#counter where I keep her treats so climb and dig she must

[luminarai]

Me, sprinting around my flat with a handful of treats to hide in weird places to enrich my indoor cat: The things I do for this strange creature…

My cat, sprinting after me: The things I do for this strange creature…

#cecil blogs her life #cats of tumblr #Mim the cat #I chop up a few small treats and then hide them in blankets and on high surfaces so she has to dig and climb for them #and every time she looks at me as if to say….this AGAIN??? #but she also has a brain the size of a walnut that exclusively produces elevator music and can’t figure out how to get onto the kitchen #counter where I keep her treats so climb and dig she must

[mattzerella-sticks]

Ticking Photobomb, T, 1.6k

Carlos Reyes/TK Strand, Evan ‘Buck’ Buckley/Eddie Diaz, Evan ‘Buck’ Buckley & TK Strand

TK loves Carlos, and wants their relationship to work out. Before they can recapture even a semblance of the bliss they shared, Carlos needs to fix his mistake and properly introduce TK to his family. Until then... Carlos deserves at least some punishment. He only hopes Buck will forgive him, for involving him in his and Carlos's first big fight as a couple.

Only it's not Buck's forgiveness he'll need.

ao3 link

based off of this post

           He’s wary. He and TK are supposed to be enjoying a delicious meal outside at a nearby park, sun high in the sky, bright but not too cruel, as they sit together on a thin, yellow blanket, and Carlos cannot enjoy any of this beautiful date because a tiny voice in the back of his mind warns him that TK’s silence is a cover for something more sinister. His boyfriend’s smile, aimed at his phone as it has been since they arrived, means trouble. The small, continuous giggles that eke free sound like alarms. Giggles offered with every bite, where he’d type a short message and then set his phone down; only to grab it halfway through its jingling ringtone – TK never usually keeps that on. Carlos remembered him complaining how he hates ringtones, prefers having his phone vibrate. Why is it on now? And why is he texting while they’re on a date? And why does his laughter make Carlos cringe?

           “Who are you texting?” he asks, finally, Carlos pushing the plastic container with his half-finished sandwich to the side.

           TK glances up from his phone. “No one.”

           “No one?”

           “Just a friend,” TK says, pinning Carlos with a strange expression that squeezes his heart. It makes the sweat pricking his temples relocate and journey down, rolling towards his chin. Carlos wipes at his face as TK adds, “seriously, you don’t have to worry.”

           It’s the way he said ‘you’ that does Carlos in. That has him dredging up what he already considered resolved since before they sat down. Discussed, at length, over the phone, with Carlos apologizing repeatedly. TK assured him they were good. “I thought we were good?”

           TK sighs, “We are good.” Then, he mumbles, “As good as any two friends can be.”

           Carlos’s frown deepens, mouth resembling a severe gash carved into his face. “I knew it!” Carlos cries, pointing at him. “You’re still mad at me.”

           “I never said I wasn’t!”

           “You said it was settled –“

           “Because it is,” TK insists, a heavy glare drawing all breath out of Carlos’s chest. The façade he wore for their date has been pulled away, and Carlos sees exactly how distressed TK remained after he introduced him to his parents as his ‘friend’. Even with Carlos promising that he would remedy the situation soon, gather his boyfriend and family together and explain the truth of his romantic life, TK clings tight to the pain Carlos caused by letting fear sway his choice, both at the farmer’s market and when he let TK walk out of his home, relationship dangling from a fraying cord. It frays ever closer to breaking. “It’s settled until you work up the nerve to have that dinner you were talking about.”

           Carlos splutters, “That’s not – you know, with the pandemic how hard it’s…”

           His excuses further irritate TK, who retreats into his phone. He texts someone else. Perhaps the same person he’s been texting this entire time. “Then it’s settled.”

           “If it’s so settled,” Carlos asks, “why even bother agreeing to our date today?” He gestures at their unfinished meals, probably cold and stale. If they weren’t, it’s not like Carlos feels like eating anymore.

           TK stops texting, smirking at Carlos. Usually, it riles Carlos up in that he wants to kiss it off of him. Right now, Carlos swallows the urge to shove his boyfriend onto his ass.  “A date?” TK asks, words languid and breezy, spaced out by palpable sarcasm. “Why would you think this was a date,” he continues, phone tapping against his chin, “we are just friends after all…”

           Anger and disappointment converge violently inside Carlos, fighting for release. Neither can, as his vibrating phone pulls his focus from TK. He opens the message on autopilot, confused since it’s from TK. Confusion then drops into the cesspool of his emotions, like Mentos in Coke, and Carlos explodes.

           “Why did you send me this?” he demands, showing TK a picture he sent to Carlos of himself. A picture they took, together, when visiting a lake one weekend long ago during the summer. A picture taken after they spent the entire afternoon swimming, bathing suits forgotten on the pier. A picture where TK’s chiseled physique was on display, skin dazzling as fading sunlight turned water droplets into diamonds, and TK’s sunglasses rested low on his nose as he smiled to the side where Carlos was. Was. As in not anymore. Only his arm, slung around his boyfriend’s shoulder, remained. Saved by being impossible to crop out. “Well?” Carlos asks again.

           TK sighs, “Oh, I must have sent that by mistake.”

           “You wanted to send me something else?”

           “No,” TK clarifies, “I sent that to you by mistake. It was supposed to go to Buck, see?” TK shows Carlos his message thread, with the picture he sent Carlos, timestamped, showing he forwarded it to Buck first, then Carlos.

           “…Buck.”

           “Yeah, Buck,” TK continues, leaving his texts and diving into his photo album. He selects a group shot of the 126, plus a few extra members. He zooms closer on one face, Buck’s, enough that Carlos can distinguish the two birthmark spots above his eyebrows. “I’m sure I told you about him.”

           “You did,” Carlos nods. He tears his gaze from Buck’s smile, fuming. “The firefighter who flirted with you.”

           “I mean, he also helped me save my dad,” TK says, “but, yeah… he also flirted with me.” TK lowers his phone, chuckling, “We’ve just been chatting back and forth – as friends do – when I realized… y’know, I told him I wasn’t interested, because I had this really awesome boyfriend who I love, but since that’s not the case anymore, we’re only friends apparetly, I figured I might as well shoot my shot. Find out if he’s still interested. Maybe once quarantine is done, I can take some time off and… see what Los Angeles has to offer.” The eyebrow wiggle was completely unnecessary. TK communicated exactly what of Los Angeles he intends to see, regardless of how his eyebrows moved.

           He’s better than this. Carlos knows what TK is doing. What the picture, and its delivery, was supposed to accomplish. What it’s succeeding at. He can win this, simply by ignoring TK’s teasing.

           Except.

           “You are not going to Los Angeles.” Carlos scowls, “Not without me. And especially not if Buck is gonna be there.”

           TK scoffs, “What are you, my boyfriend?”

           “…Yes!”

           “Says who?” he asks, “Your parents?”

           They’re outside. In public, surrounded by people who keep their distance. Unfortunately, their voices carry wide enough they draw a sizeable crowd. Carlos doesn’t notice until TK storms off and leaves him with the blanket, the abandoned food, and their audience.

           Carlos blushes, hiding behind his hands. He wishes he never fumbled back then, in the farmer’s market. He also, briefly, wishes he and Buck switched places. At least then TK would be treating him to risqué pictures. At least Carlos would be having a good time, if he were Buck. He���d be receiving sexy photos from a certified dreamboat instead of suffering because of his own mistakes.

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

           Buck stumbles over his words, stuttering, rushing out his explanation to a stone-faced Eddie. “Seriously,” he says, “I don’t – I don’t know why TK sent me that picture of him! It’s not like I asked! One second we’re talking about movies and the next thing I know – shirtless TK!”

           “Yeah, I know,” Eddie huffs, arms folded across his chest, “I saw.”

           He shouldn’t have. If Buck hadn’t left his phone on the table to help Bobby in the kitchen. If he didn’t hear his phone beep with an arriving message, almost vibrating off the table from it. If Eddie, along with Hen and Chim, weren’t climbing the stairs at the moment, and if he ignored Buck’s plea to hand him his phone. To punch in the code – which he knew, of course Eddie knew – since Buck was wrist deep in a turkey’s hole.

           Buck washed his hands immediately, drying them on his pants as he chased Eddie the few feet towards the couch.

           “So,” Eddie continues, “you and TK…”

           He and TK? “We’re friends,” he says, repeating himself after Eddie’s disbelieving stare. “Okay, I mean – he did turn me down once, when we were leaving Texas. But he said he had a boyfriend –“

           “He turned you down?” Eddie asks, “You flirted with him?”

           “No!” Buck shrugs, running his hand over his forehead, frowning at the sweat that pooled there. “Well, I didn’t think I was. But he did? And – and he left before I could say anything, but I didn’t think it mattered since he, y’know, had a boyfriend!” He stomps his foot, irritation bubbling from the pit of his stomach and out his mouth. “Besides! Why does it matter if he sends me pictures?” Nice pictures. Distracting pictures that made Buck question exactly why TK misunderstanding his friendliness was a problem. “Why are you so angry?”

           “Because… because…” Eddie looks past Buck, at the peanut gallery assembled by the kitchen. Hen and Chimney watching with interest while Bobby pretends cooking a turkey involves his whole focus. None of the seem keen to jump in and help. “Because… you…” Suddenly, Eddie stands. Buck recoils, stepping backwards. “You know what,” Eddie says, digging into his pocket, “I’m telling Marjan to unfollow you on Instagram.”

           “What?”

           “And!” he yells, phone free and on, “I’m telling her to block you!”

           “What? No – Eddie, no! Don’t!” Buck follows his friend, pleading, “C’mon, she hasn’t even liked any of my photos yet… Eddie… Eddie!”

           Eddie ignores him, furiously typing the end of Buck’s most famous connection online. In his haste, Buck forgets his phone on the counter. Eddie takes precedence over his phone.

           Later, Buck will return to it. He will respond to TK’s picture, sending a tidal wave of texts at the Texan firefighter ranging between the immense trouble that picture landed him in and how TK can repay him by convincing Marjan to follow him again.

           But that’s later. Now Buck slams his fist against the firetruck, yelling for Eddie to unlock the door.

           Eddie doesn’t.

#911 on fox #911 lone star #carlos reyes #tk strand #evan 'buck' buckley #eddie diaz #tarlos #buddie #tarlos fanfic #buddie fanfic

[sandwichfox]

AHH LISTEN! You write such beautiful headcannons, I feel like I'm literally there. 6x the joy of getting married and having gorgeous competent spouses to help with our gorgeous grumpy children! Thank you so much for this gift! Would you be down to write for the main 6 a lil oblivious, mutual pining and what causes them/the MC to finally snap? (And if you wanna get racy, what happens next? ;) )

Listen, listen, you came for my entire heart with this ask, the compliments definitely punched me in the face but the mutual pining was what KO’d me, my forking jam. (Also, we are always happy to get racy here in la mía casa)

Asra

★ He already really, really loves you, so it just kind of evolves naturally for him. There’s no internal conflict on his part, because of course he would fall for you, it’s only right. 

★ However, he does want to be absolutely sure you’re ready before taking any next steps, he doesn’t want to set you back in your recovery.

★ Except for Asra, that translates into never initiating anything, ever.

★ He hugs you and touches your shoulder and all, but that’s just Asra with anybody he trusts. He does stare at you an awful lot though. If he catches you staring, this fluffy idiot will think nothing of it.

★ Physical contact is already so natural between the two of you. That one day you just.. kiss him? Oops.

☆(NSFW)☆

★ “wait was that-?” “…oh! Sorry I-“ “No it’s- can I kiss you again?” The answer is yes, he kisses you with purpose this time, soft and warm. Then immediately dissolves into giggles. He kisses you again, still giggling. “I love you” he says, voice stuck between a laugh and a sigh (and a kiss).

★ It was meant to be a brief kiss, but now he can’t seem to stop. (He’s lost count of how many times he’s kissed you now), but his hands -they’re shaking- skim tentatively up your arm, into your hair, hold you by the nape of your neck. And when you sigh he can’t help but brush a finger against your collarbone, then kiss that same spot. 

★ He feels drunk (he probably knocks against the shop’s counter, almost drops a jar of some herb or another), but now he’s got you pressed against it and he’s not laughing anymore, his brow is furrowed with want. He pants your name and you’re both gone.

Nadia

♠ Doesn’t want to come on too strong but she is starting to suspect she fell for an entire dumbass.

♠︎ Maybe you just don’t want her? It’s entirely possible, but then what about all the times you seem to be flirting with her? 

♠︎ She’s tried everything, lavishing you with gifts, turning on the charm, even showing you off at parties and to dinner guests. 

♠ Problem is, she’s the countess, and why would she be interested in you? That’s ridiculous. All this must be because she has all this money, and you’re a special guest, and she’s just amazing like that.

♠︎ But one day you can’t take it anymore, and ask her outright what her intentions are. (Literally “are you flirting with me?” “I have been for a year now, thank you for noticing”)

♤(NSFW)♤

♠︎ Oh boy, she has to make up for lost time, now doesn’t she? She asks you (up front this time) if you’d like to come up to her room at the palace. “Don’t worry, nothing nefarious” her gaze says otherwise. Goodness, she’ll eat you alive. 

♠︎ You get to her chambers and, unexpectedly, she asks you to try something on for her. A necklace, she says, that has been sent to her. She’s not sure about it yet, and would like to see it on you before deciding if she likes it. You’re a bit taken aback, but agree.

♠︎ She’s wicked, dragging the cold metal chain slowly across the skin of your shoulders, breathing against your neck as she fastens the clasp, she takes you (legs shaking) to stand in front of the mirror. She places a kiss against a soft spot on your neck and then presses her teeth against it, her hand travels up to your throat. “Darling, you look ravishing” but you barely hear her, your ears are ringing. 

Julian

♦︎ Oh boy.

♦︎ This dude right here invented pining. He thinks you’re absolutely gorgeous the moment he sees you, but then you two get to talk and it’s over, my man is gone.

♦︎ Alternates between the smoothest man alive and a literal mess. Also, he wants to date you so bad, but he thinks he’ll be bad for you. Can’t decide between being selfish and a self-sacrificing idiot.

♦︎ You like him so much, but he keeps sending these mixed messages, you wonder if it’s better to just maybe just steal longing glances at him for the rest of your life.

♦︎ One day, when he’s feeling particularly angsty, you ask him what’s wrong and he tells you in many, many scrambled words that he likes you. You had thought you had mistaken his usual Julian-ness for flirting, but this new revelation changes everything.

♢(NSFW)♢

♦︎ “You like me” you breathe. He looks up miserably from his pint and nods. You already had a hand on his shoulder from where you were comforting him, but the surprise makes you tighten your hold, dig your nails in. And he- did he-? You snap your gaze to his and yep, he’s red to the very tips of his ears, lip caught between his teeth. “Oh?” You smirk. He lets out another tiny, miserable whine. 

♦︎ You can’t remember ever feeling this giddy, your heart is pounding and your hands feel clumsy, it’s nearly impossible to get the buttons of his coat to come undone. And you’re hiding in an alley, goodness. Julian’s lips still taste of salty bitters, and he’s clutching at you like he wants to climb inside you.

♦︎ “You’re drunk” you say “on you” he retorts, though muffled, he didn’t even miss a beat. You bite his lip playfully in response and he, mmmelts (seriously, you have to catch him a little). “Okay” you say, hot all over, “okay” and you kiss him some more. 

Muriel 

♣︎ Hates it. Hates that he’s pining for you so hard. He tries the whole avoiding you thing and everything but it doesn’t work.

♣︎ It never even crosses his mind that you might want him back. Sometimes he catches you looking at him and his immediate reaction is to be absolutely mortified (has he had something on his face this whole time?!)

♣︎ Doesn’t know what to do with himself, basically. He wants to talk to you but he only goes so far as to following you around at a distance. He wants to touch you but doesn’t want to ask for contact. He brushes against you once in passing and immediately goes beet red. 

♣︎ Thing is, you’re so good. So good, soft, like he doesn’t deserve. You treat him like he’s… Sometimes you bring by some of your cooking, or a shiny rock that you thought was pretty, or you take him out for some smoked eel (and keep him company while he eats it, sat in the shadows). You constantly check that he’s alright “is it okay if I put my hand on your shoulder?” “Are you alright?” “Can I touch you?” “Can I help you?” “Can I hug you?”…

♣︎ “Can I kiss you?” You whisper, he can only nod.

♧(NSFW)♧

♣ Muriel is so sensitive to touch, starved for it, though he’d never admit it. So when you start kissing him there’s an immediate churning heat in his belly. He’s lightheaded, feels like he’s about to boil over, he doesn’t know where to put his hands. 

♣︎ Somehow you’ve ended up in his lap, though he can’t say exactly when that happened (time is strange, when he’s kissing you), his hands have traveled to your sides and something about having you there, holding you to him, he’s going to go mad.

♣︎ He doesn’t want to ask for more than you’re willing to give him. But you give so easily, each tentative press of his lips is met with wet, purposeful pressure from yours. When his hands first brush your skin you shiver and come closer. He kind of never wants to stop. 

Portia

♥︎ Is a whole mess.

♥︎ Listen, she gets lost in your eyes sometimes, alright? That doesn’t mean she’s in love with you. Or maybe it does, but you don’t have to know that.

♥︎ Maybe you’re an oblivious fool (u are) because that’s the only way that you wouldn’t have noticed her pining. Literally goes ‘eep!’ every time you catch her staring.

♥︎ Portia is the kind of person that talks about their crush all the time, (‘the other day I was with MC and-‘ ‘and then MC said- insert mildly funny thing- and haha- wait- hahaha- they said- hahsghdgsh’) so literally everyone knows she’s crushing but you. 

♥︎ She’s naturally flirty with everyone, but one day she says something that you read as actually flirty, so then you’re like wait, really? And Portia’s all ‘oh! Sdgdhhdj I was just, I didn’t mean- I was just, uhm- KIDDING! Just kidd- unless..’ (anyway spoilers you both like each other and then make out lol)

♡(NSFW)♡

♥︎ She spent so long having a crush on you and daydreaming about being with you and now she can actually have you. She has to hide away with you for a little while ASAP. You notice her acting giddy one day in the gardens and ask her what’s wrong “nothing!” She says immediately, then a pause “actually, do you want to stop by the cottage?” A perfectly innocent question, but she’s gone all red. Oh. 

♥︎ You stop by her cottage. As soon as you’re in through the door she turns up the flirty-ness tenfold (you’re gonna pass out), until she finally takes your hand and walks you backward against a wall. “Wanna make out?” She whispers. You do, actually. She’s surprisingly bitey, and very responsive. 

♥︎ After a few moments her hands start wandering, “you’re so cute” she sighs “beautiful, wow”. She’s letting out these breathy little sighs, pressing closer until there’s no space between you. She has one leg slotted between your own, her back arched to press the length of her against your body, one hand on your back at your waist, the other clutching at her shoulder, and she’s moving in a slow, waving motion, kissing your jaw and lips and ear and scraping teeth against your neck (you’re going to die).

Lucio

▲ Oh he hATES it. (Feelings?! No thanks, yuck). It’s probably the whole ‘feelings make you weak’ mentality he grew up around, because he’s not above indulging in company, if ya know what I mean.

▲ But he doesn’t just want that from you, and it throws him on a loop. He keeps bouncing back and forth between sending for you about the most ridiculous things just to see you, and sending you away in a huff when he realizes that no, bad Lucio.

▲ It can’t be helped though, and soon he’s head over heels. He gets ridiculous, honestly. ‘Subtly’ asking about you and giving you increasingly odd, expensive gifts and trying to get your attention. 

▲ As soon as he gives in and admits to himself that he actually likes you his first thought is to go out and demand that you be with him. But he’s actually nervous, and not exactly sure that you would like that at all. So he starts testing the waters. 

▲You think it’s just Lucio being Lucio but you’ve liked him for some time and it kinda? hurts? when he suddenly starts complimenting you and making jokes about being with you for real, saying it so casually like there’s no way in hell and it hurts. So one day you tell him to stop.

△(NSFW)△

▲ “Wha- huh?” He says, and you’re embarrassed, maybe you shouldn’t have said anything, but Lucio’s already seen your face, and now he knows what’s going on. “Oh, sweetheart” he says in a drawl “I’m being perfectly sincere, I love your pretty face” he takes a step closer “that amazing body” his voice is softer, you blush, he takes another step “your powerful magic” another still “your sharp mind” he’s right in front of you know, reaching out with a clawed finger to tilt your chin up “I’d like to be with you, if you’d let me.”

▲ “I’d like to do so many things to you, magician.” His golden hand trails from your chin to your bottom lip, tugging down before letting go and traveling up your cheek to the side of your head. He’s holding himself up against the wall with his other hand, bracketing you in against him, all in your space. “Perhaps I’ll call you to my room, feed you whine and fruit and sweets, drape you in fine silk” he leans in close to your ear “I’ll keep you to myself all day, kiss every inch of you, maybe keep you all night as well.”

▲ “Lucio” you gasp, he grins devilishly and surges in to kiss you. He kisses you long and hard right there in the hallway, pulling back a few inches just to hover near your lips, you lean into him and he pulls back a little more, teasing. “Please” you pout. “Oh no, beautiful, you’re much too pretty to be begging a man like me for kisses. I should be the one doing the begging, getting on my knees and showering you in gold.” He’s grinning, but he’s glowing red with enthusiasm at the thought. “Kiss me then” you say, pulling him to you, he shivers like he’s weak at the knees and does just that. 

