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mangoisms · 9 months

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circle k (back to you)

summary: in which you're just the graveyard shift employee at circle k bombarded by vigilantes.

━ chapter three: this doesn’t feel right | read chapter two

━ pairing: tim drake x f!reader

━ word count: 6.6k

━ warnings: robbery, gun gets pulled but nothing happens, brief mention of blood, basically canon-typical violence

━ masterlist

━ a/n: decided to include the last minute scene i wrote between tim and steph, specifically the one at the very end. fair warning, we shift to steph’s pov! also my first time writing for a canon chatacter so be gentle <3

“How’ve things been?”

“Like you don’t know.”

Red Robin, you think, sure has the gall to look as smug as he does right now.

After all, it’s not as if he had a point to prove to you. You very specifically told him he didn’t and that you didn’t care what he did regardless of whether he took your advice or not.

Despite the look on his face, he manages to say, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sure you don’t,” you say, a little bit more accusingly than you mean to, following him as he ventures to the candy aisle.

“Alright,” he concedes, not looking at you as he bends forward to peer at the display of gummy candy. “But just so you know, it ended up taking a life of its own. You’ve made a solid impression so far.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Not at all. The list of places we can visit like this without having the cops called or worse is very short.”

“But that perception works.”

“Well, sometimes it’s less about fear and more about plain disapproval. Which also does its own job but… tiring, sometimes.”

That… makes sense. The Flash can walk down the street in Keystone and Central without anyone getting all up in arms about it. These guys can’t.

“But it’s necessary, no?” Just curiosity. Not agreeing, exactly.

Red Robin takes two packs of sour gummy worms and straightens, turning away from you to head to the refrigerators at the back. “Doesn’t change the fact that we can find it a little bit tiring. Makes you wonder if you can strike a balance, but in the end, it’s nothing more than an ideal. Fear rules best.”

“I’m sure.”

“Civilian, remember?”

“Yeah, well, this civilian gets to pass judgment since I’m a citizen of this city just like you guys are.”

Seems like they forget that sometimes. Or Batman does. You’ve heard whispers of metas who found out they had powers and attempted to use them for good. Only to be sharply turned away by Batman.

There is something to be said about ensuring not just anybody goes out and does what they do, lest they get themselves and others killed, but the impression you’ve gotten is that he doesn’t allow metas in the city. No matter their experience or skill level. The only exception to the rule, so far, is Signal.

You don’t know. When you were younger, they seemed cool. As you got older, that changed. How could you trust them? How could anyone know if they were trying to do good or if they were just enacting their own convoluted brand of justice? Red Hood’s existence several years ago proved that to you and all the others.

Even if he was trying to set himself apart from Batman or whatever, the fact remains that everyone in East End, in Park Row, in the Narrows, in the Bowery, feared that they might be next. Didn’t matter if you were innocent or not because one’s definition of innocent differed sharply from his—from theirs. And when you were desperate like most people there were, that changed everything, too.

Sure, the GCPD is corrupt and so is the justice system and the government and practically every institution in this city, in this country, but… you just don’t know.

So, maybe he does have a point to prove to you.

Maybe they all do.

“Well, look,” he starts, surprising you as he turns with two bottles of Zesti in hand. “If you want us to stop coming around, we will. No harm done.”

Fine.

Maybe you’ll regret the decision but… it does make them all the more tangible to you.

“It’s fine. Keep coming around. Might discourage anyone from trying their luck and it keeps my shifts interesting.”

“And it’s all about you, is it?”

“If not, find another Circle K to haunt.”

He laughs. The sound is familiar but nice, in a way. Comforting almost. It’s then you shake your head and turn away sharply, trying to push the feeling away.

There’s that, too. Maybe if you can keep Red Robin coming around long enough, you’ll figure out what exactly it is about him that bothers you, that niggles at you.

It should help take your mind off things. Like your growing concern about Tim’s lack of contact with you. You and Steph have hung out twice since she came back and both times he said he was busy. It shouldn’t be something that bothers you, but the fact that your attempt a few days ago to hang out with him alone for ice cream was also shot down with that same excuse. And of course, his sparse replies to your texts.

But he did reply eventually. Just some agreement about what you said about Signal. Didn’t exactly carry the conversation much further but at least he replied, right? Same goes for the shared group chat between you, him, and Steph.

You haven’t spoken to her about it, either, but you don’t want to.

It’s—complicated.

That’s just what your life feels like these days.

Complicated.

Red Robin keeps coming around.

The others come around, too. You don’t see much of Signal working the night shift but you do see Black Bat again. Even Spoiler, though she keeps her distance for a reason you can’t understand. Not to say she is mean or anything. She just waves at you but she never says much else. You’ll hear her and Black Bat talking quietly, though the words themselves are lost on you no matter how hard you strain your ears.

You keep worrying about Tim, of course, and hanging out with Steph, who squeezes in time to see you in between her internship with social services.

For a while, things are calm. The vigilantes who pop up grow increasingly familiar and any wariness evaporates.

Then you get a new face.

The guy walking around the store in the oversized grey hoodie is doing a bad job at robbing you, you think.

Well, he hasn’t actually robbed you. But his hand stays in the pocket of his hoodie, clearly grasping something as he makes a couple circuits around the store. Either scoping it out to see if there is anyone else to worry about or trying to work himself up to it. You think it’s the latter, with how nervous and sweaty he looks.

Mostly, it’s for your own nerves to think that.

It’s been a hot minute since the store was robbed and you were held at gunpoint (or knifepoint). You aren’t explicitly allowed to trigger the silent alarm until either of those things make an appearance, so even with the bad feeling in your gut, you can’t yet do anything.

You are close, though. So very close.

But you don’t have to wait any longer as he rounds the corner and pulls out the gun.

Oh, great.

Before he can say anything, before you can say or do something, the door swings open.

When you both look, there is nothing there.

You wince at the rush of hot smelly air from the outside.

“Who—who’s there?!” he yells, then swings the gun back to you. “What did you do?!”

“I didn’t do anything—”

The arrow comes out of nowhere.

One blink and it’s embedded in his hand, the same hand holding—previously holding—the gun. You flinch as the weapon clatters sharply to the ground, your stomach churning at the sight of the arrow embedded in his hand, blood dripping; he yells in pain, dropping to his knees.

Then comes the owner of the arrow.

Dressed in black and dark shades of purple, the Huntress is a sight to behold. Her boots are soundless on the tiles. She looks… bored as she talks to someone. Some kind of comm, you guess.

“Yeah, I know, I’m on my way back, I’m picking up coffee. From the—yeah. So he’s gotten to you, too? Figures. What’s the sound—? Oh, just some idiot trying to rob the store. Yeah, go ahead and call the cops.”

You stare, heart beating so quickly you feel a little dizzy, as she knocks the guy out, leaving him to slump on the ground. She kicks the gun further away from him for good measure.

Finally, she looks at you.

The Huntress, a figure you’ve only seen in the newspaper or articles online, mostly grainy pictures, is very pretty up close. Shoulder-length dark hair, olive skin, lips painted a deep, pretty shade of purple, and sharp blue eyes, easily revealed through her mask.

“Are you okay?” she asks, watching you carefully.

“Y-Yeah,” you stammer. “Thank you.”

A slight shrug. “All in a day’s work. Coffee?”

“Um. Over there.”

“Thanks.”

You watch, befuddled, as the Huntress steps over the body of the now-unconscious robber and strides to the coffee machine, entirely unbothered as she grabs three cups.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know how you take your coffee, O. Give me some credit. Is Cat coming by? No? Alright, just you and BC, then.”

As the machine sputters out coffee, she comes back over to you. “Do you have any drink carriers?”

“Yeah, they’re over there.”

You point them out, on the other side of the Slurpee machine, and she nods her thanks, grabbing one.

She returns to the counter a couple minutes later.

“So, um,” you start, clearing your throat. “Is there anything in particular I should say to the police about this?”

She tilts her head, confused for a moment, before realizing what you mean.

“Oh, don’t worry about it. You can say it was me. They’ll want to see the footage, too. Let them.” She pauses, giving you an appraising look. “Is there anyone you would like me to call?”

“Call?” you ask, confused as you ring up the coffees.

She fiddles with a pouch in her utility belt without taking her eyes off you, pulling out a ten dollar bill.

“Red Robin?”

“Red—no. No, I don’t think… I’m fine, I mean.”

Huntress nods and lets it go, accepting her change.

“The cops’ll be here in a few,” she says. “I’ll be around until then, so don’t worry.”

“Thank you, again.”

She gives you the smallest of smiles. “Like I said. All in a day’s—night’s—work.”

You watch her go, one part of you not wanting her to leave, but the other assuaged by her promise to hang around and make sure nothing and nobody bothers you again.

The police arrive a little while after that. By the arrow in the man’s hand, they already know who saved you, but they still demand to see the footage.

“So, it was the Huntress?”

“Yes.”

“Has she ever come by?”

“No.”

“Have you ever interacted with her anywhere else?”

You pause, barely stopping yourself from narrowing your eyes, because you do not like the accusatory tone this cop is giving you. What did he say his name was? Bullock or something.

You send a silent apology to Sandra Bullock for having to share her last name with this idiot.

“Well?” he asks, burning cigarette hanging from his lips, arms crossed. The smell of tobacco is nauseating this close. What’s worse is you’re outside while the other guys handle things inside. Even at one in the morning, the heat edges on unbearable and the humidity is even worse, making your skin tacky with it.

“No,” you say, a tiny bit exasperated. “I have never interacted with her before this. Why would I want to?”

“You were talking to her.”

“She was talking to me. Asked me if I was okay.”

Unlike any of these assholes who blew in here, sirens wailing, and made you put your hands up as they came in, guns brandished, even though the guy was obviously down for the count. Honestly, they scare you more than the shooter. At least in that moment. These guys can be real trigger-happy.

Now, they’re just a pain in your ass.

You need a Slurpee, you think. No, deserve one. For your troubles.

“It’s cut-and-dry, Harv,” the other detective, Montoya, puts in, having stepped away. She sends you a sympathetic look that just annoys you even more. “Got some calls from a few other convenience stores for suspicious activity. They saw this guy, too, but he always left before doing anything. Guess he finally worked up the nerve to do it here but it didn’t work out well in his favor.”

Bullock grunts. “You run her ID?”

Oh, for the love of—

“She’s clear. We’re good.”

Behind you, two EMTs haul the still-unconscious robber out and into the ambulance, which promptly leaves; a cop with gloves on steps out, the gun in a baggie.

Montoya asks you a few more questions, obviously trying to make up for Bullock’s brusque manner of speaking, but it’s a futile effort. You still cooperate, however, as politely as you can with the annoyance still burning inside you and this damnable heat.

Eventually, they leave, called away to some other incident, cars peeling away from the curb, blue-and-red lights flashing, sirens wailing.

You watch them go, allowing your scowl to come out full-force, your arms crossed tightly over your chest.

“Bullock’s always like that. It’s not personal.”

“Jesus,” you hiss, heart pounding as you whirl around; it takes a moment for your eyes to pick out Red Robin leaned against the brick apartment building next to the store, his figure mostly cloaked in shadows.

He steps into the light. Despite the nonchalant tone of his previous words, he looks, dare you say, worried.

“Just coming around?”

“No. I heard what happened. Wanted to come and see how you were.”

“Annoyed. And hot. And tired. Come on, let’s go inside. The AC isn’t that great but it’s better than this.”

Red Robin follows you in. You click your tongue upon finding the blood from the guy’s hand still on the tile. So, now you have to clean that, too, on top of the paperwork you have to fill out for the incident. Great.

You jump at the nudge of a knuckle between your shoulder blades. “What—”

“I can clean it up.”

“No, that’s—”

“Let me do it. I have more experience cleaning blood than you.”

“Charming,” you mutter. “But alright, fine. Thanks.”

“Cleaning supplies?”

“First aisle.”

A nod and he turns, cape fluttering behind him.

You rub your forehead, feeling a headache start to form, and continue for the Slurpee machine at the other end of the store.

A few minutes later, Red Robin joins you, wiping his gloved hands with what looks and smells to be antiseptic pads.

“Good as new,” he tells you, reaching for a Slurpee cup, too, as you sip at yours. “Like nothing ever happened.”

You sigh. “Thanks. Appreciate it.”

“So,” he starts, holding the cup beneath the tube for… the Zesti Cola flavor? What a complete weirdo.

“Are you—” he stops when he looks at you. “You’re judging me.”

“Who comes in to get a Cola-flavored Slurpee? That’s weird. You might as well just get a bottle of it.”

“Woah. It’s so not the same thing. If there was a drink form of, what do you get? Blue raspberry? Yeah. If there was a drink form of that, would you do that instead? A Slurpee is about the consistency. The slushy factor.”

Okay, that’s fair, but something about everything he just said makes you laugh. Hard.

Maybe the heat is getting to you. Maybe it’s the hysteria setting in. Maybe it’s Red Robin passionately defending his choice in Slurpee flavor and saying shit like ‘The slushy factor’ with a straight face. You don’t know.

“You’re finally losing it, aren’t you?” Despite his words, Red Robin looks almost relieved. He really was worried, you surmise, which is a… touching thought.

You quell your giggles, shaking your head; though the laughter was nice, your head is really pounding now.

“Here,” he says, digging through a pouch at his utility belt, pulling out a mini packet of… huh. Tylenol.

“Tampered?” you ask, taking it from him, anyway.

“If I wanted to kill you, I would’ve done it already.”

“Again. Charming.” But it still doesn’t change the thoughtfulness of the action; he doesn’t have to. If anything, this stuff is probably best kept for him. Though with their proclivity for putting their lives in danger, you don’t imagine Tylenol would be particularly helpful against gunshot wounds, but still…

“Thanks,” you say, a little quieter now, more meaning in your voice as you tear it open and shake out two pills.

Red Robin shakes his head. “It’s the least I can do.”

You can tell he means it. Which is, again, both touching and maybe a little bit confusing, too.

But trying to decipher why he does what he does is a futile effort.

This is, after all, the same guy who dresses up and goes out fighting the worst of the worst night after night.

Best not to look too closely. Who knows what you might find.

Despite your best efforts, Steph finds out about what happened. Something about the newspaper, which is odd, because you don’t recall seeing the news there—honestly, much more crazy shit happens overnight in Gotham. Robberies are old news.

But either way, you can’t complain too much because you are appreciative of her coddling the next day, which includes, but is not limited to, ordering takeout, burrowing on your crappy couch together, and watching old 2000s movies.

The only thing missing is—

“He said he was busy but he sent me the money for takeout. To make up for it.”

You purse your lips but don’t say anything. That you don’t want his money. You just want—

Nothing.

“We don’t need him,” Steph says determinedly in the next second. Which is a departure from what she usually says—that you’ll see Tim eventually, that his work at WE will let up. You don’t have the energy to ponder why.

You sigh, sinking further into the couch. Steph is warm next to you. You can smell her shampoo. Jasmine.

“I guess not,” you concede in a mumble.

You can’t do anything but concede. After all, it’s your initial avoidance of him at the start of June that caused this, right? And he keeps dodging your calls, your requests to hang out—points in which you might’ve been able to clear the air, apologize for it, but… no.

It’s not like you could track him down. You know the apartments he lives in—down in Old Gotham, in a much more expensive building than your shitty one here in Coventry. But sometimes he spends time at the manor, too, up in Bristol and you can’t ambush him there. You couldn’t. That would be too much. Right?

Trying to find him at WE is a lost cause, too. Not just because they have three given locations throughout the city but because you wouldn’t know if he was in or not.

Or maybe you’re just looking for the easy way out.

Complicated.

Why does it have to be so complicated?

“You look tired.”

“Thank you, Red, because that’s what every girl loves to hear.”

