#i feel with the enough hacks as well that you can power through the tower | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

rae-gar-targaryen · 4 years

Text

alight with the lights out | diego hargreeves x reader [tua]

A/N: Thank you for all of your interest after I posted the teaser! It was VERY surprising and humbling; I’ve NEVER had so many people ask for a tag before. I only ask that if you asked for a tag, you interact with this fic SOMEHOW. And go find another story you love and REBLOG IT! LET THAT WRITER KNOW YOU LOVE THEM!

I’ll be honest, I’m very nervous about this one. I’m not sure if it turned out as good on paper as it did in my head. Please let me know what you liked and what you didn’t!

Pairing: Diego Hargreeves x vigilante, powered!Reader; this one may read a bit more like an OC because I’ve given the reader backstory, powers. She’s (you’re) a vigilante who regularly runs into Diego. I keep the physical description vague, so I hope you can still imagine yourself!

Warnings: Language; who doesn’t love getting a little sweary? Violence, fighting, references to a shitty childhood, and separately, implied sexual assault (nothing graphic, I promise); angst and angsty dialogue; SMUT-- 18+ ONLY PLEASE; lots of cocktease dialogue, fingering, pierced nipples (the reader’s not Diego’s-- sorry), biting, rough sex, choking. Romance is its own warning. Fluff.

Word Count: 12.1k of sexy, self-righteous vigilantism, half-baked metaphor and of course, at least one literary reference.

Summary: Diego Hargreeves, aka The Kraken, is secure about few things in life; one of those things being his vigilantism. He’s a hero. Until he meets a fighter who shares the same hobby, albeit with different methodologies. Diego isn’t quite as certain about her, but her mysterious abilities make him think he and his siblings aren’t the only ones in this world with power. If only she and Diego could just stay out of each others’ hair. It’s a good, old-fashioned ENEMIES TO LOVERS, lads!

Link to my playlist of songs that inspired this fic: here

NOT MY GIF

----

You wouldn't hurt anyone who didn't deserve it. That was rule number one. Hell, if you could get away with it at all, you wouldn’t hurt anyone.

But Mr. Adler hated children. And he had made it his mission to not understand you. To regard you with the utmost disdain. And unfortunately for you, Mr. Adler had married your mother when you were six years old.

You had never known another father. Your mother refused to talk about the circumstances of your birth, or of the man who had supposedly been responsible. The lack of identity loomed like a large question mark over certain portions of your life.

And Mr. Adler, that loud, controlling lout, was not about to fill that void.

When you were in elementary school, you began to feel like you were different from the other children. Watching them carry about their days with their steel-pressed pop culture lunch boxes and not a care in the world. While you sensed your music teacher’s sadness when her cat had died. You could feel every anxiety that passed through your classmates on the day of a spelling test. You didn’t know why you could feel these things. You just could.

Prominently above them all, you could feel Mr. Adler’s hatred for you, like a thick, toxic wall every time you passed through your front door and into what was supposed to be your sanctuary.

He shouted at you for inane things, like the pantry door being left open, or the fact that your mother was tired after cooking dinner, insisting you never did enough to help. As a child of eight, what did he expect you to do? You kept your room clean, cleared and set the table, helped your mom water the plants in her garden. What more could Adler want from you?

Still, Mr. Adler’s hate for you colored your every interaction with him, the world you saw him through tinged with an orange-red lens of rage.

You had never tried expanding upon your grasp of others’ feelings until you had witnessed a boy in your class push your pigtailed classmate, Annabelle, down on the playground. Anna’s shock, fear and sadness had bitten into you from the other side of the sandbox like an unwelcome spider bite, sudden and itchy.

It didn’t sit right with you. To you, how was this boy any different from Adler? Reigning terror over someone else just because he thought he could. You’d recognize that red-orange tinge in another person anywhere.

You stood, marching over to the boy, gripping his wrist firmly in your stubby, grubby fingers. Quick as a flash, you were met with every emotion this boy had ever felt -- annoyance at Anna (she wouldn’t share her toys. How selfish, the boy had thought); anger (how dare you grab him!); and finally, prominently, fear.

Fear looked different for everyone, you had noticed. For some, like this boy, it was an ugly green, so like jealousy. For others, like Adler when he’d been drinking, it was an inky black you could drown in. Fear was clearly the strongest. You knew that now.

You gripped the boy’s fear in your own mind, pushing it to the forefront until he began to cry, his eyes welling with the sudden fear he couldn’t understand.

“You won’t do that again,” you said. Turning to Anna, you offered a hand to help her up, but she just shook her head, pigtails flying, and scampered away from you.

Your teachers were clearly afraid of you after that. Could sense that something wasn’t right. Anna? You thought she’d be grateful ... but the chilly pale yellow of her fear, and everyone else’s, followed you wherever you went.

Fine, you thought. If they wouldn’t be grateful for what you could do, you may as well help yourself.

From then on, you exploited your teachers’ happiness -- pop quizzes became less frequent. Everytime they wanted to scold you for incomplete homework, they were left grasping at straws and with the daze of an emotion they couldn’t name.

Adler hated you for it.

“I knew there was something wrong with you,” he sneered over your mother’s weeping objections. “I don’t know what it is, but I know there’s something.”

Once you reached 18, you left for the neighboring bustling metropolis and didn’t look back. The world was full of people like Adler, like the boy in the sandbox, like your teachers, who tried to use their own fear to feed their hate, to exploit others. To exercise false power over them.

Well, you wouldn’t have it. If it meant a few of those assholes got hurt, well, so be it.

You lived like that for years. Until --

---

"I hope you choke on it," you hissed, watching the smoky black tendrils slither their way around the man, constricting -- bringing him to his knees, hacking and gasping. "I see your fear, I feel it all. You deserve this, you know you do," you lectured, advancing toward the man, your hands raised.

He was seconds away, you knew it-- and then one more scumbag would be off the streets for good ...

Things were going your way, you were in your favorite position in an altercation-- you know, the one where you had the upper hand? Everything was coming up you, until--

Your ears were met with a whizzing noise mere seconds before a sharp, shiny something nicked your cheek and lodged into the wooden beam just past you.

Your gaze left the piteous man before you long enough to see what looked like a small, but dangerously sharp, knife embedded in the beam. You reached up and plucked it from its resting place, spinning it in your palm before catching the hilt in a clutching grip. You turned to see where it had come from, your eyes catching a dark blur flipping from the fire escape of the opposite building, before said blur landed at your feet.

Standing at his full height, the blur-- no, the Kraken himself-- towered above you.

You had to admit, the stories didn't do him justice. Standing before you in head-to-toe black and a harness replete with shimmering, twinkling edges and danger, you could've sworn he was your knight in shining leather. His cropped hair and facial scars gave him the air that he was every bit as sharp and deadly as the many blades that adorned his body. His oilslick eyes so like mirthless pits of danger, daring to suck you beneath their surface. He was, in a word, imposing.

Regarding you from behind his Venetian domino mask, he spoke, "Miss I'm gonna need you to drop the knife and let this man go."

You snorted.

"You're joking, right?" Not giving him a chance to respond, you chuckled as you swung at him with the hand still holding what you now knew to be his blade.

You'd give credit where it was due, Diego Hargreeves, aka Number Two, aka the Kraken, was every bit as fast as they'd said. In this regard, the stories and Umbrella Academy-related media hadn't been wrong.

Diego dodged your swing, bending his body back before twirling around to strike at your torso, like a snake, with his heavy, hammered fist.

The hit knocked the wind out of you, effectively breaking your concentration, and, devastatingly, your connection with the previously fear-choked man cowering in the alley behind you. As you recovered from Diego's hit and swung around to check your quarry, you could only watch as he shook himself from your fear-induced trance.

He scraped and scrabbled to get up off his knees as Diego shouted at him to "Go, just get out of here!"

You snarled and swung a well-aimed high kick at Diego's head, connecting with just enough of his jaw to drop him. As soon as your proverbial window opened, you turned from Diego to run after the man. But even grounded from a blow, Diego was formidable. He shot his arm out and snagged your ankle, yanking you to the ground.

The gritty pavement scraped your palms as you attempted to catch yourself on your way down, growling as you glanced up to see that loathsome cockroach of a man slip out of the alley, huffing as his bloated legs carried himself far away from you.

You tossed a glance over your shoulder to see Diego righting himself as he stood up, looking down at you before shrugging, offering you his hand.

"Not a chance," you scoffed, knocking his hand away. You rolled slightly back, arched up, and used your hands to help you spring as you lept to your feet in one smooth movement. You landed with a thud of your boots, your feet spread apart, and arms raised in a boxer's stance.

Diego had the decency to look slightly surprised at your obviously-dangerous athleticism. He shook himself slightly as he regarded you.

Besides, he thought, taking in your stature, it's not as though you were any match for him. No way.

"Why would you get in my way, Umbrella douche?" You bit out harshly, glaring daggers at the knife-wielding Kraken.

"Come on, hot stuff," Diego shrugged. "If you know who I am, you gotta know it's not like I can just let you mug that man with … well, whatever you were doing to him." What he had seen you do in the alley seemed to be catching up with him as he cocked his head and queried, "What exactly were you doing to him, by the way? I mean, other than hurting a civilian?"

"A civilian?" You spat. "You don't know what you're talking about, do-gooder. If you knew what he was, you wouldn't be defending him so staunchly."

“And what was he?” Diego pressed.

“That dickless fuckhead would-be-rapist isn’t worth the shit on your shoe,” you snarled. “And you let him get away. Nice job, hero,” you sing-songed the last word mockingly, taking advantage of Diego’s lowered guard to level a swinging hit to his nose.

Your punch landed with a satisfying crack, Diego stumbling back, shaking his head.

“What in the ever-loving FUCK is wrong with you, lady?” Diego shouted.

“Take your hits like a big boy. Aren’t you supposed to be some kind of ‘Big Deal?’ ” you asked, advancing toward Diego, fists raised.

“Honey, my reputation precedes me for a reason,” Diego quipped back, blocking your next swing and making one of his own toward your gut.

The two of you sparred in the alleyway, whirling and spinning in a very violent dance between two unwilling partners -- Diego, clearly pulling his punches, while you were obviously preoccupied with your rage at your escaped quarry.

Diego flipped and spun and swung his fists with a speed that bordered on unnatural. His jabs and kicks annoyingly landed, as you were really only able to block just about every other hit. Fuck him for being so fast.

So it was true, you thought, the superpower hype was real. Well, two could play that game.

At Diego’s next hit, you caught his fist, allowing the contact to create the connection you needed, feeling for Diego and any underlying emotion that would be his undoing, before latching onto your favorite-- past the overstuffed confidence, you tasted simmering rage. Beyond that? A tiny prickle of … was that??…Ah, yes, the stinging, burns-so-good zip of lust... File that one away for later … and beneath it all lay Diego’s stammering, stuttering, suffocating fear.

You dug your proverbial claws into it once you found it, bringing it to the surface, manifesting it into your signature smoky tendrils.

Drag them down with their own fear.

Diego’s eyes widened as he looked down to see his legs wrapped in what looked like snakes. Suddenly, his worst memories of fearful days under his father’s tyrannical reign were the only things in his brain. The shouting proclamation his own inadequacies in his father’s too-posh voice pounded within his skull. It was all he could think about -- Your presence before him seemed to dwindle, he couldn’t focus on you, try as he might-- when he was overcome with the feelings of every bad memory he had ever suffered through bearing down on him like the crushing weight of the ocean, pulling him under with the riptide of his own panic and inadequacies.

What the fuck was this shit?

He pushed through his sudden indifference toward you to regard you, the woman stood before him. Diego’s fist clenched as he took in your own grip clutching around his wrist. Your eyes were closed as your face was screwed up in concentration.

Repulsive. You were repulsive, he suddenly thought. How could he have cared so much about hurting you when his own terror and agitation sat heavy on his tongue, like ugly curdled cream?

But he hadn’t always felt this way-- not his usual modus operandi, was it? So what was this? Was this-- you?? Was this what you had done to that man?

Diego began to dredge himself through his own agitation, past his father’s lilting abuse… through the mire of never-quite-being-enough against Luther... dragging his proverbial feet through a bog of his own self-hatred. Just long enough to wrench his wrist from your grip, grabbing you by the shoulders and spinning around, slamming you probably a little too hard into the wall behind him. Your eyes snapped open as your head made a minor thwack off the alleyway-- you had just enough time to tilt your head to the left as Diego brought one of his knives down, driving it into the wall a sliver from the space your face had previously occupied.

Diego bore his weight on his toes, leaning his imposing height into and over you, panting and snorting heavily through his nose. You looked at his eyes behind his mask-- hardened flints of pissed-off-superhero glared back at you.

“W-wh-What the F-f-UCK was that?” Diego spit, lip curling over his teeth in a gruesome snarl.

A fleeting flicker of shame passed through you. He hadn’t really done anything to deserve that, had he? Before you shook yourself out of it-- No! He let that rat-faced motherfucker get away!

You fixed your face into an impassive mask of your own before you chirped, annoyingly, “What was what?”

Diego chuckled mirthlessly, shaking his head. “Nuh-uh. How did you do that?” Diego pressed, leaning even closer to you, if that were possible.

“Do what?” you chimed innocently, tilting your chin up, eyes meeting Diego’s from beneath your lashes. Maintaining your feigned ignorance.

“Don’t do that,” Diego snarled. “Don’t play dumb. I think we both know at this point-- you’re alot of things, and dumb isn’t one of them.”

“You’d know all about playing dumb, wouldn’t you, pretty boy? Or for you, is it not really playing?” You reached up and ran a finger along his sharp jaw before tweaking his chin and dropping your hand back to your side. You sighed at Diego’s stone face. Honestly, it was so boring when they didn’t bite back.

“I don’t know what to tell you, cutie pie. I can’t help it. People are just drawn to me,” you quirked an eyebrow. “Or repulsed by me. I really haven’t decided.” You fluttered your eyelashes at him, ever the pretty picture.

Diego leaned further into you, pressing your back further and further into the wall. All the while, his leather-gloved grip creaked around the handle of the knife he’d plunged into the wall next to your head as he gripped it tighter.

“Huh,” he mused, scoffing at you lightly. “Ya know something, doll? I just don’t fuckin’ buy it.”

“Babe, if you wanted to play bad cop, all you had to do was ask,” you smirked as the stone face slid from his features and gave way to "surprised face."

“Honestly, honey,” you slinked up Diego’s body, propping yourself onto your toes and brushing his lips ever-so-lightly with your own as you spoke into his mouth, “Did you really think you and your reject siblings were the only ones in this whole wide world with a little … taste … of power?” you purred.

Ah, you thought, and there it was.

The warming, zinging hum that your ability recognized as Diego’s lust crept through your fingertips that were currently resting on his chin. You were sure if you took the time to analyze exactly who was feeling what, that this feeling of craving wouldn’t be as one-sided as you’d otherwise have hoped. Diego was, you had to admit, very pretty -- for a man.

The swirling galaxies in his midnight eyes regarded you with confusionangerwant. Had you really just -- kinda kissed him?

You took advantage of Diego’s surprised state to knock his grip from your shoulder and shove -- hard. Diego toppled back, and you took off as fast as your enhanced body would carry you, cutting down the alley and away from your fascinatingly frustrating new rival.

Diego took in your retreating form from his final resting place in the disgusting alley’s concrete. Slamming his fist into the rough-gravel ground, groaning out his frustration and anger.

You were gone.

What were you?

Were you really like him? Like the others?

---

Diego shuffled into Hargreeves Manor, determined to see who else was around. Surely they, or Pogo, would know if there were others like them out there. Had he been the only one to run into one? Was it all a hoax?

As he wandered into the cavernous, but simultaneously stuffy, living room, sure enough-- there was Klaus, sprawled across the couch, arm slung over his face in a restless nap.

“Klaus!” Diego barked, startling the spindly man from his perch on the couch and onto the floor.

Klaus looked balefully up at his brother from his spot on the carpet. “Jeeeesus, Diego, really? What do you want that made that necessary,” Klaus grumbled.

“Have you seen Pogo?”

“I haven’t seen anything but the back of my eyelids for the last several hours, thank you very much,” Klaus replied, “Although, I did have a very good dream about running into an old friend of mine in the grocery store. He was always so convinced he was straight. But I think the rest of my dream calls bullshit.” Klaus chuckled to himself.

“Yeah, whatever, man. I need to talk to Pogo,” Diego stressed, turning to leave the living room.

“Well, wait, wait, wait. What is so important?” Klaus queried, clambering up and lumbering across the room to catch Diego’s arm.

Diego sighed, facing his brother.

“Do you think … Do you think we’re the only ones like us?” He asked.

“Well, there’s no one like you, brother,” Klaus chuckled, taking on a rumbling, Diego-esque mocking tone, “I’m Number Two!” He cackled to himself for a moment before coming back to himself with a sigh. “And honestly, we all know I’m an original. So I’m not sure I take your meaning.”

“I mean… it couldn’t just be the seven of us, right? There’s a lot of other people in the world… it just makes sense others could do things like what we can?” Diego pressed.

Klaus started. He had never seen this look in his brother’s eye before. The unhinged mania of a fight? Sure. Crushing doubt? Obviously. But not this … fierce certainty buried beneath a question. This was new for Diego. He must be serious.

Klaus blinked, regarding his brother, before slowly nodding. “I mean… sure… theoretically, there could be others. But I don’t know any. Why? Did you find someone?”

Diego drew in a breath, unsure of how much he wanted to reveal to Klaus. After all, you were his nemesis. His pain in the ass. His whatever you were.

Diego crossed the room again, back to the couch Klaus had previously occupied, before sitting down in a creak of leather and clink of blades still strapped to his harness. Propping his elbows on his thighs, he placed his head in his hands.

“I don’t know. I think so? I found her while I was out patrolling, and I … I don’t really know how to describe what I saw.”

Klaus placed himself next to his erstwhile sibling, tucking his feet beneath himself as he sat, reaching up to pat Diego on the shoulder.

“There, there, big guy. Just… tell me what happened,” Klaus crooned.

Diego launched into the story of finding you in the alley, choking the man with your smoke without even laying a hand on him. He described to Klaus how the two of you had fought, and how you had called the man a “would-be-rapist” before knocking Diego to the ground and making your getaway.

“Well, she sounds hot.”

“Helpful, Klaus,” Diego deadpanned.

“Oh, isn’t it obvious, sweet Dee?” Klaus chimed at the end of Diego’s story. At his brother’s nonplussed look, Klaus continued. “She’s just like you! She likes to put on her Batman underoos and fight crime,” he chuckled. “Even if she is like… us… she clearly can do something different. But I think the most telling thing is how obviously into her you are.”

Diego sputtered, “Wh-what?? I am not into that … psycho. Whatever she can do, that’s all I want to figure out.”

“The lady doth protest too much,” Klaus sing-songed. “Whatever you say, brother. But I think the only way you’ll really figure it out is if you run into her again. I mean, we know dad had his secrets. If he knew about other powered children, don’t you think the Umbrella Academy would’ve been a lot bigger? The world is a big place. I’m sure there’s more out there, but, um… we just didn’t know about it until now?”

Diego sighed deeply. “Oh, joy,” he muttered. Ignoring the tinge of excitement that passed through him at Klaus’s suggestion he seek you out.

Klaus clapped his hands joyously, cuffing Diego’s shoulder, shaking him.

“A nemesis, Diego! How sexy! How exciting!”

---

Your encounter with one of the Umbrella Academy had left you slightly shaken, to say the least. You were so careful when you went out. No one missed those assholes you took care of. Honestly, you were doing the city a favor.

Patrolling on any given night would yield one or two men who were plotting something less than savory. And all it took was a brush of skin to determine their true intentions.

You sighed angrily, ripping off your bodysuit and stomping across your apartment to your shower, yanking back the curtain and twisting the knob forcefully.

Hot water began to pour from the showerhead, steam filling your bathroom. You regarded your reflection in your bathroom mirror, a distinctly palmlike-bruise adorned your shoulder from where Diego had clutched it, not to mention the scrapes that lined your body from your repeated meetings with the concrete during your sparring.

You met your own eyes in your reflection, regarding yourself as balefulness gave way to venom.

Honestly, that toadlike little nobody had deserved what you were about to do to him. You had watched him from the back of the bar as he had annoyingly pressed his presence onto a poor girl who was just trying to enjoy her drink. Her drink that the toad had slipped something in when he thought she wasn’t looking. He even went so far as to grab her wrist with his stubby little hands. That was the final straw.

You steeled yourself, letting the lustful, rowdy feeling of the other bar patrons that permeated the air like thick smoke take you over. Putting on your best, beguiling smile, you crossed the room and brushed your hand over the man’s bare arm, letting him feel the tingling want that you had absorbed. Simultaneously, you felt everything of his disgusting intent-- the hateful, possessive desire for the girl, the hurt he intended to inflict to trample his own inadequacies and sadness.

Oh, yeah, you were right about this asshole.

He looked up at you, disgusting gaze lingering on you, before forgetting all about his intended prey, pushing back from his barstool and venturing behind you out into the alley.

The rest, as they say, is history. And an annoying vigilante type who had an ass that just wouldn’t quit once encased in black leather just had to rain on your proverbial pain parade.

Diego Hargreeves… Of course you knew who he was. Everyone knew about the Umbrella kids. And you knew the man once-dubbed The Kraken was still doing his best Caped Crusader (sans cape) and kicking ass by night. Annoyingly self-righteous, really, you thought. Choosing ever-so-delicately to ignore the hypocrisy laden in your thought. Is that not, in effect, what you were doing? Albeit with a little more emotional manipulation and bloodshed.

As you thought of Diego, your fingers traced the slim, sharp cut his knife had made in your cheek as it surged past you.

You let the remnants of Diego’s rage that you had felt overtake you, amplified by your own, as you slammed your fist into the small mirror over your sink, letting the shards clatter to the ground around your feet.

Payback was a bitch, and so were you. You didn’t know if Diego Hargreeves was a praying man, but he had better hope to whatever deity would listen that he didn’t run into you again.

You wouldn’t be so kind twice, you told yourself, climbing into your shower and letting the blood and grit from your body swirl down the drain.

---

As luck wouldn’t have it, your gods were decidedly not on your side. And clearly whatever deity you had mentally implored Diego to pray to was on vacation.

Because you ran into that maddeningly beautiful dipshit, several times over the following weeks. He would do his best to bust up your party, stopping you from exacting your special brand of vengeance. You’d exchange a few quips and blows before running off before he could ask you the question you knew was burning in his mind.

You managed to evade prolonged encounters with Diego until about another two weeks later. Too soon, honestly.

Or not soon enough? God, your inner voice was desperate and annoying.

You encountered Diego again while you were propped against the wall of a seedy dive on the other edge of town, assessing each person as they passed. While your power worked best if you could touch, some feelings were perfectly easy to pick up from a distance.

So far, nothing. Just a few gross, horny bikers and depressive barflies. It was a maddeningly slow night. And you doubted you were needed here.

Just as you were about to call it and head to another hotspot, a familiar prickle passed through you. You glanced up, across the street.

Sure enough, on the neighboring rooftop, perched Diego Hargreeves in the flesh, surveying you like some kind of Great Value Nightwing.

You sighed, pushing off the wall and crossing the street. Diego watched as you clambered up the fire escape to meet him on the rooftop.

“Of course you would be here,” you chastised. “Are you fucking following me? I’ve been a good girl. Haven’t killed anyone in a week. I promise!” You held up your hands in mock surrender, coming to stand in front of Diego’s gloriously firm, leather-clad figure.

“If you say so, Princess. Maybe I’m just here for a drink?” Diego cocked his head toward the shitty bar whose entrance you were haunting mere moments ago.

“Doubtful, Underoos. I think…” you trailed off, circling Diego, tapping your finger to your chin in a pondering gesture. “I think you’re babysitting me. Making sure I don’t do your job for you and clean up the streets too well.”

You ceased your vulture-like circling, coming to stand before Diego. His eyes bore into your own, once again partially obscured behind that stupid mask. As if you didn’t know what he looked like without it. Your eyes weren’t deceiving you when you saw Diego’s eyes flash a quick up-down of your body before resuming his stern visage.

Oh good, you thought. You recognized the latent feelings buried beneath Diego’s anger. A new one brushed over you-- confusion… He still hadn’t figured you, or, more than likely, your power, out…

You weren’t left in suspense too long.

“Tell me about what you can do,” Diego pressed, advancing toward you. You took a step back to maintain some distance… best if you can perpetuate some veil of advantage.

“Ah, ah, ah, baby. It doesn’t work like that,” you chided. “You think I’m just going to spill all of my secrets because why? You’re cute? Try again. Ask nicely,” you smirked, pushing your lips into a tantalizing pout.

Diego rolled his eyes. You weren’t going to play fair? Fine, neither was he. Honestly, his fuse was too-fuckin-short for your shit. He wanted answers, even if he had to beat them out of you. Quick as a flash, he strode toward you, jumping into a flip and kicking you down to the ground upon his landing.

You looked up at him, standing over your body as it lay on the gravelled rooftop, bringing your hand up to touch your jaw, where his boot had collided with your face not moments ago.

You grinned widely, savagely, around bloodied teeth and split lips. "So that’s how we’re going to play? Do your worst, Big Deal. I like when it hurts."

With that, you swung your leg at Diego’s, causing him to topple beside you, where you promptly rolled over, coming to straddle his hips, bringing your hands to his wrists, the direct contact allowing you to bring his fear to the forefront.

Just as you were about to choke him with the smoke of his own fear, Diego surged upright, his arms breaking free from the grip of your wrists, his own hands coming to close around your throat. He squeezed insistently, enough to break your concentration-- the smoke dissipating as soon as it had come. With that, he had managed to roll the two of you over, you flat on your back as one of his thighs came to rest between yours.

You gasped, looking up at Diego with fiery shock looming in your eyes.

“Wow,” you rasped, “I told you before-- if you wanted to play bad cop, all you had to do was ask.”

Diego removed one hand from your throat, bringing it to his own head and ripping off his flimsy excuse for a mask. He regarded you with nacreous, tarpit eyes that glowed and glittered with the streetlights, his breath coming in ragged, uneven puffs through his sinfully full lips. His cropped hair was glistening with sweat borne equally from the heat of the night and your encounter.

“Baby, I think you owe me an explanation first,” He pressed, squeezing your throat lightly, free hand pulling a knife from his harness that he spun in his fingers while gazing down at you.

You whined, rolling your hips against where his thigh rested between your legs.

