#i like the enormous gun she carries at all times it's hot

[vasquez-rocks]

#ds9 #kira #kira nerys #star trek #i like the enormous gun she carries at all times it's hot

[roosterforme]

Batting Practice Part 7 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: Bradley feels like you and he are compatible, so he decides he is all in with you and Everett. When you get a few minutes alone with him during the team pool party, it's evident that you are physically compatible too.

Warnings: Fluff, angst and swearing (eventually 18+)

Length: 4100 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female single!mom Reader

Check my masterlist for more Top Gun fun! Batting Practice masterlist.

Bradley had decided that complicated was good enough for him, as long as he could be around you. Nat was right; as far as adult problems went, he was being ridiculous to try to force himself away from a woman he wanted just because she had a kid. And not just any kid. Everett was great. Bradley honestly loved being around him, too.

So he kissed you. Sure, it was only on the cheek, but he didn't care who saw him. In fact, he hoped the other moms saw it. Maybe they'd leave him the hell alone.

"Ready, Coaches?" the referee asked, and Bradley and Bob both gave him a thumbs up. 

This game was much more of a blowout than last Saturday. Bradley hated to admit it, but the Tiny Owls were pretty terrible. He was looking for a way to silently instate some sort of 'mercy rule' so the kids on the other team wouldn't feel too bad about losing by so much. 

Everett was next up to bat, and Bradley pointed to first base. "Hey, kiddo. Let's practice hitting where I tell you to, okay? Hit the ball toward first base." And Everett managed to hit the ball exactly where Bradley told him. 

"Cool!" Everett cheered, earning a high five. Bob gave Bradley a thumbs up, and he had Piper do the same thing. 

Thankfully by the last inning, the Tiny Owls had come back a bit. But the Tiny Eagles still won by ten runs. 

When Bradley glanced at the bench, he saw you on the phone with Bob's credit card in your hand. You looked up at him and waved your fingers. 

You mouthed, "Hi, Coach," and Bradley's entire body lit up. He wanted to get you alone during the pool party, even just for a minute. He wanted to show you that he couldn't stop thinking about you.

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

You pulled your car around the enormous recreation grounds and parked next to the pool. 

"Ev, I have to carry a bunch of stuff into the kitchen. Why don't you take your swim bag and work on getting changed?"

"Okay," he replied, and you watched him walk into the fenced in pool area and head for the boys' bathroom.

You walked around to your trunk and started to shimmy out the cooler and bags of ice, keeping Bob's credit card and the kitchen keys in your hand.

"I got it, Kitten!" Bradley was jogging up behind you, still all sweaty from the game. You felt his hand on your lower back at the same time his lips connected with your cheek again, and then he was reaching into your trunk as if this was the most natural thing in the world. "Where's Ev?" he asked, looking around, and your heart clenched. 

"Getting changed," you told him, your voice sounding a little dreamy. "You kissed me again."

He leaned in and kissed your cheek a third time just as all of the other parents started pulling into the surrounding spots. 

"Yep," he confirmed, lifting the cooler, bags of ice and juice boxes all out of your trunk in one shot. You grabbed the bags of chips and pretzels and scrambled after him with the keys. 

He paused to let you unlock the clubhouse door, and there was a smirk on his face as you squeezed in front of him. You wanted to kiss him until he wasn't smirking anymore. 

You jiggled the knob and threw your weight against the door, but nothing happened. "Turn the knob again," Bradley instructed, and he leaned against it, popping it open. 

"Thanks," you murmured, leading the way inside, and he was hot on your heels, setting everything down on the long countertop in the dimly lit kitchen. 

"Kitten," he muttered, stepping into your personal space and letting his hands settle on your waist. Your heart felt like it was bouncing around in your chest.

"Hello!" called a familiar voice, and you watched Bradley tip his head back in frustration as his hands abandoned your waist. Then Sandra strolled into the kitchen in a tiny bikini top and a pair of cutoff shorts. "There you are, Bradley! I didn't know if you wanted to taste my cupcakes before I let everyone else try them."

You had to refrain from rolling your eyes. Bradley cleared his throat and said, "Actually, I try to stay away from sweets."

You watched Sandra's face fall as she started to set up an elaborate cupcake display for the kids. 

"I'm going to go check on Everett and get changed," you said, brushing Bradley's chest with your fingers as you headed for the door.

"Great idea. I'll get changed, too," he said, following you out. 

You turned and looked at him over your shoulder. "You don't eat sweets?"

He chuckled. "Nah, I love sweets. I'd eat the shit out of your cupcakes, Kitten."

A giggle bubbled out of you. You were aching to feel his lips against yours. However, it felt wonderful to see him reject Sandra like that. You wouldn't mind watching him do that over and over again. 

"Mommy!" Everett ran over and thrust his bag into your hands. "Are you getting changed and coming in the pool with me?"

"Yeah, sweetie. I'm going to get changed. I'll put my feet in the water."

Bradley scoffed. "Just your feet? That's no fun," he said, winking at Everett. 

"Yeah, that's no fun! You should jump in with me!" Everett exclaimed.

"Us. You should jump in with us," Bradley corrected, swiping his hand over Everett's hair. 

You smiled at both of them. "Fine! You win. I'll jump in, but not until after lunch. Coach Bob has entrusted me with the pizza and his credit card. And as Team Mom, I'm reminding both of you that you'll need to wait thirty minutes after you eat before you can swim."

You listened to Bradley and Ev both grumble as they walked away from you, but Bradley turned around and winked as you headed off to get changed.

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

Bradley could only take so much. He wanted to kiss you and run his hands all over you. But fucking Sandra and her goddamn cupcakes had to interrupt all his fun. Now he was sitting in the sun in his board shorts, Phillies cap still backwards and aviators perched on his nose. He was watching Bob and some of the parents swimming with the kids, but he was completely distracted by you as soon as you emerged from the ladies' room. 

He dragged his sunglasses lower on his nose and really looked at you. Leopard print bathing suit? Was his Kitten trying to kill him? It was a one piece that tied in the front and showed a little gap of skin below your breasts, and Bradley was practically drooling now. You adjusted the black wrap you were wearing around your waist and went to sit at the edge of the pool. 

When you had your legs in the water almost up to your knees, Bradley saw Bob swim over and lean on the edge of the pool to talk to you. He could hear your laughter and see your bright smile from where he was sitting. Bob had heard Bradley freaking out about you at the Hard Deck on Thursday night. He had been there for all of the second guessing and over complication and word vomit Bradley had been spouting about being interested in a mom. What if Bob took all of that to mean Bradley was no longer interested in you?

Because he was. Bradley went home from the Hard Deck, got a little drunk and then got really sad when he imagined no longer having you and Everett in his life after tee ball season ended. 

Bradley got up and tossed his hat on the chair, and then headed toward the pool. Your eyes were on him immediately, and you did that cute little finger wave in his direction. God, he'd be so upset if Bob was flirting with you. He'd finally just figured out what he wanted and what he was willing to do to get it.

He jumped into the deep end and started swimming toward where you were sitting, picking up Piper and putting her on his shoulders along the way. Bradley tried to eavesdrop while Piper held onto his ears and asked to be dunked. So he told Piper to hold her breath and then dunked her one time.

"Wanna go see Uncle Bob, Piper?" he asked her.

"Yeah!" she squealed. "Uncle Bobby!"

"Excellent," Bradley muttered, carrying the child toward you and Bob.

You were smiling at Bob as he rambled on, but Bradley could tell your eyes were drifting toward him. "And I just never knew I could claim that when I file my income taxes, so thanks for explaining that to me. You're a lifesaver," Bob was saying. 

"You can ask me accounting questions anytime, Bob."

You had told Bradley you were an accountant. Bob was talking to you about income taxes. That wasn't sexy at all. Although... Bradley still thought that might be considered flirting for Bob. 

"Here's Uncle Bobby," Bradley said, thrusting Piper into Bob's arms while she demanded he dunk her. 

"Hi, Coach," you said, reaching down and taking Bradley's wet aviators off and putting them on yourself. 

"That looks cute, Kitten." He grabbed your foot and pretended to pull you into the water.

"Bradley!" you gasped, but he just smiled up at you. "I said I would swim later!"

He traced along your ankle under the water, and you let him. "Promise? I want to see Kitten get all wet."

You gaped at him, and he realized what he just said. But you pulled your foot slowly out of his grasp. "The pizzas just got here. I'm going to get them all set up in the kitchen," you told him, returning his sunglasses to his nose and standing up.

As you walked away from the pool, Bradley saw you turn around and look back at him a few times. 

"I think she wants you to follow her," Bob commented, tossing Piper under the water again. "I'll give you a five minute head start, and then I'm going to announce the pizzas are here."

Bradley was pulling himself out of the pool immediately. He tossed his sunglasses back onto his chair and dried off a bit with his towel before following you into the clubhouse building again.

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

Your heart was pounding as you looked out the kitchen window and watched Bradley pull himself out of the pool. His biceps were crazy. He had abs. He looked so incredibly hot, you weren't sure what to do. You kept opening and closing the pizza boxes without really doing anything. Now he was toweling off, his biceps and shoulders rippling again. 

He was coming inside. 

You picked up a juice box to keep your hands busy but looked up as Bradley walked into the kitchen. 

"Coach," you said a bit breathlessly as he made his way over to you without stopping. 

"Kitten," Bradley whispered, backing you slowly, intentionally up until you bumped into the counter. You shivered as he gently stroked his fingers up your arm. "Just wanted to come in and check on you."

You looked up at him, but your eyes fluttered closed for a beat as his hand made its way up to your shoulder before teasing the soft skin above your collarbone. His brown eyes were focused on yours, and his hand was huge and warm as he caressed you. You bit your lip and shivered again as his wet swim trunks met the front of your bathing suit, making you wet and cold.

"You only came inside to check on me?" you asked softly, pressing yourself against him. 

Bradley shook his head and groaned softly. "Came in to do this, too," he whispered, closing the distance between you, and brushing his lips against yours. 

Oh, he felt good. So good. You leaned in, deepening the kiss and let the juice box fall to the floor. 

Your hands went up to tangle in his messy, damp hair, and when he pressed you back against the counter, you were able to feel every inch of his body against yours. Bradley's hands glided down your sides to your waist, and next thing you knew, he was lifting you up and setting you down on the counter.

"Bradley!" you giggled as his lips met yours again with more heat. You spread your legs a little wider and let him stand between them as he stroked his fingers along your thighs. 

He placed a soft kiss to the corner of your lips, and when he spoke, his voice was deep and raspy. "Did you end things with Frank?" His lips brushed against you, making it so hard to think. 

"Yeah," you gasped as Bradley's lips connected with the side of your neck. "He's history," you promised, reveling in the feel of his mustache prickling your soft skin. "Ancient history."

Your fingers tugged through his hair, and Bradley brought his lips back up to yours. "That's a good Kitten. I'm not gonna share you."

Moaning, you pulled him closer so his abs were pressing against your core through the scrap of your bathing suit that was covering you. He worked his lips against yours as you held him close, your body fitting perfectly with his. You tasted his tongue, leaning closer to get more of him. 

"Bradley," you moaned when he pulled you closer to the edge of the counter, your core rubbing against him deliciously. He kissed your nose and your cheeks as you started grinding against his abs.

He guided your bathing suit strap off your left shoulder and kissed along your newly exposed skin as you wrapped your legs around his waist.

"You taste good," he grunted, his tongue coming out to tease you. Your head tipped back as his hands wrapped tightly around your waist, and his lips worked across the swell of your breasts above your suit. 

You were panting his name softly as his nose stroked your neck. Then his lips were on yours again, and you were devouring his mouth.

But you heard someone else coming inside the clubhouse, and you broke away from the kiss. But Bradley wasn't moving. He let his hands drift down your sides and to the tops of your thighs. 

"Someone's coming," you said breathlessly. But you didn't push him away. You knew how you looked right now with your bathing suit strap hanging down your arm and Bradley standing between your legs. 

He was just grinning at you and stroking your legs while you continued to grip his shoulders.

"Oh, hi," Bob said, taking one look at the two of you and blushing. 

"Hey, Bob. What's up?" Bradley asked before turning back to you and placing one more soft kiss to your lips. You ducked away from Bob and adjusted your shoulder strap. 

"Uh, just checking to see if the pizza is ready," he said, clearing his throat a few times. 

"Yeah," you managed to say. "The pizza is all set. It's ready. And so are we, aren't we, Bradley? Ready to eat pizza?" You were practically stuttering. 

"Sure, Kitten," he murmured, helping you down from the counter. You slid down the front of his body, bracing your hands against his hard chest. 

"Oh-kay.... well, I'll send everyone else in then," Bob said, turning to head back outside. 

You wrapped your hands around the back of Bradley's neck, and he smashed his lips against yours again, holding you in place with one hand on your ass. 

"You're trouble," he groaned as your lips dropped down to his neck for a second before you heard all the kids heading inside and finally broke apart.

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

Bradley watched you pick up the juice box that you had dropped on the floor when he started kissing you. You held it absentmindedly, chewing on your lip with a dreamy look on your face. He stacked up three slices of pizza on a plate to keep himself from reaching for you again. Then he grabbed some plates and got a slice ready for Everett and one for Amber as well.

You were nibbling on a slice of pizza and occasionally looking at him while you talked to Amber's dad. Bradley could tell you were barely paying attention to what he was saying to you, and that made him smile. 

Bradley avoided all the baked goods since he had already told Sandra he wasn't into hers. So he ate half a bag of chips while he tried to figure out how to get you alone again. 

Everett hugged you after he finished his pizza, and you told him, "Wait a half hour before you swim!" Then you pointed at Bradley with a grin and said, "You too, Coach."

"Okay, Team Mom," he said with a wink. Then he led Everett and a few other kids outside to the grass and started up a game of tag. He ran away from the kids, dodging their little hands for a while.

"You're fast, Coach!" Everett said, finally making contact with Bradley's arm. 

"Gotta be fast to be a good ball player," Bradley told him, immediately tagging Henry. 

Bradley ran around with the swarm of screaming kids behind him. A lot of the parents were laughing, and he watched you take a picture of him. 

"Is it safe to swim yet, Team Mom?" he asked, running past you. 

You were cracking up as you said, "Yes! Everyone can go back in the pool!" Half of the kids stopped chasing Bradley and immediately got back in the water. But he watched you untie your wrap and set it on a chair along with your phone, so he made another loop through the grass before making his way over to you. 

"Kitten," he growled, and your eyes snapped up to his as he scooped you up and tossed you over his shoulder. 

"Bradley!" you squealed in surprise, digging your nails into his back and making him groan. "Don't drop me!"

With one hand on your ass to keep you from squirming, Bradley walked to the edge of the deep end and jumped in with you, your delighted scream echoing through the air before you both hit the water. 

"Coach!" you gasped, scrambling against his body when you came up for air. "You're the worst."

Bradley grinned and ran his hands along your hips and waist beneath the water. "I just wanted to get you all wet."

You started laughing as your legs tangled with his under the water. This is what he wanted, just to hear you laughing all the time. 

"Mission accomplished," you whispered, biting your lip and running your fingers along his abs before swimming away from him. 

He wanted more than anything to follow you, but now he had Everett and a few other kids lined up at the deep end, waiting for Bradley to catch them when they jumped in. So he played with the kids while you swam around a bit, still thinking about how it felt to hold you.

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

You were still damp and trying to clean up the kitchen, because it was almost time for everyone to leave the pool area and turn in the keys. A lot of parents had already started packing up and heading out with their kids, but you didn't want Bradley and Bob to have to clean everything up alone. 

As you were consolidating the pizzas into fewer boxes, you watched Bradley pushing Everett and Piper on the swings through the window. He was so good with the kids, and Everett was already very attached to him. You just hoped he would want to stick around. 

You turned when the door opened and saw Sandra stroll in. 

"Hey, Sandra," you murmured. "Do you want to take any of this pizza home?"

But she just rolled her eyes at you. "Don't you think the flirting is a little excessive?" she asked with a scowl. 

"I'm sorry, what?" you asked, heart pounding in your throat. 

"You and Coach Bradley. Around the kids? It's a bit much, and I don't think it's appropriate."

You couldn't believe she said that to you, as you looked at her tiny string bikini with wide eyes. You didn't think her swim attire was exactly appropriate for a family friendly pool day, but you just rolled your eyes and kept quiet. "I mean, I guess you're entitled to your opinion."

She just glared at you. "The two of you need to mess around on your own time."

"Okay, Sandra. And maybe you should flirt with your husband instead of the coaches."

Your blood was boiling. You didn't want to get into an argument with her, but you were single and you weren't doing anything inappropriate in front of anyone. Except maybe Bob...

But yeah, you should probably reel it in a little bit. But you weren't going to cave to Sandra's every whim.  

You watched her pack up her uneaten baked goods and sweetly asked her, "So is that a no to the extra pizza then?"

She just shot you one last dirty look over her shoulder before leaving with her cupcakes and cookies. 

You packed up the pizza, and you were about to check with Bob about what to do with it when he strolled into the kitchen. 

"Hey, thanks for all your help today."

"No problem," you told him with a smile. "Do you want some of this extra pizza?"

"Take as much as you want, and I'll split the rest with Bradley."

You packed up a few slices for yourself and then packed up one box for each of the coaches. You were carrying the leftover food out to the parking lot when Everett and Bradley finally emerged from the pool. 

"Sweetie, you need to get changed so we can head out," you told Everett, and he went to grab his swim bag. 

"Meant to ask you," Bradley said, pushing his wet hair back from his forehead and standing in front of you in all his dripping wet glory. "What time did you and Ev want to go to the park tomorrow so I can show him some pitches?"

A warm, gooey sensation washed over you. He was really serious about this. "How about in the afternoon? Around 2? Myers Park?"

"Sounds good, Kitten," he whispered. You saw Sandra out of the corner of your eye, so you stepped away from him.

"I have leftover pizza for you, and some for Bob. I'm going to take it out to your car."

"Thanks," he said with a wink.

You made two trips to the parking lot, dropping one pizza box off on the hood of Bob's truck and one on the hood of Bradley's Bronco. You also tossed your bags and the empty cooler into your trunk. And then your heart clenched in your chest. 

You watched Bradley carrying your son to your car on his shoulders, with Everett's swim bag dangling from Bradley's arm. They had changed out of their swimsuits, and both of them had huge smiles on their faces. And you had the uncontrollable urge to rub yourself against Bradley. 

"Mom! Coach is going to take us to the park tomorrow after lunch! And we can pitch baseballs! For real!"

Bradley knelt down next to your car and Everett scrambled off of him and gave him a hug, knocking his aviators askew.

"I'll bring Gatorade and chewing gum, just like in the big leagues," Bradley promised as he stood. 

Yep, you wanted to rub your entire body against him.

Bradley opened the car door for Everett, and then he took you by the hand and led you around the other side of his Bronco. "I wasn't sure how you felt about me doing this in front of Everett," he whispered, wrapping his long fingers around the back of your neck and leaning down to kiss you. 

You pulled him closer by his belt loops and nibbled on his lips. "Not quite yet, okay?" you whispered against his chin. "He likes you so much. I don't want him to get his hopes up."

You looked up at him as you put a little distance between your body and his, and Bradley's brow scrunched up. 

"I get what you're saying. But I think it would be more than okay for him to get his hopes up, Kitten."

You kissed him softly one more time and waved your fingers at him. "See you tomorrow, Coach."

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

Definitely physically compatible. Can't wait for them to get a little more physical. Thanks to @beyondthesefourwalls and @mak-32!

PART 8

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[berestweys]

Kinnporsche Rewatch - Episode 8

Summary: Many idiots offer each other thumbs up.

Favorite Line: “Black Eagle is on the way! Tailorbird will run now!”

Porsche’s Wacky Antics: Blasts Kinn with his rancid morning breath, and is repaid in kind. Runs around like a chicken trying to find his clothes. Flips Kinn off. Tells Pete his legs are still shaking from his “rough” punishment. Gets his socks mixed up with Kinn’s. Plays footsie with Kinn during an important meeting and startles him so much all of the bodyguards draw guns. Draws the funniest picture ever of the ghost haunting him, and earns the Dimples of Disdain from Pete. Goes on a high stakes caper with Pete. Screams so much at movie night Tankhun tosses him out on his ass. Throws a consecrated penis at Kinn.

Why is Chay crying? He isn’t, but after his little display in Valet Parking, I am.

Woe is Big: First Khun Kinn replaces him with Porsche. Now, Khun Kim’s making him help with detective work about Porsche. Why is this guy so damn special? He must be a liar! Poor Big.

Tankhun Highlight: I am utterly tickled by his horror movie makeup, his blue jammies, and his cuddle pile with his bodyguards. I’m also squealing to see Lee Hyeri make a cameo.

A Woman Speaks: Yok has missed Porsche! She tells him when you’re in love the two of you “have to add sweetness to each other” outside the bedroom. Tells him any idiot can use google to find a café for a date. 

What’s Pete eating, and who prepared it for him? Microwave popcorn, prepared by Pol.

Vegas Report: :( I’ve got him in my pocket for later.

Shipping Activities

KinnPorsche: They wake up together in Kinn’s fluffy bed, soft cozy & nice. Bread foreplay occurs. Porsche leaps into Kinn’s arms and Kinn can carry him around without any trouble at all and lord that is hot. Porsche really wants to do this dating thing right. He takes Kinn on the sappiest date ever. It’s clear neither of them have ever done this before and apparently I can be seduced with cuteness because they make me smile helplessly and I am embarrassed at myself. Porsche calls Kinn to come over & save him from being alone with a ghost, and later gets advised by Pete not to block Kinn’s ‘punishments’ with his neck anymore. Pete. My boy. Come on.

VegasPete: I don’t think it’s fair to tease us with VegasPete content and then they’re completely absent in the next episode. Give them to meeeeeeeee.

Do I care about KimChay yet? No. Chay stages an ambush in front of Kim’s building and forces him to listen to his love song, and this is happening I guess. I am the security guard coming out to tell Chay to be quiet.

# of KimChay scenes in this episode: 1

# of KimChay scenes I watched without skipping through: 1, but I did pause it twice to take deep breaths before being able to continue.

Kisses: Morning bread kisses. Is this what Farmhouse Bread envisioned when they agreed to be a show sponsor? Date selfie kisses.

Tits Out: Kinn & Porsche in bed together at the start of the episode, and later Kinn while he and Porsche are scrambling to strip each other after the bodyguard meeting.

What’s Gun wearing? He’s nowhere to be found. Look it’s not like I really want him coming around all the time, but would it be too much to ask for him to wander through the background at least once per episode? Maybe so.

Serious Observations of Various Sorts: In the park where Kinn and Porsche go for their date, there’s a man taking photos of his enormous pig. Pete’s codenames for Porsche, Kinn, and himself are Ostrich, Black Eagle, and Tailorbird.  The ostrich is flightless but can run 70 kph/45 mph. The black eagle is a predator famous for eating the nestlings of other birds. The tailorbird sews leaves together with grasses to make its nest. Does any of this matter? I don’t think so? But I like birds.

Have I calmed down? I read the entire Wikipedia page for the black eagle, a bird I’d never heard of before, because it’s Kinn’s code name. So that’s a solid no.

*

Episode 1/ Episode 2/ Episode 3/ Episode 4/ Episode 5/ Episode 6/ Episode 7/ Episode 9

#kinnporsche rewatch #kinnporsche #spoilers

[write-r-die]

Man’s World - Part 2

ENEMIES TO LOVERS - After a solar flare ended the world as we know it, former spy August Walker becomes the most terrifying of the many warlords who pop up across the US. He leads his militia from town to town, taking what he wants and all killing those who resist him. And now he wants Lilah. And one way or another, he’ll have her.