“Just a simple observation,” he responds, leaning against the counter, eating a kolach. Your Slurpee cups sweat in the mid-June heat, creating rings of condensation on the scuffed and scratched counter. You watch a droplet slowly roll down, joining the ring of water.

Your eyelids are heavy, dragging with each blink. A dull headache reminds you of your restless sleep and you’re sure the bags under your eyes tell it to the world, too. To Red Robin, specifically.

He finishes his kolach, crumpling the wrapper in one hand, looking steadily at you all the while.

“What?”

“Is it because of what happened last week?” he asks and his voice is frightfully gentle in a way you are not emotionally prepared to deal with.

“No,” you say quickly. “It’s not that.”

The occasional nightmare bothers you but that’s normal. You can deal with that.

“Then?”

You shake your head. God, you are exhausted. You fold your arms on the counter and bury your face there.

It’s quiet for a minute.

The refrigerators hum at the back. The AC makes an odd clanging noise before it turns on. Somewhere outside, a dog barks.

“I’m a good listener,” Red hedges after a minute. “Or so I’ve been told.”

“It’s stupid,” you say, voice muffled.

“Why?”

“Because it’s, like, stupid twenty-year-old drama and not, I dunno, the latest rumors on drug trades.”

Red laughs. It’s a pleasant sound that makes something inside you unwind.

“You should be relieved to hear I am up to date on the latest rumors on drug trades. And also, believe it or not, I do like to talk about things other than crime.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

A soft chuckle. It sounds almost affectionate.

“Come on. Whatever it is, it’s making you lose sleep. That’s not good.”

“Losing some sleep isn’t the end of the world.”

“I don’t know. Feels like it might be for you.”

You grunt, an old memory from Keystone niggling at you. You set it aside for the moment.

“It’s nothing,” you say eventually. “It’s just—nothing.”

“I don’t think it’s nothing,” he remarks. “But if you don’t want to talk about it now, that’s cool, too. If you ever do—”

“Dr. Red, to the rescue.”

He laughs. “Well, I’m not a licensed therapist and I can’t promise my advice is sound, either, so…”

“Don’t sue you?”

“Like you even could. But still, I’m here.”

You want to ask why but that might be too much for you right now.

You let yourself settle with some generic explanation, that he is obligated to ask that as a vigilante, as someone who is generally supposed to be concerned with the wellbeing of the citizens of this city. And also he is trying to prove some kind of point, so this is part of that.

“So,” you quickly say to change the topic. “What are the latest rumors on the drug trade?”

He laughs. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“You look tired.”

“Thank you, Flash, that’s exactly what I’d like to hear.”

“Just a simple observation,” he says, holding up his hands in a placating gesture.

“Well, rest assured, I have Tim and Steph on my case about it. They’ve both demanded a video call with me tomorrow despite me telling them I am alive and well. Apparently, just saying I’m alive isn’t reassuring. Can’t imagine why. That’s more than enough in Gotham…”

Mother hens, the both of them.

And Flash, too, apparently, though he does a better job of covering it up.

Off near the coffee machine, a melodic hum of Dancing in the Dark, the song currently playing lowly overhead, reaches you. You tune into it, the sound lulling you, both because it’s pleasant and because the song makes you think of Tim and his love for Bruce Springsteen (largely in honor of his late father, Jack Drake). Because of that, you totally miss Flash’s next words.

“—here? Oh, Jesus, Piper! Stop humming. You’re distracting her.”

“Oh, sorry!” comes the apologetic and still melodic voice of the Pied Piper. More normal now, though, letting you shake your head and focus again. Piper comes around the aisle, a big cup of coffee in hand; he gives you a handsome and apologetic smile that you wave off.

“It’s fine—what were you saying, Flash?”

He wiggles his fingers at you. “I’m just curious about those two, that’s all, since they seem very worried about you, oh, practically all the time. Not that it’s unwarranted, of course.”

“I’m fine, Flash.”

He gives you a look. “I don’t believe that but seems like they got it covered so, I’ll let it go. I’m still curious about them, though. What are we talking here? Boyfriend? Girlfriend? Both boyfriend and girlfriend? That’s cool, I don’t judge.”

“Are you—what? In regards to who?”

“You, obviously.”

You shake your head quickly. “No. No, absolutely not. Tim and Steph dated when they were teens, they’re exes. That’s weird.”

A bit of an uncomfortable discussion, too, if only because you are… too aware of your own attraction to Tim. A different kind of attraction. One that has you constantly admiring him. Or had you, back when you were in Gotham. With Steph, you know she is stupidly pretty but it doesn’t fluster you.

It's… nothing.

(It has to be nothing.)

“Feelings are a natural part of life, kiddo! Nothing weird about it. Have they been weird about it?”

“We’ve never even discussed the remote possibility of me dating either of them—because that would never happen in a million years.”

“Well, if they’re friends, then it shouldn’t be a problem. You don’t get many exes who can stay friends after a breakup. Right, Pipes?”

“It’s true,” he says easily, and, hold on a fucking minute, is… is the Flash implying that he and Piper dated?

“Yes, we did,” Flash answers and oh, you said that out loud, and this is… a bit of Flash lore that you aren’t sure you ever needed to know.

But still. He continues, shooting a grin at Piper. “And we’re still great friends! Me, him, and my wife!”

“Wife?” you choke out.

Great. More lore.

Piper rolls his eyes. “Flash.”

“Okay, I didn’t mean to give that away but it’s fine, we can trust her. She’s a friend.”

The words would be sweet if you still weren’t compartmentalizing the fact that he is actually married and… apparently dated the Pied Piper at one point. The Pied Piper who used to be part of the Flash’s rogue gallery, then reformed. Huh.

“You—” you point at him for good measure “—have a wife? Someone actually married you?”

Piper bursts out laughing. It’s a pleasant sound you could get lost in… No! Focus.

Flash looks affronted. “I’ll have you know I am excellent husband material!”

Piper, still chuckling, looks at you and gives a small shrug. “It is true. The superhero community isn’t very ripe with it, for reasons I’m sure you can figure out, so, Flash is a bit of a standout in that area.”

“Because the bar is low.”

“Not true,” Flash interjects. “Superman is married. You know how hard it is to compete with Superman? It’s hard. But I manage it. We’re nearly neck-and-neck in terms of husband material, I’d say.”

He ignores Piper’s snort of laughter and leans in conspiratorially. “But you know who isn’t married? Batman. He’s not husband material. He’s not even boyfriend material.”

You look at Piper, who shrugs. “Never met the guy, thankfully, but from what I’ve heard from Flash, I have to agree. The tall, dark, and broody thing can be attractive but—”

“He’s just a sourpuss,” Flash finishes. “No sense of whimsy whatsoever.”

“Oh, and you have that?”

Piper laughs as Flash sputters. “I can have fun! Why do you think I hang around you?”

You laugh. “That’s… Alright. Fine.”

Flash cocks his head suddenly, no doubt listening to the police frequency he tunes into. Piper fishes out a twenty for everything and tells you to keep the change. In the next moment, the both of them are gone, leaving you with a sharp gust of wind and arcing blue lightning that makes your skin break out in goosebumps.

Okay, then.

Your video call is the next day—Saturday—and it goes as well as you think it will.

“You look like shit.”

Steph is more blunt about it, but the sight of Tim’s grimacing face on your laptop screen shows he very much agrees.

“Thank you, my dear friends, it is lovely to see you, too, yes, I’m doing quite well, thank you. And you?”

“Okay, fair,” Tim says, holding up a hand, “but don’t lie and saying you’re doing ‘quite well.’ Someone doing ‘quite well’ doesn’t look as exhausted as you look.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “And you wonder why you don’t have a girlfriend.”

“Or boyfriend,” Steph tacks on immediately, not one to miss an opportunity to tag him.

He rolls his eyes. You shuffle around, freshly showered, looking around for your lotion, then remember it’s in the bathroom.

“Give me a sec,” you say to them, heading over to it.

The audio of the video call feeds out from the speakers of your laptop, so you can easily hear their next conversation.

“It’s so hard, isn’t it?” Steph asks

“What is?” comes Tim’s confused question.

“The urge to resist wiring her money. It’s written all over your face, duckie.”

“Like you don’t want to, either,” he shoots back.

A pause.

“Maybe we can—"

“I can hear you!” you call as you go back to your desk, bottle of lotion in hand. They look a tad sheepish as you settle in your chair. “And look, fine, I won’t say to a couple bucks—"

“Define a couple bucks,” Tim says.

“Max twenty—for dinner—” as soon as you say that, they’re both scrambling for their phones. You grimace. “Guys, come on, it’s not that bad.”

Tim gives you a concerned look. “Even your bags have bags.”

You blink. “Did you just… quote Spongebob?”

Steph grins in the other frame. “He’s finally cultured.”

Then they both return their focus to their phones.

A second later, yours chimes with notifications from Cashapp, twenty dollars from each of them.

“Guys… everything is fine.”

“No, it’s not,” Steph says stubbornly. “But that’s fine. You know you can rely on us, right? We’re friends. That’s what friends do. I know Timothy over here doesn’t always set the greatest examples for it—”

“Thanks, Steph.”

“You’re welcome,” she replies without missing a beat. “Anyway, let us help.”

“You’re already helping,” you soothe. “So, it’s okay. This semester is going to be tough but it’ll be worth it. And after this, it’ll be easier, okay? You guys are here now—”

“Not in a way that really matters,” Tim mutters.

“Which is not an invitation to come over here,” you warn—him, mostly. Steph would go along with it but he’d be the instigator.

They both pout.

You smile. Sometimes, it’s hard to handle the fact that you have friends like this. Friends who care so deeply, who love you so much, it feels hard to breathe. Because you know you love them just as much.

“I love you guys,” you say next, because you have to say it, they have to know; it’s hard for you, sometimes, just because it scares you, but after everything, you know how important it is for the people you love to know you love them.

They soften, echoing the words, and that’s enough for you.

Of course it is.

You don’t have much. No parents, no other family.

But you have them.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

A slow blink. “Updating Redbird’s security protocols?”

The garage of Tim’s townhouse smells sharply of oil and rubber. But he isn’t elbow-deep in the engine today, just seated off to the side, laptop perched on his lap and hooked up to its system. ‘Updating’ it. God knows why. The Redbird’s security protocols are just as stringent as the Batmobile’s.

Jason once regaled them with his plan, way back when, to blow it up. Bruce included. And how he went about it.

“It’s got safeguards like crazy, right? Even when it’s idle or shut down. Come up to it, fire a gun, launch a missile—doesn’t matter. Not gonna touch it before the security protocols kick in. It can sense you on thermal, air currents, video recognition, all of it.”

“So, how’d you get past it?”

“SEAL-grade wetsuit. Invisible to thermal with reflection fibers that play hell with video. But the biggest thing? Going slow. And I mean slow. Like five seconds per inch slow.”

The insane attention to detail and paranoia runs in the family, obviously.

Tim had sat in for that. Stephanie remembers the look on his face. Begrudging respect, combined with a familiar twitchiness that told her he was absolutely dying to run out and start updating his stuff.

Question everything. That’s what Bruce says.

Tim tries to separate himself from it. He really does. It gets tiring, exhausting, to live like that. But old habits die hard and his big brain precedes him sometimes. Wondering at the possibilities, at the million-in-one scenarios.

Ordinarily, Stephanie has more sympathy for him. Really. But right now, after your phone call about his little visit to Circle K…

She’s pissed.

“Don’t play dumb,” she says, crossing her arms tightly over her chest.

“What is it that I’m playing dumb about?” he asks, averting his attention back to his laptop, keys clacking quickly, pausing momentarily as he takes a swig of Red Bull.

She tells him.

At the sound of your name, he stops.

But now that she’s started, she can’t stop. “Visiting her? As Red Robin? What are you thinking, Tim?”

The clack of keys resumes. The set of his gaze on the laptop screen is very intentional now. Avoiding her.

“It’s nothing, Steph,” he says and she almost believes it. But she knows him, so she doesn’t. “It’s harmless.”

“So, why won’t you hang out with us? Her? Because I assume you’re also avoiding her individually.”

A little sigh. Impatient. “I’m not avoiding her. I really was busy. Have been busy. You know how the heat messes with the city.”

It’s the excuse that bothers Stephanie.

Tim is making some kind of choice here. Choosing to favor Red Robin over himself, over Tim Drake, and it makes no sense. Red Robin isn’t your best friend. He isn’t even your favorite vigilante. (Black Canary is. She agrees, though it would be nice for Spoiler to get some spotlight but that is neither here nor there.)

You know who is your best friend? (One of them, anyway.)

Tim freakin’ Drake.

Stephanie knows why he’s avoiding you all of a sudden. The connection will be too easy to make. It’s why she—as Spoiler—keeps her distance. Tucks away her hair, hides her face even more, when she and Cass visit Circle K.

Even though! They had talked about telling you. Stephanie wanted to tell you so badly. You know who her father is. Was. You know how her mom used to be like. You know everything and you never once judged. You were, to be sure, a bit wary of them—the vigilantes—but most were. You wouldn’t turn them away if you knew.

If there is anything Stephanie knows, it is that.

But then she went away to Metropolis for a week and a half and suddenly, he’s visiting you as Red Robin. And he’s not trying to ease you into it, not trying to help you latch onto some clues, to make it easier—because they’d discussed that, too!—he’s doing it because… Well, she doesn’t really know. But there is a reason. She knows that much. A big reason.

It makes no sense to her, considering his feelings. Complicates things unnecessarily. Especially with how he’s avoiding you because of it, because he apparently got cold feet on telling you the truth.

And it’s the excuse… it’s the excuse that pisses her off.

Their relationship, back when they were kids, had some questionable origins. It did. Stephanie did things she wasn’t proud of. He did things he wasn’t proud of. It was messy. She tries not to kick herself about it—about being a silly girl in love, awed at the attention of a boy like Robin, knowing he was dating a girl (Ariana Dzerchenko, her name was, she would later find) and making moves on him despite that, moves that he always, always went along with. Like two magnets that couldn’t help but fall together.

Don’t get her wrong! The blame is not solely on her. It’s on him, too. She shouldn’t have pushed. He shouldn’t have went along with it, knowing he had a girlfriend, too. He shouldn’t have held his knowledge of her identity over her head the way he did. He isn’t mean-spirited at heart but he had an advantage over her. He knew she was Stephanie Brown. She knew him only as Robin and nothing else. Not until later on that would change and that… that was another mess entirely.

But they were dumb and young. Stephanie tries not to hold it against herself. They know better now. She knows better now. Knows what she deserves.

But this feels too close to him crossing that line.

No, he has crossed that line.

Given one persona up for another.

Approaching you as Red Robin, while you know nothing of him, and doing god knows what…

Someone is going to get hurt.

Last time, it was him. The circumstances, Bruce’s unceremonious reveal of his identity to her—a mistake, an egregious overstep—it all culminated in Tim feeling betrayed. Betrayed that Bruce would reveal that to her without Tim’s say so, without even asking him if he was okay with her knowing. Betrayed that Stephanie went along with it.

This time?

Stephanie feels it in her bones.

The person who is going to get hurt is you.

You, clueless about these lives they lead, clueless as Tim monopolizes your time as Red Robin, all the while you have no idea it’s him. You, her best friend. Stephanie loves you to the end of the universe.

She doesn’t want to see you hurt.

The mere thought of it, of the potential fallout, leaves a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach.

“Steph. Steph, it’s fine.”

She blinks, coming back to herself. Tim is standing in front of her now, dark brows knitted together, blue eyes intent on her face. Concerned.

“You’re lying to her.”

“We’ve been lying to her.”

“Not like this,” she says quietly. “Not this way. You’re… This is too much, Tim. I don’t understand why you’re doing this. What happened?”