“This would be so much more fun if you’d just do things my way,” you pouted at Diego.

“Maybe I would, if you would bother to tell me what your way is,” Diego retorted.

“I could tell you, or I could show you,” you purred, rolling your hips again. “I’m all about more fun.”

Diego sighed. The familiar buzz of lust radiating from your skin-- or was it his own-- that always seemed to hang over your encounters was pressingly prevalent and it was all he could do to not just give in. He gritted his teeth, and shook his head.

“No. Come on. I know what you’re doing… whatever it is. Just … tell me what it is you can do. Tell me why you’re hurting those people,” he implored.

You scoffed, rolling your eyes, using your free hands to knock his grip from your throat and coming to a sitting position, as Diego remained crouched over you.

“All you hero-types. You’re no fun. You want to know what I can do? That pleasant little hum you feel? That’s you. Well, it’s me. But it’s you. I don’t make anyone feel what they don’t already… but I can use it against them. That first night at the bar? That,” you shuddered, “That rat was going to force himself on some poor girl. I could feel his every feeling as he was preying on her. I had to stop it. It’s simple, honeybunch. I do what you do, but better. I’ll make them choke in it, their own fear, their self-hatred, their inadequacy, their lust, I’ll drown them in it, and they’ll thank me for it. Because I’m nothing if not merciful,” you gritted out.

Diego’s mind reeled, jaw slack from your confession. He knew it! You were an empath, an enhanced emotional manipulator. Except you seemed to be able to manifest emotions into something tangible, something harmful.

Suddenly, the weight of your confession seemed to crush Diego, you had exploited every feeling of his during your encounters to gain an upper hand. And he hadn’t truly known about it until now.

You felt the surge of his rage, his disgust, his fear with you before he could say it--

“You c-can’t-- you can’t do that,” Diego said. “Kililng people who haven’t even done anything yet? It’s w-wrong. Y-you’re w-wro-wrong,” He stuttered out, clearly distressed, but advancing even further into your space.

“As opposed to you?” You bit out. “You wait until someone’s already hurting or hurt someone else to do something. How are you any better? Who are you to judge me,” you spit through gritted teeth.

“You’re a killer,” Diego pressed, pushing back from you and coming to stand.

“Sticks and stones. So are you. But I don’t hate you for it,” you snarled, jumping into a standing position, squaring your shoulders before Diego’s imposing form.

“You could always work with me,” Diego offered, “ We could take what you can do and just… re-tool it a bit.”

You ground out a harsh laugh.

“Unlikely, you absolutely patronizing dick. You don’t want anything to do with me other than to change me, control me. You’re just like them.”

With that, you unleashed a slew and flurry of attacks on Diego, swinging your hips around to level a kick at his gut, knocking him to his knees, where your arm was ready to strike a heavy blow against his cheek, your rage fueling the unnatural strength behind the hit.

Diego sprawled against the concrete of the rooftop, half conscious after blows you’d dealt him.

You stood over Diego now, looking down at his prone form.

“I would never want anyone who only means to stifle me. To take me apart until there’s nothing left. Never.” You spit a glob of bloodied saliva at Diego’s feet, leaving him in his semi-conscious, battered state-- the guilt only slightly prickling you.

His fear-- choking on half-gasped words from behind the tremulous task of tripping over his own tongue-- followed you like a stuttering stormcloud. It stung. Knowing that he was afraid of you.

---

Okay. The guilt was more than slight.

All he had wanted to do was help, right?

Years alone with your power, the sting of Adler’s rejection as a child, it all weighed down on you like the crushing magnitude of Atlas. You didn’t really want to hurt him.

You sighed, resolute. You just needed to make sure.

With that, you headed out in the storm. Headed toward Diego.

---

The rain pounded on the walls of the Fighting Lion, plunking heavily like half-hewn nails tossed onto the small window in Diego’s back bedroom. He could hear as it landed on the brick, the wet stone and stormy atmosphere making the air thick with the scent of sagebrush and rain.

A kind of whoosh passed through the room, prompting him to turn from where he was folding his laundry on the bed to see you propped against the door, legs crossed at the ankles, looking every bit as if you belonged.

“Wow, Big Deal. Nice digs,” you said as you sauntered in the room, staring at the case at the foot of the bed that was full of Diego’s knives. “Not what I’d expect coming from a dude who hails from the city’s biggest mansion. But still -- homey.”

Diego ignored the jab about his upbringing in favor of the real question.

“How did you get in here?” He asked, seemingly --and to you, maddeningly-- disinterested in your presence as he continued stacking his paired socks into their rightful place in his bureau.

“Uh, have you seen this place? It’s not exactly rigged with ‘Entrapment’ levels of security,” you snarked, folding your arms across your chest.

“Does that make you a cat burglar? Are you Catherine Zeta-Jones in this scenario?” Diego glanced at you from his socks, cocking a strong eyebrow.

“If you want me to be, sweetie,” you shrugged. “But, uh -- and don’t take this the wrong way, Diego, but you don’t exactly have anything I’d want to steal.”

“Then I’ll amend the question. What are you doing here?” Diego asked, finally turning to fully face you, taking in your form as you stood by his bed. The sight causing a pleasantly-unpleasant little something to prickle across his skin.

No, no, it’s not like that, he chided himself. Besides. You were an absolutely monumental pain in his ass. And his head. And basically every other body part of his you came in contact with. Nope, nope... Don’t think about her body parts “coming into contact” with anything of yours, he scolded.

“Aw, well now, Big Deal. Maybe I just missed you?” You mused.

“Doubtful. Did you come back to kick my ass with your freaky little homicidal chokehold some more?” Diego snapped.

Ouch. Maybe you had gone too far in your last little encounter. After all, wasn't that why you were there? To check on your favorite knife-wielding antagonist? To make sure you hadn't actually hurt him?

But what came out instead was--

"Is there any other kind of chokehold?" You hummed, arching your brow.

Before he could stop himself, Diego retorted, “Based on our last meeting, I think you know there is."

Momentarily stunned into silence, feeling the heat rush to your cheeks at the memory of his hands on your throat, you dropped your arms from where they were crossed at your chest down to your sides, hands flexing nervously. You chuckled.

"Heh. As tempting as that offer is, pretty boy, I only came to make sure I didn't ring your bell too bad."

Diego leaned against his dresser, tilting his head back and looking down his perfect, strong nose at you.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I must be going fuckin' deaf. Did you just say you slunk in here with your little kitten tail between your legs to say you were sorry?" Diego snorted, obviously pleased with himself as he saw the obvious fluster cross your face.

Okay, now he was pissing you off. You came here with good will and he sasses you? Two can play at that, as you two so often do...

"You must be fuckin' deaf, dipshit. I didn't say I was here to say I was sorry. I did say I wanted to make sure I didn't kick your sorry ass into oblivion. Which, you're obviously fine, so I'll just be going." You crossed Diego's room, breezing for the door.

Honestly, why did you think this was a good idea? Stupid, stupid, stupid…

Diego caught your arm as you passed him in your hurried attempt at an exit. You gave a half-hearted tug to pull your arm from Diego's grip, surprised to find how firm it was. You turned your head to meet Diego's gaze, throat closing around your sudden nerves. Diego's eyes were molten, boring into you with quizzical questions and low-burning heat. His grip on your arm afforded you an insight into the unique blend that was his confusion and simmering passion.

"What are you doing?" You asked.

"Come on," Diego drawled. "You clearly know what I'm feeling. But I have no idea what you're feeling. You have me at a disadvantage. I don't like it."

"Every time we meet, I have you at a disadvantage," you snarked. At the brief hurt that flashed across Diego's face, you sighed. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean that. I meant what I said when I told you I was coming to check on you … I just--"

You looked down at your feet, the laces in your boots suddenly incredibly interesting to you. Diego's other hand gently gripped your chin, his thumb pressing into its apex, fingers curled beneath your jaw.

"D-don't do that-- keep going. Tell me what you're feeling for once," Diego implored, eyes meeting yours once more, lips ever-so-close to yours. “Please,” he added, softly.

Had your heart been thudding like this the whole time?? Was your jacket always this hot? All you could hear was the pounding sheet of rain, pressing itself into your brain, growing fuzzier. Diego's proximity to your person was decidedly distracting. Wholeheartedly overwhelming.

Could he really not tell what you were thinking? You were certain at this point it must be written all over your face. Were you not being obvious?? Your burning ardor for him creeping through every inch of your person, drowning your intentions and better sensibilities in anything and everything Diego Hargreeves. You swallowed the lump in your throat before speaking.

"I'm feeling-- was feeling … guilty. The last time I saw you.. I h-hit you... pretty hard. So, you win. I guess I am here to tell you I'm sorry." You brushed your fingers softly over the bruise that adorned his prominent, proud cheekbone. "I… I just wanted you to be okay. Because I think you were just trying to help. And that's stupid. It's stupid. I'm sorry," you hurriedly stammered.

Diego relinquished his grip on your arm, allowing his hand to travel down your side until it met your waist. He cocked his head and studied your eyes with his own mercurial ones-- searching for any hint of mistruth in your confession, but seemingly finding none.

After all, he too knew the honesty behind words that struggled to come out.

"You were… worried about me? You?"

"Let's not make a big thing of this, big boy. You're obviously fine. I shouldn't have come… An honest mistake. Won’t happen again," you started to turn your head, breaking his gaze.

But Diego's grip on your chin firmed, forcing you to look at him again before surging forward and crushing his lips to yours.

And, oh, this was bliss-- you were just sure of it. Your yearning manifested itself in the hand you had placed on Diego's cheek, cupping your hands to the sides of his face before dragging them back to thread through the closely-cropped hair at the nape of his neck, then passing your hands up through his longer hair toward the top of his head and tugging. You took advantage of the gasp Diego elicited at that sensation, sweeping your tongue into his mouth.

Your shared lust bled through your connected skin, hands on faces and elsewhere… washing over you both like warm static, a pleasant buzz akin to drinking just a little too much champagne.

Diego’s hands tugged at the hem of your rain-dampened hoodie, tugging it over your head. Your newly-exposed skin prickled with goosebumps at the sudden chill. You had run over here in the rain, after all. Diego’s darkened, honeyed gaze reverently took in your form.

Never one to waste an opportunity, you took the break in action as your chance to respond in kind-- peeling his skin-tight black crewneck shirt from his own gloriously-sculpted body.

The two of you stood, staring at each other’s exposed torsos, ragged breaths dragging through the air of passion so-stifling the room like incense you’ve left burning for too long.

Diego stared at your chest, breasts heaving from behind the scrap of lace that constituted your bralette-- were those piercings that made your nipples poke so prominently through the lace? WIth this realization, Diego felt himself harden. He lunged for you with a growl, scooping you by the waist and dropping you with a bounce onto his bed.

His mouth latched onto your throat, sucking insistently while his powerful hands rested at the edges of the delicate lace trim of your bra, passing almost reverently across your ribcage.

You gasped as he brushed a thumb over your nipple, feeling yourself growing wet beneath your leggings. You hmm’d a whine as Diego’s mouth found that spot on your throat, his thumb still rolling circles over your nipple.

“D-Diego,” you gasped, sucking in air like you’d never properly breathed before.

“Yeah, baby?”

“Take it off,” you glanced down at the scrap of lace that adorned your chest. “Please,” you intoned, sweetly.

“Since you asked so nicely,” Diego said,” creeping his fingers beneath the lace to lift it off your skin. Suddenly, with that preternatural speed he’d come to recognize as a gift of those who were enhanced, like himself, you seized his wrist and squeezed.

“It wasn’t meant to be nice,” you ground out. “Take. It. Off. Now.”

With that, you released his wrist, and Diego gripped the lace where it rested beneath your breasts with this two hands and tugged, ripping your bralette cleanly in two, exposing your tits to his roving gaze.

“There you go, Big Deal,” you preened in satisfaction, taking your own hands from where they had previously been resting along his strong abdomen, trailing them down to the top of his jeans. You popped the button on his fly and began tugging his zipper down, before Diego caught your hand as quickly as you had just done to him.

“I’ve got this, baby,” Diego assured.

With that, he brought his mouth down to your left breast, swirling his tongue around your nipple, taking the hand still clutching your wrist and planting it above your head. He released your wrist, trailing his hand, down your side until it met the waistband of your leggings. He pressed his fingers beneath the waistband, raking his fingers under your panties, to where you wanted him most.

As he dragged a finger through your wetness, you gasped out a keening sigh. Diego’s long fingers working magic against your center, rubbing up and down your slit before pressing one, long finger inside. He lifted his mouth from your breast, pressing it to yours to swallow your moan with a searing kiss.

After a few more moments, Diego slid his finger from your center, retracting his hand from your pants, his other hand coming to meet it, peeling your leggings and panties from you in one fluid motion. You lifted and wiggled your hips to assist him. As soon as the leggings were free from your legs, you wasted no time in wrapping your bare legs around Diego’s waist, locking your ankles behind him and pulling him to you, dragging your hands up his neck and into his hair, hissing in pained pleasure as you rolled your hips against Diego’s still denim-clad hardness.

Diego groaned as he felt your hardened nipples press against his chest, the microscopic bite of cold from your piercings as they touched his warm skin made him sigh.

The room felt like it was bordering on a hundred degrees, the previously champagne-drunk feeling of your shared lust now replaced with a frantic urge to taste and mark every inch of the other as their own.

As you continued to grind your hips into Diego, he kissed you deeply, tongue sliding into your mouth, running along your own tongue and teeth, tasting every bit of your want for him as he succumbed to the heated buzz of the room.

Your power had its benefits, he reasoned, if it meant this would feel so… resplendent.

The mutuality of your shared passion was enough to do you in. You couldn’t be imagining that Diego wanted you as much as you wanted him. If that wasn’t the case, you both wouldn’t be burning like this, writhing atop his bed with pent-up passion and aggression.

Diego broke his hands from where they had previously been digging bruises into your hips, coming up onto his knees to start shucking his own jeans and underwear off.

And oh, he thought, you were a vision. As he looked at you while he stripped himself, he was overcome. Your half-lidded gaze swimming with hazy, unfulfilled promises, swirling lazily like the drizzle of sinfully sweet syrup over something forbidden. Your lips were flushed, swollen and lightly bruised from the punishing pace of your shared kisses. Your wickedly luscious curves and the glimmering slick between your thighs on display for only him. In this moment, he felt he could die under whatever your power would dish out, if it meant he died feeling like this.

Now bared to you in his entirety, Diego positioned himself once more between your legs, his impressive length sliding to where he had guided it along your opening.

You tossed your head back, eyes closed at the glorious feeling of his skin finally meeting yours where you wanted it most… but, still, it wasn’t enough.

“Di- eh - go,” you panted, your glimmering gaze meeting his lustrously darkened one. “P-please, I need it. I need you,” you cried piteously, clutching his shoulders and grinding your hips once more against him.

Diego chuckled, only to happy to oblige. With a guiding hand and a smooth flex-and-thrust of his hips, Diego entered you with a powerful, needed thrust. You cried out, sound going straight to his cock, twitching from its rightful place inside of you.

“There, now, baby,” Diego crooned, bringing his mouth back to yours and humming into your open lips. “Doesn’t that feel ... So. Much. Better?” He punctuated each of his last few words with hard, firm thrusts of his hips.

You nodded, eagerly fusing your mouths together, rolling your hips in kind to meet Diego’s sweet, but punishing thrusts.

“After all that shit you pulled with me,” DIego ground out, “It’s nice to know-- this is what you really wanted. Fuck--” he broke off as you clenched around him just right. “This is what you needed.”

You whined your assent, keening and high-pitched.

“Mmmm, I want y-you, as much as you want me,” you gasped out, Diego’s brutal thrusting brushing your clit with his pubic bone, bringing you ever closer, closer, closer to that teetering edge. You lifted yourself up to balance on one hand and meet Diego’s face where he was hovering above you, your sweat-slicked bodies pressing into one another with a delicious, filthy heat. You looked into his eyes, your jaw slack with the stupidly good feeling of everything he was doing to you.

You turned your head to face his sculpted shoulder, and grazed your teeth there, biting into the apex of his arm. Diego hissed, obviously pleased with the feeling, bringing his hand to your neck, fingers wrapping around your throat and tearing your teeth away from his shoulder, guiding your mouth back to his with the pads of his fingers lightly pressing into your airway.

You gasped, the combined feeling of his kiss, his pressing, insistent touch, and his cock inside you brushing repeatedly against that spot of your inner walls causing you to clench, crying out your sudden, gushing release.

Diego guided your head back to his pillow, clenching his fist, the same battered-knuckled boxer’s fist that had previously clutched your throat, now clutched around his bedframe as he hammered his final thrusts, pounding into you until he met his release, groaning as he came down from his sudden, bursting high.

He sighed into your neck, the lovingly sticky heat of your sweaty bodies pressed together as he eased himself from you, pulling you into his side.

You sighed in contentment.

Was everything Diego Hargreeves did punctuated with such beautiful, forthright power?

---

You both lie in the after, bodies pressed firmly together. It would have been romantically intimate had the primary motivator not been the lack of space on Diego's too-small mattress squeezed along the wall in his room.

Nevertheless, you lie there in complete contentment, basking in the afterglow and Diego's delightfully even, rhythmic breathing.

Said lothario had his head turned into your cheek, nose brushing against your hair. His arm around you, curling you to him and trailing his fingers up and down your side at a slow, steady pace.

Why couldn't it always be like this?

After all, fire doused with water still burns brightly at one time, but loses its penchant for destruction, tampered in cool, calming depths and leaving behind cooling steam. So, too, had you and Diego drawn a peaceable, but joyfully sweaty truce.

In that moment, you could see yourself loving him. You know he'd let you, if you gave him enough time and enough of yourself. The man had not had enough love given to him in his life-- he fought for it, tooth and nail. And had come up woefully empty, like clutching at soft sand that slips through your fingers. He'd had the love of his siblings, sure. But this was -- understandably-- different. You recognized a chasm in him that you often thought you'd never mend within yourself.

But he was so deserving of love. Whereas you? Well, the jury was still out.

When you think of Diego, you couldn't help but think of strength. Assuredness. Agility. His aura burned red in your deeper sentiments. Power. You do associate his memory with annoyance, sure, but also a biting wit that he so-oft concealed. And an endearing sentimentality. And an iron will suffused with stubbornness.

You had gleaned some of this from your foray into exploring his emotions, sure. But you don't use your power at every turn. The rest of it was every impression Diego had devastatingly left you with. You had learned so much of him, you yearned to share a piece of yourself, similarly eager for acceptance. Which then prompted you to share--

“You know,” you piped up in the dark, “You remind me a bit of the main character of my favorite books series-- Ever hear of ‘The Dark Tower?’ You know, the legendary Gunslinger?”

Diego scoffed at that.

“Guns are for pussies, real men throw knives,” he stated primly, but still unable to conceal the smile in his voice.

“That sounds a little rehearsed, Big Deal. But I’ll let it slide. Besides, you don’t know what you’re missing,” you acquiesced, turning your head to face him, your noses brushing.

“Yeah, sorry, I’m not into all that bookworm stuff. Cuz, ya know, I’m not a fuckin’ virgin,” he chuckled. Obviously pleased with his middle school-grade burn.

You met his eyes, yours widening in mock surprise. “Oh no?” you gasped. “Well, then why do you dress like one?”

Honestly, it had to be some kind of world record, how fast Diego’s face fell.

"I'm kidding, big boy. You know I dig the black leather," you crooned. Ever eager to smooth the waters of this moment, of his now furrowed brow, back to the placid lake it had been.

"You're goddamn right, you do," Diego chuffed, his grin now prominent in his voice.

You looked at him, your eyes travelling between his shining, ochre eyes and his full lips.

"I do not aim with my hand; he who aims with his hand has forgotten the face of his father. I aim with my eye.

“I do not shoot with my hand; he who shoots with his hand has forgotten the face of his father. I shoot with my mind.

"I do not kill with my gun; he who kills with his gun has forgotten the face of his father. I kill with my heart," you recited.

Diego regarded you for a moment before brushing his lips across yours, kissing you warmly.

"What was that?" He asked.

"'The Dark Tower,'" you replied. "What? I like to read. You really do remind me of him. Surly, but just. Lost, but ever-searching. Pinpoint accuracy. Deadly. But hasn't lost hope."

Diego kissed you again, running his hand down your body beneath the covers to grip your bum and roll your body over his, urging you to tarry with him on another burning exploration of one another's bodies.

Yes, you think, sighing as Diego's teeth graze that spot on your neck, his warm palm on your breast. You could easily fall in love with him… if you let yourself. You were probably more than halfway in love with him already.

Oh, no.

---

You awoke to the early-morning sun peeking weakly behind the remnants of fat, overstuffed rainclouds from the night before, purpling the sky as sunlight met grey.

You took in Diego’s, sweet sleeping form-- his long lashes fringing his sweetly-closed eyes, his cropped hair mussed from a night of tugging, rolling, writhing. He breathed deeply, evenly, peaceably, as evidenced by the repetitive motion of his muscled torso, his long-fingered hands resting along his stomach.

You couldn’t do this. Couldn’t taint someone so noble and beautiful with your special brand of poisonous manipulation.

You couldn’t stop yourself as you spoke softly to the sleeping man beside you, coming to sit on the edge of his bed and brushing one hand through his soft hair.

“You wanted to know about my power? It’s a curse. You think I want this? This? It’s isolation, Diego-- it’s eternal damnation. I shouldn’t be able to do what I can do … No one should. It’s not a gift, it’s a curse. And it dooms me to a life alone,” your voice cracks as your breath catches in your throat, hitching over tears that were now, suddenly pooling in your eyes. “There’s no trust. It’s what I … It’s what I deserve.”

With that, you left Diego’s room. Leaving him to wake alone to a cold one-half of his bed, fingers clutching over air and the warm memories of the night before. He blinked in confusion, the sting of your rejection settling beneath his skin.

---

When you saw Diego again, it was nearly a month after your last… encounter. The sharp knife of anxiety and longing you so regularly felt in yourself since that day, you recognized immediately as emanating from Diego as you watched him limp away from what you assumed was a particularly nasty fight.

“Big Deal!” You shouted across the street and through the darkness.

Diego’s head whipped up, head turning to the direction of your voice, before meeting your gaze. He shook his head, looked away, and kept walking. Away from you.

Ouch.

Honestly, you could understand why he would. You had done the same to him a month ago. Walked away. But the pinging sting of his rejection dug at you, like glass into the thin skin between your knuckles.

All you had ever wanted was for other people to understand. But mostly, now, you realized… You really only cared that Diego understood.

You took off after him, enhanced speed helping you catch up to his limping form outside of a boarded-up, long-closed bar.

“Diego!” You called, stopping in front of him, causing him to halt.

“What could you possibly want with me, after all this time?” Diego spit.

“I.. I deserve that, Big Deal. I do,” you glanced at your boots, scuffing the toe into the pavement. “Please, just… hear me out?”

You looked up at Diego. Really looked at him. His beautiful, tawny skin damp with sweat from a fight, his usually bright and mischievous eyes sunken under the weight of tired bags that sat beneath them. He looked drawn, more exhausted than you remember. You caught sight of a particularly nasty, jagged cut on the side of his neck that had clearly only recently stopped bleeding, the splotching clot like a raised, splintering cut from a large cat’s claws. A particularly nasty bruise was already forming around his left eye and onto his beautifully-sculpted, prominent cheek.

You rushed to meet him, your fingers coming to brush along his cheeks, mindful of the bruise. He closed his eyes at your touch, lashes fanning downward in defeat.

“Who hurt you? What did they do, Big Deal? Who the fuck did this? If anyone hurt you, I would make them hurt. I’ll make them pay”

Diego dropped the knife you now noticed was previously-clutched in his right hand, bringing his hand to meet your wrist.

“Don’t do that,” he whispered.

“Don’t do what? Kill the fucker who hurt you? Fine, I’ll just break their knees--” you started, before Diego shushed you.

“No,” he said, “Shut the fuck up. D- Don’t act like you give a shit. Someone who gives a shit wouldn’t bounce for a fuckin’ month. Not after a night like that.”

Your hand left Diego’s face.

“I… I deserve that,” you said. “I’ll tell you whatever you want to know.” And with that, you plopped yourself onto the pavement, sitting on the sidewalk at Diego’s feet. Annoying? Sure. Dramatic? Sure. But if something is stupid and it works, then it isn’t stupid.

Diego sighed at you, rolling his eyes before coming to sit beside you, gasping out in pain and clutching an obviously bruised rib or two on his way down.

“Fine. Tell me what the fuck happened. Why’d you go?”

“Diego--” you started… “I-- I can’t be with someone when I’m like this. It never works,” you confessed.

“Like what?” He pressed, bringing his hand to your knee.

“I’m-- I’m a monster,” you cried. “Adler knew it. Everyone I meet knows it. It’s only a matter of time before you know it too. I just… I don’t know how to stop.” The tears you thought you could hold at bay were now creeping up and causing your throat to close around your words of contrition.

“You’re not--” Diego began, but you silenced him with a harsh wave of your hand.

“You don't understand. You wanted to know how it works? I’ll tell you. The power works based on the other's emotion, sure. I amplify what they feel. Cripple them with it, even. But that's not all… it only works, really works, if it's something I can draw on. They feel what I want them to feel-- because I feel it too …" you admitted. “Everything I ever do to someone else I can only do because I know how it feels. If I want someone to hurt, they’ll hurt… I -- I don’t want to do that to you, too.”

“You won’t. Not with me,” Diego pressed.

“And how can you be sure? Even now, I feel how pissed you are at me for leaving. It’s humming beneath your skin. I can feel it.”

Diego nodded, picking up the knife he had previously dropped and beginning to spin it around in his hand.

“I know it because I felt it. When we were together,” he sighed. “We both, we both can do these things. Anyone else would piss themselves if it was turned against them. But you look the danger of what I am in the face, and you laugh. When we’re together, we’re matched. The way that room felt? I know what that was.”

You sat, stunned at Diego’s read of the situation.

“I take back what I said the first night we met,” you said. At the question in his eyes, you continued, “You’re not dumb. That was… that was… something. But I know how to flex my power. I know what fells all men. Fear is a powerful emotion."

Diego smiled at you.

“I hate to break it to you, princess, but I’m not scared of you. I know you think I am, but I’m not. And you know what's even stronger than fear? Love."

You looked at Diego, blinked. He blinked back. You then turned your head with a mocking, retching, gag.

"Jesus, Big Deal. They teach you ‘Hokey Catchphrases 101’ at Dysfunctional Superhero Camp?"