Masterlist

August didn’t know what possessed him to save that girl. Maybe it’s just that he didn’t like killing women. Maybe he was impressed with the unique mix of bravery and stupidity that led the vaguely ethnic twentysomething to shoot at him, only to fail spectacularly. More likely, he was just bored. Life after the flash was hard and violent but painfully predictable. 

He thought she was pretty when he carried her from the city despite the bangs, but in the sunlight, he was far less impressed with her appearance. 

To be fair, she wasn’t well. Standing in the command tent before him, she wavered on her feet. Her clothes were burnt around the edges and her feet were bare. The enormous sunglasses she wore didn’t help her appearance, either.

“The Boss just spoke to you,” one of August’s lieutenants said from somewhere behind him. “Speak,” he commanded the girl.

People who try to shoot me always end up dead. That’s what August Walker said to her. What the fuck was she supposed to say back?

“Speak?” Lilah parroted, doing her best to sound confused.

Jack looked like he wanted to smash his head into a wall.

August kept his eyes fixed on the girl as he spoke to his soldier. “What did you say was wrong with her?”

“Concussion,” Jack answered. “Doc says she’ll be right in a few days.”

August hummed. He didn’t raise his voice or take his eyes off Lilah when he commanded the others in the tent to leave with one simple word: “Out.” 

Lilah’s expression grew more and more desperate as each person filed out until finally, they were alone.

“Are you a whore?” he asked simply.

Lilah was physically taken aback by his question. “Am I . . . ?”

August’s eyes roamed up and down her body. She looked a mess now but he could tell she cleaned up well. One of his many talents was the ability to sense a woman’s figure through her clothes, however unattractive those clothes may be. And he sensed Lilah’s figure was exquisite. Her face was, too, when it wasn’t smudged with ash and blood or half-hidden by ridiculous sunglasses. 

“Are you a whore?” August repeated.

Lilah couldn’t speak for a moment, too shocked by his bluntness. “No.”

August’s blue eyes raked over her one more time, his gaze unbearably intense. He might as well be licking her. “That’s too bad.” He turned back to the maps on the table.

Lilah cleared her throat when she grew uncomfortable with the silence. “Is that all you wanted to know?”

“No.” The warlord continued to study his maps as if he wasn’t interested in her enough to even look up. Maybe that was a good thing, thought Lilah, considering how it made her feel when he looked at her.. “What did you do? Back before the flare hit.”

“Umm . . .” Funemployed? Was that an answer? “I was a camp counselor during the summers when I was in college.”

“What activity did you teach?”

She cleared her throat. “Archery.”

“Archery,” Walker repeated. “You should have used a bow and arrow instead of a gun to shoot me. Maybe then you would actually have hit something.”

She was silent for a long time. Her throat was painfully dry. “Are you going to kill me?”

“I would’ve left you behind on that sidewalk if I wanted you dead,” he said flatly.

“What do you want, then?”

He wanted to fuck her. 

After she’d bathed and changed and gotten her shit together, of course. August lifted his eyes from the table to give her that intense look again; that was answer enough.

He looked over Lilah’s head at Jack and subtly nodded towards the entryway. And just like that, Lilah was dismissed.

***

The people August Walker ordered to leave the tent start coming back inside the moment I’m dismissed. Pretty sure they were listening.

On my way out, I pass someone vaguely familiar but for the life of me I can’t remember who he is. “Hey,” I say anyway. I stop walking and so does he. 

He nods once. “Lilah.”

“Mr. Kewlani!” His name comes out in a shout not because I’m surprised to see him but because I’m happy I remember his name. 

He lived next door to me growing up. The only things I can really remember about him from childhood is that our dog pissed on all his plants and killed them and he hated us for it, and that he was condescending because of how smart he was. I’m not at all surprised that August Walker recruited him.

“Good to see you.” The fifty-eight-year-old physics professor doesn’t look pleased or surprised to see me. I can’t blame him for it, since we never talked or got along, but I feel slighted.

“You too.” I think to ask him about his wife and daughters, but they’ve been dead for years. One of the daughters was killed by a drunk driver before the flare, and his other daughter and wife succumbed to the strange plague that came immediately after. Lots of people did.

“Come on,” Jack says. He starts walking before I register his words and I have to scramble to catch up with him before he disappears into the tents.

“Where are we going?” I’m pretty sure this isn’t the way back to the tent I was in before.

He doesn’t reply. He stops in front of a big white tent - the sort people rent for outdoor events like weddings or parties - and pulls open the flap. It’s packed with army cots and outdoor recliners that have been flattened for use as a bed.

“Any open beds?” Jack calls to a woman nearby.

She pulls her toothbrush out of her mouth and uses it to gesture to the other side of the tent. “The one over there by me is free.”

“Great.” Jack turns to leave but I grab him by the arm.

“Wait, what?”

“This is your tent now,” he says, peeling my hand from his bicep.

“That’s it? No tour? What about - ?”

“Stiva,” Jack calls to the tooth-brushing woman again. “This one’s eggs are scrambled. Deal with her.”

And then he’s gone. 

Stiva finishes brushing her teeth and looks me up and down. Her long blonde hair is pulled back into a high ponytail. That, coupled with her cargo pants and tank top, make her look like the single generic woman in any action film. 

She must be smart or talented or important. August Walker only recruits useful people: doctors, engineers, plumbers and handymen, craftsmen, teachers, horse trainers and stable hands, architects, tailors, former military, and other things like that. And of course, prostitutes. I’m fairly certain Stiva isn’t a prostitute, though.

“What’s your name?” Stiva asks.

“Lilah.”

She looks me over again and seems to approve. “Stiva,” she replies. She walks me over to the other side of the tent and stows her toothbrush in a plastic box beneath her cot. “That one’s yours,” she says, nodding toward the one beside hers.

I sit awkwardly on the edge. There’s barely enough space between the cots for me to squeeze my legs in.

“You look star-struck,” she observes.

“Concussion,” I reply. “I’m pretty out of it.”

The thirty-something woman shakes her head. “No. I meant starstruck from meeting the boss.”

Now I really am confused. “What? How did - why do you know that?”

She rifles through the few personal items she has stashed under her cot. “I heard that some idiot with bangs tried to shoot the boss. I haven’t seen another grown woman with bangs in years so I assume that’s you.”

“Oh. Yeah.” I clear my throat. “Are people talking about that a lot?”

“Not really,” she says, shrugging. “I only know cause I fuck Sy sometimes and he gets chatty after.”

“Sy?”

“He’s the boss’s right-hand-man,” she explains, frowning. “Nobody explained the chain of command?”

“If they did, I don’t remember it.”

“Did anybody even teach you the camp layout?”

“No. But I’ve been unconscious mostly so they never had the chance.”

She grunts and turns back to her cot. Finally she pulls out a french press and two cracked mugs. “Coffee?”

“God, yes.”

We go to one of the cooking fires at the center of camp for hot water. One of the cooks gives us some coffee grounds to use on the condition that Stiva make her a cup, too. 

She looks me over, smirking, as we wait for the brew to steep. “You’re the boss’s new girl,” she says, half a question.

“Not yet,” Stiva says before I have the chance to reply. “If she was with him, she wouldn’t be out here slumming it with the rest of us.”

The water blackens and Stiva pours us each a mug. She thanks the cook before we turn back the way we came.

“I thought you said people weren’t talking about it,” I whisper to Stiva.

“I said they weren’t really talking about it.”

“So I’m supposed to fuck August Walker,” I say after a long silence. It’s not a surprise but I don’t like the fact that everyone in camp seems to know. Even as we walk back to our tent, I feel eyes on me. The camp seems big enough that one new person shouldn’t be so obvious.

I finally ask the question I’m most afraid to have answered, “What if I don't want to sleep with him?” I swallow hard. “Will he . . . Is he the sort of man that can take no for an answer?”

“I’ve never thought about that - what would happen if someone said no to him. No one has ever said no to him for anything except maybe Miss Ally,” she says contemplatively. It takes a beat for her to respond to my question. “I don’t think he’d force you into anything. He’s a dick but he’s also a gentleman, you know?”

I do know. “I don’t know. I’m almost positive my body is the only thing he wants from me. Not my professional expertise or know-how.” And who’s to say he won’t dispose of me if I don’t serve the one purpose I’m here for?

“I mean, can you do anything?” asks Stiva. “Anything useful?”

“I taught archery at a summer camp in Maine,” I offer.

She looks ambivalent.

“Why?” I ask, slightly embarrassed. Being an archer sounds cool, but until the flare happened, it didn't have much of a real-world application. “What can you do?”

“I’m a surveyor and a cartographer,” she says. “Used to work in real estate. Help builders figure out boundaries for new projects.”

“Oh.” 

“But people here do all sorts of shit. There’s a dog breeder who used to raise pit bulls to be guard dogs for famous people; now they’re attack dogs for the boss. And there’s a twelve-year-old girl in our tent who’s a violin prodigy.” Stiva shrugs. “They keep anybody the boss might have a use for.”

“August Walker likes the violin?” I ask.

“Not as far as I know,” she says. “But he wants to preserve society and culture and all that for after.”

I follow her back into the tent. “After what?”

“After we settle somewhere for good.” She sits heavily on her cot. “The boss wants to make a new world in his image. Supposedly he’s got it all planned out.”

“That seems a little psycho.”

She stretches out on her back. “Sy told me that he used to be a doomsday prepper or something like that. He’s been waiting for the world to end for a while.”

I’m familiar with some of those rumors. August Walker was supposedly a would-be terrorist planning to cull the world’s population. Supposedly a bunch of powerful people were part of his cell - world leaders, even. As far as I know, they never put any of their plans into motion; the solar flare did their work for them.

***

Later in the evening, when the boss called for one of his usual girls from among the thirty-nine prostitutes in the camp, he imagined he was fucking Lilah instead of her. It made him furious, which made him rough. The prostitute would have more bruises than usual tomorrow.

He repaid her for the discomfort with an unopened bottle of tequila and a pair of diamond earrings stolen from a dead woman’s jewelry box during the last raid. That, coupled with the two orgasms he gave her, seemed more than enough compensation.

She left the tent late at night - he never let his women sleep there - and August was alone with his thoughts, which soon turned back to that stupid girl.

He wouldn’t give Lilah anything when he fucked her - and sooner or later he would fuck her. His favor would be more than enough compensation. She wouldn’t sleep in his tent, obviously, but he imagined her having a little tent of her own somewhere nearby so he could call for her whenever he wanted. And no one else would be allowed to fuck her.

He had a girl like that for a few months but he grew bored with her. When she asked his permission to leave camp and strike out on her own, he gave it willingly. She had the back of her hand tattooed with August’s mark before she left. It was essentially a guarantee of safe passage. No one would fuck with somebody associated with Walker, and if his men ever came in contact with her again, they’d know not to kill or hurt her.

Now he wanted someone like that again. That and more.

Someone who belonged exclusively to him not because the other men in camp were afraid to touch what was his, but because she didn’t want anyone other than him.

The last girl was an escort with a moderately successful OnlyFans account. She was essentially a prostitute. August liked that Lilah wasn’t. 

Seducing her would give him something less mundane to do in his free time.

***

They try to integrate me into camp life over the next week. All in all it goes pretty well, but when they give me a bow and arrows to practice shooting, it becomes abundantly clear that the concussion has fucked up my long-distance vision. I can’t shoot shit. I don’t know if I’m going to be nearsighted forever or if it will clear up as I heal. Miss Ally is displeased. 

It’s obvious that she is equal in rank to Walker, but on the civilian side of camp life. I get the impression they’ve known each other for a long time. She’s the only person in camp who doesn’t refer to or address him as the boss or just Boss. Always Mr. Walker. It’s still a respectful address, complete with a polite honorific, but just the fact that she uses his name seems oddly intimate, like maybe she knew who he was before he became one of the strongest warlords on the continent.

I don’t see Walker much. Meals are served in a huge clearing and most people eat together, so Walker is obliged to make an appearance most days, always at dinner. Most of us sit on the ground or in folding chairs but not him. He sits on a pale blue armchair that I think is made of velvet. The legs are gold and the back and arms are scalloped. I think it belonged to a woman before it became his throne.

The first time I see him at dinner, he keeps an eye on me throughout the meal, even though I’m nowhere near him. We make eye contact at one point. He smirks at me and takes a deep drink of his wine. 

The second time I see him, he ignores me. Well maybe not ignores, but he doesn’t pay me any attention. I don’t know why but it annoys me. 

Near the end of the meal, he crooks his finger at one of the prostitutes. They leave the clearing together, presumably to go off somewhere and fuck, and I’m almost offended by it. Then I come to my senses.

He’s a warlord, and true warlords have concubines. A lot of them. Just because he wants me doesn’t mean he wants me, exclusively.

For all I know, he’s got a girl from every settlement he raided. Maybe he keeps them as a token of victory.

That pisses me off. Men objectifying women, just like always. It may be the apocalypse, but I’m still a fucking feminist.

Walker doesn’t make an appearance at dinner again for two days. I’m filling my plate when he joins us on the third night. I know without looking that he’s here; the sudden quiet tells me all I need to know.

Things slowly start up again as I heap chicken and instant mashed potatoes onto my plate. It’s only when one of the cooks gives me a forceful tap on the shoulder that I look up.

“What?” 

“He’s looking at you,” the woman says through her teeth. She swings her head toward August Walker. He lazes in his blue chair like a king at a feast. When we lock eyes, he smirks at me, then motions with his forefinger for me to come to him, just like he did with that prostitute the other night.

I don’t move.

“What are you doing?” the cook says. “Go!”

“If he wants to talk, he can come to me.” I’m not a hooker or a dog. I won’t just come running at his beck and call.

The cook looks at me like I’m an idiot. 

It’s a dumb issue to take a stance on, especially when it seems my survival is contingent on letting him fuck me.

I seek Stiva out in the crowd. I haven’t made it halfway over to her before that kid - Jack, I think his name is - intercepts me.

“Boss wants a word.”

They’ve set up what appears to be an old Ikea office chair next to Walker’s surrogate throne. He gestures for me to sit when I get close enough. I flop down, making the chair groan.

Walker studies me for a long moment. He looks amused but pleased, too. All I can think about as his eyes rake over me are how blue they are and how the color of his chair accentuates them. “How have you been, Delilah?”

“Is that a trick question?”

“No.”

I shrug. “I can’t complain.”

“That’s it?” he asks, bemused. 

“What else should there be?”

Walker takes a deep breath through his nose and settles back in his chair. “I know for a fact how unstable your town was. I did my research. Most of it was already in disrepair, and the crime rates before the flare were . . . high. Here, you have a roof over your head and three meals a day.”

Not really a roof, but . . .

“I had a roof over my head before.”

“What did you have to do to get it?” he asks, voice gravelly and low.

“I’m not a prostitute,” I say defensively. “I told you that.”

“I’m not necessarily saying you are.” 

“Necessarily?”

He leans back in his chair. “You’re a survivor. You did whatever it was you had to do to stay alive in that shithole.”

Now I get it. “And you think I’ll do whatever I have to do to stay alive here.”

He sips his wine in reply, his gaze never leaving mine. He doesn’t speak when he’s done, just swirls the purple wine around in his glass.

“You’re not eating,” I observe.

“I hardly ever eat the plain food,” he says. 

I remember Stiva saying that there’s a hipster chef who forages for his ingredients somewhere in the camp, and that he cooked for the highest-ranking people. He was one of those chefs that foraged for his ingredients before that was necessary. I think I followed him on Instagram back before the flare.

“You ought to join me,” Walker continues. “Something tells me you appreciate a good meal.” His voice is like liquid sex. He’s a terrifying, ruthless warlord who’s done things so horrible I can’t even imagine them, but damn if he isn’t the handsomest man I’ve ever laid eyes on. 

The pretty ones are always assholes.

I level my gaze at him. “Are you asking me on a date?”

He actually throws his head back and laughs. It’s booming; conversations pause and heads turn at the unfamiliar sound. He has the sort of laughter that would be infectious if he weren’t so scary. 

“Don’t flatter yourself,” he finally says. 

“I won’t just spread my legs for a good meal,” I say, but it honestly depends on how good the meal is. 

Walker is exasperated. “Is sex the only thing you think about?”

“I’m not an idiot.”

“No,” he agrees. “You’re rude, but you’re not an idiot.”

“You’re an asshole.” The words fall out before I can stop them. I slap my hand over my mouth like some idiot in a movie, as if that will undo what I just said. Why did I say that?

He’s going to hit me. Or shoot me. He’s going to do something to me and it won’t be good. Lilah, you stupid fucking idiot.

“No one speaks to me the way you do,” Walker says to me. “It’s refreshing, frankly.” His tone changes. “But don’t push it, especially when there are other people who can hear you. You won’t like the consequences.”

Walker downs the rest of his wine and stands. A handful of men scattered around us rise, too, and move toward him. His entourage, I guess. For a moment I think they’re each going to grab a limb and haul me away to some torture chamber or old-fashioned stockades, but they barely even glance my way.

Walker smiles wolfishly. “I’ll send someone to fetch you before dinner tomorrow. Find something nice to wear.” And off he goes.

#henry cavill #henry cavill fiction #RPF #august walker #john lark #mission impossible #fallout #MI6 #Nomis #night hunter #Walter Marshall #the witcher #geralt of rivia #the white wolf #the tudors #Charles Brandon #duke of suffolk #the man from uncle #Napoleon Solo #highlander #Conner MacLeod #Argylle #the cold light of day #blood creek #Immortals #Theseus #Tristan and Isolde #tristan + isolde #melot #humphrey

[anika-ann]

One Door Closes... (S.R.)

Type: one-shot, pretty much canon

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader     Word count: 2700

Summary: For Steve, your door is always open... or he thinks so. And even when it isn’t, it is.

In which one small Zoom mishap leads to an (un)usual ‘welcome home’.  

Warnings: brief mention of blood and violence, lightest angst, attempt at humour, crack-ish, fluff and language

A/N: For @anjali750, because this is totally her fault. Thank you for inspiring me :-* Have a little bit silly weekend reading, y’all!

“Tell me about it,” Steve encouraged you gently, soft smile playing in the corner of his mouth despite the pain it must be causing him due to his busted lip.

You couldn’t but grin at the lenient picture he made. Feeling blood rush to your cheeks at the thought of him probably calling you cute in his mind if his expression was anything to go by, you obliged, proceeding to tell him about the new project at work.

Your project. Because somehow, you finally earned your boss’ confidence and could bring the great ideas in your mind to life.

You felt so giddy just talking about it! So you started explaining, excitedly gesturing with your hands so Steve would get the right visual and you grew so enthusiastic that you almost forgot to keep an eye on him.

But you were watching him – always.

His lower lip was split, but already healing – it would have healed much faster if he stopped tugging at the healing skin whenever he talked or smiled at you from the screen. He looked a little drowsy, a shadow of a bruise forming on his cheek, but as far as you knew, those were the only injuries he had; that and many hours of sleep to catch up on.

Steve had a habit of calling you via Zoom whenever he got back to the Tower from a mission. He usually took a quick shower and was online until the last second before he had to leave for a debriefing; the only reason why he didn’t head straight to your place.

He admitted once that he loved seeing your face and talking to you even if for a moment after a mission, that it grounded him. On a very sappy and loveable moment, he even called you his sun; and the fact that after few minutes of being with you – as much as technology allowed – his face always seemed brighter, made you think that it truly was how he felt.

Even exhausted as he was now, you could tell his half-lidded eyes shined with life unlike when you started the call.

And so you kept rambling, feeling your heart bursting with love for your man and with euphoria, because goddammit, finally some recognition at work!

“Well, obviously, to reach as much general public as we can, we’re gonna launch a world-wide campaign! World-wide!” you emphasized with a blinding grin, throwing your hands wide to demonstrate.

---and your fingers caught in a cord from the laptop, pulling at it.

Steve’s benevolent face disappeared as your screen went black.

Because of course it did.

You had been talking yourself into buying a new laptop or at least having this one fixed for a few weeks now, because this was always the result whenever you accidently unplugged it. The battery was useless, ready to retire.

“Motherfu--- ugh!“

You wanted to be mad at the device – but this was totally on you.

Sighing, you hooked up the laptop again, waiting for it to wake up from a coma, shooting Steve an apologetic text in the meantime. Closing your eyes, you let your forehead lightly fall against your desk, mentally cursing yourself.

Dummy. If you only weren’t so lazy… and didn’t hate certain aspects of adulting with so much passion… you could have been talking to Steve-

Your eyes flew opened when it felt like it was quiet for too long; no reply to your text. Dread filled you and you quickly reached for your phone again, this time to dial.

You prayed you were wrong; but as the phone kept ringing with no one to answer it on the other end, you felt misery creep up you back and whimpered. Sliding your phone on the tabletop, your not-so-deft fingers stumbled over the keyboard, harshly welcoming it into the world of living by opening Zoom again to reconnect the call.

Your breath hitched in anticipation as the window opened---

An amused and yet somehow unimpressed face of Natasha Romanoff welcomed you and this time, you didn’t bother slowing down as your head hit the desk. It hurt, but that was only a presage of the real pain.

“Nooooooo,” you whined loudly, faking and not quite faking a sob, because shit.

“Oh yes,” Natasha hummed nonchalantly.

You straightened a bit in your chair, narrowing your eyes at her as you noticed the corners of her lips twitching while she pretended to be busy checking out her possibly-mission-broken nails.

“It’s not funny.”

She snorted and glanced at your no doubt desperate face.

“It really is. But also kinda sad,” the spy noted, something resembling concern flickering over her face before she scrunched her nose, irises twinkling. “And disgustingly cute. It has Rogers written all over it.”

You glared at her some more, not even bothering to roll your eyes.

“Tell that to my landlord,” you muttered under your breath, leaning your elbow on the tabletop and dropping your chin to you palm. A second later, a brilliant idea hit you and you tried to manipulate your legs from under you.

The thing was, even if you had a pretty good idea of what was coming if you didn’t stop it and knew that it would be a bitch to deal with, Natasha was right.

In a way, it was utterly cute, disarmingly charming and entirely heart-warming. Your stomach fluttered, the fabled butterflies flipping their wings, your face grew hot and your heart… well, it felt as if it was growing in size.

It was also sad, heart-breaking even; Steve, especially after a mission, was a man running on instincts. It was one of the reasons why he had developed a habit of calling you, why he wanted to hear you ramble about your either boring or exciting but always wonderfully normal day. A day which involved no shooting and no blood besides papercuts and a quarrel with your stubborn boss who shoot you glares at best.

On a mission, these carnal automatisms often meant survival. But back home, Steve didn’t want to be a sum of instincts of survival, fight and fear; he wanted to feel again. And with you, he did. He wasn’t just a Captain America, a soldier to be put on battlefield whenever the general found fit. He was a human being. A wonderful one at that, with beautiful soul.  

So yes. It was also rather upsetting.

And in a way, it was a little funny too. You knew it was totally your fault and that Steve was being kinda ridiculous, because he knew you and your inclination to wild gesticulations ending up catastrophically. On top of that, he was aware of this particular problem being almost a daily occurrence; hell, he tried to talk you into having Stark look at your laptop and failed.

And now... well. Here you were.

“You know, maybe if you get up and welcome him with door opened…” Natasha teased you with your own genius ides and you grinded your teeth, frantically trying to move your foot, which was pretty much on fire and yet dead.

