#also i didn't clarify in the fic because i couldn't find a good way to fit it in

[strangersteddierthings]

The Response

Part Two of The Interview [Part One] [Ao3]

With no exact time given by Robin, Eddie's left to kill time. He drags himself from the YouTube spiral to try and track down Steve on social media. After two hours, he concludes that either Steve has his (and official Corroded Coffin's) socials blocked, or Steve just doesn't have any. He's a bit baffled that people can even find Steve to send hate mail to him.

He shoots a text to Gareth. Can you find Steve on any socials?

He gets an instant reply.

DO NOT CONTACT!!!

WAIT FOR RESPONSE

DONOT MAKE THISS WORSE MUNSON

Eddie frowns down at his phone but doesn't argue. He probably would make it worse. He sends back 'k' and looks back to the laptop. Watches it auto-refresh but Robin's feed hasn't changed.

God, what will Steve have to say?

It's mostly true, that Eddie hasn't thought about Steve in years. That's been deliberate. Eddie was so furious back then. Robin wasn't wrong about him venting his feelings into a song, but how was he supposed to know Hey Steve would be the song the catch the ear of the people? And yeah, the lyrics are very unflattering.

A lot of their first songs were filled with rage. The whole first album is just their collective high school experiences. Songs about growing up in Hawkins and how shit that was for them, a song about Eddie's complicated feelings towards his dad, songs about dungeons and dragons disguised as fantasy ballads, things like that. And, of course, Hey Steve.

He can admit that years ago he reevaluated the lyrics and found it to be more harsh than was warranted. But he figured there was no point worrying about that. People exaggerate in songs all the time. The song is out, people still plead for it to be played during encore performances. Eddie hadn't thought it was hurting anyone to play it.

Hey Steve had taken Eddie less than two days to write. He did almost nothing for those two days except write. Fuck. He was still just a dumb kid when he wrote it, barely graduated high school. And the reason for writing it...

Eddie had know Steve wasn't out to his parents when he'd asked Steve to essentially runaway with him. Steve had worried about things like money, and living situations, and getting food. It had all sounded like excuses to Eddie back then. Like Steve was picking the safety of Hawkins and his parents' house over going out into the world to be with Eddie freely.

They'd fought about it. The worst fight they'd ever had. Yet, here Eddie is, a decade later and unable to recall anything that was actually said. Just a summary of that conversation exists in his mind, now. Steve wanting to wait. To save more money now that his hours at the grocery store would be changing from part time to full with him no longer being in school and able to work the morning shifts. Wait to get his car fully transferred to his name from his parents.

All things that adult Eddie can now see as reasonable. Jesus Fucking Christ. He remembers he'd given Steve some sort of ultimatum. He was leaving on the last Grey Hound from Hawkins to Indy. Steve could meet him at the bus stop or stay, but Eddie was going, with or without him.

Steve had shouted back. He knows they just got louder and nastier until Steve finally told him that he would be going without him, then, because they were over. Even as angry as Eddie had been, he'd held out hope. But that last bus left Hawkins with Eddie on it and no sign of Steve in sight.

So Eddie did what he did best. Channeled that hurt into anger and wrote a song. Never in a million years did he think that, in the very first bar they played at in Indy, they'd meet a man who wanted to take a chance with them and get them a demo. All they needed to do was get from Indy to LA. Eddie had a van and the motivation. The next year of his life was too busy for him to even think, much less worry about Steve and his breakup.

Well, that was a lie. He thought about it constantly and shoved the thoughts aside as quickly as they came. Easier to do when he had no way to check up on Steve. He left Hawkins with no laptop and a pay-per-text flip phone he'd bought at a gas station. Wayne tried his best to provide for Eddie, and that meant they'd had one cell phone between the two, and Eddie had insisted that Wayne keep it.

By the time he got a laptop and internet, Steve had blocked him on Facebook and Twitter. That was the conclusion Eddie had come to when he finally worked up the nerve to swallow his pride and apologize and couldn't find Steve on either platform. Another thing that had filled Eddie with anger and hurt. Steve had broken up with him and then made sure Eddie couldn't reach back out.

Now he wonders, did Steve block him, or did Steve delete his socials to stop the hate mail?

Eddie feels nauseous.

Fuck!

What's worse is that, before the fight, Eddie had been so sure he was in love with Steve. But how can he say that with how quickly he dropped him? With how he's acted ever since? He could justify it to himself when he was still freshly broken up with and hurting but that faded away as fame took over.

Hard to be sad about not having a boyfriend when there were plenty of people lining up to be with him.

He pulls himself from his head to look at the laptop. A new tweet shows on Robin's screen and he scrambled to turn off the auto-refresher.

It's a short tweet, and Eddie sees she's changed her name as well.

Clicking the link takes him to a YouTube video.

It starts with the camera slightly jiggling, presumably from someone hitting record. It's been set up in a recording studio. A stool in front of a mic that's suspended from the ceiling is the only thing in the frame.

"Alright, dingus, last chance to change your mind about this," Robin's voice is picked up from off screen.

"You can't talk me out of this," says a male voice, and without any thought about it, Eddie's hand flings out and slaps the space bar, pausing the video. His heart is pounding, and he has to take a few deep breaths. That was Steve's voice. Of course, it was Steve's voice, it's his statement video, but hearing it again. Hearing it spoken softly but determined.

Swallowing feels difficult. Eddie's last memory of Steve's voice was screaming. This is... this is the Steve he never thought he'd hear again, and hasn't realized how much he desperately wanted to. With shaking hands, he presses play again.

Steve steps into frame, takes a seat on the stool. He looks in the direction of the camera, and Eddie has to pause again, to take him in. His hair is longer than it was in high school, the ends of it touching his shoulders. He's got it pulled up in a half updo, keeping the hair out of his face. His face is familiar and yet so different. He certainly looks older but not in a bad way. The biggest difference is his nose; it's not as straight as it once was, like it's been broken and healed wrong. His strong, square face is as handsome as it ever was, perhaps more so now. Eddie's eyes are drawn to the two moles on his cheek; his eyes have always been drawn there. It was his favorite place to kiss Steve.

He's wearing light wash jeans and a deep blue Henley. And fuck if it doesn't make him look good.

Eddie unpauses again, and waits to hear the retribution he deserves.

"This good, Robin?"

"Yeah, you're perfectly in frame."

"Good. Uhh, hi. I'm Steve. Robin told me that there was a lot of fuss regarding a certain Corroded Coffin song, and that people wanted to hear from me. Which is wild 'cause like, I'm just some guy and I don't really have much to say-" Steve is saying, with a shrug of his shoulders.

"Steve!" Robin interrupts him, "I just had to help you move because someone threw a brick through your window! What do-"

"Okay! I get it! But that's not Corroded Coffin's fault. They do that whole anti-bullying thing! It's not like they don't address harassment and bullying. I-" Steve cuts off, seeming to remember he's on camera. His face turns pink. "We can argue this later. Uhh, anyway. There is something I want to say to Eddie Munson, so I hope he's watching."

He makes a 'give it to me' gesture and Robin enters frame, handing him an acoustic guitar. "I thought I'd answer using the one thing Eddie understands best. Music. So, uh, I wrote this song with Robin's help. Lyrics are mine but the melody is Robin. The song doesn't have a title but, uh, okay. Here it goes."

And then, Steve starts to sing, looking down at the guitar for correct finger placement more than singing into the mic but it picks him up well regardless.

"Do you think I'd give up? That this might've shook the love from me? Or that I was on the brink? How could you think, darling, I'd scare so easily? Now that it's done There's not one thing that I would change My life was a storm, since I was born. How could I fear any hurricane? If someone asked me at the end I'll tell them put me back in it-" Eddie is sitting down, and still he feels the floor fall out from under him.