“Hey,” he jostled your shoulder with his. “You know I’m right.”

You stood, offering Diego your hand.

“Come on, big boy. Walk me home?”

Diego acquiesced, coming to stand with a stifled grunt.

“You’re lucky I heal quickly.”

With that, the two of you walked down the street. You matched Diego’s stride, mindful of his injuries. As you walked side-by-side, your fingers brushed. Before you could stop yourself or think better of it, you took Diego’s hand.

When you reached your door, you turned to Diego, fiddling with your keys.

“Everyone’s distinct, you know? Everyone feels differently. Wears their hearts on their sleeve, so to speak. But with everyone, it’s a different emotion. Some flaunt pride. Some are more passive. Do you want to know what I feel when I see you?”

Diego glanced down to where your hands were still joined. He brought them up to his mouth, pressing a kiss to your knuckles.

“I want whatever you’ll tell me. You’re such an open book,” he admitted sarcastically. You rolled your eyes.

“Come on, I’m being serious here. You feel... you feel...”

At Diego’s urging look, you continued.

"You feel like warmth. Like I could wrap myself in you and never feel the biting cold of my heart again. And when you're not around? The absence of you is worse than any feeling I could ever exploit. I hate it when you aren't here."

Diego stared at you in silence for a moment, before he spoke, “I really think you should open the door now and let me take you inside.”

You smiled, pleased that your honest confession had gone over well, the smile morphing into a smirk.

“As you wish, Big Deal.”

And in the morning? Well, In the morning, you and Diego were still wrapped up in one another.

You looked into Diego’s swimming, honey-and-tar eyes, tracing your palms down the sides of his jaw and cupping his cheeks as you told him, “You have my whole heart. It’s yours -- crush it, hold it, bury it in whatever you feel ... Do whatever you want with it, I don’t care. Just say you want it-- that you want me.”

“I want you.” With that, he kissed you deeply.

---

You were a master of emotional manipulation. To do that, you had to have a decent handle on your own emotions. For years, you’d rested on your own laurels of your mastery of self, indulging only in the most passing of forays into others’ feelings for the sake of your own.

So why on Earth were you so fucking nervous? Why couldn’t you get it under control?

Yet, here you were, hand in Diego’s, fingers laced, on your way to Hargreeves Manor to meet his siblings, months after your mutual confessions of want. The two of you had been inseparable.

Diego clearly sensed your unease, because he turned to you, squeezing your fingers in his own, planting a sweet kiss to your forehead.

“They’ll like you,” he promised.

“How can you be so sure?” You worried, trying to keep all of them straight in your mind based on Diego’s stories, anecdotes and descriptions.

“Because I like you, and they love to annoy me. So they’ll definitely want to buddy up,” he chuckled with a shrug. “Baby, you’ll be fine.”

With that, you found yourself standing in the ornate living room with five nonplussed persons who introduced themselves to you one by one.

As the largest of the group approached you, you beat him to the punch.

“You must be Luther,” you said, pumping your arm in a handshake where his hand comically dwarfed yours.

Luther blinked. “How did you know?”

"Easy,” you said, “You look like a 'Number One.’ "

Luther straightened, obviously pleased. "Important?" he asked.

"Self-important."

This caused the lithe one with the smudged eyeliner who had introduced himself with a wink as, “Klaus, darling,” to howl with laughter.

“She’s fuckin’ got your number, Luther,” he gasped out between his chuckles. He turned to the seemingly-empty air beside himself and said, “I know! She is fun!”

The group found itself sitting around the living room on the various, overstuffed furnishings, in a fun little Q-and-A circle, which was only getting easier all the time, as you found the Hargreeves siblings’ obvious bond to be so endearing. The glamorous one you knew to be Allison had queried about your power, curious as to how you and Diego had met.

Diego had recounted your first meeting to the group, and proffered an explanation of your powers with, "She takes the idea of 'wrapped up in your emotions' and makes it literal."

“And how did this come about?” Klaus queried, gesturing his long fingers between you and Diego. “It’s not like that first meeting was full of warm-and fuzzies.”

“I don’t know … We’ve … run into each other a few times,” you offer with a shrug and a shy grin.

Klaus clapped his hands, a large grin adorning his face.

“Oh-ho! I like this. Diego’s girlfriend beats the shit out of him on the regular!” Klaus happily sang to the massive living room. “Or is that how you two, you know, keep it exciting?” he intoned to Diego in what must have been the world’s loudest and worst attempt at a whisper.

“She does not beat the shit out of me,” Diego protested, rolling his eyes at his brother’s swaggering antics.

“Right, right, you beat the shit out of each other. Honestly, I get it. Kinda hot. No judgment from me, you crazy kids,” Klaus smiled and held up his hands in surrender, flashing you the “Hello” and “Goodbye” on his palms. “Diego told me about you the day after you first met. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t think about it myself when I’m ever-so-alone at night,” he added with a wink.

All you could do was chuckle. Who couldn’t love Klaus Hargreeves?

After that, the questioning from the gathered siblings dissipated into a casual little party, with people pairing off to speak in groups of just them, and with drinks from the open bar being passed around amongst the siblings. Even Five. If you were honest, it was strange to see a thirteen-year-old boy drink frozen margaritas. But you’d had to remind yourself that he was actually older than all of you. Honestly, you’d tried not to think about it too hard.

In between drinks, you found yourself engaged in silly banter with Klaus and Vanya, laughing at Klaus’s stories of eating bagels from dumpsters and his bantering memories with their brother Ben. You responded in kind with stories of your own-- making your elementary school teachers believe they’d had crushes on one another by exploiting their repressed desires, making your classmates piss themselves every Halloween with some prank or another ...

While Vanya was a bit more reserved with her amusement, you’d caught a smile playing at her lips. Klaus outright howled.

“Oh, you truly belong here, don’t you? Reggie would’ve haaaated you,” he gestured at the stern portrait of their father. “Which means you’re absolutely perfect for our dear Diego,” Klaus proclaimed, lacing his fingers through your own.

With that, Klaus turned to you with a conspiratorial giggle and hmm'd into your ear, "You know what they say, peaches. 'A scrub is a guy who thinks he's fly.' And if we're being honest, Diego deeeeeeefinitely thinks he's fly."

You laughed, choking on your sip of margarita. You’d never felt a kind of discordant unity like this one.

With Diego’s family… with Diego, you felt like you truly did belong.

As you and Diego lay together in bed after the day with his family, he’d asked if you felt comfortable.

“Of course, love.” You pressed a small kiss to the tip of Diego’s nose, nuzzling your own against his. “They were wonderful. You’re wonderful. Thank you for sharing all of this with me.”

Diego gazed lovingly at you, eyes, a deep, endless pit of an eclipse, brimming with golden honey streaks of mischief.

“I can’t wait to share everything with you,” he whispered, pressing a kiss into your shoulder and settling beside you comfortably.

Ah. So that’s what that warm, soft, cotton-y, cloud-like feeling you had begun to experience since you’d began your relationship with Diego was ... Comfort. Funny how it blended so seamlessly into the burning, cinnamon-tinged, blooming one you’d come to recognize as his love.

---

Tagging: @ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa @winters-buck @qveenbvtch @forever-rogue @ali-cide @fleetwoodmactshirt @stellarkyun @zeldasayer @ayeayecaptaingally @nappingtopknot @holographic-carmen @mandaloriane @pascalplease @phoenixhalliwell @white-wolf-buckaroo @melon-eyes @pancakepike @noturjacky @johnc0nstantine @amarachoren @outrebanx @yespolkadotkitty @agentpike @cryptkeepersoul @netflixandzayn @deadpoolcouldshootme @manchuria @flhorah @halerune @spideymanreads @athousandbuckys @imagining-constantly @dovesgrangers @ravenoussss @pyrosag @rzrcrst

1K notes · View notes

gogglor · 3 years

Text

Cap-Ironman RecWeek: What-If Wednesday

Time for another installment of @cap-ironman rec week! Today’s theme: AU’s.

I know AU’s in different settings are half the reason most people read fanfics, but they’re not really my thing on the whole. AU’s where different choices are made, or different events transpire? Absolutely. Coffee shops? Not my cup of... you know.

So, here’s my AU recommendations for mostly “turn left” scenarios. This time with an under-the-cut break so I don’t take over everyone’s timelines (sorry about that last post). Also with some summaries truncated for length.

Alone Like This

Author: GotTheSilver

Word Count: 7,452

Summary: Steve, post waking up, runs away from SHIELD, and Tony's the one who tracks him down.

Why You Should Read It:

First off, GotTheSilver’s been consistently and regularly putting out solid Stony since 2012 and not only are they not stopping, they’re only getting better. This writer doesn’t get nearly the fanfare I’d expect in Stony circles for someone who puts out this much good stuff, and here’s hoping this post can be a part of changing that.

While I am always a sucker for enemies-to-friends-to-lovers, there’s something to be said for stories where Steve and Tony hit it off right away. And watching these two very different people look at each other and see the same sense of being lost, then finding each other again is... excuse me, there’s something in my eye, ignore me.

Second Chance Lives

Author: raeldaza

Word Count: 43,872

Summary: Tony's gonna die of palladium poisoning anyway, why not join a pointless expedition to recover Captain America’s body? And after, well, why not dedicate his last few months to making sure an American hero settles into his new life? What else is he going to do, get drunk at parties?

Why You Should Read It:

This writer doesn’t write a lot for the MCU but when they do, dang.

“Tony is the one helping Steve acclimate to the new century before Avengers 2012″ is a whole genre of Stony fanfics that scratch an itch I didn’t even know I had before I started reading fanfiction, and this is one of the best ones out there. It’s got it all - Steve poorly coping with his PTSD, Tony poorly coping with his immanent mortality, some breathtakingly poor communication between the two most emotionally stunted men in the MCU, and a cat named Roomba. What’s not to love?

Should You Choose to Accept It

Author: elwenyere (look, you’re gonna be seeing a lot of them this week, sorry-not-sorry)

Word Count: 27,106

Summary: After a terrorist attack and a field operation gone wrong, the Avengers realize that Nick Fury's secrets are just the start of a much bigger mystery. Steve and Tony try to keep some things from each other as well, but that can't possibly affect the mission — right? Mission Fic + Getting Together (or Mission: Getting Together) that mashes up elements from Iron Man 3, CA: Winter Soldier, Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. season one, and Mission Impossible 3.

Why You Should Read It:

You can see my post yesterday for singing El’s praises, but what I really liked about this fic was how how damn creative it is. The CAWS/IM3/AOS mashup is everything I wished the actual MCU gave us and more, with well-developed characters and an exciting story to put them in. And because it’s El, you know the banter’s gonna be on point, the way the characters care for each other is gonna be emotionally constipated but touching, and the pacing’s gonna be exciting enough to draw you in and keep you there. Also, this fic doesn’t have nearly enough kudos so please go read it and fix that or I’m gonna have to try to hack AO3 and that’ll just be embarrassing for all parties involved.

What Happens In Vegas

Author: sabremc

Word Count: 161,951

Summary: “What the hell, Tony?” Rhodey demanded brusquely. Tony winced and drew the phone away from his ear. “You’ve got cops and Feds all over the hotel. I’m watching you perp walk out of the police station on repeat on CNN. They’re saying you tried to bribe Stern? Fox News has you selling weapons on the black market, and God that picture they’re using is the one from Bali in ’09. You look like shit. They wheeled Stern out and put him in an ambulance, by the way. Got some paparazzi swearing you decked the guy. Now they’ve got ‘copters following it like he’s OJ.”

“Yeah, don’t worry, Sourpatch, I’ve got it covered. Uh, though, I should probably tell you that, purely in the interests of national security and the greater good, I kind of had to fake marry that stripper-gram you sent. Thanks for that, by the way,” Tony added quickly.

Why You Should Read It:

If you’re deep enough into Stony to see posts like this on Tumblr, you probably know sabre’s what we in the business call a “big name author.” They’re prolific, they’re popular, and most importantly, they write words good (technical term). Seriously, sabre just keeps cranking out high quality stuff over and over again, raising the bar for the rest of us like a jerk (not really. I’m not bitter they write stuff so good I wish I’d thought of it first. Not at all.)

I never read stripper!Steve or stripper!Tony as a rule, but this came so widely recommended that I broke that rule and boy am I glad that I did. This is also the only fic on this list that’s a true-AU, with Steve being a non-powered vet from Afghanistan who left his army career to help Bucky and is stripping in Vegas to raise money for a prosthetic arm. He’s booked to do a private show for Tony, shenanigans ensue, and now they’re fake-married. This fic’s got some top-of-the-line banter and character development, but I particularly love it for its rich setting. Sabre paints a Vegas not just with strip clubs and blackjack tables, but KISS-themed minigolf, romantic dinners on the Eiffel tower, gaudy hotel lobbies, and making out on giant ferris wheels. It’s such a richly developed playground for the characters to play on, and through it, Steve manages to find a life for himself he’d given up on, and Tony finds multiple ways to show his kindness and depth of feeling for Steve. I know the word count’s long for this one but trust me, you’ve gotta read this fic.

Wait & Sea

Author: Lenalena

Word Count: 53,244

Summary: In which Tony and Steve get sent on an undercover mission aboard a cruise ship to make contact with Hydra. In this AU the military has kept the discovery and defrosting of Captain America a secret, so Steve and Tony have never met before. Yet they are to pose as newlyweds....

Why You Should Read It:

This one’s old and popular enough to be considered one of the “classic” Stony fics, and for good reason. Lenalena doesn’t write too often and not as much as they used to, but the fics they have up there are an absolute delight.

This is another fic that I skipped a bunch of times for being outside my comfort zone, but when I finally read it I saw why everyone’s so wild about it. In this story, Steve’s defrosted a bit earlier and not revealed as Captain America. He and Tony are sent undercover to sniff out Hydra shenanigans on a cruise and, because it’s fanfiction, they’ve got to pretend to be a married couple while onboard. There’s tons to love about this fic, but the things that bring me back to reading it over and over is first, Tony’s kindness and the way he’s attuned to Steve’s feelings, which... God, just inject “kind, observant Tony” straight into my veins, please and thank you. This is also another really rich setting for a story, and Lena knows how to fold the the hokeyness of the cruise into the seriousness of the mission and the depth of feelings Steve and Tony are finding for each other in a really beautiful, layered way. It’s funny, it’s heartfelt, it’s steamy, it’s gripping... why are you still reading this here? Go check it out for yourself!

Ashes to Ashes

Author: dirigibleplumbing

Word Count: 51,582

Summary: After regrouping following some surprise time travel, the world's heroes and sorcerers come up with a plan to protect the Mind and Time Stones by taking them into space in opposite directions. The result involves a lot more time loops than Steve would like, but at least they're getting a second chance to stop Thanos. (As well as a third, and a fourth...) And if Steve takes the opportunity to try to reconcile with Tony, too—well, they have the time, and Steve's going to make the most of it.

Why You Should Read It:

Dirigibleplumbing’s another name in Stony fanfics that does not get nearly as much fanfare as they deserve. They’re consistently a really creative voice in Stony fanfics and I always look forward to their stories showing me something new. Go read all their fics, I need more people to geek out with me over them.

I tend to limit myself on Steve-and-Tony-mend-things-after-Civil-War fics not because they’re not good, but because they’re so heavy, and also the Sokovia Accords have five hundred layers of crap in them that no good fic could possibly hash out well. This one, though? When you add in the Infinity War/End Game fixit? Poetry. Art. Music to my ears. DP wrote a really engaging, twisty story where it’s hard to predict what’s coming next, in spite of it literally being a pseudo-Groundhog day scenario. The characterizations are great, the story is engaging, and the feelings are big and sad and eventually happy. Go read it, you’ll love it.

I have tons of other recs for this category but this seems like a good place to stop for today. Tomorrow’s Alternative Media Thursday, and I’ve got some real gems I’ve been saving for that day (aaaaand possibly a self-rec or two ;)

#capimrecweek #tony stark #Steve Rogers #stony #fanfiction #MCU #ficrec

71 notes · View notes

iphoenixrising · 3 years

Text

DickTimWeek2021 Day 2

** Day 2: Time Loop | Jealousy | Stray AU

Welp. Time to break some hearts.

They’re laughing like assholes as they climb through Timmy’s penthouse windows.

“Did you see that thug punch himself in the face?”

“That’s the right way to get out of an ass beating by the Batman.”

Tim, still in Red Robin, doesn’t even bother, just lets his knees buckle so he can slide down to the floor and laugh until tears are rolling down the dominio still plastered on his face.

He’s riding the concussion train with

(J)

Josephine and she’s not as bad as some of them are.

Dick at least tosses the gloves and gauntlets before hauling Timmy’s bruised ass up off the floor, throwing the arm around his shoulders.

“C’mon, you butt. Really Timmy, just laying here in your suit? Alfred would be appalled.”

“S’why I don’t go to the Manor much anymore.”

“Ooh, I’m telling. You’re going to be in so much trouble,” as he gets Tim down the hallway to the bathroom.

“Y-You can’t! You’re the oldest! Dami’s supposed to be the tattle-tale!”

“Nu-uh. As the oldest, I can do whatever the hell I want.”

And does he tell on Timmy? You bet your ass he does.

It’s nice when Alfred can look at someone else in the family with extreme disappointment.

Tim comes by the Manor the day Alfred video chats him, shuffles down to the Cave behind the butler and absolutely sticks his tongue out at Dick’s smarmy grin.

His apartment is a literal mess and Dick can’t be bothered to do much more than flop on the overstuffed couch with a groan.

Still in his uni from the day shift, he’s too bruised and battered and tired to even think of suiting up for the night. He’s been running himself ragged for two months, the day and night shifts blending together along with the usual bullshit of daily human life, and he desperately needs a night of terrible television, junk food, and snuggles.

Like he’d been reading the room, Timmy walks out of his bathroom, towel around his shoulder and hair just this side of damp.

“Hey, you made it home in one piece.” Tim’s long fingers in his hair literally pulls a noise out of Dick he can’t ever remember making.

“Yeah, I drove down because you looked like death warmed over when we talked last weekend. Luckily for you I went grocery shopping, did a few loads of your laundry, and cleaned up a little so you don’t have to worry about housework.”

“I love you. Have I told you that recently? Like, so, so much–” is muffled by the couch cushions, but he thinks Tim can probably still make it all out.

“Mmhm, I know,” and the gentle scratching against his scalp doesn’t stop, and Dick goes a little boneless with it. “I even brought my Roku so we can binge watch terrible television while you eat something more substantial than cereal. Alfred is going to be so proud of you.”

A pat to his head and Timmy is off, slinging his towel on the rack, turning on the shower again to make sure it’s nice and hot for all those bruises and contusions.

He’s no-nonsense about picking up his previous mentor and best friend, literally stripping him down and manhandling him in the shower after a low whistle at the span of blue/black across Dick’s chest and ribs, the scrapes across his back and shoulders.

The first aid kit tackle box makes an appearance because Tim plans for literally everything ever, and Dick finds himself sitting on his sink wearily while his injuries are meticulously treated.

He knows he eats something super tasty with meat and vegetables, his belly full, before Tim pulls him down on the couch and lets Dick lay against his chest, between his legs to sleepily float while watching God-awful B-movies.

It’s the most relaxing weekend he’s had in a while.

Dami sneers at Tim, arms crossed over his chest, the expression on his face begging Tim to try to deny it.

The third Robin however, is looking over at Dick with horror that the big secret is finally out in the open.

“Th-that isn’t– it’s not–” Tim fumbles desperately, “he’s been my big brother forever, that’s it!”

“Tt. Grayson may be painfully oblivious, Drake, but the rest of us are detectives. Even Todd knows of your feelings and he rarely even comes to the Manor!”

Tim’s soul literally leaves his body.

Dick blinks, completely taken back, mouth open without anything coming out.

Damian raises his eyes skyward and prays for patients dealing with these two. “What I am saying,” he tries, he really is trying here, “is that you two must cease and desist this pointless–” vague hand wave– “pining for one another. It is getting to the point of absurdity. I demand you two either discuss your need for one another or take this ridiculous mooning elsewhere. The rooftops of Gotham is no place for this,” another hand wave, “utter nonsense.”

Tim’s mouth goes dry, subtly backing away to be closer to the Ducati’s waiting for tonight’s ride. He’s pretty sure he has enough energy left in his shaky knees to hop on one and be the fuck out of the Cave before his face literally bursts into flames.

But, well. Dick was Batman.

His strategic retreat is stomped into the ground by acrobatic leaps and a very well done joint lock to keep him from immediately taking off.

Dami scoffs at them on his way up the winding staircase. He stops Pennyworth on the way and turns the butler to return back into the Manor proper, citing those two needed time to figure themselves out.

After several weeks under deep cover, Nightwing wearily hacks into Titan’s Tower and makes his way through the maze of hallways until he hits a hidden panel.

Tim is sleeping on his desk, only one empty coffee mug at his workstation. Even dead in his boots, Nightwing can take a second just to look, just to sigh, just to enjoy how much every inch of this boy is his.

He journeys down the hall, flips the bed covers up, carries his sleeping partner in and tucks the blankets around him, a quickly there kiss to the top of messy, too-long hair. A shower in Tim’s perch literally makes everything in life a little less awful and exhausting, not enough for him to do much more than crawl in bed against Tim’s warm body and snuggle up close.

He gets breakfast in bed and blue-violet eyes looking at him with fondness rather than awe, gets coffee flavored kisses and a slow-paced back rub that continues down to his thighs and calves and feet. Later, he gets a date night in a nice restaurant and a sweet San Fran club scene for dessert. He gets to let loose and hold Tim’s body against him, to play them both until the gazes are intense and the low key UST between them makes other people on the dance floor give them space.

Witty banter is a primary weapon against megalomaniacal bad guys of any flavor. For some former Robins, it’s an art form.

Over the years, they’ve cultivated their dip and distraction to bounce off one another like a well-oiled vigilante machine.

It should have been a standard take-down because it’s not one of their more dangerous, deadly villains. It’s not one of the Rogue Gallery baddies. It’s not one of the mobster families, not one of the super powered groups come to call. It’s not someone with hordes of thugs and deadly science waiting to take them down.

It’s a simple B&E, just Nightwing talking it up to draw gunfire while Red Robin is creeping up from behind to get the last laugh.

It’s one of a thousand times they’ve done this.

It’s a guaranteed win.

It’s the last hour of patrol before they get to go back to Red’s penthouse and snuggle together, eat and show, probably have some fantastic sex before passing out.

The .45 shell, however, cuts through the suit, between armored plates.

Going after the running baddies is automatic, taking them down, zip ties, and viola. They’re ready for GCPD to pick-up, all kinds of gift-wrapped.

When N finally realizes Red isn’t with him, isn’t answering comms, isn’t waiting for him on the roof, he goes back inside. He hits up B for a ride in the big car in case he missed –

– anything.

The pool of blood around Red Robin is more than he can afford to lose, and Nightwing has been in the vigilante life for over twenty years, has been official with Red Robin for a little over two, has personal experience on how his Baby Bird can take a mostly-fatal beating and still keep moving. He’s seen Tim come close with the Clench, with horrifying injuries, with any of the many bad guys they fight holding him hostage.

Nightwing has seen him perform literal miracles.

And tells him so the entire time he’s got Red Robin up in his arms, carrying him through Gotham’s skyline to the waiting car, falling in with Red on his lap when the familiar hatch slides back, the tourniquet already applied before he even shot a grapple. The struggling pulse is enough of a concern to get it together.

And even if they all gather to strip off the suit, and now it’s on to get vitals back to an acceptable range. Even if the Bats cry overhead, even if the equipment is top notch in the Cave, even if Dick is still talking the whole time, and Alfred is keeping a cool head and Bruce is gripping a hand and Damian is standing at the ready to hand implements and Cass is biting her thumbnail while she hovers and Steph is moving from empty space to empty space around the gurney –

The consistent beep of the flatline cuts through it all.

The Titans make it for the service.

Each of them make a point to hug Dick for as long as possible, holding on tightly.

Bruce is silent and stoic, a little boy again when he has to watch someone else he loves being lowered into the cold, unforgiving ground. Another Robin taking a piece of his heart to the afterlife.

Steph is red-eyed, a ghost moving around to individual circles, listening to stories she might not have known.

Cass grips the coffin with bruised knuckles, her whole body wound tight as a string ready to snap. She doesn’t move the entire service, is already convinced leaving him to his own devices caused this whole thing. She doesn’t blame the thugs or Dick or Bruce. She blames the boy that never understood how much it all means.

Duke Thomas is back in Gotham, taking leave from the Outsiders to be here for the family that took him in after the Joker drove his parents insane. He hovers in the doorway to welcome mourners, direct them toward the book to sign-in, talks about Tim Drake with regular humans and other metas in disguise, accepts condolences with his throat tight and his eyes watery. He makes sure Dick has a bottle of water after the first hour, pats Damian’s shoulder, grips Bruce’s arm, weaves an arm around Cassandra’s back to give her a squeeze, obediently looks at the old pictures of Tim on Steph’s photo roll when she’s overcome and has to see that smile again.

In the back, Jason Todd wears dark shades and a clean black suit. Roy Harper is beside him, a hand on the broad back to keep him grounded, to keep the Pit rage at bay. If anyone knows how far Tim and Jason had come over the years, it’s the former Red Arrow. If anyone knows how much agony Jason is in at this moment, at another fallen brother, another Robin gone, if anyone had held the Red Hood while he screamed and cried and broke the utter fuck down, it’s Roy Harper.

Damian Wayne hovers right by Grayson’s side, silently supporting his first Batman, his first brother. Whenever Dick’s eyes start going hazy, glazing over, Damian gently grips a wrist to bring him back, allows fingers to lace through his own and tolerates the tight squeeze that obviously assists in grounding the oldest Robin.

(Later when the night is crowding grief-stricken Wayne Manor, Damian will be the one to open Grayson’s bedroom door, lift the covers to crawl in behind him, to wind both arms tightly. He will be the one to take the onslaught of grief, to be soaked in tears and snot, to listen to the broken, hoarse voice, to make soothing hums that ultimately mean nothing.)

Alfred Pennyworth quietly talks with the funeral director about the arrangements. Of course Master Timothy would want to be laid to rest with his parents, and the family appreciates all the support and ease of process as the deceased was an important part of the Wayne family.

When he gets a phone call, he firmly verifies the name on the tombstone is Timothy Jackson Drake-Wayne Grayson.

