves. “I’m a resident. And I’m more than qualified to handle the -- situation -- on your face, but if you feel more comfortable waiting for the attending, I’m happy to step back. Good luck seeing him before sunrise, though.”

“Nah,” Yoongi had chuckled. “I think I’ll take my chances with you.”

“Good call.”

You’d leaned in close after that, gloved fingers firm under his chin as you turned his face from side to side. You’d smelled fucking amazing. The light, fresh scent that lingered on your skin sure as hell beat the disinfectant odor in this place.

“What happened to you tonight, Mister Yun?”

“It’s a funny story, actually.”

“Oh, great,” you’d said dryly. “‘Cause it turns out, I love funny stories.”

Yoongi had flinched when you’d peeled the gauze back, exposing the angry wounds to the air. But he’d forced himself to sit dutifully still as you got to work cleaning the caked blood off his face and eye.

“Thing is, I work for the circus,” he’d started, hissing under his breath when you swiped across an open cut above his eye. “One of the elephants got rowdy while we were practicing a number tonight and just kicked me right in the face.”

You’d stopped dabbing at his eye then, one brow raised and a cynical slant to your mouth.

Yoongi liked that you knew he was full of shit right away.

He liked that you’d played along anyway.

“God, I hate when that happens,” you’d said with feigned outrage, cutting your eyes at him as you dropped a piece of bloody gauze on the tray at his side.

“I know, right?”

That’s when Yoongi had won a real smile from you, wide and genuine. That's when Yoongi made the mistake of looking at you for just a moment too long.

He knew it by the way your smile fell away as you cleared your throat and turned your focus back to his damaged face.

“Well, I have good news for you Mister Yun,” you’d said after a while, eyes scanning the freshly cleaned wounds. You’d run your gloved fingers gently over one particularly deep slash over his eye and Yoongi felt a shudder run up his back. “I’m pretty sure you’re going to live.”

“Well, that is good news.”

There was that smile again.

It seemed like no time at all before you had him all patched up -- cuts sanitized and sealed with skin adhesive; swollen eye cleaned and medicated. Yoongi had felt a strange kind of disappointment as he’d watched you gather your supplies, pull your gloves off and drop them in the trash can near the door.

“You’re all set, Mister Yun,” you’d murmured. “Watch out for those elephants, okay? I’d hate for them to ruin a perfectly nice face.”

Then you were gone.

***************************

Thing is -- Kim Namjoon is a rules guy.

It doesn’t matter that he runs a criminal organization -- or that the men in his employ are gangsters in custom ties and suits. He expects dirty work done clean because that’s what sets the Gajog apart.

Rotate hospitals. Use fake names. Pay in cash.

All of those protocols are in place to keep any one of the Gajog from drawing unwanted attention. Truthfully, Namjoon’s operations usually run so neatly his men rarely have to seek treatment for anything beyond the occasional black eye or broken bone. That’s why he’d rather trust his men to legitimate doctors in legitimate hospitals than hand them over to some back-alley hack.

Thing is -- shit has gotten a lot more heated of late.

An audit of the Gajog books has turned up millions in missing won, stolen over time by street-level guys all over the city. Yoongi and Hoseok are the ones on the front lines, tasked with confronting those men -- getting them to pay and getting them back in line.

Sometimes they play ball. Sometimes they don’t.

Tonight is one of those nights.

Yoongi knew the moment they arrived at the crumbling warehouse in the Nowon district that shit was probably going to get messy. Their contact was fucked up -- sloppy drunk -- and belligerent from the jump.

After that, everything was a blur.

At some point during the scuffle, Yoongi heard his hand crunch under the heavy weight of the man’s steel-toed boot. The pain was still flaring hot from his knuckles when Hoseok finally took the guy down.

Right now Yoongi should be at Asan or Gachon or any of the other half-dozen hospitals in the city. He should have dragged his tired ass and bloody hand across town because those are the rules.

But instead -- for the second time in a month -- he’s sitting under the sickly fluorescent lights in an empty exam room at Songdo at nearly three in the morning.

Hoping to see you.

*************************

Yoongi is gingerly flexing his aching fingers when a light knock sounds at the door.

It was a long shot that you’d be here tonight -- and an even longer shot that you’d be the one treating him. But when the door to the exam room opens, it’s you on the other side.

Yoongi’s pulse picks up in response.

“Sorry to keep you waiting tonight Mister -- ” you stop dead in your tracks, eyes wide on his before darting back down the tablet in your hand. You scan the screen slowly then look back up, gaze critical.

“ -- Mister Woo.”

“Yeah, sure,” Yoongi replies casually. “It’s no problem.”

You approach him slowly then, disbelief etched into your delicate features and Yoongi takes in every detail.

It’s like he’d forgotten how pretty you are since the last time he saw you.

You’re nothing like the flashy women who like to hang around the usual Gajog haunts. You’re the kind of pretty that doesn’t cost hundreds of thousands of won a month to maintain. The kind of pretty that doesn’t come off at the end of the night.

Yoongi swallows thickly as you eye him, lips parted like you’re about to fire off a hundred different questions. But you don’t.

You play along.

Again.

“Right. Let’s get to it then, Mister Woo,” you say carefully, slipping on your gloves. “What happened to your hand?”

“Well, you see, I’m a hot air balloon operator.”

His mouth quirks into a smile and your eyes flash in response.

“Wind was nuts today and the basket came down on my hand. I think I might have broken something.”

“Hmm,” you murmur. “Hot air balloon operator, huh?”

Yoongi winces when you take his hand between your gloved ones, gently applying pressure to each knuckle.

“Yeah.”

“That’s an interesting way to make a living, Mister Woo.”

Yoongi chokes down a groan when you press against one particularly sore spot. You back off the pressure, turning to make a note on your chart.

“Well, I’m an interesting guy,” he whispers.

You look up at him then, dark eyes focused and intense.

“That you are.”

You’re looking at Yoongi like you can see inside him and the scrutiny makes him squirm. He lowers his eyes to the floor and keeps quiet while you clean his hand and apply ointment to his cuts.

“Mister Woo, it looks like most of these are surface abrasions, but the knuckles concern me. I’m going to have to send you for an X-ray.”

“Yeah, okay. It hurts like hell.”

“I bet it does,” you say quietly, typing into your tablet. “Someone is going to come and take you back when they’re ready. I have to go check on some other patients, but I’ll be back when we have some images to go over.”

“Sure,” Yoongi breathes.

You take another long look at him before standing to leave and Yoongi wonders for a moment if he’s made a mistake. Maybe he’s misread you like he misread that brawler who caught him with the nasty punch all those weeks ago.

You could be off to flag a security guard. Or leaving to call the police.

He really should have just followed protocol.

Yoongi sits in the quiet of that exam room waiting -- ready -- for trouble that never comes. Because when a knock finally sounds at the door, it’s not the Korean National Police.

It’s the X-ray technician.

Maybe he didn’t misread you after all.

*********************

It takes hours for you to come back.

“Mixed news tonight, Mister Woo,” you say upon your return. “You have hairline fractures in three of your knuckles, which explains the pain. Unfortunately, that means I’m not going to be able to do much for you beyond wrapping your hand.”

Yoongi nods. “Got it.”

“And you should probably lay off the ballooning for a while,” you say under your breath as you lay out your bandages. “Just a suggestion.”

“Good idea,” Yoongi chuckles. “Safety first.”

You fix him with another one of those long, indecipherable looks before getting to work on his hand. But you don’t say anything and the longer the silence stretches on, the antsier Yoongi feels.

“So…” he exhales, clearing his throat, “... you like milkshakes?”

“Everyone likes milkshakes,” you return evenly. You don’t take your eyes off his hand or the flexible material you’re carefully wrapping around his sore knuckles.

“Lactose intolerant people don’t like milkshakes.”

“Lactose intolerant people like milkshakes as much as the rest of us,” you argue. “They just can’t tolerate them.”

“What are you, some kind of doctor?”

Your lips quirk with the threat of a laugh you manage to suppress but Yoongi catches the expression before it disappears. You seem to relax after that. He does, too.

“Dijeoteu has the best milkshakes in the city. Ever been there?”

“Can’t say that I have,” you admit, taping off a bandage.

“It’s not far from here. Open twenty-four hours. I hang out there sometimes.”

“So you’re a milkshake-drinking hot-air balloon enthusiast,” you murmur, inspecting your handiwork closely. “Anything else I should know about you, Mister Woo?’

Yoongi scratches the back of his neck with his free hand.

“Not really. That about covers it.”

You hum thoughtfully under your breath as you finish wrapping the bruised knuckles.

“All done. How does it feel?”

“Better,” Yoongi admits. “Thanks.”

You gaze at him then, thoughtful -- expression soft with something that looks almost like concern. Yoongi drops his gaze down to his bandaged hand.

This is the part where you’ve finished -- the part where you leave.

This is the part where he should say something to you but he has no idea what or how.

“I would say come back soon, but this is a hospital and that seems wildly inappropriate,” you announce, voice breaking clear through his stupor.

You turn back to him just as you’re walking towards the door, and for a moment Yoongi thinks you’re going to give in and ask him any one of the dozens of questions that must be swirling around your mind.

But you don’t.

“Try to take care of that hand, Mister Woo.”

Yoongi nods.

“Thanks, Doc.”

**********************

YOU

Doctor Lee is on his Houdini shit tonight, apparently.

The ER is packed -- waiting room crowded with crabby patients -- and you are, once again, running yourself ragged to get to every last one. Lee is, once again, nowhere to be found.

“Page him again,” you call out as you pass the charge nurse outside an exam room.

A quick scan of your tablet confirms the toddler behind this magic door has been vomiting all night. You shut your eyes and wish a slow, violent death on your absent attending. Vomit is the single worst phenomenon in medicine.

“I’ve paged him three times,” Nurse Ko calls back.

“Page him again,” you repeat, forcing a smile and pushing into the room.

Thirty minutes and one change of scrubs later you are checking charts on the next patient in line. You pat the pocket of your new scrubs and realize you’ve left a half-eaten energy bar around here somewhere.

No chance you’ll get that back.

Lee picks this moment to reappear, back from doing God knows what. He strolls down the hallway like a man with nothing on his to-do list.

“You paged for me?” he inquires casually.

“A few times, actually,” you mutter. “I’m getting killed out here.”

“Relax,” Lee purrs, condescension dripping from his tone. “We’ll get it done.”

You bite the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from firing back the half-dozen nasty responses that spring to mind. There is no we when it comes to Doctor Lee. He’s always been flighty and inconsistent, but these days he’s practically a missing person. You’re still not sure how hospital management hasn’t figured out that he’s making his resident run the overnight ER.

“There’s a guy down the hall who says he swallowed a magnet,” you say, waving a hand in that direction. “If you can pick him up I can get to this head trauma.”

Lee sighs like it’s a major inconvenience that you’ve asked him to do his job.

“Yeah, I’ll grab it.”

***********************

It’s nearly four in the morning by the time you have a chance to catch your breath.

You walk out to scan the waiting area and to your relief, there are only a handful of patients yet to be seen. Then your eyes land on one young man -- slumped into a chair in an oversized coat, hat pulled low over his eyes.

You freeze.

The man in the chair must feel your stare from across the room because he straightens, giving you a better look at the face hidden under the brim of his hat. You let go of a breath you don’t realize you’ve been holding.

It’s not him.

It’s not the mysterious man with the fake names and the bogus stories and the insanely handsome face. You shake your head as you look back down at your tablet, silently chastising yourself for even entertaining the thought.

You shouldn’t still be thinking about this guy and you know it.

But it’s driving you nuts that you can’t figure him out.

He’s never tried to play you for pills and that seems to be the only thing people lie about these days. But if his problem isn’t drugs it’s certainly something because no one lands in the hospital that many times, with that many phoney stories unless they’re up to no good.

So you ignore the nonsensical disappointment you feel when the guy in that chair is not the guy.

Because deep down you know he’s either in trouble -- or he is trouble.

***********************

Your pager goes off for a second time and you silence the alert, tossing it onto a nearby blanket.

It’s not like you’re hiding out in here -- not really.

It’s just that you’ve already had one patient cough up blood on your sneakers and another swing at you when you refused to give him narcotics, so this night is off to a spectacularly bad start.

Besides, Doctor Lee could use a taste of his own medicine.

This week has been the worst, by far. You’ve been seeing at least three patients to his every one and you’re exhausted. If there’s any justice, he’s walking into the exam room where the infant with explosive diarrhea is waiting to be seen -- you check your watch -- right about now.

The door to the linen closet cracks open and you groan, hiding your face in your hands.

“What, you thought I didn’t know about your little hiding place?” Nurse Ko asks with a grin. “I find everyone’s hiding place, eventually.”

“Haven’t found Lee’s yet,” you gripe.

“Yeah, well he’s sneakier,” she laughs. “Here, I brought you something.”

She tosses a granola bar at you and it lands in your lap.

“Thanks,” you sigh, ripping it open. You take a bite and Ko leans against the doorframe.

“I don’t page you for my health, you know.”

“I know,” you whine around a mouthful of dried oats. “I just needed five minutes.”

“Well, I’ve got a guy out here who says he’ll only see you. Doesn’t want Doctor Lee and says he’ll wait as long as it takes.”

A piece of the granola bar lodges in your throat and you cough around it, spluttering while Ko looks on, amused. She waits for you to collect yourself.

“Is he -- ”

“ -- hot? Yes. Very,” Ko smiles.

Your cheeks flame with embarrassment at both the observation and the fact that it’s coming from a woman in her sixties.

“I was going to say young,” you grumble, standing and dusting your hands off with a towel.

“That, too. Come to think of it, I know I’ve seen him here before. You have some kind of admirer, jagiya?”

You flush.

**************************

“Good evening, Mister Kim.”

You hope the air of nonchalance you affect when you enter the exam room is enough to mask your jitters.

Your mystery patient looks back at you with those dark eyes and a half-smirk that makes your heart trip in your chest. You take a steadying breath as you look down at your tablet.

Get it together, girl.

“What brings you in tonight?” you inquire lightly. ��Sword-swallowing accident? Lose a fist fight with a bear?”

Your mysterious patient chuckles under his breath.

“Where would you get a couple of outlandish ideas like that, Doc?”

You look up at him just as the teasing smirk on his face becomes a full smile and heat blooms in your chest and face. You force yourself to tear your gaze away.

“I dislocated my shoulder. Did you know I work air traffic control at Incheon?”

You shake your head with amused weariness as you make notes on your tablet.

“Crazy night. One of the planes nearly slid off the runway and I threw my shoulder out trying to get it back on track.”

“Did you save it?”

“Saved it and all 227 people on board.”

“Bravo, Mister Kim.”

“Just doing my job,” he shrugs.

You set your tablet down on the exam table with a thump, eyeing him as you reach for a pair of gloves.

“The charge nurse says you asked for me.”

“I did,” he admits. “You never told me what your favorite kind of milkshake is.”

You cock your head to the side as you look at him.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Mister Kim,” you murmur, feigning ignorance. “According to my records this is the first time I’ve ever seen you.”

“Oh, yeah. Right,” he chuckles.

“You need some help getting undressed?”

“Yeah,” he admits, slipping one arm out of his leather jacket. You lean in to help him pull the other side off, compelling yourself to ignore the way he smells like soap and sweat and man when you’re this close.

“It’s strawberry.”

You blurt the words out, anxious to give your brain a task that doesn’t involve analyzing this man’s smell. Something about the mischievous twist to his mouth tells you he knows you’re flustered by his nearness.

“I would have guessed chocolate,” he muses, reaching one hand down to grab the hem of his shirt. He drags it up his abdomen and you will your eyes to stay on his face -- refusing to give him any indication that you have more than a clinical interest in what lies underneath.

“Everyone likes chocolate,” you argue, taking over when he can’t get the shirt up any higher. You push it over his head and carefully work it off his shoulder. “I don’t want to be like everyone else.”

“Mission accomplished, Doc.”

He gazes at you then -- chest bare and eyes sharp beneath those inky lashes -- and you feel a bolt of awareness run the length of your spine. You pray the heat you suddenly feel all over your body is not manifesting in damning spots of color on your face.

You remind yourself to get back to work.

He sucks a breath between his teeth when you press gently against the inflamed muscle and tissue.

“My shoulder’s been shit for years,” he confesses. “I screwed it up when I was a kid and it hasn’t been the same since.”

“So this happens to you from time to time?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, then I’m going to have to refer you for an MRI,” you say, and he groans when you press into his shoulder again. “There could be a lot of scar tissue in here, but I won’t be able to know what’s going on until we get some clear scans.”

Your eyes flick back to his.

Every word that’s ever come out of this man’s mouth is a lie -- but there’s something that feels honest about the way he’s looking at you right now. Something that makes you feel seasick, unsteady.

“Turn to the side for me,” you say quietly, and the thin paper that lines the exam table rustles as he complies. The relief you feel when he pivots away from you with those eyes and that look is whole-bodied.

“For now, the best I can do is probably pop -- “

Your words trail off as your eyes lock on a wound that sits just a few inches from his spine, just above the line of his jeans. The edges are white and soft with age -- the area long-healed -- but the trauma is unmistakable.

Textbook.

The anger you feel as you stare at the wound doesn’t make any sense.

But you feel it anyway.

“Is it still inside of you, or did they pull it out?”

“What -- ”

“-- The bullet Mister Kim,” you interrupt sharply. “If it’s still in you, I promise it will come out the second they load you into an MRI machine. The hard way.”

The muscles of his back flex as he stiffens. Tension bleeds into the lines of his body and into his voice when he finally speaks.

“It’s out.”

Neither of you says another word.

The room feels hollow now, painfully quiet without talk of elephants or hot air balloons or milkshakes. The two of you work together silently to crack his abused shoulder back into place. Somehow he manages to endure that pain without making a sound.

In the end, it’s you that has to speak first.

“That should hold you for now,” you say tightly, standing to toss your gloves in the trash. You grab your tablet to make notes.

“You mad at me, Doc?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” you mutter, fingers flying over your screen. “I don’t even know you.”

“Then why does it feel like you’re mad at me?”

You tear your eyes away from the screen to find his.

There’s no teasing or humor there anymore. He looks boyish and unsure like this, peering back at you with somber eyes from beneath long black bangs that have fallen into his face.

“No more stories, no more bullshit. Tell me who you are.”

The words are out of your mouth before you can think better of them -- before you can consider how stupid it is to interrogate a complete stranger with a now confirmed history of violence. Before you can consider that you have no right to the anger that now streaks white-hot through your veins.

“I can’t,” he breathes quietly. “I’m sorry.”

You shake your head in disgust.

“Are you dangerous?”

Before he even speaks, you get your answer. You get it in the way color erupts across the bridge of his nose and cheeks. The way he looks away from you and down to his hands.

“I guess that depends on who you ask,” he whispers.

“I’m asking you,” you fire back.

He doesn’t answer.

You stand there for what feels like an eternity, waiting for him to say something in his defense. Waiting for him to pull another gag and tell just one more ridiculous story. But the seconds tick by and he says nothing.

“A nurse is going to come by with a sling. She’ll help you get dressed, too,” you say tightly, walking to the door.

You don’t know why your heart feels like it seizes in your chest when you turn to give him one more look.

“Take care of yourself, Mister Kim,” you say quietly. “And don’t come back.”

*****************************

Glossary:

Dijeoteu: dessert

Jagiya: sweetie, sweetheart

*****************************

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translations-by-aiimee · 3 years

Text

The Husky and His White Cat Shizun - Chapter 11

Original Title: 二哈和他的白猫师尊

Genres: Drama, Romance, Tragedy, Xianxia, Yaoi

This translation is based on multiple MTLs and my own limited knowledge of Chinese characters. If I have made any egregious mistakes, please let me know.

Chapter Index

Chapter 11 - This Venerable One Wants His Family to be Happy

"Yes, it's me!" Madam Chen sobbed, "But I didn't write this spiritual tablet! How could I curse my child? I—"

"You wouldn't have written it while you were awake, but not necessarily while you were asleep."

Chu Wanning said. He raised his hand, picked up the spiritual tablet, spiritual energy pouring out of his palm. Suddenly, a distant and piercing scream erupted from the spiritual tablet, followed by a stream of blood gurgling out of it.

The sharp gleam in Chu Wanning's eyes was bitterly cold, and he harshly said: "The arrogance of this creature; it dares to make trouble!"

Because of the great spiritual power in his palm, the writing on the tablet was forced to retreat little by little amid the screams, becoming fainter until it finally disappeared completely. Chu Wanning's slender and cold white fingers clenched and the whole tablet shattered!!

The Chen family looked stunned from behind him. Not just the Chen family, even Shi Mei was stunned.

He couldn't help sighing: "That's amazing."

Mo Ran also couldn't help but sigh inside; he really was so powerful.

Chu Waning turned his handsome and clear face sideways. There was no expression on his face, only a few spots of blood splashed on the side of his cheek. He raised his hand and carefully examined the bloodstains remaining on his fingertips. He said to the Chen family: "All of you will stay in the courtyard today, don't go anywhere."

At this point, none of them dared disobey and they quickly agreed: "Okay! Okay! Whatever you say!"