#the arcana #the arcana hc #hc #asra #asra the magician #asra x mc #asra alnazar #the arcana headcanons #julian devorak #julian x mc #julian #the arcana julian #nadia #Countess Nadia #nadia satrinava #nadia x mc #muriel #muriel x mc #portia #portia devorak #portia x mc #lucio #lucio montag #lucio the arcana #lucio x mc #count lucio #a thing that i wrote

[miraclekittyandbug]

Ten Questions With a Twist Chapter 6

I. Cannot. TELL you how sorry I am for the delay. It has been a crazy couple of days, but I’m about to post the two final chapters of Ten Questions With A Twist!

~~~~~~~~~~~~

~ Chapter 1 ~ Chapter 2 ~ Chapter 3 ~ Chapter 4 ~ Chapter 5 ~ This Chapter ~ Chapter 7 ~

“Hey, Marinette!” Adrien called, waving frantically at the bluenette. Classes had just ended and he wanted to be sure to catch her before she left in a hurry.

Marinette turned and saw Adrien there, red in the face. “Hey Adrien. Are you okay? Did you just… run to find me?”

“Umm… How many more of those questions do you have?” Adrien deliberately didn’t answer the question, for fear of seeming like the desperate mess he had turned into. “You know, from that Black Cat guy?”

A light of comprehension shone behind her eyes, “Oh, those. Just a few. I’m really sorry if they were too invasive or anything. I can always tell him it was a bad idea.”

“No! Actually, I think it’s kind of a fun idea. I’d like to answer the rest of them for you.”

“Oh! That would be great!” She put her backpack on the ground and started digging through it to find the list, a formality at this point, as she had already memorized the questions.

“Why don’t we hang out for a bit? We could go back to your place and answer these questions. Maybe play some Mecha Strike? That good luck charm you gave me might even help me beat you.” Adrien wiggled his eyebrows and Marinette blushed, but laughed. 

“I’m not sure it’s that lucky, but it sounds like fun.” Her eyes widened, “Actually, could you give me just a little bit of time to clean up my room first? It’s in a pretty embarrassing state right now. Meet me at the bakery in twenty minutes?”

“Sounds good P- pal.” Adrien caught himself. He was about to call her Princess, but that would give him away. He had a challenge to win, after all.

It took about fifteen minutes to convince the Gorilla to cover for him, not too difficult to do considering he was supposed to take Adrien to his Chinese lessons directly after school. Adrien simply reminded the Gorilla that a conversation in Chinese with Mrs. Dupain-Cheng was a very practical application of the information he already knew so well. They agreed that he would pick him up from the Dupain-Cheng bakery in about two hours.

Adrien made his way, slowly, to the bakery. 

The bakery, being right across the street from the school, and having such delicious treats, was very busy. Adrien waited dutifully in line and when he got to the counter, Sabine greeted him warmly. He responded in Chinese, explaining that the only way he had talked his bodyguard into letting him come was to promise to practice his Chinese. Sabine smiled and ushered him to the back. She pointed him to the staircase and told him, in Chinese, to follow it until he reached Marinette’s room, and that there would be snacks up there for the both of them. 

Now, at this point, Adrien knew for a fact he was in love with this girl. But if there had been even a sliver of doubt in his mind, it all evaporated when he lifted the hatch to Marinette’s room. 

She must have done a wonderful job cleaning, because apart from some half-finished sewing on a desk and a few balls of yarn on her bed, Marinette’s room was spotless. But that wasn’t what caught his eye. Leaning over her computer, attempting to plug in the game console, Marinette was humming contentedly with a cookie in her mouth. The picture of it all was so endearing, Adrien hated to alert her to his presence. However, he thought it might be creepy if she were to turn around and find him staring, so he cleared his throat.

Marinette made a noise that could only be described as a squeak, and bit down on the cookie, causing a portion of it to fall to the floor. “Adrien! I didn’t see you there! Come on in, I’ve got snacks!”

He climbed the final steps into her room and reached for a cookie, “Don’t mind if I do.”

Once Marinette had plugged in the console correctly and booted up the game, they chose their players and began. It didn’t take long for Marinette to secure a lead, so Adrien thought a distraction was in order.

“So what about those questions?”

Marinette was silent for a moment before speaking, “I know you’re just trying to distract me. But to prove a point, I will ask these questions AND win this round at the same time. Just watch.”

“Jeez, B- Marinette, that’s pretty harsh,” he said, playfully. He was learning that it would be very difficult to refrain from calling her by her nicknames. “Won’t you go easy on me? Please?” Adrien made puppy dog eyes at the screen, leaning forward so that she would hopefully catch a glimpse of his pouty lips and fast blinking eyes. Not two minutes later, he flung himself back into his seat, having been defeated. 

Marinette placed her controller onto the desk in front of them, flashing him a sympathetic look. “And I wasn’t even distracted with those questions.”

“Alright,” Adrien relented, “What are they?”

“Okay, well, the question that seemed to make you sick might not be a good one to start off with…”

Adrien remembered his odd behavior earlier, and how stupid he had been to not see it sooner. “No, really, I’m fine. Shoot!”

“Okay, what’s your dream job?”

Adrien pretended to think, as if this question were a surprise to him, “I’d like to be a stay at home dad one day.”

“That’s so sweet! I’d like to be a designer one day. Have my own fashion line, company, that kind of thing. What’s your favorite movie?”

“The Princess Bride.”

“Isn’t that a bit of a chick flick?”

“There’s sword fighting and pirates and impossible odds! And anyway, what’s wrong with chick flicks?”

Marinette quickly defended herself, “There’s nothing wrong with chick flicks, I guess I pegged you as more of a studio Ghibli guy.”

Goodness, it had been a year or two since his last binge of those movies, “Oh, studio Ghibli is amazing! But still, there’s nothing like Wesley rolling down a hill screaming ‘As you wish’ only for Buttercup to fling herself down with him.”

Marinette started giggling, “I totally forgot about that part! Oh, I’ll have to rewatch that movie sometime soon. Favorite dessert?”

“Easy, the macarons from your parents bakery.”

“Really?” Marinette responded, “I’m flattered! What flavor?”

“That passionfruit one is my all time favorite, but that’s only seasonal. I really like any of the fruit ones.”

“Good to know! The other questions are pretty basic. What’s your name?”

Adrien put on a face and spoke in an accent, “My name is Inigo Montoya, you killed my father, prepare to die.”

Marinette laughed and Adrien decided it was the most beautiful sound he had ever heard.

“What school do you go to?”

“Hogwarts.”

She rolled her eyes, “No, seriously.”

Adrien looked at her, eyes calculating, “Is there a reason you want this guy to know all the answers?”

“No!” she crossed her arms and leaned back in her chair, “We just have to give the guy a chance. And anything he doesn’t guess correctly, I don’t have to tell him. So it’s not like I’m giving him all your information or anything.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Adrien said, leaning forward. Marinette blushed as if she knew exactly what he meant, but he continued anyway. “You like this guy, don’t you? You want him to guess correctly so you can go on a date with him!”

“What?!” Marinette acted repulsed by this, but her blush only deepened, “No way! He’s just a friend!”

“But you want to give him a chance.”

She seemed to hold her breath, making her face even redder, but then released and deflated, placing her head in her hands with her elbows on her knees. “I don’t know. Honestly, I probably like this guy a lot, I’ve just been so caught up on… this other guy for so long. It’s so confusing.”

“Have you thought about meeting him? You know, in person?”

Marinette lifted her head and looked at the ceiling instead, “Yeah. I have. I mean, this black cat guy is my best friend. We tell each other everything. He’s the only one who knows about this big part of my life and I rely on him for so much. He’s so sweet and really understanding about me wanting to keep our real names out of it.”

Adrien winced, but Marinette didn’t notice. He felt awful. She had always been so adamant that they not know each other’s identities. But he just happened upon it! One coincidence led to another, led to some questions, led to a point where he couldn’t turn back. “So you don’t want him to know who you are?”

“Well I wouldn’t say that.” Her hand went to the back of her neck and she rubbed it anxiously. “If we somehow found out, I’d honestly be thrilled. I even went so far as to ask Master F- forum.” Marinette blanched, looking Adrien directly in the eye, “Our forum master. The guy that runs the forum that we chat on. I went so far as to ask him about meeting in real life and he just smiled. He said ‘The wheels of life are in motion, but you cannot determine the speed’. I have no idea what that means, but he’s notoriously cryptic.” Adrien was going to say something, but Marinette was on a rant, so he sat back and listened. “And it’s like, he’s wanted to know for a really long time. Ever since the beginning. But I was so cautious, I said no. I thought it would be dangerous for us and our families.” 

“And you need to be careful, with strangers on the internet.”

“Exactly! Strangers on the internet. But then, almost immediately, I trusted him. Right away, we were inseparable. And now that I want to know, I don’t know what to do.”

Adrien couldn’t help the smile that plastered itself on his face. “Well, Marinette, I’m sure things will work out. And you never know! Maybe he’s a really good guesser.”

“Maybe.” She said, obviously glad to have gotten some things off her chest. “In the meantime, let’s sneak down and grab you a couple of macarons.”

~ Chapter 1 ~ Chapter 2 ~ Chapter 3 ~ Chapter 4 ~ Chapter 5 ~ This Chapter ~ Chapter 7 ~

Next chapter should be up by the time you read this far!

#miraculous ladybug fic #miraculous fic #adrienette #ladrien #marichat #ladynoir

[sunriserose1023]

One Last Job [Two]

WORD COUNT: 2957 WARNINGS: Angsty, emotional, talk of a stalker CHAPTER SUMMARY: You try to get used to having a bodyguard, and a seemingly innocent act proves why you need one.

Masterlist

PREVIOUS: CHAPTER ONE

You were up with the sun the next morning, foregoing the run/jog your trainer wanted you to do for a swim in the indoor heated pool. You waded into the water from the shallow end, taking a deep breath before ducking your head and swimming under the water. 

You lost count of how many laps you swam, and when your lungs and limbs were burning, you rolled to your back and floated. 

All you could think about, all that you’d thought about through your restless night was Bucky. Why, you didn’t have the slightest clue, but there was something about him you just couldn’t shake. He was attractive, that was for damn sure. But there was something else, something deeper … maybe even a little dark. 

Something you wanted to know more about. 

You ducked your head back under the water, swimming to the side of the pool. You got to the ladder and lifted your head, gasping as you gripped the ladder tightly. 

“Jesus, you scared me.”

Bucky smiled from where he was sitting, elbows on his thighs, hands clasped together. 

“I was making a round and thought I heard some splashing.”

You nodded. 

“I didn’t feel like running this morning.”

Bucky nodded, and for some reason, you kept talking, answering questions he didn’t verbally ask. 

“Ollie knows how to swim. He’s pretty good, but he also knows not to come down here without me or Clint or Natasha.”

Bucky nodded again. 

“That’s good.”

You went quiet, feeling suddenly self-conscious, despite the modest one-piece swimsuit you were wearing. Bucky cleared his throat and stood up, making you give a shaky breath when you saw the dark jeans encasing his thick thighs, the black t-shirt stretching around his muscular arms. He nodded back towards the bench he’d been sitting on. 

“I’ll give you a minute to dry off.” “Thanks. I was thinking about cooking some breakfast, if you’re interested?”

Bucky gave you one of those quirky half-smiles. 

“I never turn down food.”

You smiled and he walked away, and after getting a nice view of his backside, you ducked your head beneath the water again, sputtering as you came up, shaking your head and exhaling. 

You scrambled eggs and grated cheese into them, turning slices of bacon as you worked. Toast was in the toaster, and there were fresh oranges ready to be squeezed in the basket on the counter, which Steve was currently working on. Clint was standing by the coffee pot, a frown on his face and a mug in his hand at the ready. Bucky walked in when you set some bacon onto a plate and moved it to the center island, managing to grab one slice before glaring at Clint and Steve. You smiled at Bucky as you turned back to the stove. 

“You’ve got to be quick, or else you’ll lose a finger. But don’t worry. I’m planning on cooking at least a metric ton for Steve alone.”

Steve stepped over to you, a pitcher of freshly squeezed orange juice in his hands. He kissed your cheek, putting the pitcher beside the now-empty plate. 

“Are you sure you won’t marry me?”

You smiled. 

“Sorry, bud. My heart belongs to another, albeit smaller, man.”

Steve smiled, shaking his head as he crunched on a piece of bacon. Bucky swallowed as he watched the ease between you and Steve. Since he hadn’t had coffee, Clint wasn't coherent yet, and he purposefully wasn’t wearing his hearing aids so he wouldn’t have to talk to anyone. 

You turned to meet Bucky’s eyes, a soft smile on your pretty face. 

“Scrambled eggs okay?”

Bucky could only nod, and you carried a plate to him, setting it on a watermelon-shaped placemat in front of him. 

“Salt and pepper’s in the shaker there. Pepper grinder on the bottom, turn it over for salt. Butter’s in the dish there.”

He met your eyes and you smiled, color rising high on your cheeks. You went back to the stove, bringing another plate to the pineapple placemat beside Bucky’s. Another plate was placed on a placemat shaped like an orange, and the smallest plate was set on a lime wedge.

Bucky watched as you set a protein bar and a bottle of water on the counter by the door, taking a carton of yogurt from the fridge and grabbing a spoon before you hopped up onto the counter. You crossed your legs and dipped the spoon into the yogurt, and Bucky ducked his head as he studied the breakfast in front of him. 

A smile lit up your face when Ollie trudged into the kitchen, mouth open in a wide yawn. He walked over to you, putting his face at your stomach, and you smiled as you brushed your fingers through his hair. 

“Good morning, sunshine.”

He grunted at you, and you gave a quiet laugh as you bent to kiss the top of his head. 

“Your plate’s on the lime. Go eat before it gets cold.”

Ollie nodded, yawning again as he climbed up onto the barstool, propping one elbow on the table and resting his head in his hand. Clint shuffled over to sit beside him, second cup of coffee in one hand. Steve sat beside Bucky and started shoveling food into his mouth. 

And when Bucky looked your way again, he found your eyes on him. 

He watched your back straighten as the clicking of high heels could be heard coming down the hall. Ollie perked up, a smile coming to his lips. Bucky glanced over his shoulder and his eyes widened. 

Black stilettos, shapely legs, a tight black pencil skirt, a flowy white shirt, perfect crimson curls. Her lips were almost the same color as her hair, dark eyelashes hiding bright blue eyes that widened as she noticed the crowd in the kitchen. One perfectly manicured eyebrow raised. 

“My invitation to this party must have gotten lost.” “Auntie Tasha, these are Uncle Clint's friends. You know Steve, but this is Bucky. He’s going to Bancougar with Mom.”

Natasha slowly nodded. 

“It’s Vancouver, baby.”

Ollie nodded, whispering “Vancouver” under his breath. Natasha met your eyes, her eyebrow raising again. 

“So Vancouver’s still a go?”

You nodded, setting the yogurt you had barely touched onto the counter. Natasha made a humming noise, sighing as she looked to the clock, then back to the kid. 

“Eat your breakfast, buddy. We’ve got to go soon.”

Ollie nodded, digging into his breakfast. Natasha pulled her cell phone out of her bag and made her way to you, focusing on the screen, missing the way you pushed the yogurt behind you. 

Bucky saw it, though. 

Natasha shook her head, blowing out a breath. 

“I’m so sick of these stupid magazines. How many times can I say ‘no comment’ before they listen?” “I got an email from Jesse at the—“ “No.”

You blinked. 

“No?”

Natasha shook her head. 

“We’re not giving any interviews since whoever at the police station let the news leak about …”

You and Natasha glanced to Ollie, who was giving Steve a run for his money with how quickly he was eating. Natasha nodded, speaking softly. 

“You know. That’s all anyone will want to talk about, and the focus needs to be on the movie and your nominations.”

You nodded, looking down at your hands. Bucky glanced over at Steve when his foot was nudged, and Steve shook his head as he drank from his glass. Ollie wiped his mouth with a napkin and jumped down from his chair. 

“Done!” “Go brush your teeth and get dressed.”

You and Natasha had spoken at the same time, and Ollie giggled as he ran off down the hall. Natasha blew out a breath and shook her head as she walked towards the bottle of water and protein bar on the end of the counter. 

“Send him to the car when he’s ready. I don’t want to be late today.”

The clicking of her heels was all that could be heard, and you gave a shaky sigh as you slid off the countertop. You turned and put your hands on it, hanging your head. Clint slid off his chair and went to you, laying a hand on your back, murmuring softly. Steve tapped two fingers against Bucky’s wrist, and he stood up, following Steve out of the kitchen. 

When they were down the hall in a sitting room or something—Bucky didn’t know half the terminology for the hotel-like house—Bucky shook his head. 

“What the hell was that?”

Steve sighed. 

“That was Natasha.” “Why’d she talk to Y/N like she was something stuck on the bottom of her shoe?” “She didn’t mean it like that. Nat’s practically her boss, so—“ “No, they’re sisters. Sisters don’t talk like that to each other.” “It’s a different dynamic here, Buck.”

Bucky shook his head. 

“She shut her down like she was an annoying kid. Did you notice how Y/N hid her food when Natasha walked in?”

Steve’s eyebrows furrowed and he glanced towards the kitchen as Bucky shook his head again. 

“That’s not okay, Steve.” “It’s not our business, Buck.” “But—“ “Save it. You’re just here to be her bodyguard, remember?”

Bucky grit his teeth. 

“Don’t toss my words back at me, you son of a bitch.” “Hey! Don’t get mad at me.”

Bucky shook his head, turning and walking out of the room, back down the hall to the kitchen. He stood in the doorway and watched you, as you slid plates into soapy water and washed them by hand. After a few quiet moments, he spoke. 

“All this money and no dishwasher?”

You glanced over your shoulder and gave him a tight smile. 

“Keeps me grounded to wash the dishes myself.” “Need a hand?”

You shook your head, turning back around and scrubbing some more. Bucky pushed off from the wall he was leaning against, opening drawers until he found a dish towel. He took a plate from the drainer and dried it, moving to place it in the cabinet you’d gotten it from. 

You watched him as he did the rest of the dishes that way, and you gave a shaky breath when you let the soapy water drain from the sink. You washed your hands and noticed Bucky’s raised eyebrow when he saw how pink your hands and forearms were. You swallowed and stepped around him, and he gently took hold of your upper arm. 

“Is she always like that?”

You closed your eyes, but nodded. Your voice was barely a whisper. 

“She’s just trying to do what’s best for us.” “And that’s treating her money maker like garbage?”

You opened your eyes, meeting his. He let go of you, stepping back just enough to cross his arms over his chest and lean against the counter. You swallowed, speaking softly. 

“She’s good with numbers and schedules and things. When my career took off, Mom asked me to give her a place in my …” “Entourage?”

You nodded, and Bucky spoke, just as softly as you. 

“That doesn’t give her the right to treat you like this.”

Tears filled your eyes, and you bit your bottom lip as you looked towards the window over the sink. 

“Ollie loves her so much. And she’s so good to him. I can’t … She stood by me when I was pregnant and when he was a newborn. They have such a bond, and I can’t break that. No matter how she treats me.”

You sniffled, laying a hand against your stomach as you tried to step away. Bucky took hold of your arm again, his fingers gently brushing your elbow. 

“You didn’t finish your breakfast.”

Your eyes widened as you met his eyes and he lifted a shoulder. You gave a shaky breath as he gave your elbow a gentle squeeze. 

“Can you get me your flight information for next week? And a list of people you normally associate with in Vancouver?”

You nodded, and he held your eyes for a moment longer, then gave your elbow one more squeeze before he walked away. 

You paced your office as you flipped through the script you’d been sent, reading the lines out loud. You stopped when there was a knock on your door, and you smiled when Steve poked his head in. You lifted a hand and waved, and Steve smiled as he stepped in the room. 

“Am I interrupting?”

You shook your head, tossing the script on your desk. 

“I can use a break.”

Steve shut the door behind him, leaning against it as you went to sit in your desk chair. You met his eyes and smiled at him, speaking softly. 

“I like Bucky. He’s good.” “Told you.”

You laughed softly. 

“He’s very observant.”

Steve sighed, pushing off from the door. 

“Is she still riding you?”

You blew out a breath, leaning your head back. 

“She’s just trying to do what’s best for us.” “Y/N. Come on. It’s me.”

You closed your eyes, shaking your head. You pushed up from your chair, shaking your head as you started pacing the office. 

“I need to work. Now, more than ever. The nominations were nice, but I need to keep my face out there, keep the focus on me.” “Is that what she’s telling you?” “It’s what everyone is telling me.”

Steve just watched as you paced the floor, until you stopped and turned to face him. 

“And if I keep busy, I won’t be able to focus on how truly terrified I really am.”

Tears suddenly filled your eyes and Steve stepped forward, taking you in his arms. You clung to him, putting your face in his thick shoulder as he gently stroked your hair. 

“Easy. Take it easy, sweet girl.”

You shook your head, giving a shaky exhale. 

“I can’t sleep. I keep having these horrible dreams about someone breaking in and—“

You swallowed and Steve leaned his head against yours. 

“No one’s going to be breaking in, sweetheart. Not with all the reinforcements and bells and whistles Bucky’s added to this place.” “Really?” “Really. You and Ollie are just about the safest people on the planet right now.”

You put your face back in his shoulder and Steve smiled as he rubbed your back. You sighed as you stepped back from him, pushing a hand through your hair. You turned to look at the clock above your desk, then smiled at Steve. 

“Ollie will be home soon.” “Does he have any after-school activities?”

You nodded. 

“He does soccer and he wants to play baseball, he keeps telling me.”

You shook your head, and Steve smiled. 

“I’ll see if I can find a couple gloves, see what the kid’s made of.”

You rolled your eyes. 

“Go easy on my baby, Rogers.”

Steve laughed, the two of you turning as Ollie came running into your room. 

“Hey, Mama! Look what I found!”

The smile slid from your face when he held out the bouquet of blood red roses. Steve must have seen the color fade from your face, because he stealthily grabbed a tissue from the box on your desk and took the vase from Ollie as he spoke. 

“Where’d you find these, buddy?” “Outside by the gate. Did you know there’s a security guard out there now? He’s a big guy, told me his name was Dugan.”

Ollie shook his head as he walked to the chair you’d collapsed into. 

“What kind of a name is Dugan, Mom?” “It’s his last name, bud. He was in the Army with me and Bucky and your uncle.”

Ollie looked back to Steve, hazel eyes going wide. 

“You know him, Steve?” “I do. And he’s not as cool as he’s trying to make you think he is.”

Ollie giggled, and you lifted a shaking hand to brush over his head. He smiled at you, and Steve cleared his throat. 

“O-man, did you see anybody around these flowers?”

Ollie shook his head. 

“No, the flowers were just sitting by the gate. There wasn’t anybody around.”

Steve nodded, and you met his eyes. He smiled at you, motioning towards the door. 

“Come on, bud. Let’s go see what Uncle Clint’s up to.”

Ollie nodded, waving a hand behind him as he ran to Steve. 

“Bye, Mom!”

When the door clicked shut behind them, you leaned forward, putting your head in your hands. A few minutes later, there was a knock on the door a second before Bucky walked in.

“Are you okay?” “They’re from him, aren’t they? The—the roses. He always sends roses.”

You stood up from your desk, walking around it and shaking your head. Bucky stepped in front of you, closing the door behind him, watching as you paced the room, wringing your hands. 

“Was there a card? Sometimes he sends a card. Sometimes it comes a few days later, in the mail.” “Y/N.”

You stopped, turning to face him. He gently tilted his head, and you felt your bottom lip tremble before you burst into tears. Bucky was in front of you before you could take in a breath, wrapping you into his arms. You clung to him, digging your fingers into his back and crying into his shoulder, shaking your head as you choked out the words. 

“I’m so scared. None of this matters, because he—“ “Shh, listen to me, listen. I’m not going to let anything happen to you. Do you hear me?” “You can’t promise—“ “I can. I am doing everything in my power to keep you safe, and I’m not going to let him touch you.”

You put your face in Bucky’s shoulder, and he tightened his grip around you, gently rubbing a hand down your back.

NEXT: CHAPTER THREE

TAGS: @star-spangled-man-with-a-plan, @captain-rogers-beard, @i-have-no-life-charlie, @jillybeaner13, @notyourtypicalrose, @sea040561, @fallenoutofrose, @geeksareunique, @distractedgemini, @buckybarneshairpullingkink, @isaxhorror, @scentedsongrebel, @paige-sais-rawr, @beardburnsupersoldiers, @absolukeyrh​, @elatedmarvel​, @shadowsof-thenight​, @sarcasm-myfriend​, @our-marvel-universe​, @shinycupcakebaker​

#one last job series #marvel fanfiction #mcu fanfiction #bucky barnes x female reader #marvel reader insert #marvel au #mcu au #mcu reader insert #bucky barnes fanfiction #bodyguard bucky barnes #celebrity reader

[justkindaoverhereobsessing]

so big/so small

In which a nightmare prompts Ziva and Tali to have a little ice cream and a much-needed heart-to-heart.

Written for my friend drabble project, this time for my dear friend @zikaiuris! I appreciate you so much, Alex! <3 The title and a few paraphrased quotes are from “So Big/So Small” from Dear Evan Hansen.

Drabble also available to read on AO3 or ff.

_____________________

It’s nearing four in the morning when something jolts Ziva awake. The instincts that have served her well for many years are humming, telling her that something is amiss. She doesn’t know what it is, but something is wrong. 

She no longer keeps a gun by her bed—a suggestion from her therapist, who seems to think letting go of that physical safeguard will help her let down her mental barriers, too—but it doesn’t matter. Since beginning her training for Mossad nearly two decades ago, she hasn’t really needed a weapon.