Exactly four days after the service, the Flash is staring at him helplessly, gripping Nightwing’s arm tight, “please, please, Dick, don’t do this. You can’t think this is the answer!”

He can barely hear Wally with the absolute destruction going on around them, the machine they’d inadvertently stumbled upon (which is a lie, Nightwing had been looking for it and the Flash basically caught him red handed).

“You know you aren’t going to be able to stop me.” Standing between the glowing portal and Wally, debris from overhead crashing down on them at intervals, Nightwing is at his peak stubborn, “no matter how fast you are.”

“You don’t understand what’s going to happen,” Wally yells desperately as the vacuum starts pulling at Nightwing’s other arm, pulling him into–

–the Speed Force.

“You don’t have the lightning, Dick, you won’t be able to get yourself out, and I won’t have any way of tracking you!”

The small smirk as the machine’s panel starts going haywire, lights blinking and readings off the charts, makes Wally’s heart clench hard in his chest, makes him try to dig in his heels, makes his stomach tremble.

“You have no idea how many times I’ve already done this, Wally. And I’ll do it as many times as it takes until I change everything.”

The pellet Nightwing palmed before the Flash grabbed his hand goes off the same time the machine hits the highest ratings and a low boom is followed up with an intense swirling suction, pulling the heroes closer to the portal’s surface.

The light grenade goes off without a hitch and the Flash has no choice but to let Nightwing go.

They’re laughing like assholes as they climb through Timmy’s penthouse windows.

#dicktimweek2021 #dicktim #dick grayson #tim drake #sad times #time loop #winter writes #my ficlet

89 notes · View notes

stevetonyweekly · 3 years

Text

SteveTony Weekly - May 2

I know I say every week that I read a lot this week but I have been indulging in my favorite coping technique and so this list is ridiculously long. Twitter encouraged me. Blame them.

**Indicates my recent favs

~*~

On the inherent homoeroticism of cake decoration by welcoming_disaster (616/8K)

“She’s matchmaking, Barton,” Carol sighed.

“We,” Thor corrected, thumping himself hard in the chest, “art matchmaking.”

“Who, Cap n’ Tony?” Clint asked, his mouth full.

“Cap and Tony,” Janet confirmed, cutting herself a thin slice of egg and gently depositing it on her whole grain avocado toast, “it’s getting ridiculous.”

“Wait, I thought they were—“ Clint frowned, glancing around the room as though to confirm. Nothing but confused faces met his questioning gaze. “Huh. I really thought they were fucking.”

“And there is the crux of the issue,” Jess licked a bit of spaghetti sauce off her lip.

“Aye,” agreed Thor, “there’s rub.”

-----------

The team tries to set up Steve and Tony. Things don't go as planned.

Baby lovers like you and me (never say die) by FestiveFerret (Old Guard AU/7.5K)

The Avengers. They'd found him frozen in the ice, told him he was immortal, of all things. And with the way he'd lived through seventy years deep in the Atlantic, he found himself inclined to believe them. They'd also been very… convincing.

Without question, they integrated him into their unit - The Avengers, a secret team of unkillables seeking wrongs around the world and making them right, supported and housed by an enigmatic billionaire named Tony Stark. Their immortality, it seemed, was a secret to everyone but him.

Ready, set, bake by ChocolateCapCookie (Great British Bake Off/11k)

The Avengers are on a nationally televised baking competition, but nobody seems to have warned the producers that the Avengers, while they save the world everyday and put their loves at risk doing so, are a) insanely competitive, and b) absolutely terrible bakers. Steve Rogers, especially, has a competitive streak a mile wide, and he's determined to win this competition, but it's not easy when his only real opponent is also the man he's been in love with for years.

***To make flowers grow (in this barren heart) by SoldiersShield, KakushiMiko (Hanahaki AU/16K)

“You hide yourself away in your technology, but you are just as human as the rest of them. Your heart betrays your desire to possess.” Her gaze falls to the arc reactor, and Tony's blood runs cold in his veins.

“The Earth will reclaim what we have lost,” she says, dragging a hand over the chestplate of the armor. “It is you, and your kind-- your greed that pulls life from the soil as if it were nothing. You will reap what you have sown, Stark. The avarice in your heart will strangle the very life out of you.” Arna meets his eyes once more, a serene smile on her face as she leans forward.

“I hope he is worth dying for,” she murmurs, before digging her hand into his ribcage.

(Tony Stark falls in love with Steve Rogers. A rogue enchantress ensures he pays for it.)

Shelter from the storm by silkspectred (KidFic/5k)

Tony adopts a baby. Guess who's Majorly Fucked Up™ about it.

Keep on beating by itsallAvengers (Domestic Fluff/6K)

There were an awful lot of things Steve loved about Tony. But one thing in particular Steve could never get enough of was his heartbeat.

The good or bad thing by petreparkour (Multiverse/10k)

“It’s the metal suit,” Thor informed Steve, his normally-booming voice tinny over the SHIELD comms. “What did Stark call it—Iron Man?”

“But he’s down here,” Steve protested as the Hulk roared in Stark’s face, startling him into waking with a shout. “How could—”

“It’s damaged,” Thor reported. “But it looks different. More advanced. And he—ah. He’s carrying you, Captain.”

“Please tell me nobody kissed me,” Stark breathed out, and then Stark’s voice suddenly came over the comms, but the man lying next to him hadn’t moved.

“Guys, come on, you’re killing me here. What is it, 2012? God, I hate time travel. First, I'm fighting Thanos. Now, I have to deal with my past self and Thor's bad haircut? Oh my God, Cap, yes I hacked their comms, they’re my comms.”

Steve nearly opened his mouth to protest that he hadn’t said anything when he realized that this replica of Tony Stark wasn’t speaking to him.

***The tipping point by nightwalker (Domestic Fluff/7K)

Tony has a few quirks. Steve's still trying to figure them all out.

We two, how long we were fool’d by glassessay (Soulmate AU/9K)

Steve Rogers comes into the world as unblemished as his mother. When Anthony Stark is born, his soulmark is an obvious pattern of ink across his tiny chest.

It only takes a century, two names, and a shared love of Walt Whitman for them to find each other.

The tape in the cave by betheflame (Canon Divergent/5K)

Steve had no idea what was happening.

“You think I didn’t know that?”

Tony was staring Zemo down as though the Sokovian was actual vermin - which, Steve reflected, he kind of was.

“You think that I,” Tony continued, not hiding the sneer in his voice, “Anthony Stark, who has more powerful technology in my literal fingers than most nations have, that I wouldn’t know everything possible about how my parents died? That I wouldn’t know it wasn’t an accident, that your silly little HYDRA Nazi knock-off pals are the ones who murdered them? Please, you are pathetic.”

Happy ending by Robin_tCJ (No-Powers AU/28K)

Steve is a mobile massage therapist, and Tony is a stressed billionaire. What could go wrong?

With a decent happiness by torigates (Teacher AU/16K)

Tony Stark is Iron Man. Steve Rogers isn't, and never was Captain America.

Or, the one where everything is the same except Steve is a kindergarten teacher.

Nothing left but scars by SailorChibi (MCU/6.7K) - Reread

Steve wakes up to the fact that no one ever compliments or even says thank you to Tony, and that he has fallen into the same trap of painting Tony with a specific paintbrush.

This is how he showers a very confused Tony with praise to make up for it.

Our hearts should remember and follow by frostfall (MCU/5K)

Steve hums. “I didn’t know you could play. Or sing. Don’t think I’ve heard anyone mention it before.”

Tony shrugs. “It’s one of the few things, skills, I don’t flaunt. Not something people are interested in, anyway. Not gonna sway any board members by playing fucking Für Elise for them. Sides’, there’s a high chance I wouldn’t even play. Well, maybe if you get me drunk enough and near an instrument. Then, I might reconsider.”

(After a dream leaves Tony rattled, he turns to the piano as a way to distract himself.)

Finally, you and me by pensversusswords (Multiverse/10K)

Because in every layer of time, in every conceivable dimension, he was always meant to love Steve.

By some miracle, Steve was meant to love him back.

***Full disclosure not required (but appreciated) by Potrix (Identity Porn/16k)

The one where Steve knows more than he lets on, Tony knows less than he pretends, Clint has a big mouth, Bucky is a little shit, and everyone learns why keeping secrets never ends well.

Almost never, anyway.

Heartlines by nanasekei (MCU/7.9K)

“Let me,” Tony repeats. He regrets it deeply, so much, he wants to stick the words back into his mouth again, and it must show, in the way his voice wavers. He feels exposed, all of a sudden, as if he’s asking something bigger than what he can actually say. Let me touch you, let me take care of you. “Just… Let me do it.”

i found a way to let you in, but i never really had a doubt (marriage series) by quidhitch (Marriage Series/16k)

Tony Stark doesn’t believe in marriage. It’s nobody’s fault. —Well, it’s Howard's fault, probably, but Tony doesn’t like to think about that for too long, finds that it dredges up all sorts of issues he’d rather keep buried under a mountain of strategically employed sarcasm, humorous self-deprecation, and the occasionally effective substance abuse.

***Hide your love away by sineala (Soulmate/33K) - Reread

Tony has suspected for a long time that the soulmark on his chest matches Steve's -- but he's never told Steve about it. And then it's too late to tell Steve anything at all ever again. In the wake of Steve's death, the Skrull invasion, and Norman Osborn's rise to power, the identity of his soulmate is just one of the many things Tony cuts out of his memory forever.

When Tony returns to consciousness, he's forced to deal with the aftermath of a war he no longer remembers fighting, not to mention a Steve Rogers who can barely stand to be in the same room with him. Surely the last thing Tony could ever need in his life is more amnesia. But that's what he gets. And Tony's new missing memory just might be the key to finding out the truth of his soulmark... as well as his chance to make things right once and for all.

Break the chain (can’t live in circles again) by orphan_account (FWB/19K)

There had been seven amazing weeks of dating Steve Rogers before Tony realised that they weren’t dating at all. And then it was a scramble to adjust to the situation as it had always been: being Steve’s friend-with-benefits.

And if Steve seemed a little confused and bewildered by the way Tony was acting, well. Tony was probably just misreading that, too.

Five times steve and tony (tried to) bail each other out of jail by Teyke (MCU/6k)

Twice before Civil War, twice after, and once during. For very loose definitions of both 'bail' and 'jail'.

Cracked hearts under iron ribs by XtaticPearl (Established Relationship/14k)

Rhodey is away for almost six months now and comes to meet Tony after the mission. He doesn't understand the domesticity of the whole Tower and unknowingly sets off a whole truck of insecurities which make Tony crawl back into being a Stark instead of just Tony. The team is not at all happy and Rhodey joins them in trying to figure out a way to help their resident genius feel better in his skin.

The single biggest problem with communication by BlossomsintheMist (616/108K)

In the wake of Steve's return from the dead and the end of Norman Osborn's reign of terror, the superhero community is recovering--Steve has taken on a new role and Tony is trying to put his life back together. Things are still awkward between them, but they're determined to put things to rights. But when a discussion about their feelings leads to further misunderstandings, they discover that might be more difficult than either of them realized. Set in the early Heroic Age after the end of Dark Reign, this is a get-together story about crossed wires--and second chances.

What are friends for? by bobertsmallismydad (MCU /2.8K)

In which Steve is targeted by a virus. Will the Avengers be able to save him in time?

Starving by festiveferret (Vampire AU/2K)

Steve woke up starving.

***Everybody wonders (What it would be like to love you) by SoldiersShield (MCU/3K)

“...Is that what this is about?” He asks slowly. Steve blanches.

“Oh my god. It is.” Tony has no right looking as giddy as he does. “Steven Grant Rogers, are you jealous?”

Or: Steve and Tony have been dancing around each other for a while now, and Steve's rather content with it. Attending a gala together just might change that.

Re(A)d all over by brandnewfashion, MusicalLuna (Drunk Flirting/3k)

Contrary to popular belief, Tony Stark can blush.

It just takes Steve getting drunk on some magical Asgardian mead for it to finally happen.

***The Do-over Proposal by nightwalker (Established Relationship/1.2k)

Steve wants to go on a journey, Tony doesn't think it's a good time, and Bucky needs to beat some sense into both these idiots.

A Winter’s Ball by alliejowrites (Victorian AU/3.8K)

Steve moves to London in search of a patron, so that he can finally devote himself to painting. He is not expecting everything he finds upon meeting Lord Stark. A fluffy little Victorian AU. One-shot.

What’s a fanfic by starksnack (AvAc/1K)

Kamala introduces Tony and Steve to the world of fanfiction. There is a surprising amount of content about them being gay.

#stony #superhusbands #stevetony fic #stevetony weekly #stevetony #fic recs #steve rogers #tony stark #iron man #captain ameria

120 notes · View notes

itsclydebitches · 3 years

Note

There seems to be no middle ground with RWBY+, they trust you or they don’t. Some have no chance to “earn” it, but others don’t do anything to gain it. James should’ve earned it a hundred times over. He did so much but it wasn’t enough. What did Robyn do? She tried to attack Ruby and was only stopped by Penny. After that? Yang trusts the woman who almost hurt her sister over the man who gave her an arm, then blamed Ruby. Any wonder I hate these characters so much?

The frustrating thing is that I think I can see what RT was going for. Frustrating because it's the reading most of the fandom falls back on, despite the fact that the show... never actually wrote that story. In short, it's the belief that there's established good and bad in this world and we have a responsibility to uphold the former regardless of personal trust. So if a friend of mine is, say, being a racist asshole and a stranger is not, I have a moral responsibility to side with the stranger, despite the fact that I don't know them, technically can't trust them on other matters, and have little to no emotional investment in them as an individual. You need to take the side of what's right, no matter how hard that is. It's why we get so many heroes facing off against former friends and mentors. "You'd really betray me for them?" they say, pointing to the sidekick our hero only met at the start of the story, maybe a couple months ago in-world. "Yeah," they reply. "Because they're not trying to kill everyone." Basic humanity trumps long-term relationships.

That, as far as I can tell, seems to be the basic setup that RWBY was going for: Robyn may be a stranger, but she's the Good Person sticking up for Mantle, whereas Ironwood may be an ally and friend, but he's also the Bad Person hurting Mantle. Ergo, aligning with Robyn wins out, no matter that she's a stranger and Ironwood an ally. That's likewise why fans are so quick to dismiss evidence of Ironwood's good nature. Things like Yang's arm or the licenses aren't accepted as evidence for why the group should have started with more trust in him, they're reframed as excuses for why critics supposedly want to overlook his presumed, horrific nature — something that the story later made real with him shooting Oscar, killing the councilman, hacking Penny, and threatening to bomb Mantle. Viewing the good Ironwood did as some manipulative temptation the group was right to resist depends entirely on seeing Ironwood as the archetypal bad guy to Robyn's good guy.

However, this attempt failed spectacularly for numerous reasons already discussed over the past two years. Ironwood's actions were never revealed as manipulations. The group continued to work with him, thereby shouldering responsibility for his choices. Ruby actively pushed to complete Amity, despite the harm it was doing to Mantle. Robyn never did anything with the resources she stole, etc. This presumed line between Ironwood and Robyn simply doesn't exist in the text — or at least it's incredibly blurred — so when Yang and Blake run to share intel with her, it doesn't feel like the heroes turning away from the wrong path to back the real hero. We don't understand how resources to build a communications tower are hurting everyday peoples' lives. We don't understand why Weiss can't just go up and plug the hole with a bunch of ice. We don't understand why, if hurting Mantle is such an objectively awful thing, our hero Ruby keeps pushing to finish Amity anyway. We don't understand why there isn't at least an acknowledgement of good intentions here, considering that the tower is meant to save the world from Salem, helping Mantle in the long run. We don't understand why, if the group is so concerned with Ironwood's choices, they don't tell him the one piece of information that would get him to stop. And we don't understand Robyn.

Because here's the thing: it's badly written. The whole Amity debate straight through to the Fall of Atlas is a mess of ill thought out morals, shoddy worldbuilding, and outright contradictions. There's no salvaging that without rethinking Volumes 6-8, starting with the group's response to Ozpin. But all that aside, even if we kept things exactly as they are and bought into the assumption that Ironwood is as Bad and Robyn is as Good as the story wants us to believe... the group still should have at least hesitated to trust Robyn. More than a line or two of dialogue between Yang and Blake. I mean actual hesitation and a serious acknowledgement of the complications here. The concept of trust is now a focal point of RWBY and there's enough material across the entire series to make the Robyn situation way more complicated than just the group going, "We should side with her because she wants to do right by the people." Here I'm not talking about what we the audience know about RWBY's construction as a story, I mean what the characters have experienced on screen. It's a simple question at the core of the trust Robyn debate:

How do they know she's telling the truth?

Seriously, how do they know Robyn is who she says she is? That she doesn't have ulterior motives? That she's not outright lying to them and the rest of Atlas? Everything I've heard in defense of the group's fast-track trust falls short. "Well, she's presented as one of the good guys in Atlas, fighting for what's right." You mean like how Cinder, Emerald, and Mercury once posed as huntsmen and joined Ruby's school, supposedly fighting for what was right? "She's interested in politics. It's not like she's out there attacking them like Tyrian." You mean like how Salem infiltrated a kingdom via Lionheart, the White Fang has likewise tried to worm their way into positions of power, and Jacques is currently trying to steal an election? The bad guys don't limit themselves to just trying to murder people straight out. "But she stole resources back for the people!" And did... what with them? For all we actually know, she put those towards a different, nefarious plan. "But she's so passionate and she's sworn she wants to help." People lie! That was the whole thing with Ozpin! Ruby just lied at the start of the Volume. And, funnily enough, Robyn has the semblance that forces others to tell the truth, but no one can make Robyn do the same.

To be clear, I don't actually have a conspiracy theory that she's secretly a baddie. My only point is that fans were right to wonder if she was a White Fang or Salem agent and our group absolutely should have wondered the same. Take away all the personal reasons to trust Ironwood (defending Weiss, Yang's arm, friend of the inner circle, etc.) and we're still left with proof of his intentions in the form of things like Amity's plans and him continually giving the heroes more power, more resources, more connections, more ways to hurt him if they were to ever turn against him. In as much as you can prove anyone is trustworthy, Ironwood was there. But Robyn? Robyn had none of that work. More importantly, that lack interferes with our "She's doing the right thing, so we need to back her" reading. How did the group know she really wanted to do right by the people? And since that's always hard to prove, what did they do to at least attempt to reassure themselves? Absolutely nothing. Which is why the current writing makes them look stupid. They watched the bad guys infiltrate their school, organize the Fall of Beacon, stalk them, pose as allies, turn on them, lie to their faces, are telling lies themselves... and none of them came up when the question of trusting Robyn was put on the table. The idea of someone tricking them (again), or betraying them (again), or lying about Important Topics even though they're doing the same seems to have, somehow, escaped them.

It doesn't matter what Robyn's stance on Mantle is because the group never justified trusting her word and the story failed to show us (and them) that Robyn was doing good. Literally all she does pre-trust is stand for election and, again, we could say the same of Jacques. If the story wanted to make at least a miniscule improvement on this arc, we needed to see either a compelling reason to believe Robyn is all she presents herself as (for example, Penny could have known and vouched for her), or gotten an explanation for why they'd take an unjustified leap of faith when others haven't gotten one, people who have done much to earn that trust. It's a problem that grew exponentially once Oscar trusted Hazel and the group trusted Emerald, but it has existed since Ilia. As it stands, by this logic, Cinder should be able to walk up to the group and go, "I'm not bad anymore. I actually want to help now. No, I'm not lying :)" and that's that. That's what trust means to them. Taking people at their word ...unless you're a flawed ally who has made mistakes. Then trust takes months to rebuild, or is off the table completely.

Ozpin is not trustworthy. Ironwood is not trustworthy. Qrow saying "Hey" is not trustworthy. According to the fandom, Tai is not trustworthy.

Ilia is trustworthy. Robyn is trustworthy. Emerald is trustworthy. Hazel is trustworthy.

It's completely backwards and Robyn was a large part of that strange flip.

#rwde #rwby #mymetas

53 notes · View notes

asleepinawell · 3 years

Text

Book Recs

I was gonna do one of these at the end of the year, but I’ve somehow managed to read 26 books this year already (12 novellas, 14 novels), almost all featuring queer authors and/or characters so this is already a long list.

Note: There’s a few on here I was kind of meh about, but in most of those cases it was a ‘book might be good but it’s not for me so i’ll mention it to put it on people’s radar anyway’ type of thing. Insert the usual necessary tumblr disclaimer about all of this being only my opinion and your opinions are valid too etc etc.

In order of when I read them:

Princess Floralinda and the Forty-Flight Tower by Tamsyn Muir - Fantasy novella from the author of gideon the ninth that’s a twist on the classic princess trapped in a tower waiting for a prince story. Quite fun. (novella)

The Monster of Elendhaven by Jennifer Giesbrecht - Dark fantasy about revenge and magic. m/m couple but like I said it’s pretty dark and twisted all around so definitely not a happy queer romantic story. My opinion was interesting premise that could have been executed better and probably should have been a full novel to embellish on the world building potential. (novella)

A Memory Called Empire & A Desolation Called Peace - Arkady Martine - Probably tied with murderbot as the best things I read this year. Scifi, f/f couple, wonderfully done exploration of what it means to fall in love with a culture that is destroying your own. More of the many queer anti-imperialist books that have come out recently and certainly some of the best. The second one is a direct continuation of the first. (2 novels)

The Tyrant Baru Cormorant - Seth Dickinson - This is the third in the Baru Cormorant series (The Masquerade) and was my favorite so far. The second and third book were originally one book that got split I believe and the second book didn’t stand alone as well (though was still great), but the third book really made up for that. Dark fantasy world starring a queer woc whose country and culture is destroyed by the imperial forces of that world colonizing and assimilating them. She vows revenge and decides to work her way up within her enemy’s ranks to enact it from within and bring an empire to ruins. Really really fascinating study of so many different aspects of our own world and the systems which enable and allow bigotry and how bigoted and violent narratives are used to control minorities. This is definitely a darker series and I was particularly impressed with some of the commentary on the racism prevalent in non-intersectional feminism as depicted through a fantasy world. Can’t wait for the last one to come out! (3 novels, 1 forthcoming)

The Murderbot Diaries - Martha Wells - There’s six of them--5 novella and a novel--and the first is All Systems Red. Told from the point of view of a self-aware droid/android that is rented out by a corporation to provide protection in a dystopian capitalist hellhole future that isn’t that unlike our current capitalist dystopia but is in space. Muderbot hacked the chip that controlled it and instead of going rogue just wants to be left alone to watch its favorite tv shows. Murderbot is painfully relatable and the books are both funny and poignant. Highly recommended. (5 novellas and a novel).

Winter’s Orbit - Everina Maxwell - This was a m/m romance novel with a scifi backdrop of royal intrigue. Generally I’m more into scifi with a queer relationship in the background than vice versa, so it wasn’t my favorite, BUT I think it was still well written and someone looking for more of the romance angle would enjoy it. Has all your favorite romance tropes in it, especially the yearning. (novel)

The Divine Cities - Robert Jackson Bennett - Three book series. I’m very conflicted about this one. Set in a fantasy world where an enslaved nation overthrew the country enslaving them and now rules over them. It’s a story of what happens after the triumphant victory and within that it’s also a murder mystery tied into the dying magic of the conquered nation. It also has a six foot something naked oily viking man fist fight a cthulhu in a frozen river. The second book was by far my favorite, mostly due to the main character being brilliant. My conflict comes from the fact I don’t feel like the story treated its women and queer characters well. Like it had really great characters but it didn’t do great by them overall. That and the third book didn’t live up to the first two. But still definitely worth a read, can’t stress enough how cool some of the world building was. (3 novels)

Into the Drowning Deep - Mira Grant - This might be the only one on here I disliked. It’s got a doomed boat voyage and creepy underwater terror and monsters and a super diverse cast of characters, but I just didn’t enjoy the writing style. While having a diverse cast is great, there were a lot of moments where it felt like characters were pausing to explain things about themselves that felt like a tumblr post rather than a normal conversation you might have while actively being hunted by monsters. I also bounced off all the characters. But a lot of people seem to have liked it so if you’re into horror and want a book with a f/f main couple then maybe you’ll enjoy it. (novel)

Dead Djinn Universe - P. Djèlí Clark - Around the early 1900′s, a man in Egypt discovers a way to access another world and bring Djinn and mysterious clockwork beings called Angels through. As a result, Egypt tells the British to get fucked and Cairo becomes one of the most powerful cities in the world. So Egypt, magic, djinn, a steampunk-ish vibe, oh and the main character is a butch queer woman who enjoys wearing dapper suits and looking fabulous while she investigates supernatural events. Her girlfriend is also mysterious and badass. And she has a cat. There’s three novella (one of which technically might be considered a short story) and then the first novel. You should absolutely read the novellas first (A Dead Djinn in Cairo, The Angel of Khan el-Khalili, The Haunting of Tram Car 015). Super fun and imaginative series. (3 novellas and a novel, more forthcoming)

River of Teeth & Taste of Marrow - Sarah Gailey - From the book description

“In the early 20th Century, the United States government concocted a plan to import hippopotamuses into the marshlands of Louisiana to be bred and slaughtered as an alternative meat source. This is true. Other true things about hippos: they are savage, they are fast, and their jaws can snap a man in two. This was a terrible plan.”