Chu Wanning strode out of the temple, unconcerned with wiping away the blood on his face. He gestured at Madam Chen: "Especially you, don't fall asleep. To keep that thing out of your body, even if you get tired, you need to stay awake."

"Yes. . . yes yes!" Madam Chen replied repeatedly. With tears in her tears, she asked in disbelief, "Daoist Master, my son. . . is. . . is he alright?"

"He's fine for now."

Madam Chen was startled: "For now? Not always? Then, how can I save my son's life?"

Chu Wanning said: "Catch the demon."

Mrs. Chen was very anxious and couldn't help but be a little rude. She couldn't care less about being polite and asked urgently: "When does the Daoist master plan to catch it?"

"Immediately."

Chu Wanning said. He glanced at the Chen family and asked: "Who knows where the red coffin was dug? Come and lead the way."

The eldest son’s daughter-in-law was named Yao. Even though she was a woman, she was tall and looked somewhat good-looking Although her face was filled with fear, she was calmer than the others. She spoke up: "My late husband and I picked out the land. I know the location. I'll lead you there."

The three of them followed Chen Yao all the way north and soon arrived at the land the Chen family had bought.

Martial law had been set up there, and there are no one around. The dark hills were overgrown with trees, not a single sound of insects or birds singing.

Climbing up the mountainside, the view widened over the scene. Chen Yao said: "The three Daoist masters are here."

The place where the red coffin was dug out still had a tombstone stuck over it. Mo Ran laughed: "What's this broken stone supposed to be used for? It looks like an amateur put it there. Move it."

Chen Yao was a little flustered: "The gentleman in the town said that the evil creature is being suppressed by it and can't get out."

Mo Ran chuckled: "He must be really capable."

". . ." Chen Yao said, "Move, move, move!"

Chu Wanning remarked icily: "No need." After he said that, he raised his hand, and golden light glowed from his fingertips. Tianwen listened to his command and appeared in his palm. As soon as he flicked the willow vine, the headstone instantly shattered into pieces! Chu Wanning walked over expressionlessly. He stood on the pile of ruins, raised his palm again, and said in a deep voice: "What are you doing hiding in there? Get up!"

There was a strange noise underneath the earth, and suddenly, a 12-foot-high thick wooden coffin broke out of the ground. The sand and mud rained down and dust was flying everywhere.

Shi Mei exclaimed in surprise: "This coffin is surrounded by such evil energy!"

Chu Wanning said: "Stand back."

After that, with a backhand draw, Tianwen slashed across the welded red coffin. Golden sparks shot in all directions. After a few moments of silence, the coffin lid exploded with a bang. The billowing smoke dispersed and the thing inside it was revealed.

Lying in the coffin was a naked man with a straight nose and a handsome face. If it weren't for his pale skin, he would look like he was simply sleeping.

Mo Ran's eyes flicked down to what was under the man's waist: covering his eyes and said: "Oh, don't wear skimpy pants, you skunk."

Shi Mei: ". . ."

Chu Wanning: ". . ."

Chen Yao cried out: "Husband!" She moved forward to rush towards the coffin. Chu Wanning stretched out his hand to stop her. He raised an eyebrow and asked: "This is your husband?"

"Yes! It's my husband!" Chen Yao was devastated. "Why would he be here? He was already buried in the ancestral grave. He was also wearing much nicer funeral clothes. How could he. . ."

Halfway through speaking, the woman began to weep, pounding her chest, "How could this happen! How tragic - so awful! Husband. . . Husband!!"

Shi Mei sighed: "Madam Chen, please keep it together."

Chu Wanning and Mo Ran didn't pay attention to the crying woman. Chu Wanning was not good at comforting people, while Mo Burning was totally compassionless. They stared at the body in the coffin.

Since Mo Ran had lived through this in a previous life, nothing unfolding was a surprise to him, but he still needed to put on an appearance, so he touched his chin thoughtfully: "Shizun, something's wrong with the corpse."

Chu Wanning: "I know."

". . ."

What he had said was exactly what Chu Wanning had said during this conversation in his previous life. In this life, he wanted to use it to shock Chu Wanning. He did well, and yet he only threw out a simple "I know" as a result.

Shouldn't a shizun encourage his disciple to speak his mind and give him praise and reward??

Mo Ran pretended that he hadn't heard him say "I know", and continued: "This corpse has no signs of decay. It's been more than half a month since the accident. Based on the current climate, it should have festered and rotted. A layer of fluids should have built up in the coffin. That's the first strange thing."

Chu Wanning gave him a cold glare with a look of "Are you done fooling around?": ". . ."

"Secondly." Mo Ran was unmoved, continuing to recite Chu Wanning's words from the previous life to solve the puzzle. "Before the coffin was opened, the evil energy around the red coffin was dense, but after it was opened, it dissipated. And there's a minimal evil aura around the corpse, which is also very abnormal."

Chu Wanning: ". . ."

"Thirdly, did you find that from the moment the coffin was opened, there was a sweet smell in the air?"

The scent was so delicate, if you don't pay attention, you wouldn't notice it at all. When Mo Ran pointed it out, Shi Mei and Chen Yao realized that there really was a faint sweetness in the air.

Shi Mei: "Indeed."

Chen Yao's face changed when she smelled it, "This scent. . ."

Shi Mei: "Madam Chen, what's the matter?"

Chen Yao’s scared voice changed: "This scent is my mother-in-law's hundred butterfly fragrance powder!"

No one spoke for a while. The prophetic sign in the ancestral hall that read "Master Yang, Chen Sunshi" appeared in front of him again.

Shi Mei asked: ". . . Could Madam Chen really have done this?"

Mo Ran: "It doesn't look like that."

Chu Wanning: "No."

The two spoke almost at the same time and glanced at each other after speaking. Chu Wanning's face didn't waver: "You speak."

Mo Ran said nonchalantly: "As far as I know, the Chen family made a fortune and relied on the old lady's hundred butterfly fragrance powder. Although the powder's formula is a secret, the finished product isn't difficult to get. Five or six of ten girls in Caidie Town use this fragrance. Not only that, but we investigated before we came here. Mr. Chen himself seems to like his mother's butterfly fragrance powder very much, and he often mixes it in his bathwater so it’s not strange that he has this smell on his body, the strange thing is. . ."

He said, turning his head again to the naked man in the coffin.

"This person has been dead for half a month, and this fragrance smells like it was just applied. Am I right, Shizun?"

Chu Wanning: ". . ."

"Just praise me if I'm right."

Chu Wanning: "Mmm."

Mo Ran laughed: "What a waste of words."

He didn't have a chance to laugh again. Suddenly, his robe flew to the side, Chu Wanning pulled him back a few feet, the golden light of Tianwen in his hand was shining, dancing like flames.

"Watch out."

The smell of the butterfly fragrance powder in the air suddenly grew stronger. As the scent drifted away, a white mist appeared between the grass and trees, which began to diffuse at an alarming speed. Instantly, it turned the entire mountainside into a sea of mist, and all of a sudden, he couldn't even see the hand in front of his face!

Mo Ran's heart lurched.

An illusionary world appeared.

"Ah!!!" In the thick fog, the first thing that rang out was Chen Yao's screams, "Daoist Master, help—"

Before she finished the last word, everything went silent.

Chu Wanning's fingertips lit up with a blue gleam, and he slapped a tracking spell onto Mo Ran's forehead: "Be careful, I'll check it out."

After he spoke, he followed the voice and quickly disappeared into the thick fog.

Mo Ran touched his forehead and chuckled in a low voice: "Well, even the position of the spell is exactly the same as in my previous life. Chu Wanning, you really haven't changed a bit."

The fog came quickly and dispersed just as fast. It didn't take long for the fog to disappear without a trace. However, the scene in front of him was even more surprising than the fog. Mo Ran was really shocked, at least he was in his last life.

After the fog cleared, the originally desolate and overgrown mountainside had disappeared.

Instead, there was a vast and elegant garden, pavilions, waterfalls, curved corridors, rocky gardens and jade trees, and pebble paths as far as the eye could see.

Mo Ran took a look at the surroundings and immediately wanted to roll around in joy.

This rogue hooligan spent all day thinking about this illusion. In his previous life, they were similarly lost in it. First, Mo Ran ran into Shi Mei, and under the compulsion of the illusion, he kissed the other for the first and only time in his life.

It's a pity that Shi Mei was terribly frightened when it happened. He let go of Mo Ran, turned and ran away. He wasn't given the chance to take a second bite of the swan before it was taken off his plate, which was really unfortunate.

After the illusion was broken, Shi Mei never brought it up. The kiss in the illusion was treated as if it hadn't happened, and no one mentioned it again. Sometimes when he dreamt at night, Mo Ran wondered if he was obsessing too deeply over something he imagined.

But whether he imagined it or not, Mo Ran licked his lips. He thought this time he definitely wouldn't let Shi Mei run away from him that easy! One kiss wasn't enough!

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#2ha novel #2ha translation #2ha #the husky and his white cat shizun translation #the husky and his white cat shizun #chinese bl #chinese novel #english translation #yaoi novel #yaoi #danmei novel #danmei #chu wanning #mo ran #ranwan

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hoaqins-funk-house · 3 years

Text

Springtrap

Yandere

Male Reader

You can read part 1 here

You can read part 2 here

Part 3; Finale

Spinning your keys around your finger, you go to slip them into the backdoor's lock, finding that turning it was difficult.

Far too difficult.

"Did someone break in?" You mutter, pulling the key out and beginning the walk around to the other entrance. "Well, if they did I doubt they'd stay long, not with William there."

Entering through the front, you look around the dark establishment, trying to spot if anything had been stolen or otherwise interacted with violently. With a sigh of relief at the sight of everything being normal, you fully step in, making your way through the building and wondering with a disgusted expression how William was able to walk through this place barefoot.

Turning the corner that allowed you to look into the window of your office, you see your golden-green companion looking at the door with his head tilted, an unrecognizable expression on his face.

"Yeah, the lock's broken for whatever reason." You say, his gaze shifting before his face does.

"Mhm." He walks towards you, stopping a few meters away. "Say, have you thought about me very much?"

Caught off guard by the question, you tilt your head. "Huh?"

"My existence. How I came to be trapped in a suit." He elaborates.

"Not really, to be honest… why?"

He looks into the office window, eyeing that tablet. "The suit, being an original model, incorporated these little devices known as springlocks."

Your brows furrow. You only knew of Springbonnie and Fredbear from random things online, so the inner workings of them was completely unknown to you.

"The reason why they're called suits; the springlocks pushed back all the little bits of animatronic things that filled them, thus allowing them to be worn by employees. I, as you can tell, was one of them." His gaze shifts back to you. "However, I wasn't when I was subjected to my slow death."

He takes one small step towards you. "It was in a room known as the saferoom- ironic, isn't it- which was invisible to both cameras and the animatronics that walked around."

His lips twitch up. "I hid in there, waiting for them to come near me. When they did, I broke them. They all came, and all of their shells were destroyed."

Shells? Destroying the animatronics?

You watch as he takes another step forward, this one larger.

"But, the ones inside those shells weren't so easily deterred."

Ones inside…?

"They chased me. Forced me into hiding in the suit. They wanted revenge; wanted me dead."

He takes a few larger steps, now within arms length. You, however, grow uneasy, stepping back. His eyes stay locked with yours, a soft grin on his lips.

You truly do look like his prey.

"I don't blame them. After all, who wouldn't want their murderer dead?"

Your eyes widen as your suspicions are proven correct. When he takes a step forward, you do the same in reverse. If you look away for one moment, he'll catch you. You've seen his speed.

His eyes glow in the dim light, lips curling into a nightmarishly wide grin.

"Oh, it seems you've figured out my big secret. Does it change your view of me? Would you still wake up on top of me so calmly?" He laughs. "Would you still let me rest my head on your hand? Would you still so easily approach me?"

You were wrong last night. Dead wrong.

He's terrifyingly monstrous, even as a human.

"Well, I suppose my last question has already been answered." With a small chuckle, he jolts forward, you ducking to the side right before he could reach you and dashing off. He glances your way during his brief pause, expression horrifyingly giddy.

His steps are loud behind you, and you only manage to reach cam 6 before arms cage you in against the wall, you turning to face the grinning man as you push yourself up against the wall as if trying to force yourself through it.

He lifts his hand, placing it on your chin and using his thumb to brush over your cheek. "You're too adorable. You really are like… my prey."

God, the fear in your eyes…

His grin widens a bit more, and his hand slips to the front of your chin. You clench your eyes shut, hearing a gruff laugh before his chapped lips connect with your own. You tense, feeling his other hand grip your wrist, applying more and more pressure until you let out a pained noise, him taking the chance to slip his tongue into your mouth.

Your eyes stay shut until he finally separates, where you reluctantly open them once more, finding a very satisfied-looking William and a small string of saliva temporarily connecting your tongues. "Don't worry. It's not the end of us after just that." He assures.

The hand previously on your chin shifts to your hip, where his fingers press somewhat harshly against the cloth, holding you in place further. Leaning in once more, he grins at the tiny whimper that escapes you. Redirecting himself, he instead aims for a much more sensitive area.

You let out a gasp as you feel his lips against your neck, quietly hissing as he harshly bites down, his sharp canines drawing blood. After he has his fill of that, he follows it up by sucking on the spots he had just bit, you feeling your heartrate pick up even more.

The sound of your heavy, stuttering breaths in his ear certainly doesn’t discourage the man.

Still, he leans back, enjoying the sight of your reddened face as you reach up, covering your neck with your free hand. This, of course, wouldn’t be the end, but he needs to save the rest for later.

He steps back.

His grip on your wrist, while looser than before, is still firm as he begins to walk you back to the hall in front of the office. "Now, I have a little game for us to play. We've done it before, so I won't explain the rules. If you make it to 6, I'll let you leave. But if you don't…" He pauses, glancing over his shoulder at your panicked face, which he responds to with a smile. "Well, I'm sure you can guess."

Standing in front of the entrance to the office, he waits for you to hesitantly enter.

"As usual, I'll start in the back. Don't even try to escape, it's not gonna work. I broke the lock and that door isn't going to be breaking from anything but power tools."

You give a small nod, eyes shifting to the chair.

"Well, good luck. You'll most definitely need it."

You don't react to his voice, walking towards the chair as he begins his walk back.

You turn on your phone, checking the time and finding that fifteen minutes have already passed.

You can't call for help, if anyone came in they'd be killed by him. If he lived through an endoskeleton being shoved into him, he'll live through pretty much anything.

Still, you text your brother quickly.

You put your phone down, not caring about the wave of notifications that came from him spamming trying to get you to respond.

Pulling the camera pad out, you switch to where he normally starts right as he walks in. He sends a chilling smile up at the camera, eyes eerily glowing within the shadows.

"Let's begin!" He calls.

Immediately, your eyes widen as he reaches up, ripping the camera right off of the wall.

You feel your breathing pick up again as your heart pounds out of your chest.

You aren't going to make it.

When he dashes into the next room, you lead him back. He snarls. Briefly, before cam 10 gets ripped off of the wall, you see him glance at the vent.

Thankfully, he ignores it, running into the next room before you hit him with the sound again, rebooting audio and cameras tight as they go out.

"Fuck that guy for making this shit so 'authentic' it breaks down every two seconds!" You mumble to yourself.

William tears cam 8 down, running out once more. When you manage to catch him, he's in cam 4, and you lead him back with more audio.

"You won't keep this up, you know! You'll run out of cameras!" He laughs, the sound echoing in the building.

You frown as cam 5 goes out. You lead him back further, hearing the thumping of the vents and quickly switching your cameras to them, sealing off a vent thankfully just in time. His grin drops.

You check the time.

It's 2.

5 of 10 cameras have already been torn down, and you are unable to play audio from them.

He gets out of the vent surprisingly quickly, continuing his race to you.

When he reaches another vent, you block it off before he reaches the end. He rips off a camera that you haven't even used yet upon getting out. As soon as he sees cam 3, he rips it off as well.

You see the first sparks.

You lead him back again, he charges again.

The cameras start it.

You lead him back again, he charges again.

Soon enough the back half of the building is in flames, swallowing everything and coming for you faster than William could.

You have nowhere to lead him to but right outside your door, and he disappears.

Completely.

Not in any cameras, not in any vents, and not in your vision.

The smoke began to pile into your room, so you rip off a sleeve of an old jacket that was left and tie it around your nose and mouth, getting out of your chair to stay lower to the ground.

Frantically, you switch through everything again, continuing to look for him, but turning your head to the sound of a grate both thrown aside.

He went through the break room.

There, you meet eyes with William, who seems to be doing just fine in the intense heat that fills the attraction.

You quietly gasp, grabbing your throat as smoke fills it even with the makeshift cover. You wince, ripping the cloth off, finding William about three meters from your office. Frantically, you reach towards the vent close button, but when you press it, you hear the sound of failing machinery.

It was broken.

He broke it the first night, and now you would die because of it.

Blindly grasping for your phone, you send another message to your brother.

'Get fire help' is all you could type out before William pins you to the ground, you barely managing to send it.

Grabbing your phone out of your hand, William carelessly throws it into the wall, you wincing at the crunching noise.

"You know, back when I was alive, I did much research on souls. Every soul contains this little thing known as 'Remnant.' Now, Remnant is the only reason I'm alive. There's no way to destroy it, except for fire."

Your eyes widen.

"This building won't get hot enough to completely destroy our Remnant, so don't worry about that. Still, think of it like a metal. When it gets hot enough, it melts. It can meld into other people's Remnant."

You clench your teeth.

"Of course, there's no way I am going to destroy you. So, instead, I think I'll go with another option." He smirks.

You can feel your vision get hazy.

"Within this fire I will preserve your warmth, and we will be welded together."

Your lids droop as you feel your breaths become raspy.

You're going to die to the smoke, not to the fire that roared outside of your office, slowly inching its way in.

You let out a few more wheezes, feeling lips against your own before your vision goes black.

He gets the news less than an hour after he calls the fire department.

His brother, the only immediate family he had left, had died in the fire.

It doesn't take much thinking to figure out who did it.

William.

That man, that murderer, is going to pay.

However long it takes.

-----

i did not plan this out right this part is a lot shorter than it should be but ehh whatever

whoop whoop it is done… I mean I have a sequel planned but either way, this part of the story is done

See ya later :)

#springtrap #springtrap x reader #william afton #william afton x reader #afton #fnaf #fnaf x reader #fnaf 3 #yandere #yandere fnaf #yandere springtrap #yandere x reader #five nights at freddy's #x reader #male insert #reader insert #fnaf springtrap #gay

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wizardofrozz · 2 years

Text

The Fall of the House of Odin

Thor Odinson x Asgardian!Reader, Natasha Romanoff, Clint Barton, Steve Rogers, Tony Stark, Bruce Banner, James Rhodes, Nebula, Rocket, Scott Lang, mention of Bucky Barnes, mention of Yelena Belova

Word Count: ~2.1k

Warnings: mention of character death, grief, violence, swearing

Part 6

The second the Avengers disappeared, my panic surged, nearly choking me, despite knowing it would only be seconds until I saw them again. Five seconds felt like a lifetime, my blood roaring in my ears as I watched the time tick down, holding my breath. I nearly cried out with relief when they dropped back onto the platform, and I doubled over when my knees threatened to give out.

“Did we get them all?” Bruce called, his voice drawing my eyes. The Avengers still hadn’t moved from their spots, accounting for everyone, and my heart sank when I made it to Clint.

“You telling me this'll actually work?” Rocket laughed, looking up at Thor.

“Clint,” Bruce started, drawing everyone’s eyes to the archer on his knees. “Where’s Nat?” I covered my mouth and squeezed my eyes shut, already formulating an idea of what happened; another layer of grief settled on my shoulders. I didn’t open my eyes again until I heard the scuff of boots; the remaining Avengers shuffled down the ramp, a variety of broken expressions creasing their faces. Thor jumped from the platform, sending me stumbling back a few steps with the force of his hug.

“How many more people are we going to lose?” I cried into his chest, pressing myself closer.

“I don’t know,” Thor croaked, burying his face in my hair. We held onto each other as if to keep ourselves from falling apart, our soft sniffles filling the now quiet room. When the tears finally stopped, Thor leaned back, pressing a lingering kiss to my forehead, his lips eventually traveling down my face until they met mine.

“Oh Gods, Bucky and Yelena,” I gasped, covering my mouth again as tears welled up. “They’re going to be crushed.”

“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it, my love,” Thor whispered, brushing a strand of hair from my face. “Come, we should check on the others.” I only nodded, slipping my hand into Thor’s and pulling him towards the door the others left through but was drawn to a stop just as we reached the doorway.

“What are you doing?” I raised a brow at Thor standing with his arm out, but he shook his head, holding up one finger. I sucked in a deep, waiting like he asked, but the air caught in my throat when a familiar object slammed into his palm. Thor’s eyes lit up, despite the weight of new sorrow lingering over us, as he looked between me and Mjolnir, a slight smile tilting his lips up.

“I’m still worthy,” Thor whispered, his bottom lip trembling. Fresh tears stung my eyes as I closed the space with two long strides, reaching up to cup his face.