Ziva David is the weapon, and that’s something she’ll never grow out of.

She sits up quickly, flicks the bedside light on, and scans the room; nothing seems out of place at all. Tony is sleeping silently beside her, the light no bother to him at all, and his hand is still resting lightly on her thigh. Ziva debates waking him, but there’s nothing so far that suggests she’s not just being paranoid. 

She climbs out of bed and heads for the hall, keeping her eyes and ears alert for any suspicious changes in the Parisian flat Tony and Tali settled into several years ago… and she’s only a few steps from the bedroom she shares with Tony when she hears something that sends her running.

“No! No, Ima! Ima, please!” 

It’s Tali.

A second later, Ziva is bursting into Tali’s room. Thankfully, it’s almost immediately clear what’s happening—Tali is still fast asleep, deep in the throes of what appears to be a nightmare. There’s no external threat, nothing to fight off; that doesn’t stop Ziva’s heart from racing for several long moments, however.

She crouches down next to her daughter’s bed, hating the sight of the trembling little frown on Tali’s face.

“Ima, please don’t—please don’t, I don’t want you to—no, Daddy, please stop her!”

Very concerned, Ziva hastens to wake Tali, being as gentle as possible. She isn’t sure exactly what the five-year-old is dreaming of, only that it must be unpleasant. “Tali, little one, open your eyes. It is all going to be alright—wake up now, my love.”

It takes a few moments of gentle petting and murmuring, but Tali finally opens her eyes, blinking into the dim light shed by her night light. “Tali, are you alright?” Ziva asks quietly, not wanting to startle the girl.

“Ima?” The question is a little disbelieving, its speaker not yet fully awake. 

“I am right here,” Ziva promises quickly. 

“Ima!” All at once, Tali’s tone of sleepy confusion gives way to sorrow, and she bursts into tears. 

Alarmed, Ziva perches on the side of Tali’s bed and gathers her daughter into her arms. “Tali, what is the matter? Shush now, ahava, there is nothing to worry about. Take a deep breath, yes? Ima has you now.”

Tali doesn’t answer and she doesn’t immediately calm, but she clutches onto Ziva until her tears slow and then finally stop. “I had a bad dream,” she mumbles into Ziva’s neck, wiping her wet face on her mother’s shirt.

“I thought that might be the case,” Ziva shares, kissing Tali’s temple and tightening her hold slightly. “Would you like to talk about it?”

Tali shakes her head wordlessly, and Ziva nods. “That is alright. You do not have to say anything.”

They sit in silence for a few minutes, and despite what she just told her daughter, Ziva gets concerned when Tali’s arms never loosens their hold and the little one never speaks… truly her father’s daughter, it’s unlike Tali to go for very long without speaking, especially when she’s experiencing strong emotions of any kind.

Making the executive decision that one night of poor sleep and excessive sugar intake won’t hurt the almost-6-year-old, Ziva gets to her feet, automatically adjusting her hold until Tali’s on her hip like she’s still a toddler and not a too-quickly growing girl. “Come, Tali-girl. I know just the thing.”

Tali lifts her head as they emerge into the hall, her curiosity pushing away her lingering distress for the moment. “Where are we going?” she wants to know.

“Patience! You will see!” There’s a smile in Ziva’s voice that she’s sure Tali can hear even if it’s too dark to see, and she gives the girl a little bounce. 

When they reach the kitchen, Ziva deposits Tali on the counter. A murmur of “stay here for a moment” and she leaves her daughter’s side to dig a pint of ice cream out of the freezer. On her way back, she flips the light on so they can see one another properly.

Tali sees the ice cream, and her face—still heavy and sad—brightens. “Ice cream? At night!?”

“Ice cream is good for sadness, yes?” Ziva suggests warmly, pulling out a few spoons and setting them alongside the ice cream tub on the counter next to Tali.

“Hey, that’s what Abba says, too!” Tali shares, slightly impressed by her mother’s unexpected decision to temporarily abandon healthy eating. 

“Who do you think I learned it from?” Ziva teases lightly, hopping up on the counter on the other side of the ice cream. She pulls the top off the tub, hands Tali a spoon, and the two dig into the sweet treat in companionable silence, both swinging their feet lightly against the cabinets below them.

Eventually, Tali speaks, though she doesn’t look at Ziva as she does so. “I had a bad dream,” she says again.

“Oh?”

“I dreamed that…” Tali pauses and takes a bite of ice cream. After she swallows, she sighs. “I dreamed that you went away again.”

There’s something heavy in her voice, too heavy for a five-year-old to carry, and it breaks Ziva’s heart. “Tali, I would not—”

“I dreamed you didn’t want me ‘n Abba anymore.”

That admission arrests Ziva’s voice deep in her throat, and for a moment, she can’t answer.

Tali takes another bite of ice cream, staring at the floor.

“Is that what you think?” Ziva asks finally after several tight swallows.

“No,” Tali says too quickly.

Ziva sighs, experiencing a sensation that has plagued her since reuniting with her family; it’s the feeling that no matter how many steps forward she takes, she’ll never stop taking steps back whether she wants to or not. 

She slides off the counter and moves to stand in front of Tali, putting a hand under Tali’s chin and pulling her small face up until their eyes meet; with her other hand, she gently pries Tali’s spoon from her fingers and rests it back in the ice cream tub. “Tali,” she murmurs, tired and tender.

“Mm?”

“I need you to understand something. Are you listening to me?”

“Yeah, Ima.”

“Good girl.” Ziva gives her daughter a small smile; it’s all she can muster, but it seems to reassure Tali anyway. “I need you to understand, sweet girl, that I always wanted you and Abba… especially when I could not be with you.”

“But you weren’t here!” Tali protests, her lower lip and chin starting to quiver again. Her eyes glaze over with a new film of yet unshed tears. 

“I know, darling. I know. But there was nothing I wanted more than to be here.” Until tonight, Ziva had been under the impression that Tali had not questioned her and Tony’s very simplified explanation for her long absence, but now it seems that Tali was merely accepting what they said in favor of not disturbing the peace.

It’s a choice that no child should ever have to make—something no child should ever have to even consider.

“But you weren’t here!” Tali repeats, and a few little tears spill from her eyes onto her cheeks. “It doesn’t matter if you want us, ‘cause you wanted us before and you still went away! I don’t want you to leave again!”

Ziva reaches up to swipe the girl’s tears away, heartened by the fact that Tali doesn’t shrug her off. “Ahava shelli, I think it may be time to tell you more of the story.”

“What story?”

“The story of why you went to live with Abba when you were little.”

She and Tony discussed this in the very beginning—they talked about what Tali had already been told and how much more—and when—to tell her, but it seems that Tali has her own timeline. It’s not fair to avoid answering her questions when being left so entirely in the dark is clearly hurting her.

With that in mind, Ziva starts to talk. She doesn’t go into detail, and she still glosses over the darkest parts of the story… but she tells Tali the very basics of what happened. She explains that there was a very bad woman who wanted to hurt them all, and how in order to protect Tali and Abba, Ziva had to run. She tucks Tali’s hair behind her little ears and tells her that she never lost hope that she’d be able to come back to her family, that Tali and Abba were in her mind every moment of every day, even as she traversed the globe looking for answers and for help. 

Ziva isn’t sure how much of the story Tali is really absorbing, but for once in her young life, Tali doesn’t interrupt. She just listens, nodding or shaking when she’s asked a question but otherwise remaining still and quiet. 

When Ziva finishes, she squeezes Tali’s little hand, which found its way into her own a few minutes ago. “Does all of that make sense?”

Tali nods, but there’s still a small frown furrowing her brow. 

“Do you have questions?”

“Yeah. Is she dead? The lady that wanted to hurt us, did she die?”

“Yes, Tali.” Oh, how Ziva wishes Tali didn’t know what death meant! She won’t lie to her daughter, though... not when the question is this straightforward, not when it’s this simple and it’s an age-appropriate thing to ask. 

“So she won’t hurt you anymore?”

“No. She will not hurt anyone anymore.”

“Did you kill her?”

Ziva swallows, thankful that for now, she doesn’t have to look her daughter in the eye and confess to being a killer. “No, I did not.” She doesn’t add that she would have done so without hesitation had Gibbs not taken the shot he took, though.

Tali seems to accept this, and Ziva takes the break in her daughter’s questioning to reinforce an idea. “Do you see now, however, that I would never be parted from you if I did not have to be?”

“Yeah,” Tali agrees, and now it sounds like she means it.

Ziva draws her into another hug, relishing in the feel of her daughter’s small head resting once more on her bosom. Ziva will never tire of that, nor will she take it for granted. “Good,” she murmurs into Tali’s ear. “Because I will never leave you again. Never. There is not a force in the world strong enough to pull me from your side—no matter what. I am not going anywhere; I will stay right here. No matter what, I will be here, where I belong: with you.”

She can feel Tali smile. “Promise, Ima?”

“I promise. I will hold you whenever you need me to—when it all feels so big, until it all feels so small. I love you more than you will ever understand.”

“I love you, too.” There’s a pause, and then Tali’s head pops back up, a grin on her face that Ziva wasn’t expecting. “Ima?”

“Yes?”

“Can we finish the ice cream now?”

Ziva laughs, extraordinarily glad that Tali is appeased enough to have moved on entirely. “Yes. But you must promise not to tell Abba that we did. He will tickle us mercilessly if he finds that we finished his favorite Moose Tracks without letting him help, yes?”

Tali mimes zipping her lips and throwing away the lock. 

“That is my girl,” Ziva says warmly, and she hands Tali her spoon again. 

Tali won’t always be so easily placated, Ziva knows… but for now, it’s enough to sit side-by-side on the counter again, eating an unreasonable amount of sugar. It’s enough to believe for a moment, as Tali does, that the world is simple and black and white and that asking a few questions can solve any problems. It’s enough to experience this little slice of life that Ziva came so close to losing entirely...

No, that’s not quite right.

It’s more than enough.

#ncis fanfiction #tivali #ziva david #tali david dinozzo #cynthia writes stuff too #tiva #tony dinozzo #friend drabble project #number idk #anyway thank you for always being a wonderful friend and supporter alex! #can't wait for our adventure to nyc and porto and scotland! <3 #hope you enjoy this girl! #you deserve allllll the fics!

[zippiestdraws]

Choking Curiosity CH 5

read on ao3

ftm reader x michael myers

The dense weave of the hoodie slows the blade, but only makes the kill more intimate as Michael adds more pressure. He watches it slowly cut through the fibers and dig into the flesh underneath until it gives, sinking sharply into the sternum of one of the vandals. The night is late and in broad view on a suburban sidewalk, help is so close but snatched from his victim’s reach with his large hand pinching her cries in her throat. Her shrouded companion lies crumpled and bleeding in the grass of someone’s front yard. His hands were warm with the blood thickly lubricating his blade, the tang of it growing in the air.

In the climax of the kill, his adrenaline drew on the memory of his knife tantalizing your body. Standing beholden of his work and wiping the blade on the arm of his coveralls, the action had given way to his decision. His patience broke and he’s done with watching now.

There wasn’t a plan, but Michael is satisfied with running on instinct.

*** You didn’t tell Quentin what you saw. It went against your better judgement, but it would make you sound crazy. “There’s someone in your house now. Dressed in a sheet.”

You couldn’t sleep with it on your mind, but neither could Quentin so the two of you traded sleepover talk until you passed out. At one point you were tired enough to share how you ended up here after being cut off from everything you once knew. You must have fallen asleep during his story, you only recall him telling you that he came out here to escape something.

Using his phonebook and house phone, you were able to schedule a locksmith to change your locks urgently. Before that appointment, however, you needed to meet Laurie at the coffee shop she chose as the ‘crowded public place’.

Quentin offers to drive you, but you insist that he’s done enough for you and that it isn’t too far if you head out early. You almost regret it, running on so little sleep, until you remember Quentin would be driving on even less.

Looking around awkwardly, trying not to obstruct the counter in front of the entrance, you see Laurie stand from one of the central tables and wave you over to one farther in the back by the restrooms.

She gets down to business quickly, asking for all the details quickly after greeting you. You mention the little things before adding up to what happened last night. The relief you feel when you see that she believes you is emboldening, so you tell her about the tape you set up and even the sheet ghost.

“He isn’t dead.”

“Wh-who?”, You fiddle nervously.

Her steely gaze steals your breath as she talks in a voice laced with anger.

“Michael Myers.” Laurie drops a pile of papers onto the table and starts to slide each of them individually in front of you. “Two years ago on Halloween, he murdered my friends and tried to kill me.” A tear runs down her cheek and she wipes it away with vitriol before composing herself and gesturing to the papers.

Newspaper clippings.

A headline over a black and white print of a mask. The papers are littered with annotations in red marker. You look closer and read the important pieces. Sightings, disappearances, homicides…

“All in the last two years. There’s no killing the boogeyman. And there’s no stopping him if he wants you dead.” Her eyes hold a determination that makes you squirm.

She’s succeeded in making you scared at least.

“Well what do I do?”, your voice escalates a little in panic.

She looks at you with pity.

“Get a gun.” she says solemnly.

You promise to keep in touch and leave feeling the weight of a target on your back.

*** Michael treated the occasion as any other day, except perhaps indulging in a more noticeable amount of food than normal, until he heard your keys in the door.

You came back from work much later tonight. Perfect.

Your footsteps trailed lazily up the stairs and Michael positioned himself where the door would swing into the wall. The knob turned and he waited.

It snapped back into place, ruining his anticipation. He listened carefully for your next move. Quiet steps to the bathroom. Pause. You were running.

He yanked open your bedroom door but you were already outside.

He was careful enough. How did you know?

Maybe you were smarter than he gave you credit for. Minimally impressed, Michael went downstairs to observe through the living room window. You were in the neighbor’s yard, but you had to return eventually. You had nowhere else to run.

He distantly remembers two halloweens ago, the opposite, the neighbors had shut the porch lights on Laurie.

You looked back to where he stood and Michael didn’t bother to hide.

Time passes sluggishly as he watches for your exit. Before it comes, the sound of sirens growing closer aches in his ears. He should have expected you to call the police, but a storm cloud rumbles inside him anyway. Michael stays in place until you pass out of his view crossing the yard, then leaves knowing there is nothing to find.

The pasty cop trespasses the threshold with his flashlight and gun in front of him. Michael can see you in full view under the streetlights, watching your insecurity like a voyeur.

You shuffle uncomfortably in your work clothes, listening carefully from the curb until the sweep of the house is done. Standing just off the porch, the officer writes on his notepad with an uninterested posture. The specifics of the conversation don’t reach until your voice raises at the tone of accusations toward you.

This new vibrancy of expression draws Michael forward before a second car pulls to the curb. He can see your anger fester as you sling an indignant remark at the back of the retreating pig, earning a quick exhale of amusement.

You pushed the cops away, but you also brought them here. The multitudes you contain confuse him. He wasn’t interested in killing you just yet, but you won’t get away with this that easily.

If you hadn’t had Michael’s attention before, you definitely had it now. You leave in the other car, to his surprise, but he can keep playing cat and mouse.

*** He was satisfied to toy with you last night. Michael smiles minisculely at the thoughts as he woke. Sleeping in a car gave him a crick in the neck, but he massages it away and climbs into the front seat.

He’s stolen a car before and it’s not hard.

Timing must be on his side, because you exit the house before his eyes, the sunlight streaming onto you and the autumn leaves like a picture. Michael peels off his mask, his hand landing on the stick shift ready to follow suit. His eyes leave you long enough to meet a pair of aviators sitting on the dash and he dons them before bringing the car to life.

*** The car engine dies as you enter the shop, the windows casting a glare, but not enough to shield the clueless people within. A wave of blonde catches his attention and he sees a familiar face wave you over. He feels nothing.

Then you will be prepared. So will he. *** When you get home, the branded car of the locksmith is already waiting out front. You apologize for keeping him waiting and you unlock the front door, silently feeling safer to not enter on your own.

The handyman gets to work quickly and you make yourself busy by scrounging together his payment. You’re more than happy to loiter nearby as the locks are changed.

You’re happy you can cross this repair off your list, but the feeling of being exposed when you’re alone again doesn’t leave. You ignore it to change out of your not quite “walk of shame” clothes.

Peeling off your shirt as you walk up the stairs, you’re temporarily blind and stumble on the last step. You toss it onto the floor of your room ahead of you and make for the rest of your clothes until a force from nowhere throws you back onto one of the walls, knocking the breath out of you.

You grunt at the shock and Michael pounces.

Your eyes shoot open wildly and you manage a small gasp before a large hand cuts you off around your throat. The intruder towers over you and gets close, casting a shadow upon his prey before you feel yourself rise and your toes no longer reach the floor.

The white mask from the photographs stares into you, eyes indiscernible in the darkness underneath. You kick out at him, desperate to break his grip. Your arms aren’t long enough to reach his face and beating at his arms and hand prove futile.

Michael watches as your face shifts from surprise to anger and then to fear as you realize how very mortal you are. Your warm pulse races ever faster underneath his fingers.

He could very easily kill you, and the urge itches pleasantly in his hands. But then the fun would end. He tries to squash the small desire that’s been slowly infecting him like a virus. You should be nothing to him, he wants you to be nothing, it’s normal for him to feel nothing.

His hands flex and you hiss underneath him. Your fighting hands slip off him and you dangle helplessly on the edge of consciousness. Your eyes don’t focus on him, but some point elsewhere, in a resolute way.

Your body hits the ground as Michael’s head screams at his hands for releasing you. He steps back from you, watching stiffly as you sputter back to life on the floor.

You don’t even register what’s happening, heaving and rubbing your throat when he leaves. When your clarity returns, you scramble on your knees to slam the bedroom door behind him and lock it.

He could be a snitch. Michael gives in to the feeling you won’t be calling the police after yesterday. Frustration consumes him and he grits his teeth at you wresting his control from him.

Tears are running down your face and you don’t feel them until you wipe them away. You’re alive. Why didn’t he kill you? Laurie said there was no stopping him if he wanted someone dead. Michael Myers killed without remorse.

Your head swims when you lift yourself off the floor. Right now you need to find a way out. You really wish you didn’t leave your bat by the back door. You have no phone, no weapons, and you’re on the second floor. Even if he didn’t catch you after jumping out a window you definitely can’t afford a trip to the hospital right now. The only way out is through.

Looking around your room, you find nothing that would make for good defense, but you’ll have to make do. You pull your shirt back on and unplug your cheap reading lamp from the wall to hold it by the base.

Every noise the door makes while unlocking and opening makes you flinch. Your bare feet pad across the floor silently to the stairs, stepping carefully to avoid the creaky parts of the boarding.

Every step is full of adrenaline as you hold your life and a lamp in your hands. You peer over the railing as far as you can into each room along the central hallway as you descend. You’re three steps from the bottom and crane your neck to peek around the corner of the archway next to the stairs.

You see blue coveralls and black boots and twist to run silently back up the stairs.

Michael takes two large steps to the stairs and grabs your leg with his left hand as you run, watching you fall hard on your ribs and the lamp goes clattering down around you.

You feel your ankle released and scramble up the stairs on all fours, turning around at the top to see your tormentor standing at the bottom looking up at you as if it were a game.

The two of you are at a standoff, you breathing heavily over the softer sounds of his breaths behind the mask.

You hear your own voice croak in an unfamiliar way. Your throat throbs painfully.

“Why didn’t you kill me?”, you don’t know why you ask.

His head tilts at you curiously, stealing your breath.

Michael doesn’t know the answer either, he does know this is the first time you’ve spoken to him and the words resonate in his skull.

“Have...have you been living here?”, you rasp quieter this time.

His arm flexes, and you see the shine of a knife changing position in his right hand. Your pulse races and you look back into the eye-holes of the mask. This time you can see further.

The sun is setting and painting an ethereal and gold waning light from behind his fit form. One eye deep blue and another pale against the sclera lock with yours.

You lose yourself looking harder, until you blink and he’s moved away, walking heavily down the hall into the house. You stay put, listening.

The back door squeaks open and shut, and you’re alone with your adrenaline.

#Michael Myers #michael myers x reader #Slashers #slasher x reader #male reader #trans writers #choking curiosity #content warning #violence

[third-rail-vip]

the wanderers

*nervous laughter* yeah so it’s been a really long time since i did this, but i wrote a little early dynamics kind of intro for Mac and Ivy to warm up for the fluff prompts.  

[words: 2171]   [read on AO3]

The road out from Cambridge felt like it dragged on forever through the quiet backwaters of the commonwealth that MacCready had never really bothered with - never enough caps out here to make it worth the trip.  That morning the sun had shone and he’d thought it might be nice to wander out into what the ‘wealth thought of as wasteland, but he’d not counted on how damn hot it’d be slogging uphill for hours on end.  Weren’t winters meant to be colder the further north you went?  It was November and his hat was sticking unpleasantly to his forehead.  He was bored, irritable and parched, and for once he wasn’t complaining at the boss’s habit of carrying too much water.

Ivy had been out of sorts all morning, barely noticing even his worst jokes, the ones that would usually send her into fits of giggles before she admonished him for making her laugh at something so bad.  

A last minute stop at Valentine’s Detective Agency had left her deflated.  It’d only been a week since they’d rescued the detective, hardly enough time for him to dig up any leads on the mystery man from her vault.  But there they were at the crack of dawn, MacCready still bleary-eyed and yawning into his sleeve when Valentine had opened the door with a sorry shake of his head at the sight of them.  He had nothing more to offer them than coffee and an apology that nothing had turned up yet.  

Mac held his tongue for the boss’s sake - no point in throwing any more spanners in the works - and the detective at least seemed decent enough.  For a synth.  From what he could tell, finding Valentine was supposed to be some kind of big break for Ivy, but they were headed back with nothing to show for it and it was weighing on her. 

By the time they hit the shadow of the old Corvega factory he’d stopped bothering to try and make conversation.  They settled into a heavy silence.  Even the local wildlife seemed to have taken the hint, with not even the buzzing of a bloodbug breaking the wasteland stillness, only the sound of their laboured breathing as they continued to climb.  

Usually travelling with her was fun, something MacCready wasn’t used in the merc business -  bosses tended to want you to shut the hell up and get the job done - but not her.  Everything was new to Ivy, and he had to admit to being entertained seeing his world through her.  She always left herself an open book, every emotion easy to read in big brown eyes.  

One thing he could never guess was how she was going to handle one day to the next; some days she stuck so close to his side that they might as well be glued at the hip, all skittish like a radstag doe at the slightest sound.  

But then there were days like the Library, when she got the giggles from the damn greenskins trying to tempt them out of hiding.  “But Mac, they said it was a treat..” “No.” “Aren’t you even curious?” “No!” “Ugh, knowing my luck it’s probably an overdue book fine from 2076.”  And after all hell broke loose, she even managed to find a working camera in the wreckage and went limping over to one of the remaining protectrons - already sniggering - to try and persuade it to take a picture of them.  Like some kind of pre-war tourist.  It was her calling it ‘officer’ that broke him, left him doubled up with tears streaming down his cheeks.  

That camera was still somewhere in her pack, and waiting to be developed were some sure to be dreadful pictures of him blinding them with the flash.  It had been a good day.

But now she wandered ahead, blank and unreadable, leaving him stuck with no conversation, nothing to shoot at, and no idea whether it was going to get better or worse by the time they got to the settlement.  

“There’s a trader up ahead.”  MacCready started, trying his best to make it look like he’d been scanning the horizon for danger - and wondering how long he’d been wandering without actually looking.  “I thought I might just nip in and see if she has anything they might need at Sanctuary, if that’s alright with you?”

So this is why she picks up so much crap.

“Fine by me, boss.  Just don’t make me carry it all.”  He glanced past her to the brow of the hill where a large sign declared the Drumlin Diner was ‘open 24/7’.