Queer hippo riders!!!! Very much a western but with hippos. Main couple included a non-binary character. Loved the first one. The second one I was more meh about due to one of the characters I was supposed to like having obnoxious man pain that a woman had to take the brunt of the whole time. Also there were less hippos. But queer hippo riders! Definitely read the first one, and they’re both novellas so no reason not to read the second as well. (2 novellas)

A Psalm for the Wild-Built - Becky Chambers - I may be the only person who hasn’t read the long way to a small angry planet at this point, but I did grab her new novella and I loved it. It made me want to go sit out in the woods and feel peaceful. The world it’s set in feels like a peaceful post-apocalypse...or diverted apocalypse maybe. Humans built robots and robots gained sentience, but instead of rebelling they just up and left and went into the wilderness with a promise that the humans wouldn’t follow them.The remaining human society reshaped itself into something new and peaceful. It’s the story of a monk who leaves their habitual monking duties to go be a tea monk and then later wanders into the wilderness and becomes the first human in ages to meet a robot. Very sad there’s no fan art yet. (novella, more forthcoming)

The March North - Graydon Saunders - This was such a weird book that I’m not sure how to explain it. The prose style is hard to get used to and I suspect a lot of people will bounce off it in the first chapter. There’s no third person pronouns used at all and important events get mentioned once in passing and if you blink you’ll miss them. Set on a world where magic is extremely common to the point that rivers sometimes run with blood or fire and the local weeds are something out of a horror movie and most of the world is run by powerful sorcerer dictators, one country banded together (with the help of a few powerful sorcerers who were tired of all the bullshit) to form a free country where powerful sorcerers wouldn’t rule and the small magics of every day folks could be combined to work together. The story revolves around a Captain of the military force on the border who one day has three very powerful sorcerers sent to them by the main government with the hint that just maybe there’s about to be a big invasion (there is) with the implication of take these guys and go deal with this. The world building is extremely complex and very cool...when you can actually understand what the fuck is going on. There is also a murder sheep named Eustace who breathes fire and eats just about everything and is a Very Good Boy and belongs to the most terrifying sorcerer in the world who appears as a little old grandma with knitting. It had one of the most epic badass and wonderfully grotesque battles I’ve ever read. But yeah, it is not what I would call easy reading. Opinions may vary wildly. I did also read the second one (A Succession of Bad Days) in the series which was easier to follow and had a lot more details about the world, but overall I was more meh about it despite some cool aspects. The chapters and chapters of the extreme details of building a house that made up half the novel just weren’t my thing. (novels).

The Space Between Worlds - Micaiah Johnson - In this world parallels universes exist and we’ve discovered how to travel between them, but the catch is you can only go to worlds where the ‘you’ there is already dead. This turns into an uncomfortable look at who would be the people most likely to have died on many worlds and how things like class and race would fit into that and what we would actually use this ability for (if you guessed stealing resources and the stock market you’d be correct). The main character is a queer woc who travels between worlds with the assistance of her handler (another queer woc) who she has the hots for. She accidentally stumbles on a whole lot of mess and conspiracy and gets swept up in that. Really enjoyed it. (novel)

Witchmark - C.L. Polk - Fantasy world reminiscent of Victorian England (I think?) where a young man with magical gifts runs away from his powerful family to avoid being exploited by them. He joins the army and fights in a war and comes home to try and live a quiet life as a doctor, but a murder pulls him into a larger mystery that upturns his life. Also he’s extremely gay and there’s a prevalent m/m romance. This one was a fun-but-not-mind-blowing one for me. (novel, 2 more in the series I haven’t read)

The Priory of the Orange Tree - Samantha Shannon - This was one of those that everyone loved but I couldn’t get into for some reason. I tried twice and only got about halfway through the second time. It’s got dragons and queer ladies and fantasy world and all the things I like, but I wasn’t that invested in the main story (which included the f/f couple) and was more interested in the smaller story about a woman trying to become a dragon rider. There are few things that beat out a lady and her dragon friend story for me and that was the storyline that felt neglected and took a different turn right when we got to the part I’d been waiting for. But, I know a lot of people whose reading opinions I respect who loved it, and if you like epic fantasy with dragons and queens and treachery and pirates and queer characters then I’d say you should definitely give it a try. (novel)

Bonus: I didn’t read these series this year, but if you haven’t read them yet, you should.

Imperial Radch (Ancillary Justice) - Ann Leckie - Spaceship AI stuck in a human body out for revenge for their former captain, but that summary does not come close to doing it justice. Another one examining imperialism and also gender and race.(3 novels)

Kushiel's Legacy Series - Jacqueline Carey - This is two series, six books total, and starts with Kushiel's Dart. Alternate universe Renaissance-y Europe in a fantastical world where sex isn't shameful and sex workers are respected and prized. Lots of political intrigue and mystery. A lot of BDSM and kinky stuff too (the main character is a sexual masochist, oh and also bi!). I first read this series when I was fifteen or sixteen and it definitely made a big impression on me. Same author also wrote the Santa Olivia series which I’d also recommend. (6 novels)

The Locked Tomb (Gideon the Ninth) - Tamsyn Muir - I mean, if you follow me, you know. If you don’t follow me you still probably know. I’d have felt remiss to have left them off though. Lesbian Necormancers in Space. Memes! Skeletons! Biceps! Go read them. (2 novels, 2 forthcoming, 1 short story)

Books On My To Read List:

Fireheart Tiger - Aliette de Bodard

The Order of the Pure Moon Reflected in Water - Zen Cho

Black Sun - Rebecca Roanhorse

This Is How You Lose the TIme War - Amal El-Mohtar and Max Gladstone

Ninefox Gambit - Yoon Ha Lee

Also, if anyone has any recs for scifi/fantasy books starring queer men (not necessarily having to do with a queer relationship) and written by queer men I’d love them. There’s a lot written by women, and some of them are great, but I’d love to read a story about queer men from their own perspective.

#book recs #books #mp

43 notes · View notes

iliumheightnights · 4 years

Text

Let Me Make You Proud [3] | Tony Stark x Son!Reader

Fandom: Marvel

Pairing: Tony Stark x Son!Reader

Summary: (M/N) is forced to face his past to save his friends and family. However, sometimes the skeletons in the closet are too much to face.

A/N: The Final part of the let me make you proud series. A long time coming too. I’ve been writing this for months and yet it still feels like I rushed it. So I’m not TOO happy with it but I hope you all enjoy it. Lots of Stark Reader stories in the future, cause I’m a ho for dad Tony and son.

Read from the start

...

“So let me get this straight- or as straight as I can with you here. The Kree general Hala came and kidnapped all the avengers, plus Kamala and Doreen and now you’re here asking for my help?”

“Yeah that’s pretty much it.” (M/N) sat on Gwen’s beat up couch in her garage, his father next to him. The two still very much in an awkward stage.

“Also the zoo was destroyed.” Everyone looked towards PRYSM. “What? I figured that was big news too.”

“I did like that zoo. So what’s the plan? We can’t just go without a plan.”

Tony stood up. “Woah woah woah. Plan? No, there is no plan for the two of you. I’ll get with shield and we’ll save the avengers. You-” He points at (M/N) “Will go back to the tower and wait for us to come back.”

(M/N) let out a chuckle before standing up. “Tough shit. She took my friends and family. I’m coming and putting her in her place. Gwen get your things, We’ll think of a plan on the way..first we have to find the ship.”

“Oh! Oh! I scanned the ship's heat signatures during the fight. I can try my best to track it!” PRYSM spoke up, bouncing a little as they said it. “Good. We’ll need that to find it...now we just need a way to get to it…” (M/N) looked at his dad. “I KNOW the avengers have a space ship. We’ll need that.”

Tony sighed and pinched his nose before looking back at the other three. “The avengers don’t have a space ship.” The three seemed to be at a loss. “I have a spaceship. I just let them borrow it.” That immediately made the other three perk up. “I guess if I can’t stop you...I better help get us there in one piece.” (M/N) patted his shoulder. “It’s the least you could do. Alright, let’s get going then shall we?” (M/N), Tony and PRYSM moved to the garage door. “You guys go ahead. I’ll meet you at the tower. I need to get suited up.” (M/N) only nodded understanding and Tony looked confused. “Who exactly are you again?” His son quickly pushed him out of the garage. “Later, later. Let her do her thing.”

Exiting the garage the two were greeted by the sight of Happy, who seemed genuinely surprised to see (M/N). “Hey happy. Love what you’ve done to the hair.” Happy stuttered before smiling and opening the door for the boy he had known since he was born. “It’s good to see ya kid.” (Y/N) helped PRYSM into the car and hopped in. The car ride back to the tower was...intense to be sure. Tony looked like he wanted to talk to (M/N), but the boy was looking everywhere but him. PRSYM was the only one in the car really saying anything and that’s because they kept saying “oo’s and ah’s”. Happy was the one to break the silence. “So...kid. Where’ve ya been?” (M/N) smiled at him. “All over. I’ve only been back here for a couple months. My favorite place I went was Alaska. Might go back there someday.” After that the ride was quiet again. The car pulled into the tower's garage and everyone got out. Happy gave (M/N) a hug before going back to his normal routine. Tony, (M/N) and PRYSM entered the elevator and returned to the common area. Once the elevator opened Tony watched as (M/N) slowly took in the tower after the years he had been away. “I’m...I’m going to prep the ship.” Tony said before taking the elevator down a few floors to the hangar. (M/N) chuckled as the elevator doors closed. “It’s been years PRYSM and yet...he still can’t talk to me like I’m his son.” The little robot rolled up next to him. “It’s just awkward. Like you said it’s been years and he’s trying to figure out how to find the words.” The boy nodded and walked to his room.

His room was just like how he remembered it. However he noticed that dust was collecting on lots of things and it seemed like someone had been in it recently based on his journals left on his bed. He sat down on the bed and began looking through his notebooks. He looked at his old drawings and smiled, ever since he left he’s returned to drawing for himself instead of blueprints. He got lost in the books he didn’t notice when Tony entered the room. “Hey. The ships getting ready for take off we still have a bit.” He looked around the room and smiled at his son. “The rooms just like you left it. I didn’t want to mess anything up. It’s ready for whenever you’re ready to move back in.” (M/N) squinted at this. “What is this?” Tony looked at him with a confused look. “What’s what?” (M/N) stood up from the bed. “This! All of this! Are you just going to pretend like everything’s okay? That somehow after two years I’d just magically forgive you for the lifetime of neglect you put me through?” Tony was about to say something but (M/N) stopped him. “You know...I thought about what I’d say if I ever saw you again. I tried to put the words to how you made me feel...but I can’t. When I see you all I can see is how much I love you, but that I was never enough for you. When I see you, I see myself as a failure. All I ever wanted...was for you to love me like I loved you.” Tears began to form in (M/N)’s eyes. Tony closed his eyes and when he opened them he looked his son in the eyes, his own also glittering with tears. “(M/N) I know it doesn’t mean anything but-” At that moment he was interrupted by the voice of the A.I. “Sir. The ship is ready for launch.” (M/N) shook his head and pushed past his dad. “Later. We’ll talk about this after we rescue everyone.” Tony only nodded. “Yeah. you’re right.”

Walking into the hangar, (M/N) smirked at the ship. “Well, that’ll do. Now…” (M/N) typed into his phone and not long after the sound of webshooters could be heard. With a flip, Gwen landed on the hangar deck through the door wearing her spider gwen suit. “Hey guys. Ooohhh shit! Look at that!” She started freaking out over the ship. Tony was at a loss for words. “What...uh? Who are you?” (M/N) smirked. “Remember how I said I wanted one? This is Gwen, you met earlier. She has the same powers as Peter. Maybe a couple different things.” Gwen waved at him before turning back to the ship. “Well let’s GOOOO! I want to see space!” PRSYM grabbed (M/N)’s hand and pulled him toward the ship.

The ship was more like a modified quinjet able to travel space. (M/N) took the co-pilot's seat while Tony took the pilots' seat. PRYSM and Gwen got situated and Tony began the launch sequence. “You sure you want to do this?” He looked at everyone who only nodded. “Absolutely. Let’s go.” Tony let out a sigh and flew the ship out of the hangar. It wasn’t long before the ship had broke the atmosphere and the group starred out into space. “Alright PRYSM. Tell us where we need to go.” PRYSM was staring out into space. “Oh! OF COURSE!” PRYSM’s eyes lit up and a holographic map appeared. “That way!”

Tony did exactly as PRYSM instructed and it wasn’t long before Hala’s ship came into view. “Ladies, Gentlemen, and PRYSM. We’re here.” Their small ship was slowly approaching the massive one. “Okay so what’s the plan exactly?” Gwen asked. “Easy. Board the ship, rescue the avengers, Kamala and Doreen, Then blow the ship to hell and back.” (M/N) said. “As for Hala. We’ll deal with her if we have to.” His dad looked at him with concern. “That’s not much of a plan.” (M/N) crossed his arms. “Well there really isn’t anything we can plan for this. Unless you have any ideas?” Tony was about to say something but stopped when he couldn’t think of anything. “Exactly. So let’s just do our best and be careful.”

Boarding the ship was surprisingly easy. All they did was connect their to the hull and cut their way through. Once on board the group made their way towards anything that seemed like a prison ward. The hallways of the ship were...eerie to say the least. It was like any generic ship you see in scifi movies with the creepy hum of engines. “I’m detecting lot’s of life signs from not far ahead.” PRYSM said. They followed the little robot until they found themselves in a large room with many cages. They found the prison, however there was something off. “Something’s not right. Where’s all the guards at?”

“HELLLLLOOOO!? IS ANYONE HERE!?” PRYSM yelled out. “Prysm shhh!” (M/N) tried to shush them. However nothing came after they expected some retaliation, instead they heard. “Hello? Who’s there?” That was Steve! “Steve!?” (M/N) ran towards the voice and found Steve and the other avengers. “(M/N)! Tony! What are you doing here?” Prysm hacked into their cell and shut off the energy door. “Rescuing you.” Peter got off his seat and smirked. “Aren’t you a little short to be a stormtrooper?” (M/N) smirked at him. “I don’t know where you get your delusions laser brain.” Peter let out a laugh at the star wars quote. Of course Peter and (M/N) had started off rocky, but travelling made (M/N) realize it wasn’t the boy’s fault. He was tackled by someone. “(M/NNNNNNNNNNNNN!), I’m so glad to see you!” Doreen. She pulled back and (M/N) saw the look in her eyes, the worry. “They took Kamala.”

There wasn’t any time to waste. No hesitation. Once he heard Kamala was taken (M/N) started making his way towards the command center. Gwen, Doreen and Prysm followed close behind. Tony and the other avengers hadn’t even noticed they left. Typical. It really wasn’t hard to find the Command Bridge. The one with the big door on the end of the ship. “You guys ready?” Everyone got into fighting stances. “Yep.” “Yes.” “LET’S DO THIS!”

The door of the bridge was blasted open and the group rushed in. Rushing inside they found Kamala already in her own fight with Hala. “Guys!” Hala looked over and became distracted enough for Kamala to land a punch and knocked her out. “Ugh...that was a pain.” She shook out her hand and ran to her friends. “Guys! (M/N)! Gwen! You’re here!” The sound of footsteps brought the group out of their small victory. Tony and the other avengers ran in. “Oh god. You’re alright. Don’t EVER run off like that again.” Tony panicked. “It’s alright, we’re alright.” (M/N) laughed. “We’re alright for now. But Earth isn’t.” Kamala said, everyone listening to her. “She said she’s ordered the ship to head to Earth and to begin destroying anything it sees. She’s ordered it to raise the planet!” Everyone looked absolutely horrified. “How do we stop it?” Gwen asked. “What about the self destruct? There has to be one on here?” Peter asked. “IT’S BEEN TAMPERED! THE AUTO SELF DESTRUCT HAS BEEN ERASED!” Prysm shouted as they looked through the ship's computer. “There isn’t anything we can do.” (M/N) looked over the computer with Prysm. “That’s not true. The engines. We can set off a detonation and this whole place will blow. Kaboom.” Everyone agreed that sounded like the best plan. “You all get back to the ship and get out of here. I’ll set off the detonation.” (M/N) said making everyone look at him. “No. Absolutely not. I can’t lose you. I just got you back.” (M/N) shook his head. “There’s no time to argue. You all get out of here, I’ll blow this candle stick and escape on one of their ships.” (M/N) began walking towards the engine room but was stopped by Tony. “No. We’ll find another way. It’s too risky. I can send the su-” “DAD!” Tony stopped talking. “Just this once...let me make you proud.” It was then that (M/N) saw it. The love, the worry, everything he ever wanted, in Tony’s eyes. Not looking at Peter...looking at him. Tony relaxed his grip. “Okay...just come back to me. I love you.” (M/N) smiled, tears running down his face. “I love you too. Don’t worry. I don’t plan on dying.”

(M/N) made his way to the engine room, however he was stopped by a group of Kree guards. “Of course you come AFTER.” He didn’t slow down. Using his powers he lifted them up, slamming them into the ceiling then slamming them to the ground. “Welcome to Earth.” He passed them and continued to the engine room. The engine room was large and VERY loud. “Alright...explosion. That’s easy.” (M/N) ran to one of the computers that helped control the reactor. “If I set this to full power and overload that… There. That should do it.” He didn’t need to check anything because as soon as it was locked an explosion from a lower deck shook everything. “Shit. Gotta go...get off the ship, get off the ship!”

Luckily he had checked that the hangar was nearby. Arriving there he discovered all of the ships had been taken. “Great!” Another explosion shook the ship. Was this it? Was this the end? At least he stopped the ship before it could do anything to Earth. He thought of his friends. Gwen, Doreen, Kamala. The avengers, Clint. His dad. At least they were safe. Then the sound of a ship pulling into the hangar brought him out of his thoughts. The ship he arrived on was turning around and Peter and Gwen were on the ramp. “(M/N)! Come on!” Peter called out to him. He didn’t need to be told twice. He began running and used his powers to launch himself up. Peter and Gwen used their webs to to pull him in. They closed the ramp. “He’s in! Get us out of here!” Gwen shouted.

As the ship got safely away from the Kree ship, they watched as the reactor overloaded and the ship exploded into a ball of fire. “You did it. Good job...even if I wasn’t needed.” Gwen said to him. “Hey. To be fair, I thought it would be more of a fight then it actually was.” Gwen lightly punched his shoulder and went to talk to the others. (M/N) was left with Peter. “Hey…” (M/N) spoke. “Hey. Look (M/N) I just wanted to apologize. I didn’t realize tha-” (M/N) stopped him. “Pete. You’ve got nothing to apologize for. I know you weren’t trying to do anything to hurt me. In fact I should probably apologize for smashing your lego death star.” Peter grimaced at the thought. “It’s alright. I got to rebuild it so that was alright. If you’re sticking around I’d love to hang out...maybe be friends?” (M/N) smirked and patted his shoulder. “I’d like that.” Continuing through the ship. He was greeted by the avengers, each embracing him after all of these years for the first time. Clint walked up to him. (M/N) could feel his heart skip a beat. He hadn’t kept in good contact with Clint in a while and he felt bad for it, after all it was him that helped him. “H-hey Clint. It’s good to see you.” Clint glared at him making (M/N) sweat before he broke into a smile and pulled him into a hug. “Oh god...it’s so good to see you kid. You’ve grown up. It suits you.” (M/N) hugged him back. “Thanks dad.” He said in a sarcastic voice. “But for real, thank you. You really helped me discover who I am.” Clint rubbed his head. “Anytime kiddo. Now...I think someone wants to talk to you.” Clint pulled back and turned him towards Tony who was waiting for him. “Dad.” Tony didn’t say anything just quickly pulled him into a hug and held onto him tightly. After the shock wore off, (M/N) held on just as tight. “I really thought that was it. I was going to die there.” Tony let out a laugh, but there was no humor behind it. “I wasn’t about to let that happen.” He pulled back and looked his son in the eyes. “I promise you kid. I’m going to do everything I can to show you how much I love you. I can’t change the past, but I can give us a future. Please let me-” He didn’t get a chance to finish his sentence as (M/N) pulled him into another crushing hug.

“Let’s go home.”

#marvel #avengers #tony stark #tony stark x male reader #tony stark x male!reader #tony stark x son reader #tony stark x son!reader #tony stark x stark reader #tony stark x stark!reader

286 notes · View notes

maybedefinitely404 · 4 years

Text

Day 13: Logince

@tsshipmonth2020

Day 13: Everyone is born with a super power, but when soulmates are together their powers are nullified by each other. (AKA the hero/villain AU I’m probably going to have to write a sequel for)

Content warnings: battle wounds (minor blood), physical combat, general destruction, fear of death/intention to kill (no one dies), passing out.

Comments: I’m definitely more of a dialogue heavy writer, so writing so much action was new to me. Life hack: watch fight scenes online to get a better visual when writing combat.

Word count: 1.8k

This wasn’t how it was supposed to end.

That’s all Roman could think as he weakly pushed himself onto his elbows, lifting his battered forehead from the ground, an action that required far more effort than it should have. Never before in his life had he been reduced to this, a limp pile of bruises and ice burns and bloodied cuts surrounded by the wreckage of a once unscathed street. The smell of smoke was thick in the air and heavy in his lungs, rising from the rubble of collapsed buildings and choking him both physically and metaphorically, as a reminder of how much he’d failed.

This guy, whoever he was, was a new villain. As far as Roman knew, at least. He’d never laid eyes on the man before today, and hated how instantly attracted he was to the maskless villain. Of course, the lack of mask also indicated that he didn’t intend on staying around long enough to be recognized in public… or leaving any survivors that would be able to pick him out of a line up. So even though Roman immediately felt bad as soon as the first well aimed hit of his flaming sword’s hilt knocked into the man’s jaw and sent him tumbling, it was quickly overruled by his ingrained instinct to protect. The goal was to take him down alive, relatively unhurt, and have him placed in the same secure facility all of Roman’s defeated foes were sent to, but if he had to be killed for the greater good, that was just a sacrifice he would have to make. Guilt could come later, when everyone was safe.

But his one hit was all he got in before the man completely unleashed everything he had. He had unclipped a small tube from his waist and popped it open to full size; a compact staff that was at least double the length of Roman’s sword. The distance he’d stumbled from the first hit was just enough, an action that Roman only now realized had been completely intentional on the other’s part, and he swung with accuracy that put the hero’s to shame. It hit him in the side and sent him sprawling, landing on his hands and using the momentum to roll, jumping back to his feet and setting his sword aflame once more. He couldn’t let his concentration falter like that again. Forget those perfect blue eyes, Roman. He’s trying to kill you.

He’d kept his distance after that, an artful duck and weave between buildings, avoiding spears of ice that seemed to grow from the ground itself and praying one of his blindly shot gusts of flame had landed a hit. Of course, of freaking course, the one villain that stood a chance against him combat-wise had an opposing power. His sword was starting to dwindle and his arms were sore from deflecting and breaking through the walls of ice his opponent continued to raise with no hesitation, and the heat in his hands was starting to fade. He was tired. That just made this harder, and the fun factor was starting to wear off. He had to end this.

That was the wrong mindset to go in with, because then he was desperate. Desperation led to destruction, and he regretted his sudden carelessness the moment a clumsy spur-of-the-moment shot missed his nemesis by a mile and tore through the entryway of a jewellery store instead. Luckily the street had been cleared the moment the fight began, so no one was injured, but that building going up in flame was only the beginning of the chaos. Because even though it wasn’t his fault after that, things just got so much worse.

The street itself began to crumble to pieces, concrete breaking apart where thick tendrils of ice ripped its way through in all directions, spreading like tree roots, the ‘trunk’ itself being the new villain. He was standing in the middle of the street, watching Roman with an unreadable expression, as the carnage only increased. It was as if he saw his accidental blunder and decided he wanted to break buildings now, too. All Roman can think about is the Titanic, a mighty vessel taken down by a single piece of ice, as the roots shredded through the foundations of the downtown street. Metal and wood creaking fills the air, the sound of the ice growing and spreading, and it takes the hero far too long of just staring in terror to remember that he needs to try and stop that.

He was strong, not smart.

He ripped his sword out of the display window it had been flung through after an especially bad ice shot to the hand and sprinted forward, weapon ablaze with his newfound dedication. The unsteady ground rose to trip him, every muscle burned, blood dripped into his eye, but he pushed on, vaulting over a flipped car and coming face to face with his opponent. Again, he was slightly taken aback by the sheer confidence in his eyes, the man not at all flinching as Roman brought down the sword towards his head, blocking the strike with the edge of his staff. The destruction of the street came to a standstill as he turned all his concentration to the immediate fight, blocking Roman’s next two hits. The hero let the impact push his momentum downwards, swinging his weapon through the empty space where the man’s feet had been seconds ago. A creak to his left stole Roman’s attention for barely a split second, a mistake he realized the second he glanced away, and the other man went onto the offensive, thrusting the end of his staff into Roman’s side. He let out a soft grunt and threw up his sword, blocking the overhead strike inches from his head but not acting before he was kicked in the stomach, the force throwing him back. His sword clattered from his grip, the flames flickering out of existence and blending in with the rubble. And oh, how tables can turn.

He rolled out of the way as the staff was jabbed into the ground, feeling the cold metal barely brush his neck. As he leapt to his feet, retreating several steps, his eyes kept shifting between the villain and the ground, searching desperately for his sword. It was a waste of time; his opponent was sizing him up again, almost like he was calculating weak spots in his head. He lunged forward, bringing the staff down towards Roman’s neck. Roman blocked with his forearm instinctively, immediately hissing in pain as a jolt shot up to his shoulder, and took another step back. This isn’t good. This isn’t good. He picked up the first weapon-like object he could reach, the bent pole of what was probably a street sign, and swung it at the other’s head with little to no aim, stumbling with the momentum. The villain ducked underneath it with no hesitation, stepping forward under the pole and landing a solid hit into Roman’s spine. Another kick in the same place sent him headfirst into the rubble, smacking his forehead against a piece of metal and feeling the skin split on contact.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to end.

He rolled onto his back, wincing as shards of metal and glass pierced his skin, only able to watch as the villain strolled towards him, twirling his staff smugly. Every muscle and bone screamed as he pushed himself onto his feet, stumbling weakly. Weak sparks shooting between his fingers was the best he could summon in this state, his hands numb from overexertion and skin dry and cracking from the constant flame.

“And to think, I actually expected a challenge. They made you out to be so much more than this.”

The first words he’d heard the man say, slipping from his lips like honey, a near growl. He continued to advance, taking a step for every one of Roman’s pained backpedals, until his broken and bleeding skin bumped into the remains of a wall, pushing the debris in just that much further. Just as Roman glanced down to his feet, looking for anything weapon-like, he flicked his wrist in the hero’s direction and four shards of ice broke apart from the main roots around him, shooting through the air in a blur, and pinning Roman to the wall. Still the villain approached him until they were almost touching, Roman’s pain-hunched form causing the man to nearly tower over him, a smirk slowly spreading across his face. He raised a crooked finger under Roman’s chin, tsking under his breath.

“I thought you were their hero.”

And just like that, with no further monologuing, he shoved his hand into Roman’s chest, the cold limb burning Roman’s skin in seconds. He let out a weak sound, somewhere between a yelp and a groan, too dizzy with pain to even care about dignity anymore, waiting for the final blow.

Just get it over with, he thought pathetically. But the hand didn’t get colder, or shoot a spike into his heart, or however this villain had planned to kill him. They just stood there, still, until Roman built up the courage to crack his eyes open, not knowing what to expect.