“Of course you are,” I chuckled, wiping the pads of my thumbs over his cheekbones. “You’ve always been worthy in my eyes.” Thor’s inhale hitched, his eyes falling shut as he knocked his head against mine, brushing our noses together, and I could feel the silent ‘thank you’ in the gesture.

I watched the five original Avengers that were left pacing around on the dock outside the compound, my heart aching for each of them. Before I started crying again, I moved away from the window and wandered through the quiet halls until I found Rocket clicking around on a tablet while Scott, Rhodey, and Nebula lingered in the background.

“How’s it going?”

“The gauntlet’s almost ready,” Rocket sighed, glancing up at me. “How, uh, are they?”

“Aw, Rocket,” I chuckled, petting the top of his head, earning a half-hearted smack, “are you concerned about them?”

“No,” Rocket grumbled, turning back to his tablet.

“They’re crushed,” I whispered, watching his shoulders slump with a sigh. Rocket didn’t say anything else, so I left it at that and watched the thin metal arms making the last few adjustments to the red gauntlet. I could hear footsteps moving closer, and I turned when they were right outside the door. Tony walked in first, heading straight for the window overlooking the gauntlet while Steve, Bruce, and Clint distributed themselves around the room. Thor gently wrapped his arms around my neck, resting his chin on my head, his chest pressing against my back when he sucked in a deep breath.

Tony silently accepted the tablet Rocket handed him, and the rest of us stood back, watching Tony maneuver the stones into place. Bruce eventually moved to his side, murmuring something in Tony’s ear as the stones sunk into the nanotech. Thor tightened his hold on my neck when Tony guided the metal arm to place the last stone, and I tensed under him, waiting for the worst.

“Boom!” Rocket shouted, making Tony nearly jump out of his skin. Still, no one said anything, the tension in the room building as the gauntlet lowered out of sight before a panel in the floor opened. I watched the glove rise from the floor, unconsciously pulling Thor closer, and it seemed everyone else had the same idea. We all stared at the key to undoing Thanos’ mess, and it almost felt like a dream.

“All right. The glove's ready. Question is, who's gonna snap their freaking fingers?” Rocket’s voice snapped everyone out of their trances, and I felt Thor’s arms fall away.

“I’ll do it,” Thor sighed. I twisted to face him, my mouth falling open, ready to object, but Scott beat me to it.

“Excuse me?”

“It’s okay,” Thor assured, his eyes lingering on mine as he reached for the gauntlet. The room erupted in objections, and Steve gently nudged me out of the way to grab Thor’s forearm, stopping him just short.

“Wait, wait, Thor, just wait,” Steve pleaded, waiting until Thor met his eyes. “We haven't decided who's gonna put that on yet.”

“I'm sorry,” Thor laughed, raising a brow at the blonde in front of him.

“Honey, just hold on,” I added, trying to slow the hammering in my chest. Thor’s face fell, and he looked around the room, his fear morphing into anger as he took in the expressions on his friends’ faces.

“What, we're just sitting around waiting for the right opportunity?” he barked.

“We should at least discuss it,” Scott argued from the back of the group.

“No, no, sitting here staring at that thing is not gonna bring everybody back. I'm the strongest Avenger, okay? So this responsibility falls upon me. It's my duty.” I screwed my eyes shut because I knew that tone; I knew that determined edge to his words because I’d heard it a thousand times before.

“It’s not about that,” Tony started, grabbing Thor’s hands in his and turning the God to face him.

“Stop it! Just let me,” Thor snapped, but I could see his composure wavering as the overhead light made the tears in his eyes glisten. “Just let me do it. Just let me do something good. Something right.” Thor cupped Tony’s hands, his voice cracking as he fought back tears, and my chest ached, my heart longing to comfort him.

“Look,” Tony whispered, giving Thor a tight smile. “It's not just the fact that that glove is channeling enough energy to light up a continent, I'm telling you, you're in no condition.” I stepped closer again, rubbing slow circles over Thor’s broad shoulders, but he didn’t look away from Tony.

“He’s right,” I mumbled, resting my cheek on Thor’s bicep. His lip trembled, and he pressed his lips together, his eyes squeezing shut.

“What do you – What do you think is coursing through my veins right now?” Thor argued, opening his eyes to stare at Tony again.

“Cheese whiz?” Rhodey shot back. My head snapped towards him, pinning him with a death glare that intimidated stronger beings than him; Rhodey’s eyes widened, and he ducked his head, trying to hide from my growing anger.

“Lightning,” Thor breathed.

“Lightning won't help you, pal. It's gotta be me,” Bruce cut in. Thor finally dropped Tony’s hands, his head falling forward as a defeated sigh passed his lips.

“Hey,” I mumbled, reaching up to tilt Thor’s face towards me. His eyes were closed, and I waited until he gave in, blinking down at me, and I nearly crumbled at the pain crashing in his ocean eyes.

“I thought you believed in me,” Thor whispered, his eyes falling shut again, and I felt my heart shatter in my chest.

“Believing that you’re strong enough and not wanting to lose you are two very different things, dear,” I argued, squeezing his chin lightly. Thor’s eyes fluttered open again, his brows pulling together, his eyes darting between mine as his head tilted a tiny bit. “I can’t bear the thought of those fucking stones taking you from me. You’ve suffered enough for a lifetime; let someone else shoulder the burden.”

“But I caused this,” Thor protested, everting his eyes.

“No. Thanos caused this,” I growled, squeezing his chin again. I didn’t miss the way Thor flinched at the name, but I ignored it; it was time for him to stop hiding behind his fear. “The universe’s problems aren’t yours to bare alone.”

Thor was silent for a beat before his lips parted and a soft, “okay,” puffed out.

“FRIDAY, do me a favor and activate Barn Door Protocol. Will you?” Tony’s voice broke through the room's tension, and I gave Thor one last tight smile before closing my eyes.

“Yes, boss.” I sucked in a calming breath as I listened to the protective barriers slide into place and focused on the magic ingrained in my being. My smile grew as I felt the familiar weight of armor settling over me; Thor’s eyes were huge when I met them again, a subtle trace of heat lingering.

“I forgot how breathtaking you look in armor,” Thor whispered, his lip twitching up in a smirk.

“It’s been a long time,” I agreed, running my fingers over the cold breastplate. I spun on my heels, planting myself in front of Thor when Bruce spoke again.

“Everybody comes home.” The nanotech expanded as Bruce’s hand slid inside, and I jumped back into Thor at the sudden power surge. Bruce’s veins lit up with every color of the rainbow and yelled out, one of his knees buckling, sending him crashing down.

“Take it off! Take it off!” Thor yelled from behind me.

“No, wait!” Steve hurried to Bruce’s side, holding a hand towards him but not touching him. “Bruce, are you okay?”

“Talk to me, Banner,” Tony added, his eyes darting over his friend’s body. Another groan hissed through Bruce’s teeth before his mouth opened again.

“I’m okay,” he panted, nodding his head. I covered my mouth with both hands as I watched on in horror, cringing every time Bruce screamed. Time seemed to stand still when the metal snap echoed through the room, only to be shattered by the dense thud of Bruce hitting the floor. The gauntlet fell off his arm, and Clint kicked it away as the rest of us surged forward.

“Bruce!” Steve yelled, leaning over the large, green man.

“Don’t move him,” Tony warned, joining Steve.

Bruce grabbed Steve’s arm suddenly, his eyes screwing shut. “Did it work?” I felt Thor let out a long breath behind me, one of his hands settling on my hip, squeezing hard enough to leave bruises.

“Worth a shot. It’s over. It’s okay,” Thor mumbled, sagging against my back. My eyes darted over to Scott when I noticed him wandering towards the now barrier-free windows. The room was so quiet my hearing could pick up on the faint buzzing somewhere behind us; I glanced up at Thor, seeing that he heard it too. Thor’s shoulder knocked against mine, and he nodded to where Clint was standing frozen over a table.

“Honey?” Clint stuttered, his face lighting up as he looked back towards the Avengers.

“It worked,” I breathed, looking up to meet Thor’s eyes again.

“Guys!” Scott yelled from behind us, his voice cracking in excitement. “I think it worked!” I spun around, lunging at Thor, wrapping my arms around his neck as he lifted me off the ground, squeezing me in a bone-crushing hug.

“Shit,” Bruce gasped. I turned to look over my shoulder just in time to catch a glimpse of Bruce’s horrified expression aimed through the skylight. Explosions reverberated through the building, and my ears rang as Thor and I were thrown through a nearby wall as the building came down on top of us. I could barely make out Thor’s agonizing shouts of my name as my head bobbed just above the surface of unconsciousness.

Then everything went black.

Part 7 | Masterlist

Taglist:

@itsafansworld07

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lizabethstucker · 2 years

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Iron Widow by Xiran Jay Zhao

Iron Widow 1

In Huaxia, the highest honor for a young girl is to be selected as a concubine-pilot: supporters paired up with male pilots to power up Chrysalises, the giant transforming mechas that humanity relies on to battle the massive aliens that lurk beyond the Great Wall. Or so the story goes. In reality the girls are mostly sold by their parents to die, earning the family a financial bonus.

After 18-year-old Zetian's sister is killed by an ace male pilot, she signs up for revenge. The vengeance brings an unexpected result, leaving Zetian labeled as an Iron Widow, a much feared type of concubine-pilot who can sacrifice boys to power up the Chrysalises instead of the other way around.

In an attempt to control her (or destroy her), Zetian is paired up with Li Shimin, the strongest and most controversial male pilot in Huaxia. No one, not even Zetian, expects the hatred and distrust to morph into a strong pairing and, with the addition of a good friend from home, a force for change. And love.

Wu Zetian is not a likeable character, I need to be clear on that from the beginning. While I understand why she is what she is, that doesn't make her admirable in her actions and reactions. She can be incredibly cruel to almost everyone, whether they deserve it or not. She definitely struggles with empathy.

Then there is Gao Yizhi, her wealthy friend from her teenage years, the one who helped educate Zetian by sharing her tablet of lessons and homework. First appearances show him as a gentle scholar, which he is, but there is also a steel core that makes Yizhi more dangerous than many would recognize, putting his strength down to money and his shady father, a media giant.

Finally we have Li Shimin, half-Rongdi, who was plucked from death row to become a pilot due to strong level of qi, a necessary life force for a Chrysalis operator. Due to his appearance, background, criminal record, and alcohol addiction, Shimin is considered a brute, an animal. Only Yizhi looked deeper, discovering the poet, the student, the gentle man beneath the anger and loneliness and guilt.

This was a strange read. I enjoyed the experience while reading the book, but when I was pulled away by Real Life, I didn't feel the wrench I normally feel. I honestly wonder if part of that detachment was due to the character's unlikability, yet I've read and enjoyed other books headed by an unlikeable main character in the past. Although in this case, with a first person narration, I didn't have time to know and understand the other characters other than from Zetian's perspective.

She does change somewhat throughout the book, but not by much. Her circle expands to add Shimin to her relationship with Yizhi, plus there is a definite attraction between the two boys separate from that to Zetian. These are three broken individuals deserving of happiness in their lives, but the only joy to be found will be within their small trio.

Now the elephant in the room. The ending. Look the other way if you haven't read the book yet. You might pick up something of what happened when I discuss my reaction to the ending. Still here? Okay, don't say you weren't warned. I didn't like it. I found it a bit trite and, while the twist was well executed, was it really necessary to do this? I say no. However, it does make an adequate hook to draw the reader to the next book in the proposed series, so I suppose it did its job.

I found the story fascinating, an inventive rendering of a future world slowly rebuilding after being decimated, all the technology gone. The only returning technology is that given by the gods. Yet the invading aliens are still coming, making the pilots, both male and female, essential. 3.5 out of 5

#book review #Iron Widow #Xiran Jay Zhao #science fiction #Iron Widow series #criminal pilot hero #wealthy scholar hero #concubine pilot heroine

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henshengs · 3 years

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instead of Favor chapter 6 or my exchange fic obligations I have written... part two of the nieyao reconciliation fic, feat. A Terrible Camping Trip

part one

The forest is quiet now, and familiar. He has ridden and walked these paths many times, on night-hunts and wartime marches. The road winds across a stream and upwards until it crests a hill, momentarily breaking out of the dense sea of trees, and Nie Mingjue can see a mountain peak rising to the east, purple in the dying light. He remembers that mountain, and when he looks at his traveling companion, he can see that Jin Guangyao remembers it too, remembers a cave and water jugs and silenced laughter.

It’s not a memory Nie Mingjue likes to revisit. He turns his horse back towards the road. On his back, Baxia shudders.

They ride in silence, until the light grows too weak and the horses are unnerved by the darkness of the forest. Jin Guangyao has come prepared. He lights a torch and leads the horses off the path, a precaution against bandits. In a clearing he unloads camping supplies from the horses’ packs, and then begins to draw a protective circle large enough to include the two beasts. It is bizarre and uncomfortable to see him doing such old familiar tasks while clothed in elaborate and doubtlessly expensive Jin robes. His movements are as sure and efficient as they ever were, and he kneels in the dirt with only cursory efforts to protect the gold embroidery on his trailing sleeves. Nie Mingjue watches him for a moment, satisfying himself that the circle is being drawn correctly, and then he goes into the forest to gather firewood.

The moment Jin Guangyao is out of sight, and Nie Mingjue is alone, it’s as though a spell has broken. He staggers and then falls. The ground is cold but not as cold as the stone of the tomb. Not as cold as the bodies of his brothers when he carried them up out of the earth.

He remembers kneeling before the memorial tablets of his uncle and his grandfather. He remembers the day his father took him on a solitary night hunt that ended in the cold stone foyer of a blade tomb. He remembers what he had felt when his father had explained that one day, his life would end in such a place. He had felt terror, but also pride at the power of his saber, and awe at the quiet solemnity of the tomb, the energy he could feel in each of its stones. He had been proud to be a Nie, protector of the weak, vanquisher of evil.

He is laughing as well as crying, now, he realizes, his cheek pressed against the dirt and his ribcage shaking. He rolls onto his back and stares up at a tiny patch of stars visible through the shroud of leaves.

“Da-ge,” Meng Yao says. He is looming over Nie Mingjue. Nie Mingjue can hear a faint thread of chuckling laughter, but Meng Yao’s mouth is closed.

“Don’t touch me,” Nie Mingjue growls, and moves to shove Meng Yao away, but before his hand connects the target is scrambling backward, a look of unconcealed fear on his face.

Nie Mingjue pushes his body half-upright. Jin Guangyao is backed up against a tree, his eyes very wide and dark, his gold robes colorless in the faint moonlight. The two of them stare at each other.

Nie Mingjue turns first, getting to his feet and striding back towards the clearing, wiping the tears from his face with the back of his hand. The bedrolls are laid out neatly.

Jin Guangyao reappears a few minutes later, his arms laden with firewood. He stacks it neatly, just as he did when he was Nie Mingjue’s deputy. When they were on night hunts, and made their own fire away from the other disciples. The nights had been cold then too, but the two of them had always been warm.

“I can build the fire,” Nie Mingjue says. He’s not sure if it’s an offer or a demand, but Jin Guangyao does a half bow and sits down, watching Nie Mingjue arrange the wood.

“Forgive me for asking, but I think I need to know,” Jin Guangyao says, quietly. “What happened in the blade tomb? A-Sang was very distressed.”

Nie Mingjue doesn’t want to say it. But that’s all the more reason to force the words out, to force himself to face it. “When we subdued the blade spirit, I lost control and went into qi deviation,” he says. “And I killed my men.”

There’s silence. Jin Guangyao doesn’t say anything, at first. Nie Mingjue concentrates on stacking pieces of wood, and tries not to anticipate Jin Guangyao’s words, how honeyed and fake they might be.

When at last Jin Guangyao speaks, he surprises Nie Mingjue by not murmuring words of sympathy or condolences. All he says is, “Da-ge, what do you intend to do next?”

“Return to the Unclean Realm,” Nie Mingjue says. “Abdicate as Sect Leader. If their families ask for my life I will give it. If they do not I will find a doctor who can seal my cultivation.”

“Sealing your qi will only accelerate your condition,” Jin Guangyao says unnecessarily.

Nie Mingjue grunts. He takes out flint and starts the fire. The flame is tiny at first and then blooms into life with a hungry intake of air.

The firelight casts great flickering hollows of shadow on Jin Guangyao’s face. He asks, “You’d leave A-Sang alone?”

Nie Mingjue can feel a laugh threatening to burst from his chest. He says, “He’ll have you and Xichen, won’t he?”

Once-

Once, that would have been enough. He’d thought.

“Of course, Da-ge,” Jin Guangyao says.

After the fire is carefully banked, Jin Guangyao settles down into his own blankets, on the opposite side of the fire from Nie Mingjue, his back to him, his face hidden.

Nie Mingjue stares into the flames and feels cold and alone.

#my fic #nieyao

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presidentrhodes · 5 years

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How about some IronHusbands? Tony keeps telling the avengers how awesome his husband is but they don't believe he exists because it has been months and they still haven't met him yet and then finally, Rhodey comes home :)

See, I was going to write a cute 700-word fic for this, but your prompt was too good and this turned into a 5K monster. I’m sorry. :(

Title: The Other Mr Stark: Pilot, Scientist and Iron Man’s Mysterious Paramour

Rating: PG

Pairing: Tony Stark/James Rhodes

Summary: Clint leans over to Tony and whispers. “For the record, I know you’re lying. You’re describing the perfect man and he doesn’t exist. You might as well say you’re dating Superman because at least Christopher Reeve was a looker.“

This ignores the chronology and canon from Iron Man 2. It’s not yet beta-ed so, I apologise for all mistakes!

***

“Don’t be ridiculous, Stark,” Clint says from the lounge floor, where he sits cross-legged, trying to build a house of cards on the table. Natasha’s lying on the sofa next to him, her feet on Steve’s lap as he massages them. Bruce sits in an armchair opposite them, his attention fixed on the Starkpad in his hands. Thor stands by the floor-to-ceiling window behind Bruce, watching the cars driving along Park Avenue 80 floors down. “You’re making shit up."

It’s team-bonding night: Steve came up with the idea a month after the Avengers stopped an alien invasion and moved into the spacious penthouse atop Stark Tower. New York began the long, arduous process of rebuilding; tall construction cranes wedged between damaged skyscrapers carried out repair work and men in reflective vests and bright yellow helmets became a common sight all over the city.

Tony’s at the bar mixing drinks for the team, even though he hasn’t touched alcohol in over a decade. His cocktails, he claims, are still kickass. "Why would I lie to you, Barton? I am going to get nothing out of it."

They have been going back and forth for an hour since Tony let it slip that contrary to what the New York Post says every week, he’s happily married. His husband’s a decorated Air Force Colonel and a rocket scientist by training and, Tony insists, he once fought a homophobe bare-chested outside MIT in the freezing Northeast winter, for insulting Tony.

"It was my birthday. Honeybear had no time for assholes,” Tony says, shaking the martini he’s making for Natasha. “The fight was brutal, and this guy was built like a horse. I thought Platypus wouldn’t last a minute but I was wrong. Dead wrong.” Tony gesticulates at appropriate moments in his recounting of the tale and embellishes it with just the right amount of spice to impress upon the demi-gods, assassins and supersoldiers in his audience that his husband is a goddamn hero.

Tony’s husband had apparently exchanged punches with the bigot that left both men bleeding profusely from their noses. “Then Honeybear uppercuts him out of nowhere and it’s a total KO,” Tony says, moving on to make Steve’s drink—a mojito; how typical of Captain Boyscout McSexypants. “I thought I was watching Ali versus Foreman on replay. It was beautiful.”

Bruce snorts at the comparison without glancing up from the tablet.

Clint’s face contorts and he knits his brows in frustration as the sparse details from Tony fail to add up in his mind. The stacked cards look dangerously close to toppling over. “You want us to believe in this ‘mysterious’ paramour, and all you’re giving out are a bunch of ridiculous nicknames and made-up stories with no evidence and no pictures. Sounds completely legitimate.”

“Hey, why did I never come across this husband of yours when I was your PA?” Natasha chips in, the corner of her mouth quirks up. Steve grins at the way Tony’s face turns red and his nostrils flair—from what he has learned, courtesy of Shield and Ms Potts, Tony’s pride hasn’t recovered from being thoroughly fooled by the Black Widow two summers ago.

Tony tosses a lime at Natasha. She swats it away with an expert backhand, and the lime crashes into Clint’s deck of cards. The archer snarls a string of expletives, forcing out Steve’s stern 'Captain America is disappointed in you, son’ look. Tony flashes a lopsided smile from the bar. “Well, Ms Rushman, I don’t discuss all aspects of my life with personal assistants. Even ones as attractive as you.”

“Call me Rushman one more time and—"

Thor finally turns to join the conversation and butts in before Natasha delivers the rest of her threat. "Your husband must be a good, honourable man. I’m sure he’s worthy of his place in Valhalla." The response draws surprised looks around the room. Even Tony double-takes at first, his eyes wide and bug-like as if he can’t believe what his ears are picking up. He recovers fast and rubs his hands together in glee. "See? The god agrees with me. It’s settled, I win.”