“Nothing,” he says. For what it’s worth, to anyone else, it sounds believable. But like she said. Stephanie knows him. For better or for worse.

And on that end, she also knows he is not going to budge. No matter how much Stephanie wants to drill this into him, grab him by the shoulders and make her point. Once he’s made a decision, he commits.

Or more like he’s dug himself into this grave and he doesn’t (can’t?) want to get out.

“This is a mistake,” she says. “And you know it. I just hope you actually try to fix it sooner rather than later. Because if you break her heart, I’m going to break something of yours.”

Stephanie loves Tim. He’s a great friend. They’ve had their ups and downs—even discounting their relationship—but they’re solid. They are.

But she loves you, too. So much so it sometimes feels like she’s going to burst with it. She’s never had something like that, like this, and in the end, she doesn’t want to choose, but Tim knows better. And because he knows better, you are her first priority.

Even worse, he doesn’t seem bothered by the threat. Relieved, if anything.

“I’m counting on it, Steph.”

Which is so unfair in so many ways (fix it, she wants to yell, don’t rely on me to come clean up when shit hits the fan—do it yourself!) but she’s had enough of this conversation and all the ways this can go wrong.

Maybe he will turn around. Maybe. Maybe, maybe, maybe.

But she doesn’t think so. He won’t. Not until the consequences of this, of his lies, of his excuses, come hit him in the face.

She wishes it weren’t like that—knowing what it will result in.

But some things you just can’t change.

She knows better with Tim.

She really, really does.

reblogs are appreciated!

taglist: @peachesona @knoxx-seresinbradshaw @kikis-writing-service @sweetistic @soundsfunbutno @ginevraxrogers @fridaenpina

[ask to be tagged! either in my inbox or here! ^_^]

#tim drake x reader #red robin x reader #dc comics imagine #tim drake imagine #red robin imagine #tim drake x you #tim drake x y/n #red robin x y/n #red robin x you #dc comics x reader #batfamily x reader #batfam x reader #batfam x you #batfam x y/n

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try-set-me-on-fire · 1 year

Note

just really needed a hug sort of hug

for the soft prompts <3

Uhhhh this is a little angsty and vibey sorry about that! Set a few years in the future in a world where the lightning strike had bigger and longer lasting impact on Buck than it did in canon. Send me soft prompts! The rest I’ve done are on a03!

Eddie is pinching the skin by his elbow, the shiny part where it's new. Well, a few months old at this point, Chimney supposes, but he still gently smacks the man's bicep as he passes him to sit at the table.

"Quit it, Diaz."

Eddie makes a face at him but he puts his hand flat on the table. He then makes another, more stressed out face, and waves the hand in the air in a vague but emphatic motion.

"I want to call Buck again."

"You were on the phone half an hour ago."

"Yep." His palm presses into the wood again. "I am aware of that."

Chim hooks his left ankle over his right knee. "You two ever get word…"

"Every test came back fine- within normal- they didn't find anything. They have no fucking idea why his blood pressure dropped like that." Eddie crosses his arms. "Between the two of us we've funded the Los Angeles ambulance budget for the fucking year and the best advice anyone had was for him to 'rest and drink plenty of fluids.'"

"Shit."

"Mhmm." Eddie's knee is bouncing anxiously, and he looks exhausted. He has looked exhausted, frankly, since a fourth story floor went out from under him in June and he gained the dubious honor of being the first member of 118 A shift to sustain third degree burns. He doesn't pinch at it again, but he's gripping the scarred bend of his arm tight enough that it might fall under Buck's strict instructions to tell him to leave it alone. "He shouldn't have been back at work yet."

"He seemed fine, Eddie."

Eddie exhales, shaky and unpleasant. "He seemed like he was getting better from the flu, and then Chris found him on the kitchen floor. He seemed better on Thursday and then-" he shakes his head, breathes in, blows the air out slowly. "I've told myself that a lot today - he was ok when I left this morning, he’s fine, he’s texting me, it’s going to be ok. But he was ok when I left those mornings too." He blows out air again, and it whistles through his clenched teeth.

Chimney thinks Eddie wouldn't appreciate it, but he thinks very hard and loud that the universe should give the Diaz family a fucking break. He extends his leg so his boot taps into Eddie's.

"He was doing so good- he felt good in a way he hasn't in a long time." Eddie makes direct eye contact for the first time this conversation. "We were talking about him working towards recertification. Coming back here. He really does love the call center and he’s good at it, but he misses being a part of the team, still. And then-" he makes an unhappy little sound. "He exhausted himself taking care of me and now this… We can both say 'healing isn't linear' until our mouths bleed but he’s almost back to where he was right after the strike and- and he's disappointed, I know he is and just- just not knowing what life is going to be like one day to the next- It's just been… a rough fucking year." Eddie's mouth turns up in a real grimace of a smile. "But we have experience with those. So… we'll just keep getting through it."

Two memories play out in Chimney's head.

First: A beach day, sometime in the first summer after Buck and Eddie were married. The jeep had arrived first, but as Chimney did what Maddie referred to as his Dad Jog to the trunk of his own car to start unloading he noticed that none of its occupants had got out yet. From the place he was standing he could see Buck, lit up golden in the afternoon glow, twisted sideways in the passenger seat and gesturing wildly as he talked, absolute glee written all over his face. Eddie in the driver's seat and Chris, unbuckled in the back, leaned their whole bodies towards him like plants seeking photosynthesis. Chim had wondered if the sun had been lonely before it had planets to orbit it, and then laughed at himself for being poetic, and anyway he wasn't sure that's the order the universe formed in. Buck would know, he'd have to ask him.

Second: Thursday, when Buck had made it through pneumonia like a champ and then gone back to his job at dispatch only to take a nap in the break room that no one could really wake him up from. It gets more ethically dubious by the year for any of the 118 to treat each other what with their tangled web of marriages and less official family ties, but Maddie had sounded panicked over the radio, and they’d been the closest first responders, and Chimney is certain that even if they weren’t nothing could have stopped them from coming for their brother, son, husband. Chimney remembers Eddie kneeling in front of the couch, the exact quiet tone of his voice as he’d said “Honey, I’m right here,” and the lethargic movement of Buck’s hand coming to weakly grip his shoulder. But the real thing, the clip that’s going to stay in his mind forever and repeat without permission, is looking up from establishing a line in the ambulance and watching how Eddie was curled down towards his partner as he tried to keep a flash of blue appearing between fluttering eyelids. Eddie was talking and Chimney doesn’t remember any of the words because he was also stroking his thumb over Buck’s brow and Chimney can’t stop thinking that he has never seen a human being touch another that gently.

Eddie’s phone buzzes and he looks at it, huffing a laugh and scrubbing a hand over his face. “He’s asking about pasta shapes. Wait- is he in the kitchen?” He frowns and hits dial, and the phone only gets out a single ring before Buck picks up.

“Hey,” his voice drifts, tinny, into the room and Chimney feels some tight little thing in his chest relax a little.

“You better not be cooking, Buck, you’re on speaker so I have back up if I need to yell at you.”

“I’m not, I’m not,” Buck laughs. “I’m exploiting child labor.”

Distantly, Christopher says “Hi, dad.”

“And you’re not helping at all?” Eddie raises his eyebrow and Chimney bets Buck can see it, miles away at their home.

“Chris is doing all the work, I swear, and we’re just gonna dump on the sauce I made, uh- Wednesday? Tuesday? Whatever, I can supervise boiling water. I didn’t even pick a pasta shape, c’mon, farfalle or fusilli?”

“Fusilli. You should be resting, Buck.”

Buck sighs, staticky over the speakers. “All I did today was move from the couch to the kitchen table, and I walked very slowly. I’m wrapped in a blanket and everything.” There’s a faint rustling sound and then Buck continues in a quieter voice. “I promised I’d tell you if something felt wrong. I’m alright, Eddie.”

Eddie bites his lips, and then takes the call off speaker and steps towards the kitchen. “You’re ok? You feel alright?” He spins his silicone wedding band around his finger as he listens. “Yeah. Yeah, before you wake up, probably.” He says “Buck” and Chimney always wondered how Eddie said that name and made it mean so much, folding in care and exasperation and adoration like he’s laminating butter between layers of dough. “Alright, I love you. I love you. Yeah. Tomorrow.”

He hangs up and as he exhales the alarm goes off overhead, because of course it does. Eddie starts towards the stairs but Chimney hurries forward and grabs him first and pulls him into the tightest hug he can. Eddie clings onto him for a moment, and they can only spare seconds for this attempt at comfort but he looks grateful when he pulls back, looks a little less tense.

"I love you, bud," Chimney says, and Eddie actually laughs at him as they head down the stairs. Chim swipes at the back of his brother in-law in-law's head as they pull on their gear and load into the engine and Eddie dodges with the practiced ease of a man with siblings. When they're in their seats and headed to the scene, though, Eddie leans forward and knocks his elbow into Chimney's knee.

"Love you, too." Eddie smiles. Three silhouettes in a car. A gentle touch. Things are going to be ok.

#eddie diaz #evan buckley #buddie #chimney han #911 fox #my writing

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loverhymeswith · 7 months

Text

The End is Extremely Fucking Nigh

Day Two of the October Dreams 1K Follower Event

Pairing: Jim (28 Days Later) x F!Reader

Summary: Holed up in a tiny cottage with Jim, problems and feelings ensue. The title kind of sums it up.

Word Count: 2.3k

Warnings: Zombies (kind of), blood, guns, canon-typical violence, language

A/N: Shout out to @a-reader-and-a-writer for plotting this with me <3

“Oi. That fucking hurts.”

Jim slaps your hand away with a scowl, tugging down his sweatshirt to cover the large bandage wrapped around his waist. The oversized jumper swamps his lithe frame - leaner since you’ve had to resort to rations.

“Well it hasn’t healed then, has it,” you remark, closing the lid of the makeshift first aid kit and stowing it away beneath the sink. “I told you it would take at least another week.”

“It’s fine,” he insists, his expression softening as he grabs you by the shoulders and squeezes. “I’m fine. Would you stop worrying?”

You’ve been this way for the last ten days - overly cautious and over-protective. Ever since Jim went and got himself shot by a bunch of trigger happy soldiers who mistakenly thought he was one of the infected. By some small miracle the bullet missed anything vital, but even so, he’s been out of action for a while.

“Maybe if you stop giving me reasons to worry.”

You’re only half-joking. Right from day one, when you found him bewildered and wandering around outside the abandoned St Thomas’ Hospital, you knew he was going to cause you trouble.

You hadn’t wanted company. Had actively avoided it, in fact. Even before the outbreak. You certainly hadn’t planned on rescuing anyone, let alone the enigmatic bicycle courier - you were barely surviving yourself - but after you’d intercepted Jim midway through his first encounter with the Rage virus, you hadn’t been able to shake him.

Six weeks later, you don’t know how you’d survive without him.

“How about I prove it to you, yeah?” There’s a spark in his bright blue eyes and his full lips upturn into the ghost of a smirk; he already knows you’re not going to like his suggestion. “I’ll go on a supply run.”

The thought alone is enough to make your stomach turn. The closest store is easily a day’s walk away and with a company of unbalanced soldiers roaming the nearest city, it’s far too risky to drive.

“Jim-”

“Look,” he releases your shoulders, sliding his palms along your arms until he reaches your hands. “We’re down to our last cup of coffee and I know how cranky you get without your caffeine.”

You’ve noticed it a lot lately. The jokes. The sarcasm. Once the initial shock had diminished and he got a hold of his grief, Jim turned to humour as a coping mechanism, determined to get you to laugh. To smile. And goodness knows, there have been nights when you’ve relied on it. On him. Nights when you’ve felt like giving up. Like falling apart. When the only thing standing between you and taking the easy way out - just as his parents did - is the man before you.

The fact of the matter is, your situation is dire. It’s not just the coffee. The food is running out. Clean water, too.

“We’ll manage a little while longer,” you lie as he gives your hands a final squeeze and releases you. “Either that, or I can go by myself.”

You’ve been unwilling to leave his side up until now. You couldn’t risk the chance that the infected - or worse - might descend upon your hideout while you were away, with Jim being far too weak to fight them off alone.

Paying no heed to your plea, Jim starts pulling on a worn pair of boots - a vestige of the previous inhabitants of this cottage, just like the rest of your clothes. He’s careful not to wince as he bends over, although you have no doubt that he’s in pain.

Straightening and facing you once again, he runs a hand through his russet hair. It’s growing out after the hatchet job he performed back when you first met. You hadn’t minded the severe look. It had certainly emphasised his features - high cheekbones, a sharp jaw, and of course, those piercing blue eyes.

But with his hair like this, just a little longer, he seems… softer.

“I just need to get out of this fucking house,” he tells you, shrugging on a thick jacket. “I won’t go far. Promise.”

You glance around the cramped kitchen and concede that your living arrangements have been somewhat confining. The tiny farm house on the outskirts of Manchester has less square footing than your old London apartment, which is an achievement in itself. But personal space doesn’t really factor in when you’re in the middle of the apocalypse.

It’s not all bad, though. You’ve been sharing the single bedroom under the pretext of safety, but as the weeks have worn on, you’ve come to find Jim’s presence comforting.

Some nights you wake before dawn to find his arms wrapped around you, his face buried in the crook of your neck. By morning, he’s back to his side of the bed and you know better than to mention it. No matter how much you might have warmed to one another, the end of the world is no time for falling in love.

You follow Jim towards the porch and watch as he checks over the old hunting rifle, just one of a handful of weapons the two of you have acquired along the way. Neither of you knew a thing about guns before the outbreak, but you’ve had little choice but to become fast learners.

“At least let me come with you.”

Jim pauses with the rifle slung over his shoulder and one arm outstretched towards the front door, his expression uncharacteristically firm. “You need to rest. When was the last time you got some proper sleep?”

“As if I’ll be able to sleep while you’re gone…” Even as the words leave your mouth, you find yourself leaning against the wall, fatigue fighting your instinct to stay close to his side.

In an unexpected gesture of affection, Jim reaches out and brushes his thumb over the swell of your cheek. “Just sit tight. I’ll be back before it gets dark.”

Despite Jim’s request for you to sit tight, you find yourself pacing the cottage in his absence. You don’t begrudge him the need for space after being holed up in here for the best part of two weeks. Still, you’d feel more comfortable if he wasn’t alone. If he wasn’t still healing.

It’s difficult to pinpoint, but somewhere along the way your feelings towards him have shifted. At first, he was an unnecessary hindrance. A tag along, slowing you down. Quickly though, you had grown accustomed to his presence, his company undeniably preferable to being alone with your own dark thoughts.

Yet it wasn’t until he’d been shot - until you’d almost lost him - that you realised quite how important he’d become. It was no longer a case of what he could do for you and more a question of whether you could exist without him.

Exhaustion finally claims you and against your better judgement, you find yourself curled up on the corner of the threadbare sofa, drifting off into a restless slumber. Every night since the outbreak, it’s been the same. You dream of crimson flowing through the streets. Of bloodshot eyes and burnt flesh. Of bodies piled high. Mourning all that you have lost. The past, nothing but a distant memory; the future, a destination you will probably never reach.

You wake with a start, plucked swiftly from sleep by the distant sound of tapping against glass. Your thoughts fly instantly to Jim. Scrambling to your feet, you grab the nearest weapon - a baseball bat - and nervously approach the door.

The eyes staring back at you through the window aren’t the colour of a winter sky at all.

They’re red.

Infected.

No.

The weeks of tending to Jim must have softened you. It takes a full ten seconds before your brain jumps into gear, recognising the danger for what it is. A death sentence. Because there’s more than one of them. A host of the infected, clawing at the cottage walls in a frenzied attempt to reach you.