"-Darling, I would do it again, ah, ah If I could hold you for a minute Darling, I'd go through it again, ah, ah."

Eddie doesn't hear the rest of the song because of the blood pounding in his ears. This can't be- it doesn't mean- after all this time? After everything that's happened, everything Eddie let happen, unintentionally or not.

His phone buzzes against his leg. He ignores it in favor of restarting the video and listening to the video from the start. He listens to the whole song and it ends without anything else. Once Steve's strummed the last chord, he just stands up, walks to the camera and the video ends.

He restarts the video again, and again, and again. Hears Steve sing How could you think I'd scare so easily and I would do it again if I could hold you for a minute and though I know my heart would break I'd tell them put me back in it.

It's through the tenth, or eleventh, playback that his phone buzzes again and he fumbles to answer blindly, unable to pull his eyes away from Steve on the screen of his laptop.

"Gare- It's not- what did I do Gare? Everything I thought Steve would have to say never came close to what he just sang. I can't- I don't know what to do," Eddie sobs into the phone.

There's a pause of silence before what is very much not Gareth's voice says, "Well, dammit Munson. I was calling to rip you a new one but you're already crying."

It takes Eddie a moment to place the voice, "Robin?"

"Unfortunately, yes," Robin says. "I think Steve's let you off easily, but I also know I kick a hornet's nest with my interview so I think we should work on getting this cleared up, both publicly and privately."

"How did you get my num-"

"Gareth. Keep up, Munson. I'd like us to be able to call off each other's fans. Your PR team and whoever you employee to do that anti-bullying campaign have done a pretty good job so far in telling people to back off, politely. Helps that Jeff has been on top of this from the beginning. Honestly, I think the best decision you've ever made in your life was making Jeff the front man of your band and not yourself. He's much more pleasant to talk to, and so good with people."

"Robin!" Eddie has to shout because Robin keeps saying words and they don't make sense. "What?"

He hears a sign from the other end of the phone. "You are annoying. You know that, Munson? I'll work with Gareth to get this done. I think we should be seen together, publicly. Maybe getting a coffee. So everyone knows we've made up, or whatever it is Gareth and I decide is happening. We should also meet up privately. There's a lot to talk about."

"I'm so confused."

"Nothing new. Now, when are you free to get on a plane to Pendleton, Oregon?"

"Pendleton?"

"Munson!" Robin snaps, "we just established that you live in a perpetual state of confusion. Instead of questioning me, how about you answer my questions. Now, when are you free?"

"Anytime."

"Smart answer. Get your ass to Pendleton by the morning of the twenty-third. I'll work with Gareth for all the other concerns. He's easier to deal with."

"Can I ask one follow up question at least!?"

"You just did but I'll allow one more before I hang up."

"Why Pendleton?"

"It's the nearest airport to our destination. I am not having a private conversation with you in California. I don't want to be caught speaking to you until Gareth and I have a chance to work out the details."

And then Robin hangs up.

Eddie leans forward and restarts the video on his laptop before looking up plane tickets. Fixing things with Robin might be the first step in ever getting try and, he doesn't know, apologize to Steve? Maybe even have a conversation one day.

He doesn't deserve that chance, he thinks, but he's a bad enough person to want it anyway.

#steddie #my fic #the interview #the song steve sings is Francesca by Hozier #i dont do taglists so i linked to ao3 where u can subscribe and get updates #i feel like eddies an unreliable narrator so im adding that tag on ao3 #the boy has got NO CLUE what is happening at any point in time ever #hes just a ball of guilt and regret #also i didn't clarify in the fic because i couldn't find a good way to fit it in #but gareth is not an active CC member‚ he's the PR manager #he used to be in the band but quit to finish college and be a family man #Jeff is the front man so he does the interviews/public appearances/etc #Eddie used to but like rockstar life hit him hard and he had to let someone else take that role

[fandomfluffandfuck]

As a smut writer with a vagina, I always struggle a bit to explore the sensations that penis-havers experience during arousal. I know what’s getting hard looks like, but not what it feels like internally.

Combining my research and, echem, other needs, a writing prompt: Steve explaining to a formerly chemically castrated recovering Bucky what getting hard feels like, and how to recognize arousal. What it feels like when he wants him. Reminding Bucky of those feelings and talking him into his first erection in 70 years.

Ah jeeze, I sent that writing request for Steve explaining to Bucky what it feels like to get hard and I just realized how completely invasive and assuming some of that ask was. I really apologize.

You're okay! That's a fair question/request, and this is the place to come with it, lol.

First, though, I do have to say that, coming from my personal experience, the way smut writers without dicks (as far as I'm aware, lol) describe dicks and erections is usually pretty on the money. It's hot [temperature wise]. It's throbbing. It's tight and, well, hard. It's also often annoying when an erection just... happens. Because it happens randomly, too. It's not just a teenage thing, unfortunately, lol. (I mean, it's (usually) not a full erection like it can be in teendom, but it's still a thing as you get older.)

Second, I could've sworn I read a fic where Bucky was castrated surgerically and was struggling with arousal/erections but I can't find it again :/

Okay, onto this prompt:

*trigger warning for off screen, insinuated HYDRA Trash Party/HYDRA typical violence

This would be a fucking challenge for them. Not only because recovery is tough--recovery from anything--but especially recovery from 70 fucking years of brainwashing and torture.

Also, this is challenging because Steve very much is also deprogramming from his own trauma as well as struggling with his Catholic upbringing. That shame runs deep. Steve is very, very good at feeling shame and guilt.

When Bucky presents him with the question of, "what is it like?" As they're discussing the reversal effects, returning libidos, and coming off of the chemical castration drugs, pamphlets spread out messily over the kitchen island counter, Steve is absolutely tongue-tied. He stammers and blushes and squirms in his kitchen bar stool.

Bucky, in contrast, is sitting still. His voice is even. Fine. "Getting an erection," he clarifies without issue, "what does it feel like?" There's a crease between his dark eyebrows. It's the look he gets when he's thinking, specifically, when he's trying to remember something that's fuzzy--just out of reach and slipping from between his fingers more and more by the second.

Steve isn't sure if that tone of voice and the neutrality is Bucky being Bucky--he never had much shame before. Before... all of this. He always was a flirt, a charmer. As soon as he had an experience, when they were old enough, he told Steve things about girls that Steve felt like would cause God to open hell directly underneath them. Earth gaping. Swallowing them whole. He couldn't ever explain why he stuttered out the words to ask again and again and again, though. He knew he didn't care about the gals. He didn't... he doesn't like women that way.

It was about Bucky.

It's always been about Bucky.

Or... if it's maybe something that was burned out of Bucky by them? HYDRA. Steve desperately hopes it's not that. He wants the fact that he's fine discussing such private matters because he's always been that way (maybe with a tiny mix of being too old and seasoned to give a shit).

Right now, Bucky and him are perfect opposites.

Bucky is easily getting the words out, asking for some from Steve in exchange. Meanwhile, Steve can't get say a word, no matter how loud and clear Bucky is.

It's not that Steve doesn't want to have this conversation with Bucky. He wants to give Bucky every tool he needs to help aid him in recovery; he wants to be honest with him; he wants to open himself to Bucky like a book so he can read and glean what he needs from him. It's so fucking difficult, though.

Bucky's doctors warn Steve and Bucky both what coming off of the drugs causing his chemical castration will mean. A surge in sex hormones as his body resumes doing what it should, resulting in a, hopeful, return of his libido and physical sexual functioning along with possible hot flashes, racing heart, and a handful of other assorted side effects. A roll of the dice. They won't totally know until they get there.