The conversation turns to Fury and Shield—specifically, determining if Phil Coulson is a human mimicking an AI or an artificial intelligence pretending to be a 39-year-old homo sapiens sapiens. Tony brings over the drinks and sinks to the floor next to Clint. The archer leans over and whispers. “For the record, I know you’re lying. You’re describing the perfect man and he doesn’t exist. You might as well say you’re married to Superman because at least Christopher Reeve was a looker."

Tony rolls his eyes. "You’ll eat your words soon enough, birdbrain."

***

‘Soon enough’ turns out to be a month later when the topic of Tony’s mystery husband makes an unannounced appearance in the middle of a mission. Taking on a small army of unidentified robots possessing a hive brain, near a country fair, leaves Steve, Natasha and Tony in charge of shepherding a group of children away from the direct line of fire. Thor and Hulk keep the main fighting focused on them while Clint takes out the spare droids, one by one, from his spot on a nearby roof.

Natasha leads them past smouldering scraps of metal and burning tarp, towards the carousel where the children huddle together, their faces white as sheets. Behind her, Steve’s limping along. He’s bleeding into his suit after taking several hits earlier from the droids and their shoulder-mounted plasma cannons. Tony provides aerial support, keeping the stray robots away from the kids.

"You know,” he begins on the team’s shared comms channel, watching Natasha approach the terrified children with an unnatural, almost enviable, ease, like she has spent a lifetime perfecting the art of looking after them. “Platypus is really good with kids too. His sister sometimes leaves her daughter with us when she’s travelling, and he’s a natural with her. I always thought kids are fussy about everything.” Clint groans. Tony ignores him and continues, letting JARVIS take control of the armour to round up and disable the remaining droids.

“Jeannie always says Lila is a fussy baby at home. She has made a career out of screaming when things don’t go her way. When she stays with us, she turns into an angel because of Platypus.” No one responds. Tony’s attention shifts to how pale Steve looks in his viewfinder. He watches the Captain stagger behind Natasha and asks JARVIS to scan his teammate to take stock of his injuries; Tony knows once the mission is over, Steve will downplay his condition. He’ll brush it off as “just a couple of knocks, nothing too serious,” and bury himself in paperwork in his office to avoid medical attention. The man hates hospitals. Tony can’t blame Steve—he detests them, too.

“My scans detect Captain Rogers has sustained three broken ribs and severe lacerations,” JARVIS drawls in his thick, mechanical voice. “Readings indicate his supersoldier abilities have already contained the bleeding, and the ribs should heal on their own by the week’s end.”

“Thanks, J.” Tony lands on the ground next to Steve. They watch Natasha usher the children towards the perimeter that Shield agents, who finally arrived at the scene, have set up. Worried parents, some of them openly sobbing, stand behind the barricades, waiting to be reunited with their children. “Captain. You’re hurt,” Tony informs Steve as a matter of fact.

“I hadn’t noticed,” Steve says, deadpan, and lets out a pained breath.

The faceplate lifts. Tony gives a half-smile at Steve. “Let me carry you back to the infirmary. You need medical attention and my husband is a big fan. He’ll lose his mind when I tell him I carried Captain America bridal style back to base.” Fortunately for Tony, whatever objection Steve’s about to raise dies on his lips as exhaustion wins him over. He collapses face-first on the muddy field, and Tony’s kneeling by his side in a flash, checking for a pulse. He sags inside the suit in relief when he finds one, and JARVIS helpfully diagnoses “severe fatigue” for the Captain. The AI chooses that precise moment to reveal to Tony that Steve Rogers hasn’t had a good night’s sleep in three months.

“Avenger down,” Tony tells the team. A chorus of concerned voices floods the comms channel. “The Captain’s had a long day. I’m taking him back to medical, you guys handle cleanup and Coulson. I am busy in the evening, so, don’t call me or page me unless the world is on fire and one of you is actually dying."

No one speaks for a few moments. Clint cuts through the static in a flat, disinterested tone. "What’s keeping you busy, Stark? Sexy date in the Bahamas with your imaginary husband?"

"If you have to know, birdbrain, it’s our anniversary and I’m going to the base to see him.”

Clint chortles.

“You still won’t tell us what base he’s stationed at. Let me guess, is it Area 51? Is your imaginary husband an alien, Stark? Holy shit, you’re married to Superman."

The words vex Tony. "Do you ever shut up, Barton?” He doesn’t wait for a reply and turns off his comms. Tony carries Steve in his arms and flies back to the Tower.

***

A few weeks later, after pulling another all-nighter in the lab, Tony walks in on Steve, Natasha and Bruce gathered in the kitchen for breakfast. Clint’s on vacation. Tony counts that as a blessing. He knows despite Clint’s cynicism, at some point, the archer started tailing Tony’s every move, inside and outside the Tower, to find out more about Platypus. Working as an assassin over the years, Clint honed his ability to stay under the radar, but all of that training didn’t stand a chance against JARVIS and his all-sensing presence.

“Barton’s been following me,” Tony says, pouring himself a coffee. He curses—someone, and he knows it’s Thor, keeps leaving coffee grounds inside the pot. That barbarian. “He thought he was being clever by using the vents, but nothing gets past JARVIS.”

Bruce narrows sleep-heavy eyes at Tony: “I thought J doesn’t surveil us.” The words come out as nothing more than a low, gruff mumble. Stifling a yawn, Bruce slouches forward and rests his face on the granite countertop. His eyes droop; for all of his unparalleled work in anti-electron collision theory, Bruce Banner remains incapable of being a morning person.

“He doesn’t when you’re in your private quarters. The vents are public areas, and standard building security protocols apply.” Tony strains his coffee. He makes a mental note to speak to Thor—the Asgardian proved himself to be a fast learner of Earthly etiquettes. He’s come a long way from smashing coffee mugs to ordering customised drinks at Starbucks without pissing off the baristas. Even Captain America sometimes gets the stink eye when he asks for soy milk instead of dairy. Tony suspects baristas around the city are too enamoured by Thor’s godly presence to ever crib about his order.

“Why would Clint stalk you through the vents?” Steve asks. Tony finds the puzzled look on Steve’s face endearing. “50% of his DNA is bird. He’s just following his instincts,” he says. Tony bites back a laugh at Steve’s hardened expression; he appears genuinely distressed by the idea that one of his human teammates may not be 100% human.

Tony admires the way the Captain works hard to adjust to his new life in the 21st century—waking up to an alien invasion led by a horned Norse god proved to be a hell of a way to get over the initial culture shock. And, while Steve made a quick study of smart kitchen appliances and most of the Internet, genetic modifications and other advances in technology set off regular alarm bells in his head. Noticing the way Steve’s lips curl downward, Natasha offers a quick clarification: “Tony’s being an idiot. Clint’s not actually part bird, even if he is as obtuse as one."

"Well, birdbrain has to get more creative than vents to get the jump on JARVIS,” Tony says, squeezing between Steve and Natasha. They hear Bruce’s gentle snores—he really hates mornings—and Tony whispers. “Honeybear is the only one who has gotten past J.”

On cue, JARVIS chimes in softly: “That is correct. His method was delightfully inventive, one that has enhanced my detection abilities tenfolds.”

Without being prompted, Tony volunteers the information to his teammates in a hushed tone: “We had a bet. Each of us picked a random day to break into Stark Industries. The goal was to get into my office without alerting J."

Steve and Natasha listen, their expressions dull, as Tony explains in unnecessary details how his husband got the jump on artificial intelligence—Natasha makes mental notes to make her own attempt later if only to test her own skills against an all-seeing machine.

"Honeybear set off a small and easily contained fire in our backyard while I was sleeping. Because J’s primary protocol is to protect me, he had to assess its threat level. But, it was in a contained environment; the variables were known, and the calculation should’ve been easy, except his protocol says he cannot dismiss the threat until it is eliminated,” Tony says, watching Steve’s eyes widen. The Captain, ever the cynic, is probably working out a hundred different world-ending scenarios about a rogue AI. He and J aren’t so different in their personalities, Tony thinks.

“JARVIS spent most of his processing power keeping an eye on me. His second protocol says he must at all times protect the Stark Secure Server, my private server. And, no, Natasha, I know that look. It’s not at Stark Industries, I know you’ve looked, and I won’t tell you where it is so that Shield can go snooping.” Natasha glowers at him, her cheeks flushed at being caught red-handed. “That left J with very little juice to handle everything else for all Stark Industries offices around the world. He didn’t even notice Honeybear walk onto the premises or enter my office.”

Tony pauses to let his teammates absorb and appreciate his husband’s ingenuity: Steve looks impressed, Natasha scowls at Tony. Bruce, with his eyes still closed and head down, breaks the silence. “I’ve seen J’s documentation. You wrote him to back himself up on local servers precisely to avoid this situation. You said your roommate at MIT gave you the idea. Plus, you use an insane amount of RAM, I’ve seen your set up.”

Tony claps.

“Finally. Someone who sees the obvious error in this story. And yet, somehow, Honeybear got into my office undetected. Either he’s the superspy of the millennium—sorry, Widow—or someone is lying.” Tony glances at the ceiling. “What? You like him better or something?” JARVIS doesn’t respond. Instead, music flits in from the overhead speakers: Tell me lies. Tell me sweet little lies (Tell me lies, tell me, tell me lies). Oh, no, no you can’t disguise.

“Smartass.”

***

On Christmas Eve, Tony arrives at the common floor and overhears the team in deep conversation. His curiosity plants him in a corner outside the lounge, within hearing distance, but strategically hidden from the occupants inside. He picks up on Natasha speaking with an underlying worry in her tone. “That’s not the point, Clint. When I assessed him, he was dying. Very painfully, if I may add. He’s proven himself to be a team player and he’s a vital member of this team—"

Clint cuts her off. "He’s delusional, Nat. He’s making up an entire person and coming up with these larger than life stories. It was funny the first time, but it’s clear he believes in the stuff he says. If he’s losing it, we need to know because we’re a team. We have got to have each other’s backs at all times.”

Steve chimes in: “His life is his own. We should respect his privacy, Clint. I’m sure when he’s ready, he’ll introduce us to his husband. Don’t force it on him.” Tony’s built-in cynicism would have once made fun of the unadulterated optimism behind Steve’s words. But, hearing the Captain speak in his, and Platypus’, defence like that makes Tony want to immediately buy the Brooklyn apartment he knows Steve’s eyeing and give him the keys in a gift-wrapped box with a bow.

Captain America’s assurances fail to convince Clint or soothe his exasperation. “Your optimism is misplaced, Cap. There is no husband, no boyfriend. Nothing! Nat and I have looked everywhere and there’s not a trace of Stark ever getting hitched, let alone to another military man. I get it, don't ask, don't tell when that was still the law, right? What about now? There has to be some kind of a legal record, somewhere, if Stark's really married.”

“Maybe it’s a manifestation of his trauma,” Bruce supplies. “He’s well overdue a psych evaluation. He hasn’t talked to anyone since the invasion. We should cut him some slack.”

Clint doubles down. “We need to know if he’s hallucinating before someone tries to take over the world again. It’s one thing if he’s making it up for street cred, but if he genuinely believes in it…"

"He’s creating another armour,” Natasha says. Tony feels vindicated by the admission—he knows she pokes around his lab whenever Stark Industries business calls him away to the other coast. Her clandestine efforts fail to outsmart J’s all-sensing presence, but confronting the Black Widow about it, and risking dismemberment, ranks low on Tony’s list of priorities. To have her admit it in front of their teammates takes a small weight off his chest. “I’ve seen the blueprint. This is a leaner, tougher armour with some serious firepower.”

“Yeah. Fury commissioned it,” Steve says. Someone—Bruce—curses out loud at the revelation. Tony bites his lips and presses a hand over his mouth to stop himself cackling. Fools, those god-damn irredeemable fools, Tony thinks. Steve continues. “He wants to recruit that Air Force Colonel he always raves about.”

“James Rhodes.” Clint jumps in. “See, now he is an impressive man. I’ve read his files and I can see why Fury’s in love with him. Hell, I’m in love with him, too.” Tony’s close to tears from holding back his laughter at the archer’s enthusiastic tone; he doesn’t want to risk giving away his location and miss the rest of the conversation about the new recruit. “So, Stark’s agreed to make a suit for the Colonel. That's…surprising, seeing how possessive he is of his tech. He tased me last month when I tried to get a good look under the hood.”

“Maybe, Fury made him an offer he can’t refuse.”

“Does Stark know?” Natasha asks. “About Fury’s plans to recruit the Colonel? I heard Nick mentored him in college.”

“Shit,” Clint shouts. Tony regrets the lack of visual cues to go with the congregation inside and makes his own: Clint jumps on the sofa without warning next to Bruce, who turns a deep shade of green. While Steve and Natasha work to calm Bruce down, Clint squats on top of the backrest, like a bird perched on its nest among sky-high branches. Tony laughs at the imagery in silence.

“Rhodes went to MIT too, didn’t he? He studied aeronautics and astronautics—basically, rocket science. And, he’s Stark’s age. It’s not impossible they crossed paths there. Do you think Stark is holding onto some creepy university crush or did he make up his fake husband based on the Colonel?"

"He really needs that psych eval."

That’s when Tony decides he’s heard enough. He can barely keep himself together and in his excitement, he knocks into a solid, immovable mass. "Fuck,” Tony mutters and looks up into Thor’s dark blue eyes. Maybe the city baristas had a point, Tony thinks, and it’s futile to fight the Asgardian charm that oozes from every pore on Thor’s body.

Tony still pinches himself from time to time and wonders how a god fell out of legends, waltzed into his life and took up residence in his penthouse. After butting heads over Thor’s murderous brother Loki, they forged a friendship based on mutual respect—another thing which puzzles Tony because Thor’s a deity and he’s just a guy. Thor protested once when Tony blurted it out. “You’re not just a 'guy’.”

Thor’s quieter and more reserved than his broad GQ-model-like physique suggests; he prefers to observe instead of participating in the team’s special brand of eccentricity. Everyone on the team agrees that Thor is immeasurably perceptive.

“Hello, Pointbreak,” Tony says, clasping his shoulder. “What are you doing out here? You’re missing all the fun inside. They’re talking about having me committed because they don’t believe Platypus is real. They think I’m hallucinating.”

Thor’s face twists into a frown, a contrast to Tony’s playful grin. “Then they are silly,” he says. “I have seen how fondly you speak of him, Tony. You love your husband."

"More than I can put into words, buddy.” Tony sighs as his smile falters, his arms crossing over his chest. “Platypus is the bedrock of my life. Got me through some really bad times. After everything he has seen me say or do, he’s still here, and I wonder what I did to deserve him. You know? It’s surreal. Which god answered my prayers that I got so lucky?”

Thor steps forward until he’s up in Tony’s face, mere inches separating them. That man may possess a delightful and exuberant personality. But he has no concept of personal space, which Tony files under 'Usual Asgardian Oddities’, along with Thor’s habit of speaking to inanimate objects when he thinks no one is looking. Large hands rest his bony shoulders in a hard grip, and Tony thinks Thor is about to impart some godly wisdom. Interruption, if only to point out the awkwardness of their proximity, may come across as rude. "Listen here, Tony Stark. I have lived and watched over your realm for a thousand years. I’ve seen civilisations rise and fall, kingdoms destroyed by greed, great men brought down by hubris. But, you, my friend, you are among the best of them. Midgard should be proud to call you her son. Never ever doubt your worthiness.” Thor beams.

Tony tries to think up a response to that, but his mouth snaps shut. How does one top a speech where an actual god calls you worthy? In the end, Tony nods and stays still until Thor lets him go. “I will consider it a great honour the day you choose to let us meet the man who has stolen your heart. For one who’s deserving of your love, I also consider him worthy.”

On his way out, Tony texts his husband: You won’t believe it but I think Thor just blessed our marriage.

The reply comes immediately: Holy shit. I feel blessed already. Merry Christmas and see you soon xx.

***

Fury calls the team for an urgent meeting after New Year’s Day. His memo reads like every other missive he sends, curt and to the point: Meeting at 10 @ HQ. Don’t be late.

They take Tony’s private jet to DC because the Quinjet was out of commission, undergoing repairs after their latest mission—a villain holding Manhattan’s power grids hostage—damaged the engines. Onboard, they huddle in front of the flatscreen watching CNN analyse Justin Hammer’s trial. Tony gives them a breakdown of his business rival—how Justin tried to sabotage the Stark Expo by presenting cheap knockoffs of the Iron Man armour that blew up the entire venue. The anchor reads out charges levelled against Hammer: money laundering, racketeering, fraud, public endangerment, copyright infringement. And a dozen lawsuits from Stark Industries and affected civilians.

“Ouch,” Clint says, reclining in his seat. “That’s a bit excessive, even for making cheap knockoffs of your suit and blowing them up at your expo, Stark.”

“Trust me, birdbrain, we take corporate espionage very seriously,” Tony replies. A live feed shows Hammer arriving at the courthouse in orange overalls, with dark circles under his eyes and his hair in disarray. The press swarms around him, shoving microphones and cameras in his face. Hammer tries to push his way through the crowd. “Oh, Justin. You know, if he had even an ounce of charm in his bones he could’ve gotten the charges reduced.”

“You can’t charm your way through everything, Tony,” Bruce points out.

Tony smiles. “Not everyone can, no. My husband on the other hand—” The shift in the atmosphere is palpable. Clint tunes out of the conversation to stare out the window. Bruce shifts uncomfortably in his seat, Natasha presses her lips together in a frown, and Steve surveys the lines on his palms. Only Thor shows interest, so, Tony continues. “Few years ago, I dared him to charm a store manager at Macy’s. They had this perfume set from their exclusive collection. I wanted to see if Platypus could convince her to give him a set for free. You should’ve seen him, Thor. He knew all the right things to say, the right moments to smile, and I think if he had asked, she’d have given him the keys to the store. We gave it back later because it would’ve come out of her paycheck, otherwise. Platypus is a real charmer. You’ll love him.”

Thor’s laughs drown out Clint’s audible scoff. “I look forward to meeting him.”

“We should buckle up, we’re about to land,” Steve says, pointing to the seat belt sign.

***

Fury waits for them in a conference room on the top floor of the Triskelion. One by one, the Avengers fill in, with Tony being the last to enter. He takes the seat closest to the door.

“I’ll keep this short,” Fury says, without preamble. It’s one of the few things Tony admires about the director—he loathes wasting time as much as Tony. “The Avengers Initiative was started to be Earth’s first and last line of defence against extraterrestrial threats. We’ve shown the world why we need to exist and your heroic efforts have won us more goodwill from the public than we have anticipated. My bosses have instructed me to expand this team. You will meet the new recruits over the course of the year. They will train with you and Stark has agreed to house them at the Tower.”

Clint perks up. “Colonel Hottie said yes?"

Natasha kicks him under the table.

"What? He’s perfect. He’s smart, brave, and real. No offence, Stark.” Tony shoots him a dirty look. Clint turns to Steve. “Hey Cap, what’s your opinion on team romances? Yay or nay?"

"Clint,” Steve gives him his best 'Son, stop disappointing Captain America’ look. “This is neither the time nor the place.” The archer slumps in his chair and says loudly, “Look, I just want to know how many protocols I’ll be breaking to ask Colonel Rhodes out on a date."

Before Steve or Fury can answer, a new voice replies. "The answer would be none, Mr Barton. As flattering as your proposition sounds, I am unfortunately off the market.” All seven pairs of eyes turn to the doorway—James Rhodes leans against the doorframe in a grey polo shirt, a black bomber jacket and a pair of tight-fitting black jeans. Clint swallows and stammers. Natasha kicks him again.

“Colonel Rhodes,” Fury says and motions him to come forward. “Meet the team."

Rhodes takes stock of the room, his eyes resting a millisecond longer on Tony, and says, "Hey. Call me Jim."

Steve’s the first to rise as he moves in to shake Rhodes’ hand. "Good to meet you, Colonel. We’ve heard a lot about you from Fury, and we’re looking forward to having you on the team.” Bruce and Natasha go next: They exchange quick, courteous 'hello’s before Clint almost trips over himself to greet Rhodes. He tries to play it cool but stutters at the last moment, and the words—"I’ve read your file, Colonel, where have you been all my life?“—come out all jumbled, lacking the charm and finesse he had practised ever since Steve let it slip that Fury was trying to recruit Rhodes. On his turn, Thor flashes the Colonel a knowing smirk, and despite never reading any of Rhodes’ files, he says, "Good to finally meet you, Jim. I’ve heard a lot about your adventures."

Finally, Rhodes turns to Tony, who has been hanging back with his hands jammed in his front pockets and a closed-off expression on his face. "You look like the cat peed in your cereal today."

"It’s your fucking cat,” Tony grumbles. He doesn’t move away as Rhodes treads over and steals a peck on the lips. The rest of the team stare in stunned silence; except Fury, who rolls his eye, and Thor, whose indulgent smile suggests he feels pretty damn good about himself for uncovering some hidden knowledge before everyone else. Steve notices the identical wedding bands on Tony and Rhodes’ fingers first, and it finally clicks. “You’re married to Tony?"