“I would, but I… eh, pins and needles, was sitting on my feet,” you explained, embarrassed, testing whether your feet could carry you or not, naturally finding that without support, you’d be down before you could take as much as a step.

This time, Natasha didn’t snort in amusement.

Instead, she graced you with an outburst on honest full belly laughter, her red hair unfairly shiny for a woman who just spend week on a mission in damn Moldova and probably kicked more asses that you could imagine.

“You know what, Romanoff…” you grunted, forcing yourself to wobble towards the door. Very slowly. And cautiously. Knowing your luck, you might actually get hurt.

“I’m not even sorry,” she choked out and then continued to howl in laughter. “You so deserve each other. I finally know what the ‘idiots in love’ mean. Thanks for that!”

“You’re very welcome,” you huffed, voice dripping with irony.

Finally able to put full weight on both of your feet, you headed towards the exit – and entrance – of your apartment.

Halfway, you decided it was a lost cause. You would be willing to bet that the moment you’d touch the doorknob, you’d get hit to your face. It wasn’t worth it.

Yes, maybe if you did get hurt, it would make Steve think twice before coming all guns-and-shield blazing into your apartment; then again, it would probably cost you a broken nose.

Not to mention Steve’s tendency to get swallowed by the enormity of his guilt.

So not worth it. Best if you stayed put.

That was what you kept telling yourself when you stood there for about two minutes, in which you’d be able to open the door about forty times. Your annoyance – mostly with yourself and the cackling redhead – and the anticipation was becoming unbearable. As seconds ticked by, you were trying to convince yourself into taking the last few steps and opening the door and save yourself some trouble---

You yelped when the loud bang rattled your apartment the door sent flying of their hinges along with a spray of powered plaster despite knowing it was coming.

A glint of metal appeared next, the striking red, white and blue no longer there as it was covered in more bland colours for stealth missions.

And then a large figure cladded in blue shirt and grey jeans entered, his chest heaving, face flushed with red. Piercing blue eyes wiped of all previous traces of tiredness scanned the room, instantly falling on you as you awkwardly stood there, dumbfounded, startled and utterly speechless.

Also, much to Steve’s puzzlement, you were perfectly fine otherwise – even with both legs functioning, no remnants of pins and needles present.

Steve eased his posture instantly, eyes narrowing and then widening as he looked you up and down, lips parting in genuine surprise – and relief.

He said your name, clear and almost reverent, dropping the shield on the floor with a clang.

The ‘hi babe’ got stuck in your throat as you could see the tension leaving his shoulders, his eyes turning glassy and absent despite relief rolling off him in damn tsunami waves.

It hit you like a train – that you were delighted to see him, actually see him, even under these circumstances; and you truly didn’t want him to withdraw to some freaky brain-space after he had probably got one of the most ridiculous scares of his life due to the fact that his brain was not fully back in the normal world.

In the normal world where you abruptly disconnected a call without warning, because you talked too animatedly and not because some terrorist high on the FBI’s, CIA’s, NSA’s and SHIELD’s most wanted list found out you were Steve’s girlfriend and decided to take you out.

So to prevent another psychical horror trip of his, you went for distracting him – with a very relevant issue.

“You broke my door.”

Steve blinked, gaze refocusing on you fully, simply staring for a long moment.

“You went offline,” he objected quietly, a hint of accusation in his voice. God, you missed his voice.

“You broke my door, Steve.”

As if hearing his name was a spell, his frozen figure came to life and he took a cautious step closer, repeating his previous statement, this time with a hint of guilt.

“You went offline.”

“And you broke my door. That’s the second time this month, Steve! My landlords gonna k--- be real pissed at me,” you corrected yourself in the last second, not wanting say kill.

Steve ignored the slip and apparently got the message, his face twisting in genuine apology. “I’m sorry. I’ll fix it!”

With efficiency of a supersoldier, he spun on his heels and rushed to pick up the door as if it was lighter than a paperweight and swiftly put it in place.

Only for the door to slowly tilt his way again. He caught it with a loud curse and moved it aside, leaning it partly against the wall. The action sent more plaster down onto the floor, like the only truly white snow in New York City. Peripherally, you noticed Steve grimacing, his face an expression an epitome of yikes.

You let your eyes slipped shut, shaking your head with a sigh, but couldn’t but chuckle. When you looked at Steve again, he resembled a 240 pounds giant Labrador puppy, truly regretful, approaching you reluctantly as if he was afraid you would slap his big paws for being clumsy.

What he would deserve was for you to clip round his ear for impulsiveness, but could you blame him? God knew what he had seen in Moldova in the past week, what horrors he had lived through and what a nightmare his mind had created when you ‘went offline’.

Him barging in like this due to your own dumbassery was kinda sad; a prove of his demanding job full of terror.

It was cute and heart-warming, because he just cared for you that much.

It was a little ridiculous, because as Steve finally crossed the distance between you two, the head of your elderly neighbour peeked from behind the empty doorway, puzzled and rather concerned.

You snorted unattractively, the scene in front of you seeming epically hilarious all of sudden.

“I’m good, Mr. T!” you called over Steve’s shoulder after the poor man who gossiped like an old woman and was just as hospitable. “Just my boyfriend fussing because of a technology fail!”

A grin spread on his wrinkled face; a testimony to years of laughter and amiability. “Oh. Hi, Mr. America!”

“Afternoon, Mr. T! I am verry sorry for disturbing you.”

The older-looking man waved off Steve’s politeness.

“It’s fine. You keep taking care of your lady, Mr. America, and keep her safe!”

“Yes, sir,” Steve humoured him with a salute, earning a wink.

As your neighbour walked away with a fresh topic for his Sunday tea party, Steve turned his attention to you again, eyes searching, wide, apologetic – but also soft, taking in the view of you, revelling in it.

“Hi, sweetheart,” he whispered lowly, the lopsided smile you loved so much gracing his face, once again pulling at that damn split lip. You grimaced a bit, the sight of him almost brining tears into your eyes; the gentleness and the remnants of fight punching you straight in the gut.

His eyes fluttered close when you lifted your hand and traced the line of the bruise on his face with the lightest pressure you were capable of. This time, tears definitely prickled in your eyes, but you blinked them away, cupping Steve’s cheek and pulling him close.

“Oh come here, babe,” you breathed out, fingers carding through his hair as he leaned his head on your shoulder, lips brushing the crook of your neck, strong arms embracing around your form.

He was warm and big and held you a bit tighter than necessary and dammit, you loved your sweet of heart and occasionally dumb of ass boyfriend. Boyfriend, who was crazy in love with you. Sometimes with emphasis on the crazy.

“I missed you, sweetheart,” he muttered, nose nuzzling the sensitive skin of your neck, breathing in deeply. You pretended it didn’t do things to you as he did everything to get lost in you and leave all the bad behind. You failed.

“You’re totally paying for fixing my door.”

Well, maybe not failed entirely.

“Of course,” Steve assured you dutifully, no hint of humour in his voice.

It broke you on a completely new level; he was serious. Dammit you loved this man!

“I missed you too,” you finally admitted and this time, he did chuckle, squeezing you even tighter, hand running up and down your back. Without any warning, he tightened his grip and lifted you from the floor so you had to cling to him entirely, causing you to gasp.

You never got the chance to gather your wits and comment on that, because an annoyed voice of a certain redhead sounded from your laptop.

“…alright, you crazy kids, you had your cuddles. Now, Rogers, should I tell Fury you’re coming back for the debriefing or should we just finally change with the times and do it over Zoom?”

Clutching Steve’s waist and shoulder, face contentedly in his chest, you voted for the latter.

Steve Rogers masterlist

Lovely divider by whimsicalrogers​.

A fic from collection ‘This was supposed to be a drabble.’  Also, I couldn’t for the love of god figure out a better title.

I hope you enjoyed at least a bit :-*

Thank you for reading!

#fanfiction #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers x you #steve rogers #captain america #captain america x reader #captain america x you #captain america imagine #steve rogers fluff #captain america fluff #steve rogers fanfiction #captain america fanfiction #marvel #mcu #one door closes #anika ann

[playinonaloop]

Chapter 4: Save us

Warning throughout the series: (mentions of) smut, violence, drugs, alcohol, guns, maffia stuff, ya know!

Story masterlist

A warm wind blew onto Daniels ‘s face as he ran out into the garden. He blew out air through his nose while he crouched down. To torture you was one thing, but to kill you? Daniel knew that only would bring death and destruction to his family. His body became hot as the world started to spin around him. Daniel’s heart started to race, blood pounding in his ears. He sat down and tried to grab the small stones of the gravel path beneath him.

Thoughts were spinning through his head; his mother had really gone mad. She was really planning to kill you, for something as simple as money. Daniel knew that there was more to it than just money. He knew his family was tied up into something bigger than he could ever imagine. Why did you get left behind? Was this a way to get underneath the skin of his parents? Why didn’t they leave Joey? Were you something your family thought of as less, just as his family did?

Everybody in the Ricciardo family knew that his sister, Michelle, was going to be the next one to lead the family. Her being older, and perhaps more twisted, aided to that. She fitted right into the way his family portrayed themselves. Daniel didn’t use drugs like they did, he didn’t drink alcohol. He didn’t enjoy torturing like they did. In every aspect he was different than them. Joe, his dad, was in many ways like him but, because he married Grace, he changed to her liking. And with that, Joe didn’t hold her back in the things she did.

Daniels ‘s breath slowed down again as he got a grip of the stones beneath him. He threw them away from him as he took deep breaths to calm down again. After a short moment, he stood up and turned around to take a look at the house. His brown eyes scanned the house, taking it in. The big windows, balconies with lounge sets on them. A curtain that blew out of a window. Daniel walked back a bit to see the enormous roof with some small towers on top of it. He knew that it wasn’t normal to live in such a mansion. With that thought on his mind, he walked back inside.

--

Soft whimpers left your mouth as the pain became unbearable. The sun was now high up in the sky which meant that Daniels ‘s visit had been a few hours ago. You hadn’t had food or something to drink in a while now, in combination with being tortured it made you feel awful. The smell of dried blood was starting to make your head spin. As you looked down you saw that your jeans were drenched in blood. This made you close your eyes shortly; you knew you had lost a lot of blood.

When you opened your eyes, you knew you had slipped out of consciousness for a bit. The sun was starting to set. It marked the end of day four, making it almost five days since you saw your family. God, you hated this situation. A frustrated groan left your mouth as you thought about the last moments before you went on this stupid mission. Eating breakfast with your parents and Joey, giving your dog Katy a last cuddle before leaving. Tears started to well up in your eyes. You knew that you were going to die here if your family didn’t show up tomorrow. As a family you had mutually decided that, if there wasn’t an option to save one of them within the first five days of being kidnapped or left behind, you didn’t get saved. It took too much risk to come and save someone who might actually be dead due to starvation, torture or even murder. Yes, it was a very hard choice to accept. But it had to be done, to save the family.

The door behind you opened. It made you sit up, hoping someone came to bring you something to eat and drink. You realized that it wasn't a food delivery by the way the person moved through the room. Another set of footsteps joined.

"We're giving you another chance to 'fess up"

Michelle her voice cut through the air, a shiver running up your spine as Grace walked towards the windows. You quickly saw the gun she was carrying. It made you realize this could end in two different ways. You could either tell them or die. A smile played your mouth as another idea popped up in your mind.

"Okay"

"Okay?"

It made Michelle walk towards you, Grace turned around with a frown on her face.

"Yeah, I'm dying either way"

Grace scoffed and smiled. She let go of the gun.

"Clever girl..."

You told them this big story, how your parents decided they would legalize weed as they grew it on the farm back north of Queensland. To what degree they went to flood the now legal market. How they profited of it, making them become wealthier than they had ever been. You told them in detail where the farm was, Michelle left the room to send an investigator up there. Grace just stared at you. In dismay.

“I can’t believe you would betray your family like that.”

“Well, they left me here to die. Didn’t they?”

Hatred fueled your eyes, and they believed your story.

“I’ll make sure they get your regards”

Grace left. You took a deep breath in, shaking your fear out of you. The farm you talked about was an empty shell. Your family didn’t use it, as it used to be an old family home. It was completely empty. A giggle left your mouth, it was all a lie. The Ricciardo’s weren’t going to win in any way. You were going to die anyway, now or in 80 years.

You looked out of the window, staring into the abyss as a few hours passed by. It turned completely dark outside. The door behind you opened but you were too tired to respond.

It was Daniel that sat in front of you. A knife in his hands. You knew it was time. A tear slipped out of your eye, making you nudge your shoulder to your cheek. He didn't look at you.

"So ironic that you are the one to..." You scoffed softly.

Daniel looked up at you. Your eyes met and it was electrifying. Now that he was sitting here in front of you, you had time to take him in. Thinking that he would be the last thing you would see because you weren't sure if there was anything like an afterlife, your eyes slid over his head. You could see how messy his curls were, almost identical to how they were this morning. A number of curls had slumped to the side, as if they were too heavy to hold. You would always remember his sun-tanned head, that's how he used to look. The wrinkles around his eyes that no doubt came from laughing all the time. The beard that made him look older than he was. You looked further down. A muscular body, dressed in a simple black t-shirt and shorts. Daniel didn't wear socks, also something he never did. You now saw the rose on his hand, you recognized it from somewhere.

"How long do you have that rose?"

"I don't know, since 2018 I think, why?"

"No, it's nothing, thought I recognized it"

"Oh"

The silence came back, and it became unbearable.

"If you aren't going to kill me, just do it"

He stood up, playing with the knife. Daniel looked back and forth between you and the door. It made you want to cry, because he made your ending so much longer than it needed to be. That also made you angry. You could feel death lingering over you, his hands were playing with the knife as if it was a lego block, something as innocent as that.

“Can’t you see how fucked up this is?”

“Well how am I supposed to go on then?!” You looked up at him, despair in your eyes. This was the moment that would break or make your or his family.

Drawing blood from his hands as he twists the knife in his hands and looked away at the closed door.

You were starting to get annoyed with him. He was prolonging your life for what?

"Daniel, look at me damn it!"

He finally looked at you. Really looked at you. His eyes weren't blank anymore. Instead, you saw something you didn't recognize.

"I remember swimming with you and your brother, you know. Almost every summer behind the cliffs where we used to ride to from your house."

You raised an eyebrow as he started talking about something from the past. He continued.

"I remember playing hide and seek while our parents had meetings together. I recall sitting with you on the swing."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"A few years ago, I had the most wonderful night. It was a night out with friends. After a few drinks I decided to get on the dance floor. The club played the greatest hits but also a few from the past. While dancing, I saw the prettiest girl. High heels, a sleeveless dress, just up to my liking. Long legs, long hair and smelled like freshly cut watermelon with a hint of smoke but it didn't overwhelm me. "

You knew where this was going. Daniel was now face to face with you, close. Now you recognized the smell, sweet like a candy shop but also the saltiness from the sea.

"We danced for quite a bit, my hands roaming her body freely. Kissing her neck. She grabbed my hand, where I had a rose. A rose just like this one."

He shows you his hand. Not too close to your face to make sure he didn't cut you with the knife he held.

"It was a fake tattoo at the time, you know, some a temporary tattoo that you stick on with a wet cloth."

Daniel smiled as he bent down.

"My friend whispered to me that I was dancing with the devil."

A chuckle left his mouth. He sat on the floor in front of you.

"I was dancing with you, he had seen your face and made me leave. Again I was disturbed in being who I wanted to be. I wanted to be carefree, to live without the responsibility of being a member of the fucking maffia!"

His hand drove the knife into the wooden floor. It cracked. You tried to shuffle your chair backwards, afraid he would drive the knife in your leg next. Daniel looked up at you.

"My parents do not find me important enough to take me with them in most of the family meetings. They take Michelle. But in the last few days I've realized something. It's okay that they don't. Because I do not want to be like them."

Daniel pulled the knife out of the floor.

"I. Want. Out!"

He spoke through gritted teeth, moving the knife towards your leg.

"So, this is the plan. I will act like I killed you but obviously will not kill you. Then I will wrap the blanket, that's laying by the door, around you and I will carry you to the car. I'll go back inside to tell my parents that I am going to dispose of your body. I'll show them a picture of you in the blanket. In my car I have two fake passports, because we need to talk."

Daniel cut all the ropes around your feet, body and wrists. You were speechless to say the least. He walked to get the blanket and grabbed another bottle of something.

"Can you lay on top of it, I've got some fake blood I will put on your chest and onto the knife and then some on the blanket so it will be realistic."

You just looked at him, rubbing your wrists. The wounds on your stomach hurt.

"Why are you saving me?"

"Because, I reckon, you want out too. Now lay down, we don't have much time"

Daniel put a hand on your shoulder and softly pushed you towards the blanket. You sat and laid down carefully. He put some fake blood on your chest and on the knife. A little pool of blood was quickly created, but it was mixed with your own. Some of the cuts on your stomach opened, making you groan.

"Okay, okay, eyes closed; just a second."

He took the photo and put it in his back pocket.

"So just lay there for a minute. I've got some medical stuff to help you with the.. duh.."

Daniel looked visibly distressed.

"You don't have to talk about it"

Your voice was soft, making him look at you instead of the cuts. He grabbed Betadine and some bandages.

"It might hurt"

"Just do it, the proces of making them hurt even worse"

He looked hurt at the way you snapped at him.

"Sorry"

"No, it's okay"

Daniel gave you his hand before he put the Betadine on. You squeezed it hard, making you clench your jaws as he cleaned it a bit. He then bandaged it.

"I'm now going to wrap you up and carry you to the car"

Before you knew you were in the trunk of the car. It was dark, cold and to be quite frank; scary. You laid there for a bit, refueling yourself with small bites of the sandwich Daniel made and drinking a bit of water. The car started to drive away, making you grip the flooring of the trunk to hold on. You rest your head against the bag that laid in the trunk too. After a while, you slipped into a nap.

"Hey, you still with me?"

You opened your eyes and met Daniel who was very close to your face. It made you shuffle backwards. "Sorry, I'm just glad you're awake. Shall I help you get out?" "Yes, uh, please." Daniel grabbed your hands and helped you up. He briefly shielded your head as you came up and nearly hit the edge of the trunk. "I brought you some clothes to put on, because what you're wearing now can't be called clothes anymore." He handed you a bag and then walked away to the lookout point where we were parked. You looked around briefly before opening the bag. The bag was full of clothes, short-sleeved shirts, long-sleeved shirts, sweaters, jeans, sweatpants. You name it or it was in there. The cold had now crept into your bones, so you opted for layers. A short-sleeved shirt with a sweater over it. Jeans with a sweater over it. Daniel had even thought of clean underwear.

"You can turn around now, I'm dressed."

Daniel turned back to you and took you in.

His face showed signs of complete horror. "I'm so sorry." A tear rolled down his cheek. He collapsed, causing you to walk right up to him. He cried. Tears also slowly streamed down your cheeks. He put his arms around you. You cried together. After a while the tears were gone.

"What now?" "I need to let my parents know that I'm fine and that I'm free." "And after that?" "After that we'll see what we're going to do"

He smiled at you, it made you smile back. You were free, you were safe. Daniel saved you and himself in the proces.

"Can I suggest one thing we can do?"

You looked at him with a raised eyebrow.

"What?"

"Can I kiss you?"

His voice was soft and nervous. Daniel kept smiling a little, with a little blush on his cheeks.

"Yeah"

"Yeah?"

You nodded.

"Okay"

Daniel stepped closer to you, the space between you now almost non existent. His hot breath fanned over your face. He looked down at you, scanning your eyes again. You took in that rich smell of cologne that he wore. It was as if the night at the club continued. But then in silent. His eyes looked into yours. They seemed lighter in color in the moonlight. The dark ring around his iris was a great contrast to the amber color inside. His pupils were large because of the lack of light in the area. Daniel surprised you by letting his lips gently touch yours. His hand found its place on your cheek, he gently rubbed it with his thumb. He tasted fresh, almost like he just brushed his teeth. It made you realized he had a mint before. Daniel had planned everything which made you giggle against his lips.

#Daniel Ricciardo imagine #daniel ricciardo #imagine #fanfic #f1 #mob!au #angst

[sophiainspace]

☾ coldwestallen

☾ - sleep headcanon

The Bed

“See? It’s the perfect solution.” Len waves his hand in a little flourish at the enormous bed, which he has just... acquired.

The three of them are standing in a line at the foot of said enormous bed, staring at it.

“I guess it is,” Iris says, and sighs.

Just as Len is about to ask Iris if she could sound any more tragic about being gifted the largest bed in the furniture store, Barry says, “Yeah, it kind of is,” in a voice that would not sound out of place if his family pet had just died. (Len should check on McSnurtle in a minute.)

Trust these two to turn down the biggest bed Len has ever seen, and its wonderful potential for space for them all. Len raises his hands. “What?”

Iris nods slowly at the bed. “It’s just so big.”

“It is,” Barry agrees. “Won’t we get... lonely?”

It seems Len still has some persuading to do. He jumps onto the end of the bed, swinging his legs against the frame (which is hiding enough storage for all kinds of things. Like a third person’s belongings, for instance). “Sweethearts. Paramours. Lightning bolt of my life and brightest star in my sky. We did agree we all needed more space at night, correct?”

“Yes,” the two of them chorus sadly.

“Remember why?”

Barry seems to have temporarily forgotten that he is a brave bold superhero, and has slipped his hand into Iris’s. “Because I’m clingy,” he replies in a pitiful voice.

Len takes a calming breath. “Never said you were clingy. I said you were—”

“Like a limpet.”

Len can no longer stand Barry’s sad face. “Okay, I might have said that, in my sleepy, overheated delirium... Scarlet, I love having you cling to me.” He waits for Barry’s little smile to peek out before adding, “But there’s no denying you have the body heat of a large toaster. If the toaster could move at several times the speed of sound.”

Barry sighs. “And you like to be cold when you sleep.”

Len inclines his head. He will not be broken down by pouting. He earned this bed.

(So what if he earned it by getting Mick Rory to set a small, easily-controlled fiery distraction at one end of a furniture store - after hours, when only security were there - while the Rogues absconded out the other door with the bed? Still counts.)

Iris raises a hand. Her snarky smile warns of an impending smug moment. Only fair - it’s her turn. “How many toasters move at the speed of sound?”

“I said if. It’s a hypothetical toaster.”

“The toaster is hypothetical,” she reassures Barry, patting his shoulder. She has a protective arm wrapped around his waist now - must have been the clingy comment.

Len raises an eyebrow at her. “And your contribution to the sleeping predicament?”

Iris wrinkles her nose. “You claim I steal the blankets.”

“You do,” Len and Barry say in perfect, unrehearsed unison.

Iris pokes Len. (He resists the urge to ow.) “You’re the one who likes being cold when he sleeps,” she mutters.

Len shrugs. “Not as cold as your freezing feet.”

“I do not have cold feet!” She turns to Barry, eyes wide. “Babe, tell him I don’t!”

Appropriately, Barry freezes. “Uh...”

“Like ice blocks,” Len agrees. Iris’s wide-eyed look of utter betrayal is cute. Len’s not going to tell her so.

She thumbs behind her. “You wanna end up on the couch, Leonard? I bet sleeping with your cold gun would be a whole lot chillier than my feet.”

Okay, snark is one thing, but she doesn’t get a turn with the puns. “Funny,” Len drawls.

“Guys!” Barry raises his hands in surrender. “Do we really need to fight about this? I’m sure we can come to a solution everyone’s happy with.”