Whatever he had imagined, it wasn’t this. The man was squinting in concentration at his hand on Roman’s chest, the fingers spasming slightly as nothing happened. Whether it was sudden exhaustion or improper training, Roman didn’t care, because a surge of energy filled him and he focused it on his hands. Granted, they were pinned to a wall, but if he could just get the angle right-

Nope. Not a spark, not a flicker across his palm. They heated up, they burned, and he knew they should have at least glowed slightly to indicate the power flowing through them. The villain seemed to notice the way his fingers formed a fist, curling and uncurling to try and get them to do something, and a look of pure horror crossed his unmasked face. It took Roman much too long to realize as well.

Neither of their powers were working.

“No,” They both spoke simultaneously, jerking up to meet each other’s eyes.

The villain dropped his hands to his sides, taking a couple steps back, the shock clear on his face. Another choked, “No,” escaped his lips before he turned and ran, the ice around Roman’s arms melting into thin air as soon as he was far enough away. The hero watched the man- his soulmate?!- sprint into the smoke, off to whatever base he was from, before crumbling weakly to the ground. Exhaustion overtook him, the memory of those startling blue eyes his final thought before the world dissolved into black.

#lywrites #tsshipmonth2020 #logince #logan sanders #roman sanders #sanders sides #sanders sides au #ts soulmate au #sanders sides soulmate au #sandersides #sanders sides fanfiction #sanderssidesfanfiction

235 notes · View notes

literary-spirit · 3 years

Text

Bonnie Bennett believed she'd finally discovered her good enough ending. Yet, like most things in her life good enough goes left and leaves her with another ending. Or, perhaps a fire beginning...Journey with everyone's favorite Bennett Witch to the Viking Era for much needed lessons in devotion, courtesy the Lothbrok brothers.

Disclaimer: Unfortunately, none of these characters belong to me. And to add unfairness to poetic injustice, neither does the shows or the books. However, I still intend to pull the characters' strings and make them dance, all while having a ball upsetting canon plot lines!

AN: Alright Bennett Fandom this one here is a bit different from what you're used to. Okay this one here is a bit different than I'm used to. Francesca has recently rediscovered Vikings and with it the sons of Ragnar. And don't you know she wouldn't rest until she brought our favorite Bennett Witch into their mess! As if our girl didn't already have her own problems. SMFH! So thanks to my lovely muse, here we are with a whole lot of trifling savagery that I'm just not so sure about. But as always I'll let you be the judge if this WIP lives to see another update. Flame it or acclaim it in comments.

“You know as much as I’ve savored the joy of tormenting you over the years-,” Klaus began.

“No,” Bonnie shook her head. She’d tried to go along with his final request. Really she did, but how could she? When in the end all he’d be was gone. “I’m sorry, bae. We’re not doing this.”

Rebekah’s eyes rolled. She released a drawn out exhale that hadn’t been necessary for her since wood ash and pointed stick tattoos were a thing. “Bonnie, don’t ruin this for him! Permit him whatever comfort he demands. He shoulders a burden you’d never be able to fathom. Can you not allow him to experience but one moment of grace? A moment Hope will undoubtedly cling to after he’s gone.”

“No, Rebekah! I’m not about to listen as the man I love gives us all a corny goodbye and pretend to be okay with it. And why the hell should Hope have a moment to cling to when she could have her father?” She gave her head another firm shake. “No, this is not okay with me,” her voice rose as she drilled visual holes through each of them. Klaus tried to shut her down with an arm around the shoulders but she curved him with a shrug, all while committing ocular homicide on him in the process. “So why the hell is it okay with you, Hybrid?” Her scorn riddled gaze darted from him back to his so called family. “Or any of you?”

“You must’ve been down on Bourbon sipping on that Absinthe again if you believe any of this shit is okay with us,” Marcel waved her off barely sparing her a glance. “We all just know Klaus is gonna do whatever Klaus wants no matter how any of us feels about it. The most dangerous place you can be when his mind’s made up is in his way. So I suggest you step out of it.”

Her neck snapped back as if she’d taken a two piece to the chin. “You think I’m afraid of the big bad wolf? I wasn’t at seventeen and if I thought for a second it would save him, I’d put his ass back in the dirt again. I take care of my own, Marcel. No matter the dangers or consequences,” she jabbed a thumb at her hybrid, “And make no mistake, that Original pain in the ass over there is mine.”

“Cute.” Marcel laughed as he rubbed at the corners of his mouth. “Bonnie, we’re his family. Each of us have known, feared, hated, respected, and loved him long before even your parents’ parents became an idea. Hell, even after everything he’s dragged me through, there’s not a drop of blood I wouldn’t bleed for him.”

“Then stand behind those words and do something, Marcel,” she pleaded, because at this point she wasn’t above begging for the only bright spot remaining in the dim bleakness that had become her life seven years before.

“What would you have us do, Bonnie?” Elijah questioned in a barely engaged tone.

Bonnie turned to consider him. A perpetual moroseness now cloaked the one she’d once believed to be noble. His arrogance hadn’t been quite the same since the restoration of his memories. More and more he’d begun to remind her of Finn. She squared her shoulders and straightened her spine. Since discovering what Klaus planned to do, she’d toyed with an idea she’d vowed never to indulge. Yet, under the weight of impossible desperation such vows could not stand.

“The eternal witch spell should be evoked,” she said.

“By whom?” Kol questioned. His chocolate browns moved from Freya to Hope. When both appeared to know less than him his disbelieving gawk returned to her. “You?!” Laughter burst from his mouth. “Oh Darling, I’ve witnessed that spell make a supernatural mess of the most talented witches to ever recite a chant. There’s only one destined to master the eternal witch incantation and her sorcery is said to be unmatched.” His knowing gaze drifted to Hope, and then back to her. “There’s no way you’re powerful enough to undertake the task. You’re not even the strongest witch on this block.”

Bonnie flinched. Damn it, if Kol hadn’t DOA’ed her pride. When the hell did he jump on the Bennett hate train? To hear how far his opinion of her plummeted sort of burned.

She nodded. “Okay, if not me why not Davina. You tend to enjoy blowing her horn. If she’s all you claim her to be, get her here. I’ll happily bow down if her being greater than me will save him.” She jerked her head in Klaus’ direction.

“No!” Marcel barked.

“Leave my wife out of this.” Kol zipped across the distance separating them to tower over her. His original face no longer concealed by his human deception.

Klaus rocketed forward to place himself between she and Kol. “Step away from my fiancé, baby brother. For if you harm her then you’ll be joining me in the afterlife. To hell with your bloody dagger and box.”

Ignoring Kol’s and Klaus’ dagger and the box bit, her distressed stare collided with Freya’s. “What about you? Will you help me save your brother?”

“Bonnie, that spell is much too dangerous. Even for me.” The blondes eyes offered her a thousand apologies but not one solution. “I’m sorry, but I can’t risk it…not now.”

Her desperation bottomed out to despair as her gaze took a hail Mary launch to the supposedly most powerful witch in the room. “Hope?”

The room erupted. You’d think she’d offered the girl a crack pipe. When she was Hope’s age she was taking down well…her dad.

“Bonnie!” Elijah yelled.

“This is madness,” Rebekah growled, taking a step in their direction. “Nik tell her!”

“We’ve already talked about this, Bekah.” Marcel shook his head and tugged Rebekah back to his side. “That doesn’t concern us.” Bonnie heard Marcel mutter.

Klaus spun away from Kol to regard her. He grabbed her face and cradled her cheeks in his palms. “Everything’s going to be alright, Love.” He whispered, before brushing his lips against hers. Liquid pain disturbed the stillness of his crystal blue stare and contradicted the hell out of his reassurance.

“How?” She tugged herself free of his grasp. “How’s everything going to be alright? You’ll be dead and then what? Life goes on? Fuck that! I’m not about to stand here and mourn a defeat I haven’t loss yet!” She whirled away and marched from the gathering. Her decision made.

Once out of sight, she hurried towards their bedroom. Inside, she closed the door and locked it. The barrier wouldn’t hold her hybrid, but the fraction of time it would provide may be all she needed to complete the spell. She fell to her knees next to the mattress. Carefully, she tugged the blanket from underneath the bed. The already prepared altar and ingredients slid out. She stared down at the athamae and exhaled. Second thoughts plagued her mental, but she shook them away. She’d come this far already. The time to bitch up and forget about it had come and gone. Now was the time to do and die, literally.

She picked up the dagger and called forth every ounce of mystical energy which bled through her veins. A swell of Bennett sorcery overwhelmed the room. Pictures rattled on the walls. The balcony doors blew open and the glass shattered. Furniture not nailed down whipped about the room like she’d caught a ride in a tornado. Steeling her nerves, she continued. She called forth her psychic energy, her huntress energy. Any and everything supernatural about her she offered to the Goddess of all in exchange for an eternity of knowledge and the fated eternal mate destined to help her defeat the Hollow.

After relinquishing her all to the Creator she sliced open her palm. Blood gushed from the wound and saturated the ingredients. A searing light illuminated the room. The bargain was struck and accepted. Now the sacrifice. She swallowed and raised the blade. Aiming it at the center of her chest, she closed her eyes.

“Bonnie, no!” Klaus’ voice penetrated the white noise blaring throughout the room. “Love, don’t do this. You won’t survive.”

She opened her eyes. He stood just beyond the enchantment circle, attempting to force his way into the barrier. “Neither will you if I don’t. Besides, if it doesn’t work I’d rather be in the ground anyway than breathe without you, Klaus.”

“Bonnie, please,” he pled as he dropped to his knees. He slammed his fist against the barrier. “Please, don’t do this. We’ll find another way. You have my word, Love!”

A sad smile flirted with her lips. “You’re lying, Klaus. If there was another way then it would already be the plan.” She plunged the blade into the cradle of her breasts. A piercing burn penetrated her chest.

“No!” Klaus’ bellow seared layers from her punctured heart. The storm of mystical energy whipping about ceased.

Her knees buckled. Klaus caught her before the ground could and cuddled her close. She attempted to talk, but a wheeze whistled pass her lips instead.

“No, Love, don’t speak.” He bit into his wrist and placed the bleeding extremity to her mouth. His blood might as well had been battery acid because she’d bet dollars to air it burned the same. Hacking coughs damn near shook her frame apart by the joints. “Why the sodding hell isn’t this working?”

“I-It’s the s-spell,” she managed to utter. “M-my death is the p-price of a-admission.”

Tears trickled from his eyes onto her face. “Why did I have to go and love you, Little Witch?” He demanded, looking beyond confused.

“B-Because its what we b-both needed at the time and no m-matter how this turns out I’ll always be indebted to you for giving me a reason. L-Love you, Hybrid…always and f-forever.” His face faded until nothing but darkness surrounded her.

Chapter 1

The abyss gave way to blinding lights. Bonnie squeezed her eyes shut. A cacophony of sounds battered her auditory senses. The eardrum rupturing racket nearly distracted her from the violent rocking motion. A violent rocking motion which would no doubt wrought absolute fuckery on her cyclic vomiting syndrome. Right along with the tang of salt-water, unwashed bodies, and rotten fish. The potpourri of funk came close to singeing the lining of her nostrils.

A familiar acrid burn tickled the back of her throat. On cue her belly spun a series of gold medal winning somersaults. Oh this was going to happen. Her lack of sight heightened her senses and made her that much more sensitive to all the upchuck factors swirling about her. Unable to continue to live in the darkest part of her denial and remain vomit free, she opened her eyes. The brightest day she'd ever had to tolerate greeted her light discriminating gaze. She closed her eyes once more. What in the extreme fuck? Was this some kind of hell dimension? Is that why she was only a five minute drive away from the damn sun? Oh Goddess no!

"Cade?!" She growled.

The acrid burn that flirted with the back of her throat developed a sour chunky consistency. Once again she forced her eyes open...and blinked. She was on a vessel that appeared to have hailed straight out of Vikings. Damning the unnecessary brightness and her afterlife in general, she turned and tossed up the entire contents of her stomach over the boats edge. The seafood gumbo from Rousseau's she loved nearly as much as Klaus shot from her mouth and floated one way while the wind and Hades' cruiser sailed her in another.

As gravity took her down exhaustion fucked her over. She rested her cheek on the boat's wooden ledge. Drops of putrid salt water splashed her face. Yet, her fucks to give was at a negative zero low. Not only was she dead, but more than likely so was Klaus. She'd failed him...she'd failed them. Not even eternity would be long enough to make that shit okay.

Bonnie's vision blurred. Her chest throbbed. She clawed at the pounding ache between her breasts. Goddess, it's a wonder her chest didn't have a gaping hole in it after everything her heart had lost. Shaking her latest failure from her thoughts, she turned to slouch back to the boat's floor. She then lifted her gaze to assess her surroundings. Various shades of irises gawked back at her. She froze. Oh damn! Just her luck the water was sacred. She opened her mouth to offer an apology, but snapped it closed. Wait...why the hell did everyone look like extras from the Last Kingdom?

Slowly, her gaze dropped from the filthy hairy men towering over her to what she wore. The burlap sack dress she donned stopped her ever ticking clock. And based on the breeze cooling her cakes, her La Perla's had opted to skip the journey to the other side. Her back teeth clenched. In what kind of after life had she been dropped? Was this some kind of Viking hell? Had she somehow been granted eternity with Klaus in his hereafter?

The shifting of bodies snaked her attention from Kanye's spring wear to the now parting beefy men. A sight which had her questioning her sanity emerged. Bjorn Lothbrok or at any rate the actor who portrayed him in Vikings. Was he dead and stuck on the Otherside also? Wait, was Alexander Ludwig even supernatural?

"You're not one of the slaves who was captured during the raid. One of your hue, I would've remembered." The head Viking in charge edge that resonated in Bjorn's or Alexander's voice snatched her from her contemplations. "How've you come to be upon this ship?" When she opened her mouth to speak the cold sharpened point of a sword pierced the hollow of her throat. "Speak to me of canards or sagas and I shall open your gullet."

She hesitated for a moment. What could she say? The truth would definitely get her neck split wide. "I-I'm not sure. Before...when I closed my eyes, I was somewhere else and now that I've opened them, I'm..." she glanced from the horror frozen faces of the crewmen to the beyond frightened slaves. The poor shackled souls huddled away from her in the ship crevices and corners on either side of her. She swallowed and allowed her gaze to return to Bjorn. "I'm here."

"Oh my god," she heard one of the slaves mutter in a tone that, to her surprise, sounded annoyed?

His scoff sliced the disbelief inspired silence in half. He withdrew the biting tip of his sword from her throat and sheathed it in the scabbard at his side. "Bind her hands to her feet and toss her over."

The ship erupted in a flurry of movement. Two overfed red-haired and even redder faced Viking men moved to grab her. She nearly projectile vomited her heart from her mouth.

"I know what I'm saying sounds apeshit, but I swear on everything I love, Alexander," she said slowly uttering the name and searching his face for a flare of recognition. When nothing sparked in his expression she stammered on, "I-I'm telling the truth. Please, you have to believe me, Bjorn!" A flicker of curiosity narrowed his glare. Bingo! "You can't let them kill me! Please, I don't wanna die again!"

"Halt!" He bellowed, raising a hand to stop the men from advancing, "How've you come to know of my name?"

Shit! She pressed her lips together as her mind flipped through a too short list of plausible explanations that wouldn't get her burned at a stake for witchcraft. "I-I've dreamt of you a-and of this moment." There, that didn't sound too bad. One thing she'd learned from Klaus, watching Vikings, and Google, is ancient Northman actually revered oracles and seers.

"You've dreamt of me?" He knelt before her, arresting her stare with a penetratingly incandescent blue gaze. At a deliberate methodical pace, his eyes crept over her face. Her lungs threatened to collapse under the thorough scrutiny. "Of this moment?" Unable to look anywhere other than in the irises that burned brighter than the now blazing sun, her head bobbed. A smile enticed the corners of his mouth. "Then why fear what you know will follow? Have you not prepared well to meet your fate?"

"Not if my fate resides at the bottom of the ocean," she said with a firm shake of the head, "That's an introduction I'd like to cur—avoid indefinitely."

His head tilted just so as he continued to regard her. "Name yourself."

"Bonnie Bennett," she answered.

A golden brow lifted. "Bonnie Bennett of where?"

"New-M-Mystic Falls...Bonnie Bennett of Mystic Falls."

"I have never heard of a land with such a name," he huddled a bit closer to her, "in which direction does your homeland lie?"

Before she could answer, thick gun metal gray clouds rolled across the azure sky and swallowed the glaring sun. A sonic boom exploded somewhere in the distance, while blue streaks of lightening zigzagged its way through the stodgy swirls of gloom. And if the situation wasn't already atom splitting serious, fat drops of rain and hail the size of golf balls began to pelt them.

"This storm is unnatural!" A seaman yelled.

"What in the name of Odin will become of us? None of us shall discover the gates of Valhalla at the bottom of the sea!" A ruddy face old man with a scraggly beard roared at anyone who appeared to be listening.

Another much younger seaman, maybe a little older than herself, turned an anxious stare on Bjorn. "Do you believe the All Father has forsaken us, Ironside?"

Bjorn opened his mouth to answer but was cut off by a blonde slave girl who pointed a finger in her direction, "It's her! Her very presence displeases the gods. You should heave her over and pray the sacrifice appeases them."

"You sound dumb as hell! It's no wonder you're in chains," Bonnie snapped, regretting her words as soon as they left her lips. Stupidity had nothing to do with forced captivity. Yet, that bitch had some damn nerve.

"No one will be heaving anyone over," Bjorn said, while standing from his crouch, "Raise the sails and provide the slaves with pails so they may began dumping water from the ship's floor."

A surge of magic thickened the air. The foreign sorcery incited something within her. Something unfamiliar. A bucket was pushed in her face. She took the wooden pail without looking away from the sea. The very stench of alien witchery agitated her own strange mystical energy. The fiery heat of her somehow altered super charged power practically scorched the inner lining of her veins as it raced through her vessels. Who would dare interrupt the supernatural and natural balance on this scale without justification? It was like using a heat seeking missile to take out a mosquito. Un-fucking-called for!

Instead of allowing the now aggressive powers within her the retribution it sought, she settled just to keep the occupants on the ship safe. So, while she dumped water from the boat's floor, she chanted under her breath. Soon, a protective shield formed around them in an elusive form of the previous sunny day. The Vikings and slaves alike erupted in praises to Odin.

"Yep," Bonnie forced a smile. "Praise Odin!"

"Come, Mystical One," Bjorn stood over her, his shadow casting her much needed shade.

Distrust and her impromptu guest starring role on a show which highlighted the fact that Vikings had no problems raping captives, raised her guards. Though realms out of her element, she was far from ignorant.

Her gaze moved over him in an attempt to size him up. "Where?"

"To the prow," He gestured towards the front of the ship before snatching the pail from her hands, and then tossing it aside. "I wish to learn more about you and this numinous land named Mystic Falls." When she took too long to follow he locked his hands behind his back and considered her. "If I wanted to lie with you then all I need do is have you. Do you believe anyone here would be minded to protect you?"

She lifted her chin as she glanced about the ship to see not one person watching them for concern purposes. Every eye she caught on them looked to be pre-historic Shade Room and TMZ reporters. If they had tea kettles back then they'd no doubt be ready to spill the damn things. No, Bjorn spoke the truth. No one on that confoundingly long boat would lift a calloused palm to help her.

"Alright." Exhaling, she stood and leveled him with a glare even a PMS'ing demon would be incapable of exacting. "But fair warning, no one on this ship can protect me better than me. And make no mistake, I'm not above defending my own honor."

He reached out and took her hand in his. "That is a certainty about you of which I'll never be mistaken, Bonnie Bennett of Mystic Falls."

#bonniebennett #vampirediaries #the originals #crossover #alternate universe #fanfiction #ivar the boneless #bjorn ironside #hvitserk #sigurd #ubbe lothbrok #vikings #time travel

29 notes · View notes

hale-13 · 3 years

Text

Shackled

By Hale13

For the Summer of Whump Day 7 Prompt - Collared

Peter Parker had been missing for one full week and Ned was losing his mind.

Words: 2502, Chapters: 1/1 (Complete), Language: English

Fandoms: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)

Rating: Gen

Relationships: Peter Parker & Ned Leeds

Characters: Peter Parker, Ned Leeds

TW: Angst

Read on AO3 or below the line break.

“Ned honey?” His mom said, knocking on the frame of his cracked open door and poking her head in. Her expression was as careful and neutral as it had been for the last week – ever since Peter had gone missing on his walk to school.

Ned had spent most of the morning between classes trying to text Peter (seriously – it was just super rude to not be in school and not tell your friends. Who did that?) before both he and MJ had been called to the office. Principal Morita was both gentle and firm as he questioned them about Peter’s possible whereabouts and ‘were they covering for him? No one was in trouble they just needed to know’. May hadn’t called Peter in sick and had no idea where he might be so, naturally, they assumed his best friends might have some clue. Ever since he had gotten his powers Peter had been pretty flaky but, so far, he had always at least sent some sort of message to someone if he had Spider Business.

May, more frantic now, had tried to alert the police but had been shot down since Peter had been missing less than twenty-four hours and was what they would classify as ‘troubled’ with his absence record and disciplinary record at school. Tony Stark, who had been May’s next call, had gone into full panic-helicopter-mentor mode and had hacked into cameras all over the city to try and find out what he could. Unfortunately, the footage seemed to have been wiped leaving them with no leads other than Peter’s discarded book bag and cellphone left in an alley not far from the school.

Finding this had finally spurred the police into motion and had prompted an Amber Alert and search parties made up of May’s co-workers and Peter’s friends. Tony was surveying things via the Iron Legion while he spent most of his time in his workshop in the Tower; using FRIDAY and probably lots of illegal methods to try and track Peter down.

Ned had been helping May and MJ just about everyday after school since to hang up flyers and ask around to see if anyone had seen Peter but, so far, no luck. His parents had been doing what they could to help as well but Ned knew they could see him cracking under the pressure and worry.

They had, in fact, pulled him into a conversation the night before to tell him they wanted him to talk to a therapist, that finding someone missing after the first fourth-eight hours was really hard and they wanted to do what they could to prepare him for all eventualities and that they would always be there for him no matter what.

Ned liked to think he was a pretty chill and easy-going guy for the most part so he won’t say that he’s proud of how he handled that conversation. At least his parents didn’t get too upset when he skipped school with MJ to keep looking that day.

“Hmm?” Ned asked, not bothering to look up from his computer where he was pretending to write his English essay but seeing his mom’s cautious expression in his peripheral vision anyway. He didn’t like that she looked at him like he was made of glass that might shatter at any given moment.

“Your father and I are going to go grab some dinner and maybe see a movie. Want to come with us?” She sounded so hopeful and a small, angry part of Ned hated how normal they were trying to make things. Didn’t they understand that his best friend since kindergarten, his only friend other than MJ, was missing and could be… could be…

“No thanks,” he said instead, trying to keep his tone as neutral as possible and pretending not to see the hurt look on his mom’s face when he turned down her offer.

“Okay,” she said, her tone soft with just the barest edge of disapproval. He was just glad that she didn’t try to force him into going but he had a feeling that he was due for another ‘family chat’ soon. “Text me if you want us to bring you something back.”

“Thanks,” Ned mumbled, still not looking up even when his mom let out a sad sigh and left, pulling his door back closed. Ned sniffed and wiped his tired eyes, he had a headache that was brewing and he wanted nothing more than to sleep but he couldn’t. If it was him missing he knew that Peter wouldn’t take any breaks looking for him so Ned couldn’t either. They had to find him.

Hearing the front door shut, Ned closed out of his essay and pulled back up Karen’s systems, still on his computer from the last time he and Peter had hacked into the Spider Suit, and went over the data she had managed to extract from Mr. Stark’s AI, FRIDAY without him knowing or, more likely, without him trying to stop them from taking the info for themselves. It was Tony Stark after all. The data itself was a disappointingly small amount and nothing that really helped point him in any kind of definitive direction. His phone buzzed against the desk, pulling Ned back.

From: MJ

Anything?

Ned rubbed his eyes again, little lights dancing over his vision at the pressure and typed out a quick ‘No’ in response before tossing his phone to the side. Something had to turn up eventually. He just knew it would.

As if summoned, taps sounded on his window and Ned froze, not daring to hope. He waited and the taps sounded again, more incessantly this time, and Ned jumped up from his desk – banging his knee in the process and nearly falling – but making it to the window to unlock it and throw it open. It couldn’t be…

After a week of being missing, Peter fell through to land roughly on the hard wood flooring of Ned’s room.

“Peter,” Ned said, breathless and voice full of emotion as tears pricked his eyes, reaching out a hand to help Peter up and then backing away when his friend flinched violently away from him.

“Sorry,” Peter said, his voice rough as he forced himself to his feet with a disingenuous smile on his face that didn’t reach his eyes. “Sorry.”

Ned narrowed his eyes in concern. Peter was pale, his face thinner than it had been the last time Ned had seen him. He was wearing dirty sweat pants and a shirt that may have been white in a previous lifetime but was now yellowed and dirty. His clothing was covered in rips and tears, bloody skin in various stages of healing peaking through and staining his clothes. His fingers were twitching in time with the tic in his left eyebrow and his eyes were shifting all over the place like he was looking for something.

Worst of all had to be the half broken metal collar with wires poking out around his neck and the clear electrical burns surrounding it.

“We need to call May,” Ned said, rushing to his phone. “We need to call Mr. Stark.”

“No!” Peter said, limping quickly across the room to block Ned from his phone. The hand that touched his was cold and clammy with sweat and Peter was quick to remove it once he realized he was touching Ned. “They can’t see me like this, especially May. You have to help me,” he pleaded.

“Peter,” Ned said sadly as he took in how broken and tired his friend looked. “You need to go to the hospital – I’m not a doctor! I can’t fix all of… this!” He exclaimed, gesturing to all of Peter with an exaggerated movement.

Peter flinched again and crossed his arms across his abdomen, hunching in on himself. “I know,” he said, voice rough and broken. “I know but I don’t want them to see… I don’t…” he made an abortive movement to gesture at the collar. “I almost got it off but I couldn’t… please help.”

“You promise to let me call May and Tony right after?” Ned asked, slowly reaching out to rest his hand on Peter’s shoulder. He wanted to pull him into a hug but he figured that wouldn’t go over too well just yet. Peter nodded hurriedly, some of the tension leaking out of him with Ned’s agreement, and he let himself sink ungracefully to the floor. “Why didn’t you just break it?”

“It uh,” Peter said, squeezing his eyes closed and wetting his lips. “It suppresses my powers.”