"I am afraid the secret’s out, Captain. I am the mystery husband you’ve been hearing about and I assure you, I’m very real.” Rhodes slings a hand over Tony’s shoulder, and Tony melts into the touch, leaning on him for support, with a hand around Rhodes’ waist. No one speaks—no one fully overcomes the shock around the revelation, and though Steve looks like he’s working out the right words to say in his head, he stays quiet. At some point, Thor starts recording the confusion in the room as it unfolds—for a Space Viking who gives off strong Luddite vibes, he turns out to be exceptionally adept at using Earth tech. Tony isn’t surprised that Thor not only knows how to use a smartphone camera but he also developed a keen sense of when to use it—Barton looking like a flustered deer caught in headlights should be memorialised in every medium.

“I’ve been told the secrecy around my existence has become a matter of concern among the team,” Rhodes says, fixing his gaze on Clint. The archer shrinks in his seat. He avoids looking at Tony. Or Rhodes. “I’m happy to answer questions, perhaps over dinner, and provide clarifications on whatever my husband has told you about me. He likes to exaggerate, as I’m sure you know. But if you don’t mind, I’d like some privacy with Tones right now. We haven’t seen each other in a year and this meeting was not my idea of a reunion. It’s lacking in some quality action if you know what I mean.” He leaves very little to the imagination. Steve’s scandalised; jaws clenched and his eyes dart from Tony to Rhodes and back to Tony. Thor continues recording as he holds the smartphone in front of the Captain’s face until Steve tries to swat it away, and misses. Only Bruce, Tony notices, shows remorse for doubting his accounts and questioning his sanity.

With a final nod at the team, Rhodes walks out. “Coming?” He asks from the doorway. “I’ll catch up,” Tony says and lingers long enough for Fury to dismiss the team and leave. Clint’s sour expression—his nose crinkles as if he smelled something horrible—clashes with the way Tony’s eyes sparkle and his grin stretches ear to ear. “Hey birdbrain, how does it feel to be a clown? For what it’s worth, you never had a shot with him because I sealed the deal in '87. You were still working the circus. Yeah, that’s right, I read your files too—even the 'redacted’ ones.” Tony trots out of the room as Clint flips him off, with a big, smug grin plastered over his face. Some things are worth the wait—Rhodey has always been worth it.

–FIN–

#james rhodes #tony stark #ironhusbands #tonyrhodey #rhodeytony #avengers #mcu #fics #asks #rhea writes #theherothechampiontheinquisitor

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remindmetohaveherdrugtested · 4 years

Text

Once upon a time

Title: Once upon a time

Prompt: Everything seems to be going perfecrly so why do you feel the need to self harm after being 'clean' for so long? A reader insert where the reader is struggling with self harm again and Morgan helps.

Author: remindmetohaveherdrugtested

Tags: #reader insert #Derek Morgan #Comfort

Trigger warnings: #self harm #blood mention #murder/kidnap #mild swearing

Sat in the back of the SUV, you rest your head against the cool glass of the window and stare into the small gap between Derek's headrest and the cars' frame. Your eyes focused on the steering wheel, held steadily in place by his hands, before flicking back to the oncoming traffic.

Your mind wasn't really there. It was flicking between a million and one thoughts that were barely forming before the next one took over. You should be happy. You had exactly what you wanted from life; a happy little family, a job that you loved, a beautiful house and friends that you could count on. So why were you feeling so numb? Once upon a time that was all you dreamed about.

"Are we almost there?" A sleepy voice from the front broke you from your thoughts and you moved your head.

"About 10 minutes" Dereks steady voice answered, not taking his eyes off the road. "I wouldn't go back to sleep if I were you".

You watched him glance quickly at Spence beside him who looked like he was about to fall back asleep at any moment. It was 2am and the case was quite urgent according to Hotch and Garcia. Derek had swung by to pick you and Reid up as neither of you drove and the rest of the team wouldnt be long.

It wasnt long until the SUV was pulled up beside the rest of the team who were just starting to grab their go bags from another SUV to board the jet. Quickly stretching, you hopped out of the car and went to the boot to pull out your black bag and sling it across your shoulders. "We good to go? I need to get some serious sleep before we land" You asked, forcing a tiny smile at the rest of them. You barely waited for Hotch to nod before you were walking up the steps to the door and entering the cabin.

Immediately you slung your bag into the overhead bin and then settled yourself onto the sofa out of the way, watching as the rest of the team joined you. Each member put their bags away before settling down in a chair. It wasnt long until the jet was airborne but you knew you wouldnt land for a couple of hours and it would be a half an hour drive to the hotel.

"I'll let you all get some sleep shortly. We're headed to Texas" You knew that already from the call that Garcia had made earlier. "We think we have a cold case re-emerging. 10 years ago 2 brown haired, blue eyed and low risk women went missing. 5 years later their bodies were found having only died recently. 5 days later 2 more victims went missing and their bodies have just shown up. If the unsub sticks to their schedule the next two victims will go missing in 5 days and we will loose the trail again. The victims both looked to be kept in relatively good condition, cause of death was a single stab wound through the heart. Crime scence photos are on your tablets to have a look at and then you should try to get some rest" Hotch finished.

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

It was 7pm and Hotch had sent everyone back to the hotel for the night. You stood in the onsuite bathroom and stripped quickly to shower. As you got out you caught a glimpse of your arms in the mirror. Thin silvery lines marred them and although the last time you had cut yourself deliberately was years ago the lines had not fully faded yet. Your fingers traced them slowly. You weren't proud of it and no one else on the team knew about that part of your life. The familiar urge took hold of your chest. It was a deep and sinking feeling. Like you couldnt breathe. You knew that harming yourself would get rid of the feeling. It would allow you to feel anything other than the numbness that had taken over recently. Usually you were able to push away the urges, breathe through them and distract yourself but today was just different. You were tired of pushing them away and you just wanted it to go away.

Almost in a trance your fingers had found a razor and was removing the blades from it. It was like you were watching someone else draw on your skin. Watching blood trickling down your arms, as if it were rain on the windows. The pain was fresh. It felt good to be able to feel anything other than that pressing feeling on your chest and numbness.

The second the razor touched the side new feelings rushed through you. Guilt. Panic. Anger. How could you give in after so many years of being clean? How would you hide this? Why did you even feel this way when every part of your life was, by definition, perfect.

"Shit. Shit. Shit"

You spun around and shoved your arm into the shower, wincing as the running water touched the fresh wounds and watching as it took away the blood.

Pulling the towel back around you quickly, you walked quickly back into the room and rumaged in your bag to pull out some bandages you kept in there for minor injuries in the field. As you pulled the bandages out there was a loud thud as your bag fell to the floor onto your foot and you swore loudly but didn't pick it up.

With experienced hands you started bandaging your arm up. You'd banaged injuries up all the time in the field but this being from yourself made you feel a wave of guilt again.

The silence in the room was broken by a few raps on the door.

"Uh yeah?" You called trying to quickly pin the bandage in place.

"You alright? I heard some thuds and swearing" Dereks deep voice came through the door.

"Oh, uh ,yeah. Just dropped my go bag on my foot" You tried to laugh it off but something in your voice must've given you away because a moment later the door cracked open.

"Are you sure Y/N?" Dereks voice was clearer with the door cracked.

"Yeah yeah, it'll just a little bruise" You said, rushing to pull the towel around yourself so that he didnt see everything. You closed your eyes and sighed as you realised you had answered too quickly and your voice had cracked.

The door opened slowly before softly shutting. "Whats wrong? You've seemed a bit off all day. Did something else happen?" He paused, his eyes glancing over you and resting on your bandaged arm which was trying to help keep your towel in place. "Y/N?" His voice trailed off and he walked quickly over to you "What happened?"

"I happened" You muttered, turning away and sitting on the edge of the bed.

"You happened? What did you do?" Derek half laughed, clearly expecting you to have fallen or walked into something. His eyes narrowed as you didn't reply. "Y/N?"

You felt the slow burning prickle behind your eyes and felt a tear roll down your cheek. "Nothing" You snapped and turned. "I-uh-Sorry, Im just tired and was a bit clumsy"

You felt a soft hand touch your shoulder. "Doesn't seem like nothing. Why don't you get dressed and we'll talk about it?"

Your hand clenched around the towel as you became painfully aware that you were still naked with nothing but a towel around you. You nodded but said nothing as you got up and grabbed the pyjamas that were at the foot of the bed and walked quickly into the bathroom. Your eyes caught site of the bloody blade lying in the sink and you fought a wave of sickness that arose from it. Quickly pulling on your pyjamas, you turned the tap on to wash the blood away and the dropped the blade out of sight. You didn't need more temptation.

Re-emerging from the bathroom you saw Derek had moved your bag onto the chair and had perched himself on the end of the bed. You walked around him and on the side of the bed.

"So are you going to tell me what happened?" Derek slowly turned around to look at you although you determinedly avoided his gaze.

"Lapse of judgement" You muttered. It wasnt a lie but it wasn't the most straightforward answer. It didn't deter Derek.

"You can talk to me you know. I won't tell anyone and I might be able to help."

You laughed. It was cold and seemed hollow even to you. "If I knew do you think Id be in this mess."

The bed moved and you looked up as Derek sat beside you and slowly wrapped his arms around you. It seemed to break some dam inside you that you had been holding back since he had knocked on your door and tears began to stream down your face.

"I didn't mean to" You whispered. "I haven't in so many years. I was doing well but I just lost my focus. It wont happen again. Please don't tell the others"

Derek pulled you in closer and you turned to press your face into his chest. His heartbeat was comforting. "If you don't want me to tell anyone then I won't" He said simply.

"Im just so numb and it just happened and I just wanted to feel something again. I don't know why because everything is perfect so I dont have a reason to feel like this and why should I have any reason to do that" You rambled coming to a halt with a look of disgust on your face.

"These things happen. It can happen to anyone" Derek soothed. "This line of work is tough, even on the strongest of us. And these feelings can hit anyone. Even those who think everything they have is perfect. Theyre normal"

More sobs racked you body, getting stronger and stronger. It was like you lost all control. "Please" you sobbed. "I just want to feel something. Help me feel something"

Derek pulled you up the bed and pulled you into his chest. "You had a slip. Everyone has relapses. It doesnt mean anything. You'll get through this. I'll be there for you. Always"

You had no more words to say, what else was there to say? Instead you buried your face in his chest and continued to sob until you felt tiredness overcome you and let it take you off into nothingness.

When you woke up, Derek was gone. At the bottom of the bed you saw a pile of fresh bandages, a small tube of antiseptic cream and a note. Picking up the note, you quickly read through it.

"Baby girl,

Once upon a time is the start of a story. You have to keep fighting to see the end."

#tw #self harm #comfort #criminal minds #derek morgan #reader insert #drabble request

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mattzerella-sticks · 4 years

Text

Restless (Batman/Flash (Bruce/Barry) E-rated fic, 5.2k

Returning home from a mission in outer space, the team picks up a distress signal off-course. They rush off to help, landing on a strange alient planet teeming with life. Especially within the plant kingdom.

While guarding the Javelin, Bruce and Barry encounter one such member while engaging in some familiar fight-flirting. Will its effects spell trouble for the League, or help these two relax their guards long enough to explore new possibilities?

(Hint: It's a little bit of both)

Bruce scrolls through his tablet, monitoring the Javelin’s functions from his seat at the front. One of many tasks he divides his focus between, including watching the video feed of the open bay door and checking the communication systems in case the others radio in. All necessary when designated support, on guard for when the mission goes sour and a quick exit is needed.

They picked up a distress signal on their way back from a diplomatic mission. Helping unite warring factions by exposing the true masterminds of the conflict. A group of gem smugglers who used battlefield confusion to mine and transport a supply of crystals that, when broken down correctly, can become a low-cost substitute for fuel. When they left the leaders not only agreed on peace but also dedicated the efforts they put towards war into research on these crystals.

Job done, he and the others began the journey back. Halfway from Earth the calm atmosphere was quickly shattered by blaring alarms and the crackle of an open transmission. “Help! Repeat *buzz* in danger… anyone… of control *buzz* Help!”

“Bruce,” Clark steadied a hand on his chair, leaning beside him, “Can you trace where this is coming from?”

He flipped a few more switches, already twisting a knob when Clark stepped in. “Working on it.”

The signal came from a planet two star systems away. Lush with vegetation, Bruce found landing a tad impossible without crushing a tree or two. They ultimately landed in a small clearing near a jagged outcrop; rocks and leaves providing cover for their ship. Fully settled John lay out the orders – him, Clark, Diana, and J’onn would scout ahead for the source while he stayed behind.

“Ugh, I’m so bored.”

Him, and one other person.

Bruce glances at Barry, the speedster’s knees tucked up under his chin while he glares at the windshield. He vibrates in his seat, electricity sparking from his eyes. “Stop it,” Bruce tells him, tapping on a window and bringing it full-size, “you’ll make the whole ship shake.”

Barry scoffs, directing his glare at Bruce. “At least something would happen, then.”

He did not take his assignment lightly. “Why do I have to guard the ship, too? Batman can handle it!”

“Bruce used up a lot of his artillery on our last mission,” John said, pointing at Bruce. “In the chance that enemies sneak past our defenses and overrun him, we’d lose our position.”

“Very unlikely chance,” Bruce reminds them. Helping Barry because he would rather guard the Javelin alone. And not with a speedster who proved more distracting than he can handle.

“Even so,” John continued, “Barry, you would provide an escape path. Or scour the planet in three seconds, find us, and assemble the calvary. Now there will be no further discussions, got it?” Barry opened his mouth in protest, snapping it closed just as fast given the sharp look on John’s face. “Good. Hopefully this won’t take long, and we can make up for lost time.” He strides towards the exit, the others at his heels. “Let’s move out!”

That was over an hour ago. John checked in an hour after they left, reporting they have not found any sign of a threat so far. Bruce gave them updated specs on the transmission he decoded while they were out, about how the signal came from somewhere north of where they landed. He signed off, promising Bruce a second call in another hour.

Another hour where Bruce must keep the fraying strings of his patience tied together lest they snap, and he does something he will regret.

Barry slumps in his seat, legs dropped on the dashboard console and arms hanging off the sides. He sighs dramatically, again, drawing Bruce away from his duties. “Feet off.”

“Why?” he asks, digging his heels in, “I’m not even on any of the controls!”

“Because I said so,” Bruce turns to face him, brows drawn deep behind his cowl, “that’s why.”

Barry matches his expression, nose twitching with irritation. Suddenly, though, all the creases of his mask smooth, and Barry offers a half-lidded stare instead. Shrugs, he removes his feet and lets them crash to the floor. “Fine.”

“Fine?”

“Yeah, why are we wasting time arguing, y’know?” The corners of his mouth tick upwards, a small chuckle escaping past his lips. “I’m bored… but not that bored to care about where I can place my feet.” Then he tugs off his cowl, running gloved hands through sweat-spiked locks. “It sure is hot in here, though.”

While strange, Bruce treats his resignation as a victory. “Glad we can agree,” he says, stilted, “you can turn down the temperature, if you want…”

Barry stretches casually, rolling the wrong knob. A burst of heat explodes from the vents and onto them, causing the already warm air to swell further. Bruce curses at the sweat, pooling under the edges of his cowl, escapes and race down his face. He fixes Barry’s mistake and readies another tirade.

Only nothing comes. A sweet scent blew between them, his nose itching from its brush. Bruce sniffs, rubbing his nose. He breathes in deep, although the intent with which he does so is lost on him. Bruce cannot remember what he wanted to say.

Relaxing against his seat, limbs loose and hanging, he tries grasping for his thoughts. They slip out of reach like loose paper on the wind. Like confetti. His lips fold in a small smile, prompted by the comparison – imagining that ticker tape raining overhead while in a parade.

A trumpeter blows a horn, except it isn’t that. Red brackets the video on his monitor, showing a large number of vines creeping through the entryway. Bruce then glances up when he sees a few, similar vines inching over the windshield. He squints, wracking his brain for a response. The sense that he forgets an important detail hung overhead. Looming shadow forgotten when he hears Barry clearing his throat beside him.

“It’s so hot,” he whines again. Barry has one leg up over his knee while he tugs on his boot. It pops off with a relieved sigh, Barry tossing it behind him while he frees his other foot. When finished there he starts pulling on the neck of his cowl.

Bruce slips a finger under his own heated costume, adding needed breathing room. He swallows around a knot in his throat. “What are you… what’re you doing?”

“Cooling off,” Barry explains, fabric pooling at his waist. Toned arms and chest on display for Bruce, his eyes following the darker blond hairs as they lead downwards. Suggestive, coloring Bruce’s imagination with images he has never seen but desperately wants. Craves more than ever before.

Barry stands, whipping off his pants and giving Bruce’s fantasy points of reference. Bruce blanches, knowing he should look away but unable to. “That’s better,” Barry sits again, one leg thrown casually over the side of the chair. He waits a beat, and then faces Bruce. “Y’know,” he whispers, grinning, “you’re lookin’ a little hot around the collar.”

“I am?”

“Take all that off,” Barry waves at his costume, “it’s so hot. Why’re you even wearing it anyway?”

Bruce doesn’t know, nor does Bruce care he cannot remember. “Sure,” he says, shucking the cowl and cape in one swift motion. His shirt follows, backtracked by an appreciative grunt from nearby. Barry watches him undress with one hand stroking his heavy cock. A bead of pre-come leaks out which he wipes up with his thumb. Bruce’s tongue runs over his bottom lip, skin scorching even though unburdened by thick fabric.

Barry giggles, Bruce shifting his gaze towards his face. He hides a wide, bright grin behind a fist, and hazy eyes spark in delight. “Why’d you stop?” Barry asks, “it was getting good…” His pumps grow slow, achingly slow. “Don’t you want to feel good?” Bruce has not understood much these past few minutes, but the hidden meaning clicks immediately.

Fumbling with his utility belt, Bruce kicks off his boots and jumps up. Bounces while peeling his pants off. Until he stands, naked, his own dick hanging beside his thigh. “I want to feel good,” he says.

“So do I,” Barry rises, “so do I…” He runs his fingers through the hairs at the nape of Bruce’s neck. “Let’s feel good together.”

“All right…”

Bruce presses his lips against Barry’s, skin tingling from the speedster’s inherent electricity. Static latching onto nerve endings and setting them off like fireworks. His hands travel down the planes of Barry’s body, settling on his waist. He squeezes with bruising force while he works the other man’s mouth open with his tongue.

Barry responds with matched fervor. Guides Bruce through forceful tugs on his hair, other hand vibrating and circling his hole. Bruce moans into the kiss, legs buckling from the pleasure. The tremors still, Barry’s hand latched tight on his lower back. Together they sink into the floor. He lies on his back, legs lifted and spread, resting on Barry’s shoulders.

“How badly do you want this, Bruce?”

“So badly,” he tells Barry, squirming in his grip. A rogue foot nudges too close to the speedster’s cheek and draws a chuckle out of him. “Very badly.”

“Perfect…” Barry dips below where Bruce can see him, blond locks like a blanket for his dick. Tight, black coils mixing with the pale-yellow color of Barry’s hair. He opens Bruce’s ass and noses at it, first. Tickling the hole and blurring his vision further. Bruce bites his lip while stars dance overhead.

Barry licks a stripe up his crack, darting quickly inside Bruce’s hole. “Do it again.” He does, longer, twisting against the wave-like motions of his fluttering muscles.

“Y’know, I always wondered what bats tasted like…” Bruce snorts a laugh which quickly transitions into a moan when Barry slips a finger in where his tongue used to be. Vibrating and crooked, Barry finds Bruce’s prostate. He arches, sliding on his forgotten cape. Bruce claws at Barry’s scalp while a large drop of pre-come soaks into his hair. “You like that?”

Someone answers for him. A voice crackles across nearby speakers, yelling throughout the room. An attempt at bursting the bubble he and Barry exist within. “Bruce! Barry! Do you copy?” Bruce recognizes the voice, but no name nor face appears in his mind besides Barry’s. “I repeat – do you copy! We’ve found the source of the distress signal and – Diana, on your right – and it’s a trap! We’re sending our coordinates for an extraction.” His voice, drenched with anger, weighs heavily on his good mood. Bruce’s smile falls as he stares at the red, blinking light on the console. “Hello? Is anyone even there –“

Barry looks up from his hole, finger working a steady rhythm despite the interruption. “Doesn’t anyone have manners?” he scoffs, “We’re in the middle of something.”

“Let me handle it.” Blindly, Bruce thumps his foot along the console. Pressing randomly at buttons until the red, blinking light snaps and fades; the voice along with it. Silence governs the machinery. “Done.”

“Beautiful…” Barry wraps his free hand around Bruce’s ankle and brings it close, kissing the side of his foot. “Thank you.”

“Thank me by adding another finger.” He listens, the second digit stretching his hole. Barry scissors it open, Bruce’s toes curling from the act. “Yeah…”

“Hey, man, don’t let me do all the work,” Barry says, smirking, “play with yourself a little.”

“Hmm…” Bruce slides his hand out of the other man’s hair, loosely gripping his straining dick. It pulses with urgency, a steady leak coating a match of skin that grows when Bruce messily coats it along the rest of his purpling cockhead. “Oh, Barry,” he hisses, jerking, “can you…”

“Can I what?”

“Stick it in me. I want your cock in me.”

“Skipping ahead? And they say I’m fast.”

“Too long…” Bruce admits, shivering when Barry lays his hand over Bruce’s and helps stroke his dick. “Wanted this… for too long.”