Chemical castration isn't permanent, usually. But, usually, people aren't chemically castrated for 70 fucking years. Also, usually, the people in question aren't super soldiers. So, there's things working against Bucky and with him.

Bucky's body should bounce back.

Steve closes his eyes for too long to just be a blink, picturing the scars around Bucky's shoulder. Flesh seared to metal. No choice but to adapt.

Bucky's body should bounce back.

"Good as new," one of the medical students working in tandem with the team of doctors had said. Steve thinks that student could use more bedside manner training.

"Steve?"

"Uh--" Steve clears his throat, "yeah. It's..."

"You don't have to."

Steve nods tightly, "I want to. I just." He swallows noisily, he figures he'll just be as honest as he can, "I don't know how to say it," he runs his fingers through his hair, musing it.

Bucky nods back. After a moment he volunteers, "I remember getting them, I just..."

"You just?" Steve prompts, leaning forward to grab his hand and squeeze.

"I don't remember anything else. I got them. Didn't I?" Bucky looks at his wearily.

"You definitely did," Steve's voice is huskier than he intends. He can't help it. A full-body shiver takes over his muscles. He remembers Bucky's erections almost as much as he remembers his own.

Sharing the same tiny, ratty-sheet-covered bed. Bucky pressed up against his back, his breath hot and humid on his neck, an arm thrown around his waist, with his dick regularly hardening in his sleep and pressing even more insistently against his boney ass.

Wrestling on their shitty, creaking wooden floor. Bucky on top of him, laughing brilliantly. Dark hair falling from its careful, swept-up style. Leaning up to kiss him to distract him, the only way he could win. Kissing and kissing until Bucky would melt, groaning, falling onto him, chest to chest, their erections sliding together. Hard. Hot.

Listening to Bucky stumble in drunk and smiling to himself, stifling the expression in the flat pillow under his head, pretending to sleep until Bucky stumbles into their bed. Then, pretending to wake up slowly and prettily as Bucky pawed at him. Sometimes, Bucky'd be hard already. Sometimes, he would get hard deliciously slowly, the alcohol affecting him, making it a challenge. And sometimes he wouldn't get hard if he had too much.

(Steve secretly loved it when he didn't get hard. Soft and vulnerable and perfect for worshipping. Steve would fall to his knees and rub his face against his soft cock and suck and suck until Bucky came without getting hard at all. It still felt good. Steve should know. It's not like his Johnson worked all the time back then, anyway.)

Steve jostles himself from the memories, trying, only half-successfully, to not feel guilty over the fact that he can remember all that with perfect eidetic detail while Bucky can't.

He re-crosses his legs in the other direction.

"Okay," Steve tries to push his energy from memories to words, "okay. It's, like, it... it almost feels like." God, why does he suck so much at this? "Like, it-it's blood rushing into your dick, right?"

Bucky has the gall to roll his eyes.

Steve wants to call him an asshole. And he would if he weren't too busy untangling his words, trying to spit them out no matter how much shame tugs at him. "So it's swollen. It gets hot, too, because, well, your, your blood is hot. Body temperature. Y'know. Whatever. It's... just... swollen and hot and, uh, stiff?"

"It is a stiffy," Bucky says dryly.

Steve dryly laughs, "jerk," he bites his lower lip, clearly that's not enough to satisfy Bucky's curiosity, "you know, so, okay, you know when you finish in the gym and your muscles are just beginning to get sore? Like. It doesn't hurt. But your muscles are tight and pumped and hard because you just used them?"

"I'm familiar." Steve's pretty sure Bucky's being an asshole on purpose now. Just to give him something else to think about. Fucker.

"It's like that," he finishes the thought, "but. It's your dick, not your usual muscles."

"So... does it get sore? Like your muscles?"

"No." Steve answers automatically, then, "it, uh, throbs. Pulses, kinda. I mean, it, it can hurt. If you have it for a long time."

"Right," there's a minute pause. Steve knows without asking that they're both picturing all the goofy pharma ads that're on TV nowadays. Contact your doctor if you have an erection lasting more than 4 hours... "You said it's tight?"

"Yeah. Tight and heavy, too. 'Cause, because it fills with blood. It gets engorged. Swollen."

Bucky nods, but it's clear he wants more.

"Yeah," Steve struggles, his face burning. "Kinda, kinda, like..." he pulls a face just thinking about the way he's about to describe an erection. It's visceral. It makes him want to squirm a little bit. But, it's the only thing he can think of. "If you stuck a balloon under your skin and started to inflate it. It gets tight and hot and stiff as it stretches. And the more the, the, uh, balloon inflates, the more sensitive it gets--"

Bucky makes a considering noise.

"--But then. Then, once you've started, it's hard to stop. It gets fuller, stiffer, and more sensitive. When you touch it, because it's sensitive and tight and you need to do something about it, it gets stiffer and then more sensitive because it's stiffer. So you touch more. Until. Yeah. It's, uh, it's a positive feedback loop."

"Oh."

Suddenly, as happens sometimes, Steve's mouth runs away from him. He's embarrassed, and his brain decides that the only way to fix it is to get all the embarrassing words out. "It throbs. Like. With your pulse. If you get. If you get hard enough, it th-throbs with your pulse. And it feels like it comes from your, like, core. Like. Not just your balls. Inside you."

"Hm?" Bucky interjects, eyebrows drawing together.

"Like, when you get, ah, a-aroused. It comes from your stomach almost. And it goes up your back and down your balls, too. It's, it's not tingling but, more, more like when you really have to pee and you can't help but shiver. A much hot, hotter version of that."

"You-" Bucky's eyebrows come together. "You can't pee when you're erect, right?"

"No, no. It--that does hurt. It kinda burns? If you try to pee with a hard, hard--if you try to pee with an erection. It doesn't work like that."

"No," Bucky agrees softly.

"But it doesn't burn otherwise. It, it when you're really hard, feels like, like you might explode. It gets so tight and, I'm trying to think of anything but hard, but it really just feels hard."

Bucky snorts.

Steve's big mouth keeps motoring, of course, "oh, and, uh, it gets wet." Steve is going to explode, not in the fun my-dick-is-hard way, in the vibrating-with-embarrassment way. Oof.

Bucky just looks intrigued. Not embarrassed.

Dammnit.

"I, I, I don't mean," Steve lowers his voice, "cum."

Bucky laughs at his expense.

"I mean... when you're erect. It can leak. It's just pre-cum. It's not. It's nothing to be worried about. Just so you don't--" he bites the inside of his cheek, "I don't want you to worry."

Bucky tips his head from side to side, considering. "What if I--"

"What if you?"

"What if I let you know when it happens? So you know I'm not worried."

Steve flushes the hottest he has yet. He coughs. "Y-yeah, that'd be, that'd be... good."

I hope that's satisfactory for what you had in mind! I didn't really know how to tackle this prompt, lol.

#asks #fandomfluffandfuck #bucky barnes #steve rogers #stucky #htp #hydra trash party #it's off screen but i figured it be good to include that tag anyway #for the people filtering it

[raaorqtpbpdy]

Team Phantom's Official-Unofficial Medic

Thanks to seeing how football injuries are treated, as well as a general interest in first-aid, Dash finds himself incidentally helping out an injured Phantom. After a while, Phantom starts to seek Dash out when he needs first-aid. But eventually he comes to Dash with injuries way beyond the scope of Dash's first-aid knowledge, and all he can do is his best.