Suppressing your fear for Jim and praying he’s not among the swarm, you stagger back from the door and exchange the baseball bat for the second rifle. You can’t possibly hope to outrun the infected. The neighbouring buildings are at least a mile away and you’ve barely eaten in days. The best chance you have is to pick them off one by one.

Providing they don’t get to you first.

It only takes another five seconds, just long enough for you to grab a handful of ammunition and ready the gun, before the first bloody hand breaks through the glass. With your heart in your mouth, bracing yourself for the kick back, you squeeze the trigger.

The explosion of the gun echoes throughout the small cottage, temporarily deafening you. When you open your eyes, the monstrous hand has disappeared only to be replaced by a face, coated in blood and filth and twisted into something no longer human.

You allow yourself the briefest flicker of relief. It’s not Jim. Then, ears still ringing from the first blast, you reload the rifle and take aim.

This time, the wooden door splinters as you miss the window.

Shit.

The infected has its head and shoulders wedged through the small gap now. It’s snarling and spitting, crimson eyes wide and thirsting for blood. Your hands, once steady, are shaking, your fingers fumbling with the small golden bullets as you try to jam them into the magazine.

Where the hell is Jim?

Your next shot finds its target. The infected - or what is left of it - slumps. But it’s a temporary reprieve. In the blink of an eye, the body disappears and another pair of glowing red eyes fills the window space. The onslaught is far from over

Shoot, reload, repeat.

Over and over again, you fire at the door until contaminated blood stains the cottage's wooden floor. But it’s no use. There are far too many of them. For every one of the rage victims you dispatch, another immediately takes its place.

Further inside the cottage, a second window shatters. Your heart sinks.

You’re surrounded.

A wave of hopelessness pushes you back against the wall as you struggle to catch your breath. The door isn’t going to hold for much longer and there's nowhere to run. You attempt to reload the gun, but your bullets are finally spent, the casings littering the floor. Jim took the second box of ammunition.

Where is Jim?

As a last resort, you flee the porch and hurry up the stairs, locking yourself in the bedroom. Despite the knowledge that it will only buy you a matter of minutes, you huddle against the far corner of the room, clutching the empty gun. This is what it has come to. All these weeks of fighting for survival. The foolishness of daring to hope for a future. Your feelings for Jim.

Jim.

If only you’d told him how you feel.

But in the end, none of it matters. It was all just borrowed time.

Tears of anger and frustration pool in your tired eyes. There’s banging and clattering and more glass shattering downstairs. The infected are inside the cottage now. You can hear their savage snarls as they scramble up the stairs. It was foolish of you not to save a bullet for yourself.

Any second now…

Too weak to put up a fight, you squeeze your eyes shut as the bedroom door crashes open, choking on a desperate sob. Death has been a constant presence these last weeks; you didn’t think you’d be quite so afraid when your time finally came. But just like the bullets, you’re fresh out of bravery. As you prepare to take your last breath, you send a silent prayer. Wherever you end up, you hope you’re not alone.

But death, painful and bloody, doesn't come.

Your eyes flash open at the sound of heavy breathing - panting - and a strangled cry tears from your throat. The figure filling the doorway is a terrifying sight to behold: drenched in sweat and blood and wielding a crimson-coated baseball bat, a wild expression on their once-familiar face. It looks as if they’ve clawed their way out of hell.

But they aren’t infected.

You know it by the pale blue eyes staring out at you through the layers of dirt.

"Jim."

The sound of his name seems to break whatever spell he’s under, the ice cold rage in his expression melting into something like recognition as he steps over the infected body lying lifeless at his feet. Beyond him, the cottage has fallen silent.

When he speaks, his voice is hoarse. “Are you ok? Tell me you haven’t been bitten.”

“I’m ok.” You’re more than ok. Because he’s here, alive and uninfected. Because he’s saved you.

Jim’s shoulders slump with obvious relief and even with the gun pointed in his direction, there’s no further hesitation. He closes the distance to you in two long strides before pulling you into his arms, his gaze rapidly darting across your face.

“I thought I was too late,” he rasps, cupping your cheek. “I thought I’d lost you. I can’t fucking lose you. Not after everything that’s happened. I can’t...”

You shake your head, afraid that if you open your mouth to interject, you’ll stumble. Or even worse, that with the adrenaline from your brush with death still coursing through your veins, you’ll say something stupid. Something like-

“I love you.”

You don’t have time to react, much less process Jim’s abrupt admission before his mouth crashes into yours and he’s kissing you. He’s kissing you like you’re the cure. It’s rushed and messy and desperate and so thoroughly Jim.

If he notices the tears that begin to spill down your cheeks he certainly doesn’t comment. If anything, he holds you tighter and kisses you harder.

With every brush of his lips, you can feel a piece of your fractured self falling back into place.

Perhaps the end of the world is the perfect time for falling in love.

October Dreams Taglist: @a-reader-and-a-writer @zablife

#cillian murphy #28 days later #jim 28 days later #october #october dreams #cillian murphy fanfic #follower celebration #halloween #zombies

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quitealotofsodapop · 5 months

Text

Part 3 of: @justweirddino sending in funny and accurate asks.

As always I have put transcripts in the alt image descriptions.

The Gold and Silver twins probs have a massive list of enemies and vengances they want resolve, but they're so absent-minded that they frequently forget just why they dont like that person/what they did. They def find their own names among their "black book" of enemies and are just puzzled.

They haven't unlocked his friendship events yet. Gotta feed and talk to Macaque everyday like a Stardew Valley npc before he unloads his trauma.

MK is willing to use the Staff if it means conflict resolution. He will use it to threaten others to be nice.

Oh gosh, I love the idea of Huntsman having legit rizz, but it completely flies over Sandy's head. FIshman is sweet but damn he bad at responding to obvious romantic signs. X3

Wukong saw glowsticks become a thing and would spend ages trying to figure out How. Why stick glow when cracked/bended? Why no heat? Why did people scream when he tried drinking the yucky liquid inside at the discotech? He did't have his Staff handy for their introduction, so the second the Staff is no longer sealing DBK, Wukong tries cracking the Staff to see if it glows. He breaks his knee instead. Macaque laughed while MK was just puzzled Why.

The second Macaque is gone; Wukong turns into a mega-bachelor again. Hyper impulsive, binge-watching Monkey Cop, eating nothing but peaches and takeout. The second Mac gets back from the moon, its like walking into a house after a frat party. He def yells at Wukong to clean up his mess.

Nudity is canon. Wukong busted out the furnace naked cus it burned his clothes off.

DEFINETELY. Wukong is gotdang short already (apparently less than 1.3m/4.26 ft in the book), and Macaque being just a little taller would get so on his nerves! XD Even if both monkeys (unglamoured) reach about the height of a teenager, Wukong is def wearing lifted shoes. Macaque taunts him about it endlessly.

Oh gosh, I have an idea for TMKATI-au in Chapter 3; where Pigsy and Tang are "whisper-arguing" in the kitchen while Shadowpeach are in the restaurant sheltering from the rain.

Pigsy: "I'm not about to harbor a pair of shady demons just cus they look pathetic in the rain!" Tang, the one who brought them there: "Aww, c'mon Piggy!" *whispers* "They're having a kid and it looks like they got kicked out or something..." Pigsy: *annoyed snort* Macaque, hearing the convo cus ears: "...Wukong do you honestly believe this place is safe?" Wukong: "Uh yeah - I order from here all the time!" Macaque: *judgemental glare* Wukong, laughes nervously: "Haha...Ok. I'm not 100% sure. Honestly I was thinking about how we're gonna get some food... You're in a... vunerable condition and I want to make sure we're at atleast fed and warm before deciding anything major. You know... future-wise." Macaque: *sighs tiredly* Pigsy & Tang, eavesdropping via kitchen counter: *looks at one another* Tang: *gives puppy-dog eyes* Pigsy, conflicted growling: "Grr... OK FINE! They can stay for some dinner and maybe crash on the futon for a bit. But once the rain clears off, I'm kicking them out!"

(Pigsy procedes to not kick them out, and instead over the course of the late-evening meal decides to hire Wukong/let the two monkeys stay in the empty top floor of the building. He's bad at saying no to Tang and bad at turning away sad-looking rain-soaked monkeys.)

I always love these ask-ins, even if I ramble a little off-topic with the ideas they gave me! As always ty @justweirddino !

I put the slightly rauchier ones under read more.

This one is 100% a line Tang has said aloud and in front of polite company without batting an eye. He has no shame.

Macaque and Wukong too. Gotta make sure anyone within striking distance knows that you're both taken. By eachother. Macaque says it to tease, Wukong says it as a warning.

And finally, an ask @justweirddino actually messaged me about ahead of time due to it being about a rather... spicy topic revovling around the immortal monkeys not understanding modern slang terms. Had to put it in two screenshot to fit.

Nezha has most modern slang downloaded into his brain by the time he gets to earth. Not to use, but to decipher.

Wukong is def the person to remember a random detail from a movie trailer from years ago and take what the trailer says at face value. Also the thought of him randomly declaring that a movie mom is a MILF, serious-faced as the others look at him like he grew three heads (again), is sending me XD

#lmk #lego monkie kid #lmk incorrect quotes #incorrect quotes #suggestive language tw #sun wukong #lmk pigsy #lmk tang #liu er mihou #six eared macaque #qi xiaotian #lmk mei #long xiaojiao #lmk nezha #the monkey king and the infant #the monkey king and the infant au #lmk au

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theyanderespecialist · 1 year

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Obsession For HIM (Headcanons/Scenario) Yandere Crimson X Tall M ReadeR

#tallreader #tallmalereader #malereader #Crimson #CrimsonHelluvaboss #Helluvaboss #yanderecrimson yanderehelluvaboss #yandere

[Hello, My Sexy Muffins! I am back with a new chapter! This one is going to be with Crimson, from helluva boss X Male Reader! I hope that you all enjoy this!]

Disclaimer 1: Crimson is somewhat homophobic and NOT gay in canon. This is just for fun, just because someone is yandere does not make them gay. Crimson is not gay in this for men, he is just obsessed with you as a man. You could be any gender he would not care. The headcanons will show how he shows it while still being homophobic!

Disclaimer 2: This is cross-dressing not transition in this. Just crossdressing.

Disclaimer 3: Crimson is NOT yandere in canon and not gay at all! this is just for fun and not to be taken seriously at all! Simping for fictional characters is fine, just do not be gross or illegal about it! Also, remember to separate fiction from reality! Yanderes and demons are NOT ideal partners to have in real life. Though I cannot stop you... Soooooo... You, do you muffins!]

[Enjoy!]

-Yandere Headcanons and scenario With Crimson (From Helluva Boss) X Male Reader-

.Crimson is not gay, he wants to make that very fricking clear!

.Though there is something about you that he cannot help but want to have.

.This man is greedy with you and would take you to be his.

.He also needs to be in control.

.So he would do two ways to be with you.

.Have you out in public crossdressing as a woman, that way no one would know that he is with a man.

.Or lock you away in the home where no one can see you so he keeps you as his sexy little lover.

.He is the type of yandere to not be afraid to threaten your loved ones.

.To use physical punishments.

.To do anything and everything to keep you in line!

.He also will want you to call him daddy and act like his slutty little lover.

.He is not afraid to refer to you as a woman in public but in private he does call you a man, HIS MAN.

.He is always on top though, which is another reason he is not the gay one, nothing is going up HIS butt.

.So it ain't gay.

.is very possessive and if ANYONE tries to touch you they will be dead.

.Anyone wants to say anything about him being gay, they are also sleeping with the fishes.

.He puts up with no BS, you are his and no one else can say or do anything about it.

.He expects you to fall into line.

.To do as told and not talk back.

.To be his good little love and that is that.

.Since you are a tall demon, he is shorter than you.

.Not that he minds.

.He finds ways around your height.

.Finds it hot for you have to bend down or get on your knees and lower to kiss and service him.

.He also would love the whole height thing.

.He likes the height on you and to pull you down and kiss you, making you bend. That is hot to him.

.Also he would dress you up as his sexy model doll.

.To keep you tall and proud.

.He would deal with rivals by having them removed for good.

.Also would romance you a bit and want you to call him daddy.

.Can seem charming but is very deadly.

.Confesses with you at gunpoint.

.He would not kill you but your family and friends? well, they are another story.

-Now Onto The Scenario-

(No One's POV)

You had a sack on top of your head. You could not see. You were bound and thrown into a van. You curse and struggle and try to get your arms free. Though it is no use. The van stops and you hear the door open. You are grabbed and more or less dragged out.

"Frick!" You curse as you are dragged out.

"HEY NumbNuts! You Dare Hurt Him and I will have your balls on a pike!" You hear a voice and then are moved over to someone's shoulder.

In a few moments, you are sat in a chair and the sack tore off. You wince and close your eyes at the bright lights.

"Shit..." You his out.

"Ah there he is, the pretty little doll~" You hear and open your eyes slowly to see an imp. "Well, maybe not so little. You are one tall mother Fricker."

"What the hell do you want with me?" You ask him.

"Aint it obvious doll face?" He asks. "You are gonna be my lover, ya hear if you don't well... I know where your ma and pa live. I know where all your friends and ex-lovers live. If you turn my love down, I will kill them all. I will make you watch as I do it and then I will frick you over their corpses. So what do you say doll?"

"I- Okay I am yours." You say not really having a choice.

"Good girl." He says and then pulls you down to his height kissing you deeply. "You are mine now you hear~ Only I can do anything with you."

You nod your head and he smirks.

"Take my doll up to his room, get him ready for tonight, I am going to show him, just how much I can break a tall man like him down~"

You are moved up to a different room and then told to shave and get dressed in a male thong. You were now his and he was going to make you his tonight!

[YASSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS another chapter is done, I hope you all enjoyed it, and stay sexy all my sexy muffins!]

#yandere #yandere crimson #yandere headcanons #yandere helluva boss #yandere scenarios #scenarios #headcanons #helluva boss #helluva boss crimson #crimson #crimson x reader #crimson x male reader #reader #tall reader #tall male reader #male reader

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astralisbelle · 1 year

Text

Dead Man's Hand 3 - I Need You

Dead Man's Hand Masterlist tags: tags: engineer!reader, gambler!reader, loose canon timeline, eventual smut, fluff, action, casino aesthetics, touch starved reader, touch starved din, reader and din get on each other’s nerves, also they’re idiots, defrosting ice king din, cinderella vibes, everybody loves grogu

chapter summary: Mando returns to Tatooine to recruit the only person for the job.

The apprentice sifts through the new junk that the Jawas brought earlier that day, inspecting each piece of scrap and spare part. By far, the worst way to spend a day in her opinion.

Though, she knows that she should be grateful to Peli for sticking her neck out for her and saving her. Safety means passing the hours doing boring things like counting the grooves on each gear and pulling apart a compressor. The last time she really felt stimulated enough was working on the Razor Crest…

The faraway whistling of an incoming ship hit her ears. Another customer? Standing up from her spot, she stepped out towards the landing platform where Peli waits. Immediately, her mentor gives a light smack to her arm. “What did you do to Mando’s ship?”

“Ow! I fixed it!”

“Then why is he coming back?” She points up.

“What?” No, that’s impossible. She fixed it to perfection, that much she is certain of. Why is he back? Unfortunately for Peli, her rookie has a way with words. “Maybe he’s here to ask you on a date.”

Peli smacks her again, but this time elicits a snicker instead. “You better hope he’s not here to complain.”

“For his sake, he better not be.” She is prepared to defend her work if necessary. Besides, the Mandalorian seems like the type who might not appreciate such expertise. The two women wait for the Crest to touch down and for her hatches to open. Shuffling down the best he can, Grogu extends his arms towards Peli, who welcomes him.