But Iris’s eyes have narrowed at the bed - and then at Len. The last time he saw a look that dangerous from her, she was interviewing him as a source. “Leonard, how much did the bed cost?”

This, Len planned for. “$3489 without the mattress, but I got a great deal on that with the bed frame. Talked the sales guy down from $989 - got it at cost for $784. Gave him some schtick about any sale being worth significantly more to him than no sale at all.” The key to lying well is all in the details. Len stretches triumphantly.

Barry sighs in just that way. “You stole it.”

Iris raises an unimpressed eyebrow. “He stole it.”

Len is faced with two matching do-gooder hero poses. His brain scrambles to find the hole in his plan. “In my defence,” he starts, “you’re usually fine with it—”

“We said as long as we don’t find out, Len.” Barry shakes his head. Len can just feel his disappointment. It’s pretty much the worst.

“And you just got rumbled.” Of course Iris is backing him up. Len barely resists rolling his eyes.

“I assumed the ‘no stolen goods in the house’ rule was implied,” Barry adds.

The plan is now a runaway train with Len in the driver’s seat pulling uselessly at faulty brakes. “Again, in my defence, you could have made that expli—”

“Don’t.” Barry throws up a hand as he walks away. “Babe, how about we sleep on the couch tonight?”

“Great idea,” says Iris. “We can pull out the hideabed.” Her unimpressed look intensifies as soon as Barry isn’t there to temper her. Unlike her husband, Iris is always more upset by lies than stealing. And Len thought he couldn’t feel any worse. Without another word, Iris follows Barry out.

“That’s fine,” Len calls after them, like he’s convincing anyone. “All the more enormous bed for me.”

Twenty minutes later, he climbs in. It’s exactly as comfortable as he expected, and... empty.

Len hunkers down in the middle of the huge pile of pillows, ignoring the vast space on either side of him, and why is he trying not to feel bad about the stealing and the lying?

As he finally drifts off, he wonders when these two irritating do-gooders started having this effect on him.

—

He’s sure Barry will be the first to cave. Len expects him to appear around midnight, craving his cuddles, wrapping himself around Len like a conveniently-shaped hot water bottle. But 1 AM comes and goes, and Len stays cold. Who knew he could miss his furnace of a speedster?

His eyes open again a couple of hours later. Iris always comes for her own cuddles around 3 AM, pretending to be reluctant about it. Len always plays her game, muttering about being woken up - as he snuggles up to her and cools off his speedster-overheated toes on her blocks of ice. But tonight, his feet stay stubbornly room temperature.

At 4 AM, half-emerging from a very weird dream in which he is directing Barry and Iris in carrying an enormous bed out of the Speed Force, Len throws out an arm for...

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Snart,” he mutters - and gets up. Time to stop being an asshole. For one night, at least.

Len knows his way to the pull-out couch in the dark. Barry rolls over just in time for Len to climb into a sliver of space. He lies tight on his side on the edge of the thin mattress, trying not to breathe in case he slides off.

“You’re an asshole,” says Barry’s sleepy voice, in exactly the tone he uses to tell Len he loves him. He reaches out a hand for Len.

Len wraps himself around his human radiator - like a limpet. “Thought you were asleep,” he whispers.

“I am.” Barry makes the most adorable happy noise Len has ever heard. “Mmm. I missed you.”

“Missed you too.” Len cuddles him tighter, trying to ignore the spring poking into his back. “This the worst mattress I’ve ever had the misfortune of lying on, and I’ve slept in a cell in Iron Heights.”

“Are you stealing all the cuddles, Barr?” comes Iris’s voice from out of the dark.

A flicker of lightning - and Barry is behind him, shoving Len towards Iris, and big-spooning him like the cuddly romantic he is. “You’re hotter than the surface of the sun,” Len complains.

“Thanks. I work out,” Barry murmurs. “Mostly running.”

Len chuckles quietly. He turns his head to kiss Barry’s shoulder, letting his lips linger against his warm speedster a moment longer than necessary. “Sleep well, Scarlet,” he whispers, though he’s pretty sure Barry has already drifted off.

As Len reaches out to pull Iris towards him, she tuts. “Are you still complaining about the heat, Leonard?” She shoves her feet against his. “Maybe these’ll help.”

He makes a show of shivering— “Worse than the cold gun core” —and kisses her neck. He hides a secret smile against her. “Good night, Iris.”

She makes a contented sound that warms his heart, even if his feet are about to form icicles. “Night, hon,” she whispers back.

With all his temperature needs taken care of, Len closes his eyes.

A full seven minutes later, he says, “I’ll take the bed back.”

“And?” Barry asks.

Len would roll his eyes, if anyone could see it in the dark. “And I’ll pay for the fire damage to the store.”

“And?” Iris murmurs.

Len never knew true patience until he met the West-Allens. “And make a sizeable donation on top for any inconvenience— Look, do you want me to give them the entire price of the bed and be done with it?”

“That sounds fair,” Barry sleepy-murmurs. Only the Flash could sound that smug while he’s asleep.

Iris giggles and cuddles up a little closer to Len. “Apology accepted. We love you too.”

“Love you, Lenny,” comes Barry’s happy echo.

“Might as well keep the bed, if I’m paying for it. Or were we just planning to carry on sleeping here?” They’re asleep, but he takes their silence as agreement anyway. “Good. The bed stays.” He curls himself tighter around Iris, pulls Barry’s arm closer around him, allows himself one contented sigh, and closes his eyes again.

He has to open them again a minute later to grab a handful of blanket before the entire thing wanders off to the other end of the bed. “Iris, you thief!”

“Shh,” she murmurs. “The blanket is hypothetical.”

“Well, it sure moves faster than a toaster!”

One last flash of lightning lights up the darkness, and the blanket is thrown back over Len. “Go to sleep, you goobers,” Barry hisses.

Cramped and achy and cuddled up between his people, Len drifts off.

Tomorrow he’ll tell them why he brought a bed big enough for three into an apartment where only two people currently live.

For now, he sleeps like he’s home.

#ficlet #coldwestallen #not a one of these three can communicate effectively #that’s it that’s the ship #barry allen #leonard snart #iris west allen #still cranking the crangst #my fic #the flash ficlet #none of us can queue this alone

[longitudinalwaveme]

Len Snart’s Creepy/Pathetic Proposals, Part 3

For this post, we will be looking at Flash #140, “The Heat is On--For Captain Cold. It was published in November 1963, and was written by John Broome and drawn by the inimitable Carmine Infantino.

In addition to being another story where Captain Cold creeps on pretty women, this story also features the first appearance of his fellow Rogue Heat Wave, alias Mick Rory. 

The comic opens with Barry and Iris at the latter’s apartment, watching TV. Iris, being Silver Age Iris, suddenly turns off the television. “I didn’t like the way you were staring at that girl, Barry Allen!” (The program he was watching featured a celebrity named Dream Girl). 

Barry proceeds to lodge his foot firmly in his mouth. “I wasn’t staring! I was just waiting for Dream Girl to turn around!” He then has to quickly explain that the Flash “told” him that the Willens and Kohl Law Firm asked the Flash if he could find the heir of Mr. Varner, a wealthy mining magnate whose only child was believed lost in a shipwreck. 

The child in question had a diamond-shaped birthmark on the back of her neck. If she can be found, she gets a two million dollar trust fund (roughly $16 million in today’s money) and an additional $10,000,000 (roughly $80 million) will go to charity. If she can’t be found before the end of the next day, all the money will go to a couple of “ne’er-do-well” relatives of Mr. Varner’s. Why he didn’t just arrange for all the money to go to charity if she wasn’t found is anyone’s guess. But regardless, that’s why Barry wanted to see Dream Girl’s back. 

Iris, surprisingly, immediately accepts this explanation like a reasonable person and even turns on the TV again...but instead of Dream Girl’s program, they see an important news broadcast that reveals that Cold has broken out of prison (again). This time, he escaped by using “one of his fantastic cold guns, which he manufactured out of spare freezer parts in the prison workshop!” WHY WAS NO ONE SUPERVISING HIM TO MAKE SURE THIS DIDN’T HAPPEN? 

Barry leaves Iris and promptly changes into the Flash to go on the hunt for Captain Cold. 

We then cut to Captain Cold’s hideout in a cave. It’s decorated by a humongous picture of Dream Girl’s head and neck (seriously, it’s like as large as he is.) 

“There! It’s the largest picture of Dream Girl I could find! Of course, she’s everybody’s dream girl now, but soon things will be different...and she will be mine alone! I admit that at various times in the past I’ve--ah--thought myself attracted to other girls! But the feeling I had for them pales into insignificance compared to what I feel for Dream Girl!” 

Len Snart reads women’s magazines in prison. Make of this what you will. He also broke out of prison solely to woo her away from the Flash, who is currently her dream man. So, how is he going to do this? He’s going to commit crimes and fight the Flash, that’s how! 

“Why, I’ll make a sap out of the Flash! I’ll pull off crimes right under his nose! I’ll show him up for the stumblebum he is--compared to Captain Cold! And by doing that, I’ll prove to Dream Girl that I’m really the man she thought Flash was! I’ll become her dream man--and nobody else!” Len, that’s insane. 

Cold decides to get her attention by robbing the exiled government of Guanador (one of DC’s many fake countries), who are “arriving here in Central City with all the bank notes they could steal-I mean all they could carry away with them-from the Gauanadorian Treasury!” 

The next day at 8 AM, Cold strikes. “No criminal in his right mind would dare try anything here today--against all these forces of law and order. But as it so happens--I’m not in my right mind--I’m in love! Ha ha!” Unfortunately for him, the Flash pops up. “At last! My long night’s vigil has paid off! I’ve come across Captain Cold!” In other words, Barry ran across the city all night for almost no reason. Cold didn’t do anything until 8 AM the next day!

Before Flash can defeat his rival, however, he is shot in the back with a blast of intense heat. Heat Wave is on the scene!

“How about that hot reception, Flash? Allow me to introduce myself, the one enemy you will never conquer! Heat Wave--at your service!” Mick is perhaps a bit overconfident here. 

For some reason, instead of jumping into action, Flash stands around long enough for Heat Wave to blast him again, knocking him unconscious. (“That sizzling blast! Hitting me with the force of a pile-driver--uh!”) Cold and Heat Wave then team up and escape the scene of the crime. 

The two go to Captain Cold’s cave hideout, where Heat Wave explains that he used to be a fire-eater in the circus, but that he “lost his taste for the work”. 

“I created my own uniform--and my weapon--a heat gun!” Yes, this is all the explanation the comic is going to give you for this. Note that his gun isn’t technically a flamethrower at this point, either, so you can’t really handwave it away that way. 

And then the never-ending puns begin. “It sure is hot stuff, Heat Wave! You know, we should make a good team...and since you have no hideout of your own yet, you’re welcome to share mine!” The Flash Rogues have always been oddly chummy in this way; I’d believe that basically any of them would have made the same offer. 

Of course, things basically fall apart immediately thereafter when Heat Wave reveals that he’s also in love with Dream Girl. “She’s the reason I gave up fire-eating! I was determined to win her love! And I knew the only way to do it was to show up Flash--her dream man!” Heat Wave and Captain Cold are so similar they even share the same nonsensical logic...but man, at least Cold was already a crook. Heat Wave gave up an established career for this insanity!

The two shoot at each other (to basically no effect, since their blasts cancel each other out).

Cold: You!? You’re just a big nothin’! Dream Girl will be mine--and nobody else’s!” 

Heat Wave:  And you-you’re just a cold-hearted Romeo!

I think Cold won this round of insult-slinging, Heat Wave. Your insult didn’t even make sense.

However, instead of continuing to fight, the two instead decide that whoever commits the most spectacular crimes will win the girl. “As far as I’m concerned, Heat Wave, that bet is ice-cold!” The puns….the puns! Make them stop! 

Flash runs around looking for the pair of criminals, who have apparently been causing enormous damage to the city because of their confrontation. Note that the art completely fails to convey this. 

When the Flash shows up, the two crooks promptly call off their rivalry in the face of a bigger threat, planning to take it up again as soon as Flash is defeated. Each hits Flash from one side, creating the awesome-looking image from the cover. 

However, Flash isn’t down long, as he uses his control over all his molecules to conduct the cold to the side of his body being blasted by the heat gun and vice-versa. Sure, that makes sense. SCIENCE! 

Flash then creates a suction vacuum that knocks the two crooks together. Flash takes them back to prison, where both men explain their insane motivations for the crime spree that did a bunch of damage that we didn’t see. 

Flash then goes to meet with Dream Girl, who...shock! Surprise!...is actually Mr. Varner’s long-lost daughter. She has a picture of herself with the birthmark and had it removed only recently. Dream Girl also grew up in an orphanage and has a fear of water, which could be explained by the boat crash she survived. Dream Girl-real name Priscilla Varner-inherits the trust fund, charity gets a lot of money, and the day is saved. 

The issue ends with Barry and Iris on a moonlight drive, where Mean Silver Age Iris tears down her boyfriend. “Tell me, Barry, don’t you feel ashamed sometimes to be so slow-moving and lazy when the Flash--” Barry cuts her off here: “Gosh, Iris! We can’t all be the Flash!” WHY. ARE. THESE TWO. DATING?

Stay tuned for part 4! 

#flash rogues #flash comics #dc comics #barry allen #iris allen #heat wave #captain cold

[octalove]

IX: Bullets (And Other Things That Don’t Go Back)

(Batgirl/Red Hood)

Description: Reader and Jason are out for revenge- it doesn’t go as planned. Previous.

TW: Description of gore!!! Seriously.

This was the Bowery. Darkness became blackness here; the shadows were mountains too steep to be climbed. Each clinical electric light on the Estate didn’t seem to make a dent in the depth of them. The air was suffocating, smelling of smoke and sewage. I knew what kind of people were tucked within it; a nest of hornets. The kind of people who kill women in their homes- their beds.

The kind of people who killed my parents.

Jason was beside me, helmet yet to be pulled on as we watched from the shadows, taking in the composition of the place. His warmth and sturdy presence was reassuring; I felt nervous, and I knew why. This was personal.

At the heart of this hornet’s nest was Adriano Cliffs. He’d successfully broken up the families and rekindled a war, blaming the Pellegrinos- Kane Pellegrino specifically- for Penelope’s death. With no marriage, the families were once again enemies and competitors, and pointing the finger at Penelope’s husband was the salt in the wound that finally spurred Olivier D’amici.

Jason told me that she signed Cliffs’ deal at her granddaughter’s funeral.

He was here, tonight. The old Estate was bought with D’amici money, and inside were a dozen armed men on the D’amici payroll. Drug packaging, maybe. I wasn’t too concerned with the particular crimes taking place at the Estate; there was only one crime I wanted revenge for.

The objective was simple; find Cliffs. Whatever Red Hood did thereafter, I wouldn’t stop him. Cliffs had no children, no family. Nothing but his depraved ambitions, and as far as I was concerned, the world was better off without them.

The inside of the Estate was something out of ancient Greece. White marble floors and limestone Corinthian pillars- including a Greek-style statue in the center of the large foyer. It depicted a dramatically-posed bearded man who appeared to be reaching skyward, with the direction of his upturned eyes, a cloth swirling around his form by grace non-existent wind; ever-frozen in time.

On either side of the grandiose room were large, winding stair cases leading to a second floor with intricate railing. It was the kind of house that was built before the Bowery fell to crime and poverty. Even in the dark, with all the boxes, crates, and plastic-covered furniture, the house was a work of art.

We could hear voices carrying from back rooms and hallways, as laymen busied themselves with packing the crates with who-the-hell-knows.

Red Hood was incredibly quiet for the two-hundred pounds he was. He fell into shadows seamlessly, so still you couldn’t see the motion of his drawing breath. We moved together, common tongue of small nods, and barely perceptible hand signals. Slow movements.

Toe to heel. Steady breath. Nice and easy.

Red gave me a slight head tilt, and headed for the East wing, while I crept down the main hall. A stark, stand-alone light was in the enormous living area, illuminating some internal construction- remodeling of some kind. There was paint, ladders, and tools strewn about. I moved forward cautiously, inspecting the many corridors that the living room made way for. The narrow hallway was nearly pitch black, but I heard voices from behind a couple of the closed doors. Hushed, urgent. I pressed my ear to one.

“...What’d he say?”

“Dunno. Somethin’ bout how Cliffs got some guys want him dead for this.”

“For what? Workin’ wit the old lady?”

“Nah, not that... says Cliffs was the one who bumped off the granddaughter.”

I strained to hear them more clearly, my ear and hands pressed to the cool wood.

“Hey!”

I whipped around just as two men rushed toward me in the dark hallway. I stood, and charged them before they could draw their weapons, hitting one in the temple, and kicking the other one into the wall with concentrated force.

I turned back around just in time to see the two men I’d been eavesdropping on bursting from their room, pistols raised. I ducked as one fired a shot- one that rang like an alarm and echoed off the marble and limestone.

So much for quiet.

I slid low, and swept my leg beneath the shooter, knocking him to the ground, then delivered a left jab to the throat of the other. It was too late- I had the attention of the entire mansion now- hearing shouting and footsteps coming from all directions. As three more men appeared from the corridor, I darted back into the open living room.

More gunshots came from behind me, and a reflexive cry escaped my mouth, as I rushed for some form of cover in the nearby structures. I ducked behind an old drywall just as spray of bullets cascaded along it.

Something grazed my right cheek, and I knew the laceration was there even before I felt it. I drew a sharp breath, back pressed against the wall.

Something that sounded like voices, shouting, could be heard outside. Gun flashes ripped through my peripheral vision, hitting the man that was firing on me, who recoiled and made a disgustingly grim sound as he fell.

The wound on my face stung with ruthless irritation. My hand moved absentmindedly to cover the flesh and keep it together, but I felt the immediate fervid heat of cascading blood flood onto my palm, and through the spaces in between my fingers. It had to be deep.

“Fuck,” I whimpered. “Fuck. Fuck!” I pulled myself from my hiding place as a goon ducked behind it, not having enough time to notice me before I delivered a mean right hook.

My knuckles hurt upon the impact, but then, my whole body ached, making it hard to tell. Lines of pain blurred. It frustrated me that I felt helpless. Floundering in what was sure to be a terrifying and inglorious death, full of bullets, to become another corpse for a team of men to find and send back to the City Morgue. Burned in a cremator and reduced to nothing.

The sensation of my own blood pouring over my arm made me panic. There was so much of it, and it was so thick, and hot. I listened for more adversaries, light-headed from the loss, and the adrenaline.

As I pulled myself back into the fray, I halted in the open room, just in time to find myself eye level with a gun, staring down the barrel like my own funeral.

My gaze trailed from the gun, along the arm of my assailant, and settled on the familiar face I’d been inches from at the D’amici party.

The last time I’d been this close to him was when I was afraid I was going to make him spill his wine. His blue eyes were hard and full of hate. My stomach dropped, because I knew it was the last thing Penelope ever saw.

I was going to die.

I held my breath, closed my eyes.

But nothing came. There was a thud, and a cracking noise. As I opened my eyes, he was on the ground, and Red Hood was standing over him.

“Wrong fucking move, Cliffs.”

Irately, he kicked his stomach. Twice. Then, he circled, swung low and grabbed Cliffs by his hair. He made a struggling sound and tried to grasp at Red’s armored wrists, to no avail.

“You wanna put a bullet in another girl, that it?” His voice was full of unraveled anger as he dragged Cliffs. Dropping him forcefully, then picking him up again.

“You picked-“ He slammed Cliff’s head into a marble pillar. The sound was soft, but I flinched, and then shrunk under the sound of Cliff’s agonized cry.

“The wrong-“ He slammed it again.

“Fucking-“ Again.

“One.“ Again. The last blow was a wet, squelching sound as all the flesh had broken away, revealing the skull beneath. When his body finally crumpled lifelessly, a torrent of blood followed, flooding across the marble. His face was featureless- pieces of broken skull fragments indistinguishable from the teeth jutting out in all directions, flesh and hair melding with the blood. My eyes were glued to it.

I let out a shuddering exhale; a breath I’d been holding since the barrage began. I hadn’t even realized I’d sunken to the floor until I felt the cold marble beneath my hands, steadying me.

Red Hood leaned back in a tired way, catching his breath, before turning on me. I was sure for a moment I looked afraid. He gave no indication that he noticed.

“Can you walk?” His voice was harsh, jolting me back to a reality I didn’t know if I wanted to face. Automatically, I nodded.

He knelt down, his leather glove tipping my chin as he surveyed my face.

“Who shot you?”

“I... I don’t know..” I breathed. My mind was still catching up, reckoning with the fact that I was alive. “He’s dead.” I added.

Satisfied with that conclusion, Red turned his wrathful gaze on the back door, where some echoing gunshots could still be heard.

He stood, and pulled me to my feet as well. I only swayed a little, before I composed myself with some desperate sort of intrinsic resolve.

Pull yourself together. You’re Batgirl, for God’s sake.

He held up a gloved hand as we reached the exit, scanning the darkness. Then, together, we paced into the open night.

I wanted it to be over. I wanted to run, so I moved quickly over the concrete patio. There was a small garden in the back- dead trees and bare bushes from the harshness of winter’s height. The chill of which pricked my skin.

Suddenly, Jason grabbed my arm, pulling me to a halt. He tugged my body closer with ease, muscles tight with tension. He surveyed the dark garden, and as I followed his gaze, only then did I notice the silhouetted figure at the back gate.

I was petrified. I crouched, and knew my mask and hood covered my face, but I felt utterly visible. Luckily, Nightwing seemed more interested in Red Hood, who stood there, equal opposite to him, looking like a pissed snake about to strike. I believed it. I’d just seen it. Very abruptly, the tides of my fear shifted- so much so that the pain in my cheek dulled to a lulling ache. I was afraid for Dick.

“Jason,” Nightwing said. It was an odd thing; I knew that everyone knew who he was, but all this time it felt like my knowledge. My secret. My Jason. Now, night and day were crashing into one another, and my illusion was wavering. It was all wavering.

“Jason, I’m sorry. What happened to you- I’m so, so sorry.” The emotion in his voice made my chest hurt. “But you can’t keep doing this. Just talk to us. I miss you, little brother.”

Looking at him, I knew Red Hood was all static; charged up and willing to take out the aggression on the nearest medium of opposition. Nightwing may as well have been talking down a brick wall.

“If you don’t move, brother,” Red’s robotic drag was a sneering mockery and an earnest threat all at once. “I’ll move you.”

I was cemented to the darkness that concealed me, and still reckoning with my wounds, I didn’t know if I could help in a fight. I wasn’t sure who I would fight. Nightwing drew closer, his footfall against the garden’s gravel and the rustling wind were loud in my still-ringing ears. Red shifted his weight, blood-coated hands hovering above his holstered guns.

I stood, slowly. What the hell kind of Batgirl was I if I watched them tear each other apart?

But then, I wasn’t Batgirl, was I? Tonight, I wasn’t the hero. Under all the blood and black clothing, I was just me.

I reached out, my hands grasping at the hem of Red’s jacket sleeve, holding the leather tightly, like if I let go, the night sky would fall from where it hung above us. I pulled softly, a wordless plea, tugging him away from the jaws of a fight, wherein no victory lie- not for anyone.

He stood firmly, and drew his gun. In the time it takes to blink, he fired a shot at a goon who was emerging from the house’s back door. Nightwing and I both jumped, and then he looked back and forth between Red and the man’s body.