Based on the prompts: Thanks to seeing how various injuries are treated as a member of the football team, Dash actually has a decent background in first aid and anatomy. He gets adopted into Team Phantom when circumstances keep leading him to be the one patching up Phantom after fights. [from Cake], and Identity reveal. Dash finds out Danny is Phantom. What happens? Could be swagger bishie or not, either or is okay. [from @q-gorgeous]

As per the second prompt, this fic could be interpreted as swagger bishie, or as platonic. It just kinda happened that way lol.

Also, not gonna lie, Dash is a bit of a freak in this one.

Read also on AO3

[Warnings for blood, injuries, gore, suturing, medical procedures, mild romanticizing of the aforementioned, implied dissection, near-death experiences, and Dash's shitty father]

Dash... wasn't really sure how it happened, honestly. One day, he'd been one of a hundred people who supported the town hero, Phantom. Basically nothing more than a fanboy. And the next he'd seemingly become Team Phantom's go-to guy for first aid.

He guessed it started when he happened to pass by an alleyway biking home from football practice, and doubled back upon seeing something glowing green in the shadowy space between two buildings. He'd thought it was some ghost lying in wait to attack and wanted to be sure. It wasn't.

In the alleyway, Danny Phantom was sitting on an overturned crate with the top half of his jumpsuit pulled down, bleeding badly from a wound on his side. Manson and Foley, Fenton's loser friends, were next to him—though Fenton himself wasn't there. The two of them looked to be holding a couple rolls of bandages and some antiseptic, but they were arguing quietly about how to use them while Phantom kept cursing and asking them to please just do something to stop the bleeding already, because he couldn't keep losing ectoplasm like this.

Dash didn't exactly consider himself to be a good Samaritan, and he wasn't the most compassionate guy in general, but he did like to show off, and he wasn't going to leave his celebrity crush bleeding out in some dirty alleyway. Luckily, he kept a small first-aid kit in his back-pack because Manson and Foley did not have all the materials they needed to patch up a gash like that.

"Hey," Dash called out, first-aid kit already in hand. "You two losers obviously don't know what you're doing. Give me the bandages and get out of my way."

"And a meathead like you is gonna know any better than us?" Manson jeered, obviously skeptical.

"I'm a football player," Dash scoffed back. "I've seen injuries a lot worse than this get patched up, and I know how it's done. Just give me the bandages."

She raised an eyebrow, but handed over the roll of bandages she was holding. Dash started by quickly cleaning his hands with hand-sanitizer. It wasn't as good as a proper wash, but it would do. His own first aid kit had alcohol wipes to properly clean the wound, something Manson and Foley hadn't thought to get, apparently.

"This'll sting," Dash said. "I mean, if you feel pain. From what I've read, there still doesn't seem to be a professional consensus on whether ghosts feel pain, but you would know better than I would."

Phantom hissed through gritted teeth when Dash started to wipe away the excess ectoplasm and clean the wound. Dash wasn't sure if that meant he actually felt pain, or if he was just habitually mimicking pain, like those G.I.W. releases said that ghosts tended to do. Phantom didn't seem keen on clarifying, though, so Dash chose not to ask.

Once it was clean, the wound was still leaking ectoplasm, but not quickly. It would probably have been best to stitch it up, but Dash didn't have a needle and thread, so butterfly stitches would have to do. He snatched the disinfectant out of Foley's hand and sprayed the wound.

Then he put it down on the ground and used one hand to press together the two sides of the wound and applied the adhesive butterfly stitches with the other. It took fourteen of them, leaving Dash with only three left in his kit. Yeah, it definitely should have gotten actual stitches. Finally, Dash used hand-sanitizer to clean his hands again before carefully wrapping a roll of bandages around Phantom's torso.

"There, all done," he said. "The bandage isn't too tight, is it?"

Phantom shook his head. "No, it feels fine."

The whole time he had worked, Phantom and the two losers had watched him in rapt silence.

"You... actually do know how to do this stuff," Foley observed.

"I told you," Dash said. "Football players get injured a lot. I learned."

"No need to get snippy, jackass," Manson sneered.

"Jackass?" Dash repeated, genuinely offended. "I just stopped your buddy here from bleeding out. I think a little gratitude might be appropriate." Normally, he wouldn't care about insults from dorks like these, but given the circumstances it just felt uncalled-for.

Manson's nose scrunched up in anger and she opened her mouth like she was about to argue, but Phantom cut her off.

"You're right," he said. "Thank you. We were just... surprised. I guess we never really thought about what sort of skills football players might have outside of, well, playing football."

"And bullying nerds," Foley tacked on, though he snapped his mouth shut when Phantom elbowed him in the side.

The truth was, most of the football players Dash knew weren't as good at first aid as he was, but they all knew the basics. Dash just had a particular fascination with seeing injuries and especially watching them be methodically patched up. It was something he would never admit, because he knew how weird and low-key fucked up it sounded to say that he liked looking at people's injuries, but it was true.

Any time someone got injured enough to call the school nurse, but not enough to call the ambulance, Dash would come over to watch how she fixed them up. He'd even taken a few first aid classes. And his friends had even noticed enough to tease him for it when he paid more attention than usual during the human anatomy units in biology and Phys. Ed.—although, predictably, they seriously misinterpreted the reason for his interest.

"Can you move?" he asked Phantom. "Are you hurt anywhere else?"

Phantom stood up, stretched, winced, tested his movement. "No, Skulker only got me the once. Looks like I'm good."

"Good," Dash said.

He packed up his first-aid kit while Phantom pulled the top half of his suit back on. It was then that Dash realized he'd been so focused on patching up the ghost's injury, he'd completely missed out on his chance to ogle Phantom with his shirt off. Stupid!

"Well," he said, much more loudly than he'd meant to, as if he was trying to talk loud enough the other's wouldn't hear that last thought he'd had. "I should get home and take my dog out. Glad you're okay, Phantom. Later, dorks!"

And with that, Dash hurried out of the alley, got back on his bike, and pedaled home as fast as he could.

That hadn't been it, though. After that incident occurred, Dash had no reason to think it was anything but a one-time deal. He'd gotten to meet his hero, and even provide some actual, tangible assistance to him, and he would treasure that encounter for the rest of his life. The following day, he had still been so high up on cloud nine he hadn't even bullied any dweebs. But he never expected anything like that to happen again.

It did happen again, though.

Football practice had just ended, and Dash headed to the bike rack behind near the auto-shop. Normally, he parked his bike on the rack near the boys locker room because it was obviously way closer, but he'd been a little later than usual that morning because Pookie ate something that had gotten kicked under the kitchen counter god knew how long ago and Dash had to stop to clean up the vomit and get her in a kennel for his mom to take to the vet while he was at school.

He remembered still being worried about Pookie by the time football got out because his mom hadn't called him with an update, so he was in a bit of a rush and he ran out of the locker room toward where he'd locked up his bike. As he pulled out the key to his bike-lock, however, he saw something through the window of the auto-shop. He was going to ignore it, when he heard a familiar voice call out.

"Ew, that's so wrong!"

Curiosity got the better of him, and he pushed open the door of the school's auto-shop, which should have been empty, not just because school had ended two hours ago, but also because Casper High hadn't even offered auto-shop classes since the eighties or something after the teacher retired or died. Dash didn't really know or care the details, but he did not that no one went into the auto-shop, and the door should have been locked for so long it was rusted shut, but it opened easily.

Inside, Dash saw Danny Phantom, his right arm bent unnaturally at the elbow and shoulder, definitely dislocated if not broken. Manson and Foley were with him again. Foley had a roll of bandages in his hand, even though bandages had nothing to do with treating dislocated joints. All three of them turned to look at Dash when he opened the door, probably just because they'd instinctively turned to the sound of it swinging open, but it certainly felt like they were staring expectantly.