“Whoa,” Ned muttered, sitting next to Peter and surveying the collar more closely. Peter twitched his chin down and hunched his shoulders again and Ned just waited for him to relax enough for Ned to get a closer look. The collar was a thick and heavy dull metal and was seated tight enough around Peter’s throat to dig into his skin and chafe; Ned winced sympathetically. The red light on the front was blinking dimly, poking out from a thick black box that Peter had clearly torn into at some point. Peter was uncharacteristically quiet while Ned stared but every muscle in his body was tensed like he was ready to run if necessary. “Can I hug you?” Ned blurted out earnestly making Peter jump a little in surprise.

“I… um you… what?” He asked leaning back so he could look at Ned more fully.

“You look like you need a hug,” Ned told him, reaching his arms up but taking care not to touch Peter. “So can I hug you?”

The nod Peter gave him was wobbly and wooden but, the second Ned wrapped his arms around him and pulled him in, Peter went limp, mashing his face into Ned’s shoulder before letting out a quiet and broken little sob. Peter’s own arms were shaking as they wrapped back around Ned, crying harder and wetting the front of Ned’s shirt with tears.

Ned could feel his heart breaking in his chest but that was overshadowed by a feeling of anger so strong that it nearly turned his vision red. Peter had been his best friend since they were kids. Peter had always been there for him no matter what. Whoever had dared to do this… well Ned didn’t pity what was going to happen to them. In lieu of letting out his frustrations, Ned just pulled Peter in tighter, shushing him and carefully patting his back.

“Sorry,” Peter whispered a few minutes later when he pulled back, using trembling hands to wipe his reddened eyes and chapped cheeks free of tears. “I didn’t mean to break down like that on you,” he said with a humorless laugh.

“Peter…” Ned wanted to tell Peter that he could always break down around Ned if he needed to. Peter was his brother in all but blood – Ned would always be there for him – but Peter shook his head violently to stop him, reaching up to let blood stained fingers brush the collar – his nails ragged and torn down to the quick.

“Please,” he begged, looking like he was barely keeping it together and Ned nodded.

“Okay Pete. I’ll look at it,” Ned reassured, moving his hands slowly up to touch the skin-warmed metal around his friend’s throat. “Does this have a tracker in it? A stun feature?” He tried to keep it professional but Peter still grimaced at the questions.

“I disabled the tracker and the electricity I think,” Peter said. “I just can’t see the mechanism to release it and I just… I need it off. I can’t…” his breathing sped up and Ned gripped his shoulder tightly in solidarity.

“It’ll be okay,” Ned said again, cautiously sorting through the loose wires to look into the black box just under Peter’s chin. “When you said this suppressed your powers did you mean all of them?”

Peter gulped, his Adam’s apple bobbing painfully against the metal as he gave a tiny nod. “All of them,” he confirmed.

“What about your hearing?” Ned pressed, pulling his hands back from the locking mechanism of the collar. Peter frowned at him before paling further at the realization.

“Oh,” he said, reaching both hands up to grip the collar. “My hearing…”

“If I take it off,” Ned cautioned, “and all your senses come back at once…”

“That would be bad,” Peter confirmed. “It would be very bad.”

“I know you don’t want me to,” Ned started, ignoring the way that Peter was shaking his head. “But I really think we should call May and Mr. Stark. They’re worried about you and Mr. Stark has that sensory deprivation room for your overloads.”

“I can’t do that to May,” Peter said firmly. “I already went and got myself kidnapped I can’t put her through this.” His voice was more steady than it had been since he had arrived and Ned felt like rolling his eyes at Peter’s typical self-flagellation.

“Happy then,” Ned suggested, desperate. Peter bit his lip, considering for a second, before nodding his consent prompting Ned to leap for his phone, dialing Happy before Peter could stop him.

“Look Leeds,” Happy grumbled into the phone, the background noise muffling his voice slightly. “I already told you – we’ll call when we know something so just-,”

“Peter’s here,” Ned blurted out, sitting back down next to his friend and pulling him into a half hug that Peter fell into willingly, curling up into Ned’s side. “He’s here. “Whoever had him put this… they… look he doesn’t want May to see him until he’s fixed up some so can you just come get us?” Ned asked following it up with a ‘Please’ as an afterthought.

“The kid’s with you?” Happy asked, sounding like he was running. “Put him on the phone.”

“He wants to talk to you,” Ned said, offering Peter the phone which he, reluctantly, took.

“Hey Happy,” Peter tried for chipper but fell spectacularly short and Ned winced a little. “I’m okay they just put… look I don’t want May to see me like… to see… can you just come get me please?” Peter sounded teary again and Ned plucked the phone from his hand to put back to his own ear.

“You’re coming right?”

“On my way,” Happy confirmed. “Give me eight minutes.” And with that he hung up the phone leaving Ned to drop it into his lap.

“I should probably text MJ,” he told Peter, not making any effort to move. “She’ll be pissed if she’s the last to know,” he joked and Peter snorted.

“Probably,” he agreed, letting his eyes slip closed and his breathing even out.

He needed to text MJ, call his mom and let her know Peter was back and that he was going to visit, pull Peter out into the living room to wait for Happy. But, Ned decided as Peter gripped Ned’s hoodie a little tighter, it could wait for just a few more minutes.

#summerofwhump #summerofwhump17 #Prompt: Collared #irondad #spider man #Summer of Whump 2021

13 notes · View notes

danny-chase · 3 years

Link

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Titans (Comics) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Garth & Dick Grayson, Garth & Donna Troy, Garth & Dick Grayson & Donna Troy Characters: Garth (DCU), Dick Grayson, Donna Troy, Lian Harper Additional Tags: Hurt/Comfort, snuggling and fluff, self indulgent fic, Cuddling, Hypothermia, Canon Typical Violence, Swearing, POV Garth, Fluffy Ending, no beta we die like Garth, Dick Grayson needs to sleep more, Cold Water, inflatable rafts, Garth has the power to make a mini hot tub, Titans, Titans (1999) feels, Blankets Summary:

The one where Garth has to save his idiot best friend from dying of hypothermia. Incredibly self indulgent with many snuggles.

Garth decided that the next time he had a bad feeling about something, to ignore Dick, and say no. It was for his own good.

Then.

One of the best parts of living in Titans Tower was that he could set the temperature of the indoor pool.

It was the middle of February, outside, temperatures had dropped below freezing, but inside the heated water, he was nice and warm. Gliding through, he spun and twirled just for fun. And of course, to show off for his delightful little niece Lian.

“Catch me!” Lian ran off the diving board, a gleeful expression on her face as Garth dove up through the water, snatching her out of midair. He leaned straight back to create a massive splash (not at all enhanced with his powers). All the while keeping Lian completely dry. “Again! Again!” She cried, laughing her head off as he carried her on his shoulders, depositing her on the side.

“One more, then bedtime. Promise?” Lian was tough to bargain with, a real smooth talker – just like her dad. As it was, the precocious little five-year-old titled her head to the side with a frown.

“Hmm. I want two more times.” Two? He’d be getting off lucky, he’d been planning on three.

“Deal.” He immediately replied. Lian padded off towards the board again, carefully walking (they’d told her enough times not to run).

“Lian, sweetie.” Garth turned to see Dick and Donna walking in, in uniform. He frowned; they didn’t have a mission scheduled for tonight. Lian changed course, veering off at Donna’s call.

“Hey, sweetheart.” Dick intercepted, swinging Lian up in his arms into a hug. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head and Lian giggled back. “It’s bedtime for you, little bird.” Her face morphed into a frown.

“But Uncle Garth said-”

“Sorry kiddo, I gotta talk to your uncle Garth.” Dick smiled at her lovingly. “Can you go with Auntie Donna? She’s going to put you to bed with Aunt Toni. Okay?” Garth swam to the edge of the pool, Lian’s lower lip was forming into a defiant pout.

“Sorry, fishsticks, we can do it tomorrow. Three times.” He promised. Somehow, he knew he wouldn’t be getting out of the third round. Fortunately, his luck held, and Lian decided three times tomorrow would be good enough. She nodded, squirming towards Donna.

“Okay.” She replied. Dick passed her over and stuck a hand over the edge of the pool. Garth took it, and they both pulled; he nearly flew out of the water.

“Here.” Donna passed him a towel as she left. “See you in a bit.”

“Bye, fishy.” Lian called as the exited the room, giggling as Donna gave her a little tickle. Lian was such a precious child, Roy was truly blessed to have her.

He turned his attention to Dick. ‘Have you been sleeping?’ is what he wanted to ask; he was paler than usual, and the bags under his eyes were becoming more pronounced (again). But Dick never took to the question kindly, and at this point, Garth had learned to pick his fights. “What’s up?” He asked instead. Dick gestured towards the locker room.

“Quick mission, you, me, and Donna. I’ve been hacking the H.I.V.E.’s servers, they’re receiving an arms shipment tonight in about an hour by boat, you game?” Garth nodded hesitantly, the bad feeling from before returning. The others were busy tonight, they likely wouldn’t have any backup.

“How long did that take you?” He asked nonchalantly. Dick shrugged, but his bloodshot eyes spoke for themselves. Garth repressed a sigh. Fighting Dick Grayson would be counterintuitive, at least if he went, he could keep him out of trouble.

“Meet in the bay in fifteen.” Dick instructed. “Glad to have you on board.” He grinned, and Garth did his best to ignore how unhinged he looked. This was a bad idea.

Now.

“I knew this was a bad idea.” Garth grumbled. Cold wind stung his face, as he ducked another punch from the enhanced guard. Dick finished off the normal guards on the left, and Donna was locked in battle with another meta to his right. Fighting in cramped spaces was never fun.

“Quit whining Gill-for-brains.” Dick teased he’d just finished off the last goon. He turned, chucking a wing-ding into the meta’s palm. The man roared with fury and charged.

It seemed to happen in slow motion, the wind picked up on the rickety little speedboat, Dick stumbled as he dodged, the minute mistake was all the meta needed. Garth ran, but the meta was closer – he didn’t have a chance.

“Shit.” He cursed as he watched Dick tumble off the side of the boat, into frigid waters.

*SPLOOSH*

“Fuck.” Donna muttered next to him. The meta turned back towards him, invigorated by his victory. Garth cursed, he couldn’t leave Donna alone with two of them, Dick would have to wait, but he needed to hurry.

“Fucking asshole!” Garth yelled, anger burning in his chest. He let out a violet blast and kicked the man in the knee. “That was my friend!” The meta swiped at him, but adrenaline was coursing through his veins. Ducking, twisting, turning, blasting, he unleashed a barrage of fury on his opponent. All the while, they sped further and farther away from where Dick went under.

Garth screamed in fury, unleashing a final blast at the man’s head, and finally the man stayed down.

“Go, I’ve got this one.” He was way ahead of her, running to the side of the speeding boat. His muscles burned from exertion, but he pushed through. “I’ll meet you with the copter!”

“Nightwing!” He called, diving off the side. Swimmingly in the opposite direction, he scanned the horizon for motion – damn Dick for making his costume so hard to freaking see against the night. “NIGHTWING!” He repeated, frantically picking up speed.

His pulse pounded in his head, it was cold out, and while he was resilient to the sub-freezing waters, Dick was human. It didn’t matter how well-crafted his suit was, it wasn’t watertight, and in this weather, it wouldn’t take long for hypothermia to set in. The currents were strong, and the boat had been moving fast, it couldn’t have been more than ten minutes since Dick fell in but, he was no where to be seen. Garth tore on, cutting through the choppy waves.

Finally, he caught a spattering of bright yellow on the horizon – a small inflatable raft was tossed about on the rough sea. There was only one hero (okay probably Batman too) that kept a life raft on him. Fear seemed to pierce through his chest as he willed the water to push him forward. “Nightwing!” He called again, surfacing just next to the little vessel.

No response. His chest clenched with anticipation and worry as he carefully placed a hand on the lip of the float. Gingerly, he pulled himself up, careful not to overturn it.

Dick was sprawled on the other side, violently trembling, as one of his arms dangled over the side. His skin had a grayish tone, ice had frozen chunks of his hair. Panic clawed at Garth’s sides. “Dick?” No response. He scrambled across the raft and pulled the shaking figure into his arms. Dick’s eyelids fluttered behind the lenses on his mask.

“-ayy?” He mumbled a string garbled words, weakly squirming as Garth pulled him close to his chest. “-oo ‘ot” He protested, Garth kept his grip firm, and stood, hoisting Dick in his arms and willing water to flood the little raft.

“I got you, Rob. You’re okay.” He murmured into Dick’s hair, the old nickname slipping out, despite the new costume. Shifting Dick over his shoulders, he plunged his left hand into the raft’s water are brought it up to a warm temperature, careful not to make it hot. “You’re going to be okay, just hang on a moment.” He kept his voice steady and soothing, ignoring the anxiety clawing its way up his throat. He had to stay levelheaded, focus on maintaining the water temperature.

He gently lowered Dick into the make-shift bath, keeping an arm wrapped around his torso, securely locking him in place against his chest. He twisted his legs around Dick’s preventing him from kicking around. Using his left hand, he held Dick’s head above water, and carefully melted the ice in his hair. He hummed platitudes in Dick’s ear, and after a few moments, he settled down.

“-arf?” He let out a breath of relief at the acknowledgment.

“You with me?” He gave Dick a gentle squeeze.

“-ere’s ‘ay-on?” He gulped in surprise, he wasn’t sure, but that sounded like Jason. Dick never talked about Jason. “-e ‘kaay? -iing.” Garth ran his hand through Dick’s hair and thanked the gods for the faint sound of a helicopter approaching in the distance.

“You’re all right, love, everything’s fine.” He assured, willing Donna to speed up. “Keep still.” Dick was squirming again, but in his current condition it was a fruitless endeavor. He warmed the water slightly, bringing it back up to temperature. Dick’s head lolled against his chest. “Stay awake.”

“’ired.” Dick complained. Concern tugged at his insides.

“I know, buddy, it’s okay, you gotta keep your eyes open for me, alright?” Dick mumbled in acknowledgement. They sat in silence for a moment, tremors wracking Dick’s small frame. Humans were so tiny. “How are you feeling?”

“’s hot.” Dick wriggled, trying to pull out of the warm water, again Garth just gently restrained him.

“Sorry, big brain, you gotta stay put.”

Dick began mumbling again, Garth only caught the word “skiing” from the gibberish. The wings of the Titan’s helicopter drowned out whatever it was Dick was trying to say. Donna swooped down moments later, scooping them both up, and carrying them up to the small cabin.

“Great Hera.” She shook her head, fretting as she unzipped Dick’s suit. Garth quickly discarded his wet clothes, vigorously toweling off before hopping in a spare set of pants from a bin they kept in the back. He yanked out boxers and sweatpants for Dick.

“He’s not making sense.” Garth advised, tossing the clothes onto a nearby seat. Dick swayed on the spot as Donna removed the top half of his drenched suit, and Garth quickly made his way over, placing an arm on his side to keep him upright.

“Well, that’s what happens when you decide to go swimming in Febuary.” Donna rolled her eyes, but her tone was worried. “You won’t do that again, will you?” Dick’s teeth chattered as he stared past her in response. Garth grabbed a towel and wrapped it around his torso, swapping places with Donna to take off the bottom.

“The things we do for love.” Donna said wryly, passing him dry clothes. She started toweling off Dick’s hair, as Garth gently patted down his legs with another towel.

“-ing on?” Dick muttered. “onna?” Garth guided his feet into the pants and pulled them up.

“I’m right here, sweetheart.” Donna pressed a kiss to his temple.

“Alright, almost good as new.” He grabbed a blanket off the dash. “Donna, care to join?” She grabbed a second blanket, and the two of them half carried a stumbling Dick Grayson to the cot in the back.

“I’ll have to take over when we land, but we should be good on autopilot for now.” They threw the blankets over the group, sandwiching Dick in the middle. Garth breathed a sigh of relief, slipping his arms around Dick’s torso and pulling their chests together, making skin-to-skin contact. Donna shuffled closer, scooping his legs together and curling around them, leaning her head against Garth’s side. He leaned back against the wall, together they made a little cocoon of warmth, his naturally high body temperature easily heating their little nest under the blankets.

“Methinks, we should take a vacation. Somewhere warm.” He suggested, contentedly cuddling Dick close to his chest, the anxiety of the last hour dying down at last. Donna snorted next to him.

“You remember our last ‘vacation’?” She asked sarcastically. Garth nodded. A disastrous trip to a remote island, plagued with storms and infighting, the latter of which was caused by a villain with a grudge. With a specific dislike of their shivering friend.

“Dick thinks it’s a good idea, don’t you?”

“Mm?”

“Close enough, I’m taking it as a yes.” Donna laughed; warm air tickled his arm.

“Shall we go to the Grand Canyon?” She teased.

“No.” Dick stated, catching them both off guard. “Garth is a fiiiish.” Even delirious, at least Dick understood Garth plus hot, dry climate equals a bad idea.

“Well, he’s not wrong. I am a fish.” Garth grinned. “We could go to another island. With more houses.” He suggested.

“’ruce hass a islaand.” Dick noted. Of course Batman owned an island. Though, he wasn’t sure if he wanted to go to an island Bruce had bought.

“Okay, that sounded like an endorsement. Boy blunder, are you sure you’re feeling okay?” Donna put a hand on his forehead, brushing his bangs to the side.

“’m fineee.” Ah, yes. Dick Grayson; the pinnacle of good health.

“See, he’s fine Donna, sheesh, what are you getting so worked up for? The man wants his vacation.” Donna rolled her eyes.

“He’ll kill us if we drag him on vacation.” She muttered. Though, in his current state, that was highly unlikely.

“Donna, I’ll kill him if he tries to get out of bed for the next two days.” He assured. Dick would be a nightmare to deal with, but on the bright side, he’d been scheduled to babysit the next few days, and Lian would love another friend to join in watching My Little Pony and Barbie movies.

“Agreed.” Donna noted.

“Dooon’t, kill meee.” Dick squirmed again.

“Dick, Garth won’t hurt him, he doesn’t have it in him.” She knocked her head against his shoulder. “He’s a big old softie.”

“Heee’s fiiishy.” Dick agreed, relaxing back into his arms.

“Okay, no one let him near Lian.” Garth joked, taking Dick’s hands in his. Color seemed to be returning to the surface of his skin. He pressed the side of his face to Dick’s ear, nestling his head back against his chest.

“Youuur warm.” Dick let out a long yawn, sending shivers down Garth’s spine.

“A yes, another brilliant deduction from the Boy Wonder, Wondergirl, how does he do it?” Garth teased. He felt almost giddy now that Dick was in better shape than before. They’d still need to be careful, but the stress of the situation was slowly leaving him as they snuggled together.

“It’s his big head, it makes space for his big brain.” He laughed at Donna’s remark and pressed a kiss to the top of Dick’s head. It was a big brain, but a dumb one sometimes too. The conversation hit a lull, and they sat there, in silent companionship with one another.

After a while, Donna passed him Dick’s legs. “I’ve gotta to land, take care of bird-brain.”

“Tweet.” Dick commented as she left. Garth wheezed to stifle laughter.

“You think you’re cute, don’t you?” Donna called from the front.

“Am.” Dick muttered.

“Can’t argue with that.” Garth asserted, tucking his legs up underneath Dick’s. As they neared the landing pad, he breathed yet another sigh of relief. He wasn’t thrilled with the state of events, but they’d been lucky tonight. He wouldn’t be attending another funeral tomorrow. Dick’s heart was steadily beating, his breath seeming to get easier with each passing moment. As they landed in the bay, Garth decided, that for tonight, that would have to be enough.

#my writing #i've written a fanfic so self indulgent you wouldn't believe #Dick and Garth deserve to snuggle #as does Donna #the fab five should snuggle more #garth of shayeris #dick grayson #donna troy #lian harper

13 notes · View notes

nade2308 · 3 years

Note

Whump drabbles — Separated for Mac & Jack ☺️

Hope this one is good ;)

Alina Chernyshevsky was a Russian scientist working at a lab in LA, on a scholarship who was kidnapped by a rogue crime group almost a week ago. The Phoenix was tasked with recovering her and capturing any of the members of the group they could find. It turned out that the son of a banker, the daughter of a businessman and the brother and sister, the kids of one of the most powerful Romanian crime groups had one thing in common. They wanted to get out from under the shadow that their parents put them in. So they formed their own union, and thanks to the ties Andrei Bogdan, their leader, had from his father's world, they quickly made their way up in the underground dark world. Climbing up the ladders, they did the odd jobs here and there, hits on important people for hire, and it was based on their combined knowledge of the finances, the system and the law, that they stayed undetected and under the radar for so long. Until Alina discovered some sample or another in the lab that was brought for testing and she made herself a target and was kidnapped in broad daylight.

When the search for her didn't yield results, the team stepped in to try and find her. And if their intel and the search that Riley did on the dark web was correct, they were on their way to rescue her.

Mac and Jack split up to cover more ground while Riley provided tech support from the van as a TAC team was securing the place.

It happened all of a sudden. Mac found Alina. She was locked in a room with a see-through door and there was someone inside the room with her. It looked a lot like Andrei and Mac had a split of the second to decide what to do before someone put a gun to his neck and punched the digits to the lock. The door opened with a whoosh, sliding to the left and Andrei approached Mac and whoever was pointing a gun at him.

“Well, well, well, look what the cat dragged in. Who are you and what are you doing on my premises?”

Mac stared at Andrei. At 6'2'' he was taller than Mac and bulkier, so he towered easily over him. But Mac held his ground and the guy's look. He wasn't going to give in to the fear.

“You must be here for our beautiful friend here, no? I doubt you got lost out here by yourself… Tell me, pretty boy, is there someone else with you here?”

Mac tried not to flinch at the pretty boy comment, but was unsuccessful.

Andrei noticed.

“Aww, don't tell me no one has called you pretty before… because you are. Now, where were we. Ah, our friend. I assume you are here for her?”

Mac still didn't say a word and watched with a bored look. At least he hoped it looked bored.

“I've been into business since before you were born, boy, so I suggest you start talking. Or I'll make you talk.”

The suggestive once over Andrei gave him made Mac feel nauseated. The indication of how exactly Andrei planned to make him talk…

“If you won't talk, I will continue talking with my friend Alina here. Sonja, take him to another holding cell.”

Those last words were spoken on Romanian and thanks to Mac learning a brief and short course in Romanian he was able to understand.

"Wait. Wait. I… I'm here to trade myself for her. Our government wants her. And they are willing to make the exchange. Me for her."

Mac could see Alina's surprise. It wasn't like she knew that he was bluffing, but if he could get her out… then maybe Jack was right behind him to help. Mac could do that. He could stall.

Andrei seemed to consider the trade and then he nodded and motioned for the guy… or rather the woman who was holding him at gunpoint, to grab Alina.

"Very well, you will get what you want. You in exchange for her. Now that she is out of our way… what are you offering in return?"

Mac gulped. This wasn't part of the plan. He was supposed to get her out and then… then what?

Think, genius, think!

Where was Jack?

As if on cue there were sounds outside in the hall of flesh hitting flesh and Mac sighed in relief. But it was short lived because before he knew what was happening, Andrei was shoving a butterfly knife to his side.

"As much as I like to have fun with you, I'm sure you'll prove yourself quite useful…" Andrei let his gaze linger on Mac's body, driving the knife deeper, "I must go. La revedere, dragul meu."

In a flash, Andrei was gone and the door closed behind him. Mac realized what was going to happen when he saw Andrei use the same knife he stabbed him with, to jam the key code panel and thus effectively locking him inside.

He looked at the wound in his side, it was deep and already soaked the side of his shirt and jeans. Wearing white shirt didn't work well with the blood, and Mac knew Jack would panic when he saw it.

Mac pressed against the wound with both hands, as hard as he could. It stung and it hurt, making him yelp and twist in pain.

He heard footsteps and could see that Riley and Jack were coming to him.

Riley was the one who saw him first and she couldn't hold the gasp that escaped her lips. That in turn alerted Jack who was staring at the ruined panel. And then Jack saw him.

…

There were so many times Jack got scared for his life early into getting in the Army and then the CIA. But as time went by and he saw close combat, came in touch with death and cheated it, he became sort of immune to all the talk about mortality and death and most of all fear. He made peace with himself that at one point he'd die, sooner rather than later. But that didn't make it any easier when he acquired the kids. He was in a desperate need to stay alive. He wanted to be there for them, and dying would defy that purpose.

Right now the bone deep fear he felt was not for himself, but for Mac, who was bleeding from somewhere in the general direction of his left side. If Jack had to guess, it was from a stab wound.

Currently he stared daggers at the little knife standing out of the ruined panel. Mac was locked in. And Jack didn't know how to get in.

"Jack…" Mac gasped then and Jack's attention got diverted to Mac.

"Hey, Mac."

"I'm sorry…"

"What are you sorry for?"

"For getting stabbed."

Jack felt a stab of fear go through his heart at those words.

"Oh kiddo, it's okay. Not your fault. We'll get you out."

Jack could see that Mac wasn't convinced of it, but Jack had to make sure Mac didn't lose hope. They would find a way out.

Jack already checked the door and while it looked like it was made of glass, Jack had seen enough to know it was reinforced, and he didn't want to risk putting a hole in Mac while trying to shoot at the glass.

The panel was jammed, and even if Jack pulled the knife out, the circuit board was shot to hell. At least, Jack thought so.

Riley was typing on her laptop furiously fast and Jack could see that she was just as worried for Mac as Jack was. With the corner of his eye, Jack noticed that Mac was now sitting on the floor, head leaned against the glass door. The shirt was soaked now and Jack wanted to scream.

"Hey, Mac, talk to me buddy? How is it looking?"

"I'll live. I hope."

Jack cringed at the sound of those words, but Mac wasn't far off how it looked, so for him to say that… Jack figured that it must feel even worse than it looked.

"It's going to be okay. We're working on getting you out. Ri?"

"I can't hack this Jack. I am trying to access it remotely, but the knife must have hit the main motherboard. Sorry."

Riley sounded dejected, but Jack refused to give up.

"How long till we get a team to get those guys into custody?"

"Thirty minutes."

"Get me the closest hospital and tell Matty to clear things with them. We need them to have someone on standby for when we get Mac out."

"Jack…"

"Yes, buddy."

"It hurts…"

Jack hated to see how Mac looked even paler than he was. What he hated even more was that greyish tint his skin was getting. They really had to get him out of there.

"Look at me, bud. Mac?"

Mac took a few seconds too long to look at Jack and Jack did the first thing his heart told him to. He put his palm up against the glass, and waited until Mac got his palm mimicking Jack's.