After a second more of resistance, Red resigned, turning to usher me into the steep shadows. Nightwing didn’t give chase in favor of trying to save the man’s life-if he could- and we peeled away into the dark.

*

“Jesus. Fuck... fuck.” I was shaking. Muscles trembling from the adrenaline and heart racing from our near-miss with Nightwing, and the way Cliffs’ eyes and blood vessels and skull looked smas-

“Hey. Easy.” My hands were in Jason’s. I must have missed when he shed his helmet, gloves and jacket as we entered his safe house. His skin was warm, his hands still as death. “Easy, little bird.” His eyes were so dark and deep, they looked like the grim, black waters of Gotham River. It was impossible to identify the multitude of emotion that lay swallowed below his torrent gaze. Concern, apathy, vigor, anger, all of it. More, that I couldn’t begin to understand. It wasn’t fair.

“Sit down.” He said. I did, pulling my gaze from his and effectively breaking the spell. He inspected the bullet graze on my cheek, the skin dark with blood.

“I’ll get some gauze.” He muttered, turning away. I focused on my breathing as he pulled off his holsters and set them with a loud clatter on a metal desk he had. He sighed.

“Damn. I wanted Cliffs alive a little longer.“

I looked at him, but it was a full thirty seconds before I comprehended what he said. After that, there was sudden knock in my mind.

“That’s what you’re worried about?” I breathed, before I could think it through.

He studied me considerately. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

“Because you just- everything went- you... you destroyed him. You didn’t stop.”

“Don’t tell me that actually surprises you.” I drew a breath, calming down enough to try and gather my thoughts.

“I don’t know. That’s... That’s not who I thought...“ It came out before I could think.

“Who did you think I was?”

I let his mind fill in the blank, because any answer I supplied was going to sound stupid. I didn’t know who I thought he was. Not good and not evil. He was decidedly human. I couldn’t look at him any other way, no matter how else my perception swayed depending on my company.

“A murderer?” He asked, an edge to his voice like a blade heating up in embers. I stayed silent. “A criminal? A psychopath?”

I bit the inside of my lip. A small taste of coppery blood.

“That was- I don’t... I did. I did think that. But then you... then you were Jason.” I said. He scoffed at that.

“Don’t fuckin’ tell me you didn’t see what I’d done before you started meeting me. Oh, no- wait, wait- you didn’t really think you could fix me? You’re smarter than that.” He was pissed now, and the look in his eyes was what I imagined Alphonso Kuznetsov saw before the coffin lid slammed shut.

“Baby, I’ve been a charity case before, remember? Just like you.”

“That’s not what I am.” I managed to fire, leaning forward. Maybe just to remind him I was worth my weight in a fight. But maybe I wasn’t, when it came to him. “I earned my place-“

“As Barbara’s replacement? I don’t think so.”

I let out a dry, frustrated laugh, and turned my head, letting the urge to yell and scream burn in my chest. A deep breath to smother the flame. Then, I retreated back to the previous point.

“You’re right. I did know what you’d done, and I knew what you were capable of. But that was before all of this.“

“And what is ‘this’?”

This- this this. This neurotic back and forth. Ebbing into him and flowing back to my family just to feel like whoever was more important to me was whoever I was with at the time. I wasn’t on the fence, I was the fence. I had no right of my own, no place on either side. I could offer mediation. Mediocre comfort. Nothing more.

“This. Us. Working with... with you and Batman, and I don’t know what’s right and what’s wrong.”

“You don’t know?” He sounded disbelieving. “Face it, babydoll. He doesn’t give a shit about you, or what you ‘earned’. You’re a tool to fuel his fucking self-serving ambitions, just like your parents were.”

“Don’t talk about them.”

“Why? They worked for him and so do you. Only difference is they worked for Bruce and you work for Batman.” His tone was dangerously condescending. I was meeting ice with fire, and it wasn’t working. “You’re a brand. Just like Robin. Doesn’t fuckin’ matter who wore the mask before, or who’s gonna wear it next. You’re nothing to him.”

A long, strangled moment passed. I’m not even sure if he was awaiting a prolepsis, or thought I’d given up, but both of us were left to rot in the apprehension.

“I’d hate to die like you did.” The quiet, vicious acidity that dipped into my voice threw even myself off kilter. A consequence of months of keeping all these goddamn secrets. My head felt like some dark, noxious lightning in a bottle. The edge in my tone was just a cork coming loose.

He met my gaze, and for the first time, looked like he couldn’t tell what I was thinking. His eyes narrowed a little, his muscles tense, coiled deep.

“But just because he forgot about you doesn’t mean he’ll forget about me.”

His infuriating silence that usually encouraged me to open up now hung in the air, tremendous, and growing still, until it was bigger than both of us. I held my ground, even as his eyes bore into me with eerie, hollow fury.

#batman daughter #batfam #batsis x batfamily #batgirl reader #batgirl #jason todd imagine #jason todd x reader #jason todd x y/n #jason todd #red hood imagine #red hood x y/n #red hood x reader #red hood #batsis x tim drake #tim drake #red robin #batsis x dick grayson #dick grayson #nightwing #damian al ghul #damian wayne #barbara gordon #batman and robin

[allegra-writes]

"Fine line" part I

Peter Parker x SHIELD Agent! Reader x Harry Osborn

Teen and Up

Warnings: Canon typical violence

Part of the "Fine Line" series. Welcome to the endgame.

SERIES MASTERLIST | MY MASTERLIST

He had never seen you fight before. It was stupid of him, and potentially dangerous, to stop and think about something like that in the middle of a freaking battle, but he just couldn't help it. You were graceful, deadly. You and Kate Bishop moving together like a well oiled machine. Strike team Delta, Fury's pride. A blur of perfectly shot arrows and high kicks. 

But not even you were enough to stop the giant monstrosity in its path of destruction, not even him was. And it had hostages now. 

"Six!"

"I know K, I'm seeing it!"

"I'm on it guys!" Peter called back as he swung by you like a red and blue meteor, following the greenish abomination currently climbing up the side of a skyscraper, carrying a sports car on his free hand as effortlessly as if it was a toy. 

"One little question though" He switched to coms, "What the hell is that thing??"

"That thing" You explained, "is Norman Osborn…"

Peter's hand slipped, sending him flying face first into the building wall,

"Say what?!" 

"We'll fill you up later, Spidey" Kate quipped, "For now, would you mind giving us a hand before King-kong over there kills anyone? I don't trust his butter fingers not to drop that Audi"

"Yes, ma'am" You could hear Peter's smile in his voice, "S.H.I.E.L.D girls are so bossy"

"Well, we are your superiors..." You noted, finally arriving at the entrance of the building when he was already halfway to the top. 

"Ugh, I hate it when you pull rank on me" He groaned, swerving to dodge the shards of broken glass raining upon him.

You snorted, 

"No you don't"

"No, I don't" He admitted, "Kinda turns me on"

"Ew! Guys, I can hear you" Kate catched up to you, shooting an arrow hooked to a line around her belt. Peter wasn't surprised to see it hit its mark flawlessly on a ledge above his head, "Hi, hot stuff, need a ride?" 

You rolled your eyes, but wrapped your arms around her shoulders nonetheless, holding on tight. 

"Hey!" Peter protested, mid swing, "No flirting with my girl!"

"I saw her first!" Kate released the latch, and soon you both were ascending at breakneck speed, easily surpassing Peter, "Race you to the top, Spidey!" 

His laughter resonated through the coms, as he sped up to follow you, guns blazing into the battle.

…

There was no laughter anymore. The friendly banter and quick comebacks had died long ago, the second you had realized it was a trap. The goblin creature was far more intelligent than you were led to believe, having set the ploy from the very beginning, his seemingly driftless rampage through the city, not so random after all. 

And far more psychotic, as you had learnt when he tore open the car in his hands to reveal the terrified blond man inside. 

"HARRY!"

Peter's horrified scream matched your own.

"Well well well, it seems you awake quite the loyalty" a massive hand closed around Harry's torso, his indigo orbs finding yours across the rooftop "for such a pathetic little worm"

"Let him go, Goblin" Kate's tone was placating, almost gentle, "you don't know what you're doing…"

The creature laughed,

"That's what you think? What your imbecilic little investigation concluded?" Kate and you exchanged a look. Of course. Your investigation about the Green Goblin and other Oscorp shady experiments relied heavily on Norman Osborn personal files. The thought of the passionate scientist, who valued his work more than his own son, lying in his own research had never even crossed your minds. He had played you like a fiddle, misled you every step of the way, and you had bought right into it.

"I worked with S.H.I.E.L.D longer than you had been alive, and Fury thinks he can sic you after me? Two little girls playing spy and my own creation??" Harry looked about ready to pass out as the Goblin waved him around, gesticulating with his hands as he spoke.

Through the corner of his eye, Peter caught a glimpse of Kate inching closer to the beast, and was only half interested when he inquired,

"What do you mean your creation?"

"Everything special about you," The Goblin's deformed visage twisted in what Peter assumed was supposed to be a smirk, "came from one of my labs!"

"That might be true, you might have involuntarily given me my powers, but you didn't make me Spider-man" Peter countered, "Mister Stark gave me the suit, and showed me what it meant to be a hero, and I loved him and admire him more than you will ever be able to understand, but he didn't make me Spider-man either. 

I choose to be Spider-man, every day. I created myself, cause it isn't who we were made to be that makes us who we are. Our choices make us who we are! You might have the powers and appearance of a monster, but you don't have to be one!"

"If you really think that, you are even more stupid than I thought, Peter Parker"

"Pe-peter?" Harry gasped through the creatures crushing grasp around his torso. Peter hesitated for a second, before taking his mask off. 

"Yeah, it's me, buddy" He admitted, watching his friend's eyes go wide, "It's going to be ok, Haz. We'll get you out of this, I promise…"

Famous last words. Peter should have known better by then than to jinx things like that. Because not two minutes later, he was seeing Kate's little ambush fail, the creature's tail whipping around with enough force to send her flying against a wall and knock her out, Peter's own kick just a little too slow to stop the Goblin from grabbing you in his free hand.

"Wings? It has fucking wings??" Peter cursed under his breath, scrambling to follow the monster as he flapped his enormous, membranous wings, soaring across the city. But the creature had no intention of going too far.

"You say our choices make us who we are, very well" The Goblin challenged him, hovering above 700 feet of empty air, and Peter's heart stopped. "Let's see what yours are. What is it going to be, your friend… or your lover?" 

"Don't do it, Goblin!" He yelled, standing on a ledge, ready to pounce, when he saw it. Or rather, saw her, purple hair blowing in the wind, standing on the air, a little lower and further behind from the Goblin, one palm pointed down, creating some sort of sonic wave that kept her up. She signaled a series of orders with her free hand, and Peter nodded almost imperceptibly, but enough for you to realize something was happening. You twisted in the Goblins grip to see what was going on at your back. Oh, fuck.

"Make your choice, Peter. Now!" 

Norman Osborn let go of you and Harry at the same time, leaving you to watch your boyfriend dive for your ex. But you weren't falling, you were floating, cushioned by a column of vibrating air. 

"Don't worry, rookie," You heard an annoyingly familiar voice say, "big sis is here…"

Great. You were never going to live this down, now. 

Meanwhile, Peter had problems of his own, the momentum the Goblin had thrown his own son away making it difficult for him to catch Harry on time.

And even after he had the other man safe in his arms, he wouldn't stop squirming, fighting in his hold. 

"Noooo! Go after her! Save her!!"

Peter managed to land the both of them in a terrace, 

"She's ok! She's fine, see? She's got this! She's got this…" Peter finally released Harry, pointing up to the place where you still were hovering in the air with that other agent. 

"She… she's… flying?" 

"I think that is actually the other one's making…" Peter shrugged, scratching the back of his neck. Harry started pacing back and forth, obviously overwhelmed, trying to make sense of everything that had just happened.

"And you're Spider-man…" he turned to Peter, who nodded. "And that thing… what the fuck was that thing?" 

Peter hesitated,

"Apparently, a crazy scientist" he finally decided on a half truth.

"A crazy… Mate, what even is your life?"

"Honestly? I've been asking myself that same question for years…"

Harry barked out a watery, hysterical laugh. He wanted to punch the shorter guy, he wanted to throw himself at his feet and thank him for saving his life. To apologize for all the drunken midnight calls, and also stab him in his boyishly handsome face for being so fucking noble and heroic and brave and impossibly perfect and for stealing his girl. 

He clutched as his chest, the burn almost making him double over in pain, and he realized he was hyperventilating.

"Harry, Harry, look at me. Look at me! Do you feel my chest? Can you feel my chest under your hand?" 

Harry noticed then that Peter was pressing his open palm, splayed against the spider logo on his own chest. He nodded his affirmation.

"Good, feel how it moves? Breath with me" Peter ordered, "inhale…" 

Harry breathed in, in time with his friend's expanding chest.

"Now exhale" 

Harry let go of his breath.

"That's right, you're doing so great" Peter's praise warmed up something inside his gut. "Inhale…" and Harry did, catching a faint whiff of your perfume. Peter smelled like you, the realization making him notice just how close to each other they were, only inches apart. And he wondered idly if that was the view you were used to, the one you favored over everything else: warm brown eyes, staring into your soul, right before leaning in. He wondered if you appreciated those hard, muscular shoulders under your hands, before pulling him close. He wondered if Peter's lips still tasted like you.

And before he knew it, Peter found himself with Harry's mouth crashing on his.

He knew he should stop it, step away, but he was rooted to the spot, caught off guard by the sudden onslaught of sensations. It was different from kissing a girl. Hard planes where he was used to soft curves. The tickle of scruff, and slightly chapped lips where he was used to your strawberry sweet lipstick. But as Harry's tongue licked his bottom lip, begging for entrance, Peter couldn't help but open up to him, to surrender to him, as his tongue conquered every inch of Peter's mouth, a greddy, hungry victor. 

"I hate you so much" Harry breathed against Peter's mouth, even as his big hands came to frame the brunet's face, the metal of his finger rings cool against Peter's cheeks

"Doesn't feel like hate…" He quipped, before scraping his teeth against Harry's lips, tearing a moan out of him.

"No, it doesn't" the taller boy admitted, pushing one thigh between Peter's, gasping as he felt one of the hero's hands coming to rest against his lower back, pressing him closer. 

"You taste like cigarettes" Peter marveled, for some reason finding the bittersweet taste delicious. 

"And you taste like her" Harry replied, diving in again.

Peter froze. Her. You. His girlfriend. 

"Harry… Harry stop" Peter muttered, between nibbles "we need to stop. This is wrong"

"Feels right" The heir protested, teeth latching onto Peter's lower lip to stop him from pulling away. Peter groaned, but managed to break the kiss anyway. 

"It's not. We can't do this to her." 

Harry sighed, resting his forehead against Peter's, still reluctant to let go completely,

"I know…" he admitted. 

They stood like that for a few moments, willing breathings to calm, and hearts to slow down.

"You should go" Harry spoke finally, taking a step back, Peter immediately missing the warmth of his body in his arms. He wanted to say something, anything, to chase away the heartbreak, the loneliness in those pale blue eyes, but he couldn't. The knot in his own throat would not allow it. 

So he just stepped away, slipping his mask on, and jumped. He caught a glimpse of Harry's teary, red face, sticking out from the balcony to watch him go, before shooting off a web and swinging away, back to the skyscraper where Kate had fallen. Because if he knew you at all, that was exactly where you were going to be, taking care of your best friend.

…

"...I'm telling you, I had everything under control!"

"Is that why you were hanging 700 feet in the air?" The purple haired girl argued, crossing her arms over her chest, "Admit it, rookie, you're lucky I arrived just in time to save your ass. Again."

You were fuming, face flushed and eyes bright, and Peter found himself struck yet again by how gorgeous you were. A pang of guilt stabbed his stomach. 

"I didn't ask you too" You replied, petulantly, "and stop calling me 'rookie', I'm a level 9 agent."

"... I'm still higher than you"

"For one level!" You cried in frustration, "One single fucking level!"

"Would you two shut up?" Kate stumbled up, and Peter broke free from his haze to hurry and wrap a stabilizing arm around her shoulders, "You're giving me a headache"

"Yeah, that would be the concussion," purple quipped, "don't worry, Simmons should be here any minute to take a look at that"

"Yay, finally a sane person to talk to" Kate deadpanned. Purple ignored her.

"And you must be the boyfriend…" She singsonged, nudging you with her shoulder, "He's cute under the mask, how did you managed to get him to go out with you?" 

"Hey!" Peter and you exclaimed indignantly, in unison. 

"I'm kidding, jeez!" She raised her hands in surrender. "Come on, won't you introduce us?" 

You rolled your eyes, but complied anyway,

"Daisy, this is Peter Parker. Peter, this is Daisy Johnson, weirdo fancies herself my sister"

"Ooh, 'fancies'! You've spent way too much time with that brit boy, didn't you?"

"Daisy, I swear to god I will-"

"You need to tell her" Kate whispered, taking advantage of your distraction.

"Wh-what?"

She scoffed, Kate had never had much patience for anyone's bullshit.

"About what just happened with Harry. She will understand, Peter, I promise. But only if she hears it from you"

"H-how do you know?"

"I see better from afar" The archer smirked, before returning her attention to you and, apparently, your sister.

"Are they always like that?" Peter whispered, a little alarmed. Kate snorted,

"Just wait till you meet the rest of her old team…"  

"Yeah, what do you say, boyfriend?" Daisy smirked, mischievous glimmer in her eyes so much like yours, "Ready to meet the family?" 

Peter gulped, he really wasn't. 

To be continued...

#peter parker #peter parker x reader #peter parker imagine #tom holland #tom holland x reader #tom holland imagine #peter parker fanfic #tom holland fanfic #harry osborn x peter parker #harry osborn imagine #harry osborn #harrison osterfeild x reader #harrison osterfield #harrison osterfield x tom holland #fine line series

[slashscowboyboots]

The Blackboard Jungle: Amarillo by Morning (Part 2)

Part 1

I think I can get all of this out by Christmas (if my Internet doesn’t take a shit like it has the last two days).  Thank you for your great feedback

Tag list @izzysdenimjacket​ @no-stone-no-bone​ @sexcoffeeandrockandroll @awrestlinggirlwholoves80sbands ​ @smokeandmirrorz ​ @sodalitefully ​ @roger-taylors-car ​ @harley-m-rose ​ @whisperess33 ​ @shawolat​ ​ @80snikki @rumoured-whispers

Warnings: asshole alert, more stuff coming out of the kids, fanfic smut.  All credit to the songwriters and I hope Ian Ziering is having a good time wherever he is

“Is tonight the night?” you wondered, glancing at your hair and smoothing your dress in the mirror.  You were getting ready to go out on a date tonight, possibly with your soulmate.  Someone named Ian Ziering.

No, not the actor.  He was actually a friend of yours, since you’d contacted him on Facebook, dming him a photo of your arm and asking if he had a tattoo of your name.  He sent back a picture of “Hortensia” boldly inked between his shoulder blades and the two of you commiserated for hours.

Eventually, though, love struck.  Ian invited you to be his guest at his latest “Sharknado” premiere, and you ended up seated next to a stunningly pretty actress carrying a flask in her purse, and as the two of you imbibed, she spilled the tea on everyone in Hollywood, delicious and hot and fresh.  

More than a little drunk, you asked her what her soulmate mark was, and she pulled her dress up her thigh to reveal the initials “I. A. Z.,” which made you collapse into stupefied giggles.

“Heeeeyyyy, Sia,” you slurred, snickering loud enough people turned around and stared, “heeeeyy, you gotta meet my friend.”

Ian had Facetimed you, saying that someone had reached out to him saying that he had the same name as him, although he wasn’t a member of Ian’s family.  When he realized this Ian only lived an hour from you, he immediately got in touch.

“Maybe he’s the one,” he said, hope visible in his icy blue eyes.  “Do you want me to set you up with him?”

“Sure,” you replied.  It was completely pointless to carry a torch for Jeff Isbell, his initials didn’t match up with your marking, although he was completely under your skin.  He’d bought you two cases of paste, as well as a sour cherry scone from the bakery across from the school, and because his room was next to yours, you frequently consolidated your classes, often with eye-opening results.

“Miss Teacher,” one of his students said, and you bent down to her.  “I gotta birfmark.”  She removed her shoe, then yanked her sock off and held out her right foot, proudly displaying the TAD decorating the top of it.

“Oh, you said, squatting next to her, “T. A. D.”

She drew her head back, her tiny face creasing in disgust at your horrifying ignorance.  “No, that’s Tad, Miss Teacher.  I can read, you know.”

You were immediately apologetic.  “Oh, yes, of course, um-?”

“Mari,” Jeff gently provided.

“Did you call me?” one of your pupils asked, and you looked into Tad Wilson’s huge brown eyes.

“Uh, no, honey, I didn’t,” and before you could say anything else, Mari lunged her still naked foot at him.

“I got your name on my foot,” she said.  “It’s a birfmark.  You got one?”

Tad blinked at her, then yanked up his shirt.  Over his heart was a small but intricate swallowtail butterfly.

Jeff gasped.  “It-no, it can’t be.  That’s unbelievable.”

You looked at him, his face visibly paler and his eyes enormous.  “What’s unbelievable?”

“Her name-her name is Mariposa.”

“You’re kidding.”

“No, I’m not.”

“That’s me,” Mari giggled, touching the butterfly and making Tad blush.  “Can I hug you?”

He pulled his shirt down and held out his arms.  “Sure.”  They pulled each other into a sweet embrace, and Jeff sat down at his desk and rubbed his hands against his face.

“That would’ve made my life easier,” he muttered.

You watched the two kids giggle and twirl each other around, your heart aching at how adorable and lucky they were, and asked, “You haven’t met your soulmate yet, Mr. Isbell?”

“No, and I probably never will.”

“Why?” you asked, curious.

He looked up at you, and his eyes were so tired, you could have cried for him.  “It’s not a picture, or initials, or even a name.  At least I don’t think it’s a name.”  He dug a palm into his left eye, then sighed.  “Uh, have you found yours?”

“No,” you said quietly.  

“What did you end up with?”

“Uh, initials.   They aren’t common.”  You looked away, feeling a lump aching in your throat.  “I-I have a date tonight, though.”

Jeff jerked his head up, then set his mouth in a thin line.  “Hey, that’s great.  Good luck.”

He’s not who I want, though, you thought, and before you could say that out loud, Tad threw Mari on the ground and ran to you.

“OW!” she howled, holding her head.  “Mr. Isbell, he hurt me!”

“Miss Teacher,” Tad gasped, holding his rear, “I need to poop!”

“Go, go!” you said, escorting him to the toilet in the back of the room.  When he shut the door, you gave the thumbs up to Jeff, who nodded, his eyes still heartbreakingly sad.

You’d agreed to meet Ian at an upscale restaurant halfway between your locations, and when you arrived at Sur La Table, he was nowhere to be found.  

“Reservation for Ziering,” you said to the hostess, and she guided you back to a private table.

After you were seated, you checked your phone to see if he’d sent you any texts saying he’d be late.  He hadn’t.

He was attractive, not as Jeff but not bad, you thought, scrolling through your very limited correspondences and sighing as you thought, Maybe this is what’s meant to be.  You took another drink of water, and another, and after three glasses of it you were ready to leave when he flopped down in front of you.

“Hey, babe,” he said, throwing you a wink and aiming finger guns at you.

“Um, hello, Ian,” you said politely, noticing a lack of apology for his lateness.  “Did you get held up at work?”