Barry cools, fingers half-inside Bruce and stopping him from continuing the rub of his dick. Bruce whines, low in his throat, asking why Barry stopped. “Sorry,” he whispers, a light bursting behind the fog of his eyes. Like someone lit a torch in a lighthouse, so weary sailors could find their way home. “Sorry I… a thought zipped by me.”

“What kind of thought?”

“Well,” Barry wiggles a tiny gesture with his hidden hand, Bruce’s knee bending from the bundle of nerves he hit. “When you said that, it was funny because I’ve always felt the same. So that thought that raced by – the one that happened just then – it was me wondering why, if we wanted each other… why we never did this?”

Bruce dives into the pools of his memories for a reason. Except they’re dark, inaccessible, covered in a film that prevents Bruce from knowing any other time that isn’t now. In the heat of the moment, too long meant from when Barry removed his cowl to laying on his back with Barry’s fingers in his ass. If Bruce could see what his mind hides, he doubts there aren’t a thousand scenes like this waiting. The idea of he and Barry not enjoying each other’s bodies proves laughable, which is why he snickers generously. “We’re doing it now,” Bruce tells him, caressing Barry’s chin, “isn’t that what matters?”

“Yeah… you’re right.”

“Good. Now, stop worrying,” Bruce says, “there’s nothing to worry about. Us fucking’s all that matters.”

Barry nods, nose wrinkling from the effort of a great whiff. Light dies behind his gaze once more; blue dulled and cloudy, hidden behind sagging lids. “Yeah, I wanna fuck.”

“Then fuck me.”

He wastes no time flipping Bruce onto his chest. Bruce pushes up onto his elbows, leaning all his weight to one side while he grabs his dick. Nearly falling, hitting his chin on the hard metal, when Barry shoves his cock into Bruce with reckless abandon. Aim true, he grazes the prostate and vibrates.

Bruce twists his dick, crying from the pleasure. His spastic jerking skips a beat with every forceful thrust past Bruce’s rim. Barry keeps him steady with a firm grip on his waist. Pain disappearing with each second as ecstasy rises and rises like a volcano. Trembling, sweaty and straining, Bruce knows he will come after some more humping.

Except, also aware of Bruce’s impending orgasm, Barry taps into his speed and in quick succession spears Bruce repeatedly. Mashes his prostate like the button on a controller.

He screams, orgasm ripped from him. Bruce coats his hand and stains the cape below, collapsing onto it when the act drained him of any remaining strength. Barry, wasting his endurance with the finishing blow, follows Bruce’s lead. Pulls out and comes over Bruce’s waiting back.

Barry collapses atop Bruce, rolling off after a beat when he regains some wherewithal. Ejaculate painted on his chest from the brief embrace. They pant, side by side, while the smell of come mixes with the heady sweetness already present. Bruce breathes in a deep, contented sigh, shifting until he, too, rests on his back.

Looking over at Barry, he finds the other’s eyes already on him. “Hey.”

“Hey,” he says, smiling, “that was…”

“It sure was.” A loud rumble cuts through the mood, both men giggling from the sound. “Was that you or me?”

“Depends. You hungry?”

“Starving,” Bruce yawns, raising his arms overhead. “I can definitely eat, like, a lot…”

Barry nods, sitting up. “I can go get us some food and bring it back here,” he suggests, stepping over towards the exit. Pauses at the door to glance back at Bruce. “Maybe have some more sex after we eat.”

“Definitely have more sex.”

He winks, “Be back in a flash.” Barry leaves, then, Bruce alone in the strange, metal cave he and Barry began in.

Rising, Bruce inspects the area while scratching at the come drying on his stomach with his come-covered hand. He yawns and blinks blearily at the only section of the area not covered in grey. Pink blossoms covered a long rectangle, specks of green from their vines popping up where the petals didn’t overlap. Bruce reaches forward, except an invisible barrier blocks his attempt. Sucking on the finger, he pouts. “Bummer.”

Disappointment fades, Bruce reminded of his hunger with another growl. “I could really use something to eat,” he mutters, turning and leaving the cockpit.

On his directionless journey, no destination set in mind, Bruce comes across another wall of those pink flowers. Barry studies them from nearby, a strange expression that wrinkles his gorgeous features. “Careful,” Bruce says, walking over, “you can’t touch those.”

He raises a brow, brushing a finger against one of the petals. Bruce stares in awe, copying Barry. Flinches slightly when he thinks he hits the barrier again. Except there is none, so he pets a lone flower. He plucks it and twirls it between his fingers, smiling.

“I was going... somewhere,” Barry explains, “but then I noticed… are these – are these supposed to be here?”

“They’re very pretty,” Bruce says, dragging Barry’s face towards his, “Like you.” He places the flower in the crook of the speedster’s ear, hand tracing a simple pattern on his cheek that he seals with a kiss. “Why shouldn’t it be here?”

Barry thins his lips in a serious frown, eyes clearing up. Suddenly, though, they hear a low rumble from nearby.

Turning, all the flowers on the vines puckered. Buds closed and asleep. But then they explode, showering them with yellow dust that drifts through the air and dissipates. Leaving only a sweet trace of having existed, briefly.

Bruce coughs, “That was weird…” A whining from his stomach distracts him, though, knocking the eruption out of his thoughts. “Hey… was that you or me?”

Wobbling on his heels, Barry shrugs. “Depends. You hungry?”

“Definitely. I can eat, like, a lot…”

Barry jerks his thumb behind him. “Let’s see if we can scavenge something. And then we can have sex.”

“Yes!” Bruce pulls Barry in for a passionate kiss, squeezing his stiff cock. “I want to fuck you so bad.”

“Since when?”

“Since always…” Barry begins leading Bruce away from the flowers. However, before they fully leave its presence, Bruce snatches another flower. Stares down at it while unaware of his surroundings. Sniffs the heavenly perfume and wades in the thick molasses that is his mind. He tucks it behind his ear. Lets go of Barry’s hand and ensnaring his waist, pumping his cock while they walk. Barry laughs at the gesture. “Since as long as I can remember…”

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

Diana clears a path for them through the jungle brush with wide sweeps of her sword, taking over for John when his ring warned his battery wore thin. He hadn’t recharged since they left the K’zvig Nebula. Thankfully, there was enough for the side job they picked up on the way home.

“Stupid bandits,” John bats a low-hanging branch out of his sight, spluttering when it launches an attack and whacks him in the face. He growls, snapping it from the tree. “Why couldn’t it have been a natural disaster or an accident… but no, we had to deal with bandits.”

Clark offers a comforting shrug. “At least we made sure they wouldn’t fool any more travelers.”

The distress signal, in reality, laid a trap for any passing ships that heard it. Reeling prey towards the bandit camp where their goods and lives were stolen. When they sent that message, the bandits wanted to intercept a passing military vessel from a nearby planet, carrying a rumored experimental weapon. By mistake, they latched onto the frequency the Javelin used.

Being the heroes they are, the bandits contended with forces far above their weight class. But they put up a strong fight. Incapacitated Clark early on in the fight and bracketed J’onn with imitation fire, both products of the local fauna; they weaponized nature against them. With John’s power running low, Diana’s quick thinking saved the day. She recognized a nearby plant from a mishap they had on their path towards the bandit camp and lassoed it, kicking the large seed from inside the bulb and watching it explode where their numbers were the largest. After that the group collected runaway stragglers and radioed for the local law enforcements.

“Hopefully,” John sighs, “Although I still think we should have stayed with them until they were taken away.”

“You know we couldn’t. Bruce and Barry might need us.”

They were all unnerved by the lack or response from their friends. Neither when they reached out during the attack nor when it ended did they answer. Each subsequent ignored call fueled the necessity for a quick retreat from the planet.

John identified a rock formation he spotted when they first arrived, and realized they were close. Although he knew nothing about what they would find when stumbling upon their ship.

“John? Clark? I think you two should take a look at this…”

Diana’s voice sunk any positivity he could have spun. The two men exchanged glances while darting through the underbrush, stepping into the clearing behind Diana and J’onn. “What the hell happened?”

Reminiscent of a parade float, flowers and vines fully blanketed the Javelin. Across the front, twining around its wings, and crawling inside through the open bay doors. Their ride made completely useless by overgrown weeds.

“Well,” Diana sighs, “I guess we know what happened to the others.”

Clark frowns, “Really? You think they’re still inside?”

“I detect two brain patterns within,” J’onn says, hands at his temples, “Though faint… I recognize them as Barry’s and Bruce’s…”

Diana nods, drawing her blade once more. “It shouldn’t take too long, then.” She advances, sword at the ready. John watches Diana raise her weapon, about to strike, when he notices the flowers retract in a defensive position.

“Diana! Watch out!” Regardless of his energy levels, John shoots off a green rope and wraps around his friend’s waist. Pulls her from the path of the flower’s spray, pollen exploding out of its mouth. He drags Diana towards him and creates a bubble around all four while more and more flowers expel their pollen.

“I almost…” Diana tucks her sword in its scabbard, nodding at John. “Thank you.”

Clark touches the bubble, grazing his fingers at where the pollen collects on its surface. “What the hell is this?”

John glares at the now greenish-pink flowers waiting, their petals pointed and ready for another puff. His ring speaks aloud, reminding him of his current situation. “Ring,” he asks it, “can you search the database and see if you can find information on what kind of flowers we’ve got on our hands?”

His ring assents, tacking on a second warning at the end. John waves it off. More concerned with whether or not the shield will last given his power and not with the power, itself.

“Flowers that have seven hyper-pigmented pink petals, yellow, explosive pollen and an overly sweet aroma are known as Lyossus Blossoms. Native to the planet Rylyn IX, they are used by inhabitants and visitors recreationally, in religious ceremonies, and medical procedures because of the pollens’ effect on the human body. By sensing danger using the longest petal, these flowers’ defense mechanism neutralizes any aggression they sense. Ingesting pollen – whether by breathing it in, eating it, or even letting it touch your skin, as a human – will neutralize both the pre-frontal cortex and hippocampus. And adrenaline levels will fall while dopamine rises.”

Clark chuckles, “This is space weed?” Three sets of glares focus on him, stifling his good mood. “Sorry.”

“Ring,” he continues, “Is there any serious harm for humans who are exposed to this pollen.”

“In the short term, no. However, overexposure can lead to death by starvation and dehydration, as the person loses inner drive to fulfill either of those needs.”

“Like the lotuses from the Odyssey…” Diana crosses her arms, studying the field. “It took all of Odysseus’s willpower to resist that temptation. I’m sure if we stride forward, we can resist the effects long enough to activate the ship’s defenses.”

John shakes his head, “That’s too risky Diana. You heard my ring; it can be absorbed through the skin. We need to think of another way.” His ring darkens briefly, shield glitching. A few spores burst through that the group are careful in avoiding. “And think of it fast.”

“Hey,” Clark says, looking around the bubble, “Where’s J’onn?”

A tiny explosion draws their attention. One section of the vines holding their ship captive bursts into flames, the flowers withering into ash. “Apologies,” J’onn speaks in their minds, calm as ever, “I figured taking action was the best possible course rather than discuss it. Since I can become intangible and have laser vision… it will not be too difficult clearing this away.”

“That… makes sense.” John smirks, shrugging, “Carry on then.”

J’onn mows through the plants while the others wait, contemplating how they can disperse the remaining pollen. When the Martian telepathically communicates his accomplishment, John brings down the shield. Clark blows once the first hole appears, scattering the yellow dots everywhere except their ship.

“Bruce and Barry, J’onn?” John asks, “Are they still inside?”

He lands beside them by the bay doors, fully visible and solid. “I can definitely sense them, but their thoughts are still muddled… my best guess, there remains an abundance of pollen within the ship.”

“Can’t incinerate that without blowing up the ship…” John presses his ring against the metal, pouring all his willpower into the flickering jewelry. “Ring, do you have enough power to connect with the ship’s systems and activate the air filtration system?” It beeps once, a ‘yes’ without risking energy. He waits. Listens while the Javelin rattles and wheezes. His friends stand clustered behind him, their presence a necessary anchor while he remains focused on his ring.

Finally, it beeps again. “Cabin air has been recycled. All outside toxins are safely stored for disposal. Power at zero percent.”

John sags, Clark catching him. “You did good, John.”

“Don’t feel too good.”

“You need your rest,” she says, “which you will get once we’re back on ship. Although… first we should check on our friends. Make sure they’re fine.”

Clark snickers under breath, muttering. “Bruce… high on space weed… this I have to see…”

The group climb aboard their ship, careful stepping over the ashen remains of flowers caught in J’onn’s laser vision. Soon the ash lessens, replaced with discarded wrappers and bottles the closer they move towards the cockpit. Hushed laughter reaches their ears from behind the door, each of them exchanging looks. Diana, at the front, hits the panel that opens it.

Bruce and Barry, both naked, turn from their seats at the head of the cockpit. Barry’s foot rested in Bruce’s hands, mid-massage, while their faces were blank and muddied due to the pollen’s effects. The last two flowers rested in their hair.

“Hey,” Bruce says, turning and showing off his genitals, “welcome to the party.”

Clark nearly drops John from the shock, grip slack. But then it becomes too tight, Clark gazing at the machinery on the side instead of at his friend’s unabashed display.

“Bruce, Barry,” Diana coughs, gracefully composed given the situation, “are either of you… okay?”

They exchange twin looks of confusion, Barry pointing at himself and asking, “Are you talking to us?”

“Christ,” Clark hisses, John’s bones straining under his hold, “what did they get up to while we were out?”

John takes in the discarded clothing, especially Bruce’s soiled cape, and pieces a few visuals together. He shudders once its complete. “Nothing we should ever think about again. Ever.” He clears his throat, “J’onn? Can you handle… whatever this is?”

“I can remove the flowers, but do not believe my powers can shake them from this stupor.”

“Allow me,” she tells the others, brandishing her lasso, “I would like to try something.”

J’onn nods, disappearing through the floor. Bruce and Barry crow with glee, latter applauding his trick. In the next breath he appears behind them on the outside of the Javelin. He removes their accessories, safely dumping them before their pollen could release.

With those gone, Diana tosses her lasso on the parts where their bodies are the closest: Bruce’s hand and Barry’s foot. She pulls tight, wrapping the excess around her knuckles. “Listen to me friends,” Diana croons, soft and gentle as if she coaxes woodland creatures into the light. “Remember who you really are. Let the golden perfect wash away what has been done to you, so you can return.”

Her lasso glows with godly light, John’s vision overcome. He closes his eyes, but the light penetrates it still. Suddenly it disappears, and he blinks away the spots. In their seats, Bruce and Barry sit slumped over and unconscious. Diana gathers her lasso, clipping it onto her belt. “If this works, they should be themselves again.”

Barry awakens first. His head jumps up and his gaze bounces around the room with lightning speed. “The mission,” he asks, standing, “what happened with the –“ He steps on a lone boot, and that helps Barry realize his current state. “Holy -!” Collapsing on the seat, Barry snatches the boot and covers his waist. Curls in on himself, thinking it might help. Splotchy redness spreads over his shoulders and knees.

They already saw enough.

Bruce follows soon after, face darkening as he stares at his exposed genitalia. He growls low in his throat, “What… happened.”

“You were under the influence of the local flora,” J’onn tells them, “and it caused you to… well –“

“You were space stoned!” Clark rips the band-aid off, earning more of the ire Bruce originally shot Barry’s way. “Can you,” he turns his head, “Can you please go put your clothes back on?”

He stands, collecting the fallen pieces of his costume. Folds the cape without addressing the obvious stain on it. Then Bruce storms out of the cockpit, a noticeable blush highlighting the roundness of his cheeks.

J’onn places a hand on Barry’s shoulder, startling him. “You should probably get dressed, too.”

“Yep!” Barry nods, “Yeah, I’ll… if you will all excuse me.” Because of his powers, no one sees Barry leave. Absence marked by the empty chair and invisible uniform.

John rips himself free from Clark’s grip, taking seat at the helm. “While they… freshen up, we should probably begin take-off. Otherwise we’ll be trapped with more of those flowers and who knows what else.” He flips a few switches, careful with his touch. “J’onn? Can you co-pilot?”

“Of course.”

Clark and Diana fall in behind them, a heated discussion brewing between them. John eavesdrops, muscles in control of following through the procedures.

“So, what does this mean for our bet?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, Bruce and Barry did it. But… does it count?”

“I don’t see why it shouldn’t?”

“Because they were under the influence of a plant. Did what they do really come from them acting on repressed feelings or because the pollen made them sexually charged and they were the only ones here?”

“That shouldn’t discount what happened. It’d be the same if they got drunk or high on Earth… if Barry could get drunk, or high, that is…”

John sighs, flipping the final switch on the console. He drags the yoke close to his chest, steady while the Javelin rises. “I think it should count,” John adds, startling Clark and Diana, “that way I get my money. Why do you think I made them stay behind anyway?”

#batman #flash #batflash #batman x flash #batman/flash #barry allen #bruce wayne #barry x bruce #barry/bruce #batflash fanfic #justice league #DC Comics

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goldenavenger02 · 4 years

Text

Peter Parker's Day Off

This story is for the @friendly-neighborhood-exchange and my giftee is @avengersincamphalfbloodstardis so I hope you like it!

Before anyone draws comparisons between this and the fic @marvelous-writer posted a few weeks ago, we've already gotten it worked out, so go read her fic after mine!

Editing and cover credits go to @clover-roseee!

And now, on with the story!

Peter groaned as he woke up, and tried to force himself awake as Morgan jumped the end of his bed again. "I'm up, Morg, I'm up," he replied as rubbed his eyes, forcing himself to sit up. His body and head felt heavy, and he had that general sick feeling, so despite how much Morgan's excitement tended to rub off on him, it didn't this time. In fact, Peter wasn't even sure how he could be excited when his chest was tight and his nose was so stuffed up.

Morgan didn't seem to pick up on how he was feeling, though. "Come on, Petey!" she instead insisted, before hopping off his bed and running out of his room. "Daddy's making blueberry pancakes before we go to the zoo!"

The trip to the zoo had been planned for weeks, and Pepper had even taken a day off to come with (which was a rarity in itself). May had gotten held up at the hospital, too, so it was perfect timing that he stayed with the Starks for the first week of spring break; but while he really wanted to see Morgan lose her mind over lions, tigers, and birds, he still couldn't shake the sick feeling from his body.

"Come on, Petey! Daddy's making blueberry pancakes before we go to the zoo!" She insisted before running out of his room, singing about the trip.

Grabbing his bathrobe off of his closet door, Peter wrapped it around his shoulders and tried to regain some body heat before shuffling down the stairs. The smell of pancakes hit him as he went into the hall, and he knew immediately that his senses were in overdrive.

When he finally made it to the dining room, Morgan was going over some facts she had learned about lions for a school project and Pepper was looking at the news on her phone, but looked up when she saw Peter sit at the table. "Are you alright, sweetheart?" she asked, upon seeing his pale face, and the thin layer of sweat on his forehead.

Peter started to respond, but instead let out a harsh cough into his elbow. That was enough of a reason for Pepper to get up from the table in search of the thermometer. Meanwhile, Morgan got up from her chair and ran into the kitchen area. "Daddy!" she exclaimed, "Petey's sick!"

Flipping the last few pancakes on to the large serving plate, Tony cleaned his hands with a dry washcloth and turned the stove off. Then, once that was done, he turned his attention to Peter and, with Morgan tagging along behind him, made his way over. "See!" Morgan repeated. "He's sick!"

"Yeah, I definitely see what you're talking about." Tony ruffled Morgan's hair before placing a hand against Peter's forehead. "And that's definitely a fever." He sighed before looking down at his daughter. "Sorry, Morguna. Looks like the zoo is gonna have to wait for a few days."

"But we have to go, Daddy!" Morgan fought back. "Mommy took the day off and everything!" Just as it looked like that Tony would have to deal with a tantrum at eight thirty in the morning, Pepper came back in the room with the ear thermometer and gently inserted it into Peter's ear. "Mommy, we have to go to the zoo!"

"Morgan's right," Peter agreed, receiving an enthusiastic grin from her. "I mean, you did take the day off to go with her to the zoo…"

Pepper looked skeptical. "I don't know. I don't feel comfortable leaving you here by yourself."

"Then how about Mr. Stark stays with me?" Peter proposed, taking a moment to cough into his elbow. Pepper, in return, placed a hand on his back. "You guys can send us pictures, and it'll feel like we're right there with you."

Pepper looked to her husband. "Tony? Are you okay with this?" she asked, as the thermometer beeped. She took it out and sighed when the reading revealed Peter had a temperature of 101.8. "Staying here with Peter?"

"'Course. I've got the spider kid, you two go have fun," Tony insisted, before leaning forward and kissing his wife's cheek. "Like he said, just send us lots of photos. Maybe let Morgan feed a giraffe while you're there, too."

Pepper broke apart from the kiss, and went over to grab her tote bag with her sunglasses, camera and Morgan's change purse full of nickels and pennies. "Alright, try and have a good day," she said, after slipping her shoes on. "Feel better, Peter."

Morgan ran up and hugged Tony tightly, and did the same to Peter before heading outside to the car, with Pepper following closely behind. When the car pulled out of the driveway, Tony turned to the resident sick kid. "So, how does crashing on the couch and watching some Star Wars sound?"