“Hey, kiddo! Did you miss me that much?” she asks, bending over to pick him up. Following behind him is the Mandalorian, a swiftness in his stride.

“What brings you?” asks the apprentice. “Not satisfied with my work?”

“Ship’s fine,” he answers.

Oh. Good. She closes her jaw, seeing no need for any bark. Stars, what if she was right?

“Oh, that’s good,” says Peli. “So what brings you? Oh! You got a job in the area? Want us to babysit the little one?”

“Not exactly. I need the girl.”

“I told you, I’m not – wait, what?”

The Mandalorian crosses his arms. “How good are you at sabacc?”

She narrows her eyes at him, wondering just what in the galaxy was he thinking with a statement like that. Usually, she's pretty good at reading people, but his helmet complicates things. “...What do you know about that?”

“Peli tells me you were caught cheating.”

“I didn’t cheat! I don’t cheat!” She places herself between him and Peli, wanting him to see the full brunt of her expression. “I explained this to my employer already. I. Don’t. Cheat. I’m not light fingered nor do I use cheaters.”

“Then why did they accuse you?”

“Because I was winning too much.” She shrugs. “It’s not that hard.”

“So you’re lucky?”

She rolls her eyes. “That’s adorable. Luck only takes you so far.”

“What do you mean?”

She bites down on her bottom lip, glancing back to Peli for a brief moment, who simply shrugs. Turning back to the Mandalorian, she crosses her arms. “Is there a point to all of this?”

“Yes.”

Peli nods. “Alright, you two. Let’s sit down and talk about this like adults. Isn’t that right, little one?” she says, cooing at him as she leads them to a table with chairs. Once everyone is settled and Grogu is given a little snack to occupy him, the Mandalorian explains it all.

“There’s a sabacc tournament in Canto Bight. The grand prize is five ingots of beskar, the metal of my people. I have to get it back for them.”

The girl leans back in her chair. “So, you’re looking for tips? I guess I could try to teach you.”

“I can’t enter the tournament. It would require me to remove my helmet, so I’m looking for someone to stand in for me. Someone I can trust.”

Peli gives a single, loud, “hah!” She slaps the table. “What? Don’t tell me you want to enter this one.”

She nearly falls out of her chair. For a street urchin on Tatooine, the thought of leaving and going somewhere as glamorous as Canto Bight was nothing more than a dream, a fantasy. Then she looks down at herself, in dirty clothes and covered in sand and dust, smelling of metals and gas. The thought of being among the rich and beautiful looking like this is… intimidating to say the least.

“What if I did?” he says.

“You sure? She cheats.”

“I do not cheat!” She slams her hand on the table. “I count!”

The Mandalorian tilts his head. “Count?”

Of course they wouldn’t get it. Neither of them play this game like she does. “Okay, see if you can follow this. A deck has seventy-six cards, right? Sixty regulars, sixteen specials like The Star and The Evil One. All I do is keep track of where that card is or could be through process of elimination and probability.”

“Wait.” The Mandalorian leans forward. “You’re telling me you can keep track of an entire deck of cards? In your head?” He sounds… impressed, actually, from the little she can gleam from his modulated voice.

“I-It’s not much different than keeping ship schematics in your head.” She shrugs, trying to play it cool. “See? It’s not cheating.”

“Huh.” He sits back. “I guess it’s not.”

Peli glances between the two. “Hey, hey, wait a minute! You’re not seriously thinking of taking her, are you?”

He couldn’t be, no way. “Why not?” he responds.

She laughs at him. “Have you seen me? I-I don’t exactly look like someone who should be walking around Canto Bight unless I’m fixing the heat. Besides, those tournaments have a ridiculous buy-in, don’t they?”

“I have the credits for the buy-in.”

She gulps. "And this?” she gestures to herself.

“We can buy new clothes there.”

Is he serious? “Wait, wait, wait.” She holds up her hand. “What’s in it for me?”

“Yeah, and for me?” asks Peli. “She’s my responsibility, remember?”

“I understand that any credits you win in the tournament are yours to keep,” he says. “I don’t need them. Just the beskar. And you can take a percentage of her winnings. How’s that?”

The women glance at each other slowly, the air silent other than Grogu’s soft sounds. “Fifty percent,” says Peli.

“No way. Ten.”

“Forty.”

“Twenty.”

“Thirty-five.”

“Twenty-five, final offer.”

“Fine!”

Grogu claps his hands together and smiles.

The Mandalorian stands up. “How soon can you leave?”

“How soon can I… oh.” Yes, she would have to leave to go to the tournament, wouldn’t she? Leave Tatooine for the first time in her life. Years spent looking at the stars, watching ships coming and going, and now it is finally her turn. Ah, but this trip did not come cheap.

She stares into the black of the Mandalorian’s visor, trying to guess how he looks underneath. Does he peer at her, scrutinizing her behind the safety of his helmet? Or maybe, is he smiling out of gratitude? Either could be true, but she would never know.

It only takes her a couple of minutes to gather a small pack of belongings – it isn’t as if she has a lot to begin with. Just trinkets and personal essentials.

“Bring her back in one piece!” says Peli. She waves with the droids, granting her a much needed smile.

“I will.” He ushers her into the Razor Crest, a gloved hand pushing against her back. He has a rough touch fitting for a bounty hunter, clearly impatient. When they sit down in the cockpit, he says nothing else to her while he fires up the Razor Crest, no words of gratitude or anything of the sort.

He is as cold as the armor he dons.

I know I’m here because he needed someone he could trust… but can I trust him?

If she couldn’t, then she knew she shouldn’t be going to Canto Bight of all places. Too late to turn back now.

#din djarin #din djarin x reader #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian #the mandalorian fanfic #work: dead man's hand #finally get some reader and din woooooooooooo

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ssa-atlas-alvez · 2 years

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Whumptober Day 10 (Aaron Hotchner x y/n Hotchner)

No. 10 POOR UNFORTUNATE SOULS

Taser | Whipping | Waterboarding

Alt: tears, whimpering

Warnings: child abuse (straight after the cut), alcoholism, homophobia, f-slur, homophobic parent, internalised homophobia

Word count: 1629

A/N: we’re bending canon a little, Hotch joined the BAU a lot sooner (like 8 or so years before aha hope yall don’t mind, we’ll say after he got his law degree thing, he did a few years of law-ing until aged 24?)

@whumptober-archive

“No, no, no, no, no, I’m sorry- I’m sorry, I s-swear-” Your words are rushed and messy as you say them, scurried back.

"Shut up, boy," Your father slurred. “My son, the faggot,”

You gave a sob, your stomach dropping. You felt like you were going to be sick. You had been cocky and it got you caught. His car wasn’t there, how were you supposed to know he was home? You had kissed your best friend, Michael, after the two of you had decided to test the waters into being more than friends and gone on a date (to see a movie). And he had seen through the blinds.

“I’m sorry, dad, I’m sorry, I swear-” The strike was expected, but still took you by surprise. You didn’t fight back, knowing that there was no point, that he was too fueled by hatred and alcohol to care.

When the hits eventually stopped, you waited, curled up on the floor, waiting for him to leave the room. You heard him wander upstairs, shutting his bedroom door loudly behind him. You drag yourself up, wincing in pain as you do. You climb the stairs slowly, knowing that moving any faster would cause more harm than good. When you enter your room, you shut the door gently behind you.

You limp to your bed, throwing yourself down, whimpering as you did so. You reached blindly under your bed hidden at the bottom of a box of photos is the cellphone Aaron got you, telling you not to tell your father about it. He'd just take it away and right now it was your only link to the outside world. You pause when you’ve got the phone in your hand, letting your emotions flood through you for a moment, sobbing loudly, hand covering your mouth in a desperate attempt to muffle them. When you’ve recovered, you dial Aaron's number, you knew that because of his work he had to keep his phone on at all times.

Aaron’s phone woke him up, turning over with a roll, he saw at the time. 3 AM. His stomach dropped seeing your name flash on his phone. “(Y/N)? What happened?”

“I pissed him off,” Came your pained reply. “I just wanted to hear your voice. Calms me down,”

Aaron gave a sigh at his brother’s words. “I’m coming to get you,”

“I can take it, Aaron,” You mumbled.

“I don’t care. I’m coming to get you,”

“I can take it,”

“(Y/N), I’m doing what I should have done at eighteen,” Aaron said strongly, “I’m picking you up and you are going to live with me and Haley,”

"No, Aaron, it's fine, really, I'm fine,"

"No, (Y/N), it's not. You're not fine either," Aaron said, "Lock you door, pack your things. Don't open the door unless it's me, okay?"

You nodded, mumbling an okay as you walked to the door, locking it. "I've locked the door,"

"Good, now pack everything you can." He said, you heard shuffling, assuming it was him getting out of bed. "I will be there soon, pack as much as you can, we'll come back for the rest."

"Okay," You whispered, "Are you sure this is okay? Haley won't mind?"

You heard Aaron quietly explaining the situation before another voice popped up, "Of course I don't mind, (Y/N)," Haley responded. You relaxed, okay, Haley didn't mind. That was all that mattered. If she didn't mind then it was okay. Everything would be okay.

"How long until you get here?"

"I'll be there in half an hour, okay?"

"Okay,"

“How bad is it?” You paused, wincing in pain. “(Y/N)?”

“I’m fine,” You hear Aaron sigh on the other side of the line.

“(Y/N)-”

“I’m fine.” You don’t mean to snap, but you do.

"Are you going to be okay until I get there?"

"Yeah, I'll be fine."

"(Y/N), come out, come out wherever you are," Your blood ran cold at the slurred voice from the hallway.

"Aaron, please hurry," You whispered.

"I will." You gulped as your father slammed his fist against your door.

"Come on (Y/N)!" He yelled, "Just open the door,"

Ignoring the voice of your father and the pain spread throughout your body (motivated by the time limit Aaron had given you), you looked around your room, gathering your school work from your desk and floor, shoveling it into your school bag. When you had finished with that, you moved on to your clothing. You knew that if push came to shove, Aaron would let you steal some of his clothes if you needed it. You were just hoping you didn't necessarily need to.

You don’t reply, trying your best not to listen to the comments he yells through the door, the threats, taunts, you block them out the best you can as you continue to pack. You’re nearly done, school work all in your backpack and you’ve got the majority of your clothes in another bag.

You hear the front door open and slam shut and you know it’s Aaron. Your father is silent on the other side of the door as Aaron loudly climbs the stairs, letting you know he’s here. Perfect timing, you’ve just finished packing all of your essentials into the bag. You zip it up, clutching it and your backpack in your hands tightly.

“What are you doing here?!” His slurs are more pronounced now and you imagine he’s also swaying on his feet.

“I’m taking (Y/N),” Aaron’s voice is tight and leaves no room for argument.

“You want him? Have him.” Your father snarls. There’s a soft knock on your door.

“(Y/N)?”

“Aaron?” You ask, wanting to make sure it’s him before you open the door.

“Yeah, come on,” He says, you give a small ‘okay’ as you unlock the door. You can tell that Aaron’s trying not to react to the sight of your face, littered with bruises and cuts (some of which are slightly bleeding). “You all packed?”

You nod, holding up the two bag. “Alright,” He says, “I’ll take them, you go sit in the car.” You give him an unsure look but nod and do as he says. As you’re making your way down the stairs, you hear Aaron beginning to talk. “You come near him again, I’ll kill you.”

“Shouldn’t be talking to me like that, boy, I’m your father,"

“You never were a father.” Is his response before he, too, makes his way down the stairs. “Come on, I’m taking you to the emergency room.”

You shake your head, “Aaron, no, I’m fine,” You argue as he places your bags in the boot of his car before the pair of you climb into his car.

“I just want to check, alright?” You huff but nod, knowing he won’t let it drop (and because if Haley finds out you wouldn’t let Aaron take you she’d give you her signature look of disappointment).

You watch the nurses and doctors eye Aaron up with caution at your condition. They think he’s the one who did this to you, you know it and Aaron does too - you watch his hands tense at his side. He hates the idea of people thinking he hurt you. “Are you alright?” You ask softly.

He turns to you, giving you a strange look, “Should I be the one asking you that?”

You grin, giving a small laugh, “You look worse than me,” Aaron laughs and you join in, wincing as you do and concern flashes across Aaron’s face. The nurses and doctors, seeing this realise that he couldn’t have been the one that hurt you.

You’re called in not long after that, into a small room, you sit on the bed, Aaron stood close to your, hand protectively on your shoulder, letting you know that he was here. “I think it would be best if you gave us a minute alone,” The doctor says as she looks at Aaron. Aaron nods, removing his hand from your shoulder.

“Please don’t make him leave,” You whisper, looking at the woman with wide, pleading eyes. “It wasn’t him, please don’t make him go,” She nods and you breathe a sigh of relief.

“Who was it?” She asks, you look at Aaron, unsure whether you should answer.

When Aaron nods, you turn back to her, “My dad,” You say.

“We’re looking into ways to press charges.” Aaron adds.

“What? When did we agree to that?” You ask, looking at him in confusion.

“I meant me and Haley,”

You scoff with a smirk, “Of course, she’s got you wrapped around her finger, you know,” Aaron merely rolls her eyes.

Severe bruising, bruised ribs, and a mild concussion. But otherwise you’re fine. You’re still sat on the bed, Aaron sat next to you, waiting for the discharge forms.

“What set him off?”

“I-” Aaron’s heart broke as your voice cracked and you took in a shaky breath. He knew that you were unsure whether or not to actually tell him what had happened.

Aaron gently rubbed circles on your back, “Hey, I’m not leaving - not again. I’m your brother, through thick and thin,” He soothed, “Nothing will push me away, okay?”

You nodded, “He saw me kissing Michael.” Aaron wiped the tear that had fallen, carefully guiding your head to his chest.

“It’s okay,” He whispered, you gave a sob. “It’s alright, I promise. I won’t let anything bad happen to you again.”

“I- I tried not to like him, I promise, Aaron I promise,”

“Hey, (Y/N), I need you to listen to me,” Aaron paused, waiting for you to nod. When you do, he continues, “It’s okay. It doesn’t matter who you like as long as you both treat each other right, that’s all that matters.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

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snorlaxlovesme · 2 months

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this is called giving Live Action Avatar a fair chance

the Netflix live action Avatar has always been a strange beast. it's a thing no one wanted after the disastrous 2010 movie. public perception of it was extremely low after Bryke walked out on it because of creative differences (disheartening as well as concerning). people tore apart the teaser stills and completely thrashed the early trailers. the news that Sokka's sexism plot was being altered had fans frothing at the mouth. the show seemed to be caught in this limbo where it had an incredibly low bar to rise above, in terms of trouncing The Last Airbender Movie, and infinitely high bar it would be impossible to reach, in terms of the original A:TLA.

now. if i can't go into a live action adaptation with an open mind, i will not watch it. live action Yu Yu Hakusho came out several months ago, and the vibes I got from trailer were not what I wanted, so I shelved it. if I'm going to sit down and watch a re-telling of one of my favorite pieces of media, I'm going to do my damnedest to go in with as open of a mind as a I can bear, because I like to have a good time and I can't do that constantly dogging on something.

so. my rule of thumb is generally this: treat any live action adaptation as fanfiction. if i can recognize the characters and recognize the plot, that's fine. i'm not looking for anything crazy, just interesting fanfiction. that's the level of closeness to canon i'm expecting. bar is on the floor.

and in terms of Good Television, my expectations are also incredibly low. good TV has 1. good writing 2. good acting 3. good action/SFX. for adaptations the best i'm looking for is ONE out of three. the lower my expectations, the more fun i get to have.

i'm explaining all of this because, while I have not seen reviews of Netlix Avatar yet, I know just how brainless the masses can be and i need you to know that THESEEE are the expectations you should be having when going into these things. Avatar: The Last Airbender is hailed as an example of a nearly PERFECT show. if you are expecting that kind of excellence from an adaptation you are simply deranged and I will not be reading your bad faith interpretations of the show.

with these expectations in mind, it's easy to see why i'm loving Netflix Avatar so much. why? because it cleared one of my very low expectations. the bending in the show looks pretty good! the writing of the show is average! some of the actors are quite charming! i am pleased!

i have seen 3 episodes so far ("Aang" through "Omashu", and yes these episode titles DO suck, I'll concede to that)

so, now that i've gotten that little manifesto out of the way, let's get into some actual Thoughts So Far:

-the way the first episode was structured was very cool. i like that they didn't throw us in at the same spot we started in A:TLA. and to avoid the horrible exposition dump the movie gave us, instead they just showed us the start of the war. i like the tactical inclusion that Sozin let word get out that the Fire Nation would attack the Earth Kingdom first to throw the Air Nomads off his scent. i also thought it was cool so show us a day in the life at the Easter Air Temple. the setting was gorgeous and I loved seeing all the monks doing their own thing. it made you feel so attached to the Air Nomads and their kindness and gentleness, so when they were attacked you truly felt for them.