If you ignored the broken windows and the occasional two hundred year old former patron - who’d thought that a milkshake was the best way to see in the apocalypse - the diner was in surprisingly decent shape.  

They paused for a moment in the parking lot while Ivy struggled to get into her pack without dropping her rifle.  He took pity on her, taking the rifle out of her hands with a sigh and propping it against the outer wall of the diner.  This close she looked exhausted, and now he thought about it, she hadn’t eaten since the night before.  

MacCready couldn’t imagine not eating when there was food on offer, but then again Lucy used to joke that he could eat a whole brahmin and still be hungry - that’s what sixteen years of cave fungus does to you.  

With a grateful smile and a quiet ‘thank you’, her rifle now safely stowed on her shoulder, Ivy headed through the door ahead of him.  The sweet smile that had been missing all morning had been mustered ready to coax a bargain out of the unsuspecting recipient - the same smile that’d somehow knocked fifty caps off his fee a couple of weeks before.  

A stern woman leant possessively on the diner counter, in a way that inevitably meant she had a shotgun tucked just out of sight.  She opened her mouth to greet Ivy but caught sight of MacCready in the doorway.  Turning an icy glare on him, she regarded him with about as much pleasure as she might a junkyard mutt that had just rolled in molerat crap.  

The smile slipped from Ivy’s lips, completely at a loss as to what had caused the unexplained hostility.  She hadn’t been around MacCready long enough to witness how often wastelanders just thought of mercenaries as well-paid raiders.  Although depending on what kind of work they took, they weren’t entirely wrong - his time with the Gunners had shown him that much.  

After the hot miserable morning he’d had, Mac could easily have just snapped, told the old biddy exactly where she could stick her supplies - oh man, did he want to - but for the second time that day, he kept his opinions to himself and slunk back outside, grumbling under his breath and lighting a cigarette as he went.  

--

After a good five minutes stalking around the parking lot, he finally perched himself on a stool, nodding to the skeleton who occupied the counter seat next to him.  Taking a final drag, he snuffed out the cigarette on the countertop, smirking at the way it sank through the varnish, leaving a blackened ring and the stink of burnt plastic.  

He’d been trying to cut back on the smoking, another promise he’d made months before, albeit a harder one to keep than watching his language.  MacCready hated waiting around for no reason - but so was the life of a sniper - so he needed something to keep his hands or at least his mind occupied, and the nicotine took the edge off his restlessness.  

Leaning back on the counter he caught snippets of the conversation he’d been so rudely excluded from.  It sounded like Ivy must have helped out with something the last time she was here and, judging by the time he’d spent in her company, it had everything to do with the blood splattered on the tarmac near to where he was sat.

He let his eyes drift up and down the road, watching for any sign of trouble - actually paying attention this time - but it was as quiet as he expected.  This was possibly the most uneventful day he’d had since leaving his homestead, and while he knew he should be grateful for the peace, he had to admit he was bored.  

A playful elbow to the ribs jolted free of his haphazard guard duty - Ivy was back, her pack looking a little heavier than before.    

“You ok?” she asked, taking in what must have been his utterly zoned out expression while she pressed an almost cold Nuka-Cola into his hand. She gave his hand the slightest squeeze before letting go of the bottle and finally he could see a real smile starting to tug at the corners of her mouth.

“Yeah,” MacCready nodded, flashing her a smirk before taking a long swig of the Nuka-Cola.  He couldn’t deny he was grateful the silence was over, and that at least something seemed to have brightened the boss’s mood.  Although he couldn’t for the life of him think what that woman could have done to cheer her up.  

“Good.” Ivy’s smile broke into a grin, her eyes flashing mischievously as she turned up the radio on her pip-boy.  “Because you are not going to believe this.”  

“What?”

“Just wait,” she teased, tearing into a packet of gumdrops and offering him one before sitting back to watch him as he puzzled over what she was up to.

The last few bars of ‘Orange Coloured Sky’ blared tinnily from the tiny speakers - great, that was going to be stuck in his head for the rest of the day.

“What did you have to go getting that--”

“Truly one of the greatest voices ever, that was Nat King Cole..”

“Who the heck is that?”

“Travis ‘Lonely’ Miles here, bringing you...”

“You’ve got to be shi-- kidding me!  Vadim was right?”  

MacCready stared incredulously at the pipboy where the newly ‘smooth’ tones of Travis Miles drifted from.  Begrudgingly he shifted his gaze up to Ivy, and the smirk spreading its way across her face.  If he didn’t know better, he’d think she’d stolen Christmas.  “You’re pretty pleased with yourself right now, aren’t you?”

Ivy held out a hand, wiggling her fingers expectantly, her smile bordering dangerously on coy.  

“That’ll be twenty caps, please.”

--

Ivy led the way up the hill again, but this time instead of silence, the radio was turned up as high as it would go.  It was like a switch had been flipped and all of that melancholy had been channeled into an obnoxiously good mood.  MacCready wasn’t sure how many more caps he’d be willing to lose if poorly judged bets were what it took to cheer her up, but at least she was back to actually laughing at his jokes again, even the really bad ones.  

Especially the really bad ones.  

She’d been humming along with the radio as they walked, and he chattered, but as soon as Travis introduced ‘The Wanderer’, Mac knew exactly what was coming.  It wasn’t the first time that song had wormed its way into her head, she’d even sing along in the middle of Diamond City -albeit quietly- but in her current mood...

Ivy sang at the top of her lungs, the slight skip in her step falling in line with the drum beat.  It didn’t take long for her hips to start to sway, and by the time the saxophone kicked in she was just dancing like an idiot up the middle of the road.  Occasionally she’d twirl around dramatically to serenade him directly - between fits of laughter of course.  Even out of pocket, he couldn’t resist laughing and singing along in the face of that onslaught.  

“Are you planning on looking out for any trouble, angel, or is that my job now?” MacCready called after her, shaking his head at the ridiculous display, and doing his best to keep the grin off his face when she looked back at him.

“If I remember rightly... and I usually do,” she quirked an eyebrow at him. “You never actually asked what the job was.  Congratulations, you got paid two hundred caps to be my audience.”

She was dead right on that one.  He’d been so desperate for work he’d not even thought to ask.  He probably wouldn’t even know her name if she hadn’t awkwardly held out her hand and introduced herself after their deal was struck.  

He’d got lucky with this one.  It wasn’t often you accidentally stumbled into a decent job without asking any questions - and there were far worse shows in the Commonwealth to be an audience to.  

He rolled his eyes at her.  “Ugh, in that case don’t get too far ahead of me, or I’ll not be able to shoot everyone who doesn’t appreciate your talent as much as you do.”

He got a gumdrop launched at his head for that one.  

#maccready x f!solesurvivor #sole survivor x maccready #maccready #robert joseph maccready #ivy kendrick #otp: this earth with you #my sole survivor #my writing #ah shit why have i put this in the tags #i haven't written in a really long time so it might take a minute to get my sea legs back

[ragnarachael]

i’ll live to see another day

Pairing: Stephen Strange x ER Nurse!Reader

Word Count: 2,093

Summary: You're finally back in your apartment from your long shift at Metro-General, but your mystical boyfriend decided you couldn't take a break yet.

Warnings: we got sum INJURIES, BLOOD, INACCURATE MEDICAL TALK, and stephen strange feeling guilty for even asking you to do this. he loves u. he promises.

MASTERLIST !  FEEDBACK !

You unlocked the door to your apartment, expecting it to be empty.

Yet Stephen Strange stood in your kitchen, the smell of coffee wafting through the air.

“Stephen?” You questioned, letting out a soft sigh as you placed your bag down, tossing your keys on the small hallway cabinet you had near the door. You heard him call back when your eyes caught some drops of red. You shuffled alongside the small trail that seemingly led to the kitchen.

That's when you found Stephen, who was hunched over your kitchen counter, dressed in street clothes for once in his mystic life, holding on tightly to a novelty mug you got from a trip to Universal Studios.

His shirt was absolutely drenched in blood, which was what made it clinging to his left side.

“Jesus Christ, what happened to you!?” You were quick to walk to his side as he grunted, standing up straight as your hands found the bottom hem of his shirt.

“Easy, sweetheart,” Stephen hissed out in retaliation as you got his shirt up to see what looked like a stab wound. You had half the mind to keep your eyes trained on your hands, quick to switch into nurse mode.

“Do not sweetheart me right now, Stephen.” It was quick, stern, and Stephen definitely knew he was in deep shit.

You’d probably make him repay you by cleaning up his blood from your floors while you clean the counters.

Stephen let out another gasp as your hands let the shirt fall back down, a quick mumble of an apology heard before you were off rushing to your bathroom for your first aid kit.

You were still in your scrubs from your shift, and Stephen was already blaming himself and feeling guilty. But he had nowhere else to go.

He couldn’t go to the hospital, too many wandering eyes along with the fact that he was too proud of himself for not going to Metro-General again. Claire was out helping an apparent mutual friend named Mike, whoever the hell that was to Stephen, and Christine was out of town.

You were the only option left, and he didn’t like having to subject you to cleaning him up when he’s hurt since he knew you couldn’t stand seeing people you love in pain. 

Just like him.

“Okay, was it a regular blade or another magical one that will make me want to strangle you for even trying to fight off?” You asked suddenly as you flew back through your living room from the bathroom, navigating without even looking up from the medical pack back to the kitchen, digging through the bag.

“It seemed like a normal blade,” Stephen replied. “Do you need me to—”

“No, I got it,” you said in a motherly tone, pointing to one of the dining chairs you have with your small table in the kitchen, “sit. Maybe take your shirt off so I can use it as a rag. And yes, I can get the blood out when I’m done.”

Stephen tried not to feel dejected when you denied his help and did was he was told once he put the coffee mug down, suddenly very happy he already shrugged his jacket off when he first sling-ringed in.

You placed the bag along with some extra supplies on your small dining room table as Stephen yanked his shirt off, trying not to make any noises of pain before the grey fabric was held out your way.

Thanking Stephen as you grabbed the shirt, you decided to kneel between his open legs to have better access to his side. You started getting to work by gently dabbing the wound with his shirt to soak up most of the excess blood before starting to sanitize.

Watching you work was always a treat for Stephen. He’s been told multiple times by you that it’s weird that he likes watching his girlfriend as she’s sewing up his wounds that he could have wound up dead from.

You were good at what you did, was his instant reply. Stephen was never one who complimented doctors or nurses on their techniques much, before and after you met him, but you took his word almost as law. If Doctor Stephen Strange said you were good at what you did, you must be pretty damn good.

“What’d you even get this from?” You asked in exasperation, moving to dig through the med pack again for what Stephen could only assume was a needle and thread. It was a deep wound, he was sure of it.

“I uh, was on a mission with Stark and his boy band,” Stephen started, shifting with a grunt working it’s way out of his throat, “had a tussle with Loki.”

You didn’t hesitate to hold back a scoff. “That’s bullshit.”

Stephen loved you, even if you could call out his bullshit.

“You’re right, it’s bullshit,” Stephen replied almost directly after you spoke, clearing his throat. “Wong and I had this thing to attend at Kamar-Taj and it got ruined by some intergalactic stuff, got stabbed by one of our own who we believe was an insider on the whole ordeal.”

“Ah,” you mused, both in response to Stephen’s story and finding the needle you were looking for, “more Mystic Art’s lingo I don’t get, gotcha.”

Stephen let out a small laugh, tilting his head back. “Mystic Art’s lingo? I expected to hear mumbo jumbo.”

“All I heard were the words intergalactic and Kamar-Taj and I knew.”

Stephen was about to let out another laugh before he let out a loud hiss of pain just as the needle went through his skin.

“You’re smart though, you know bigger words than those, Y/N.”

“Not when I’ve just gotten off an almost 24 hour shift, Stephen,” you responded, Stephen more than likely detecting your undertones of annoyance.

It was quiet between the two of you for a bit after that, smoothly stitching Stephen up just as the sun started to rise. He shuddered, your abnormally cold hands constantly moving.

“I’m sorry.”

Stephen was sincere. He usually isn’t with Claire, for the two of them love verbally sparring. Christine doesn’t take it, but with you he always finds himself apologizing constantly, even if you never prompted him for it and already reassured him that he’s fine.

“It’s okay,” you said softly, finally finishing the last stitch. “I’m just happy you didn’t bleed on my rug.”

The both of you shared a laugh.

“I knew you’d kill me, the kitchen was my only option.”

“Why didn’t you go to Claire’s? Usually she takes care of this.” You expertly finished off the stitch before grabbing scissors to cut the excess thread.

“She’s uh.. She said she’s with our mutual friend Mike?”

“Oh! Mike!” Your face lit up the second the name was mentioned, slowly shifting into a squatting position so you were already on your feet before to place the needle down and grab the big bandage you laid out previously. “How’s he?”

“Wait, who’s Mike?”

Your face when you looked up at him almost made him laugh.

“Mike? Are you joking? Are we not remembering the codename talk?”

“Codename talk?” 

You groaned dramatically, peeling open the bandage as Stephen just now noticed you were wearing gloves. It made sense, your hands were never that cold when you touched him. 

It took him a moment to remember what you meant by the codename talk, but when he did he sat up a little straighter which helped you conveniently place the bandage on his freshly stitched wound.

“Oh! The codename we use on the phone!”

“Christ, it took you that long?” You quipped as you carefully smoothed the bandage down before rubbing the edges.

“It’s been a long day, okay? And Matt’s doing fine as he can get if Claire’s helping him out,” Stephen replied as he looked down at your gloved hands, watching you smooth the edges down that you had missed.

“Very true. Sad that on Claire’s only day off she’s still technically doing her job.”

“You would prefer a blind vigilante climbing through your windows and ask to be stitched up instead of me? I’m hurt, Y/N. Truly hurt.”

“You can’t climb through windows, Stephen. You sling-ring in and come in unannounced. At least with Matt I’d know if he came in,” you explained playfully before placing your hands on his spread knees to help get back up on your feet before taking your gloves off.

“Not all the time!”

“Yes, all the time!”

“No!” Stephen exclaimed again as if he were a child, holding back a grunt as he moved to try and sit normally, his hand flying almost instantly to his bandage.

“How’d you get in here?” You questioned sternly, placing your hands on your hips. 

You definitely got your answer when he didn’t reply right away.

“My point exactly.” 

“Matt’s footsteps are light! Remember the one time he came in through one of the windows of the Sanctum and scared the hell out of me?” You let out a laugh as you tossed the gloves into your trashcan, walking to your cabinet where the mugs were.

“You had your headphones in, Stephen, why else would you be scared? I could do that with or without powers!” You exclaimed with a quiet snort, opening the cabinet door before looking over at Stephen as he tried to find the will to get up. “Do you need help, baby?”

Stephen just groaned in defeat from your statement before slowly rising to his feet from the chair as you picked a mug he’d bought you from a small souvenir shop when he actually did go on a mission with Stark and his circus.

“No thank you, dear. Should be fine,” Stephen confirmed as he started to slowly pad over to where you stood, watching you hesitantly reach for the hot coffee pot.

“Are you sure? You have the too much gene, remember—”

“Y/N, I’m more than sure my stitches won’t reopen just from me walking around.”

You let out a soft sigh before nodding to yourself, a quiet okay coming from under your breath.

Stephen could still hear the worry in your voice and couldn't help but feel his heart tug with guilt again. Grabbing his still warm mug, he decided to lean against the counter to watch you make your coffee in what felt like a record time. 

You were placing the small container of sugar you have back where it belonged when Stephen spoke up again.

“Thank you.”

“You already said that,” you replied gently, starting to carefully stir your coffee with a smaller spoon as you turned around to face Stephen.

“I know but.. I’m just feeling thankful.”

You squinted at that sentence and felt your hip jutting out. “Are there more injuries I need to fix?”

Stephen could tell that your eyes were inspecting his bare top half just as he sipped his coffee.

“No. I just love you.” Stephen tried to hold back a chuckle as he watched your eyes roll, a fond smile growing on your face.

“Shut up. Do you want a fresh shirt?”

Stephen smiled smugly as he lifted his mug to take another sip. “Nah. I think you like this view.”

“I do, but that doesn’t mean you can’t put a shirt on, Strange,” you quipped, finally stopping your stirring motion and tapping the spoon on the side of the mug. “Pink Floyd?”

Stephen placed his mug on the counter top of your kitchen counter, a soft thud left in its wake as you innocently placed the spoon you used in the sink.

“That’s where it went? Don't tell me you stole my Led Zepplin shirt, too."

He heard a second soft thud of a mug after you took a sip, starting to walk towards the arch way of the kitchen to get out and grab something for him to wear.

"That's a secret I'll never tell." You smiled innocently as you stopped in your tracks just in front of him before getting up on your tiptoes to press a kiss to his lips. "Hang tight. I'll get the Pink Floyd shirt for you."

Stephen couldn't help the smile that crept onto his face after he felt your lips one last time on his before you walked out, heading to the direction of your bedroom. He was quick to call out another thank you, to which you replied with a thumbs up sticking out from your bedroom doorway just as you walked in.

#stephen strange x reader #stephen strange x ER nurse!reader #doctor strange x reader #doctor strange imagine #stephen strange imagine #marvel imagine #marvel writer #rachael writes

[essays-for-breakfast]

Memento

Melizabeth Week Day 3: Precious

As usual during the early evening hours, the Boar Hat was bustling with customers. Meliodas had prepared rounds upon rounds of fine ale from all the outlandish places he had stocked in his wine cellar – out of the absence of a basement located on the third floor –, and none of the packed tables showed signs of slowing down. Most of his clientele belonged to the Holy Knights, easy to identify by the straight way they held themselves even while drinking and the occasional pieces of armor catching the light.

Meliodas rolled his eyes and polished the mug in his hands with more vehemence. His experience had taught him that there were only two types of customers every tavern owner wanted to fill his house with: people with money and people with unhappy marriages.

And if the pathetic salary paired with the grueling workhours Meliodas had endured when he had been a Holy Knight of Liones were any indicator, his current set of customers fit into neither category.

At least the atmosphere was cheerful enough to motivate multiple rounds of booze, which Meliodas gladly filled into another set of mugs placed on the wooden tray Diane was all too eager to shove in his face.

“Another round coming right up,” she yelled, earning herself cheers from the table in the far-off corner, before she disappeared within the crowd on light feet.

Meliodas was lucky to have her today; his assistance waiter only showed up to work on rare occasions these days. No wonder with all these political troubles on her mind about clan fusions, border regulations, and peace treaties. He could call himself lucky to have avoided that particular set of hassles. Life as a tavern-owner sure had its downsides – customers with a drinking habit, or as Meliodas liked to call it ‘drowning habit’, similar to Ban’s loved to grind his nerves –, but at least he had no expectations to trouble himself with.

Well, apart from the expectations of hungry customers of course.

“Hey, where’s my meat-pie special?” one of the loudmouths from the front table asked while shaking his mug with enough élan to spill half its content on the table. Shame about the liquor; the burgundy drink looked suspiciously similar to one of Meliodas’ most expensive offers on the menu. But if that compelled him to order a second serving faster, Meliodas would be the last one to complain.

“I’ll check in with the cook,” Meliodas said to appease the troublemaker. If Ban was slacking in his agency as prized top chef again, he would give him hell on earth. Or he could demand the keys to his booze storage room back – that should do the trick too.

But before Meliodas had a chance to knock down the kitchen door with a commanding stare and the words ‘Captain’s orders’ on his lips, that same door swung open as Meliodas’ favorite person in the world emerged from the kitchen.

“No need, good sir, I have your order right here,” Elizabeth said.

Not even the dim light of the Boar Hat’s oil lamps screwed to the ceiling could take away from her beauty as she slipped into the tavern room, a plate stacked with meat-pie balancing in her hands. Her long silver hair flowed behind her, charmed by the new waiter outfit Meliodas had presented her a few days ago with a sly grin. The scandalously short skirt and ribbon-top enhanced her perfect curves, and Meliodas patted himself on the back for coming up with the design. Elizabeth almost floated into the room on her white slippers, and presented a beam to the customers that made Meliodas forget everything at once, including the urge to scold Ban. All he saw was her as she moved with the grace of a Goddess…

… and stumbled over her own feet.

His brain kicked back into action, and in a fit of chivalry Meliodas jumped forward to prevent her fall. He was a man of opportunities, however, and when he caught her, not only did he save Elizabeth from a bruised knee, he was also treated to a first-class look – and more crucial, touch – of her upper body’s unique and soft qualities.

Elizabeth shrieked in a return to old habits, and Meliodas could imagine the priceless redness creeping into her cheeks, but because his face was still tucked into her bust, he missed out on the sight. Not that he would have traded this place for anything in the world.

The rattle of costly china invaded their privacy, and Meliodas steeped back to examine the damage with an unflinching poker face. Elizabeth, still with a blush on her face, stared at him with wide, blue eyes as large as plates. Speaking of plates, Elizabeth’s hands, frozen in the forward motion they had entered when she had lost her balance, were empty; the meat-pie along with its porcelain company had shattered on the floor to cover the stonework with white shards more pricy than Meliodas could afford after a week of double-hours. Out of all the pieces of crockery he owned, it had to be this one.

Elizabeth shocked gaze skipped between Meliodas and the broken plate, the first tears swimming in her eyes.

“Not again!” Ban complained from the kitchen. “I can’t prepare each meal twice just because it keeps raining plates. I want to submit vacation!”

“Shut up, Ban,” King said, followed by a low thud that sounded like Ban’s head had made the acquaintance of the ceramic workbench.

“I’m so sorry, Meliodas,” Elizabeth said teary-eyed. “I know this was your favorite plate. Even after you’ve made me co-owner of the tavern, I’m still no use when it comes to lending you a hand. If there’s a way to make it up to you, I’ll –”

“Sssh, if you keep talking like that, you’ll soon start to believe this nonsense.” Meliodas petted her head, and a glimmer of happiness returned to her eyes. “It took me five years to turn into a somewhat decent tavern owner, and even then, I maybe failed to offer my customers a decent meal once or twice. As I’m sure Hawk will be eager to inform ya. Yo, scraps disposal, there’s work for you.”

The named swine emerged from behind the counter and sniffed at the leftovers on the floor. “Even your best food can’t compare to what Ban cooks on his worst day. The smell alone… and the soft flavors that explode in your mouth with an aftertaste only the gods could have created…”

“Well, help ya’self.”

“Oh, I will,” Hawk said with a cloudy expression; he had already fallen victim to the intoxicating aroma of Ban’s food and used his hooves to shove the remains of the plate aside to dig into the meal that was no doubt too good to be wasted on him.

All these servings of Ban’s cooking had made him choosy, and if Meliodas didn’t threaten him with starvation, he wouldn’t do as much as look at the scraps Meliodas and Elizabeth handed him when Ban was out and busy enjoying his own life. Why did he continue to pay these morons? Well, technically their salary consisted of nothing but a pat on the back, but Ban and the pig enjoyed the luxury of unlimited access to Meliodas’ booze and groceries – and they both knew how to make the most of this privilege.

Elizabeth had dropped to her knees beside Hawk and collected the white shards with her bare hands and more bitterness than Meliodas could bear to see on her face. She treated each piece covered with artistic lines depicting birds and deer and landscapes almost like a lost child.

He bent down next to her and took her hands with soft firmness. “You’ll cut yourself.”

Elizabeth’s hands were shaking when she let go of the shards, but despite the emotional struggle she worked herself through, she had regained enough control to climb to her feet with his assistance. All these curious gazes from the overcrowded tables only added to her unease, and the meat-pie guy made a particularly sour face as he watched his order disappear into the greedy maw of the pig. Elizabeth needed a bit of air to calm herself, and Meliodas would be happy to escape the noise, so why not delegate some tasks to his underlings?

“Yo, Gowther, take over the counter for a bit, wont’cha?” Meliodas said and scooped Elizabeth with the same ease he would have a baby bird.

Gowther left the corner he had occupied with the stiffness that befell him whenever a captivating book found its way into his hands and saluted. “Roger, Captain!” He picked the mug Meliodas had polished to perfection, and rubbed the dirty cloth from the counter over its surface in an attempt to copy Meliodas. Maybe he hadn’t been the best fit for the job, but Meliodas had other things on his mind besides Gowther’s inability to look like a bar tender with any sort of competence.