"Can we watch something else? I'm regretting getting Morgan obsessed with it," Peter spoke as he stood up from the table, trying to force the sudden headache that was building behind his eyes.

"Yeah, sure. Whatever you want," Tony insisted as Peter shuffled over to the couch and grabbed the remote. "We should probably get you some Tylenol, though."

Peter nodded, starting to scroll through Netflix. Since Morgan preferred Disney+, he knew he would probably find something he wasn't sick of on there. But his vision was going in in and out, and starting to get spotty, and he was fighting every bone in his body in order to stay awake.

Suddenly Tony appeared beside him, and Peter distantly wondered how he did it. "Here," he said, pouring three white tablets into Peter's right hand, and swapping the remote for a bottle of blue Gatorade with the other. "Take that, and go to bed, kid. I'll find something to watch, you look exhausted."

Dropping the pills into his mouth and washing it down with a swig of Gatorade, Peter wiped his mouth on the sleeve of his bathrobe before doing what he was told. Tony's taste in movies was often better than Morgan's or Pepper's anyway, so he let himself relax and, feeling a blanket being draped over him, allowed the music of whatever Tony had picked lull him to sleep.

•••

"So, what do you wanna see first?" Pepper asked her daughter, as the two climbed out of the car doors. They had spent a little over half an hour driving, and Pepper already had the online map on her phone all ready and set-up. Knowing her daughter, though, she'd probably want to see more of the cuddly animals first, before going to see the creepier ones.

"Hmm…" Morgan hummed and tilted her head as she thought. She definitely wanted to go see the lions, but she was also wondering if they had a penguin exhibit, and maybe a snake one, too. "I dont know! Can we go see the dolphins? Please?"

"Sure." Pepper smiled and gently grasped her daughter's hand in hers, before they made their way inside. "And then we'll go feed the giraffe, like your dad wanted to. Sound good?" She verbalized the plan, trying to make it stick in Morgan's head, but, in reality, she was just wanting to spend some much needed time with her daughter. It was always a rarity when she was able to take time off, and she wanted to make the most of it.

Morgan nodded, but the period of silence was broken by her stopping in front of the snake exhibit. "Mommy, look!" she shouted, bouncing on her heels giddily. "Can we look at these first? Please?"

"Of course." Pepper nodded, took her camera out of her bag, and watched as one of the exhibit employees, per Morgan's request, placed a boa constrictor around her shoulders. "Say cheese on three, sweetie!"

•••

When Peter woke up on the couch, he felt like he could barely breathe through his nose, and could feel the intensity of the pressure in his head. Then, sitting up, he glanced around the room, before trying to peer into the kitchen. "Mr. Stark?" he asked, the stuffiness having apparently spread to his voice with how nasally he sounded. "Are you here?"

"In the kitchen!" the stay at home dad called back. Sighing and flopping back on to the couch, Peter re-covered himself with the blanket Tony draped over him, before he heard a "Shit, that's hot!" and the man himself appeared in the doorway. "Okay," he announced, as he walked over to his sick kid, "I've got good news and bad news. Which do you want first?"

Peter smirked. "What's the bad news?"

"Bad news," Tony explained, as he set a plate of soggy charcoal-coloured toast on the table, "is that I burnt your toast, and put too much butter on; so, it's kinda ruined now, kid."

Peter chuckled, as he sat up and, despite how terrible the toast looked, took a bite from it. 'At least Tony tried,' he thought. "And the good news?" he asked.

"The good news is that I ordered soup for later—don't look at me like that!—and that I did manage to make sure your Gatorade stayed cold," Tony said, as he set the half-full Gatorade on the coffee table, right beside where the plate previously was. Then, he had taken a seat near the sick teen's feet and patted his knee. "But, it doesn't matter now. How're you feeling, Pete?"

Peter sat up a bit to place the soggy toast beside the Gatorade, and laid back down against his pillows. "My head still hurts," he muttered, trying to warm himself up as he buried himself beneath the blanket, "'nd I've been kinda feeling sick. There's no other medicine I can take, right?"

Tony shook his head. "'Fraid not, kiddo. And, even if there was, I don't wanna give you mixed medications and have to take you to a hospital, so it's not gonna happen."

Peter groaned.

"But, what I can do is let you see all the pictures Pepper sent me of Morgan." Tony smiled as he pulled out his phone, and swiped on over to his 'Messages' section. "There's even one of her holding a boa constrictor, if you wanna see it."

Peter shook his head, remembering his very bad experience with a snake from years ago. "I think I'll pass on that," he said, before sitting up and glancing over Tony's shoulder. "But is there one of her with a penguin? Or a giraffe?"

Tony nodded, as he passed the phone over, and adjusted the two of them, so Peter was leaning against his side, with his head on his chest. "Oh, yeah," he replied. "Third and fifth one in. My personal favourites, though, are the ones with the sloths and otters."

In response, Peter yawned, and, after scrolling through all the photos, gave the phone back to Tony. He was getting exhausted again, and assumed, as he buried his head into his mentor's chest, that Tony had moved on to watching the videos Pepper had sent him, so he shut his eyes and allowed Morgan's excited squeals to lull him back into a peaceful sleep.

•••

"Alright, honey," Pepper said, smiling, as she fished Morgan's change purse out of her tote bag, "you can pick one thing out from the gift shop, and then we're going to head home." She held her daughter's hand as they approached the small gift shop, located back at the entrance. She was thankful she hadn't lost her daughter when they were visiting the exhibits, but if there was one place where she would lose her, then it was definitely the gift shop.

Morgan took her change purse from her mother's hand, and looked up at her, pleadingly. "Can I get something for Petey, too?" she asked with her adorable, wide eyes. "He's sick and we can get something to make him feel better!"

"Nothing fragile," Pepper negotiated, "and nothing made of glass. Otherwise, you can go nuts and get whatever you want. Deal?" She held her hand up for a high five.

"Deal!" Morgan exclaimed excitedly, as she returned the high-five. Unfortunately, Morgan was five, and that meant she was still rather small, so the high-five ended up being one of those off-beat ones, where they missed each other and ended up mostly slapping the air instead. Pepper still smiled, though, and watched as Morgan made a B-line for the stuffed animals.

'That's a good idea,' she thought to herself. 'Peter would probably prefer cuddling one of those instead of a rubber snake, anyway.'

•••

"Daddy, Daddy, we're home!" Morgan announced, a little over forty-five minutes later, before she slipped off her shoes and bright yellow leather rainjacket at the door. Then, she had resumed running into the kitchen, where she wrapped her arms around her dad's legs. "Mommy and I saw penguins, and sloths, I got to hold a snake!"

Setting down the knife he was using to chop up the peppers and celery, Tony had then dried his hands with a washcloth, before turning and giving his full attention to his daughter. "That's great, Morguna," he replied, as he kneeled down to her level and planted a small kiss atop her head. "But you'll have to tell me everything when Peter wakes up, okay? He still doesn't feel so good, and he needs a lot of rest to get better."

"Okay!" Morgan agreed, happily, before she pulled a grey and white ovaloid object out of her little purse. "We got him a penguin!" She exclaimed, enthusiastically bouncing on her heels once more. "Do you think he'll like it? I hope he likes it!"

Tony nodded, as he ran his hand through his daughter's messy brown hair. "I'm sure he'll love it, Morguna."

"Now, go wash your hands, okay?" Pepper said, as she came up behind her daughter and gently nudged her towards the bathroom. In response, Morgan did as she was told, and Pepper took that chance to heave the groceries up on to the counter, and started putting them away. "Morgan insisted we get juice pops for Peter," she explained, as she opened the freezer and stuffed the box of popsicles inside. "How did things go at home today?"

"Pretty good. He's gotten a bit better since you guys left, but he told me he was feeling sick, so we'll have to keep an eye on him tonight."

"Alright." Pepper smiled and put up the last of the groceries before turning to her husband. "I'm gonna sit in there till dinner is ready." She planted a quick kiss against Tony's cheek before sitting in the armchair that was beside the couch Peter was asleep on, and started to go through some files on her laptop. Days off were always a rarity for her, so she wanted to transfer the photos to her phone, so she could look at them while she was at work.

She looked up when she heard a rustling noise, only to see Morgan come in with the stuffed penguin and put it under Peter's right arm before climbing on the couch and curling up next to him. Watching as Peter unconsciously wrapped his left arm around Morgan, Pepper smiled and waited until her daughter's eyes closed to take a picture.

She'd be thanked, later.

#mcu #morgan stark #my own writing #spider-man #tony stark #pepper potts #sick fic #friendly neighborhood exchange #avengersincamphalfbloodstardis

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ace-angel-judas · 4 years

Text

Raspberry Red I

Pairing: Johnny/Jasmine

Series: The Love Stories

Synopsis: Jasmine was building her life, working as an arts manager in a company and watching her drawings and designs come to life. Everything was fulfilling and she couldn’t ask for anything more until an old memory appeared on her set.

Finally sitting down at her desk, Jasmine opened her laptop and pulled out her drawing tablet, getting everything prepared. Ever since starting her internship at SM Entertainment, she had been exposed to a world of creation. All the artists were so creative, giving her the chance to learn from everyone around her.

Although, Jasmine wasn’t overly invested in kpop. She hardly knew anything about it or many of the groups, other than the ones under the company and the ones her mother would obsess over when she was younger. H.O.T and Shinhwa. So, working for an idol company didn’t mean she freaked out as much as someone else would. Hell, Jasmine found herself more lucky that they had hired her, since she was only half Korean and from America.

Slipping her glasses onto her face, she crossed her legs and opened her unfinished drafts. Jasmine had done well with designing the sets and layouts for Red Velvet’s psycho and now they were giving her more work. Hopefully soon, she’d be a full time arts manager and not just an intern. After graduating from College, Jasmine had straight away gone and searched for work in order to pay back her parents and the internship had been offered to her. So after an interview in the states and in Korean, she had been on a place to Korea at the beginning of the year.

The phone next to her dinged, making her picking it up and answering. Her head manager was calling her down to the meeting room. Jasmine was still surprised by the way Korea worked, they heavily relied on their phones a lot at work after all. It was a rush down to the meeting room, getting there as soon as she could. The manager wasn’t strict by any means but, Jasmine wanted to leave a good mark.

As she stepped into the room, Jasmine pulled the glasses off her face and fixed her hair slightly, smiling brightly as she innocently greeted her manager. He was looking over a few concept ideas, brows pulled together.

“Hello manager, I’m here,” Jasmine greeted.

“Look at these,” He stated, “There some concept ideas for the next comeback for NCT 127,”

She bowed as she gathered the sheets of paper, looking over the concepts and biting her lip. Jasmine would forever thank her mother for teaching her Korean when she was younger or she would be screwed for this job.

“Well, I don’t like any of them,” Jasmine explained as the manager crossed his arms, “Not to offend you but, the sheets say the concept is for a fighting style and as idols they need something slick and attractive, these are all a bit brutish,”

Watching as the manager stayed silent, Jasmine’s heart thumped in her chest. The last thing she needed was to offend the head of her department and get black listed, or well, fired. Which was worse, she couldn’t decide. Finally, the short male nodded and smiled.

“Okay, make some designs and have them on my desk tomorrow morning,”

Jasmine nodded and bowed, forcing a smile onto her lips, “Of course,”

Looks like it was another night of no sleep.

---

Working on a set had somehow become Jasmine’s favourite thing to do.

Something about seeing the drawings and designs come to life felt surreal, it was like there was a beautiful sense of achievement in it becoming a real thing. Many artists loved for their ideas to come to life and Jasmine was so thrilled to see it happen.

Wearing overalls that were covered in paint and a banana with a pony tail, Jasmine was invested in the design on her ipad. She had spent hours on it, making it perfect. Despite being Korean, she really did love the aesthetic of Japan’s architect and design. A lot of her inspiration for this specific set steamed from the Asian neighbor, from beautiful samurai and night life of the country.

The set was filled with people, as the idols would be shooting later on in the day. Her interactions with the groups were limited, not that Jasmine really cared but it would be nice to discuss their ideas of what they wanted their music videos to look like.

“The idols are arriving on set now to get their make up on,” Someone said, “They really art beautiful,”

“None of them are my type,” Jasmine shrugged, looking between the screen and the set.

“You should get out more!” Yoonah was an older girl and the previous maknae in the arts department, she was dating someone from publicity, “Are do you have a secret lover back in America?”

Shaking her head, Jasmine blushed. Her love life was discussed quite a bit by the older staff members, most of them being married or dating long term and oozing for that young love aspect of life that had passed. Only two men had ever truly captured her heart. One was her now ex boyfriend, they’d broken up since she was moving to Korea and he’d been unable to deal with it, demanding she stay for him.

And of course, her high school best friend. A boy who originally had been her same height but suddenly became a sky scraper and had the worst long hair in existence that was constantly swept to the side. A boy who played volleyball and tried to teach her how to play the piano during all their sleepovers but was never successful. Someone she always wondered about.

“There’s no one in America,” Jasmine laughed, shaking her head, “I’d rather focus on my career, I’m a bit particular in my taste in men,”

“You never know,” Yoonah winked as she walked away.

Placing the iPad down and pulling the paint brush from behind her ear, placing it between her lips and chewing on the end. A habit she had started as a child and never broke.

“Jasmine?!”

The ever lasting sense of tiredness was hanging over the group, a feeling that never seemed to go away with their jobs. Johnny had a cup of coffee in his hand, while Sophia was motoring her mouth away from beside him. He’d learnt to filter her out quite easily.

But now Jaehyun was responding, and they were way too lively in the morning. They were discussing something about Sophia’s other group, which didn’t really concern him. Johnny was more in awe at how their set looked, it felt familiar some how and it welcomed him. Sophia suddenly stopped, as did the other two.

“Look, I’m straight-”

“I doubt that sometimes,” Jaehyun laughed.

Sophia rolled her eyes, pointing towards a girl standing in demin overalls and cheap discount white converse, a red bandanna in her hair with her curly hair in a pony tail, the ends a raspberry red. She even had red frames over her face.

“She is beautiful,” Sophia pointed out.

Jaehyun nodded as he stood beside their female member, “Oh damn, she is,”

Tilting his head, Johnny stared at the woman. He was being oddly silent but the other two were too in awe at the female. She was short, maybe around 5′2 and more chubby than skinny. They were speaking the truth, she really was beautiful.

Although the moment she lifted her glasses off her face and smiled, Johnny dropped the coffee cup in his hand and perked up like a meerkat.

“Jasmine?!”

#raspberry red #ace; raspberry red #johnny suh x oc #johnny suh fic #johnny suh x reader #nct 127

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marshmallow--3 · 4 years

Text

Imagine - Jacob Frye suffering from a werewolf curse.

Frye Cottage, Surrey, October 1873

Softly, you're roused by the ambient sounds of the forest encompassing the house: owls hooting, tree branches rapping on the windows, fierce winds howling into the night.

You couldn't say what time it is. You doubt you could even hazard a guess. Your eyes struggle to adjust to the darkness consuming the room, rendering any attempt to read the clock a fruitless endeavour.

A brief glance at the window confirms that dawn is yet to break.

Perfect.

Sitting upright in bed, you fumble in the dark for a moment until your hands happen upon the knob belonging to the drawer of the nightstand. With only a trickle of moonbeams lending you the faculty of sight, you open the drawer, reach for the only object inside, and strike a match.

You hold it by your face, tilting the matchstick downward and watching as the flame dances and swells. Using the light the match provides, you ignite the oil lamp atop the nightstand, extinguishing the match with a shake of your hand as the room is bathed in a warm, amber glow.

The cottage, for all intents and purposes, is without ornament - and rightly so. The single-storey cabin may be the only building for several miles, as per your intentions. The interior is functional, pragmatic, an open-plan room comprised of a bed tucked away in a corner and a kitchenette. A chimney and burning stove looks across from your sleeping area, supplementary to a table and two chairs.

A Welsh dresser is half-filled with plates and mugs, its cupboards and drawers stowing bits of food and medical goods - bandages, a needle and thread, a bottle of gin, though you're yet to use any of it, thank the Lord.

A wolf howls in the distance, prompting you to take a peek outside from behind the curtains. The full moon is fading, you note, compelling you to rise and begin your preparations for the long day ahead.

After making the bed, you cross the room and burn wood at the stove, boiling herbal tea in a cast-iron kettle. You fix some cold cuts of bread, cheese and meat, managing to eat a little yourself while saving a second portion.

A short time later, a figure comes stumbling in through the door, slamming it shut. You're hesitant to look up, knowing from previous months the heart-wrenching sight that awaits.

A creature paces with convulsing legs, looking ready to collapse at any moment. It bears the form of a man, but the mental state of a wolf. A blanket is draped around its heaving shoulders, its naked, hairy body shivering violently. Brown hair is thoroughly dishevelled, small sticks and leaves clinging to the strands. Sickly pale skin gleams wet with sweat, dirt markings littering its face. Wild, glassy eyes frantically dart around the room.

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you rise from your seat as slowly as possible, yearning to draw the weeping man into your bosom.

He's still an animal, you have to remind yourself, though it does little to patch your broken heart.

You avoid prolonged eye contact, letting your eyes look past him instead of lingering on him.

"Jacob," you murmur, your voice soft and quiet so as not to alarm him further.

Taking a miniscule step forward, you approach him gingerly, repeating your internal mantra of stay calm. You shrink your body and repeat his name while observing his body language, keeping an eye out for any signs of injury.

He's panicked, hysterical, gripping his head and yowling, those wide eyes reminiscent of an animal caught in a trap.

You hold your hand out palm down, and croon, "Jacob, it's okay. I'm going to help you."

By now you've crossed the room, though a good distance remains between you. His back stiffens, the air shifting around him, his nose crinkling as he picks up the Scent. He visibly calms somewhat, blinking as his eyes soften to their usual melliferous hazel.

Watching him stagger towards you, you take a few final steps towards him, catching him as he falls into you, the blanket falling from his shoulders as his arms crush you into a tight hug. You remember to hold your breath, to remain perfectly still as he buries his nose in the dip of your shoulder.

He inhales sharply, memories of his human life flashing behind his eyelids. Merry laughter rings in his head like a bell, faces of loved ones appearing and overlaying one another at the speed of lightning.

In verifying the Scent, his arms loosen around you, his breathing heavy against your skin.

The Scent comforts his wolf form, he'd once explained. It's a blend of your smell and his, a product of your... prior carnal union, so to speak, serving as a catalyst that completes the reconstruction of his brain.

You continue to shush him, now free to move your hand and stroke his damp hair, pacifying him until the shaking subsides.

Lifting his head, he meets your gaze and wets his lips in an attempt to speak.

"Hi."

You cup his face, tears forming in your eyes at the humanity present in his face, at the way his eyes gleam in recognising you.

"Hi." Your response comes with lumps in your throat.

He chuckles to break the ice, immediately wincing and breaking out in a fit of coughing. Prying yourself from his embrace, you help him hobble over to the table and take a seat. Working swiftly, you pour a cup of the tea, retrieving the laudanum from a drawer in the dresser and setting it down in front of him.

He tests his coordination for a moment, clenching and unclenching his fist and wiggling his fingers before trusting himself with handling a cup of hot liquid. He blows the drink before sipping, swallowing quickly to avoid the bitter taste.

His speech is slow, hesitant. "Is that, the same, same stuff as last time?"

You nod. He grimaces.

"Doesn't work."

"It's the highest dose the doctor will prescribe me." It took little effort convincing the physician that the pills were for you - dramatising your menstrual pain is far preferable to telling the truth. "Please, take it. Something is better than nothing."

Jacob glances up at you, taking in the sight of your eyes glossy with tears, your forehead creased with concern, your brows angled upwards as you plead.

Agreeing silently, he takes the tablet and swallows it down with the bitter brew, spluttering as the taste lingers on his taste buds. You rub his back to help him keep it down, drawing his attention to the plate of food; perhaps it could cover the horrid taste.

He takes stock of the plate's contents, sniffing tentatively. The cuts of meat smells appetising at the very least, and he almost reaches for it before his head swims with intrusive images of sleeping deer, the sound of snarling wolves surrounding him as though they're present in the room. Nausea rises from his stomach, he heaves and retches before pushing the plate away with a forceful shove.

"I need to lie down."

He staggers in standing up, knocking cutlery to the ground with a clatter. He grits his teeth, distributing a little too much of his weight onto you as you help him limp towards the bed.

Every step is pure agony for him; although you haven't experienced his curse, you can imagine the torture he must go through - his skeleton changing shape, his organs moving position, his flesh and muscles being torn to shreds by his own claws.

All that, and probably far more that your imagination simply cannot comprehend, three nights a month.

He doesn't peel the duvet back to clamber into bed, instead laying himself on top of the bedclothes. And judging from the heat radiating from his body, you can understand why.

You get a proper look at his face for the first time: his skin is off-colour and boiling hot to the touch, and the whites of his eyes are bloodshot. Sweat trickles down his forehead, red welts marring his skin. You dab his forehead with a cold, wet towel, conscious of the pressure you apply.

He grunts, a fresh wave of throbbing spasms coursing through his jerking body.