-Monk Giatso's actor was fantastic. i was gagged that they had my crying less than 20 min into the first episode, what the fuck

-Gran Gran reciting Katara's opening speech line by line was funny, hokey, and exactly what I wanted. loved that for her and loved that for ME

-i like the change that Katara has to waterbend in secret for her own safety, not simply because she doesn't have a master

-it felt appropriate that they made Sokka take his warrior/protector role more seriously. the "i gotta go potty" bit from that like 6 year old in the original is hilarious but I don't think that sort of humor would have translated well to live action. i like that Sokka really was a leader to the ragtag group of kiddos and like one teenage boy. and him asking Zuko to duel with him one and one!! a very sweet early act of bravery

-in general i'm just really liking how they're approaching Sokka's character. all the fuss over "they're taking out Sokka's sexism" arc felt idiotic to me for weeks because like of course they did?? let's be SO real here, if you have never seen the original and are watching Netflix Avatar blind for the first time, are you going to rock with the protagonist who makes "girls' only jobs are cooking and sewing" jokes? in 2024? in this sociopolitical climate that shit would NOT fly and people would drop the show for stuff like that. no one would wait to see his character growth, people's attention spans aren't long enough for that these days. plus, for all the naysayers boohooing because that's Sokka's whole character arc, it's literally not! that nasty personality trait sticks with Sokka for FOUR episodes. having his character arc revolve around his identity as a warrior is much more in-line with Sokka's ACTUAL arc. he can skip the "sew my pants" jokes so we can get to his real root of his conflict, being a non-bender and a novice warrior in a world of extreme violence and feeling inferior because of it

-i don't mind that they made Zuko less aggressive. again, with the bar of the original A:TLA being SO fucking high, ESPECIALLY because of Zuko, Netflix was never going to reach that level of excellence. so I'm okay with this Zuko being a little more level-headed and more of a mindless Fire Nation Greatness truther because it's a decent interpretation of his character, for fanfiction. consider everybody on planet earth know that Zuko will eventually be a Good Guy, we don't have to go out of our way to show that he's a giant asshole. we already know he's a good boy.

-on that note I love the bait and switch with the Jet introduction. seeing a cute boy flirting with Katara, I couldn't immediately tell if that merchant boy was just a one-off kind character, or maybe Haru because of his clothing and the way his hair was styled. to have him turn out to be Jet was FUN because it showed me that despite knowing the original canon forwards and backwards, this show can still find ways to surprise me. i had been talking with my sister about whether or not they were going to include Bumi (and his shenanigans) because that's a plot twist that worked when the show originally aired, but wouldn't hit at all in an adaptation where we all know who Bumi is already. where I'm currently at in the show I'm still not sure if we'll see his inclusion or not, but i still appreciated that new bait and switches are possible.

-this meant basically all the Omashu episode was very fun. they way they wove the Freedom Fighters and Mechanist's stories together was very interesting and i liked how fresh it felt

-Suki's actor is incredibly gorgeous. with and without the make-up. that needed to be it's own point because oh my god

-i love that she gave Sokka and fan and i'm DYINGGG to see him use it in a battle

-THEY INCLUDED KYOSHI NOVEL LORE AND I SCREAMED

-they included AVATAR KYOSHI FIGHT SEQUENCES AND I SCREAMED

-i probably should have mentioned this way sooner but Aang's actor is such a little cutie. he's doing such a great job capturing Aang's energy. both wise and playful and so so sweet. i love him

-i found it hilarious that they waited three episodes for Katara to bring up her dead mom. we all know that the super generic and boring critiques of Katara are 1. too much dead mom talk 2. too much hope talk 3. too motherly. i feel like the show intentionally waited two and a half episodes for Katara to bring up Kya and that's so funny to me. they also have only let her mention hope like twice lol. my girl is being STIFLED

-special effects are honestly really good? some of aang's flying is a little wonky but the firebending and waterbending so far as looked fantastic. i haven't seen much earthbending so far besides that opening sequence but i was impressed by that too. and Aang and Zuko fighting in Omashu with Zuko not using his bending? SO much fun. the choreo was awesome, i loved the set piece of fighting amongst all those scarves.

-building off that, Appa and Momo are very cute. the creatures al look pretty good too. ostrich horses look great

all in all, lots of really good stuff so far. i only have minor criticisms, and they're mostly things I can deal with. Iroh's acting is weird to me. it sounds like it's putting on a silly voice instead of speaking how he normally would, so it scans as off-putting. also in terms of costuming, Iroh's wig is WIGGING so much more than other cast members. it looks so glued on and shaped with hairspray. Mai and Ty Lee (one seen them for a moment so far) also just look like random cosplayers who wandered on set. and i guess both Monk Giatso's reveal of Aang being the avatar, as well as Gran-Gran's immediate understanding that Aang is the avatar, both happened extremely fast.

but yeah! those are my thoughts so far. again, I have no idea what public perception of this show is. i'm trying to avoid reviews and probably won't be back on tumblr until i've at least made it to episode 6. then maybe i'll come back and write more if my opinion drastically changes or I think the world will need another stern talking to about what to expect from an adaptation

#oh fuck i should probably tag this for spoilers but idk what tags ppl are using #live action avatar #netflix atla #avatar live action #ehh? i guess? don't read this if you haven watched episodes one through three yet #netflix avatar

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jade-of-mourning · 2 months

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hey. I’m back. you probably didn’t miss me LOL, but I saw your response to my ask and I got really excited 😭

okay so I actually sent the ask about posting to ao3 with the avatar mako concept in mind cuz I love making my non-avatar faves the avatar,,, and then I noticed you said asks about hcs and stuff are welcome so⁉️⁉️

I would love to hear more about the avatar mako au if you’re willing (that summary has me SO pumped btw)

and if it’s not too much of a bother, would you mind an ask about a little blurb idea I had but don’t really know how to write? I appreciate the word vomit response btw it makes me feel appreciated!! as you can probably tell I do a little word vomit when I get excited so. lol. love when my insanity is reciprocated :]

-🐌

welcome back anon! it's lovely to hear from you again <3

ah yes i too am a fan of reading non-avatar!avatar aus; they're so fun! also ty for enabling to talk about my au gfsjhjbhkfsdgjh i'll word vomit beneath the cut lol

and finally, yes! feel free to send it in :) i'd be happy to help if i can, though no guarantees </3

the au starts about four years prior to when book 1 takes place in lok, so mako, bolin, and asami are all aged down four years while the equalist revolution is not yet on the horizon — though i'm keeping the aid kids roughly the same age as they were, just because i want to play off their dynamic :P

in the context of Why No Avatar Korra, aang's temporary death during the crossroads of destiny led the avatar spirit to pass onto a water tribe child — until aang promptly un-died and raava returned, with a small part of her spirit left in the other to sustain their survival. (kind of playing off the avatar!yue theory and some of those theories floating around from book 1's airing lol.) so basically when aang died 54 years later, raava was unable to move on to the next avatar immediately, so she waited in a sort of suspended stasis until the not-avatar passed and the cycle returned at earth. i'm not sure how much i'll actually explore this in the fic, if at all, but yeah here's the explanation.

so mako is technically the earth avatar, but his firebending visibly pulled up first so he was just assumed to be a firebender. fast forward, dead parents & pre-canon sort of plays out as i tend to headcanon it, including lots of casual Bad Things and Horrible Trauma-Inducing Circumstances. however, as mako gets older he starts to realize that there might be a slight issue in that he can bend both fire and earth.

okayyy… okay this is fine. it's probably because his parents are from both nations. (he breaks into the library to verify that no, dual benders do not exist even in mixed families.) he doesn't know what the triple threats would do to him if they found out — would they exploit him further, or would they straight up kill him? he keeps it a secret from everyone, including bolin, because for all that he loves bolin considerably more than he loves life itself, bolin is also largely terrible at keeping secrets and this isn't something anyone can ever know. he doesn't practice any of the other elements, sticking to firebending exclusively, so aside from this added weight of such a heavy secret on his shoulders, up to fourteen it all goes the same.

(some casual Bad Things include, but are not limited to: the horrors of industrial age 1920s child homelessness, recruitment into the gang, lightningbending, and being trained specifically by zolt for intimidation factor and potential takeover. there's an unfortunate amount of child abuse and exploitation going on there.)

and then he's at a transaction with the triple threats when they get busted by the police, including lin beifong herself. mako is very much a fighter and very good at it, in that despite having not been trained properly, he's still vicious and entirely desperate due to his determination to stick around for bolin. he will bite your head off if he feels backed into a corner and will do whatever it takes to come out on the other side. his rage at the world has yet to subside after six years on the streets at age fourteen. he has zero chill and has no slowly coming sense of stability that he's on the cusp of gaining around his introduction in canon. he is both way worse and way better at repressing his feelings here than he is at eighteen, but that'll probably get explored in the fic, so i'll leave it here. anyway this is where lightning-happy mako slips up and accidentally earthbends directly at the Chief; and where most officers would've probably just let it slide under the assumption that they were going crazy, lin beifong does not do crazy.

so this is where the fic starts, as you probably read from the first draft snippet. a lot of set up that will probably never come up, at least not so explicitly like this, but it'll probably write itself in somehow. going on, we've got some air island arrival shenanigans, where mako first tries denial, realizes that it's not going to work, and outwardly verbally acquiesces with the whole fine-you-caught-me-i'll-be-the-avatar bullshit. internally, he is calculating the price of the artifacts in the room and the chances of him grabbing bolin from headquarters and the two of them bailing it out of the city with the sold-artifacts' profit.

so the question is, why would mako run when he's being offered the opportunity to have some semblance of safety and comfort for the first time in his life?

because mako, disbeliever of pacifism, is convinced that tenzin is going to kill him once he realizes that it isn't worth the effort trying to domesticate this violent street kid who's experienced an unbelievable amount of trauma and has a learned, deep-set cynicism for the world — if it's even possible at all. that tenzin will quickly come to deem that the world may as well wait another decade-plus for a better avatar. mako's selfish and even if he knows that his death would enable an actually competent avatar that would acutally help the world to be reborn, he refuses to leave bolin alone (even if a small part of him knows that if it weren't for bolin, him being so very tired so very often probably would've just allowed this path to happen). that's a major-minor plot point.

i'll leave it at that for now before i just write out my entire outline in this post :P but yeah, it'll feature mako learning to care for the world again, plus some quality mako & jinora friendship, bolin acquiring a mother figure in pema, and a peculiar mako & asami relationship after events in which, and i quote from my outline chapter summary, "Mako discovers that trying to steal from Rich Girl Asami Sato is a bad idea."

#lychee acquires and answers asks #snowglobes don't shake on their own #lychee's word trash

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ask-rw-dark-au · 4 months

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Hello, you don't really need to answer this ask. I just enjoy your blog and well, idn, I just want to give a little bit of advice/encouragement. I'm bad with words, specially in English, which is not my first language, please don't take this as an insult or offense, I really tried to just come here in friendly terms (terms? That's how you said it? Idn 😅)

What I wanted to say it's, whatever you do in any fandom it's always best to do it for intrinsic motivators, specially if the fandoms are small. Having engament it's great, I'm a fanfic writer, I know that feeling of seeing any comment in my stories, but I learned long ago that I must do things for myself, for my personal enjoyment and fulfilment.

Don't get me wrong, i enjoy your blog, you will probably figure out who I am bc I'm gonna reblog stuff lmao but you know, do this for your own personal happiness, not to seek engament. I have stories from 2013 and even 2015 that to this day have no comments but I'm fine with it. I really enjoyed writing them and I'm proud of them, even if they have almost no engament at all, I wouldn't delete them for any reason <3

What I try to say it's try to not seek motivation in extrinsic motivators like engament and just do it to have fun! Do it for you, not expecting attention, but to just have fun and feel nice inside. Do gender bend, play with sexuality and relationships, explore and come out with new designs and lore, and enjoy it fully. Don't be afraid to take breaks if you need and come back when you feel like yeah, I wanna have fun with this again! I may be shooting myself in the foot since I'm saying dude take a break if you need, that it's totally fine, even tho I wnana see more of your ideas, but seriously, your personal enjoyment comes first :D

So yeah, have fun, ignore the haters and all that people that don't get what Au means can go live under a rock ;v

Have a nice day/night 😘

thank you so much for the ask !!!!! im answering it so other people can see since i think this is a really really good message,,,

i do my best to do things for my own enjoyment, and i do absolutely LOVE this au and i love making it :3333

however, ive always struggled with doing things i enjoy because of how often its ignored by friends, family, ect, so im prone to forgetting even though it was enjoyable

engagement helps me remember it exists, helps me get new ideas, and mostly helps me know that its worth posting to places. i dont enjoy doing things when nobody knows it exists, and although im not sure why, its kinda just how it goes for me idk man SHGSSGD

ive been taking breaks periodically throughout winter break, and thats why i usually answer asks in short bursts since it means they all build up and then i can answer them all at once :3 i get myself hyped to answer and then i can and it works pretty well for me,,,

fr man i think. i think that "au" is a bigpart of the "ask rw dark au"

sure, just about nothing in this au is the same as canon, but thats. thats the point of an au im just silly like that !!!!!!

ive been working on not relying on engagement to enjoy things, ive been getting better about it and i have been able to make things just because i like them

idk if it makes sense or not, but sometimes it feels like i shouldnt enjoy something when nobody else does or seems to, you know? ive struggled with people pleasing for years as well as having problems with adhd / anxiety (unmedicated) making it difficult for me to kinda just. do things guh

im not saying this bc i disagree because i dont at all i completely agree with what youre saying and i do genuinely appreciate this !!!!!

im working on getting better abt it and i think im going to delete the reblog post soon just because i dont really think its worth it, hopefully if i just keep answering asks and making designs and drawing these silly creatures ill be able to get past the worry that people dont like it and just start posting because i like it !!!

thank you so much !!!!!!!

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440mxs-wife · 2 years

Text

It’s About Time

Pairing: Bucky x F!Reader, mention/hint of Dean x F!Reader (past). Other Characters: Steve Rogers, Sam Wilson, Natasha Romanoff, Wanda Maximoff, Tony Stark, Peter Parker, Thor Odinson, Loki Laufeyson, Clint Barton, Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester and Jeremiah Nelson/Demon!Dazon (OMC). Mentioned: Happy Hogan and Bobby Singer.

Word Count: 6456

Warnings: Canon-typical violence, but for the most part, here there be FLUFF. (And maybe some references to “bow-chicka-wow-wow” times, but no smut.)