With Elizabeth in his arms, Meliodas rushed out of the door and trod over dry patches of grass until the sounds of conversation and laughter from inside the Boar Hat had faded to background stereo. Sometime after he had ordered Diane to lighten the oil lamps in the tavern room, the sun must have disappeared; apart from the stars and the beams of orange seeping through the Boar Hat’s lattice window, the landscape was covered in shadows.

Meliodas placed Elizabeth on her feet and reached out to cup her face. “Feeling better?” Her small but honest nod encouraged him to continue. “You shouldn’t get so worked up about this tavern business, we set this up because we both enjoyed the idea, remember? And who cares if that chattering knight in training doesn’t get his meat-pie? I’ll be the last one to complain.”

“Sometimes I feel so useless next to you,” Elizabeth admitted quietly. “In other lives I was a warrior or a knight or a sailor. But the longest time in this life, I’ve spent as nothing but a spoiled princess. Even running a tavern with you is more than I can manage.”

Meliodas studied her with a knot in his throat he couldn’t swallow. “Elizabeth…”

“But,” she interrupted, “no matter how often I fall and how often I let you down, I won’t give up. That’s what you did for me. I want to at least repay you a little, and with more practice, I will do better, I promise.”

“There’s nothing you’d have to repay me for,” Meliodas said with a smile that turned wicked when an idea crossed his mind. “Of course, if you’d ask your crazy wealthy relatives to fund our business every once in a while, I won’t decline.”

Elizabeth laughed that adorable laugh he was so addicted to before her gaze was caught by Liones’ capital glistering in the distance with tiny lights from a thousand windows. The palaces’ outline, a bulk of stone towering above the city, stood out against the hill ranges in the distance. For a moment, the reflections of her old home shone in her eyes, and Meliodas soaked in this beautiful expression like a man dying of thirst.

She surprised him with the question she asked next. “What about the plate was so dear to you?”

“You’re still thinking about that stupid piece of china?”

“No… I mean, of course I am still sorry for breaking it, and if I knew how to mend it, I would in a heartbeat, but what I want to understand is what the plate matters to you. I would like to be able to see the value in those objects that surround you the same way as you do.”

After three thousand years, she still surprised him with how much she cared about the little, unimportant details others would fail to even notice.

Meliodas crossed his arms behind his head and let his eyes trail over the landscape without seeing any of its shapes. “I got this plate from an old woman in Byron, a few years after I opened the first version of the Boar Hat together with a Hawk. There were all these people on the street, trading their tableware, laughing, and shoving around in these idiotic traditional dances. I stopped by the town by pure chance on that day, but Hawk forced me to spent all my hard-earned savings on new plates, so I went to the stall of this woman with the intention to get this trip over with as fast as I could. But even for someone who doesn’t care one bit about how the dishes under the food look, the craft she had put into these things was a sight for sore eyes. And while I was studying this one plate, she told me that she’d give me that one for free. She wouldn’t accept a single coin. I asked her why she would do that for a stranger, and you know what she said?

“She said it was the birthday of the third princess of Liones, a day to celebrate and show kindness to those who aren’t offered sympathy on other days. That one was the only plate I brought with me that day. Hawk was furious, of course. But that plate and the gesture behind it always reminded me of you, Elizabeth, and of your kindness. That’s why it was my favorite.”

When he craned his neck to peek at Elizabeth, Meliodas was met with a warmth that could melt glaciers and a sorrow that could bring tears to the eyes of stone-cold warriors. “Now I regret that I broke that plate even more. It sounds like it was a very precious piece of remembrance to you.”

“Forget that plate,” Meliodas said and stepped closed to take her hand. “What’s precious to me are all these little moments with you – especially when you stumble over your own feet and I’m there to catch you.”

They leaned closer until they lost themselves in the touch of the other. And if Meliodas had been given the choice by some higher entity, he would have traded that plate – that had by miracle survived all the times his tavern had been shredded by accursed strokes of fate to remind him of the kindness he had been granted – for this moment every single time.

#melizabethweek #nnt fanfiction #nanatsu no taizai #seven deadly sins #meliodas #elizabeth #the sins #melizabeth #I don't even know what this is #I took the prompt and ran with it #to some far away place #no longer canon-compliant #thanks nakaba

[crystalninjaphoenix]

Pick Your Poison

Switch AU

So this had to happen eventually. And when I really look at the events that have occurred in the normal universe so far, I realized it had to happen sooner rather than later. I absolutely do not want to say anything more. It would be best if it stayed a surprise *evil laughter* But I will say that it involves Schneep and Jackie, and that’s all you’re getting ;)

More of this AU found here

“Henrik, what are you doing back there?”

Schneep pulled off his headphones, stuffing them back in his backpack. God, he really had to be more aware of his surroundings when back here. He managed to zip up his pack just as Jennifer, his coworker, poked her head into the back room. “Just listening to music.”

“Well, alright. It’s almost lunch, though, so you might want to get out here.” Jennifer disappeared again.

“Understood.” Schneep pushed his backpack behind the nearest table. They should really get lockers in the back room. Not only would it be convenient, not only would it prevent random thefts, but it would save him a lot of worrying. He didn’t like thinking about people finding the police scanner he hid in his backpack and listened to on break. That would be awkward at best, and a giveaway of his secret vigilante identity at worst. He sighed. He was basically having to juggle two full-time jobs, and sometimes it was more stressful than he thought it was worth.

But then again, if he didn’t have a job he wouldn’t be able to afford an apartment and superhero gear. He kept that in mind as he pulled on his apron and headed back out into the front of the coffee shop. Jennifer, manning the percolators, glanced at him. “Hey. So before you do any sort of work, I think someone just walked in who’d want to see you.” She grinned, and jerked her head towards the entrance.

“Hmm? Oh.” Schneep smiled. He approached the counter, waving down the pair who’d just entered. “Hello Anti. And William, nice to see you. What brings you here?”

“Came to see if they’d fired you yet,” Anti said, grinning.

“Ha! No such luck, I am afraid.”

William jumped, red curls bouncing as he gripped the edge of the counter. “Hi Uncle Hen!”

“Also I need a hot chocolate,” Anti added. “Small size. And a medium ristretto.”

“And a cake pop?” William asked hopefully.

“Alright, fine,” Anti agreed. “But just for today.”

“Ah, I’d think you only use me for my connections, Anti,” Schneep muttered with a smile, writing down the order on two cups. He turned to leave, but found Jennifer interrupting him, taking the cups with a smile and a glance. “Oh! Okay, I suppose we can talk.”

“Nice.” Anti looked down at Will. “Hey, kid? Want to go find a comfy seat while we wait?”

“Yeah!” Will jumped up one more time before scurrying off.

“So, what is the occasion?” Schneep asked.

“Well, Will just started spring term, so I promised him a treat if he got through the first week,” Anti said. “And it’s all cold outside, so hot chocolate made sense.”

“Is unusually snowy, I will say that,” Schneep agreed. “It was very cold walking to the bus earlier.”

“Yeah, I know. Nearest stop’s like fifteen minutes away from here, I have no idea how you manage to do that every day in winter, it totally sucked today.”

“I have been colder.” Schneep shrugged. “Do you have any plans today?”

“Nothing new. Maybe some more recording.” Anti suddenly perked up. “Oh. Hey, how are you liking that game I told you to play?”

Schneep froze, suddenly glaring at him. “I hate you.”

“Whaaaat? Why?” Anti was trying very hard not to laugh.

“I knew something was up from the very beginning. I thought, wow, it is odd that he told me to play this since it’s very cute, there must be some dark twist inside it. But then!” Schneep threw a hand in the air. “I got too attached to them! And I was not expecting the entire second half! The game just decided to kill everyone and it was terrible!”

Anti was giggling now. “But you had fun, right?”

“It was...interesting,” Schneep conceded. “I can see why it is your favorite, it does all those programming things. And it was honestly scary.”

“Great! Now you can check out the videos I did on it,” Anti said cheerfully. “Who do you like best?”

Schneep rolled his eyes. “Actually, I liked Monika. She was very...fascinating. I wondered a lot about her.”

“That’s fair. I like Natsuki.”

“Really? I think you have more in common with Yuri.”

“You’re only saying that because of the knives.” Anti hesitated for a second. “I do...relate to her the most. But that doesn’t make her personality interesting.”

“I am never playing any game you tell me to play ever again,” Schneep mumbled. “I am never trusting you ever.”

“When should you ever trust me?” Anti grinned. “Anyway, do you have any plans today? Since you asked about mine.”

Schneep looked at the clock mounted on the wall. “Well, my shift ends in two and a half hours, and after I get home Jackie is coming over.”

“Oh? And you didn’t invite me. Wait!” Anti held up a finger, thinking. “This is that thing you told me about last week. Batman movies?”

Schneep nodded. “If you have changed your mind you are free to come. We plan on ordering pizza.”

“Hmm, tempting. But I think I’ll pass.”

“If you insist.” Schneep glanced away. “Hey, I think Jennifer has your order now.”

“Oh? So she does.” Anti looked over. “You like her?”

“She is friendly, yes,” Schneep said slowly. 

“Good, I don’t need to be a bi—a jerk about anything.” Anti grinned again. “Heh, there are kids here. Anyway, text you later?”

“Sure. I will see you.”

———————

Two hours and forty-five minutes later, Schneep walked outside to find dusk waiting for him. He scowled vaguely at the sky. It was barely five o’clock. Stupid winter nights. The sun hadn’t set yet, but he had a hunch it would if he waited around for an hour. But he had no intention of waiting that long. He zipped up his coat, adjusted his scarf, made sure his backpack was secure on his shoulders, and started walking.

Fifteen minutes. It was only fifteen minutes walking to the bus stop. What could happen in fifteen minutes? Apparently a lot. About halfway to the stop, a pair of hands reached out and pulled Schneep into the gap between two buildings.

Schneep cried out, but found a hand covering his mouth. Instincts kicked in, and he stomped down hard on the assailant’s foot, simultaneously jabbing his elbow backwards. The hands released, and he gasped, looking around. There was no one in sight. Or at least, no one he could see in the shadows. He shook his head, and started towards the street, only for his vision to waver and blur. Between one blink and the next, he was suddenly staring at a wall. He turned around, looking back towards the street, only for the same thing to happen again.

He groaned. Not again. “Okay, where are you?” he said, spinning around. “I know it’s you.”

Silence. And then the slight sound of laughter. “Clever boy.” The world suddenly shifted its view as the illusions faded away. Distorter was leaning against one of the building walls by the entrance to the street. Still smiling. Still dripping blood from his eyes and the wound on his head. “You know, there’s one good thing about you. It’s so easy to make fake things in your mind. Because of your...” He twirled a finger beside his head, the sign for cuckoo. “You know?”

Schneep flinched, then growled. “You gang up on me when I am walking home? Really? Were you getting tired of having an even playing ground?” All the past times he’d fought Distorter had been at night, when he was out on patrol and had his suit and gear with him. But now? He didn’t have anything. And that made him wary.

“I like how you make everything about you. And let’s be honest, were you really doing such a good job before?” Distorter pushed away from the wall, reaching above his head and stretching backwards. And kept bending backwards, until several cracks echoed through the alleyway. Schneep took a few steps backwards. Distorter laughed, righting himself. “Don’t worry, this’ll only take a few minutes.”

“No thank you.” Schneep turned around and ran, intending to make it to the other end of the alley and out onto the street. But he only got a few steps in before he ran into something solid with a smack! He stumbled backwards, rubbing his forehead as the world shifted again, showing how he’d been running right into a wall.

Distorter laughed. “Wow, I wish I had a video of that. I could play it in a loop.”

“Motherfucker,” Schneep said, glaring at him.

“Oh, I know. Now stay still.” Distorter took one step backwards, and then launched forwards.

Schneep yelled in surprise, ducking to the ground and rolling out of the way before he even knew what he was doing. Distorter crashed against the wall, but didn’t seem bothered by it in the slightest, just pushing away for a second attack. Schneep scrambled to his feet, backing up while keeping one hand against the wall to make sure it was really there. The moment Distorter was in range he shot out with a fist, connecting solidly with his face. Distorter stumbled back, then laughed. He suddenly dropped to the ground like a ragdoll. Schneep found his feet being pulled out from under him. He cried out as he fell to the ground, barely managing to catch himself before he could hit the back of his head against the cement.

“Wow, not so tough without your lightning gadgets, are you?” Distorter’s nails were digging into his shoulder, blood dripping on Schneep’s face from the creature’s eyes and nose. “Now stay. Still.”

Schneep managed to fling an arm out, fist connecting with the side of Distorter’s head, snapping it to the left. “If you want to kill me, I will not go down without fighting.”

Distorter recovered easily, grin unphased. “Who said I wanted you dead? Well, yet.”

Schneep opened his mouth to retort, but instead suddenly gasped as he felt a sharp pain in his midsection. For a moment, it felt like a strong punch, and then he felt wet leaking.

“Have fun with that.” And between one blink and the next, Distorter seemed to disappear.

Schneep climbed into a sitting position, pressing a hand to the painful spot. Did...did Distorter just stab him? That...was different. He couldn’t remember that creature ever using a knife before. Slowly, with the help of the nearby wall, he stood up and walked back out onto the street. He looked down. It wasn’t bleeding too badly. And he’d been stabbed before, and this didn’t feel like the worst wound he’d had. But that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt. He unwound the scarf from around his neck, unzipped his coat—no, this was his only winter coat, and it had just been ruined!—and pressed the balled-up scarf to the wound. He had a first aid kit at home. He could probably get there quickly, provided the bus was on time.

Wait, the bus! Schneep reached into his pocket with one hand, withdrawing his phone and checking the time. Oh, good, he should still be able to get to the stop before it came. He replaced his phone, zipped his coat again, and started off.

Part of him thought it was ridiculous that he wasn’t calling anyone. But it didn’t seem too bad. Nothing he hadn’t survived before. Maybe he could just handle it by himself, without needing to bother anyone.

———————

And once he got back to the apartment, it seemed like it wasn’t anything to worry about. The wound was small, probably from a small blade, and he managed to bandage it up well enough. He hadn’t lost a lot of blood, and he got to the bus stop without much difficulty. Despite the searing pain, it was probably fine.

Probably.

“Okay, I know I am bullshitting myself,” Schneep said, glaring at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. “But Jackie is coming over, and if it really starts to cause problems, he is a doctor. He can help.” Though he’d feel terrible about ruining what was supposed to be a fun night. “It will be fine, I promise.” His reflection didn’t answer any of his ramblings.

He’d arrived back at his apartment at about 5:40. Jackie arrived twenty minutes later, at six. “Okay, so we’re good to go all night,” he said the moment Schneep opened the door. “I don’t have a shift tomorrow, so we can stay up late and watch all three.”

“I doubt you’d make it that long,” Schneep muttered fondly, standing aside to let Jackie in.

“Hey! Not everyone’s a night owl.” Jackie breezed past him, then paused, standing in the center of the studio apartment. “It’s kind of hot in here, did you turn up the thermostat?”

“Oh, yes. Because it is cold outside.” It didn’t feel too hot to him. He was actually a little chilly, slightly shivering as he closed the apartment door.

“Huh. Won’t the landlord charge you for that?”

“I do not think so.”

“If you say so.” Jackie pulled off his hoodie, draping it over the back of the nearest chair. “Still hot, though.”

Schneep decided to change the subject. “So are we ordering food now, or do we wait until we actually have the movie set up?”

“We can set it up first.” Jackie flopped onto the sofa.

“Alright. Don’t hurry to help or anything.”

Jackie hesitated. “Did you want me to, or...?”

“No, it was joke, don’t worry. I will get it.” Schneep joined Jackie over in the living room section of the apartment. He bent down to turn on the TV, but when he stood up, a dagger of pain from his wound suddenly flared. He hissed, hand instinctively pressing against it.

Jackie sat up straight. “What was that?”

“Is nothing, I just...pulled a muscle at work today,” Schneep said, coming up with something on the spot.

“You work at a coffee shop,” Jackie stated.

“Well, yes, but sometimes we have to carry boxes and bags of ingredients from storage to the front.” That wasn’t a lie, at least.

“And that would result in...you pulling a muscle. In your stomach. And not your back or your knees, which is where that would usually happen.” Jackie raised an eyebrow.

“...yes,” Schneep said after a long pause.

“Okay, what happened?”

Schneep sighed. He should’ve known better than to hide anything from Jackie, He had a sort of sixth sense when it came to something being wrong with his friends. “It is nothing to worry about. I got pulled into an alleyway walking home.”

“Pulled into a what? Like a mugging?”

“Yes, like that.” Schneep pressed his hand against the wound again. “The man had a knife, and he used it.”

“You’ve been stabbed?!” Jackie shot to his feet.

“I took care of it!” Schneep hurried to say. “It was not bad!” 

“There’s no such thing as a ‘not bad’ stabbing! Here, sit down, I want to look at it.”

Schneep sighed. Well, at least this’ll be quick. Then Jackie could stop worrying and the two of them could relax. Schneep sat down on the couch. “Happy?”

“Yes. Now pull up your shirt so I can look at it.” Jackie waited patiently while Schneep did so. “You actually did a really good job wrapping. Unfortunately, I have to undo your hard work.” Jackie sat down next to him, slowly unwinding the white bandages.

Schneep tried to stay very still, despite the way the pain would surge every time he shifted weight. This was actually worse than the walk home. How was that possible? Maybe shock, or something like that. After a moment of silence, Jackie placed his hand against Schneep’s stomach. “Ah!” Schneep instinctively pulled down his shirt. “Jackie, your hands are cold, do not do that!”

“Okay, that’s weird,” Jackie said, not responding to what Schneep said. “Lean forward.” He put his hand against Schneep’s forehead. “Um...I don’t think it’s my hands that are cold, I think it’s you.” He bit his lip. “I think...did you lose a lot of blood?”

“Not a lot. There was not a lot of bleeding, and I had something pressed against it a lot of the time.”

“Weird...” Jackie leaned back, thinking. “You’re cold, and also you look like you’re sweating a bit. Huh...did you put any disinfectant on the wound?”

“...ah.” Schneep tried not to squirm.

Jackie sighed. “Who knows what was on that knife? I keep telling you—well, never mind now. I know you have some. First aid kit’s in the bathroom, right?” Schneep nodded. “Wait here, I’ll get it.” And with that, Jackie stood up and left.

Schneep had nothing to do but sit. The day had started off so well, now this was happening. He sighed, blinking around at his surroundings. He was tired...really tired, all of a sudden. He leaned back against the couch, now staring up at the ceiling. Was it...was it spinning?

“Alright, I’m back! I have the...are you okay?”

“What?” Schneep rolled his head over to look at Jackie. “Yes, I am just...I just got very tired very quickly.”

“That’s...just suddenly?” Jackie’s brows furrowed. “Are you sure you didn’t lose too much blood?”

“Yes, I am sure.” Schneep blinked again. For a moment, everything was swimming.

“...okay.” Jackie sat down next to him. “I’m gonna put this on the stab wound, now. It might sting a little. Okay?”

Schneep didn’t answer.

“Hey, Volt, buddy?” Jackie patted the side of Schneep’s face. “I need to know that you understand.”

After a moment of silence, Schneep said, “The walls are melting.”

“Wh-what?” Jackie asked, taken aback.

“They are melting.” Schneep’s eyes fluttered. “I think I am seeing things. That happens, but this time I know it is happening, so that is a start.”

“...I’m just going to take a look at the wound real quick.” Jackie lifted up Schneep’s shirt. His eyes widened, and he looked back between the wound and Schneep’s face. “I’m...going to take a pulse, okay?” He pressed two fingers against Schneep’s neck. Then he withdrew them sharply. “Holy—” He dug into his pocket and pulled out his phone, dialing a number.

“What is wrong?” Schneep asked. He tried to focus on Jackie’s face, but it was blurry, like it was hidden behind a pane of frosted glass.

“I-I don’t know what was on that knife, but there was definitely something,” Jackie said, pressing the phone to his ear. “It’s doing something to you, we need to get emergency—what do you mean no service?!” He pulled the phone away.

“The lines nearby have been down for a while,” Schneep mumbled. “There was a storm...though I remember they said that it looked like...sie wurden sabotiert...”

“Okay, I don’t know what that last part was.” Jackie stood up, hurrying to the door. “I can drive you to the hospital, I—what?!” He pulled on the doorknob, then pushed on it. “I-it won’t open!” Giving up on getting it open, Jackie started pounding on the door. “Hey! Hello? The door’s stuck, someone let us out! It’s an emergency!”

“Jackie...” Schneep looked back up at the ceiling. It was dripping into his eyes. How was it melting when it was so cold? “You are doctor, you can fix...”

“I’m not trained for-for poison!” Jackie stammered.

“You can try...or maybe we can go out the window, it is not too far.”

“I can’t go out the window!” Jackie had come back to stand next to Schneep at some point, now standing over him and chewing on his hair nervously. “I-I can try? But I gotta keep trying to get someone, too!”

“Mm...you do that.” Schneep paused. “Jackie...I should tell you. The one who stabbed me...was not just some random thief...it was...lächelnde Mann. Distort...” He closed his eyes.

“It was Dis—?! No no no no, Volt, Henrik, stay awake!” Jackie leaned over him, shaking him slightly, only to get no response. “Oh, fuck fuck fucking fuck.” He took his pulse once again, finding it just as rapid as before. “Okay. Okay, Jackie, you can figure this out. You can do this.” He took a step back, lifting up Schneep’s shirt to expose the stab wound once again. It was yellow around the edges, the blood darker than it should be. “Okay, uh. I have no idea what that is. I can find out, I guess?”

Jackie picked up his phone, opening a window to the Internet and typing as quickly as possible. Luckily he knew several websites that knew what they were talking about, so he didn’t have to search through shady sites. “‘Get to the hospital as quickly as possible’—yes, I know, I can’t do that. Fuck. Okay.” He pushed Schneep to the side, lying him down. Schneep’s eyelids fluttered. “Cleaning is always a good place to start. Okay.”

He ran to the kitchenette, throwing open the cupboards until he found the largest cup possible. Turning on the sink, he filled it with water. Warm or cold? God, if he knew what was in the wound, he’d know which, but he had to settle for lukewarm and hope that would work. He grabbed a wash rag and dashed back to the sofa as quickly as possible, kneeling nearby. “I don’t know if you can hear me, but this is going to sting.”

As soon as the water touched his skin, Schneep’s eyes flew open and he screamed, flailing. “I know, I know!” Jackie said. “Just, please! Stay still! Stay—hey!” He grabbed Schneep’s arm with one hand to prevent him from whacking him in the face. “Please, you have to let me do this.”

Jackie reached out, ready to...to...what was he doing? He shook his head, clearing away the sudden fog. He had to clean the wound, that was a good starting place.

It wasn’t easy, but he managed it. As soon as he was sure he’d done as good a job as possible, he checked Schneep’s pulse again. It was slower than before, but...but it was also slower than it should be. “No no no no no,” he muttered, a constant stream while he tried to look up what else to do. “There has to be a way, I have to...” he trailed off. What...? His head turned, and his hand reached out, fingers exploring into the open bleeding—

Schneep screamed again, and Jackie jerked backwards. What the hell?! What had he just been doing?! “No no no, I-I’m sorry, it’s okay!” It wasn’t okay, but that didn’t matter now.  He stood up, once again running to the door, but it was just as unmovable as it had been before. He pounded on it once...he...his head tilted to the side, his arm dropping. Was someone laughing nearby?

No! Jackie shook his head. He had to—there was something on his face. Something warm and wet, and coming from his eyes. He reached up, fingers coming away red. “Shit, no, fuck!” He looked around the apartment, not finding anything. Well, did it matter? His friend was dying!

There had to be something else he could do! He rushed back to Schneep’s side, checking his pulse once again. His breathing was slower, a wet, rattling sound coming from inside his throat. Fuck, this had happened so fast. Jackie tilted his head back, keeping his mouth open. What else could he do? The disinfectant? It was probably better than nothing. Jackie grabbed the small tin, unscrewing the lid. He dabbed his fingers inside, then tried to gently apply it to the surface around the wound as gently as possible. Schneep didn’t protest beyond a slight twitching. There was red dripping on the sofa in between them; he knew it was coming from his eyes.

“Come on, come on, please please please.” Once more, he checked the pulse. He checked the...the...

He couldn’t find it.

“No. No no no no no no—” He tried to find it by pressing fingers against his wrist. Then by pressing his palm against his chest. He still couldn’t find anything. “No, Henrik, please don’t—wake up! Please, wake up!” The world seemed leeched of its color, everything in gray. He couldn’t concentrate on anything, anything. He was shaking him and getting no response. “Henrik, no! No, my friend!”

There was nothing, nothing, nothing but gray distortion.