He took a long drink of water, then snapped his fingers at your server.  “I need a beer, toots, like now,” he said to her.  “Chop chop.”  He rolled his eyes. “Stupid college kids.  No, I found this new filter on Snapchat and I was really feeling it, y’know.  Sent it to a couple of my honeys.”

“Did you now?” you asked, ice creeping into your voice.

He threw his arm over the back of his chair.  “Yeah, I mean, my hair looked good today, so why waste it?”

On what? you thought irritably, as your server sat his beer down.

Ian grabbed her arm.  “I’d like the filet, well done.  You got ketchup here?” he asked, and you bit back a wince at what he planned on doing to such a nice cut of steak.  He handed the menu back to her, then snatched yours out of your hands.  “She’ll have salad, no croutons, no dressing.”

“I beg your pardon?” you snapped.

“Can”t have you porking up if you’re my soulmate. I need you to eat quick, too, hun, I gotta ‘Stop the Steal’ meeting starting in 20 minutes.  My man Trump was robbed.”

You stood up so fast, your chair nearly tipped over behind you.  “I think I’m done here,” you announced, throwing an arm in your jacket.

“Un uh, I ain’t getting stuck with the bill!” he hissed, standing up as well.  “You make all the money, you’re supposed to pay for this.”

Although it pained you to remain in his presence, you had to ask, “Ian, just what exactly was your soulmate tattoo?”  

Heart pounding and terrified you’d find your own initials, you watched him pull his shirt sleeve up and reveal a cat on his inner forearm.  “It’s pussy,” he smirked.  “I get all the snatch I want.” 

“Good luck with that,” you said, already heading towards the door.  Before you left, you stopped your server and handed her two 20 dollar bills.  “Please cancel our order.  And I’m sorry he was such a prick.”

“No shit?” Ian asked, his mouth hanging open as he held his phone.

“What an asshole,” Sia said.  “Did you hit him in the balls?”

“Now, love,” Ian said, shaking his head, “violence is never the answer.”

She shrugged, flicking her dark hair back.  “I guess you’re right.  So did you key his car?”

“No, Sia,” you sighed.  “I think I’m going to take a hot bath and try to forget today.”

“That sounds good Sis,” she replied.  “I think I’m going to flood his email with VD and ED ads.  Goodnight, honey.”

“I love this woman,” Ian said, grinning as he pecked her on the cheek.  “Goodnight, Y/N.”

“Mmm, Blaze, that was incredible.”

“You were like a tornado.  I’ve never been with a woman who had so much passion.  You nearly made me pass out.”  Blaze’s eyes crinkled at the corners.  “That was like angry sex.  Are you mad at me?”

You chuckled.  “No, my handsome cowboy.  I’ll never be mad at you. I-” you wanted to tell Blaze you loved him, that you hadn’t thought about anyone but him since you first laid eyes on him at the faculty meeting rodeo.  

But Blaze was heading to Amarillo in the morning, up from your San Antone home.  He’d only be wearing everything he owned, and your heart ached to watch him leave.  It was heartbreaking that love wasn’t enough to keep the two of you together, that an unseen hand controlling the universe opted to keep the two of you apart.

He turned over, his large hand caressing your face, his greenish eyes questioning. “I what, baby?”

You threw the covers off of you and trotted over to your gun safe.  “I want to target practice.”

After lining up a row of cantaloupes and pumpkins, you neatly dispatched them one by one, thinking about jerks, feeling the bullets leaving the chamber with a scream and watching the fruit blow apart with a happy thrill.

“Well, that was terrifying,” Blaze drawled in his midwestern twang.

You opened the pistol, barrel still smoking, and said, “Little sister don’t miss when she aims her gun.”

#izzy stradlin x reader #izzy stradlin fanfiction #guns n roses x reader #guns n roses fanfic

[xuxszx]

you left me!  |August Walker

Pairing: August Walker x Erika Sloane’s daughter [you]

Warining: fluffy, angst, age difference

Words: 2664

A/N: I had never think that I write something about August walker, but yeah. I think there he is softer? Let me know what you think ♥

It was almost half of a year since you were in sex relationship with August Walker, your mother's subordinate. 

You met him when he came to your house to gave your mother some papers. August was so fucking handsome, that you just wanted to take him to your bed at the very beginning. But yeah, you smiled all the time when he was near you, and he tried to ignore your smirk and the fact how hot you were in his eyes.

Your relationship started actually at your birthday, when you were alone at home, because your mom was abroad on business trip. He came as he exactly knew that it was your day. He gave you little present, which was a bottle of wine and bouquet of roses Pierre de Ronsard.

"My mom isn't home" you said as you opened the door and you saw the most handsome man in your life.

"I'm here for you actually" he replied and then everything happened so fast. You drank this wine together and kissing came alone.  

At first it was a little bit strange to have sex with somebody 15 years older, but yeah. He was so passionate, aggressive sometimes and always hard for you. And in your all live you never was with somebody who looked at you as much as he with pure adore. And you had never come so fast and so hard.

You didn't need a lot of time to fall in love with him. He was always so good for you. He cared of you and never left you without orgasm, but maybe it wasn't the most important. You loved him for his good sense of humor, enormous shoulders and note of mystery. He was always when you needed him. 

But all yours problems started when he told you that he loved you. It was so breathtaking declaration of love that just the memory made you shiver. It came as you both layed in hotel room naked hugged. You were laid on his chest and he had arm behind head. August was massaging your back and give you little kisses. And then he said it and your all world shaked.

"I think I love you".

You just wanted to tell your mom that you finally found a man of your dreams. But he didn't want it. Actually he was a little bit scared. At the end he was 15 years older than you, and Erika for sure didn't want a man like him for her only daughter.

"Or we will tell her or it's over. I have no more strength to hide this, August" you said one day and he frozed. He didn't want to lose you,, but he also didn't want to lose his job. August was the perfect agent and the perfect man for you. An you were really pissed that you had to hide your love before your mom. 

"Your mother will dismiss me."

"I don't care. You said that you love me. She's not gonna do anything to hurt you, I'm sure about it".

"You don't understand me!" he shouted and left the hotel room.  You sighed. It was so hard for both of you. You didn't want to still lied your mother and he didn't want to lost you and his job. More you, but work was also important. He was just scared that your mother will take the love of his life and the only thing that he can do. 

So after some days of constant arguments, he agreed to tell your mother the truth. You were his girl, no matter what. She wouldn't be able to take you away from him. 

Erika known that this day something will happen. You were more smiled than usual and you promised her a dinner. 

"Good afternoon" August said as he entered to your dining room. Erika shook her head.  And you knew. You knew that your mother had known about your relationship with Agent August Walker. "I'm your daughter's boyfriend" he added, looking seriously at her. You can felt the tension between the two of them. And if eyesigh could kill, both of them would be lying on the floor. 

"I know exactly who you are, Agent Walker" she replied. 

"Mom, please. Can we just sit there and eat dinner?" you asked. They looked at you and Erika nodded her head in replied. She was single mother. She was ready to do anything you wanted to. She loved you with all of her heart. All of you sat down at the table.

It was quiet. The only thing that was heard was the clatter of cutlery. You dropped your knife from your nerves, and August, like a real gentleman, bent down and gave it to you.

“Thanks, honey” you thanked him and saw your mother rolling her eyes. You sighed once again. It was like hell.

They both ended eating at the same time. Then they started to arguing. You don't actually know what they said, but the only thing you heard was "You don't fucking deserve for my daughter, Walker" and "You know nothing about my love to Y/N!".

"Can you fucking stop?" you shouted between two of them. 

"I told you it was bad idea. And you don't listened to me, like always" August snarled, still looking at your mother with hate. But you known, all this shit came because they both were scared of losing you.

"Killing with eyes won't resolve your problem" you added, totally ignoring his words. All you wanted was crying. You knew it won't be easy, but honestly you believed that they can get along.

"You're right" Erika said.

"Yeah" August confirmed and hold your hand. 

They were quiet for a long, long time. You tried to cheer them up, but nothing improved the current situation. August was pissed and your mother was annoyed. And the only thing you could do was telling about coming change in yours lifes. 

"I want to tell you something" you started, and then put a small box on the table.

"What's it?"

"Just open it, babe" you encouraged your man. August unsteadily took the box and opened it.

"You're fucking kidding of me" he answered with anger after a moment of silent. Unexpectedly he got up from the table and left your house without a word. 

It was over.

It was almost the end of pregnancy. Each day looked the same. Finally, for God's sake, what could you do in the middle of a forest, in a house full of cameras and all the security equipment your mother needed? The house was huge. However, during those few months of living here, you knew him by heart. You could move with your eyes closed.

That night was odd. The dogs outside goes crazy. The wind was loud. The snow covered all. And you were tired. Your back hurts and nobody could helped you.  You called for your private nurse and she promised that she will come as soon as possible.

Your pregnancy belly was huge. All of you were huge. You felt like hippo, and to the very end 5 weeks were still missing. You were broken. Father of your child didn't wanted this God's gift. But you... You were thankful for this piece of heaven. You had her. Your little girl. You were pretty sure, she'll looks like her father. With blue eyes and those cute curls. She'll be stubborn and confident, just like August Walker a man who stole your heart.

The house was quiet. The fireplace gave comfortable heat. And the song was playing low. But the meaning hits you hard.

Now I know I'm not alone

Now I know I can touch my soul

I dream of place where I could stay

I say I dream of place

Where I'll meet you once again

And then your mobile rang.

"Hi, mom" you answered the phone. Erika was your best friend, the only person in this fucking world who cared for you. She wasn't angry like August. But to be honest she wasn't pleased too. She just accepted the fact that you carrying new life. She offered hers help and found that house where you were safe. You both were.

"How do you feel, little one?"

"I'm fine, but a little bit tired and alone" you replied and one lonely tear ran down your cheek. All you want was a huge hug and cuddle. 

"He's still looking for you" she said and you felt as your heart done one more hit. Your eyes filled up with a lot of tears, and you felt weak.

"Maybe he should stop"

"You know that he won't. I think he's near you" Erika sighed. Only God know how much she wanted to be with Y/N right now. You wanted to tell something, but noise from outside disturbed you. Someone was close. The lights turned off. At the moment you felt cold and shivers. "Y/N what happened?"

"I don't know, mom. But something is wrong" you managed to say, and then you lost your reach. "I need a gun" you mumbled to yourself. Someone was outside. Probably wanted to hurt you or robbed a house.

The gun was hidden in the kitchen cabinet. You heard footsteps and felt as cold water attacked your body. You frozened. The gun was heavy in your tiny hands, but you know that you must protect your baby. 

Your heart bitted like crazy when you were walking in silent through the hall. Living room seemed to be too remote. Every single shadow looked like an enemy and you were really fucking scared. And then you saw it. A huge like a stone man was in your living room. Jesus!

"Put the gun down, babygirl" you heard. The world stopped. He was here. Fucking August Walker was in your house. The lights turned on and you could saw him. Strong and high like always,  but with longer hair and beard. But it was still your Auggie. The owner of your heart.

"Don't re ridiculous! Get out of my house, August" you replied. Your voice was shaking like all of your body. A gun fallen out of your hand, and a second later he was near you. August attracted you and you found yourself in his arms again. His musky scent calms you down, and his big hands gently massaged your back.

"I'm not going anywhere" he said and kissed your forehead. It pissed you off. He had no right to kiss you. To touch you. To be near. He left you with all this mess.With all this fear. You pushed him away and slapped his cheek. "Ok, I definitely deserved that" he added. But you were so fucking scared and pissed off that you slapped him again in other cheek. "Calm down, or I'm gonna put you over my knee".

"Just try it and I'll cut your dick" you growled. August smiled to himself, not believing that you could hurt him. "I said once, I will tell you to understand. Get out of my house"

"And I said to you that I'm not leaving. Not now, not ever" he also growled pissed off. You wanted to hit him again, but before your hand touched his cheek, August grabbed your wrist and looked at you menacingly. As if he could scare you. But he couldn't, you were never afraid of him. You really wanted to hurt him. For all these months of life in fear. For leaving. For the fact that despite waiting for him to come back he did not return. You waited a month, then another - until you realized that you was deep in his ass. You kicked him in the balls. Once. And the second one. He moaned in pain and bent in half. "I deserved that too, but for Fuck's sake you love my dick and balls"

"Fuck you, August" you cursed and then you groaned in pain. The baby in your womb liked to fight and it looked like it kicked one of the ribs this time. You sat on one of armchair and tried to breath. But then comes another kick and you felt as tears fell down your face.

"Listen to me" he started as he stand up. August was holding his crotch in one hand and tried to stand straight."I fucked up. I know that, but I'm standing here and I'm saying... I'm sorry, babygirl"

"You left me!" you shouted. "You left and you didn't even write stupid text that you need time!"

"Y/N..."

"You left me alone! You gave up on me! Did you know how I felt? I loved you with all of my heart and now... Get out. Just left me alone like earlier"

"I left, because I was afraid of being father. I left, because I thought that a child will be happier without me. I'm not hiding the fact that I never wanted a child. I'm not a man who should have a baby, but here we are. And if you forgive me, I'll try to be the best father on this fucking world" he said without giving up. He knelt in front of you and took you in his hands. He kissed his knuckles and gently wiped the tears from your cheeks. You felt another kick, so you took his left hand and put it to your belly. Little one kicked once again and August sighed.

"Say something to her" you asked. 

"Her?"

"It's a girl, you huge donkey"

"Hey, babygirl. It's daddy. I'm so, so, so fucking sorry for all the shit I have done to your mommy" August said, and then rolled up your hoodie, which actually was his and kissed you pregnancy belly. "Please, forgive me. I'll do anything you want. Please" he added, then looked in your eyes. You were too weak for him. August Walker, the secret agent kissed you and you let him. The kiss was sweet. It was so needy, so missing. "Jesus, what just happened?" he asked as your water broke. Jesus it was too soon.

"My waters just broke, August"

"What the hell that means?"

"I'm in labour! And I have deadline in about 5 weeks! Oh God! It's too soon!"

"Ok, just take a deep breath and I'm gonna take you to the hospital" he tried to calm you down, but it didn't worked. You were scared once again.

"Nope. I'm gonna give a birth at home. My midwife has been going here for almost two hours. Fucking snow covered the roads. I will die here" you started to panic. 

"No fucking way. You won't" he said, but you don't cared.

The pain was horrible. As if something wanted to rip you from the inside. You screamed, cried and called him out of the worst assholes in the world. And August endured it like a real man. Not only did it calmed you down, but he still had to assess whether you should start pushing or not. At the very end your midwife came and helped you. You thanked God for her. When she looked after your crotch, August hold your hand and wiped away your tears and sweat. 

And suddenly, like a bolt from the blue, a child's cry was heard throughout the house. You looked at August and God! The Hammer was crying. You smiled weakly to him and then he kissed you.

"There is no fucking way for you to gets me pregnant again. Jesus everything hurts me!" you said, almost crying - when you were in the big bed and the baby was between you and August.

"I'm not gonna get you pregnant again. I promise"

"Good"

"Your mommy likes my fingers too, Jane" he said, as Jane holding his point finger put it to her mouth.

"You're stupid, donkey"

"But I'm still yours" he added, and kissed you. 

Now you have a child. 

And you were the family.

Tag list: @wondersofdreaming @thethirstyarchive @ifuseekamycavill @iloveyouyen @onlyhenrys @avengersandlovers @supersweetstache @dangerouslovefanfic @fumbling-fanfics @followyoursecretsmutblog @honeychicana @henrythickcavill @hnryycvll @honeychicanawrites @mrsaugustwalker @laketaj24 @littlefreya @viking-raider @beautifullmelodyxx 

#august walker #august walker imagine #august walker x reader #august walker x you #mission impossible fallout #henry cavill x reader #henry cavill imagine #henry cavill x you #henry cavill x y/n #xuxszxfanfiction

[howlingsaints]

Hello all this is a little writing exercise I did that may end up sticking as the first draft of Liminal Spaces (since I’m pretty dissatisfied with the current one oops). This is the first piece of writing I’ve shared on tumblr, and the first piece of an original story I’ve ever posted to the internet! It hasnt been edited at all but If you’re interested, you can read the WIP intro for Liminal Spaces here

 Enjoy! 

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Jay always seems to find himself in bad situations. 

Tonight is no different. 

His knuckles are white from how hard he is gripping the pistol, shaking and trembling. He is shocked he even hit anything, nevermind anyone. The final gunshot still rings in his ears, deafening. A drop of blood got on his exposed chest and the warmth of it makes him flinch, as if he was shot himself. All he can hear is the ringing in his ears and all he can see is the ever growing pool of red around his client's head. The gorey scene is blurred behind tears. Jay is glad that he can't make out any details but he is stuck staring at it anyway, unable to tear himself away. Murder is not as glamorous as he used to think it would be. The blood soaks into the carpet of the bedroom, turning the luxurious off white carpet a shade of red so dark it almost looks black. 

It was supposed to be a backup plan. It was supposed to be a backup plan. 

That's what he tells himself. Over and over until the words hardly sound like words, whispered in the blinding lamp light of the bedroom. The ringing in his ears has stopped by now, but the gunshot continues to repeat in his mind like a broken record. He thinks he hears the shout of alarm again. The closer he looks, the more unsure he is. Is the man’s chest still rising and falling? What if he isn’t really dead. Jay stares longer to make sure. He fires another shot, flinching at the sound. It is better to be safe than sorry. There is no room for error tonight. 

Hours seem to pass before Jay tears himself away from the body. The gun clatters to the floor as the teenager turns and makes a beeline for the safe at the other end of the room. He staggers under the shock, and the weight of what he has done is hot on his heels. He pushes it aside. He doesn’t have the time to think about it now. Guilt and regret are not a part of this plan.  Numb fingers grasp at the dial, entering a combination that has been etched in his mind since the first time he came here. Memorized and practiced in the dark, and in the pale blue light of dawn. Over and over. 

The click of the lock fills the whole room, joining the ever growing metallic smell of blood. He frantically claws the safe's door open, like a caged animal finally making its escape. There is freedom in that safe- or at least the key to it.  

Jay has been waiting so long for this moment. 

The papers crumple beneath his fingertips as he shoves them in the messenger bag. He doesn’t care how damaged they get. The words scrawled across them are all that matters. Words to be read by no one in particular. Their value is in their existence, not what they say. He thinks its stupid, but he isn’t someone who can understand their way of life. Perhaps it is above him. Maybe its a part of a plan much much bigger than he could fathom, dreamt up by the Elite and put in place by the rich and famous. He doesn’t care. They already have all they need. 

With the safe thoroughly emptied, Jay’s adrenaline pushes him onward. He slips on a jacket and slings the bag across his shoulder. He puts the gun with the papers before he leaves the room. No one has come to investigate the gunshot yet but it is only a matter of time until they do. This thought quickens his pace until he is running down the stairwell, further and further from his crimes and closer to freedom. No one is around to stop him. He holds back laughter, footsteps echoing on the marble steps of the mansion. With his mission accomplished, Jay is flying. The prize of that safe’s contents carries him on fiery wings, over the city’s skyscrapers and over the shacks and familiar streets of the outskirts and villages outside of it. Jay thinks he is crying now, but he isn’t sure of anything anymore. The crushing weight taken off his shoulders is unparalleled to any other high he has felt. 

He makes it to the ground floor faster than he thinks he would. There is no stopping now. He expects to see the outside illuminated by red and blue lights. He expects to be gunned down, just as he shoulders the enormous front doors open. They are unlocked. People like his client don’t worry about robberies or murders. Maybe that’s a part of their fault. 

Jay almost collapses on the pavement. His thinly worn shoes carry him down the driveway. He has nowhere to go from here except home maybe. The crisp night air fills his lungs as he pants, staggering run slowed by the burning in his chest. Crickets chirp in the shrubs and trees that line the estate. Stars twinkle overhead, and for a moment, he is flying again, up into those stars, away from all this. Only for a moment though, and then he is abruptly pulled down to earth by a grip on his wrist. Panic sets in, replacing the previous high as he finds himself staring into a pair of hardened brown eyes. She is taller than him, stronger too. And by the tone in her hushed voice, he can tell she is not very happy with the course of the evening. 

“What the fuck have you done?!” 

#wip #writing #writers on tumblr #writer #ya fiction #original writing #original story #original wip #lgbt authors #dystopian fiction #writeblr #lgbt fiction #queer books #queer fiction #oc #orginal character #liminal spaces #writing excerpt

[anthropwashere]

our indestructible days ch 3

ch 1 | ch 2

=

Stubborn child! Tenacious little brat!

Pride seethes as he carries his new container up through another ruined, empty floor of Father's home, teeth gnashing at stone and metal. How could one inconsequential human soul cling so stubbornly to its body? Especially after being absorbed into his Philosopher's Stone?

It's lucky the little alchemist is such a mad acrobat, otherwise Pride wouldn't have been able to climb to the surface as quickly as he has, even with his shadows to assist. There's only a floor left between him and the parade field. The light from Father's attack has faded now, but he's still wary of jumping out without having a better idea of the situation out there. The light alone hadn't been enough to damage his Stone, but it had been an altogether painful experience for his true form.

A part of him hates to let those survivors scurry off—all those long years guarding Sloth's tunnel, no doubt—but now isn't the time to hunt down vermin. His Stone has only barely stabilized thanks to those few soldiers he'd consumed. He was able to grow this container a new leg without much strain, but he doubts he'd be much good in a proper fight. He's made the mistake of underestimating humans before. It's not a mistake he's keen on repeating.

He slims his shadows to a few cautious coils, tasting the air. Even up here he can smell the living humans below, soaked in blood and snaking away from the epicenter of things. They could reappear virtually anywhere in Central but he doubts they'll go that far, not with how injured they are. Aside from them there's nothing but corpses down there, which won't do him any good. Thanks to absorbing Gluttony he finds the meat delicious, yes, but it's souls he needs. 

Aboveground is a far different story. He sniffs again and can't help but smirk. There's dozens—no, hundreds of humans gathering up there, rushing around with their hearts racing and sweat salting their warm skin. He smells too, all the silly little guns they're hauling around in some vain hope of stopping Father.

Pride licks his lips, eager now. They want a fight, do they? He may be weak, but he thinks he can at least provide Father a distraction.

He's careful to keep his container out of sight as he peers over the last crumbling edge, curling tendrils into the air and squinting in the brightening daylight. Behind him Central Command is in ruins, as if some enormous hand had come along and taken a scoop out of it. He can smell only a handful of living humans there, most of them bloody and bruised and terrified. Before him a triangular stretch of the parade field is charred black, heat to sting the razor edges of him still rising from it. Greasy smoke smothers the air, reducing visibility to a frustrating few feet. From here he can only make out the woman sacrifice, sprawled nearby and barely conscious. He can smell her pain, the new bruises and welling blood, but it's nothing serious. There's no urgent spike of adrenaline in her blood, no sour snap of broken bone nor the damp heat of exposed organs. She'll live, for now.

The wind shifts. He narrows his eyes, sniffing, and finds the shredded remains of Alphonse Elric's armor a little further off. Beside it is the troublesome Xingese girl, weeping loudly. Has the younger Elric's blood seal broken? Either way, he won't be taking part in this fight any longer, not in the shape he's in.

The woman sacrifice—Izumi, wasn't it?—wakes, coughing roughly. "H-Hohenheim," she forces out, and as if summoned by her voice Father appears before her, so quickly that neither Pride’s eyes nor nose sensed him move. A strong hand grabs Van Hohenheim out of the dust that had obscured him as well, knocking him aside like so much refuse. He lands in a heap some distance off. Pride pays his piteous groaning no mind, relieved to see that Father still has God's power within him.