"Shhh, Jacob, you're okay. You're alright."

It's silly, but... Despite all of the ways you help him, you feel helpless, wishing you could do more to take his pain away for good. Watching on as he pants and yells, his body convulsing like a seizure, you find yourself singing a lullaby, stroking his cheek in hopes of pacifying him even a little.

"I love you," Jacob manages to wheeze when your song comes to an end.

"I love you too, my darling man."

@sassenach-on-the-rocks @aikeia @yourchepazworld @iceboundstar @the-purple-rook @unprofessional-bard @witch-of-letters @disneymarina @thero0ks @assassins-and-hidden-blades @ass-sass-sin-o @ladye11e @deviousspleen

#assassin's creed imagine #assassin's creed #jacob frye #jacob frye imagine #jacob frye x y/n #jacob frye x reader #werewolf jacob frye #Halloween special #angst #aftercare

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margoshansons · 5 years

Text

Wait for Me: b. blake

Bellamy Blake x Reader

Summary: Y/N finds out about Raven and Abby’s plan to head to the ground. She decides to tag along.

Warnings: Swearing

Notes: set during 1x02 “Earth Skills” and 1x04 “Murphy’s Law”

She had been tracking Raven’s recent schedule since the mechanic had called out Abby Griffin for lying to them about the lock-up quarantine. Y/N already knew that the 100 had been sent to Earth, Octavia had been one of them.

So when Raven disappeared into a long-forgotten wing of Mecha, naturally she followed, listening on the conversation that ensued.

“I believe you,” Abby’s voice rang through the abandoned section, calming whatever fears Raven had voiced. “And you’re not in trouble.”

Y/N creased her eyebrows at the sound of that. What would she be in trouble for? Had they found out about her illegal spacewalk? Finn’s sacrifice? She was so wrapped up in her thoughts she missed the next few lines of conversation until Abby’s voice turned grim.

“The Ark is dying Raven, life support is on its last legs.”

Y/N swallowed her nerves, breathing growing shallow. She thought she could feel the oxygen deprivation working its way through her body.

“I have ten days to prove Earth is survivable or else they’ll start reducing the population. Three-hundred-and-twenty people will be killed.”

Silence coated the room as she crept forward, not believing what she was hearing. Three hundred people killed. Innocents. Her people. Raven’s people. His people.

She had to do something. She had to warn him somehow.

“I don’t get it” She heard Raven protest. “Why are you telling me this?”

There was a pause as the swirling sound of cloth falling to the ground echoed through the sector hallways. Y/N forced herself to creep around the corner, her gaze falling on a hunk of junk in the corner, the escape pod barely functional and falling apart at the seams.

Abby faced the mechanic, “You have nine days to get this ready so I can survive a drop.”

Raven scanned the pod, fully aware of the insanity unraveling before her.

“You want me to get a one hundred and thirty-year-old escape pod ready to survive a drop in nine days?” The mechanic asked drawing an eyebrow upward in skepticism as she truly began to comprehend the desperation of the situation.

“Can you do it?” Abby asked.

Raven nodded, “But I’m coming with you.”

“So am I” Y/N piped up from behind her corner, catching both women by surprise. “I know about Earth Dr. Griffin.” She announced, trying to defend her logic. She sent a hopeful look toward the pod, her last hope to see the man she loved on the ground.

“No” Abby protested, “Absolutely not.”

Y/N scoffed. “How do you expect to get parts? Trading with Nygel?” She knew her answer was right when she saw the Doctor’s face fall. “I’m the only engineer with access to the machine shop after hours, which means I can get all the parts you need, free of deals with the devil.”

Abby shook her head, “Why do you even want to do this?”

She straightened her back, crossing her arms as a familiar head of curls and freckles popped into her head. “You’re not the only ones with people you love on the ground.”

“She’s right Abby” Raven defended, “Without her, we have no safe way to trade parts.”

She shot a grateful look at the mechanic before turning back to Abby, who reluctantly agreed to let her join the mission.

She smiled at the thought of seeing him again.

Finally, Bellamy Blake would hold her in his arms again.

***

Three more days, she counted. That’s how long she had to wait to see Bellamy again. Three more days and she would be free of this hunk of metal and hurtling back toward the ground, ready to jump into his embrace once again. She could almost taste his lips on hers.

The door slid open, and Abby had presented them with a death sentence.

“How soon can you two get this thing ready to launch?”

Raven wrenched another bolt back into place, “Still scraping up parts for a pressure regulator.” The mechanic threw a pointed look Y/N’s way, who drew herself out of the inside of the pod to defend herself.

“I’m on it.” She assured the doctor, “Wick’s just being an ass.”

“Yeah well, when isn’t he?” Raven retorted before turning back to Abby, “Why? What’s changed?”

“Clarke’s wristband went out,” Abby told them, the sound of metal against metal ceasing at the news, Y/N poking her head out to catch the dire expression on her face. If Clarke took hers off... “Doesn’t matter,” Abby told them, “I can get that part, today.”

“Abby wait--”

The woman disregarded Y/N’s protests as she stormed out of the station, leaving the two mechanics alone to stare at each other.

The next few minutes passed by agonizingly slowly and Y/N found herself trying to recall the last time she had seen Bellamy. It had been right before the dropship launched, the conversation playing over in her head.

Bellamy stormed into her apartment, wrapping himself in her arms as he dug his head into the crook of her shoulder. “I have to do something awful, and I don’t know if I can do it.”

“So don’t”

“But if I don’t, I won’t be able to protect Octavia.” He squeezed her tighter, and Y/N ran the choices in her head. She hadn’t been able to save her mother, and she hadn’t been able to stop the guard from taking Octavia. But maybe she could help Bellamy save his sister.

“Do it.” She urged him, pulling back, unaware of how badly things would turn out, “If it can save Octavia, then do it.”

He nodded, bringing her closer to his body as he pressed a kiss into her hair. “I love you.” He had whispered, and she had been so blissfully unaware of how much that meant at the time.

“I love you too.” She snuggled closer to him, the two standing there for several minutes, neither one of them wanting to let go.

When Abby came back, the magical part was there in her hands.

“How did you--”

“Doesn’t matter” Abby cut of Y/N as she turned to Raven, “How fast can you install this?”

Raven shrugged, “A few hours maybe.”

Abby grit her teeth, a fearful expression crossing her face. “We may not have that kind of time.”

Y/N stepped forward, more determined than ever to launch. “We’ll get it installed Abby, I promise.”

The doctor nodded and the two women got to work, time passing by quicker than they expected. The ping of her tablet pulled the two women out of their work, Jackson’s frantic voice informing them of their circumstances.

“Abby, did you take morphine from the clinic?”

Dr. Griffin’s eyes widened in confusion, “They inventoried already?”

Jackson shook his head, “No, Kane was just here,” The three women stared at each other, apprehensive looks built into their faces at the news, “He’s on his way to arrest all three of you right now.”

Raven and Abby couldn’t stop staring at the air, and realization finally passed over Y/N’s face.

How Abby had gotten the pressure regulator so quickly.

“You gave Nygel morphine.” She announced, an angry look crawling across Abby’s face.

“She turned me in,” Abby shut off the tablet, her knuckles growing white as she gripped the broken dashboard before turning to Raven, “How much longer?”

“Twenty minutes.”

Abby slammed her hand against the metal, pushing away to go meet Kane, “They’re gonna be here in five.” She turned toward the both of them, “No matter what happens you launch that pod you hear me? You get the ground, find Clarke and radio back. Three hundred innocent people will die if you don’t.”

Y/N nodded, finally understanding the brevity of the situation. This wasn’t just about Clarke anymore. This wasn't about Finn or Bellamy anymore. This was about saving three hundred innocent people.

“Abby, they’ll float you,” Raven spoke softly, head shaking in fear.

The doctor stared off into space, resigning herself to her fate, “Then they float me, tell Clarke I love her.”

The two women nodded and went back to work, cutting their time in half as Ravne barked orders while she worked on the pressure regulator, ready to launch at any moment. The part squealed and steamed and Raven muttered a desperate plea, “Come on, Come on,” The part only quieted when she turned the dial backward, hitting her hand against the leather seats, “Dammit!”

Y/N stared hopelessly at the broken pressure regulator, gritting her teeth, “She gave us a bad part.” She spoke as anger laced her voice, meeting Raven’s gaze, searching for another solution.

They latched their eyes onto the two spacesuits Abby had procured for them. Before either of them knew what was happening, they settled into the worn seats, pressing several buttons as the two overlapped hands to push the ignition forward, sending the pod hurtling toward Earth.

I’ve had this plot bunny running around in my head for a while now, so maybe there will be a part two. Who knows?

Please like, reblog, and comment!

#bellamy blake x reader #bellamy blake imagine #bellamy blake imagines #reader x bellamy blake #bellamy blake #bellamy x reader #reader x bellamy #the 100 imagine #the 100 imagines #the 100 fic #bellamy blake fic

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megalony · 5 years

Text

Genetic disorder- Part 4

This is another part of my dad! Ben Hardy series which I hope everyone is enjoying so far.

Taglist: @lunaticspoem @butlegendsneverdie @langdonzvoid @jennyggggrrr @rogmeddows @radiob-l-a-hblah @rogertaylorsbitontheside @chlobo6 @rogertaylors-lipgloss @sj-thefan @omgitsearly @luckytrashgooprebel @scarsout @deaky-with-a-c @killer-queen-ofrhye @bluutac @vousmemanqueez @jonesyaddiction @rogahs-drowse @buckythediv

Series masterlist

Enjoy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ben tipped his head down as he grasped the edge of the counter in his hands, feeling the sharp edge cutting into his palms almost enough to draw blood. He tried to calm down his breathing but it wasn't working very well. His upper half was stooped over the counter as he tried to stretch out his right leg to see if it would relieve the growing tension in his hip but it wasn't working very well.

He held his breath in his throat as he scanned his eyes over the counter that held various bottles of pills and creams, a glass of water, about four sheets of instructions on when to take them and how to take them and there was a pharmacy bag that he got them all in.

His prescription had finally come through and that meant Ben could now rely on painkillers specifically for his weakening muscles rather than normal paracetamol that did very little for his pain.

Ben fisted the bottle of beta-blockers which were for his heart and stuffed them into the small plastic tub which had his name plastered on it in the cupboard above him. He needed a tub or a container for the meds he had to have so the girls didn't grab them by mistake and for now his heart was doing okay. He had another bottle of beta-blockers which he had stuffed into his car so when he went to work he had them for emergencies.

Looking at the bottles that were left, Ben tried to work out which tablets he should take. There were three bottles left that were different ranged painkillers and tablets to simply take the edge off rather than do very much.

The actor had scanned over the instructions and they said nothing about mixing the tablets. There was nothing to suggest he would get any side effects from that and he wanted a concoction because it would be more effective to take more than less. Taking the bottle of high dose pills, Ben threw two into the palm of his hand before downing them with some water before he grabbed a different bottle. Taking two of the tablets that would simply take away the strain on his hip. He decided to leave the third bottle untouched, not needing them at the moment.

Grabbing the tub of his meds, Ben dumped the bottles and the few tubes of cream into it, wanting them out of his sight. Throwing the mind-bending instructions in with them before snapping the cupboard closed. Tears welled in his eyes from the uncontrollable pain that he needed to disappear.

Ben had yet to tell his manager or the director of his latest movie about his new-found condition. He knew he had to at some point but for the time being, Ben simply wanted to be seen and treated as normal. He didn't want people fussing or acting like he was a cripple or thinking he was going to be a liability which is how he felt at the moment. He had been doing a stunt today that didn't go the way they had planned as it resulted in Ben having to take the afternoon off from the pain it caused his hip.

"Daddy!"

At the sound of Taylor's surprised voice, Ben pushed himself up so he was standing properly and not resting his weight onto the counter. He had been so caught up in his thoughts that he didn't hear the door opening, now remembering that he hadn't told (Y/n) he'd left set early.

He managed a smile when both twins hurried into the kitchen to see him, opening his arms for them without realising how much force both of them had. Ben felt blood beginning to well in his mouth when his teeth sharply bit down into his lower lip to stop himself from groaning when Taylor barrelled into his right hip. Neither of the twins knew that Ben had a disorder, they simply knew that he had a bad hip but they were under the impression it was going to get better, not worse. Ben had also yet to tell his family and friends about it, the only person who did know was (Y/n).

He rested his hands to the back of their heads, running his fingers through their hair as he tried to calm down and breathe normally but his hip was on fire and Taylor had unintentionally made it worse.

"Alright, can you both go get changed? I need a word with your mum." Ben kissed their temples before nudging them in the direction of the stairs. As soon as their pattering footsteps hit the stairs Ben flopped down into one of the kitchen chairs, letting the tears fall aimlessly from his eyes as he looked at (Y/n). Seeing her walking back into the house, directing Lola into the living room before heading into the kitchen to see Ben.

(Y/n) gently set the sleeping newborn in her arms into Ben's when he reached out for James, needing something to calm him down and stop himself from lashing out and a cuddle with his boy was the perfect distraction.

"How come your home?" (Y/n) asked quietly, pressing her lips to the top of his head before wrapping her arms around his shoulders when he pressed his face into her chest. She hated seeing him like this because it wasn't fair and it simply wasn't like Ben. He wasn't someone that she normally saw cry except for very odd occasions or when the kids were born. He wasn't someone who normally struggled in this kind of way and he never had any physical problems.

Ben was healthy, active, an avid sportsperson, he wasn't someone who should have this kind of disorder because it took a large part of him away. Especially when he was just reaching a pivotal point in his career.

"I had to do a stunt, I was meant to run with this harness on for safety but it was cutting into my hip and I tripped. Couldn't carry on so they sent me home for the day." The stunt had looked so easy and it generally was, if Ben didn't have this disorder he would have done it no problem. It was meant to make him look like he was running down the top of a building but obviously for safety in the studio they put him in a harness on some wires. It had been too low on his hips and dug into his muscles and bones too tightly and when he started to run it felt like he had a broken hip, causing him to fall.

"You haven't told them yet, have you?"

Ben slowly pulled back so he could look at her, his eyes following her as she moved to sit down next to him at the table. His silence was enough to tell (Y/n) that he had told no one about his disorder when he really needed to in case something worse happened or went wrong and it hurt him or backfired on him.

Tilting his head down, Ben pressed his lips to the top of James' head as the baby boy slowly wriggled against him. Staying curled up against Ben's chest and shoulder as he seemed to be worn out.

"Once I tell them that's it. My manager's going to filter what auditions I get and pick the boring or stupid ones or small roles I don't want." Ben got told about all the parts he could go up for and the ones that were interested in him but when he told people about his disorder that would be it. His manager would cut down on the action roles or the ones with more stunts right away when Ben was still able to perform almost at one hundred percent. He wanted to be treated the same as he was now and he knew that wouldn't happen once his disorder was known.

"What about everyone else? Your parents, George, Anna, the boys? People need to know eventually-"

"Eventually, but not yet."

Ben wasn't ready to tell his family, he didn't want to tell his parents because he could see them trying to hug him or crying or not knowing what to do. Ben wouldn't be able to tell his sister without her crying and his brother would simply freeze and either dismiss it or go over it too much. No one would simply take in the information and move on like Ben wanted, he wished he could tell them and then that would be it. No tears, no hugs or sympathetic looks, they just ignore it like it wasn't happening.

"Do you want some good news?" (Y/n) spoke gently as she watched Ben's expression change, intrigue in his eyes as he urged her to carry on talking. "The doctors called me this morning, James doesn't have it."

Ben's eyes went wide before he felt like his heart was going to explode. His hands started to shake as he rubbed one hand gently over James' head, kissing his temple as more tears started to fall from his eyes. That was definitely the kind of news Ben needed to hear at the moment. He hadn't gone and potentially ruined his son's life by passing down what he had. James could quite possibly develop it in the future but for now, he was okay and he was going to have a normal childhood.

He was going to be pain-free, which is more than could be said for Ben.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Try this."

Ben tipped his head to the side with a sceptical look on his face when (Y/n) handed him a glass of what looked like some kind of smoothie or powdered water that was a dusty white colour. Ben took the glass from her, sniffing it before looking at her, silently asking to be told what it was. Ben wasn't someone who would try something without knowing what it was or what was in the drink.

"I did some research, creatine gives energy to the muscles and it can improve your symptoms. So I bought some creatine supplements, its powder you put into water and you can have up to two a day so if you drink that, it might help."

(Y/n) knew that this wasn't something that was definitely going to help Ben and she knew it would take a while but anything was worth a try. Creatine supplements had been found to help people with muscular dystrophy and it didn't have many, if any, side effects. She thought if Ben gave them a try they might do something to help. It could stop him from feeling cramps in his muscles or just make him feel a bit more energised when he went to work since he was doing long hours and many stunts.

"Thank you, sweetheart." Ben kissed her temple as his lips formed a heartwarming smile. He knew that (Y/n) was going to be putting up with a lot and he didn't want to burden her but having her helping him like this or just being by his side made everything feel easier.

They had four kids and Ben was going to be in more pain as the years went on and would need help. It was undoubtedly going to put a strain on things and he would never want to rely on (Y/n) too much but she seemed to take everything in her stride.

Ben downed the drink almost in one go, finding that it didn't really taste of anything which made it easier to drink. He couldn't stand the weird energy drinks or smoothies or creations people came up with for diets or workouts.

"I've been thinking, and please hear me out on this." (Y/n) pressed her lips into a line as she moved over to the highchair to give Lola a biscuit before going back over to Ben. She wrapped her arms around his torso, tilting her head up to be level with his own as her eyes silently told him to at least think about what she was going to suggest. (Y/n) knew it wasn't going to be what Ben wanted to hear but if he was going to try and carry on as normal and not tell anyone then he needed a bit of help to do that.

"Go on." He urged, loosely wrapping his arms around her shoulders.

"Why don't you go to physio?"

(Y/n) watched Ben's eyes widen as that was not a suggestion he was expecting her to come up with. He didn't see the point in that when he could walk perfectly well, he had no back or arm problems yet and his legs weren't close to being worse off. It was only one hip that was deteriorating and he already knew the pain was going to get a lot worse in his hip in months to come.

Physio seemed a waste of time when he could simply carry on going to the gym and doing his workouts and routines he had been doing for years.

"Physio for what? I can still walk you know." (Y/n) tightened her arms around his middle as she rose her brows, silently asking him to be serious. She knew that perfectly well but Ben was going to need help and he couldn't carry on like this for much longer.

"It's not just to get people walking again, Ben. They can give you exercises and tips and ideas to stop your hip from hurting and it will help your muscles. The gym only maintains your muscles, it won't rid them of any pain or stiffness or keep them working. Physio is targeted at the specific muscles that are going to hurt you." (Y/n) had gone to physio herself, she knew what it was like and she knew that it did help.

Ben could go to simply get some ways on how to keep his hip muscles strong or to stop the joints from stiffening or seizing up. He could get told how to help them and what to do and what to avoid. It was worth a try in the very least.

"I don't-"

"You said this was happening too fast, isn't it worth trying everything to slow it down?" They both knew that Ben was not going to get better anytime soon, he was going to deteriorate slowly and painfully. Ben had the right to explore every option to try and slow the progression down or to simply make it easier for himself and he shouldn't just stick to meds because they weren't always going to work.

He tipped his head back for a moment, trying to think and stay calm but physio simply brought one thought into his head and it was one he was so desperate to avoid. He bit down on his lip when (Y/n) gently tilted his head back down so he was looking at her. Her eyes asking him what the problem was.

"I can deal with supplements and popping pills and doctors appointments because I can pretend they're for something else... but physio is admitting it. It's a reminder that I know in ten years time I won't be able to run and that in a few more years I might not be walking. Right now I can walk and run and move, I don't want to admit I'm gonna lose that."

Taking supplements and pills was easy, his mind could come up with thousands of reasons why he was doing that. He could pretend nothing was wrong when he went to see a doctor. But physio was a big step that admitted he was going to get worse.

Ben had been told that in ten years his thigh muscles and his hips would be weakening to the point running wouldn't be easy and walking would be a pain. He could be in a wheelchair or need help to walk by the time he was fifty. Ben didn't want that to be his future but he had no way of stopping that or knowing exactly when his legs were going to be affected. Physio reminded him that in a few years time he could be going back there because he couldn't walk and he didn't want that future to be his own.

"Physio isn't what you think it is, sweetheart. You go in, talk and have a small checkup and then you just get exercises and tips. It's just like going to the doctor. I know you, Ben. I know you're going to ignore any pain you feel and you're going to walk and talk like nothing is wrong and I admire you so much for that. But I want you to help yourself here, and you deserve to try everything you can to keep this point of physical health for as long as you can."

Ben was never going to show people how his disorder was affecting him, he didn't want them to watch or glare at him or to feel sorry for him and show him their sympathy. He would act like nothing was wrong, he would play football or rugby or any sports with his kids or his friends, he would go to work and do stunts. He would walk down the street and show no one that he was breaking from pain.

But he deserved to give himself the best chances he could at staying the way he was now and if physio would help even the tiniest bit, he deserved to give it a try.

#ben hardy #ben hardy imagine #ben x reader #dad! ben #imagine #borhap #genetic disorder

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