Dash sighed, and stepped through the door. "Put those bandages away, it's obviously dislocated, not sprained."

He knelt down at Phantom's feet to take off his backpack and dig out his first aid kit. There was a thin piece of cloth in it that he could make a sling out of, and an instant ice-pack. He put his kit down on a work bench and carefully positioned his hands on Phantom's shoulder. It would have been easier if he could actually see the joint, but he wasn't about to ask the ghost to take his shirt off for him. That would be too embarrassing.

"Do ghosts feel pain or no?" Dash asked, forcing the joint back into place with a hard shove and a loud pop.

"Agh!" Phantom cried out. "Yes. We do."

"Good to know," Dash said. He moved down to the elbow. Gently, he rotated it, trying to ignore the way Phantom winced when he moved it, then he carefully positioned his hands again and popped it back into place.

Phantom cried out even louder the second time.

"You're not allergic to Tylenol, are you?" Dash went to his kit and pulled out a bottle.

"No?"

"Good," Dash poured out three pills and handed them to Phantom. "Take these, they should kick in in half-an-hour." Phantom took them and swallowed them dry, which wasn't the best way to do it, but Dash didn't have anything for him to wash it down with, since his water bottle was empty after practice.

"Is that all?" Manson asked.

"No," Dash said. "I'm gonna make a sling to help you keep it still and supported, and I've got an ice-pack for you. The key to recovering from an injury like dislocation is the RICE method. Rest, ice, compression, and elevation. The RICE method helps to reduce this inflammation, and reducing inflammation reduces pain."

He took out the thin cloth from his kit as he explained this and folded it into a sling, tying it behind Phantom's neck when his arm was settled at about the right height.

"Is that the right height?" he asked.

"Maybe a little high," Phantom replied, and Dash adjusted it. "Better?"

"Yeah."

"How do you have an ice-pack in your first-aid kit?" Foley asked. "Wouldn't it melt?"

Dash took out the instant ice-pack. "Not this kind. It's kinda like a glow-stick. The pouch is full of chemicals. You crack it, and shake it, and that makes the chemicals mix, causing a reaction that makes the pouch cold. You're not supposed to hold it with your bare hands though. Sorry, but you'll have to use my spare gym socks. Don't worry, these ones are clean."

he unrolled his spare socks and shoved the ice-pack into one of them before handing it to Phantom.

"Try not to use it much until it heals," Dash said. "Rest is the most important part of the RICE treatment."

"Thanks, Dash," Phantom said, taking the ice-pack like he was amazed to see Dash acting like this. Admittedly, it was a lot different than he would normally act around nerds like Manson and Foley, but he was more preoccupied with the fact that his hero apparently knew his name than whether or not folding a sling and loaning someone an ice-pack was out-of-character for him.

"You know who I am?" Dash asked.

Phantom tensed, which obviously made him jostle his sore shoulder and wince. "Uh... yeah. Sam and Tucker told me after you help me out last time," he explained. "They said you were usually kind of a jerk, but I really do appreciate you helping me like this."

Oh, that made sense. Kind of stung that after bandaging his wounds, Phantom's impression of him was still that he was the guy who bullied his friends.

"A guy can have more than one side to him," Dash defended. "Besides, I'm pretty sure you've saved my life personally, like, four times, so even after this, I still owe you two more. Try not to cash 'em in too soon, yeah?"

"I'll do my best," Phantom said, with a smile that made Dash's heart race.

Then his phone rang, and it was his mother calling. "Sorry, I gotta take this!"

He left the auto-shop to answer it.

His mother was calling to ask him if he was home yet and let him know the vet had pumped Pookie's stomach but she was going to be perfectly okay. Dash sighed with relief. When the phone call ended, though, there was no less urgency in his pace when he rode home.

Again, Dash expected to never be that close to Phantom again, but a month later, there was a knock on his back door.

He was very confused about why the back door and not the front, but he answered anyway, and standing there was Manson and Foley, with Phantom floating between them, bleeding profusely from his right leg while he cradled his left arm, and smiling sheepishly at Dash.

"You said you owed me two more, right?" he said. "Don't suppose there's a two-for-one special going?"

"We tried to patch up his arm like you did to his torso before, but we're pretty sure we did it completely wrong," Foley said.

"Not that wrong," Manson argued, but she had her arms crossed and she was pouting, looking very defeated.

"Anyway, we remembered you lived kinda close because remember that one time you invited Danny to that party so you could get with his sister?" Foley went on, ignoring her. "Yeah, we figured we'd be better off coming to ask for your help."

"Fine, take him to the garden bench. If he bleeds ectoplasm all over the floor, my mom'll flip, but nobody'll notice it on the dirt," Dash directed. "I'm gonna get the first-aid kit and wash my hands. I'll be right back out."

The fist-aid kit under the sink in the upstairs bathroom was a lot more comprehensive than the one Dash carried around in his backpack—which was mostly just the basics and a couple of extra things, like an instant ice-pack, that ended up being needed during practice or games more often than not. Even the more comprehensive one didn't have a needle and thread, though. He wasn't 100% sure he'd need it, but he got them out of his mom's sewing kit anyway, and sterilized the needle with rubbing alcohol before he headed back down to the garden.

This time, he did ask Phantom to remove the top part of his jumpsuit. Unlike with a dislocated arm, he couldn't properly bandage a wound he couldn't directly access. Dash did his best to keep his expression as neutral as possible when he did so. He didn't want to think about what he'd have to ask when he go around to the leg. By all accounts, he knew he should treat the leg first, but he had to work up the courage to ask Phantom to take off his pants before he could do that. So arm it was.

This was clearly the wound Manson and Foley had tried to do themselves. Dash could see immediately that they hadn't done it right. It was wrapped so tight that the arm below the bandage had started to turn green from lack of circulation, and even though it was a self-adhering bandage, they'd knotted it for some reason.

"We did it way too loose at first and it wasn't staying on," Foley explained, "But then we went too far the other way, and we couldn't untie it."

"You're not supposed to tie this kind of bandage," Dash said. "Self-adhering bandage like this is for sprains and muscle injuries, for making sure your joints aren't moving too much. They're not absorbent, so it doesn't do any good to wrap 'em around bleeding wounds."

He cut the bandage away, and under it, he saw that Manson and Foley had applied butterfly stitches longways over the wound, instead of across it.

"Oh, it's gonna hurt when I take these off," he said apologetically.

"I knew that wasn't right," Manson muttered, even though she was the one who'd said she didn't think they'd done things that wrong.

Quickly, but methodically, Dash re-cleaned, disinfected, and bandaged the wound. Luckily, this one wasn't that deep, to the butterfly stitches were sufficient, and Dash didn't have to pull out the needle.

Once he was done, however, he coughed uncomfortably.

"Uh... I've gotta get to the gash on your leg now, so you're gonna need to uh..." He couldn't get himself to say it. He couldn't ask his celebrity crush to take his pants off. He just couldn't do it.

Phantom looked a little lightheaded, and cocked his head, not seeming to get the message. Thankfully Manson didn't have that problem, nor, apparently, did she have any sense of shame.

"He needs you to take your pants off so he can treat your leg," she said bluntly.

"Oh," Phantom said.

He started to squirm out of the bottom half of his jumpsuit, apparently unbothered by the fact that they were outdoors in broad daylight—even if they were surrounded by a six-foot fence. His wound did seem to be bothering him, though, as he grunted and hissed in pain as he pulled his jumpsuit down past it.

Yeah... Dash definitely should have taken care of the leg wound first.

The gash in his just above his knee was much longer and deeper than the one in his arm. Ectoplasm almost completely coated his entire calf and was still leaking from the wound. It was no wonder why Phantom was so lightheaded.