"Father!" He cries, springing out into the open to present himself. Izumi twitches nearby, straining to see him over her bloodied shoulder.

"You're first," Father says, raising his hand. Red light arcs between his fingertips. Too late, Pride realizes what he means to do—

Pain riots through his container. All his thoughts collapse to panicked static. His newly acquired lungs and heart seize, his every muscle spasms and his every joint locks. He would scream if he could because to have true flesh is to be set on fire. He'd thought the leg bad before, but he'd retreated into his Stone at the first white-hot shock of hurt and here he's pinned in place, nerves flayed, choking on ash—he can't, he isn't, how is it possible to—hurt—so completely? Defense—he—he must defend against—shadows—his self—all gone, he can't think, he can't—

Father is going to kill him—

A gunshot cracks in the distance, and a wound appears in a fizzle of come-and-go alchemical light at Father's temple. Father's concentration breaks. Pride nearly falls on all fours, sucking in dirty air with a relief that unmoors him. He doesn't hesitate, falling back on the instincts of this taken flesh. His hammering heart says run, so he runs. He sprints through the thinning smoke, wanting distance, needing time to get his bearings, needing to understand why Father just tried to kill him—

He ducks behind some heap of rubble near Central Command's wall, pressing his spine against it and shutting his eyes against the acrid sting. He's—he's panicking. He is, isn't he? He's never one to panic. He is first of the homunculi, oldest and strongest and cleverest. He won't—can't—be cowed so easily as this. Even if—even if it was Father that came so close to—

He is one part of a greater whole. This is something he's always known. But it's never occurred to him that Father might one day want that part back.

No. Never mind that. Father had his reasons. He always does. Surely Father only intended to siphon Fullmetal's soul away, to tear the stubborn child out so Pride could have unfettered control over this container—

[Coward.]

Pride freezes—still panting for breath, damn this flesh—and glares with several pairs of eyes. That voice. It shouldn't be possible, and yet— "Just how many of you damned insects are clinging to sentience within my stone?!"

[Oh, it's just Fullmetal and myself in here, and he's not doing too well at the moment.] Kimblee's laughter grates for all that it's not, technically, real. [He doesn't enjoy the company as much as I do.]

In the distance Pride can hear-smell humans shouting, soldiers making a perimeter in some feeble-minded attempt at hemming Father in, barking out nonsensical orders to one another over the bustle and clatter of all their useless weaponry. A man shouts over a megaphone that Fullmetal is not to be confused with Father, which is a relief and in some small way, terribly funny. He watches the clamor with his container's eyes, peering carefully around the crumbling edge of what might have been a bit of the east wing. If he focuses he thinks he can very nearly feel the pinpoints of solidity within his Stone, Kimblee as fine and bright as a needle, Fullmetal a stolid lump fumbling his way back to consciousness at a snail's pace. "I suppose you'll be wanting to fight me for control over this body next?"

[Oh no, not at all. It'd be a poor fit, I think. And besides, I already have a front row seat to the glorious battle going on right now. Just listen to it!]

The attacks are certainly concussive, if nothing else. From his position on the field it only looks like the soldiers are wasting a great deal of ammunition for nothing; Father's glimmering shield is protecting him even from the heat and dust of the blasts. Some soldier down there belts out a command to take cover and scarcely a moment later a gout of flame rushes down the same charred path as Father's earlier attack to engulf the majority of the parade ground in an inferno. It seems that despite his newfound blindness the Flame Alchemist remains unwilling to sit idly by while there's murder and mayhem to sow. Still, it'll take more than that to slow Father down now.

"They stand no chance against him," he mutters aloud. The plan has fallen apart, perhaps disastrously so, but Father will win. It's only a matter of time.

[No chance?] Kimblee asks, pausing when another gout of flame explodes across the parade field. This one Father catches as easily as a child's toy and sends it right back. Even after that display, amusement curls Kimblee's voice. Infuriating creature. [You say there's no chance, that you homunculi are so much better than humans, but what's Greed without his human vessel? What are you?]

"I am Pride the Arro—"

[Just the two of you left now, and that only thanks to the humans you've attached yourselves to. You claim to be higher life forms, yet you're really nothing more than parasites. How disappointing.]

"I won't die here! Whatever the cost, I refuse to die today!"

[And if your Father willed it otherwise?]

He flinches, and loathes this treacherous body all the more.

[He seemed eager enough to kill you a moment ago,] Kimblee goes on cheerfully, [Yet you turned tail and ran away the second you could. You were named for your dignity as much as your arrogance, yet all you've proven today is that you're a hypocrite and a coward.]

"BE SILENT, KIMBLEE!"

[Mmph.] The Fullmetal lump shifts within his Stone, waking up properly. Pride very nearly throws his hands up in exasperation. [Ah, hell. That hurt. What happened?]

[Welcome back, Edward. I wasn't sure you'd be joining us again.]

Pride curls his mouth irritably, digs dirty nails into the stone's crumbling edge. The automail arm only twitches at his side, still stubbornly resistant to his will. "How many times must I put you in your place until you stay there?"

[Ha. At least one more. Where are we?] 

Pride has no chance to reply before his control is tugged away from him. Edward Elric wavers, bracing himself with both hands against the same stretch of scorched stone. Pride's connection to the container and all its startling sensations remains; a sour tang of nausea burns their shared throat, dizziness makes their pulse pound in their ears, a line of sweat down their spine makes them shiver. Edward directs their eyes about the parade field and back to Central Command, taking in the splendor of Father's power. Their ears ache with the ceaseless crack and boom of gunfire.

"Holy shit,” Edward breathes.

With a growl of displeasure Pride pushes back and retakes control. The boy's too stunned to put up more than a token resistance, one that's easily brushed aside. Pride smiles, licking the new configuration of his teeth. "Do you understand now? Do you see what Father is capable of, despite all your little tricks? Are you still so certain you'll win?"

Kimblee whispers, so quietly that Edward seems not to hear, [Are you?]

[Of course I am,] Edward retorts, and while he's unable to wrestle control of his body back he does manage a few of the eyes circling at their feet. Their shared vision wobbles and blurs, and Edward grumbles. [Jeez, how can you stand this? I think I'm gonna puke.]

"Then stop it."

[Nah.] Their shadow twitches, an inelegant lurch that nevertheless forces one of their eyes to loll, and in just such a way that it glimpses Edward's bare left foot. Through their mutable connection of his Stone Pride feels the stuttering evolution of Edward's reaction—dumbfounded, denying, horrified, furious. Their mouth opens against his will and Edward's snarl froths out. "My—my leg. It's—the automail—it's gone. You—you son of a bitch! You really cut it off?!"

[It was slowing me down,] Pride replies calmly, content for the moment to take refuge in his Stone. It almost feels as he did in his Selim container this way; placid, unflappable, controlled. [You're welcome, by the way. I saved you the trouble of trying to get back the original one.]

"Wh—That's not the point! Al and I made a promise! After we found out the cost of making a Philosopher's Stone we promised not to use one for ourselves! We never wanted to be so selfish as to use another life to fix our mistake! Al and I—we—I didn't...."

Edward's inhale is a shaky mess. He sways again, gritting his teeth. It seems he has a new tendency to speak through more than one mouth if he lets his anger get the better of him. How interesting. Pride certainly hadn't manifested one of the three thin mouths in their shadow. Edward bends at their waist to brush their left hand across their new knee cap, draws a line down their shin, splays their toes on the sun-warmed concrete. Pride feels each sensation like a static shock, which isn't half so bizarre as the curdled snatches of Edward's thoughts he absorbs secondhand. Nerve damage—phantom pain in the night—gone, it's gone, he shouldn't feel anything because it's gone—Granny said the cold would be harder on him—cold night spent lying awake, teeth gritted, muscles aching—no amount of massaging around the ports ever helped—Al's metallic voice, "Did you dream about Mom again—"

Pride retreats deeper into his Stone, startled by how real that felt. The ever-groaning souls inside him keep their distance from his toothsome shape—all but Kimblee, who sidles up to him with an overly familiar grin. 

Outside, Edward reins in his anger enough to ask, "Where's Alphonse?"

[In pieces,] he replies sullenly, and finds base satisfaction in the diminished jolt of panic he feels from the boy. [The Xingese girl has been using what's left of his armor as a shield—]

Red light crackles in their shared vision and a feeling not unlike a brand burns his Philosopher's Stone. He writhes within and without, as much from shock as from pain. When he can see clearly again Edward's braced against the rubble, breathing raggedly. "Shut up," he growls.

[You're so willing to be free of me you'll hurt yourself to do it?] Pride marvels. 

"Shut up," Edward repeats, a mouth splitting in their shadow to hiss the same. "You too, Kimblee."

[I didn't say anything.]

"I can feel how much you're enjoying this." He spits, wiping their mouth with the back of his automail hand, then begins a clumsy half-jog back into the thick of things. There's no telling if it's the new leg or their shadow nipping at their heels giving him more trouble.

[Where are you going?] Pride demands. [What do you intend to do?]

"I'm gonna find Al, then I'm gonna make that bastard pay."

[If you confront him, Father will take my Stone for sure!]

"Good. Let him take care of you for me!"

[He'll kill you too!]

"I don't care!" Edward picks up speed, keeping low and favoring their new leg. When Pride opens a train of eyes in their shadow Edward trips, slapping a hand over their container's eyes with a curse. Nausea tongues his Stone, altogether unpleasant. "I gotta make sure Al's okay!"

[Damn you!] For all that he tries to wrest back control Edward just hangs on to himself harder. Pride rages, scattering souls like gravel beneath the wild sweep of his awareness. Edward snarls back and picks up speed.

[Such dedication!] Kimblee exults, a white sore in his Stone. [Such drive! He really is an admirable creature, isn't? Put a fire under him and he'll burn himself gladly for the chance to keep those he cares for out of it!]

[Be quiet!]

Kimblee calms, raising one unimpressed eyebrow. [Why should I listen to you? A pitiful homunculus who couldn't keep a single human under heel?]

Pride seethes.

#fma #fmab #fullmetal alchemist #my writing

[crystalxfrost]

To Live or To Die

I gripped my steering wheel tightly, knuckles bone-white with tension, shoulders bunched up and sore. The road spun out endlessly under my tires, a strip of slick black silk painted with bold yellow lines. My eyes noticed and then promptly ignored the beauty of the dark-washed scenery around me; there was only one room for one thought in my mind.

I had been at the end of my rope for some time now, but still too much of a coward to just turn out my own lights. I had tried therapy, only for the bitch to laugh and tell me I was beyond help. I had tried talking to the people in my life, but my own parents just shrugged it off. I had even tried drugs and alcohol to drown my depression, but I had found out the hard way that it wasn't the right road to go down. I had been debating over the best method of my execution when a friend of mine I hadn't heard from in years messaged me out of the blue.

After some very emotional pouring out that left me feeling drained but somewhat relieved, my friend gave me some information that had led me to where I am now, driving down Route 236 in the middle of the night. She had told me to come to the beginning of the highway and just drive and think about my feelings and my depression, let it really take me over. Then, she'd said, that's when SHE would come and make it all better.

I remember pressing her on who SHE was, but she wouldn't tell me. She just said that SHE would come only when I was at the very very end and couldn't stand it anymore and that SHE would take all the hurt away. She had made it abundantly clear that for the entire time SHE was with me, I was not to look at her or I would belong to her. As long as I kept my eyes away, I would be fine...I would be healed. Desperate for any relief from the impending shadow of my own death, I had agreed.

I scoured the shadowed landscape around me for any sign of movement but saw nothing. My fingers clenched even tighter as hot tears prickled behind my eyes and my chest hitched, and suddenly I was bawling out loud, great big gasping sobs that racked my body and forced me to struggle for breath. I pulled over blindly on the side of the highway, threw the car in park, buried my face in my hands and just openly sobbed. It was like expressing poison from a snake bite; an enormous weight lifted off my chest in a flood of emotional downpour as I cried out every bit of hurt I'd ever struggled to push down.

In the midst of my sobs, the temperature in my car dropped noticeably, and even in the dry heat of the desert summer, goosebumps rose to prominence on my arms. A cold chill wormed its way up my spine and between my shoulderblades with an icy fingertip and my breath hung in the air like frozen crystal vapors. Then the voice spoke from behind me, murmuring soft things I could almost hear.

Immediately my hair stood on end. The voice, which I had been somewhat expecting to be deep and powerful, was little more than a high-pitched whisper of breath that drifted to my ears from somewhere beyond my vision. But it felt...wrong. My entire being screamed at me to not turn around, not to lay my eyes on whatever was currently occupying my back seat because to do so would mean the instant loss of whatever sanity I had left. And all at once, I knew that SHE had come.

As if in response to my mental acknowledgement of the heavy presence, a soft breath drifted to my ears, but with it came the sickening stench of a thousand rotting corpses under a blanket of desert sun, and I was unable to stop myself. I threw open the car door and emptied the last three days worth of food from my stomach in a splatter on the pavement.

After my stomach had settled, the voice came again. "I can taaaaaste your paaaiiin." Then a hiss like an indrawn breath. "What issss it you waaant from meeee? "

I had had a million things to ask, a million points of hurt I wanted to spill, but that all vanished in an instant, leaving only white hot honesty. With tears threatening to fall again, I sighed brokenly. "I want it to stop hurting."

There was silence, followed by a darkly throaty chuckle that made me want to scream. "Isss that all? Coommme. I want to shhhhooowww you sssomethinnng." The back door of my car opened then and I physically felt the oppressive presence leave my aura. Careful to keep my eyes averted, I followed the voice over to the side of the road. I sensed rather than saw her raise an arm and point down into the darkness. "Look theeerrre."

I squinted out into the darkness and was able to barely make out a pair of glowing taillights far down below. With horror I realized that there was no footing there, only an endless void of darkness down a sheer face. I stepped back, a lump in my throat, and turned back for the comfort of my car, but when I turned around, my car was gone.

Sputtering and stammering, I nearly forgot myself then, turning in the general direction of the voice. I managed to catch myself just as a flash of white flickered into and back out of my view. "Where is my car?"

Again I sensed her point down at those suddenly damning twin spots of flame red so far down in the darkness. "That is yoooouuuu down theerre. You drove yourssssself off the cliiiiffff."

"No, no, no, no..." I pressed my hands hard against my ears and squeezed my eyes shut in a weak attempt to block out her lies, but all at once, freezing cold hands were on mine, forcing my hands down to my sides and unblocking my ears, and her rancid breath flooded my nostrils with the odor of rot. I swallowed my gorge and forced my eyes shut even tighter, my friend's warning standing out in stark white against the blank whirling fury of my mind.

"You wanted to die, did you not?!" The voice was no longer a breathy whisper, but a deep roar of monstrous proportions. The force of the voice blew my hair back and showered my face with foul-smelling spittle. I felt the cold hands move up and grip me by my upper arms, and suddenly I knew what was coming next. I struggled to twist away from those freezing cold hands.

"No, please..."

The voice boomed again, "You wanted to die. So DIE!" And with that, I was thrown violently out off the cliff and into the void of darkness. I snapped my eyes open and screamed, covering my face with my arms and fighting to brace for impact, and when it finally came...

...I crashed against the surface and plummeted down underneath the freezing cold water. Disoriented, sore from the impact and still screaming, I clawed my way up to the surface, my scream choking off when I felt the icy hand grip my ankle and pull me down, hold me down under the water. I kicked at the fingers that dug into the tender skin of my ankle but it was like kicking stone. My lungs burned in my chest and I felt myself start to gray out. My vision went dark, and I opened my mouth to scream. The water poured down my throat and into my lungs, and just as my lungs felt like they were about to explode...

...I was hauled out of the water by more hands I couldn't see, which pulled me to my feet none too gently. I was surrounded by yammering voices, some men and some women, and was soaking wet and gasping for air, but the invisible hands that gripped me forced me along anyway to a wooden pole standing upright all by itself. The voices around me began to clear up even as I felt more hands press my back up against the pole. My hands were then tied behind me with thick rough rope that dug deep and scraped my wrists raw. It was then that I heard the chant begin spreading.

"Burn the witch...burn the witch...burn the witch..."

"Wait...what?!" I cried out, fighting to get free of the ropes that lashed me fast to the hard post behind me, to no avail. "I'm not a witch!"

"Tha's wot they all say," an invisible woman's voice jeered in my ear. "But yer a witch just as clear as I c'n see ya. 'n guess wot? Yer goin ta buuuuurn." The voices around me melted back into a wordless clamor...and then I felt the heat and looked down in horror. A flame had already been drawn to life in the pile of wood that now surrounded my feet, and the yellow-red tongues climbed higher, licking at my feet hungrily. I screamed in pain as my pants caught fire and my skin began to bubble and char as the fabric seared to my very flesh. In mere moments I was reduced to helpless agony as I felt my flesh melting off of my bones, leaving huge exposed sections of sinewy muscle and bone for the fire to take. And still the voices clamored on.

It was when my hair caught fire and my face begin to first grow warm, then melt into liquid puddles of pulpy flesh, that I found a new voice, carried on new waves of fresh pain. The flames consumed my entire body, and as I felt myself dying and was ready to give in to the sweet release of death...

...the car blared its horn as it missed me by a hair, goddamn asshole city drivers. I was no longer wet, nor on fire, but I was terrified nonetheless. I scanned my surroundings wildly but saw only a busy street filled with the hustle and bustle of the city's nightlife. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, so I took a few seconds to prepare myself for whatever horrible thing might happen next.

A footstep next to me made me jerk wildly, and I glanced up to see a large man in a mask staring down at me where I was sitting. That in itself wasn't terrible. What made it much worse was the dark empty tunnel of the gun barrel that was pointed directly at my forehead. The man pulled the hammer back slowly, and when I heard the bullet enter the chamber, I froze.

"Please..." I breathed, every muscle as taut as wire. "Please...don't kill me."

The man's eyes remained locked on mine. His breathing came heavy and ragged, and when he spoke, his voice was deep and gravelly. "Do exactly what I say and I'll let you live." I let out a shaky whimper as he gripped my arm and forced me to my feet, then propelled me into the nearest dark doorway. The next thing I knew, he was on me then, grunting like a beast in heat.

The hand with the gun stayed pointed at my head while the man pushed me down with the other hand onto the hard concrete floor. I struggled to get away, but the icy hands once again gripped me by the shoulders and pinned my legs apart, through the floor somehow, and I found myself powerless to move. The man straddled me then, dripping sweat onto me as he fumbled clumsily for his knife. Almost teasingly, he snapped the blade out, turning it back and forth a few times so the light caught the silver blade's edge. Then with a few unskilled cuts, he cut through my shirt, my bra and my pants, leaving me only in my underwear. And still the hands held me down, that breathy voice now laughing wickedly in my mind.

The man turned the blade then even as I screamed and fought against the hands that pinned me down and slid the blade underneath the bottom of my underwear. With a sudden sharp jerk, he jabbed me lightly with the blade on the inside of my thigh and I bit back a sob of fear. Then he simply turned the blade again and cut through my underwear, leaving me now fully exposed and powerless to escape.

Thankfully, I blacked out before the man was done, but the torture and abuse was something I'd only ever heard about or read in books. I was used several times in several different ways as the man acted out every one of his depraved fantasies on me, and when he was finally finished and was pulling up his jeans, I looked up at him through swollen eyes from where I lay on the floor, bleeding and bruised, and he returned the look, not one of pity, but of disgust. "You probably liked that, didn't you, you filthy whore?" he growled.

Too weak to move, I simply lay there shivering and aching, and he clicked his tongue in disgust. My vision grayed out even as I felt myself fading out, but was brought back swiftly and in sharp relief by the sound of the gun cocking back. I managed to look back at him again to see that the gun was once more trained on my head.

With all my strength, I whispered through battered and cracked lips, "You said...you...wouldn't kill me...if I did...what you wanted."

The man shrugged. "I lied." I somehow found the strength to scream once more, squeezing my eyes shut.

"Nooo! Please, that's enough! I don't want to die anymore!" The gunshot was deafening in the tiny room and I tensed, waiting for the bullet to tear my skull apart...

...but instead, I found myself standing back on the edge of the cliff in the darkness. I was whole, and not naked, or drowned, or burned, but most of all, I was alive, and never before in my life had I been so happy to be on solid ground. I stumbled back in relief, sobbing openly again but with celebration of my life, and felt the familiar and welcome smooth texture of the door of my car.

The voice came then from somewhere in the darkness, once more that terribly wrong high-pitched whisper. "You no looonnngggeer wish to diiiieee?" Unable to answer, I could only keep my head down. "Tell me noooowww!" the voice whispered demandingly. "Will your life become miiiinnne? Make the chooooiiiccce!"

I shook my head back and forth furiously. "No! Never! I want to live! I want to live!" Sobbing harder, I dropped to my knees, and I felt the icy hand touch me gently on the top of my head.

"Then live you shaaaalll. But jussst know that I will allllwwaayys be watching you. And should you eeeeevvveer decide to taaaakkke your own liiiifffe again, I will be theeerre, and you wiiilll belong to meeeee." The hand drew back. "Now goooo. Go and never eeeevvveer come back!"

I needed no more coaching. I leaped into my car, shoved the key into the ignition and slammed my foot down on the pedal, spinning my tires wildly as I peeled off in the direction I had come earlier that night.

I have heard some say that their guardian angel saved them, sat on their shoulder and protected them from some danger. But what about when all the guardian angels are busy? I still say it was a demon that saved my life that night, that pulled me back from my dark thoughts and made me realize that my life is worth it. And who knows? Maybe if someday another one like me happens to feel like their life is as worthless as I thought mine was, maybe they'll find Route 236, and maybe they'll meet HER too. And maybe, just maybe, they'll be braver than I was.

#spooky #creepy #horror

[darks-ink]

Living So Dangerous

Phantom had tried to kill her. It was undeniable. Now she just had to end him before he could finish the job.

Prompt: Val thought Danny tried to kill her, when Technus was possessing her suit.  After a bitter and brutal fight, they actually get a chance to hash some things out. Prompt by: @hpwot Word count: 5,048

[AO3] [FFN] [more Phic Phight fics]

Content warning: serious injuries, serious misunderstandings. Happy ending!

---

Valerie’s new suit buzzed angrily in the back of her head. Like a rush of static, like the clicking of tiny plates of metal, like the fury she’d been holding in her chest since Phantom first ruined her life.

It was… bizarre. She wasn’t sure where she got it from. It was definitely no normal tech, but… but not using it was no option. Leaving the town in Phantom’s hands? Absolutely not.

Humming. An internal alarm. Another ghost near Casper High.

She sighed, raising her hand. Asked if she could please leave to go to the toilet. Her feet carried her outside, to a hidden nook, before she knew it.

Valerie clicked her heels together, remembered that this suit didn’t do that, and then startled when it did it anyway. It was… controlled by her thoughts, possibly. That was her running theory, anyway.

Metal pooled from… somewhere. Someplace she didn’t want to think about. It coated her, shifting into sturdy plates of black and red.

She called for her hoverboard, mentally, and watched more of the liquid metal pour of the soles of her feet. It formed something like her old hoverboard, but not quite, split almost entirely in two huge prongs.

Her hands felt out the helmet, so different from the soft mask she’d worn before. It was hard to tell that she was really wearing it; her vision was almost unhindered. She had spent quite some time in front of the mirror, carefully running over the new suit. Checking the inventory, checking the strongest and weakest parts. Checking that the helmet really did hide her face.