Summary: The final battle is at hand, with the Demon Dazon making his appearance. Everything seems to be going to plan, until....it doesn’t. A wrinkle in the plan appears from an unexpected source, so you have to think fast. You only hope your hunting skills will be enough to be successful in defeating Dazon and avenging your parents.

A/N: Last part!! It all comes down to the final battle between the Hunters and Avengers vs. the Demons. And of course, there was no way I was going leave this without including a wedding! This has been a fun mini-series to write, but the characters make it so easy. Thank you all so much for joining me on this ride, and hope you like this last part.

A/N 2: You;ll find Part 1, Perfect Timing here, Part 2, Running Out of Time here, Part 3 In the Nick of Time here, and Part 4, Turning Back Time here. Enjoy!

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

By the time you and Bucky had joined the gala, it was nearly in full swing. You saw the usual crowd of CEOs and other executives with their wives in attendance, along with some government officials. Some were dancing, others were hanging out at the bar, the buffet table, or bending Tony's ear about something.

Every once in a while, you checked in with your team members through your earpiece to determine if Dazon had made an appearance. So far, no one had seen him, but you knew it was only a matter of time before he showed up. Until then, you'd have to remain on your guard and ready for pretty much anything.

A little over an hour after you and Bucky arrived, you were coming back to the table when you spotted Dazon at the ballroom entrance. He was flanked by the same two bodyguards that had stopped you, Natasha and Wanda outside the clothing store a few days ago. "Heads up, everyone, the Eagle has landed," you murmured into your earpiece.

"Do not engage, repeat, do not engage," Dean commanded. "You're the one he's after, and you need to stay out of his sight," he added.

"Acknowledged, Dean. I'm not going to do anything to make things worse," you retorted.

"Oh, like you did the other day outside the store?" he shot back.

"Hey, let's cut the chatter and keep our focus on the objective," Steve broke in.

"Sorry, Cap," you replied. By this time, you were back to Bucky's side, his arm around you. The smell of his aftershave sent a wave of comfort over you.

"You okay, sweetheart?" Bucky inquired as he kissed that spot behind your ear that he knows can make you weak in the knees. He took a deep breath and caught the scent of his favorite perfume on you, causing him to be the one with possible knee problems.

"I'm fine, just want this to be over and done with already," you muttered. As you scanned the room, a thought occurred to you. Of all your team members, you had yet to see Clint "Hawkeye" Barton. "Hey, has anyone seen Clint yet tonight? Repeat, anyone got eyes on Hawkeye?"

Before anyone could answer, Tony appeared on the stage with a folder in his hand and grabbed the microphone. "Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, thank you all for being here tonight. As you know, the Stark Foundation is always looking for opportunities to support the community. The inspiration for tonight's award comes from someone within my own company," he announced.

Tony went on to explain that a scholarship was being created in honor of your parents in the amount of $1million. He mentioned that while you attended college, you took classes within the Foreign Language Department. Since then, the Foreign Language program of your school had received private donations from your parents to keep it afloat. With his help, the scholarship would continue to fund the program for future students of foreign languages.

Tony's eyes roamed the crowd until they landed on yours. He smiled and beckoned you to join him on the stage to accept the award on behalf of your parents. A certificate had been printed for you to present to the dean of your college alma mater.

As soon as you were halfway up to the stage, the lights in the ballroom went out, plunging the entire ballroom into darkness. Realizing that Dazon was finally making his move, Tony shouted, "FRIDAY! Lock down the Tower and seal off this room!"

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

When the lights came back up, your upper arms were being gripped by Dazon's guards. But most concerning was that Hawkeye was standing in front of you. He had an arrow in his bow, drawn and aimed straight at your heart. His eyes had flashed completely black, indicating he was being possessed by a demon, confirming your worst fears.

Bucky, Steve and Natasha started to rush towards you and Clint. "WAIT! NO, DON'T! STAY BACK EVERYONE, PLEASE!" you implored. Dazon's guards tightened their hold on your arms, making you wince from the bruises you knew were being inflicted.

Dean and Sam walked slowly over to the table where you and Bucky had been sitting. "Yeah, don't. You'll never reach her in time, and there's a demon controlling Hawkeye right now," Dean carefully explained.

"Excellent advice, Mr. Winchester, and you are exactly correct," Dazon confirmed. "Although, if you care more about your precious archer than this woman, then by all means, keep advancing," he smirked. He sauntered over to where you were being held. "I've been waiting a long time for this, my dear. Your parents caused me no end of trouble by interrupting my plans for a demon army," he remarked.

You lifted your chin in defiance, glaring at Dazon. "My parents were right to put a stop to you all those years ago. The world may be a mess right now, but one thing it doesn't need is another demon trying to rule it," you spat out.

Dazon drew his hand back and slapped you across the cheek, leaving a red mark. Bucky charged at Dazon, intent on making him pay for putting his hand on you. Steve and Natasha were only barely able to hold him back, knowing it would be worse for you if Bucky tried to fight Dazon. You silently communicated to Bucky that you were all right, and to hold on just a little bit longer.

"You know, I think I like this meatsuit. He's durable, in great physical condition, and a captain of industry. Which means I have thousands of loyal employees ready and willing to do whatever I tell them to do. I like it here. I think I'll stick around for awhile, rebuild my army," Dazon mused.

"Now, you know we can't allow you to do that," Dean replied, his M1911A1 pistol raised and pointed at Dazon. In response, Dazon waved his hand and sent Dean flying across the room, crashing into a table covered with empty drink glasses. Dean was a little slow in rising to his feet, but you were more concerned with the gash in his forehead from the impact with the table.

"I don't think you're in any position to stop me, Winchester. None of you are, as a matter of fact," Dazon declared. "It was so easy to get to Mr. Barton here," he motioned in Clint's direction. "Apparently, he forgot to get himself inked, which would've kept my lieutenant, Tarkil, out. But, with no anti-possession symbol, it was like walking through the front door and setting up shop," Dazon gloated.

You turned to Hawkeye, locking your gaze on him. "Clint," you started. "Clint, I know you're still in there, and you're stronger than the demon. You know me, I'm your friend, and I know you don't want to hurt me. Come on Clint, you can do this! Fight it! Kick the demon out!" you shouted.

The grip on his bow and arrow had started to waver and his aim had shifted a little from its original target. He was blinking rapidly and shaking his head as if trying to clear it from the demon residing in his body. Suddenly he dropped his bow and arrow and clutched his head with both hands, roaring in intense agony. The demon was trying to keep control, but you could tell it was rapidly losing ground to Clint, who was getting close to expelling the offending party.

"That's it, Clint, you're doing great, you've almost got him out," you coaxed. Black smoke suddenly erupted from out of Clint's mouth and he dropped to the ground, still alive, but unconscious.

"SILENCE!" Dazon screeched. His hand shot out and grabbed your neck, lifting you off the ground, then he started to squeeze. "You are as troublesome as your parents were, and you know what happened to them," he seethed.

Black spots started appearing in front of you, and were getting larger the harder he gripped your neck. You didn't have much time before you would completely lose consciousness. "Any last words before I finish choking the life out of you, hunter?" he retorted.

"Yes," you managed to whisper. You took a deep breath before uttering what you hoped wouldn't be your final words. "FRIDAY....SMOKE ON THE WATER," you exclaimed.

A puzzled look crossed Dazon's face at your choice of last words. A chime sounded to indicate that FRIDAY had indeed heard your command and began to play the pre-recorded message.

Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio infernalis adversarii, omnis legio, omnis congregatio et secta diabolica.

Ergo, draco maledicte. Ecclesiam tuam securi tibi facias libertate servire, te rogamus, audi nos!

A red smoke seeped out of Jeremiah Nelson and floated to the ceiling while his body dropped to the floor, unconscious, but alive. Dazon's spirit tried to escape through the air vent, but was blocked. It tried seeping under the door, which was also blocked. The smoke that was Dazon's spirit began to swirl around on the ceiling, as it was trapped with no meatsuit to wear.

From a nearby table, Sam produced an Enochian puzzle box and opened the lid, which pulled Dazon's spirit in. As soon as the lid to the box was closed, the markings and symbols glowed orange for a few seconds then went dark. Sam took the puzzle box and placed it inside of a bigger box. The larger box had the proper warding and symbols on it to ensure Dazon's permanent captivity.

Once Dazon's spirit was no longer connected to his meatsuit, you were released from his hold and you dropped to the floor. Bucky rushed over to your side and cradled your unconscious form in his arms. "No no no, baby, come on," he crooned. "Please wake up, sweetheart," he pleaded while rocking you back and forth.

Dean knelt down beside you and Bucky, his fingers pressed to your wrist. "She's just unconscious, I can feel her pulse but it's kinda weak," he affirmed.

"Okay, let's get her to the MedBay. FRIDAY, ask Dr. Cho to meet us there so she can check--" Tony started but was interrupted by a groaning noise heard from you.

"My head hurts," you rasped. "Did we get him? Is everybody okay?" you asked through half-lidded eyes.

Bucky breathed a sigh of relief that you had regained consciousness. His right hand cradled your cheek, and when you gazed into his soulful eyes, you could see unshed tears shimmering in them. "Hi," he whispered shakily.

"Hi," you whispered back, then turned to press a kiss to the palm of his hand. Bucky closed his eyes, reveling in your touch. A few tears escaped, which you brushed away with the pad of your thumb before covering his hand on your cheek with your hand. "Is it over?"

Bucky nodded. "It's over. His spirit is trapped inside one box, which Sam put inside another box. Clint's demon is gone, he's being tended to right now," he informed you.

You tried to maneuver yourself to a sitting position so you could then stand up, but your body was still a little weak from the fight with Dazon. Bucky helped you up from the floor and into a nearby chair from one of the dinner tables. He brought you some water to ease the burning in your throat due to the lack of oxygen.

"Tony, everybody, get out of my way, I have to see her," Clint bellowed. He was struggling to escape from Tony and the medical personnel trying to treat him to get to you. As soon as his eyes found you, he ran over to where you were sitting. "Sunshine, I'm so sorry for what happened," he implored. "I can't believe I almost....If I had released...." he trailed off, trying to keep his emotions under control.

You put your hand on Clint's arm and looked him straight in the eyes. "Clint, you have nothing to apologize for. I know that wasn't you in control, because the real you wouldn't have let anything happen to me," you replied.

"I would never," Clint whispered, his bottom lip trembling. "I felt so helpless, I couldn't do anything, couldn't stop any of it from happening."

"I bet it felt like you were in a dream, right? You know, the kind where you scream at the top of your lungs and no one hears you?" you asked, to which he nodded. "Yeah, I've been possessed by a demon before, so I know what it feels like and it sucks," you chuckled. Clint responded with a watery grin. "You're still my friend, Clint, that hasn't changed. I'll follow you into battle any day," you asserted with a smile. The two of you embraced, then Clint allowed himself to be taken to the MedBay to be checked over.

"How about you, pretty girl? You ready to be checked over by Dr. Cho?" Bucky asked.

"I'm fine, James. Nothing a little rest and cuddling with my favorite super soldier wouldn't fix. And if it happens to lead to....'other activities', well....I certainly wouldn't be opposed to it," you added slyly.

Bucky scooped you up in his arms and held you close to his body. "I can certainly manage some cuddling, but I think we should stick to getting some rest. We've had a busy night, solnyshka," he replied with a weary grin.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Back up in your room, you and Bucky helped each other out of your formal attire and made sure it was all carefully hung up in the closet. After you had changed into pajamas, you climbed in under the sheets and Bucky soon followed. He laid on his back, with one arm curled around you, keeping you close by his side. Your free arm was draped across his midsection, your fingers dancing on and under his T-shirt.

The two of you had been laying in bed together, enjoying each other's presence, when you lifted your head and waited for Bucky to look at you. "Let's get married," you declared.

"What are you talking about, sweetheart? We're already getting married a few months from now," Bucky reminded you.

"I know, but I mean this week. Let's get married this week," you clarified. At the puzzled look on Bucky's face, you continued. "Think about it, James. All of our friends--family, really--they're all already here. That's all we need. I'm sure Tony can pull some strings to expedite the marriage license, but why couldn't we?" you pondered.

The more Bucky thought about it, the more he realized you were right. Neither of you wanted a big, flashy wedding, but one more intimate, only close family and friends. "Okay. Okay, let's do it," he responded with a grin on his handsome face.

"Really?!? You mean it??" you exclaimed, to which he nodded.

"Solnyshka, there is very little in this world I would deny you, and this definitely isn't one of those things. I can tell how important this is to you. If it makes you happy, then who am I to stand in the way of that? Besides, it means I can call you my wife that much sooner," he added with a gentle tap to the end of your nose.

"Oh, James," you whispered, tears prickling behind your eyelids. "I love you so much, and I can't wait to call you my husband," you remarked.

"I love you, my solnyshka," Bucky replied, then rolling over so he was facing you. He started dropping feather-light kisses anywhere he could reach, your cheeks, your neck, eyelids, nose. It was like he was on a mission to leave no inch of your skin untouched by his lips, as if to devour you. Not that you minded in the least.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

It's amazing the amount of stuff that can be done in a short amount of time with an unlimited bank account. Tony was indeed able to call in a favor for nearly every major part of the wedding experience. Whatever you needed, Tony had a connection for it.

Tony was able to get an expedited marriage license for you and Bucky, because one of his friends was a judge. This judge also happened to be at the fundraising gala that night and was a former hunter, long since retired from the life. He was only too happy to grant this favor to Tony in exchange for having saved his life at the gala. The judge even offered to officiate the wedding, to which you and Bucky agreed.

For his part, Bucky chose Steve to be his Best Man, with Sam Wilson as a groomsman, while Thor and Loki were designated as ushers. Knowing how important they are to you, Bucky personally extended an invitation to the Winchesters to be his guests for the wedding. As such, it put them in the front row at the ceremony. At the reception, Sam and Dean had seats near the head table with all the other Avengers.

On your side, you asked Natasha to be your maid of honor, with Wanda as a bridesmaid. Since your father and Uncle Bobby could not do so, you asked Tony if he would walk you down the aisle.

When you asked him, he tried to act like he wasn't emotionally affected by hiding behind his tinted glasses. You could tell he was a little choked up, but you wisely refrained from saying anything out loud. Deep down, you knew he wasn't expecting you to choose him, though he was deeply honored to give you away.

Everyone in the wedding party and the small number of guests were either Avengers or close friends. For this reason, you and Bucky chose to have the ceremony in the Tower Gardens. As such, there was no need for the men to dress in tuxedos, but they did make use of Tony's favorite tailor. Everyone got new suits, including Sam and Dean.

The bridal party once again set out together to find their wedding attire. The bridesmaid and maid of honor dresses you chose were floor-length in navy blue satin with spaghetti straps. They had a racer-back and a mesh criss-cross at the waist.

Your wedding dress was a white, off-the-shoulder ball gown style, with a sweep train and a navy blue and silver beaded sash at the waist. It had metallic appliqués with beads and sequins from top to halfway down the tulle skirt that sparkled when you moved.

The minute you stepped into it, you knew it was the dress. Nat and Wanda's reactions confirmed that you had made the perfect choice. Although you were more comfortable in jeans and a T-shirt, you felt very much like a princess in your dress. You couldn't wait to see Bucky's reaction to you.

As was tradition, the night before the wedding saw you and Bucky sleeping apart. Of course, that didn't stop the two of you from texting each other well into the night. The two of you officially signed off at around 1:00 a.m., with promises to meet each other at the altar.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The wedding day was a flurry of activity, making sure everything for both sides of the wedding was done perfectly. For the bride's side, that included professionals for hair and makeup. Tony also sent Pepper in to the bridal suite to keep everything organized and running smoothly.