"Shit, I shoulda done this one first," Dash muttered with a grimace.

He started by wiping away the ectoplasm with a clean rag, thankful he'd thought to get some out of his gym gear rather than grabbing his mother's nice hand towels from the bathroom. He wrapped a rubber strip above the wound to stem the flow of ectoplasm some. Then he cleaned around the wound with alcohol wipes. The rest of the leg still had streaks of green, but the wound itself obviously took priority when it came to getting it clean and disinfected.

This time, Dash was gonna need the needle and thread. His hands were shaking minutely as he threaded the needle, but he got it after two tries.

"Now hold on, there's no way you learned suturing in football," Manson contested. "There's no way!"

"I also took a couple of first-aid classes," Dash admitted.

"They don't teach suturing in first-aid classes either," Manson insisted, putting her hands on her hip.

"You say that like you've ever been to a first-aid class," he scoffed. "How would you know."

She scowled, but didn't have anything to say to that.

She was right of course. Suturing was not something they taught in first-aid classes. But there was no way in hell that Dash was going to admit to watching videos about it on YouTube for fun. He knew how that sounded. Contrary to popular belief, he wasn't completely stupid.

Ignoring her, he went to start the sutures. Even with the tourniquet, there was still a slow drip of ectoplasm. Phantom grunted in pain when Dash pushed the two sides of the wound together to start stitching. It was a hard line to balance, but Dash tried to be both quick and gentle, not wanting to irritated the wound, or prolong the discomfort of getting stitches.

If he mentally cropped out the peanut gallery, and pretended it was just him, Phantom, and an open wound, this was almost exactly like on of his fantasies. Yet another thing he would definitely never admit out loud.

Idly, he wondered how many hoops he'd have to jump through to add local anesthetic to the Baxter household first-aid kit. Probably a lot. The kind of injuries you needed local anesthetic to treat were also typically the kind of injuries people were supposed to go to an actual doctor for, and not a high-school freshman with a weird medical fixation.

Once the stitches were done, twenty-six in all, Dash used another alcohol wipe and a clean rag to more thoroughly clean the area around the wound before wrapping a gauze bandage around it.

This time, Dash did think to subtly ogle Phantom, just a little bit, before telling him he could put his jumpsuit back on. He was only human, after all. He wasn't gonna miss out on that kind of opportunity twice.

"Hey, how come Fen-toad's never with you?" Dash asked when Phantom was putting his suit back on. "I thought you three were like, joined at the hip or something."

"Oh uh..." Manson and Foley looked at each other before Foley answered, "Danny can't stand the sight of injuries. Makes him sick to even look at 'em, so... we let him dip when it gets this bad."

"That tracks," Dash replied. "Your friend always was a bit of a wuss."

"Haha... right," Foley agreed awkwardly.

Phantom and Foley thanked him for his help. Manson did too, after a matching pair of pointed looks from her friends, although her thanks was sullen and reluctant.

"You're welcome," Dash said, packing up the supplies to return them back where they belonged. "But you guys are so lucky my parents weren't home when you showed up or they'd've flipped, so I suggest you start making tracks sooner, rather than later."

"Right," Phantom said. "Come on, guys, let's go." With that, they were gone, and Dash was left to put his supplies away and then scour the Fenton Works website in the hopes of finding tips for how to get ectoplasm stains out in the wash.

If he had to pinpoint it, Dash would say that third incident was when he became Team Phantom's official-unofficial medic.

After that, whether by coincidence, or the three of them intentionally seeking him out, Dash ended up patching one of Phantom's injuries just about every week. They often went to the school auto-shop for it, since it was private, usually close by, and always empty.

"I'm pretty sure you've fixed me up way more times than I've saved your life by now," Phantom joked while Dash finished treating an ectoplasm burn on his forearm. Manson and Foley weren't with him this time, but Dash didn't ask after them. He didn't mind it being just him and Phantom for once. "How many do I owe you at this point?"

Dash shook his head and capped the burn ointment. "You don't owe me anything," he said. "This one was for saving Kwan's life from Walker a few months ago. The scratches last week were for protecting the cheer squad from Ember, and the sprained ankle the week before was for saving Pookie from that ten foot tall ghost dog that wanted to play with her and nearly stepped on her instead.

"You've saved the lives of everyone I care about. This is the least I can do," he finished. Then, he decided the two of them had gotten close enough by this point that he was safe to crack a joke, and added, "Plus, sometimes I get to see you with your shirt off, so like, bonus."

Much to Dash's relief, Phantom laughed lightly at that. "Yeah, too bad it's always 'cause I'm bleeding out."

"Well, you can't win 'em all."

Phantom laughed again. It sounded... familiar somehow, although Dash couldn't place it.

"Hey, I've kinda wondered this ever since you started helping me out, but are you planning to become a doctor after graduation?" Phantom asked.

"I've thought about it, 'cause I do actually like doing this kinda thing—but it's not realistic for me," Dash said with a slightly disappointed shrug. "In the first place, medical school is stupid competitive, and I'm barely scraping the 2.5 GPA required to stay on the school sports teams. With my grades, the only way I'm getting into college is with a football scholarship, but if I do get in, I'm planning to major in sports medicine. If I don't get scouted, I might become a paramedic. It's not set in stone or anything, but you know."

"Well, speaking as a repeat patient, I think you'd make a great paramedic," Phantom said.

Dash smirked. "What're you saying? You think I can't get scouted?"

"No!" Phantom said quickly, then chuckled sheepishly. "More like I don't know what sports medicine is."

Dash laughed out loud.

"Your burns are all treated; now get outta here. I gotta get home."

"Yes, sir!" Phantom saluted him sarcastically and flew off through the ceiling.

Dash never imagined he'd become close enough with his personal hero to crack jokes like that. And to tease him? Never in a million years. But he was.

"Did something happen?" Kwan asked him as they were walking down the hall on the way to third period.

"Huh? What do you mean?"

"I dunno, you just seem like you've been in a good mood lately," Kwan clarified with a shrug. "You haven't even bullied Fenton in, like, a month, let alone anyone else. I was just wondering if something good might've happened to you."

"Oh uh... not really," Dash replied.

As much as he would love to brag all over the school about being friends with Phantom, he was sure Manson and Foley—and Fenton too, he supposed, even if the dweeb always wussed out when things got bloody—had their reasons for keeping the fact that they were Phantom's allies a secret. Of course, Dash had no idea what those reason's were.

For his part, Dash knew that if he told everyone he was close with Phantom, they ask him why. Then, he'd either be forced to tell them about his secret interest in emergency medical treatment, lie like a bitch, or say nothing and accept the embarrassment of everyone thinking he was making it up. None of those options were particularly appealing.

It was fine that his buddies knew he was the best at applying sports tape and wrapping up sprains, but they didn't need to know how deep it really went.

"I guess I've just been in a good mood, that's all," Dash said finally. "No real reason for it."

"Well, it's nice to see it," Kwan said cheerfully, clapping him on the back as if in congratulations. "Not being grouchy and stressed all the time is a good look on you."

"Thanks," Dash said, genuinely. Although, how nuts was it that being regularly put in the position of having to patch up severe injuries on someone he cared about was somehow a stress reducer.

Yeah... Dash was pretty sure at this point that there was probably something wrong with his brain. Although, he found that he didn't worry about it as much as he once might have. At least someone else was benefiting from the fact that he found watching wounds being sutured mesmerizing, and almost therapeutic.

Dash was in his room, working on homework, sure that he was gonna have to redo every single one of these math problems when he went to tutoring with Jazz tomorrow because he definitely wasn't doing them right. He sighed and pushed math aside to grab his history packet. Document based questions weren't so bad, because at least he had the answer right there in front of him, if he could just find it.