———————

A steady, slow beeping was coming from somewhere. Everything felt heavy, especially his eyelids. Yet he managed to open them somehow, staring uncomprehendingly at his surroundings, until something cleared and he recognized that he was in a hospital room somewhere.

After what felt like forever, he rolled his head to the side, catching sight of a woman in nurse’s scrubs. She was watching him. He closed his eyes again...

———————

The beeping was back, as well as a low murmuring. He could hear two voices.

“So how are you related to him again?”

“I’m not, he’s my neighbor.”

“And you found him how?”

“Well, I heard shouting from his apartment, so I was a little worried. It went away after a while, but I thought I would go check anyway. And when I did, his door was wide open, and so I peeked inside and I...”

———————

More voices, muffled like they were through a wall. A few sounded familiar...

“Fuck you, he’s our friend and you’re going to let us see him!”

“Sir, if you would please calm down—”

“Fuck calm! I have a hunting knife in my backpack that I’d think you’d like to see!”

“Now, really, Anti, that’s going too far.”

“Yea, a bit. Y’wouldn’ want t’get arrested.”

“There’s nothing illegal about knives. Guns, maybe, but knives?”

“I’m sure threatening a doctor has some consequences. They could throw us out.”

“Mnngh...”

———————

He opened his eyes again, looking around at the same hospital room. Everything felt...floaty. Like he could bounce away at any minute. But he was awake. He tried to sit up, fell back, and looked around. The same nurse from the last time he looked around was still there. She watched him for a moment, then smiled. “Oh, good, you’re awake. Everyone was worried.”

“Wh...happened?” He asked.

“Well, we’re not too sure. You were found unconscious, and wounded. I personally don’t know too many details, but they had to hurry.”

The stab wound. Schneep tried to bolt upright as soon as he remembered, but just ended up falling down again and knocking the breath out of his lungs. 

“Oh, be careful. You could tear open the stitches.” The nurse paused. “You know...there are some friends of yours waiting outside. I could let them in, if you want.” Once he nodded, she stood from her chair, opened the door, and poked her head outside. “He’s awake,” she said. And then the door opened wide as three people came in.

“Henrik, what the fuck dude?!” Anti demanded. “In the span of a few hours since I’d seen you, you manage to almost die?!”

Schneep smiled at him. He couldn’t remember the last time Anti had called him by his first name, he must’ve been really worried.

Marvin poked his head around Anti. “I don’ t’ink our group should be makin’ a habit of visiting others in the hospital,” he said, smiling.

“Had no say in th’matter,” Schneep mumbled.

“How are you feeling?” JJ asked.

Schneep paused for a long moment, trying to find the right words. “Bad,” he settled on.

“Yeah, I bet,” Anti muttered. “I did some research on what the doctor said got to you, and it’s pretty nasty. I mean, you were out for a night and half the day.” He looked over at the nurse. “Hey, can we get some privacy here?”

The nurse pursed her lips. “It’s against policy.”

“Sh’s fine,” Schneep said. “‘M just...happy you all’re here...” His eyes darted around the room. Something was wrong...“Where’s Jackie?”

The three boys looked at each other. “I thought he came to see you earlier,” JJ said. “Do either of you two know?”

“I was just assumin’ he was somewhere in the hospital,” Marvin said. “Because he works here, I t’ought...”

“He doesn’t have a shift today,” Anti said. “Wait! I texted him.” Anti dug into his pocket, pulling out his phone and checking his messages. His brows furrowed. “And...he hasn’t even seen it, let alone replied yet.”

Schneep tried to sit up one more time, finally managing to prop himself against the pillows. “He was with me...”

“Wait, he was with you when you got stabbed?” JJ asked, eyes wide.

“No, later, when...everything started...I blacked out...did he bring me here?”

“No, some neighbor lady of yours checked on you, and lucky she did,” Anti said. “She...didn’t mention anyone else.”

Schneep made a strangled sort of gasp, covering his mouth. “He’s gone.”

The others looked around, expressions confused and worried. In the background, the nurse opened the door and left, standing outside.

“We don’t know that,” JJ hurried to say.

“Jems, I don’ t’ink...” Marvin sat down in the nearest chair, realizing the truth before anyone else. “Henrik, d’you mean...?”

“He poisoned me,” Schneep whispered. “He knew Jackie would try to fix it...” It had all been a trap. A plan, of some sorts. How long had Distorter been planning this? Since he first met them all? “So he could confuse him, and take him, and if I died...well, two birds, one stone.”

The others said nothing. There was nothing to say, in the face of such knowledge. It weighed heavy on the air of that room.

And somewhere across the city, a man dressed in gray was smiling, perfectly delighted.

#jacksepticeye #jacksepticeye fanfiction #jacksepticegos #septic egos #septic egos au #septicswitchau #dr schneeplestein #von voltage #jackieboy man #dr jackie parker #antisepticeye #programmer anti #chase brody #distorter #brigid writes fanfiction

[probably-eating-poptarts]

His Cherokee Rose - Ch. 1

Finally getting around to editing and uploading this fic I started years ago. For all my Walking Dead fans, here you go! Read on AO3 here.

Word count: 2.5k

The night is balmy. The air lays thick and heavy over the highway, but the gentle sound of cicadas singing in the trees nearby is drowned out by the blaring of car horns and the desperate, argumentative voices of a thousand people stuck in a traffic standstill that stretches on for miles.

Helicopters swoop low and slow overhead, circling the city of Atlanta and the massive pileup awaiting just outside its borders. People are wandering in the streets amidst the cars, confused and frightened and trying to figure out just what is going on. The radios are playing nothing but static, and at this point even the emergency broadcasting has stopped.

Shane Walsh leans out of the open driver's side door of his car, looking up to the sky as the choppers continue to pass them by. Parked next to him is an old tan Cherokee, and on its open bumper Carl Grimes sits with a young girl playing checkers as the adults linger nearby. Behind his shoulder stands his older sister Rory Grimes, who has been keeping the children distracted with hints and strategic plays on both sides. It's been working for a little while, but they're all growing restless.

"Are we going soon?" the petite, blond-haired girl questions. Rory is pretty sure her name is Sophia.

"I don't know baby," her mother Carol answers. "I sure hope so."

"I'm hungry," Carl pipes up, shifting to look between his sibling and their mother, who's sitting propped against the bumper of Shane's car.

"I know buddy, we all are," Rory reassures him as best she can. "Maybe we won't be stuck here too much longer."

Carol speaks up from the side, offering to get Carl something to eat. "Ed's into all this survival stuff. We've got enough M.R.E.s to feed a small army."

"I'd sure appreciate it," Lori Grimes responds while the other woman walks around to the driver's side of their Cherokee, assuring her that it's no trouble.

Rory watches Carol's husband Ed follow her towards the front of the car, and hears their whispered argument as the two kids focus once more on their game.

The portly man chastises his wife for offering supplies to strangers, and the older Grimes child can't help but feel both sympathetic and aggravated at the way he treats her. Ducking her head, Rory pretends to have missed the conversation as Carol circles around the front of the vehicle to dig in her purse.

She turns instead to watch her mom speaking to Shane, leaning on the edge of the open window as their father's best friend continues to cycle through blank radio stations. She can't hear much of what they're saying from where she stands with the kids, but gathers that at this point even the emergency broadcast about the refugee center in Atlanta has stopped playing. She watches Shane step out of the car and slam the door shut, announcing that he's going to walk ahead to see what's going on.

"I'll go with you," Lori responds before turning to her daughter. "Can you please stay and watch your brother for me?"

"Yeah, of course," Rory answers with a nod, turning to Carol as she offers a few granola bars.

"Ed must have forgot to pack those M.R.E.s, but I found these in my purse."

"Thanks Miss Carol," Rory replies with a soft smile, glancing over her shoulder where her mom is speaking to Carl.

"Shane and I are gonna go scout up ahead a little bit and see if we can find someone that knows what's going on," she explains.

"I want to come with you," Carl pleads, only to be turned down.

"You stay here with your sister, alright?" She fixes a stray lock of his hair and kisses his forehead.

"Hey, we'll be back before you know it," Shane promises him. "Okay little man?"

As they walk off Rory drapes her arm around her little brother's shoulders, leaning her hip against the tailgate of the Cherokee and rubbing his upper arm comfortingly. She hands him one of the granola bars Carol found, and tries to pull both of the kid's attention back to the checkerboard.

"Your dad's nice," Sophia finally speaks after a few minutes.

"Shane's not our dad," Carl counters quickly. "Our dad's dead."

Before Rory can even speak or let the loss of her father resurface in her mind, an explosion echoes somewhere up ahead. Carol huddles the two youngsters close to her side as Rory jumps to her feet, and around them all hell breaks loose. People begin yelling, screaming, and fighting in the middle of the street, and overhead the helicopters circle around to make a beeline for the heart of the city. Their mom and Shane are still gone, and Rory feels a knot of panic coil in her chest.

She turns to her brother and kneels in front of him, placing her hands on his shoulders. "Hey bud, stay here with Sophia and Miss Carol, okay? I'm gonna go find Mom and Shane."

Rising to her feet, she looks up to the older woman. When she nods in silent reassurance, Rory turns to push her way through the chaotic crowd in search of her family. People press in on her from all directions, jostling her and knocking her against the sides of vehicles as she tries to slip by. She isn't sure if it's been ten seconds or ten minutes, but with each passing moment the heavy feeling of dread weighs down on her, settling like a rock in her stomach.

Occasionally she tries to ask if anyone has seen her mom, but with so much arguing and clamoring for answers of their own, no one spares a minute for the frantic twenty-something.

After a while she makes it closer to the city, where the traffic jam is even worse. She can barely squeeze through the cars parked bumper to bumper - finally resorting to climbing over bonnets and tailgates when her path becomes blocked - and here the throng is even thicker. The noise of the crowd is deafening, and Rory manages to slip into the trees where fewer people have dared to venture. Still no one has seen her mother or Shane, and the older Grimes child is beginning to panic. She breaks into a jog, and then a flat-out sprint.

She never sees the drop off until her racing feet hit thin air, and then she's tumbling down the slope beneath a bridge where the bank of the creek hits her with all the force of a semi. A rock strikes her temple, and in the dark no one sees her lying unconscious at the bottom of the ravine.

.

..

...

..

.

When Rory finally comes to, her head is pounding fiercely and the light is nearly blinding. She groans and rolls onto her side, eyes squeezed shut as her temples throb in time with her heartbeat, and it takes a minute before the world stops spinning.

Her clothes are splotched with mud and torn in some places, and her shoes are sodden from laying in creek water while she'd been passed out. She pushes herself slowly into a sitting position, still wincing at the pain in her skull, and gingerly touches the swollen area where she knows a dark bruise has probably formed. Thankfully her fingers come away free of blood, and while she has a rather nasty migraine, she's pretty sure that she doesn't have a concussion.

After allowing her eyes to slowly adjust to the mid-morning light, Rory clambers ungracefully to her feet. Now that she's awake and becoming more alert, she realizes that her first priority is finding her family again. It takes her a while to get back up to the top of the ravine, and then she makes a quick bee-line for the road. But she stops dead in her tracks, gasping softly, when she finds the highway silent and devoid of people. The cars are still there - piled one right next to another like some sort of abandoned junkyard - but the only signs of life are the songbirds fluttering in the treetops and the vultures that circle ominously overhead.

"Mom? Carl! Shane?!" Rory yells, her voice growing more and more desperate as she continues to call out for her family with no response. She wanders among the vehicles, passing doors left wide open with their contents spilling out onto the asphalt. Clothes, supplies, personal belongings... all left behind as if their owners were in too much of a hurry to gather their things.

Rory even stumbles upon a few corpses, and the sight of the first mutilated body has her dry-heaving behind the tailgate of a nearby Honda. They look like they've been gnawed on by some sort of animal, and then the scraps left behind to rot in the sun. She trembles and screams for help - for her mom and her brother - and then eventually for anybody; but still the silence remains. She weaves through the wreckage and the death towards the city, hoping that somehow they managed to make it inside to the refugee center. That's where she knows she needs to go.

The day grows on towards evening as Rory finally begins passing the first of the military barriers, but there's still no signs of life. No people, no noise, no movement. The city's turned into a ghost town, and she's beginning to panic. Every few minutes she continues to yell for help, but she only hears her own echoes in reply.

Until the first Walker hears her calls.

They descend at first in singles or pairs, and Rory freezes in the middle of the street. Their moans and raspy breathing are nearly silent in the beginning, but as more and more of the reanimated corpses gather around her the cacophony grows. She spots a break in the growing pack and makes a break for freedom, the bottoms of her sneakers slapping against the asphalt as she bolts down a side street. Everywhere she looks she sees the dead walking; growling and groaning as they watch her race by. Soon enough she has quite a crowd forming at her heels, gnashing their teeth at the prospect of a fresh meal, and Rory cries out in fear, begging someone to save her.

Her lungs are starved for air, and her calves burn with exertion. She doesn't have much energy left to keep running, and she fears that she's going to die here without ever seeing her family again. In her mind's eye she sees her mother's understanding smile, and hears her brother's carefree laugh. She imagines that Shane is protecting them, and has taken them somewhere safe.

She misses her daddy so much...

Her steps begin to slow; she can't go much farther.

The herd is growing behind her, their gurgling snarls drowning out her labored panting.

Her foot catches on a chunk of broken concrete and she stumbles, hitting the ground hard.

She waits for the snapping monsters to descend on her, and tears fall across her dirty cheeks. She squeezes her eyes shut and prays for the end to be quick.

And then the first shots go off, felling the walkers closest to her.

"Get up!" Someone shouts. "Get out of there! Vamanos!"

Whipping her head around, Rory sees two men standing in an alley to her left, waving frantically at her. Unsteadily she clambers back to her feet, willing her jelly-like legs to support her weight for just a while longer. One of the two men continues firing into the crowd of walkers while the other reaches out for the girl, and together they slip behind a chain-link fence. She stumbles and the stranger pulls her arm across his shoulders, helping her along until they reach a rusted Oldsmobile idling at the end of the alley. They guide her into the backseat, and with the slamming of doors and the revving of the engine, they peel away deeper into the city.

"Hey, what's your name, chica?" One of the men asks her. They're both Hispanic, with dark eyes and copper skin. One of them has a crop of black hair with a bandanna wrapped around his forehead, and the bigger of the two men is bald with scruffy facial hair.

"My - my name's Rory," she stutters in reply. "Who're you?"

"I'm Felipe," the bald one answers before pointing to his companion behind the wheel. "And that's Jorge. What's a crazy gringa like you doing wandering the streets by yourself, huh?"

Rory runs her fingers through her tangled hair as she explains, "I was trying to find my family. My mom and my little brother, and a man that was with them. We were all trying to get to the refugee center, but then a lot of things happened at once. I got knocked out, and when I woke up everybody was gone."

The pair converse among themselves for a moment in Spanish while Rory watches on nervously. The smaller of the two, Jorge, shakes his head unwillingly as he speaks, but Felipe appears to reason with him, occasionally gesturing towards Rory. Finally Felipe turns towards her.

"We're gonna take you to Guillermo," he tells her. "I don't think any of us have seen your familia, but maybe he can help you out."

Rory scrubs her fingers against her eyes, trying to keep the tears at bay. She fears the worst for her family - for her mom and Carl and Shane - but at least for now, she's safe.

That evening the young girl sits inside Guillermo's compound with a full belly and bandages on her hands where they'd been scraped by her earlier tumble. They'd accepted her rather quickly into their fold, and what Rory had first thought to be a rather welcoming group of gangsters taking Atlanta as their own turf turns out to be a collection of caring people just trying to look after a retirement center that had been abandoned by most of the staff when the city became overrun.

"You're a nurse?" Rory can't keep the humor from her voice as Felipe takes a seat beside her. He nods with a grin and gestures to Guillermo, who stands nearby deep in conversation with an elderly gentleman.

"And our fearless leader there used to be the janitor. All of us here are either what's left of the staff or have wandered in over the weeks. We aren't much, but we're the only ones left to take care of the folks here. We're a familia now, and we look after our own."

He notices that Rory's expression has turned forlorn, and he places one meaty hand on her shoulder.

"You're safe here," he tells her. "I don't know what to tell you about your mama or your hermano, but I can tell you that if you want to stay, there's a place for you here. Besides, we could always use an extra pair of helping hands."

The twenty-something looks up, and manages a slight smile. "I guess I can stick around for a while," she replies.

**

Part two is now posted!

#the walking dead #twd #daryl dixon #daryl x oc #original character #(kind of) canon compliant #cross posted #ao3 #archive of our own

[thedevillord-writes]

Zemblanity - Chapter Four

Zemblanity is the faculty of making unhappy, unlucky and expected discoveries by design

- - -

~Present Day~

When she finally got to see the doctor, she was told she had nothing to worry about. She was given a cast, mostly for show, and was sent home. In the car, Misaki was oddly quiet. Usually, she would ask about the driver, how his wife and children were doing. Or, she would request for some music. Tonight, however, she was sat in the backseat, staring at the cast on her hand and looked as if she was lost in life. The chauffeur kept quiet, however, knowing that it was not his place to say anything. Even when Misaki was the one to make conversation every time, it did not mean he had permission to meddle in her life.

Arriving at home, Misaki was still in the same state as before. Her eyes were not focused on anything and her mind was elsewhere. Rushing to greet Misaki at the door, Minato was ignored as his sister walked right past him without even an acknowledgement. She went straight for the kitchen, putting on her apron and started taking ingredients out until the island counter top was covered.

She chopped, she minced, she boiled, and she fried.

In about one and a half, almost two hours, she made enough food to feed an entire army. The whole time, Minato stood by the side watching her. It was the way she brushed him off that concerned him. It would not be the first time Misaki came home in a mood and started cooking, but it was the first time she looked so tense after. Then, the next bizarre thing happened.

Misaki never ate the food she cooked. Never. She never had the appetite to, or so she told him. Yet, there she was, sat in her seat at the table with a fork in hand and digging into every dish, stuffing her mouth. She went from dish to dish, polishing off every plate. Before she finished chewing, she was already shoving another bite into her mouth. Minato sat down next to her, a frown plastered on his face as he watched her. He knew better than to stop Misaki. Not that he knew how to, he had never seen her like this.

"Misaki? Misaki, stop. Are you listening to me? Misaki, stop it!"

Clutching her fork tightly in her fist, Misaki was still not looking at Minato. Tears started rolling down her cheeks and Minato wiped them away. Their lives were not easy as their father's children, but Misaki was always tough. She had days when she too would be beaten down but she held herself together always for him. If it were not for her, Minato would not be here. This was the first time he was seeing her so vulnerable, so fragile.

Misaki still had the blank look in her eyes, tears pouring non-stop no matter how much he wiped. All of a sudden, she dropped the fork and grabbed Minato's hand, looking him in the eyes for the first time since she came home. She pressed his hand to her cheek and closed her eyes, breaking down completely.

"I can't do this anymore, Minato...I can't."

~Thirteen years ago~

The opening ceremony for the new school year was a nightmare.

It did not take long for news to travel around the campus and before long, almost everyone knew a Kanemoto enrolled by the ceremony. It did not take long for them to realise that it was her. Stood in the middle of her schoolmates, Misaki had to endure the stares and whispers. They would never dare to say anything to face though she had quite a good idea of what they could be whispering behind her back. It was part of human nature to find flaws in others so one would feel better about themselves. If you were not a Kanemoto, well at least you were thinner than Misaki. Her nose looked too artificial, she did not carry that atmosphere of blue blood, she could study overseas but instead, came here because she must have bad grades. It became a game for Misaki to figure out what they were saying.

Dismissed after the ceremony, the students were heading to their classrooms. All around her, friends were already made as some giggled together while others made promises to meet at lunch. Misaki walked alone. She was avoided like a plague; no smiles, no eye contact, and no one dared to even come within a metre of her. Walking into the classroom, the entire room hushed at her presence and their eyes followed her as she walked up to an empty desk.

"Hi!" The first person to talk to her was her neighbour, a girl with bangs and ponytail, and the brightest smile Misaki had ever seen. It was so infectious that Misaki smiled too, for the first time in a while. Was this her chance at making a friend? "Looks like we're neighbours," the girl smiled. "I'm Sato Nako, nice to meet you."

"Kanemoto Misaki."

At the mention of her name, Nako recoiled her hand as Misaki reached out for a shake. In a split second, reality hit her hard. She was only nice because she had no idea who Misaki was. Just like everyone else, the name Kanemoto put her off and Misaki was willing to bet her entire fortune that Nako was regretting having spoken to her. She would be offended if Misaki had not been used to interactions like this. Her entire life was just interactions like so.

Having years of practice, Misaki was quite familiar with what to do during lunch time. Her father was clear on wanting her to make connections but how could she when everyone was avoiding her? She bought a bun from the school's store and went on a hunt for a quiet place, somewhere she could take break from all the stares and whispers that were not going to stop any time soon.

She climbed the stairs up to the roof, trying her luck with the door. Students were never allowed up on the roof but Misaki was never bothered; there were some perks to her family name after all. Fortunately, the door was unlocked and Misaki stepped onto the empty roof. She found a shaded corner and sat herself down to eat lunch. If her father would to see her now, he would be disappointed. He would be furious. There were only so little time she had away from him however, and she would like to do something for herself every so often. She could make friends another day, Misaki just wanted to get through the day peacefully.

"You're not allowed up here. I'm afraid I have to report you."

A voice startled her and Misaki scrambled onto her feet, bowing in the direction of where the voice came from, thinking it was a teacher. A figure came into view but they were wearing a uniform too. The tie, however, indicated they were from an older year. She was greeted with a mischievous smile belonging to a tall and handsome guy as he approached her.

"I am sorry, I will leave now."

"You took me seriously?" he asked, catching her by the elbow. "No one's allowed up here, but I won't tell if you won't."

Misaki pulled away from him, her brows knitted into a frown. Was he just playing with her? She tried looking in his eyes for a clear indication of his intentions but she could not see anything in them. They said the eyes were the windows to one's soul, but she could not see into his mind at all. He had a smile on his face though there was something not quite right about it.

"Have you fallen in love with me already? That was quick."

"Excuse me?"

"Wow, you are easy to tease," he chuckled. "Finally, someone interesting in this place. What's your name?"

"Misaki."

"Misaki...who?"

She was hesitant, he could tell straight away. After years of observing people, he became good at catching the minute expressions they tried to hide. She was not good, however, at hiding her expressions; she wore everything on her sleeves. She was a rare type, one that he always thought would be fun to experiment with. Who knew he would meet one here in school?

"Kanemoto. Kanemoto Misaki."

It came as a little surprise, hearing her family name. It was a household name in Japan, one that even newborn babies would know about. He had been hearing the news of a Kanemoto in school all day and wanted to meet them. A connection like a Kanemoto was almost like having the key to the universe, and that was exactly what he needed. Never did he think he would meet her on the roof so randomly. Was this serendipity? Was that a word?

"Well, Kanemoto Misaki, nice to meet you. I'm Sagara Yosuke."

Her reaction was priceless. With a name like Kanemoto, most would have made a fuss and all day long, that was what everyone did. His classmates were excited to see what a Kanemoto looked like while others were already spreading rumours about someone they had yet to meet. Some guys bragged about how they would date the Kanemoto girl while the girls gossiped about what plastic surgery she supposedly had done. He could only imagine the type of day she had been through. So for Yosuke to just casually look over that fact must have came as a shock to her.

And shock it was for Misaki.