"I know I'm not there with you, but I'm here, boss. I'm here. I ain't goin' anywhere until you get out of there, okay?"

Mac nodded, getting weaker.

Jack took a look around the room and except for two chairs and some ropes that were lying haphazardly Mac was the only thing or person inside. He was out of commission for the time being. Until something came to Jack.

"Hey, Mac?"

"Mhm?"

"Remember when Patty locked you in the interrogation room for your own safety. When Murdoc was hired to take you out?"

"I do."

"You think we can try and do the same thing here? With the code and the wires?"

Jack could see Mac lifting his head slowly. He had both his hands pressed against the wound now and Jack was left staring at the bloody imprint where Mac's hand was before. But Mac seemed to perk up at the mention of a possible plan. Nevermind how far-fetched it sounded or how it may not even work… Jack was desperate enough to try.

"I… I don't know if there's enough circuit connected to the wires… To the wires."

Mac sounded winded, and that last part was whispered before he said it louder, and that was all the motivation Jack needed to go through with this plan.

"It's worth a try. Did you see the combination on your way in?"

Mac nodded and as Jack worked around in trying to locate the wires and pry the cables off of the secured posts, Mac did that on his end as well. Thankfully they didn't take his SAK or paperclips, so with a little bit of a push, they both started working on the wires.

When five minutes later the door opened with a whoosh and Jack rushed to get to Mac, it was all the relief he could feel before he had an armful of his kid, unconscious.

Jack looked up and pleaded for one more miracle.

…

Mac slowly came to the beeping of monitors and the standard hospital smell of disinfectant, meds and industrial bleach cleaner. Not to mention the scratchy gown and the crinkle of the pillow under his head.

He slowly raised his hand that wasn't connected to an IV to touch his face and found he had a nasal cannula attached. There was something warm around his other hand and with a little bit of effort he turned his head and found Jack holding his hand, and sleeping with his head propped on his forearm.

Mac was too tired to keep his eyes open so he gently squeezed Jack's hand and went back to sleep.

The next few times he woke up were a mix of doctors and nurses asking him questions, his vitals being taken, and after the third time he actually managed to stay awake for longer, they decided to transfer him to a regular room.

Jack was there every step of the way, fussing over him, adjusting the pillows just as Mac wanted them, pulling the blanket higher, and generally just being a fussy parent.

Mac took it because he knew how worried Jack was and Mac secretly loved when Jack fussed over him.

Once the doctor left the room, Jack took his usual place at Mac's bedside and Mac relaxed more in the fluffed up pillows.

"Hey, it's good to have you back, sleepy head."

"It's good to be back." Mac grinned.

"Oh, they've got you on the good drugs, huh? You are grinning."

"Maybe I'm just a little bit high."

"Only maybe a little?"

Mac burst in a fit of giggles and it took him a while to get himself under control.

"You scared me, kid. Don't do this to me again, okay?"

Mac solemnly nodded, fully knowing he'd do it again. But it was all he could offer to Jack now. And it was enough for them both.

#100 drabble challenge #drabble #writing #my writing #my fic #fan fic #prompt number 98 #separated #stabbing #blood #Mac whump #angus macgyver #jack dalton #macgyver #macgyver 2016

22 notes · View notes

rachywritessomething · 3 years

Text

Part 1

Sava didn’t like the desert.

She knew she wasn’t made for it. It was too bright and even as the world slowly turned itself to something cooler and not quite so unforgiving, the desert was still too harsh for even a creature like herself. Yet she had no desire for anything, so she followed Leo as he went digging in the sand with the rest of the caravan, their numbers searching for something of the world before.

It wasn’t all bad. Sava had only to sit on the ruins of some wall and keep her bloody eyes out for anything that could hurt Leo. There were lots of things that could hurt the little man: the crawlers in the sand, the stones of the walls at risk of falling, even thieves and other treasure hunters. The last of which rarely dared pass a second glance at the man when they realized who was casting a shadow over him.

Or rather, what.

Sava knew people didn’t like her. It had been something she had grown to accept as the years drug on. In this century at least she could keep enough memory to be mindful of the things they hated most about her. They didn’t like her bloody eyes, they didn’t like her cold skin -though that was becoming ever warmer by the decade- and they didn’t like her imposing size. One of Leo’s forefathers had once explained that she was made to be large, towering, and terrible, it was what gave her purpose.

At least she could remember things now. Many memories of her first years were only of her maker calling her by name and laughing.

Leo didn’t look like her maker. He was a spindly man who was far too gentle for making abominations. But just as his ancestor, he kept her around for protection and used her when ugly things had to be done. Sava wasn’t sure if she hated the man. There was a word an elf once used toward her… contempt, yes. Perhaps she felt contempt for Leo.

It didn’t matter though. She did not want to leave any more than she wanted to stay, so she remained where she was, obedient and becoming ever more intelligent with every new generation of charges.

“Sava, come down.”

The spindly man waved at her from the bottom of the trench. The diggers around him barreled the sand away from the hole they were forming so they could search for… what was it they were looking for? She wasn’t sure they had ever told her what it was and the more she considered it, the more sense it made to her that they wouldn’t have. The thought that she had not forgotten something but rather made an assumption almost made her smile. I’m learning...

Sava pushed herself off the high wall and fell thirty feet to the bottom of the trench, landing in a crouch that split the knees of her canvas pants. The barrel pushers parted for her as she walked over to Leo.

“I need you to go into the cavern,” he said, looking up at her through squinted eyes. His were the sort of dark that would do well in the garish light, probably the kind eyes that had come with her original form before they were damaged and bloodied. The thought of having beautiful, dark eyes like that had been a fleeting fantasy of hers, fleeting only because she realized that she did have those eyes, she would not be able to see them as often.

Sava looked beyond the man though, along the trench and to the place where the barrel pushers appeared to be ascending from. Then she looked back to him.

“What for?” There were many long years of dumb silence behind her that made the rattle of her own voice in her chest feel pleasent. It was hard to form many words at once, but she supposed in another century, she would be able to speak in long, poetic phrases and prattle until her voice faded.

“It smells like shit down there and no one else will do it,” Leo said impatiently. “You don’t have much of a nose for that kind of thing anyway.”

Sava flared her nostrils. “Like shit?”

“Not actual shit. It’s something else but it’s bad.” Leo grabbed her arm and pulled her in the direction of the chasm, parting even more of the barrel pushers. Sava watched them, feeling something close to satisfaction at watching them hurry past her out of fear.

The pit was more orderly than Sava had anticipated. There was a ramp spiraling down into the shadowy place, completely taken up by the workers and they would not have enough space to avoid her.

“Smells fine to me,” Sava said.

“Not this.” Leo gestured into the chasm impatiently. “The tunnel at the bottom. Go down and make sure nothing’s dying in there.”

Sava studied him, looking for a fear that would alert her to how cautious she should be. Not that Leo was the best human to gauge; his instinct was not as heightened as some of his ancestors. “Dying things can smell like shit.”

“Will you hurry up?”

Sava shrugged and checked her belt for the dagger before ruffling her human’s hair. “I will find the dying thing,” she promised before leaping into the pit.

This distance was jarring but Sava rolled on impact, settling on her hands and knees and peering into the tunnel, leading down into the bowels of the earth. Several excavators stood at the entry, and all of them stared at her with mixed expressions of fear, hatred, and disgust.

Sava stood and strode past them, ducking as she stepped into the tunnel. The small gathering took a step back, widening away from her as if she was the one who emitted the foul stench. Something was rotting though, and it was something she was only dimly familiar with.

One thing Sava realized about humans was their utter reliance on their eyesight. She herself was guilty of it often though she had plenty of other perfectly capable senses. She did not need a light in the dark because she could hear the length of the hallway by the way her breath echoed, she could feel the tremors of the solid stone under the soles of her boots, she could taste the age of a place untouched by the outside until today.

And she could smell a dying thing.

There was a difference between the dead and dying, though she had trouble distinguishing exactly what it was.

The tunnel angled downward, becoming ever more musky and untouched. Dust moved under her feet.

The stench reached that undeniable closeness when the corridor opened into a room. Sava stepped down three steps and into a circular chamber. Her eyes, growing used to the dark, made out the faint outlines of drawings on the walls. They, like the stench, were oddly familiar, and she brushed her hand over the wall until she found what she was looking for. Her fingers fell over a switch and flipped it up almost out of instinct.

Nothing happened.

Sava shrugged and stepped into the room, her eyes making out the details of a desk or a box in the middle, as if it was on display. It rose as high as her hips and was easily seven feet long, its width half that. When she ran her fingers over it, she found it was cold metal beneath a thick, sticky layer of dust.

She crouched down, wrinkling her nose at the stench, and felt the side of the structure until she found a small lip. It was almost perfect, but age and use had made it a little more evident. A little more searching and she found the partial curve of hinges.

Sava had found that with her retention of memory and the ability to accumulate knowledge was the occasional bout of curiosity. It was a very human sensation and it was one that led men to peril more often than reward, but still it was a powerful magic and as such, she gave into it when it came about. It was not just an investigative obligation, but a desire to throw herself into the perilous unknown.

It took no deliberation for her to round the box and fling it open.

The stench that had been pungent before hit her, choking her and making her reel back, gagging. Her eyes watered to the point of blindness and she hunched over, her body threatening to retch up the flavorless rations Leo had given her.

When she had enough bearing to stand up straight, she approached the box and peered into it, holding her breath. What she had expected before was a dying thing, what she knew awaited her was the decay after death. What she saw was neither.

The thing inside the box was decaying, her nose assured her of that much, but the lines of its form quivered like a child in the snow.

Sava leaned in, still saving her breath. The creature was… breathing.

Her hand wandered to the hilt of her dagger. “Do you live?”

From the box, bright, red eyes appeared, as deep as the color of blood. Before Sava could draw back, something grabbed her by the throat and pulled her down with considerable strength. It took the sheer will of her arms on the side of the box to hold herself away from the decaying thing, her dagger forgotten.

“Do you live?” It’s ragged voice came as nothing more than stirred. Sava wrenched herself away, clattering to the floor and breathing the horrid stench hard as her mind struggled for blood. She ripped the dagger from her sheath.

And the creature rose from the box, its eyes still glowing, narrowed, fixed on her. “Do you live?” it rasped again.

Sava pushed herself to her feet and stepped back, putting a safer distance between herself and this rotting thing. “I live,” she growled, raising her dagger threateningly. “More than you.”

It let out a shriek that reverberated off the walls and those red eyes flew closer. Sava managed to catch the slimy wrist before a hand could wrap around her throat again and swung the creature into the wall.

It crumpled and growled, glowing eyes still fixed on her. She raised her dagger again. “Do not make me kill you, dead thing.”

It lunged again, tackling her. Her dagger found its way into the thing’s stomach and something oozed over her hand, like sludge. Before it could bite at her throat, she caught its neck and squeezed, making it hack over her.

“Do not make me kill you!”

“Die, brother!” Its strangled words caught her off guard for just a moment, but before the decaying thing could do anything, Sava wrenched her hand up, disemboweling the creature on top of her.

Its red eyes stared at her for a moment, still wide with fury but without any indication of registering pain. Then they dimmed and the creature collapsed on her, still twitching and breathing.

“Release yourself, brother.” Sava threw the body off her and wrenched the dagger away only to drive it into one of those dimmed eyes. In the dark, it seemed to smile at her. So she pulled out her dagger again and turned it to the serrated side, laying it over the throat of the creature. “Do not call me brother,” she spat in sudden anger.

“We are brothers,” the creature whispered. “They just got you right.”

Sava found a fistfull of hair and drew the knife across the creature’s jugular, spraying blood. For a moment, it seemed it was laughing but it stopped as she used her blade to sever its neck.

Sava hefted the decapitated head up, staring into its gaping maw. “I am no brother to you,” she sneered as she stood. It was so very human to insist upon the last word but these days she felt like she was almost as human as any one of them pulled from a woman’s womb. Certainly more than this decaying thing.

She wiped her dagger on her canvas pants and resheathed it before walking out of the cave, surprised that she felt somewhat shaken by the encounter. Fear was a fun emotion to have sometimes, especially when it was unfounded.

In the welcome light of the sun, the diggers parted from her, some even running to evade her path. Now, more than before, they were horrified by her and some even screamed and retched at the sight of her.

Sava did not care. She walked around the long path out of the pit, pushing past anyone who could not smell her in time to dart ahead.

When she emerged into the main trench under the wall, she met Leo’s eyes, wide with shock and fear. It was strange; she had never known Leo to fear her though she supposed wearing the rotting insides of a monster made her more unpleasant than usual.

Sava tossed the head to Leo’s feet, watching with some interest as it rolled. It did look human in the light, but pale and it’s open eyes were as redder than the blood that oozed from its stump of a neck which was closer to black sludge than anything else.

“I found your dying thing,” Sava said, pointing to the head.

Leo’s face turned red and his teeth were clenched in anger. “Why did you bring it here?”

“I left the rest of the body in the chamber,” she assured him. “But it shouldn’t harm you.” Sava stepped as if the pat the spindly man’s shoulder, but he wriggled away before she could step into reach with all the elegance of a decapitated snake. She shrugged and walked along the trench.

#Untitled WIP #what do you get when the monster is starting to become more human?#am writing #wirtblr #fantasy #monster #tw gore #after the dark below

10 notes · View notes

mementomori-demimonde · 3 years

Text

Hidden Scars

I - II - III - IV - V - VI - VII - VIII

Chapter 9

You still don’t know why you’re doing this, but she asked; Miranda woke up that morning, came into your room, and asked.

Willing to keep your part of the unspoken bargain, you agreed. It’s another of her tests, but it’s totally consensual: everyone’s happy. More or less.

You’re tied up to a kitchen chair, inside the vault that kept your prisoner for so long. You’re afraid that this might be doing with you making too much noise - will she get you to scream? - or with the fact that the floor has grates that lead somewhere, which are made especially to get rid of stuff and easing the task of cleaning any eventual mess.

Even if you know that the cable ties around your wrists, secured to the back of your chair, won’t buckle, you pull at them ineffectively, wincing at the dull sounds of the metallic legs squeaking against the grates as the chair jerks with your movements. Your ankles are bound too, leaving you at her mercy, only feignedly protected by your nightshirt and leggings - she’s left you barefoot, so the pattern of the grates is already printing itself on the soles of your feet.

Despite the uncomfortable position, you’re oddly relaxed with her fingers carding through your hair, readjusting them to her likes, away from your face, leaving you even more exposed.

When she seems satisfied, she walks slowly from your peripheral to occupy your whole field of vision and you can’t help feeling the thrill crawling up your spine as you take her in: the leather coat reaching her boots, black gloves of the same material, no make-up and a butterfly clip holding her hair back.

Her blue eyes, incredibly bright under the neons, are boring into you when she reaches into her pocket and fishes out her knife.

Click, shuffle, the blade glimmers for a second. It’s been a while since you’ve seen her holding her knife, probably since she gave you the scar.

Unconsciously, you try to move your shoulder, your muscles protesting at the failed attempt.

Teeth bare, she grins at you. Feral, like always, there’s something comforting in knowing it’s something you’ve agreed on after she asked you. Well, not exactly asked: she informed you and you agreed. But it doesn’t matter now, besides, it’s all worth it to see that faint twitch of pride in her eyes, more evident now that she leans into you, and you hiss slightly at the coldness of her knife when she presses it to your neck. It pricks.

“Let’s start, shall we?” Her voice is like honey and, still, there’s harshness in her words.

She’s playing the villain now, one of her enemies, one of those people belonging to the world she’s trying to get you ready for… and despite you know it’s Miranda, there’s something about her that makes you think she’s playing the part perfectly. Maybe she’s even used to play the monster when she needs it - it wouldn’t have come as a surprise, after all.

Even if you don’t need to, you nod once, granting her the permission she didn’t ask, not this time. You’ve agreed to participate, now that you are here, you cannot decide when and if to stop anymore.

Her gloved fingers are cool when they graze on your cheek.

“A few days ago, you hacked a secret account.” Just like a siren’s call, her sweet voice beckons recent memories.

In a flash, you see yourself typing strings of codes, your body shaking as you sweat profusely, your body balanced between pleasure and pain while your mind struggles to keep focused. Miranda is everywhere inside you, cruel with her actions and merciful with her words as she praises you for the good work you’re doing. After what looks like an eternity, you can fulfill the task, pass her test: the account has been successfully hacked, you changed the password and it’s now yours to do as you like. You remember that moment, when she allowed you to take your reward. You remember that password as she made you chant it over and over again until all the waves subdued.

Miranda taps her fingers on your cheek. It’s not a proper slap, but the leather makes a strange noise against your skin and your face starts to sting in anticipation, just as if she’s struck you for real already.

“I want to know the password.” She demands.

Drawing a small breath, you raise your chin and shake your head.

This time, the slap comes loud and clear. It stings on your cheek and echoes through your ears; out of instinct, you tug at your restriction to press a palm on your cheek to soothe the pain, but it’s useless, since your hands are bound.

Miranda askes again, but you don’t falter. You shut your eyes tight when tears start to gather in your eyes after the fourth - or the fifth? - slap. Honestly, you’ve lost count, the throb webbing in your body, the muscles in your neck plucked for the sudden jerks of your head being forced to abruptly turn right and left, sometimes even in rapid succession when she strikes you twice.

The knife has remained a phony threat against your throat. She presses in while you breathe hard, your whole face aflame, scratches your skin, and then retrieves it.

When you dare to crack an eye open, she’s hovering above you, a smirk on her lips. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say she’s impressed, but you wouldn’t go that far - maybe pleased might be the closest definition.

Her gloved thumbs run across your cheekbones gathering the moisture at the corner of your eyes and, when she withdraws, she hums, rubbing her finger together until all the remains of your tears have completely evaporated.

Miranda straightens her back, her blue eyes never leaving yours.

Click, shuffle, she puts her knife back into her pocket.

From her other pocket, she fishes out something else: a small object that has your frown as you try to understand what it is. Gracefully, she holds it between her thumb and middle fingers in front of your eyes to let you look.

“You know what it is?”

Swallowing, you nod unevenly, your mind running wild as you try to guess what is she going to do with that rather than what it is. Your head is startling blank.

“It’s, uh, a nine-volt battery?”

Miranda bares her teeth into an appreciative grin.

“Good girl.” She praises, and the mirth in her voice has the power to make a shiver crawl up your spine and, at the same time, an improper heat pool low in your stomach. “Except that it isn’t.”

She throws the little object in the air and catches it in her fist, hiding it from your sight when she starts to pace around you, her boots making noise against the grates on the floor.

“This is not a common nine-volt battery, you see? This one is more fun.” She snaps her teeth dangerously close to your ear, making you jerk. When she returns, towering and dangerous when she stands in front of you, she’s holding again the battery between her fingers, fidgeting with it without much care, and yet, all your attention is drawn to it.

When she stops and stares down at you, the intensity of those blue eyes makes all the blood drain from your body. Miranda leans into you, her warm breath tickling your lips.

“Stick out your tongue for me now, would you?”

Your lips part by their own volition.

Your gaze helplessly locked in hers, your timidly push your tongue past the crack of your mouth, and even before you try to brace yourself and get ready for the incoming pain, your eyes are tightly shut.

“Fuck!” You shout behind clenched teeth, the electrical discharge running through your body like billions of sharp needles pulling at every muscle, plucking every tendon until you’re a shuddering mess.

It lasts a few instants, but it’s enough to leave you panting and exhausted, all your body growing heavy and falling limp into the chair when the tension ebbs away.

“What is the password.” She asks again, her voice low, controlled.

For a split second, the idea of just revealing to her the sequence of numbers and codes crosses your mind, but when would your promises go? Where would your pride go? You would be weak to her eyes as well as your own: this is part of her training, something you agreed on, and it’s your duty to indulge her.

The delay, however, is not at all welcomed: b efore you can even think about her next move, her hand wraps around your throat and squeezes, the sudden movement forcing you to open your mouth into a silent cry, and your tongue, in a natural reflex, falls out and into the battery clip.

Miranda knows when to release your neck and massage the soreness away with her leather glove; she knows for how much time she needs to let go in order to let you regain enough air in your lungs to play with you more, squeezing against your windpipes to have your tongue exposed and vulnerable and at her mercy as she pleases. Miranda keeps asking for the password, and despite the pain coursing through your body, despite the confusion settling in your brain, you’re determined not to tell her anything.

It’s difficult. There are tears streaming incessantly down your face now, gathering on your chin, big drops falling into your lap as you squirm and whine. At every electrical discharge, you think about just saying something, if only to make her stop, or to have a break - perhaps only a number, or a letter, if the first one is in capital or not - but just when you’re about to say something, you bite the inside of your own cheek, remind yourself to be strong.

And yet, for how long? Miranda is not tired, you can see by the shimmer in her eyes she’s almost enjoying this game, the sadist in her delighting in your suffering while she deliberately tortures you in the name of some sick experiment that needs to pass as training.

You’re about to break. Your tongue has gone numb by now, and it still hurts: the pain spreading into your head, your chest, the furthest parts of your body.

“Oh, no need to cry.” Her voice is saccharine when she talks to you and tuts soothingly, her smile broad and all mirth when she wipes your cheeks with the back of her hand, the leather rough against your skin.

You draw a shaky breath, your eyes dropping on the altered battery still gripped between her fingers. Miranda softens her expression now, but you know better than to believe she’s about to show any mercy: if anything, now that you’re close to giving in, she’ll only make things more interesting, toying deliberately with your strained brain.

“Let’s try with something simple then, shall we?” She straightens her back, her free hand resting on her hip as she watches you.

The hand that holds the battery swings almost carelessly by her side, but you know what’s there, you know the threat, you know the pain it can cause, when held between her fingers.

When she lifts her eyebrows questioningly, you know she’s waiting for an answer. Maybe just to check if you’re still receptive, maybe to make you think she’s really trying to be merciful - is she?

Not trusting your voice, you decide to nod, but a small whimper escapes your lips anyway.

“The name of the previous owner of that account.”

Your frown, wondering if she’s really asking you to reveal her own name. Of course, she’s playing someone else right now, but the request still has you puzzled: something’s not right.

“It’s harmless information, you can tell that to spare you some pain- to give yourself a break.”

It is part of the training? Is she testing your strength? Is she teaching you something really useful? There’s no way to tell for sure. You could try with some fake information?

“Come on, spill it.” Miranda urges and you swallow sand when you see her fiddling nervously with the battery, making it spin around her gloved fingers without looking, as a croupier would to with a coin or a fiche, as she uses to play with her knife - a constant threat, a constant game, impossible to tell the difference between the two. “How bad can it be?”

She’s insisting too much, so you decide it’s a test. She’s pushing and pushing hoping to see you crack. Clenching your jaw, you shake your head.

“I- won't.” You croak, your throat sore like the rest of your body, and incredibly dry.

She stops fidgeting with the battery abruptly. Her eyes are narrowed, the tip of her tongue resting on the upper row of her teeth as if she’s debating something with herself; then, she smiles, a grin that it’s all teeth and sick delight as her eyes glimmer and bear into you.

“You hesitated.” She states, and she makes it sound like it’s a good thing, like she’s glad that you did.

“I did not!” You protest, grimacing when the slight raise of your voice, the urgency in it, reminds you of the soreness that has settled there.

“You did.” She insists. “You thought about saying something.”

You struggle to swallow, you struggle to even breathe. It’s upsetting, to say the least, how she seems to be aware of everything that’s going on out and inside of you, even before you’ve made peace with your brain and decided what to do. Miranda is always ahead, she’s always prepared: like the most skilled poker player, she knows exactly where and how to strike.

There’s no room for hiding.

“I- maybe I’d told a lie.” You confess, wondering if she’ll accept your idea well.

Miranda stared down at you, unwavering; maybe she’ll strike, maybe she’ll nod and have mercy, after all, for not revealing anything secret nor potentially dangerous.

“And you would be such a good girl, right? Not telling the bad guy any truth.” Miranda almost coos as she talks and you barely register her digging her free hand into the pocket, because she’s walking toward you, deliberately slow and, at the same pace, she lowers herself down to her knee, settling herself right in between your bound ankles.

Her knife is out and open and ready to cut before you even have the chance to register the blade shining at the neon lights. It hooks at the collar of your shirt and tears the fabric apart as if it were butter.

Helplessly exposed, painfully vulnerable, you heave a shuddering breath when you take in her predatory gaze, the black of her pupils almost completely engulfing the blue. You can’t decide whether it’s the thrill of lust because she’s about to bestow a reward, or the rush of incoming violence because she’s about to bestow a punishment, instead.

The knife has disappeared again in one pocket, and you presume the battery has disappeared into the other when you feel her gloved hands gripping your knees with a bruising force. Miranda heaves herself up, closer to you, and the hot breath coming from her parted mouth crashes against the bare skin of your chest rhythmically.

When her mouth latches harshly at one of your breasts, your eyes roll backward, your brain glitching under the swirly movements of her tongue over your nipple, teeth tugging until you’re a quivering mess under her ministrations.

She leaves you pert and slick, totally unsatiated, and makes no effort to clean your skin of her wet assault when she releases you with a mischievous grin.

Miranda licks her lips when she draws slightly back, blue eyes staring into yours.

“Thing is, a lie is still something, m’eudail.”

Before your breath has returned to normal, she flashes her teeth and, without you noticing until it’s too late, she’s digging her hand into her pocket again.

Before you can connect the dots, she’s pulling up the battery for you to see.

Miranda doesn’t inch to your mouth, this time: her hungry eyes drop to your exposed chest, staring at the glistening moisture almost dripping down your pebbled, neglected nipple.

You gape at her, draw a small intake of breath and hold it in, but of course, it’s too late and you can only prepare for the searing pain. It comes quickly, has your eyes rolling in the back of your head almost immediately before everything turns black.

It’s been a couple of hours now since she’s put you on her bed, face down, the cool sheets soothing against your abused chest.

Over the quilt, Miranda lays by your side with her ankles crossed, still fully dressed in her coat and boots, but has tugged her gloves with her teeth and discarded them somewhere on the floor. Almost carelessly, she’s grazing her blunt nails over the scar on your shoulder that bears the initial of her name.

You look up at her questioningly, your neck protesting from the awkward angle as you peer from above your shoulder.

Miranda smiles; it’s a genuine, almost fond one and it’s been a while since she’s shown you a similar one.

“I’m proud of you.” She says.

#miranda croft #miranda croft x reader #tfa #the flight attendant #fanfiction #ao3 #four lines #hidden scars

12 notes · View notes