He heard a thunk on his window and looked up, but ultimately decided it was probably a bird or something and chose to ignore it. Then the sound came again and Pookie growled softly from where she was sitting on Dash's bed. She barked.

"Alright, Pookie, I'll look," he said.

With a sigh, he stood up from his desk chair and went over to his bedroom window, sliding it open.

Standing in the back garden was Manson and Foley, and they were carrying Phantom between them. Carrying him—because he was evidently in no condition to fly. He looked to be more open wounds than intact skin. His left leg was bent at an odd angle with something black sticking out of it that Dash was pretty sure was bone.

Phantom hadn't been seen in over a week, and this was the condition he was resurfacing in?

It was hard to believe he could still be conscious in that condition, but Phantom shouted up in a slurred voice, "Hey... buddy!"

Dash's eyes blew wide. "I'll be right down!"

His parents were home, so he made sure the path was clear as he ran downstairs. His dad was up in his office, and his mom was taking a bath, meaning the coast was clear. Ge grabbed a tarp out of the garden shed, a new one, still wrapped in plastic. It wasn't sterile, but neither was Dash's bedroom, and the tarp would be easier to clean than his carpet.

Phantom still dripped ectoplasm on the floor every few inches—which Dash would have to clean up later—as Manson and Foley carried him up the stairs while Dash lead the way to his room, hurriedly unwrapping the tarp. He shooed Pookie out of the room and laid the tarp on his bed, throwing the pillows onto the floor so he'd have a relatively flat surface.

"Put him on the bed while I get the first-aid kit," Dash directed, rushing out of the room as soon as the three of them were fully inside and the doorway was clear.

He brought the first-aid kit into the room, then ran out again to raid his mom's sewing kit, thoroughly wash his hands, and get a new bottle of rubbing alcohol upon remembering that the open one was almost empty. When he finally had everything he needed, he pushed his desk chair next to the bed, but Phantom's injuries were way more extensive than usual, and he didn't even know where to start.

"Come on Baxter," he muttered to himself, laying out the first-aid kit on his nightstand with trembling hands.

He took a deep breath, and tried to recall everything he'd learned about first-aid. But this... this didn't require first-aid. This probably required surgery. The leg definitely required surgery. But they didn't have a surgeon, they had him, and there wasn't really any question of whether a ghost could go to a regular hospital because pretty much everyone in Amity Park over the age of 18 still thought ghosts, and especially, were a menace that needed to be eliminated.

Fuck, okay. After his conversation with Phantom before, he'd found some first-responder training videos online. Those would probably be more helpful than his basic first-aid classes. Phantom wasn't gonna be able to remove the jumpsuit on his own this time, so Dash stripped off his gloves and boots and grabbed the scissors and started to cut away the thick fabric. The suit never retained any damaged from Phantom's wounds, so it would probably survive being cut up.

It was worse when Dash could see the full extent of the damage. This obviously hadn't happened to him in an even fight. His wrists and ankles were badly bruised, even though they'd been cushioned by his boots and gloves. The cuts weren't the kind he usually got in a fight, but clean, straight incisions on his limbs. And across his torso was a large, Y-shaped cut.

"What the fuck happened to him?" Dash breathed out, horrified.

"The guys in white got to him," Manson answered darkly. "We had to work with Plasmius to get him back, but there was no way in hell we were gonna let that bastard see him like this, so we brought him here."

"I don't know who Plasmius is, but maybe he would be able to help more than I can," Dash admitted, shaking his head. "I mean, I'll do everything I can, but this is way beyond me."

"Please, Dash," Manson said, and Dash was pretty sure it was the first time he'd ever heard her sound earnest while she was talking to him. "We can't take him to Plasmius."

Dash took another deep, shuttering breath, and tried to make his hands still. If he just focused on one wound at a time, he should be able to do this. Maybe. Hopefully.

"Alright," he agreed.

He went to his closet and pulled out every one of his sweat rags that were clean. He had quite a few because his mom insisted on him using a clean one every day, even though no athlete ever did that. But she was a clean freak, and he wasn't about to argue with his mom.

"The bathroom is directly left of my room," he told Manson. "Go and get two of these rags damp with warm water, and then come back. My mom's taking a bath in the master bathroom, so she won't be out for a few hours, but if my dad sees you, just tell him your my girlfriend and he'll leave you alone."

"Ew, I don't want to be your girlfriend," Manson said with a grimace. "Aren't you gay?"

"Yes, but you think I'm gonna tell my dad that?" he asked. "Avoid him if you can, but if he sees you, lie. Now go."

She left without another word.

Foley, meanwhile, stood near the head of the bed, pushing Phantom's hair out of his face and muttering promises Dash would have to keep. Things like 'everything's gonna be fine', and 'you'll be okay'.

Dash looked Danny over and tried to determine his priorities. The leg and the Y-incision were obviously the worst, but it was all bad. Which one should he do first? What could he put off until the end?

It probably took too long for him to finally decide that the Y-incison was a bigger deal, especially since he had to make sure there was no internal damage. He pulled on a pair of nitrile gloves, the rubber snapping against his wrists, and held his breath as he carefully peeled back the flaps of skin.

"Internal organs cant feel distinct physical sensations," Dash recited. "Sharp or strong pains coming from internal organs are typically somatic, or the result of pressure, rather than actual organ damage."

Phantom let out a muffled scream through gritted teeth. Not good.

"Foley, in the med kit is a bottle of strong painkillers leftover from when my mom had to have abdominal surgery," Dash said. "It's an orange bottle. I can't remember the full name, but at the bottom of the label it says 'generic for: Norco'. Make sure Phantom swallows it properly."

"Got it," Foley replied with a determined not, and left Phantom's side to dig through the various orange prescription bottles in the kit.

"Once you've done that, look in my dresser for a pair of clean socks or a leather belt for him to bite on so he doesn't break his teeth, because we can't wait for the painkillers to kick in, and we can't have my parents hear him screaming either."

"Got it," Foley repeated, and kept sifting through the bottles until he found what he was looking for. "You said a belt, right?"

"Or socks, anything that'll keep him from grinding his teeth together," Dash confirmed. "But give him the painkiller first."

While Foley did that, Dash carefully arranged everything where it belonged according to the anatomy chart he'd memorized. He wasn't exactly sure why a ghost had internal organs at all, but he was grateful that they were at least organs he recognized, even if they were green, and gray, and black, instead of red and pink like human organs mostly were.

There was also a faintly glowing, iridescent, blue-green crystal in there, but Dash had no idea what that was or where it went, so it was without a doubt, a ghost-exclusive thing. Dash tried to position it more-or-less centrally without cutting any of the other organs on its sharp edges.

He had to stitch together some things that looked like they'd been cut. Even though he didn't have the proper thread for internal sutures, the ectoplasm should still dissolve it in a few days, even if the thread wasn't made to dissolve. At least, if what it had done to all his towels over the past few months was any indication, it would.

He didn't notice when Manson came back in and stood across the bed, waiting for further instructions, until she cleared her throat and held up the damp towels. Then, he looked up, his hands frozen in place as he took in the scene around him. Foley had found a belt and had Phantom bite down on it, which presumably meant that the ghost had taken the painkiller, although Dash could only hope it actually worked.

"What do you need now?" Manson asked.

"I need you and Foley to use those towels to clean up all this extra ectoplasm," Dash said. Resigning himself to buying a bunch of new towels, because these ones were absolutely done for after this. He pointed into the first-aid kit. "Use those rubber straps and tie them around his limbs above his injuries to slow the flow of ectoplasm. If your run out, rip one of the dry towels into strips and use those. If the towels you're using to clean him up get too soaked with ectoplasm, you can rinse them with warm water and keep using them."