"Okay, something old? Check, I have this locket that once belonged to my mother. Something new? My dress. Something borrowed? Nat's shoes, thank you, love. Something blue? The sash on my dress. And a sixpence for my shoe," you finished, looking around for a penny.

"Here you go," Pepper held out a penny with the current year on it and helped you slip it into your shoe. "You know, I probably shouldn't tell you this, but you threw Tony for a loop when you asked him to give you away," she shared.

"I wondered about that," you murmured. "He tried to hide behind those tinted glasses of his, but I know he wasn't expecting me to ask this of him."

"Yeah, he's tough on the outside like that iron suit he sometimes wears, but inside? He's just a soft marshmallow," Pepper grinned as she shrugged her shoulders.

You giggled at her analogy. "With the penny, that's everything, then. I'm ready to get married now," you affirmed. "How do you think it's going with the guys?" you wondered.

>>>

"Hey, Steve, you've got the rings, right?" Bucky asked his Best Man.

Steve made a show of patting his pockets and looking around like he didn't know where the rings were. "I don't know, Buck, they were just here. I swear I put them in my pocket, but I don't feel them in there right now," Steve replied.

"Aww, you gotta be kiddin' me, Steve! How could you lose the rings? Holding on to the rings was pretty much your only--" Bucky trailed off when he saw his best friend's shoulders shaking from laughing so hard. "Punk," he muttered.

"Just a bit of pre-wedding humor, Buck," Steve remarked.

"Yeah? Well, you nearly gave me a heart attack," Bucky retorted. Then he gave Steve a friendly nudge to let him know all was forgiven. "Wonder how it's going with the girls. 'Specially my bride, I bet she looks just like an angel, Stevie," Bucky mused. "Today's the day I make her my wife."

Steve clapped his hand on Bucky's shoulder. "I know. Let's go get you married, Buck," he grinned.

>>>

Bucky, Steve and Sam made their way to the front of the altar to await the procession of the bridal party. First, Natasha sauntered down the aisle and took her place opposite the groom's party. She flashed a wink at Dean, taking him completely by surprise. Wanda soon followed, filing in behind Natasha.

The music changed to Pachelbel's Canon in D, signaling it was your turn to walk down the aisle towards your groom. You caught Tony just before he took his first step forward. "Sunny? You okay?" he asked.

You flashed him a brilliant smile worthy of your nickname. "I'm perfect, Tony. I'm marrying the love of my life today, and a lot of the thanks goes to you. So thank you, Tony. For everything," you whispered, trying to hold back your tears.

"You're welcome, kid," Tony replied gruffly, his voice thick with emotion. He cleared his throat to disguise his attempt to get his emotions back under wraps. "Let's go get you married, Sunny," he smiled.

>>>

When you took that first step into view of the altar, Bucky's breath was taken away. He already knew you were beautiful, but today, you were exquisite. For him, time seemed to slow down and the rest of the world melted away until it was just the two of you. With each step that brought you closer to him, his smile grew so much, his cheeks felt like they would split open.

The moment your eyes landed on Bucky, his was the only face you saw. No wedding guests on either side of the aisle, no bridesmaids or groomsmen at the front, just your future husband. Every step you took was one towards a life you would share with the man who was your best friend, your lover, your everything. And he would soon be yours, as much as you would be his, as husband and wife.

Once you finally reached the altar, you looked closer and could see there were tears shimmering in Bucky's eyes that had yet to fall. You hoped they were of joy, because it was rare for you to see Bucky cry except under extreme circumstances. Bucky held out his hand to guide you the few extra steps to the altar. As Tony put your hand in Bucky's, he leaned over and said, "Take care of her, Barnes." Bucky nodded in response.

"Hi, sweetheart. You....you look....you do look like an angel," Bucky finally managed.

"Hello, my love. You look more handsome than I've ever seen," you remarked softly.

A rogue tear had broken loose and rolled down Bucky's cheek. You handed your bouquet to Natasha and turned back around to Bucky. With your right hand, you cradled his face and wiped away his tears with your thumbs. Bucky gave a huff of laughter and he smiled. "There it is. That smile I've been missing since we parted last night," you whispered.

"Let's do this, hmm?" Bucky responded with a wink. You nodded, then you both turned your attention to the judge.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The ceremony was simple, but it was easily the most beautiful, because of the love you and Bucky held for each other. The judge announced that you both had written your own vows, and he invited you to share them with everyone.

"My sweet solnyshka....you are one of the best parts of my life. You accepted me, all of me, even the darkest parts of my life. But that's why I call you 'solnyshka', which means 'sunshine'. It's because you shine your generous, caring heart on me to chase away the darkness. I will love, honor, and definitely cherish you. I will be your shoulder to cry on if or when life overwhelms you. To share in all of your joys and to not be the source of your pain. This I promise to do for the rest of my days," Bucky affirmed. He winked at you and mouthed the words, "your turn".

"My brave sergeant....ever since that first conversation we had in my office about books, I knew how special you were. I had heard about what the hardships you'd experienced in your life. But despite it all, James, you have remained a kind, compassionate, thoughtful man. You are worthy of everything good this world has to offer you. I will love, honor, and definitely cherish you. I will be your safe harbor whenever a storm rises, and mend any parts after it passes. To show you how much you mean to me and to not let you forget it. This I promise to do for the rest of my days," you pledged.

Next came the exchange of rings. This time, Steve did not risk Bucky's ire by pretending he'd forgotten them or couldn't find them. With trembling hands, Bucky slid your wedding band on your left ring finger, then kissed it. You grasped Bucky's wedding band and gave him a wink before slipping it on his left ring finger and kissing it.

"By the power vested in me by the great State of New York, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss your bride," the judge announced.

Bucky wasted no time in sweeping you into his arms and giving you that first kiss as a married couple. "I love you, solnyshka," he whispered.

"I love you, James," you responded.

"Ladies and gentlemen: It is my distinct honor to present to you Mr. and Mrs. James Barnes!" the judge proclaimed. The garden erupted into cheers of joy and shouts of congratulations for the new married couple as they walked back up the aisle and into the Tower for the reception.

"Reception is in the first ballroom on the 81st floor, the one right as you step off the elevator," Tony informed the guests.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

After a lavish dinner of prime rib or chicken, with mashed potatoes and mixed vegetables, it was time for toasting the happy couple. Steve went first as Best Man, followed by Natasha as Maid of Honor. Each of the wedding party members, including Thor and Loki, had a chance to offer their congratulations or even words of advice.

Even Tony had a chance at the microphone and after he was finished, he placed it on the table near Sam and Dean's places. The brothers first looked at each other, then at Tony who acted like nothing was out of the ordinary. Sam motioned for Dean to take this opportunity and give his toast. Dean rolled his eyes, but picked up the microphone as he stood from his chair.

"Hey everybody," Dean started, then cleared his throat. "My name's Dean Winchester, I'm pretty new around here, well, I guess so is my brother, Sam. But, we've been friends with the bride for a long time, since we used to work together. I could probably tell you some really good stories, but I think I need a few more drinks for that," he chuckled. A ripple of laughter went through the crowd at his remark, then he continued.

"Her nickname around here is 'Sunshine', which sure fits. At one point, I used to think she and I would end up together, but....guess it wasn't meant to be, not for us anyway," he remarked. Raising his champagne flute to you and Bucky, he continued. "She's an amazing woman, Sergeant Barnes. One of the best. Take care of each other, be there for each other, love each other. Do that, and you'll have it made. To the bride and groom," Dean finished.

Everyone raised their glasses after Dean's speech. Afterwards, you locked eyes with Dean and smiled, then mouthed, "Thank you". You then turned and gave Bucky a lingering kiss on the lips. Tony walked over to Dean's table and retrieved the microphone to make a few announcements. He mentioned that some of the tables would be cleared momentarily so that the dancing could start.

Fortunately, Tony's usual go-to DJ for his parties was available. After the tables were cleared, you and Bucky shared your first dance as a married couple. After that, it was dancing with the parents, but both your parents and Bucky's were gone. So, Tony danced the father part with you, while Pepper danced with Bucky as the mother part.

The DJ played the usual group dances, like the Cha-Cha Slide, the Hokey Pokey, the Electric Slide and even the Chicken Dance. During one of your breaks, you told Natasha how Dean had asked about her the day he showed up at the Tower.

Nat gave you a knowing wink and left you with Bucky, then approached Dean at his table to ask him to dance. You were surprised when he accepted, because the last you knew, thee Dean Winchester did not dance, not even when asked. They danced the end of a fast song, which led into a slow one. At one point, you caught Dean's eye and toasted him with your drink. He gave you the thumbs-up from his hold on Natasha.

After much dancing and champagne drinking, it was time to leave for some alone time with your husband. You and Bucky decided to spend your wedding night in your room in the Tower. Soundproof measures were engaged of course, courtesy of FRIDAY.

When you got to the door, Bucky opened it a crack, then scooped you up into his arms. You let out a shriek of surprise when he cradled you to his chest, then threw your arms around his neck. Once inside, he gently set you back on your feet, but didn't fully release you. He dipped his head towards you and gave you a long, breath-stealing kiss.

You carefully slipped your feet out of Nat's borrowed shoes, groaning in relief. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Bucky staring intently at you, his hands in the pockets of his trousers. "See something you like, Sarge?" you wondered coyly.

Bucky took your hand and tugged you closer then wrapped his arms around you. "You're so beautiful, solnyshka. I can't believe you're finally mine," he murmured.

"I was always yours, James," you remarked, caressing his cheek with your hand. "Now, I can't seem to reach the zipper on the back of my dress. Would you be so kind as to assist me in that task, Mr. Barnes?" you asked innocently, batting your eyes.

"As you wish, Mrs. Barnes," Bucky replied. He placed one hand on your shoulder and with the other, he brushed your hair from your neck. Then he took hold of the zipper tab, slowly dragging it down, wanting to savor every second of undressing his new wife.

Bucky leaned forward and dropped soft kisses to each new inch of skin revealed by the retreating zipper. Once it reached its end, he pushed the dress off your shoulders while you drew your arms out of the sleeves.The fabric and lace pooled at your feet, leaving you in your thigh-high stockings and new lingerie. The item, a white bodysuit with a lace front and cutout in the mid-section, was a gift from your bachelorette party.

"Whoa, baby," Bucky whispered. "Who do I have to thank for this?" he asked.

You giggled at his reaction. "It was a gift from Wanda at my bachelorette party," you explained.

"Definitely have to thank her for this. Now, as much as I like this on you, I'd much rather it was on the floor," he remarked. He curled his pinky finger around one of the straps and gently tugged it down from your shoulder, then repeated the motion on the other side. By the look in his eyes, you were in for one of the best nights of your life, made better because now he was your husband.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

It was late morning the following day before any Avenger or Winchester ventured outside of their rooms. Steve came in first, followed by Sam Wilson, only one of whom was nursing a light hangover. Thor and Loki were next, still feeling the effects of the Asgardian mead they consumed at the wedding reception.

Sam and Dean came in next, followed by Natasha and Wanda. Neither Winchester appeared to be nursing much of a hangover at all, a fact which did not escape attention.

"Wait a minute, hold up," Sam Wilson started. "You two drank the most of all of us, yet you're in here fresh as daisies. What gives?" he demanded, pointing at Dean.

"High alcohol tolerance," Dean responded. "Whiskey, or alcohol in general, is pretty much currency in the hunting world," he explained.

"He's right, Falcon, but even the great Dean Winchester has his limits. Oh, I could tell you some stories," you teased. "Good morning, everyone," you smiled. Bucky appeared a few seconds later, wrapping his arms around you from behind and offering his greetings as well.

"Good morning to you, newlyweds," Natasha replied. "Certainly didn't expect to see you today, if not for a few days at least," she smirked.

"Really, Nat? I certainly didn't expect to see you in a Led Zeppelin T-shirt, either. Particularly because I know exactly where it came from," you responded smugly. Natasha's face flushed a deep red, which left her unable to reply. On your way to make coffee, you affectionately squeezed her shoulder so she knew you were only teasing.

Moments later, Tony appeared with a large envelope in his hand. His face broke out into a smile when he noticed you and Bucky in the kitchen. "Ah, good, you're both here. Although, I must say, I'm a little surprised," he mused. "Anyway, I know you were stressing about the honeymoon, not wanting it to interfere with any missions, so here you go. Two weeks, go, have fun," he said as he handed you the envelope.

Bucky peered over your shoulder as you opened the envelope to find a pair of airline tickets. In addition to the wedding, he had taken care of planning your honeymoon as well. He assured you that it was all arranged and all paid for you and Bucky to take a two-week cruise in the Mediterranean. There were stops in Lisbon, Marseilles, Athens and so many other cities it made your head spin.

"Tony," you breathed. "This is wonderful, it's a dream come true, but it's too much. You already did so much for us as it is," you protested and tried to return the envelope.

Tony held up his hands, refusing to take it back. "Nope, uh-uh, sorry Sunny, but this is non-refundable, so you two had better go get packed. There's a car waiting for you downstairs for Happy to take you to the airport. I'll even let you use my jet to take you to the port where you board the ship," he stated.

You and Bucky looked at each other and decided that yes, this would be the perfect honeymoon. Before you left the kitchen, you threw your arms around Tony's neck. "Thank you, Tony. We'll never forget everything you did for us," you choked out.

"Okay, okay, come on. Go get packed, you don't want to miss your boat," Tony muttered. You disentangled yourself from Tony. Then you grabbed Bucky's hand and practically ran back to your room to pack your bags.

About thirty minutes later, you and Bucky were in the car, waving goodbye to everyone as it pulled away from the curb. Happy drove you around to the private jet terminal, where there was a red carpet leading up to the steps to enter the jet. Two flight attendants greeted you and Bucky and followed you up the stairs into the cabin of the aircraft. They congratulated you on getting married, and you promised to let them know if there was anything more they could do.

Soon after you and Bucky were secured in your seats, the overhead speaker crackled to life, with a pre-flight announcement from the pilot. You smiled as you reached over and took Bucky's hand in yours, intertwining your fingers.

"Good afternoon, this is your captain speaking. We are currently fourth in line for takeoff to your final destination, which we will reach in just under two hours. I would like to wish a sincere congratulations to the new Mr. and Mrs. Barnes. I hope that the two of you will have a wonderful and romantic honeymoon on your Mediterranean cruise. Please relax and enjoy the flight."

As soon as the seat belt sign was off, you grabbed the packet of information that Tony had put together for your honeymoon. "Oh, James, this is going to be so amazing! We have our own private balcony on the ship, right outside our room. There are tours we can take to explore--" Bucky gently interrupted by placing a finger on your lips.

"My love, my darling wife, all of that is wonderful, really. What I'm most looking forward to is the room service available 24/7. Because I don't see us getting out of our room much, at least not the first couple of days," Bucky remarked, an amorous look in his eyes.

"Oh. Well, I can see what you mean, my love. However, I don't think we should spend ALL of our time on the ship. We're going to be stopping in some pretty amazing places," you pointed out.

"Hmm, that may be true, but they're not as amazing as you, sweetheart. By the way, did you know that this jet has a bedroom in the back? Care to join the 'Mile-High Club' with me, Mrs. Barnes?" he grinned and waggled his eyebrows.

You took his hand in yours and started walking towards the back of the plane. "I would, but....I may have some trouble getting out of this dress," you pouted. "Do you suppose you could help me with that, Mr. Barnes?" you batted your eyelashes.

"I'm right behind you," Bucky chuckled. He nudged you forward until you were practically dragging him behind you to the room. Once inside, he closed the door and slid the lock in place. "I love you so much, Mrs. Barnes," he remarked.

"And I love you, Mr. Barnes," you replied.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

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