For the first time in her life, she was seen as a separate entity to her family. He did not seem to care about her family, simply asking just to know her name. It was the first time someone did not recoil in fear, the first time someone treated her like they would anyone else.

"Tough day, huh?" Yosuke asked, sitting down in Misaki's corner and petted the spot next to him for her to sit. Misaki was silent as she sat down, keeping a small distance between them. She was still not quite used to social interactions. No one taught her how to make friends. "First days are always tough," Yosuke said. "I remember my first day of high school, I was terrified."

"You were?"

"Of course I was! I was afraid they would find out about my grades and kick me out."

Misaki let out a giggle though she stopped herself the next second with a hand over her mouth. Was that a laugh? She was not sure herself because she did not laugh much. There were times when she laugh with Minato but never with anyone else. This was all so new and strange to her. Like she was learning how to be human. "I was scared. I still am. I'm not good at making friends and everyone is too afraid to approach me. You're the first person to really talk to me."

"I know how you feel. I mean, Sagara is not as big a name as Kanemoto and I have to deal with fakers here and there. I can't imagine what it's like for you."

No one ever understood how Misaki felt. Her brother did, but they lived the same life. It was often reported how jealous people were of her life, how she was fortunate to be born with a silver spoon and never had to worry about life. If they knew the truth, would they still be jealous? Or would they be thankful? Even those living in her world would not understand what Misaki went through. They took freedom for granted, freedom that Misaki would never have. They were the ones everyone should be

Meeting Yosuke here was like meeting an angel, like her prayers had been heard and she was sent a friend to pull her out of the dark corners. Finally, she had someone in her life who treated her like a human, who understood her. Was this what it was like to have a friend?

"Can we...meet for lunch tomorrow?" Misaki asked. "I'll bring lunch. If you'd like. It's okay if you don't. We don't have to."

"You don't need to bring lunch," Yosuke said. The disappointment on Misaki's face brought a smile to his; it was entertainment at its best. "But we can still meet for lunch," he continued. Instantly, she brightened up and he laughed. "I'll see you tomorrow."

~Present Day~

Laying in bed, Misaki had her eyes closed but she could not sleep. She was tucked into bed by Minato after her breakdown. Once she was alone, however, she could not stop thinking about the day she met Yosuke. There were so many times throughout the years when she thought how different her life would be if she never met Yosuke. How different it would be if she continued the relationship.

Thinking of their first meeting was also reminding Misaki of Mai. She sat up in her bed and turned the bedside lamp on, picking up a framed photo on her nightstand. Before she graduated from high school, Mai passed away. When Misaki came home happy that day, Mai was so overwhelmed that she started crying. She made a feast that night to celebrate her successful first day, and making her first friend. Mai was the closest the Kanemoto siblings had to a mother, but they lost her when they needed her the most.

Holding the photo to her chest, Misaki closed her eyes once again. She never got to see Mai before she passed, because her father refused to let her return to Japan. Misaki knew, however, exactly what Mai would tell her if she saw her now. Mai would lay in bed with her, comforting her in her arms. She would tell Misaki that everything would be alright, that she would have nothing to worry about. She would then force Misaki out of bed because staying in bed miserable for the rest of her life was not an option. Things were not going right now, but it was not the end of the world. Things would never be right until she made them right herself.

It was time Misaki got back onto her feet and stood up for herself.

#zem ch4 #kings of paradise #kop #yosuke sagara #voltage inc

[mikkomacko]

The True Encounter II

"I've found her." He proudly states, happily rapping his knuckles on the table.

"Found who love?" His mum asks, her voice genuinely interested but riddled with exhaustion. It dampens Harry's mood a bit, seeing his mother so run down. If he had found y/n sooner there'd be no need for this guilt or her suffering.

"My mate."

Or

Harry has to convince y/n she's his mate

~

Harry doesn’t know what time it was when he had tucked y/n into his bed, he had been too excited that she was finally there. He had a feeling she was the one and last night, after his scent had stuck to her, he was certain. It took all his will power not to crawl into bed with her and wrap himself around her or plant a big smooshy kiss on her chin before he left to go to bed himself. 

But she’s human and can’t feel their connection the way Harry can and he knows that.

So he contained himself, made sure y/n was comfortable, and then excitedly crawled into bed, only falling asleep because it was the fastest way to pass time so he could see her again in the morning. He felt like a little boy on Christmas Eve, her scent in the air being a promise of wonderful things to come.

Unfortunately, he couldn't contain himself as well as he thought he could and he woke up about an hour after falling asleep, to find his toes tingling and his cock so hard he was already leaking into his boxers.

Harry doesn't specifically remember the last time he was so wound up he woke up in the middle of the night with a stiffy, but he knows it had to have been back when he was a teenager, when even the slightest sniff of a female scent made him twitch in his pants.

And he feels exactly like a hormonal teenage wolf again because y/n's scent has gotten stronger and he can still hear her steady heartbeat thrumming in his veins. It all feels so good, adding to the pulsing in his crotch and the heat in his belly, so naturally he does what his needy teenage self use to do and squeezes the pillow he was spooning tighter, grinding his cock into the firm pillow.

All he can think about is the fact that his girl is asleep in his bed, in his clothes, her sweet smell seeping into ever crook and cranny of the fabric so he can always have her with him. He thinks of the way her small hands had held his and the way his name sounded on her lips. He thinks of her loudly moaning it in his ear and it makes his cock ache so much he swings a leg over the pillow to pull it in tighter.

He's panting and biting into his tattooed bicep when he thinks of her under him, whimpering his name all breathless and slurred because he's fucking her into the mattress so bloody good, stuffing her full with his knot and nipping on her neck where he'll one day bond her, make her his girl for the rest of their lives.

It's that image that pushes him over, bursting the coil of heat and forcing the bottom of his cock to plump into a knot, steadily spilling cum into his boxers.

He rubs into the pillow as he continues to drip, hot and sticky, enjoying the way it makes his toes curl and his spine shiver. He's still nibbling on his arm when he finally feels his cock softening and the cum getting cold so he quickly gets up and pulls off his boxers, sloppily folding them and tossing them under the bed to pick up later.

Then he's wiping down his crotch and abs with his sweatpants, doing his best to clean himself up with little lighting. He tosses the soiled pants under the bed as well, and quietly digs through the drawers of the dresser that he keeps his lounging clothes in.

He slips into a pair of shorts he used to train in and then he's stumbling back into bed, thankful that when y/n wakes up, she won't be able to smell the mess he's made.

~

Harry wakes up feeling fucking fantastic.

He's rolled over onto his back, his pillow resting softly on his chest and his legs sprawled across the bed so wide he feels a slight breeze.

And he feels as if he's been properly fucked, not that he would technically know what that feels like, but he's still basking in a post-orgasm glow and it makes him chuckle softly into the pillow he had been dry humping the night before.

He peaks an eye open and squints into the light entering the room from the window, he really needs to ask Gem to get him some curtains for that bloody room.

Based on how bright it is, he guesses he's slept in late which is nothing unusual for him but he can't say the same about y/n.

So he focuses on her, listening for her heartbeat and any noises coming from his bedroom. Her heart is still thumping strongly making him smile but he can hear her moving about in the sheets, no doubt about to wake up.

He pulls himself out of bed, tugging his shirt on and making his way to the kitchen. He's digging through his cabinets for some type of breakfast food when he hears the soft padding of feet and a door shut, followed by running water.

He realizes y/n is there and he thinks of how cute she must look in his clothes with her sleepy eyes and button nose. The thought makes his heart jump in both adoration and panic.

He didn't even think to check his reflection this morning or brush his teeth. Using the microwave as a very insufficient mirror, he pats his hair down and rubs his cheeks, hoping it'll bring color to them.

Just as the water shuts off and the door swings open, he rushes back to his spot at the cabinet.

He's shaking an almost empty box of crackers when she enters the kitchen and he spins around to face her, grinning at the sight of her.

Her hair is fluffed up and his t-shirt on her is slightly rumpled, the corner of it tucked into his rolled up shorts.

Y/n gives him a small smile, knuckling at one of her eyes and climbing into a stool at the kitchen counter.

Harry drops the box of crackers onto the countertop, resting on his elbows to gaze at her.

"Good morning Harry." She utters, resting her elbow on the counter and leaning into her palm. Her eyes are twinkling and she's got a little grin stuck on her pinks her lips and it makes Harry's heart flutter in his chest.

"Morning love." Harry murmurs, unintentionally leaning in closer to her. His eyes are stuck on hers for a bit, the two of them sitting in a comfortable silence. Harry thinks he could wake up like this everyday, still glowing from last night with her in his clothes and her eyes on him.

Y/n's stomach lets out a small rumble that makes her giggle bashfully and her cheeks tint pink and Harry almost drops to his knees right then and there.

"Unfortunately I've got nothing suitable for breakfast but I can go get you something real quick?" Harry offers, his heart getting the best of him and reaching out to rub his thumb over her rose colored cheekbone.

His face heats up in embarrassment and he almost jumps back until he hears her heartbeat stutter. He doesn't mean to but he can't stop the smirk that pulls at his lips.

Once again her heart stutters and Harry almost audibly coos at her. She's so cute, so sweet, so precious, so beautiful. She's like all that's good in the world wrapped up into one incredible gem that Harry has found and will keep for himself. He can't bear the thought of giving her up and he's only had her for a couple of hours.

"I'd like that." She says shyly, leaning into Harry's hand. It sends tingles up his arm and into his heart, warmth bubbling in his chest.

"Are you ok staying here?" He asks, reluctantly dropping his hand from her face and standing up straight.

"Of course." Y/n says firmly, her eyes searching his face with a bit of longing. It makes Harry feel giddy, she's beginning to feel it too, feel their connection. Of course she can't feel what he is, she's still human, but she's feeling the effect of being around him and he couldn't be happier.

It'll make explaining everything so much easier.

With more excitement then he'd felt last night, Harry dresses himself properly, tells Y/n to make herself comfortable, and heads on out to town.

~

Harry's mum and sister are in the dining area of the pack house when Harry enters, a skip in his step and a dopey smile on his face.

He requests two breakfast plates from the cooks and then takes a seat with his family, his limbs feeling tingly but good. Everything just feels so good today.

"Good morning Cheshire cat," Gemma greets, eyeing him curiously. "What's with the grin?"

"I've found her." He proudly states, happily rapping his knuckles on the table.

"Found who love?" His mum asks, her voice genuinely interested but riddled with exhaustion. It dampens Harry's mood a bit, seeing his mother so run down. If he had found y/n sooner there'd be no need for this guilt or her suffering.

If he had found y/n when he was supposed to, he'd have taken over as alpha when his father past away and his mum would get the rest she deserves. But apparently the universe had a different plan for Harry's life.

"My mate."

Gemma snorts at that and his mother's eyes widen considerably but she quickly clears her throat, giving her son a tight smile.

"Oh Harry," His mum says pitifully. "I know how much you want to find her but-"

"Its really her!" Harry interrupts, feeling flustered that his own family would think he's lying. They'd said he was just dreaming the first time he saw her in town and claimed she would one day be his.

"Where is she then?" Gemma asks, smirking at him with amusement.

"M'house." Harry scoffs. "Found her last night in the woods, she saw my print."

"All humans can see your print." Gemma deadpans.

"She touched it," Harry argues. "and my scent stuck to her. I know it's her." He refuses to let them run this for him. Y/n is his mate, he's certain of it and no matter how stupid Gemma treats him, he knows y/n will bond with him.

"Harry," his mum sighs sadly and it's enough to make his blood boil. He roughly gets up from the table, shoving his chair back in. He spots the two trays of food coming out of the kitchen and exhales in relief.

"I can't believe yeh two would do this to meh." He roughly barks at them, running a frustrated hand through his hair. "Been complaining about how long it's taken meh to find her and now that I 'ave your treatin' meh like 'm crazy. "

He doesn't give them a chance to respond, instead storming away and grabbing the food for his girl. Without so much as a glance back he exits the pack house, leaving both his mum and sister in shock.

"Mum?" Gemma questions quietly. "He hasn't gotten that riled up at us since he came of age. Do you suppose he actually found her?”

“It would explain why he got defensive, if he felt the need to protect her from our griping.” She theorizes, her heart swelling in her chest at the thought of her baby boy finally finding the love he’s been waiting for since he was a child. 

~

By the time Harry's back at his house, he’s mostly calmed down and a bit embarrassed about his reaction. He never snaps at anyone, let alone his family. He can’t believe he didn’t just explain last nights events to them and invite them to come meet y/n after he explains everything to her.

Disappointed in himself, he huffs as he kicks the front door shut, catching y/n’s attention. 

She looks up from her phone at him, carefully dropping the device to the counter. Harry crosses the living room and places the trays on the countertop, plopping into the seat next to her. 

“Why does this look like it came from a cafeteria?” y/n questions, curiously looking at the plate of eggs and hasbrowns in front of her. 

“Well it kinda did,” Harry replies, kicking his shoes off. They fall to the kitchen floor with a soft clop that makes y/n jump in her seat as she questioningly eyes Harry.

"It's from the pack house." Harry explains, reaching over the counter and grabbing two forks from the drying rack. "Any member of the pack that needs food or a place to stay or medical attention, stuff like tha' go to the pack house." He hands her one of the forks, grinning when her soft fingers brush his.

"So everyone in the...pack is a wolf?" Y/n questions, digging into her scrambled eggs. Harry does the same, giving her a hum of approval. "Mostly."

"Are you going to tell me why you brought me here?"

Harry swallows his bite, nodding. "Of course love." He turns to face her, reaching out for her hand in her lap. Like last night, he brushes his thumb over the top of it, thinking of how his scent stayed with her.

Y/n inhales deeply, sitting up straighter and facing Harry confidently.

"And are you going to tell me why my heart has been pounding in my chest since I met you?"

~

The question had made Harry happy, nervous but happy. She's catching on to the fact that their relationship isn't normal. They're connected through the universe as cheesy as it sounds. When Harry turned 16 and came of age, he was taken to the witch doctor to do his scent test and he had smelt her. The magical crystal that the witches burn to show him what his mate will smell like had given off a sweet almond scent.

The same scent he had smelled the first time he saw her. She was in town, going through the cereal aisle at the store with a young boy. He had lost Gemma somewhere in the cookie aisle and was looking for her when he smelled her, the scent he would never forget.

He knew it had to be her, she's the prettiest little thing he's ever seen. And while the store was packed that day and logically the scent could've been anyone, his heart told him it was her.

He was so overwhelmed he freaked out and bolted, hiding in the garden section until Gemma had to page him over the intercom.

Harry's regretted it everyday since.

But then he saw her, in his clearing with her camera, a cute scrunch between her eyebrows and a pink shirt that looked absolutely precious on her.

He waited to see what she would do, his heart pounding when she touched his paw print. And like a complete weirdo he walked over and couldn't stop himself from petting and sniffing at her. She was so much prettier up close, especially in the moonlight and she smelt so good with his scent on her.

The only thing he could think to do was bring her home.

If she was here, she'd begin to feel their connection. It'd be easier to tell her everything he needs to tell her, to show her how his life works and how he would like her to be a part of it, the biggest part of it.

So he tells her all of this, all the while holding her hand in his and never once daring to look away from her doe-eyes.

It takes her a minute to respond and Harry's fully aware of the way her heart rate has picked up but he doesn't know if it's because she's nervous, excited or scared and that puts him on edge. He wishes he was already bonded to her so he'd be able to tell and help her in any way he can.

"H-how does your life work here?" She quietly asks, biting at her bottom lip. "W-with mates and bonding and why it's taken us so long to find each other."

This was the part Harry's dreaded most. He hates that he has to explain to her how they're relationship will work, how the next few months of her life will be if she chooses to be with him but he has to. He's lost so much time already, he can't put this off any longer.

Part 3 coming your way some time this week

#harry styles #harry imagine #harry styles imagine #wolf harry #werewolf imagine #werewolf #supernatural #smut #mentions of knotting #fanfiction #one direction #harry's a little softie in this one #on

[mentalmimosa]

an inconvenient gift (part iii)

Previous installments here: [archiveofourown.org/works/19264735/chapters/45815008]

It happens like this: in time, they triumph. It doesn’t matter how; it doesn’t matter why. But there's some shit to tidy up first.

They pack up Steve’s papers and straighten up the basement.

They buy a bigger bed.

Tony learns things about Steve he’d never had time to notice before: how he likes his toast (OCD perfect golden), how he folds the newspaper into neat quarters as he reads, how softly he sighs when they get up before him and he walks in on them in the kitchen, Peggy’s thighs spread and her dressing gown open and Tony’s mouth on her breasts as she rides him, the chair creaking and both of them moaning and Steve standing in the doorway, watching, rubbing himself through his shorts and when she comes, they do, too--Steve in his hand and Tony tucked up inside her, grunting, the flutter of her cunt almost too much to bear.

“Shame on you,” Peggy says, still moving up and down on his dick and grinning at Steve, reaching for him. “Bad influences, both of you. I’m going to be late for work.”

Steve gets a job at the grocer’s because he needs something to do and wants to feel useful. Tony doesn’t, because fuck that. Instead, he learns how to cook. He gets a library card and Mastering the Art of French Cooking and highly approves of the notion that a glass of wine is central to one’s success. Sometimes, Steve comes home for lunch and Tony’s already chopping shit for supper, covering the counter with neat bites of onions and carrots and celery.

“Oh, no,” Steve says, chuckling, “no way, babe. I’m not kissing you until you put down the knife.”

There are nights when Peggy gets home at midnight. Sometimes, she doesn’t come home at all. Sometimes, she drags them to bed the moment she walks in the door and that means she’ll be gone tomorrow on some mission or other, running around the sketchiest parts of the planet, gun drawn. On nights like that, supper goes stone cold because she wants to have both of them inside her, one after the other, wants to be so full that she’s dripping and they have to clean her up, have to, trading kisses as they lap at her cunt, and on nights like that, they cling to her, press her between them and reassure her that when she comes back, they’ll be there.

When she’s gone, Steve gets drawn up and worried, the first signs of wrinkles around the edge of his eyes. When she’s gone, Tony’s gut gets in a twist and he drinks more than he should, sometimes. When she’s gone, they make out on the couch until Tony’s hard in Steve’s fist and then they make love, stupid slowly, spread out on Peggy’s part of the bed, the smell of her perfume clinging to their skin.

“We gotta change the sheets,” Steve mumbles against Tony’s neck, after. “You spunked the hell out of these.”

“You say that like I didn’t have help, Peaches. You were pretty critical to said spunking. Dare I say you were the inciting incident.”

“Mmmm. Still. Clean sheets tomorrow. Don’t let me forget.” A sigh, a warm hand against his heart. “She deserves things to be nice when she gets back.”

He draws his fingers through Steve’s hair. Thinks about saying she might not be back tomorrow, though. Understands that Steve’ll just hear she might not be back.

“You’re right,” Tony says instead, softly. “She so does. And things'll be perfect when she gets back, yeah?”

It’s two more days before her key turns in the lock. It’s 10 o’clock in the morning and she has a black eye and Tony’s the only one home.

“Peggy, jesus! What the hell happened? Are you ok?”

She winces when he hugs her but doesn’t pull away. Hangs on tight.

“A cracked rib and some bruises,” she says. “They look a little nasty, but I’m all right. Mostly. I--”

She tips her head back and he can see the ache in her eyes, the pain, the kind that doesn’t come from the body. She’s seen some shit, some real fucking shit these last few days, he thinks.

“Tony?”

“Yes, honey?”

Peggy’s lids fold and her mouth opens beneath his. “Kiss me,” she says, the words thick. “God help me. Right now, I can’t talk.”

When he opens her blouse in the bedroom, the soft skin of her chest and belly is a garden of bruises, violent colors where there should be only cream. Her ribs are taped and she’s already wet for him, he can smell it. She pulls his hands to her breasts.

When they kiss, it’s with a kind of desperation he’s never felt in her before, and it does things to him, feeling her nails digging into his spine, the greedy arch of her hips, the unmistakable heat of her pussy behind too many fucking layers of cloth, and when he opens her up, he sits down on the edge of the bed and tugs her towards him and pushes his face between her thighs.

“Gently,” she whispers. There’s a hand in his hair, guiding. “Lick me gently, darling, come on. Use that sweet tongue of yours and get me there.”

He cups her ass and does as she asks, keeping each stroke of his tongue lighter, light. It’s not what he wants; he wants to devour her. He wants his beard to drip with her excitement and then plunge into her until she feels so good that she can’t remember that someone hurt her, that someone treated her beautiful body this way, that someone took the woman he loves, that Steve does, and brought her pain.

She claws at his shoulders, his old workaday plaid. “Good boy. Good, Tony, god, yes. Yes, just like that.”

He knows she’s close when she whimpers and starts working her hips, shoving her cunt at his face, and that’s when he breaks the rules and sucks on her hard, the tip of his tongue working against her clit, furious, the way Steve does, the way she fucking likes it, and that whimper rolls up to a cry that shatters the mid-morning calm and her labia trembles when she comes, her folds shaking against his face and he sucks her again, groans, squirms on the bed like a teenager when she throws her head back and comes again, still, waves of pleasure that make his dick ache.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he says when he’s braced over her, his flushed dick on the edge of Valhalla.

“Good.” Her hand in his hair again, stroking. “I won’t let you, I promise. I won’t.”

*****

She’s still asleep when Steve gets home. Tony’s staring down a glass of Merlot.

“Something happened,” Tony says quietly as they stand in the doorway, watching her shoulders rise and fall. “Something bad, Steve, I don’t know. She wasn’t ready to tell me.”

Steve winds an arm around his waist, bless him, and takes on some of the weight. “She will when wants to, I guess. As is her way in all things.”

He says it very Steve-like, very square-jawed no nonsense, but Tony’s been around long enough to hear through that shit. “Can I say something rude and semi-patronizing?”

A snort. “Go ahead.”

“I hate that she does this. I fucking hate seeing her hurt.”

“Well,” Steve says, his mouth against Tony’s hair, “if it helps, imagine how bad the other guy looks. You’ve never seen her in a fight, Tone. If this guy whelped her, then believe me, Peggy kicked the shit out of him. Ten bucks says he got carried off in a body bag.”

“Seriously?”

Steve chuckles. “Because I love you, I’m not going to tell her you said that.”

Dinner’s nearly over by the time they hear her footsteps in the hallway, see the tattered flap of Steve’s robe wound around her.  She folds herself in Steve’s lap and kisses him without a word.

“Hi,” Steve says after a moment, his arms turning around terrycloth.

A tired smile. “Hello, darling.”

“We missed you.”

Tony swallows. Christ, they’re beautiful together, even like this: Peggy exhausted and Steve’s forehead pinched with worry, both a little unsure. “Yeah," Tony says. "We sure did.”

Peggy sighs and leans her head against Steve’s shoulder, chestnut combed with silver and gray. “In the morning,” she says. “Is it alright if we talk about this in the morning? I need”--her eyes find Tony’s, and god, there’s something in them that’s so goddamn fragile--“I need to enjoy the comforts of being home with you first.”

Steve kisses her again, his hand turned around her face. “Of course, sweetheart. Of course.”

She stretches her arm across the table and finds Tony’s hand. He winds his fingers through hers. “Tony,” she says. “Come here.”

In a moment, he’s on his knees beside Steve’s chair and the three of them are kissing, mouths moving one to another, ping ponging, a sloppy sort of give and take, and they make her come like that, pitched perfect between them, Tony teasing her nipples and Steve’s big fingers in her cunt and her own hand on her clit, her lips, leaning back against Steve’s arm and pressing herself against Tony’s mouth and singeing the air with her sharp cry, one that Tony’s willing to bet the neighbors can hear because the kitchen window is open and that makes it all the sweeter, somehow, how much Peggy needs them both, how willing she is to show it, English decorum be damned.