Valerie Gray was no fool. Wherever this suit had come from, she didn’t trust it.

Still, there was a ghost out there. And only one ghost hunter she trusted to deal with it.

The hoverboard lifted off of the ground before she’d even finished the thought. Thankfully, the ghost was easy enough to spot.

Both of them were.

One was some sort of animal ghost, something cat-like but with a reptilian tail. It ran over the street, claws tearing up the asphalt, people screaming and forced to jump out of its way.

Behind it was Phantom, because of course. The ghost was chasing the cat, barely catching up on it.

And Valerie knew that he could go far faster than that cat was going.

She could feel her heart pounding, the rush of blood in her ears. How dare that ghost. After he’d ruined her life, after that violent attempt at murdering her. Still he pretended to be a hero?

Wind whistled past her, careening past the sharp edges of her suit. She pressed lower against her hoverboard. Diving, diving, diving.

The board flattened out just above the street, losing none of its momentum. In front of her, the two ghosts took a bend. Shit.

A twist so sharp it led her into a spiral—losing her precious speed—carried her around the bend, too. Phantom had put on a burst of speed, finally catching up to the other ghost. He hit it with a blast of green, the cat stumbling into the street, down.

Valerie hit the brakes, stopping on one side of the cat. Phantom hovered on the other, his Thermos already in his hands.

“Phantom!” she snapped at him.

“One moment!” he yelled back, like they were here just to have some sort of casual conversation. He uncapped the Thermos, quickly snapping up the other ghost. “Okay, got it. What’s up?”

What’s up? What’s up?

She felt her anger roil, and her suit responded in kind. The plates on her shoulder shifted, clicking apart to reveal a gun. Aimed straight at Phantom, of course.

“Woah, hold on,” the ghost stammered, clicking the Thermos onto his belt with one hand and raising the other. “Come on, Red, there’s no need for that.”

“No need for it?” She clenched her hands, the edges of the metal pressing into her flesh despite the armor. “No need for it?! Says the ghost who tried to kill me!”

“Kill you?” he echoed, blankly, before yelping and ducking just under a shot of pink ectoplasm. “Red, I never—”

“I’m not listening to your lies for another second.” She fired another shot at him, Phantom barely evading it by dodging upwards. “Get back here!”

“No thanks!” Phantom sped higher, grimacing when he saw her following him. “Can we do this some other time? I kind of have something to get back to!”

She growled wordlessly. The next shot hit him in the arm.

Phantom yelped, dropping a few feet before catching his flight again. “Red! Can’t we just talk about this?”

“I know what I saw!” She exchanged her gun for a bigger one, a more powerful one. It felt comfortably heavy in her hands, the buzz of it charging resounding in her chest. “And I’m not letting my guard down just so you can finish what you started!”

“I didn’t—” He swore, a shield barely blocking the shot. “Valerie!”

“How do you know my name, Phantom?” Her heartbeat sped up even further. She’s pretty sure he had used her name in the past, but it never really stood out to her.

But he tried to kill her, mere days ago. He knew who she was outside the suit, and he was prepared to kill her. What was stopping him from going after her father to lure her out? From attacking her in a situation where she can’t suit up?

He shielded another blast. “What’s gotten into you?” he yelled over the sound of the ectoplasm splattering apart. “Why are you so angry today?”

“You tried to kill me!” she snapped back, trying to command the panels on her gauntlets to open for more guns to shoot at him. “And you’re pretending it never happened!”

“What are talking about?” he dropped his shield, trying to give her some kind of earnest look, eyes big and watery. “Valerie, I never even wanted you hurt!”

“Tell that to my old suit and the hole you punched in its chest!” She fired all three guns, just out of sync from each other. Phantom dodged the ecto-gun, but hadn’t seen the two guns on her gauntlets.

He dropped another few feet, his jumpsuit seared on the arm and leg, exposing reddened skin. “You weren’t even in that!”

“Guess I got lucky.” The smaller guns weren’t doing it; she needed the big one to really lay the hurt into Phantom. “But you won’t.”

She managed to summon the smaller cubes, now. The three of them hovered over her shoulders. Locked onto Phantom.

Fired.

The ghost dodged all three blasts again, releasing a relieved sigh.

Didn’t see the fourth blast coming.

Phantom crashed down onto the roof of a nearby building. The pained noise he produced almost sounded real.

Valerie dove after him, quickly. Didn’t want him to get away.

It didn’t seem like he had any intention of doing so, however, because Phantom was flattened onto the roof. The blast has burned off a large portion of the jumpsuit on his chest, and damaged the false skin underneath. Damaged it so badly, in fact, that green ectoplasm bubbled up from it.

Bingo.

She hovered just over the roof as Phantom pushed himself into a seated position. “Stay down, Phantom, or I’m putting you down.”

“What is wrong with you today?” His glow flickered brighter for a moment, swirling violently. “I didn’t even do anything!”

“I’m not falling for that!” She charged another shot into the gun, felt the energy pulse throughout her entire body. “Now smile for the little birdie.”

He grunted, suddenly dropping backwards. Gone.

Fuck, he’d phased through the roof.

Valerie dragged her ghost scanner to the front of her mind again. Come on, she really needed its help right now.

Or… maybe not. Phantom hovered at the side of the building, tangible again. Pressed against the wall like she could somehow miss his glowing ass.

It was just so… so enraging. This stupid little ghost, and his stupid little trick, and his stupid dumbassery. It made her wish she could strangle him.

But she’d settle for absolutely wrecking his shit.

Her suit pulsed with energy, and it felt like a light bulb turning on in Valerie’s head. Now there’s an idea.

She was in full control of the suit. Could control it mentally. And anger… anger was entirely mental. So what was stopping her from pouring her anger into an ecto-blast fit to obliterate Phantom?

Valerie dove after Phantom, trying to bunch up all her anger into a little ball of fury in her chest. The ghost spotted her too soon, however, pushing off of the wall.

Another chase. No matter; his injury slowed him down. She could keep up, now.

But, god. Was it infuriating to see him dance like that, twirling through the sky like he hadn’t done anything wrong. Like he was just having a jaunt through the city.

Her anger felt electric, red-hot and boiling. She was right on his tail.

Valerie fired.

Phantom must’ve heard the noise, somehow, because he twisted to look. A stupid mistake, but one she’d gladly take.

The enormous pink ecto-blast hit him right in the stomach. Right below where she’d already injured him.

He screamed, flung into the ground with enough force to leave a crater. Didn’t dissipate, though.

She lowered herself to the ground as well, her hoverboard sliding back into her feet. Landed on the edge of the crater, stumbling a little. That blast had taken all of her anger, all of her energy.

God, she just felt tired now.

Phantom groaned, lying in his crater. His entire front was covered in ectoplasm, splattered all over his arms and legs and even his face.

She…

She didn’t feel as good as she thought she would’ve. As she should’ve.

This ghost tried to kill her. The only reason why he hadn’t succeeded was because she’d gotten lucky. Because some other ghost had hijacked her suit.

So why did she feel so bad about it now? Yes, he looked like a mess, but ghosts didn’t even feel pain! All his pathetic groaning was just a show!

But her anger had stilled to just a little cinder. A spark with no real heat behind it.

“How are you still kicking?” she grumbled, just loud enough that Phantom could hear. A quick glance confirmed that the park was empty. That, at least, was good news.

Phantom groaned, hands pressed to his torso. Stained his white gloves green with his own ectoplasm.

Not much of a victory, was it?

Valerie stepped over the edge of the crater, carefully. Slid down until she stood crouched over Phantom’s downed body. “Can’t you just give up? Or am I going to have to drive a fist through your chest like you tried with me?”

“I— I didn’t.” His voice was drawn taught with pain. It wasn’t real, Valerie knew, but it sure felt like it. “Wasn’t you.”

“Yeah, no shit.” She lowered herself even further, eyes roving over Phantom’s body. That last ecto-blast had certainly done some damage; his jumpsuit had burnt off to the point where most of his front was exposed. The skin was clearly burned, even if it bled in green instead of red. “I was lucky I wasn’t in that.”

“Knew you weren’t,” he said, voice soft and faltering. “Saw you.”

She felt her breath hitch at that. “So, what? Was it just for intimidation? Did you hope that destroying my suit would stop me from going after you?”

“No. Yes. I—” He coughed, the sound sudden and harsh. Rattled his entire body.

Phantom hissed through his teeth, eyes clenching with imagined pain. “Wanted the suit gone. Both of us safe.”

“What?” Was he… was he really pretending he was keeping her safe? “Ghosts would’ve come after me, whether I’m armed or not!”

“Armed or actively hunting… different.” He shifted slightly, one hand feeling out the edges of his injuries. “They wouldn’t have, anyway. I think.”

“No?” She scoffed. “Why? Because you would’ve stopped them? Big words for the ghost three seconds away from destabilizing.”

He groaned again. “Won’t,” he said, like he could just will it into being. Maybe he could. Ghosts were strange things. “They’re… looking for amusement. No fun if the target won’t fight back.”

“Amusement?” she echoed, despite herself. Was that all they were, to ghosts? A fun toy? “Is that what you are doing? Fighting others, destroying this town, destroying people’s lives, for fun?”

“No.” He shook his head, shifting rubble with the movement. “They do. I protect.”

“Didn’t look like protection when you buried a fist in my chest, pal.” She prodded him in the upper arm with a finger. “You gonna destabilize or do I need to hit you again?”

“It wasn’t you,” he insisted. The hand he’d been moving came to a halt on his chest.

It started glowing blue.

“What are you doing?!” she snapped at him.

He flinched. The glowing didn’t stop.

“Cooling,” he hissed through his teeth, forced.

Cooling. He was cooling his injuries, with her standing right over him. For fuck’s sake, what was wrong with ghosts?

“You really think that ‘it wasn’t you’ is good enough, Phantom?” It wasn’t as heated as she wanted it to be. She wasn’t as heated as she wanted to be. She just felt burnt out and tired. Wanted this day to be over.

“What else do you want?” His hand was moving, slowly. Left ice coated over his injuries. Finally, he opened one eye to peer at her. It was blue, now. No longer that vivid green but an equally vivid shade of blue, literally glowing.

Since when do ghosts change eye-color like that?

“I want you to just tell me what the fuck you want from me! That stupid dog of yours ruined my life, and then I finally got some control back by hunting ghosts, and you’re constantly in my way! You destroyed my equipment, in a way that could’ve killed me if I’d been in it! And you have the nerve to tell me that you’re keeping me safe!”

“I am, Val.” His free arm shifted, and Phantom pushed himself up slightly. He was curled up on himself, still, the icy hand pressed against his injuries. His face twisted in pain.

It didn’t feel nearly as fake as it had, before.

“Ghost hunting is dangerous, Valerie. Your suit can’t protect you from everything.” He was looking at her with both eyes narrowed, now. Two slits of icy blue. “Your employer won’t care if something happens to you. He’ll just move on to the next opportunity.”

“What do you know about my employer?” she snapped back, ignoring the way she felt like he’d dumped a bucket of ice over her. She barely knew her employer. He was Vlad Masters, yes, but what did anyone really know about the man? No one even knew he was still interested in ghosts, in ghost hunting.

Phantom snorted. “More than I’d like to. He’s not a good man. What kind of person gives ghost hunting equipment to a fourteen-year-old?”

“I— He trusted me!”

“More than he trusts any of his employees? Any of the professionals he can hire?” Phantom angled his head slightly. His eyes felt like they were staring right through her. “Or are you just a good pick because he’s got power over you? Who would ever believe you?”

“Vlad Masters is a good man!” Her anger flickered, but did not ignite again. Damn her, why hadn’t she just gone for the weaker shots, instead of burning through everything in one go! “He tries to keep us all safe!”

“He’s brought more ghosts into this town than I have, even if I count myself!” Phantom shifted, but stilled immediately with a hiss of pain. “Ignoring the animal ghosts that he’s made himself, he’s responsible for all kinds of shit. Skulker, you remember him? He’s one of Vlad’s hires.”

She hadn’t used his name. Phantom shouldn’t have known Vlad Masters was the one who’d given her the equipment.

“So just the one ghost, who seems fixated on you anyway?” The attempt felt feeble, but she pushed through anyway. “Not exactly convincing evidence, Phantom.”

“What about the ghost king? Pariah Dark, who dragged this town into the Ghost Zone?” Almost his entire front was covered in ice, now. His glow seemed weaker than it had before. “Why do you think he was here? Hunting for a priceless ghost artifact?”

A priceless ghost artifact which Mr. Masters had had. Which he’d just passed onto her, because he trusted her. Or because he wanted her to take the fall for him?

Phantom must’ve sensed her hesitation, because he continued, despite the wavering in his voice, despite the way he shook. “And Plasmius, the vampire ghost. You don’t see him often, but you’re feeling his impact, I can guarantee it. There might be more— I would bet that there’s more.”

“You— You don’t have any proof of this. Can’t have any proof of it.” She stood up, straightened herself to her full height to loom over him. He was just a despicable ghost. He didn’t get to do this.

“Yeah, because Vlad isn’t stupid enough to leave that stuff out and about.” Phantom rolled his eyes, lifting his hand off of his torso. Its blue glow faded, and in sync, his eyes shifted back to green. “You can ask some of the humans, if you don’t trust my word. All of the Fentons, bar Jack, dislike Vlad for a variety of reasons. I know that Danny and Jazz know about Vlad’s connection with ghosts.”

“So you want me to let you escape, to let you live another day, just so I can follow up on those lies?” She scoffed. “Fat chance.”

“You asked for proof.” Phantom had to twist his head to stare up at her, eyes still narrowed. “Come on, what will it take to convince you? I’m trying, Red. Throw me a bone!”

“I just want someone to be honest with me for once!” she snapped before flinching. She hadn’t meant to say that. Well, fuck. Truck over it, Valerie! “Nothing is ever fucking real. It’s all false relationships and lies, through and through! And the few honest things I get to have get ruined because of ghosts! Because of you!”

Phantom stared up at her, wide-eyed. “Valerie, I—”

“No, shut up! I’m not done!” She balled her fists. The metal plates dug into her hand through the gloves, but she didn’t care. Not anymore. “I had everything I could’ve wanted! But then that stupid dog of yours lost my dad his job, destroyed our stuff, and now we’re broke as shit! All my friends abandoned me, and I had to get a job just to help support my family! Goodbye, spare time!”

She breathed out, noisily. “But I got ghost hunting gear from some anonymous source! And yeah, it was a little sketchy, but it let me make a difference! I got to help! Even if it was hard, at least it made me feel like I was doing something! And I— I made friends! Or… A friend, at least! It was nice!”

Her shoulders shook with tension. “Until I watched you plunge a fist through the chest of my suit.” She stared down at Phantom, but he’d turned his face away. She couldn’t read his expression anymore. “And that’s when I realized I couldn’t have any of that anymore. Because you—and other ghosts, but mostly you—were gunning for me. Because you would kill me if you got the chance.”

“Valerie—” he started, feebly, not even turning his head to face her again.

“I don’t want to hear it,” she snapped back. “I… You took away the one thing I had control over. You destroyed my suit, and now you’re telling me that the guy who gave it to me was just using me as a tool? That I’d never been in full control of what was going on?”

Her next exhale was wet. Shaky. “You really… You really can’t imagine what that’s like.”

“Valerie,” he said again. Turned those big wet eyes up to her. “God, I… I mean, obviously I can’t empathize with all of that, but… You think I never went through any of that? I mean—” He laughed. It was quaky and humorless. “I died, Valerie. How much else can you lose, right? And now I’m just trying to help my hometown, and what do I get as thanks?”

He waved a hand over his torso. The sprawling injury—the combined surface area of both shots—was covered entirely in ice, but that couldn’t hide the vicious green underneath. She’d really done a number on him.

“Ghost hunters are after me all the time. The town changes its mind on whether I’m good or bad on a whim, like everything I did before that moment didn’t matter! Like I’m not constantly trying to save everyone, like I’m not doing my constant best!”

Phantom laughed again, leading it into a hacking cough. “And yeah, sometimes I mess up. Sometimes a ghost slips past, or I don’t stop them until they ravage a factory. But, fuck. Doesn’t everybody screw up sometimes? Isn’t that just part of being human? Or was that supposed to leave when we die, when we become a ghost? Because, ooh boy, I think I might’ve missed that step.”

“You are a mess,” she countered, but it didn’t feel as heated as she’d intended. She let herself slump down, until she sat next to him. “If this is all so terrible, why don’t you just… leave. You’re a ghost. Go back to the Ghost Zone, or whatever.”

“The ghosts won’t stop coming just because I’m not here, you know?” He sighed, pulling up his knees and resting his arms on them. The ice on his stomach creaked. “They’ll keep attacking, constantly. Do you know how many ghosts invade this town on a daily basis? How many people could get hurt if I’m not watching, 24/7?”

He huffed out something that was almost a laugh. “The Fentons sure don’t. I thought about it, y’know? Taking a break, at least, see how the town would fare without me. But there are so many ghost attacks that they don’t know about. That you don’t know about.”

“Because you stop them before we can. So if you did leave, we’d learn about all those attacks, too.”

“You’d all run yourselves ragged.” He shook his head. His hair was stiffer than usual, stained with his own ectoplasm. “Even if you and the Fentons coordinated, you would all have to deal with almost constant attacks. At all times. How many ghosts do you think attack at night, when you guys are all asleep?” He laughed, bitterly. “Trust me, you don’t want to know.”

“So why didn’t you take that break?” She turned to narrow her eyes at him, not that he could tell with the helmet. “Show us why we were wrong?”

“Because that’d hurt people.” He moved to run a hand through his hair but stopped almost immediately, grimacing at the ectoplasm on his glove. Instead he turned to unleash his big green eyes on her once more. “It’d hurt you, and it’d hurt the Fentons, and it would hurt everyone else in the town. I couldn’t… I can’t let that happen. Hurt so many people, just because a few of them sucked.”

“Sounds like catharsis to me.” She shrugged. “It’d be an eye-opener.”

“It would hurt countless people. People like you. People like my friends, like my family.”

It felt like her heart stilled in her chest.

His family?

“You have family living in this city?” She squinted at him. He looked like a teenager, yeah, but everyone knew ghosts didn’t age worth shit. He could be decades old, centuries old. “Friends?”

Phantom froze. His glow flickered, like it kicked up a notch. “Um,” he said, and she realized that he hadn’t even meant to say that.

Wow.

What a heart to heart they were having.

“Well, that explains why you’re trying so hard.” She forced herself into a more casual sitting position, draped a hand over her leg, like she wasn’t coated head to toe in ghost-proof armor. “I bet way more people would be open to your help if they knew the real reason, Phantom.”

“I do want to help everyone,” he snipped back. His glow softened again. “It’s just… Yeah, my family and my friends are the reason why I keep fighting, even when everyone else shits on me. When my own family rants about how despicable I am.”

“They don’t know?” She ran her eyes over him. He didn’t look… all that strange, for a ghost. Pretty human. Yeah, she didn’t recognize him either, but… “How can they not?”

He shrugged. “Might be willful ignorance. Would you want your kid to be me?”

“I guess that that explains why you knew it wasn’t me in the suit,” she begrudgingly allowed. “You would’ve recognized me outside it, too.”

“That, and I spent plenty of time hanging around Casper High to recognize the bigger players.” He raised his hand, but then paused to stare at it. Seemed to think better of whatever automated motion he’d been going for, because he dropped it again. “That place is a ghost magnet like you wouldn’t believe.”

Well, now there was a reminder of all the class she was accidentally skipping out on.

“Yeah,” she said instead of lingering on that thought. “I guess that that’s fair.”

They sat in silence for a moment, the ghost hunter and the ghost.

“Look, Val. Ghost hunting is rough business.” He gestured at his iced-over injury. “Trust me, I’d know. I just… didn’t want you to get involved if you didn’t have to. You’ll get hurt. You have gotten hurt. But… But it was wrong of me to try and take that choice away from you. To try and take that little bit of control out of your hands.”

Now there was an apology she hadn’t expected to get. Almost destroy a ghost, and he apologizes to her? Phantom had issues, man.

“Well, uh. Thanks, I guess? For the apology.” She felt awkward, now. Thrown off of her footing. “Sorry for shooting you. And… all the blaming and stuff.”

“It’s not the worst injury I’ve gotten.” He shifted, hissed in pain. “But it’s up there. Yeesh, Val, how’d you even get that much punch into a single shot?”

“I, uh.” She rubbed her hand in her neck, the plates clicking against each other. “The suit kind of… works on a mental link? So I figured I would try and pour all my anger and frustration into it.”

Phantom blinked at her, stunned. “Well, damn. That’s one way of doing it.”

“It felt… relieving, in a way, I guess. But now I just feel bad about shooting you down.” She nudged his leg with her own, gently. “Can I… Is there anything I can do?”

“Honestly? Can you take patrol duty this night?” He laughed, uncertainly, playing with the hem of his gloves. “I’m gonna need some proper medical care for this one, I think.”

“Ghosts do medical care?”

He raised an unimpressed brow. “We get injured, why wouldn’t we do medical care?”

“Fair enough.” She sighed, pushed herself upright. A moment of hesitation, then she held out a hand for Phantom. “Deal. You need more time for that injury?”

“I’ll manage.” He took her hand, let her pull him up. He was startlingly light, which surprised her until he remained floating in the air after she let go. “Thanks. And, uh. Thanks for the talk. I’m glad we finally got through all this shit, even if I had to get shot down for it to happen.”

She let out a startled laugh. “Yeah, well. Thank you for the talk, too, even though I just shot you down.” After a beat of hesitation, she held out her hand. “Truce?”

“Truces are only temporary.” He made a face. “And I’m not too big on those anymore because everyone always breaks them by suddenly shooting me.”

Phantom held out his own hand, just away from hers. “Allies?”

“Semantics,” she grumbled, rolling her eyes. She took the hand and shook it. “Fine. Allies.”

He floated around her, slowly. “So, um. Before I leave… You said that this suit works with a mental link?”

“Yeah?” she turned to match his rotation, narrowing her eyes. “Why?”

“It’s just…” He blew out a noisy breath. “Technus made it, and I don’t trust him to make human-safe material. I know your identity is a big deal, but you might want to consider getting it checked out, just to be safe. Ectoplasm poisoning is a terrible way to die.”

Now that was an awful thing to drop on someone like that. “Phantom, what the hell! Who am I even supposed to ask for help with this?!” She balled her fists, feeling the flame of anger rear its head once more. “The only ghost experts are the Fentons, and they’ll go crazy over something like this!”

“The parents, yeah, but the kids are way better with this sort of stuff.” He gestured at the Thermos on his belt—it had gotten dented at some point during their fight. “Where do you think I get this stuff?”

“Oh. I guess I just… assumed you’d stolen it, like the Fentons keep claiming.”

He rolled his eyes. “Typical. But really, ask the Fenton kids. I think the son is about your age, right? Not sure how well you know each other, but… he’s reliable. He won’t tell anyone if you don’t want him to.”

Reliable, Danny Fenton? Now that was something you didn’t hear very often. At least it would give her an opportunity to explain why she broke up with him.

“I’ll… keep it in mind,” she told Phantom. “Anyway, I promise I’ll do patrol tonight. Go take care of that injury.”

Phantom grinned down at her, saluting playfully. “Gotcha. Bye, Val!”

“Yeah. Bye, Phantom.”

She watched him leave. Confirmed that there was no one watching, and let the armor retreat back under her skin.

Maybe she would take up his advice.

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