“Well,” she says later, stretched out in bed beside them as they fuck, “they must not have thought too much of it, eh? No one seems to have called the police.” Her fingers climb down Tony’s spine as Steve pounds him and god help him if that doesn’t do it for him, isn’t just enough straw to break the proverbial back and having him shouting into the sheets. “That is, not yet.”

Tony dreams of Peggy covered in yellow and purple roses and of Steve’s hands, his, working frantically to shove them back.

It’s all right, dream-Peggy murmurs, flowers streaming from her mouth. It’s all right, darlings. Drowning is part of the job.

No, Tony tells her. He can see a shadow at Steve’s back, looming. No, it isn’t!

Oh, my dear. Peggy’s voice is there, but she isn’t, now. The shadow has swallowed her. The shadow is Steve. It has been since long before you were born. You’ve forgotten, Tony--this isn’t your fight.

No, he says, certain, raising his hands against the darkness, light in his palms. Now it is.

*****

In the morning, they sit very still around toast and coffee. The window’s closed and everyone’s dressed. Peggy looks incredibly pale.

“For the last week,” she says, “I’ve been in Russia. Siberia.” Her eyes turn to Steve’s. “Something tells me you know what that means.”

Tony’s never seen anybody hit by a 10-ton weight, but damn if that’s not what Steve looks like. And based on Steve’s expression, it’s probably what he looks like, too. Because what the fucking fuck, unwelcome blast from the future past. Siberia? What the hell. What the everloving fuck?  She can’t mean--!

“You found Bucky,” Steve says, just like that.

Peggy’s fingers curl tight around her cup. “It seems we did, yes.”

#stony #steggy #steve/tony/peggy #oh no there's plot

[sunriserose1023]

Cracks in the Foundation

WARNINGS: Angst, painful remembering, illness, brief mentions of blood WORD COUNT: 4795 AUTHOR’S NOTE: You know how a piece of fabric can get frayed at the edges, and pulling on the strings can end up making the whole thing unravel? The reader’s starting to notice the frayed edges. Will she start pulling on the strings? 

MASTERLIST

You sat at a table in the corner in a little cafe, iced Frappuccino melting as it sat forgotten beside you. You stared out the window, not even bothering to try and pretend you weren’t anymore. 

You’d convinced Betty that you needed to do a little shopping, and she needed to catch up with a friend from college. She reluctantly agreed, giving you the chance to waste your afternoon in a coffee shop waiting on someone you weren’t even sure was real. 

You put your head in your hands, closing your eyes as you took a deep breath and let it out slowly. The bell above the door jingled and you lifted your head to see a slender woman with short, dark hair approach the counter. You watched her as she grabbed a latte, keeping your eyes trained on her as she walked over, taking a seat in the chair across from you. 

“Miss Ross.”

You slowly nodded, glancing down at the table before you spoke. 

“Pardon me but, um … what the fuck?”

Hope’s eyes widened before her lips curved into a smile. You shook your head. 

“You do know I was just in a year-long coma, right? So I’m not exactly sure I can trust my brain. Especially when I’m talking to someone and then they just disappear into thin air!” “I didn’t disappear. I’m just … sneaky.”

You let out an exasperated sigh and Hope took a sip of her drink. 

“Look, I didn’t mean to make you worry or anything. I just couldn’t deal with your father.” “Yeah, join the club.”

Hope gave a laugh. 

“Honey, I’ve got daddy issues of my own.” “Maybe so, but you didn’t have to grow up with Thunderbolt Ross.”

Hope nodded. 

“Hank Pym was a winner in his own right.”

She stared at the lid on her coffee, then lifted her blue eyes to you. 

“I wasn’t trying to come off as mysterious and scary as I did last night. I’m sorry I frightened you. And made you question your own mind.”

You nodded, taking hold of your cup and swirling your straw around. You picked up a napkin and ran it through the condensation that had gathered on the table. You shook your head, giving a sigh. 

“It’s just … it’s like I’m living someone else’s life. I feel like I should be barely legal and finishing college, only to find that I’m nearly thirty. I had a business of my own, but …”

You shook your head again, lifting your eyes to the woman across from you when Hope spoke softly. 

“It must be jarring, to believe one thing is true, only to find it’s the furthest thing from the truth.”

You nodded, realizing you’d kept hold of the napkin and shredded it into tiny pieces in your lap. You swallowed, then took a sip of your drink. 

“What did … what did you mean last night?”

Hope looked to you, eyes narrowing. You nodded, continuing with your thought. 

“When you said I wasn’t the only one who had lost something?”

Hope nodded, looking down at her coffee cup. 

“You’re running the General’s campaign, right?” “I wouldn’t say I’m running it. I’m just … tagging along.” “Planning the events?”

You nodded, then gave a quiet laugh. 

“Can you not change the subject?” “I was just—“ “No, seriously. Everyone I know has been treating me with kid gloves ever since I woke up, and I’m so sick of it.” “So … you’re saying the General thinks he knows what’s best for you? The General and your sister?”

You started to shake your head, going still as Hope’s eyes met yours. You swallowed, licking suddenly dry lips. 

“What … what do you …”

You looked down at the table, and Hope leaned in closer. 

“You know something’s not right, don’t you?”

You closed your eyes, slowly nodding. You lifted your head, a haze of tears clouding your vision when you looked back to the woman sitting across from you. 

“It’s something bad, isn’t it?”

Hope let out a breath, tapping her foot on the ground. She glanced over her shoulder, then leaned closer to you. 

“Be on the lookout for a package coming in a few weeks.”

Your eyebrows furrowed. 

“A package?”

Hope nodded, and you shook your head. 

“What is that supposed to mean? Why don’t you just tell me?”

Hope smiled. 

“I don’t have all the answers. I’m afraid I have more questions than anything at this point. You are the only one who can answer the questions.” “Stop with the cryptic bullshit, please.” “Cryptic bullshit is all I have right now.”

You stared into those blue eyes, and Hope stood up, taking your empty cup in her hand. 

“I’ll be in touch.”

She turned and walked to the door, dropping the cups in the trash can before she pulled a pair of sunglasses from her pocket, sliding them onto her face before she was swept away by the Los Angeles foot traffic. 

“Hey, sweetie. How was your day?”

You glanced away from the window, smiling when you saw your sister. 

“Fine. How’s Jane?” “Fine. Busy as ever.”

You nodded, turning and looking out the window again. 

“You okay?”

You nodded again. 

“Just tired.” “Want to order a pizza or something?”

You nodded, keeping your face towards the window so Betty wouldn’t see the tears you couldn’t explain that suddenly came to your eyes. Your phone rang and you sniffled as you grabbed it, eyes narrowing at the number you didn’t recognize. 

“Hello?” “It just occurred to me that I got your phone number without asking you and I’m suddenly acutely aware of how stalkerish that seems.”

You gave a quiet laugh. 

“Yeah, you’re really not helping your case at all.” “You’d think I’d realize that, what with me being a lawyer and all.”

The smile on your face widened, and you glanced over to see Betty motioning towards the door, winking at you as she took her phone with her, walking into the hotel hallway. You settled back into your place at the windowsill, closing your eyes at the voice in your ears. 

“I’m sorry we didn’t get a real chance to talk the other night. My … business partner said you looked stunning.” “Thank you.” “He also said you left in a hurry.”

You nodded, looking down at the cars on the road before you spoke again. 

“I, uh …” “You don’t have to explain anything to me.” “No, I …”

You sighed. 

“I’m remembering some things.” “That’s great.” “Yeah, you would think so. It just … it hurts.” “Hurts?”

You nodded. 

“Sometimes I’m fine. I hear something from my past or see something and it’s like ‘oh, that’s right. I wrecked my dad’s car in the grocery store parking lot when I was fifteen.’ Other times … it’s like a knife to my skull.” “I had no idea.”

You nodded, staring at the palm trees outside the window, voice barely a whisper. 

“How could you?”

Matt was quiet on the other end of the line, until his voice rumbled through the line. 

“Y/N, if you’d rather I not call again, you can say. I won’t take offense to it. I just enjoyed talking with you the other day, and I … I feel like we haven’t had enough time.”

You opened your mouth, glancing away from the window as a memory overtook you. 

“Please don’t cry.”

You pressed your face into his chest, digging your fingers into the thick muscles of his back. He sighed, moving his arms around you, holding you tighter. 

“Come on, pretty girl. You know I can’t leave when you’re this upset.” “I’m not upset.” “You’re crying.”

You shook your head, lifting it and pressing your cheek against his. 

“I just wish we had more time.”

You gasped in a breath, squeezing your eyes shut and pressing your hand against the cool glass of the window. Shaky fingers moved your phone to the sill beside you, clicking the speaker button. 

“Y/N? Are you okay? Please say something.”

You nodded. 

“I … I’m okay.” “What happened? You were gasping like you couldn’t breathe.” “Memory.” “Are you okay?”

You shook your head, hanging up the phone and running to the bathroom. You managed to get the toilet open before you threw up, groaning when you heard your phone begin to ring again. 

“Honey? I thought I heard … oh, no.”

You motioned towards the room, where your phone was still ringing. Betty nodded, leaving you to go and answer your phone. 

“Hello? … This is Betty Ross, her sister. … She’s okay, she just … she’s sick. I’ll get her to call you as soon as she feels better, okay? … Thank you.”

Betty walked back into the bathroom to find you with one elbow propped on the bathtub, your face in your hand. She took a washrag and ran it under cold water, kneeling to gently press it against your face. 

“That was Matt Murdock. Which, I’m sure you already knew.” “I hung up on him.”

Betty nodded, moving the cool rag to your neck. 

“He was worried about you.”

You nodded, eyes closed as Betty moved the rag over your face. 

“Are you okay? What happened?” “I remembered something.”

Betty’s hand faltered just the slightest bit, as she moved the rag to your forehead. 

“What was it?”

You shook your head, exhaling sharply. 

“The same man, he was … he was leaving. And I didn’t want him to go. He said he couldn’t leave me while I was crying, and I said I just wished we had more time.”

Betty schooled her face into a passive interest, instead of the horrified look she’d had while you were talking, and you blinked your eyes open to see a soft smile on her face. 

“You feeling okay?”

You slowly shook your head and she helped you stand, staying close as you brushed your teeth, walking beside you and helping you climb into your bed. Betty closed the curtains, standing by the window as you spoke softly. 

“He was wearing a uniform.”

Betty swallowed. 

“The man you’ve been remembering?”

You nodded, rolling onto your side and hugging the extra pillow on the bed. 

“It was blue, like … like a cop’s uniform.” “You think he was a cop?”

You sighed. 

“I don’t know. It doesn’t feel like he was a cop, but he … he was important like that. Don’t ask me what I mean or how I know, because I don’t know. I just … that’s what I feel.”

Betty nodded. You rolled onto your back, staring up at the ceiling. 

“We didn’t have enough time. That’s all I could feel, that I just needed more time.”

Tears gathered in your eyes as you looked at your sister. 

“Please. Please don’t tell me I had someone and lost them. I can’t be remembering all this just to find out he died.”

Betty shook her head. 

“No, honey. No.”

She walked over, sitting on your bed, running her fingers through your hair. You gave a quiet sob, speaking softly. 

“You know more than you’re telling me. Why won’t you just tell me, Betty?”

Betty closed her eyes, continuing to stroke your hair. 

“Sweetie—“ “Whatever Dad told you, he can’t take you away from me. You have to know that.”

You met her eyes, your own glassy with tears. 

“Whatever he threatened you with, he cannot keep me away from you.”

Betty gave a shaky sob, shaking her head. 

“I can’t take that chance.” “How can you keep it from me?” “You kept it from me.”

You blinked, and Betty shook her head, tears slipping down her cheeks. 

“It was a secret, the relationship between this man and you. I had no clue about it at all, Y/N.”

You shook your head, staring at your sister. Betty sniffled, pressing her lips together as she shook her head. 

“You were with him for years before you even hinted at anything. I didn’t … I didn’t even know his name.”

Betty steeled herself, the half-truth she was feeding you making her want to be sick. You shook your head, meeting her blue eyes. 

“How could I do that?”

Betty shook her head, moving a hand to brush your hair back. 

“It doesn’t matter now.” “Where is he? If he was important enough for me to hide him from you, where is he now?”

Betty gave another shaky sigh. 

“I guess that’s something you’re just going to have to remember.”

You were sitting in Betty’s breakfast nook, legs crossed as you ran your fingers over the downy fur of the kitten she had insisted the two of you needed. The little orange tabby was purring in your lap, the two of you settling on Marvin as his name. 

You didn’t know why. Betty didn’t know why. Marvin just suited him. 

A knock at the back door stirred Marvin, the pair of you glancing towards the door. You set the kitten on the floor, watching him scamper towards the door, with you following close behind. You opened the door to find it empty, save for a small box. 

“Package delivery, Marv.”

He gave a soft meow, and you smiled as you picked up the box, bringing it to the table. It was addressed to you, with no return address, and you did a double take when you found the kitten on the table beside the box. 

“Betty would flip if she knew you were on the table.”

Marvin meowed and you shook your head with a quiet laugh. 

“I’m not going to tell her. Just don’t mess anything up.”

He meowed again, in what you could only guess was agreement, little eyes watching as you picked up a knife and cut the box open. You pulled out the contents, setting the box on the floor, laughing when Marvin dove into the box and started to play. You shook your head, eyebrows raising when you saw the contents of the package. 

“Comic books?”

You shook your head, picking one up and flipping through it. You made a quiet humming noise in your throat, picking up the first issue and walking towards the couch in the living room. You smiled when you heard the jingle of the little bell on Marvin’s collar, and you gave a quiet laugh when you sat down and he curled up in your lap. 

“Y/N? Are you home?”

You blinked as you looked up, a shocked breath leaving your lips. You scrambled off the couch, apologizing to Marvin for disturbing his slumber, skidding into the kitchen. Betty stood there with one eyebrow raised and a smile on her face. You shook your head, motioning towards the living room. 

“I am so sorry. I meant to have dinner ready and I started reading and lost all track of time.” “Must have been a good book.” “It is.”

Betty shook her head as she started to unpack the groceries she had bought. You gave a quiet laugh, helping her unpack the groceries. 

“It’s a comic book, of all things.” “Seriously?”

You nodded. Betty clicked her tongue, and you looked back to see her smiling. 

“You were borderline obsessed with the Archie comics back in the day.” “Betty and Veronica fighting over Archie was my jam.”

Betty shook her head, setting the eggs in the fridge. 

“What’s this one about?” “It’s fantasy stuff.” “Oh?” “Superheroes.”

Betty’s hand faltered as she reached for the lettuce. 

“What?” “Oh, it’s these completely far out tales. Like, the one I started a while ago was this guy who got dosed with a fuckton of gamma radiation and now he turns into this giant green rage monster.”

You yelped when the glass Betty had reached for slipped from her hand, shattering against the floor. 

“Oh my god, are you okay? Betty.”

She looked to you and your eyes widened at how pale she suddenly seemed. You shook your head, reaching out for her. 

“Come on. You should sit—ow!”

You winced as you led Betty to a chair, groaning when you saw a piece of glass sticking out of your foot. You grit your teeth and pulled the glass out, closing your eyes and wincing again when you saw the blood dripping from the cut. You shook your head, patting Betty’s shoulder. 

“I’m going to grab a bandaid and make sure Marvin doesn’t find his way in here. I’ll be right back.”

Betty didn’t move as you limped from the kitchen, picking up the kitten from the back of the couch and walking into the bathroom. 

“Never mind the bloodtrail leading here. It’ll be fine. And you, sir, better not shred the toilet paper when I lock you in here.”

Marvin tilted his head at you and you shook your head as you gave a quiet laugh. You sat on the closed toilet and put your foot over your knee, looking down at the cut on your heel. 

Only … there was no cut. There was no blood. You felt your eyebrows furrow as you studied your skin, but there was nothing there. 

“But I felt it. It hurt. I pulled glass out of my foot.” 

You ran a finger along the bottom of your foot, then let it fall back to the floor. You shook your head, turning to look at the kitten sitting on the counter beside you. 

“I’m not crazy.”

Marvin gave a chirp of agreement, and you nodded, pushing a hand through your hair before gathering him into your arms and walking back to Betty. You plopped the kitten into her lap, sliding your feet into a pair of shoes near the door, grabbing the broom and dustpan as you swept up the broken glass. You cleaned the blood from the floor, then walked over to sit beside your still-pale sister. She had one hand slowly petting the purring kitten and you shook your head. 

“Talk to me.”

Betty slowly shook her head. 

“You just startled me, is all.” “I said ‘giant green rage monster’ and you almost passed out. You were white as a sheet, acting like you’d seen a ghost. That’s not like you, Betty. What’s going on?”

Betty swallowed as she looked down at the cat. She shook her head and you gave a forceful exhale. 

“Betty, that stuff is a fantasy. There’s no such thing as—as Iron Man. The Hulk is nowhere even in the vicinity of plausible, because that much radiation would kill a man, not turn him into the literal Jolly Green Giant.”

One corner of Betty’s mouth quirked up. She shook her head. 

“What did … what did the comic say the explanation was?” “As to why he didn’t die?”

Betty nodded. 

“He had some kind of gene or something in his body that partnered with the gamma radiation and somehow protected him instead of killing him. I don’t know; you’re the scientist, Bets. Not me.”

Betty slowly nodded, turning her head to look at you. 

“Where did you get the comic books?”

You lifted a shoulder, shaking your head. 

“They were delivered this morning. No return address.” “What all have you read about?”

You stood up and walked into the living room, gathering the books and bringing them to the kitchen table. 

“This is the first one I read. Iron Man. Then another one about Iron Man, then the Hulk. Thor is up next, and then this one about Captain America.”

Betty clenched her jaw at that, until you showed her the last issue. 

“This one is supposed to bring them all together. Make a team out of them, The Avengers.”

You gave a quiet laugh, shaking your head. 

“Everything I’m reading seems so familiar, but I know I’ve never read these before.”

You tapped the Captain America issue, shaking your head. 

“Anyway, you’re welcome to read them, if you want. I’ll call for a pizza, since I did a crap job of cooking dinner.”

Betty nodded, smiling as you left her to walk into the living room and get your cell phone. She lifted a shaking hand to take hold of the first comic book you’d showed her. She shook her head, running her fingers over the red and gold superhero on the front. 

Tony Stark was no longer a household name. Stark Industries was a shell of the corporation it once was, and both Tony and Pepper Potts had gone off the grid. 

Betty pushed the Iron Man comics aside, lifting the one about Thor. 

No one had heard from Thor since the Battle of Sokovia. Jane had teared up when Betty had asked her about it in L.A., saying that she hadn’t heard from him, but was glad he wasn’t around to meet the fate the others had met. 

Betty swallowed and reached for the Captain America issue, shaking her head and taking hold of the Hulk. 

Bruce hadn’t answered the last time Betty had tried to call. It had been over a year ago, when everything was falling apart with you and then the Avengers. Betty had left a frantic message, telling Bruce to stay away, to hide as best he could to keep himself safe, to go as far off the grid as he’d always wanted to be. 

She still had no clue if he’d even gotten the message. 

Shaky fingers flipped through the pages, reading passages that she remembered as if they’d happened yesterday. A woman was in the comic squares, supposedly a love interest for … 

Betty glanced back a few pages, closing her eyes when she saw Bruce Banner as the scientist who gets turned into the Hulk. She shook her head, flipping forward and discovering the red-haired love interest was none other than Natasha Romanoff. 

Betty set the book down and covered her mouth with a hand. She closed her eyes, biting her tongue. 

This would be for the best. Removing Betty from the story and replacing her with Natasha would save the multitude of questions Betty knew her sister would have. 

But it hurt. 

This story, Bruce’s story, was theirs. Betty was the only one who could bring him back when the Hulk took over. Betty was a witness for the fight that nearly destroyed Harlem, and was the only reason Bruce didn’t kill the Abomination. 

“Betty?”

Betty blinked, turning to face you and smiling. You motioned with your phone. 

“Twenty minutes and we’ll have dinner.”

Betty nodded, standing up from her chair and walking to you. She wrapped you in her arms and you rolled your eyes as you hugged her back. 

“I love you, Y/N.” “I love you too, Betty.” “Please don’t ever forget that.”

You shook your head, and Betty patted your face as she pulled back from you. She walked to uncork a bottle of wine, and you chewed on your lip as you glanced at the comic books spread over the table. 

“What are you reading?”

You smiled as you flipped a page in your book, not lifting your eyes to your curious father. 

“Nothing.” “Y/N…”

You giggled, turning your head to look at him, seeing the stern look on his face. 

“It’s a comic book, Dad.” “Comic book?”

You nodded, and one of his eyebrows raised. 

“Why in the world are you reading comic books?”

You shrugged. 

“I don’t know. They’re interesting. It’s nice to escape reality every now and then.” “Tell me about them. Is it something I’d like?”

You gave a quiet laugh. 

“No, Dad. I seriously doubt you’d like these. They’re fantasy.” “I’ve been known to indulge in a fantasy every now and then.”

You laughed louder, shaking your head. 

“Dad, no offense, but I don’t believe that.”

Thaddeus rolled his eyes and you shook your head again, laughing under your breath. He tapped his thumb against the arm rest and then spoke. 

“I heard you’ve been talking with a lawyer from Manhattan.” “Dad…” “I’m just stating a fact.” “We don’t talk about my dating life, remember?”

The look on his face matched the one on your own, and you swallowed as you blinked a few times. Thaddeus smiled as he moved a hand to gently pat your arm, and you relaxed back in the seat, a soft smile on your lips. After a quiet minute, you spoke softly. 

“Have we ever been to Romania before today?”

Thaddeus shook his head. 

“I have, but you and your sister haven’t. It’s a beautiful place. You’ll love it.” ��Even though I don’t speak Romanian? Wait. I don’t, do I?”

Thaddeus chuckled. 

“No, dear. But you’ll be fine. That phone has translation apps and there’s often someone who speaks English.”

You nodded, turning your head to peek out the airplane window. 

“Why are we going there again?” “I’ve got some business with the prime minister before the summit this week.”

You slowly nodded. 

“And the summit is …” “In Vienna this year.”

You nodded again, then let out a slow breath. Thaddeus moved his hand to pat your arm again. 

“Get some rest. We’ll be landing soon.”

The air was warm as you walked along the marketplace, eyes dancing over the booths offering colorful scarves and handmade knicknacks. You made a mental note to come back to those, eyes lighting up when you saw the section offering fresh produce. 

You stopped at a booth with baskets of deep purple plums displayed, and you stepped up beside a man, your hand brushing his gloved one as you both reached for the same fruit. 

“Sorry, I didn’t—“

You stepped back, looking towards another basket as your cheeks flushed. You felt a gentle tap on your shoulder and you glanced back, smiling softly as you took the fruit he offered in his palm. 

“Thank you.”

He nodded, and you studied the plate where the prices were posted. You tried to remember what the exchange rate was, glancing to see if anything could tell you whether credit cards were accepted, stopping when a raspy voice beside you rumbled softly in a language you didn’t understand. You turned to look at the man who had given you a plum before inadvertently paying for it, and he nodded at you before turning and walking away. 

You watched him go, unable to shake the sudden feeling that something about him was familiar. Surely you’d never met him before, because you’d never been to this country. 

But there was something about his eyes, the icy blue somehow haunted…

“There you are. Find anything?”

You blinked, exhaling before you turned and gave your dad a smile, holding up the plum. 

“Just a snack.”

Thaddeus rolled his eyes but smiled, slipping his arm around your shoulders as the two of you walked down the street, and you subtly steered him back towards the booth of scarves. You rolled the plum between your hands as Thaddeus spoke.

“What do you think about Bucharest?”

You nodded. 

“It’s nice. Different, but in a good way.”

Thaddeus smiled, letting his arm fall as you stepped away from his side, fingers dancing over a brightly colored scarf. He tucked his hands in his pockets and spoke. 

“I’m meeting the Prime Minister for dinner. Do you want to come with me?”

You pursed your lips, stepping to another scarf. 

“I don’t think so. I’d like to explore a bit more.” “I’ll get Evan to—“ “Dad.”

You glanced over your shoulder, giving the General a look that made him smile. You shook your head, rubbing the scarf between your fingers. 

“Dad, I’m fine. I’m a big girl. I just want to grab a bite and sightsee a bit.” “Still, I can get Evan to show you around.”

You rolled your eyes, lifting the scarf and nodding before turning to face him. 

“Dad. I can walk around by myself.” “I know that. I just … I worry about you.”

You sighed, smiling at the woman who walked over to you, nodding at the scarf in your hands. You nodded back and she took it from you, to bag it up. You turned to your father and smiled at him. 

“I know. But you don’t need to. I’m fine, really.”

You held up the plum you’d been carrying. 

“I can find my own snacks and everything.”

Thaddeus laughed as he shook his head, stepping closer to you and slipping money to the woman to pay for your scarf. You smiled and slid the bag onto your arm, your smile widening when Thaddeus once again tucked his arm around you as the two of you resumed your walk. 

But you couldn’t help glancing over your shoulder, getting the strangest feeling that you were being watched. 

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