Manson handed Foley one of the towels and they immediately got to work.

"One of you should do the broken leg first, but be careful around the bone," Dash added.

"I'll do it," Foley volunteered.

Finally, Dash was done reconstructing Phantom's innards, and closed the skin folds so he could stitch them up. He had to take off his gloves because the needle kept slipping across the ectoplasm-covered gloves and out of his hands. It wasn't the right type of needle for sutures. It never had been, but he'd never wished so much that he had the right one.

As soon as he was done here, if Phantom didn't dissolve, or evaporate, or whatever ghosts did when they ceased to be, Dash was gonna go to as many craft stores and/or medical supply stores as he needed to to find a proper suturing needle. And some local anesthetic, no matter how many hoops he needed to jump through.

He lost count of how many stitches it took to close up the massive incision on Phantom's chest. A part of him was afraid he might run out of thread before this was over. But when he looked up at the alarm clock next to him, he could see that he'd been working on this for over an hour. The dorks had done a good job cleaning up and applying tourniquets, but there was still a long way to go.

Fuck, that leg couldn't wait a second longer. There was no time to wash his hands again, so he just used the last dry towel to wipe the ectoplasm off his hands and put on a fresh pair of gloves.

Now that he was examining it closely, it had been a clean break, the only problem was that his femur was sticking out of his thigh.

"I hope the Norco has kicked in, but even if it has, this is probably gonna hurt like a bitch," Dash said. "You ready?"

Dash could see Phantom squeeze his teeth even tighter on the leather belt in his mouth as he nodded.

Without waiting a second more, Dash pulled on the leg and pushed on the exposed bone, forcing it back into place with a sickening crunching sound.

Phantom screamed through the belt in his mouth, and Dash was seriously afraid his parents would come in. He didn't have a lock on his bedroom door to stop them if they tried.

Phantom's eyelids drooped like he was about to pass out, and Dash wasn't sure if that would be a good thing or not. On the one hand, at least he wouldn't have to be awake for all this, but on the other hand, in a ghost, falling unconscious probably meant they'd disappear soon, and Dash didn't want that. His uncertainty was answered when Foley noticed the same thing he did and urged Phantom to stay awake.

"Come on, Danny, don't pass out," Foley said to him. "You have to stay awake. If you pass out, it's all over."

"You call him by his first name?" Dash noticed, surprised. Somehow, he'd never actually heard the dweebs refer to Phantom by name. Usually, they spent their time addressing him, usually in the form of a plea, and thanks, or a passive-aggressive remark.

"Yeah, why wouldn't we?" Manson asked.

"I dunno," Dash replied.

He didn't look at them, focusing solely on making sure the femur was properly aligned. A real doctor would have used metal pins to affix it in place, but Dash didn't have anything like that, so he would just have to hold it steady until Phantom's healing factor fixed just enough to stop if from moving out of place immediately. He was surprised to find that looking at an exposed broken bone being fixed wasn't any less fascinating or more disturbing to him than watching a cut getting sutured. He wasn't sure if he liked what that said about him.

"I don't even call you guys by your first names."

"Yeah, but that's because you're a jerk," Manson pointed out.

Dash frowned. Maybe she had a point there.

"Hang in there, Danny," he said softly. "I'm doing everything I can."

It felt like too long before the cracks in the pitch-black bone started to stitch together and Dash could let go, push the muscle and tissue back into place, and attempt to stitch together the skin. And he still had several more to go.

"Manson, uh, Sam—position a pad of gauze over the wound itself, then wrap the whole thigh with a gauze bandage," Dash directed as soon as he cut the last stitch. "Nice and tight to keep the bone in place, but make sure you don't cut off his circulation."

"Right," Sam agreed, and grabbed the necessary materials out of the kit.

Looking at their supplies, Dash wasn't sure they had enough gauze for everything.

"Try to make the gauze last, because it's got a lot to cover here," Dash added, cringing.

After the broken femur, Dash moved to the other leg, and started to disinfect and then stitch up a straight incision that spanned from Phantom—Danny's lower thigh, over the knee-cap, and a few inches down into the calf. It was deep enough to see the dark bone and gray tendon underneath, which was probably the point, but Dash didn't let it get to him.

"No, no, Danny, stay awake!" Foley—Tucker said urgently. "You're in the final stretch, only the arms and hands left to go."

"And this dislocated ankle," Sam added.

"Ankle, shmankle, Danny can handle a dislocation in his sleep."

"Doesn't it get confusing, having two friends named Danny?" Dash asked, doing everything he could to keep his hands steady as he continued the sutures.

"Not really," Sam told him. "You'd be surprised."

"He may be surprised sooner rather than later if Danny can't stay awake," Tucker said.

Dash didn't find out what he meant right away. He finished up with the knee, and moved up to the long incision on Danny's right arm from elbow to wrist. If ghosts didn't typically produce ectoplasm faster than they could bleed out, this one would have killed him for sure. Clean. Disinfect. Start stitching.

He'd just gotten past the elbow when he hear Tucker's voice on the edge of panic.

"Danny?" he said. Then he raised his voice and repeated, "Danny!"

A ring of white light appeared and passed over Dash's vision, and the next thing Dash knew, he wasn't covered in ectoplasm, and stitching up pallid skin over glowing green muscle. He was covered in blood.

He knew he couldn't spare the time to look up and see what was going on, but that was about all he knew.

"Somebody describe to me what just happened so I don't have to stop stitching and see for myself," Dash demanded, his voice on the harsh side, and he knew it.

"Um..." Tucker started to say.

"He's Danny Fenton," Sam explained, her voice low and almost scared. "He has been the whole time. He's only half-ghost, and he can't maintain his ghost form when he's unconscious, which also means his healing slows down significantly after he passes out, so don't stop stitching."

Dash breathed in deeply. "Fuck!" he shouted. "You two better start bandaging, then. When he was still a ghost that could wait until I was done, but not the fuck anymore. Foley, tape pads of gauze over the wound on his torso. Manson, the right knee, just like you did the left thigh."

"On it," they both said in unison, and started getting the supplies out of the medical kit.

"Remember that's all the gauze we have, so make it last, I still have two more incisions to go after this one."

"At least they didn't get around to his back," Sam noted darkly.

"Why would you even say that?" Dash groaned, distressed by the very possibility. Spines were a lot more complicated than femurs.

When he was done with the arm, the last incision he needed to stitch up was the vertical cut on the side of the throat. If he had know Phantom was half-human, he would have done that one first, but since he was a ghost, and didn't seem to have any trouble breathing, or need to breath anyway, Dash had figured there was no more dangerous than the cuts on his knee or forearm, and he could just start at the bottom and work his way up.

They couldn't very well have put a tourniquet on that one, so Tucker was standing there with a thoroughly soaked towel sopping up the blood as it slowly trickled out so Danny didn't drown in it. Dash considered putting the arm on hold, to take care of that, but the cut on the forearm went through a major artery that Dash had just barely gotten to heal before Danny turned human, so he wasn't willing to take the risk.

Danny hadn't died the rest of the way yet, which was a good sign. The only good sign so far, but still. It was a challenge not to rush himself and get sloppy as he finished the however many remaining stitches on Danny's forearm before moving to his neck.

"Tucker, switch places with me and gauze up his forearm."

"You got it," Tucker said.

"Sam, get a wring out a towel in the bathroom sink and come back to dab up the blood while I take care of this."

"Yeah." Sam grabbed the least gross looking towel and ran to the bathroom next door.

Everything inside the incision looked to be intact, so Dash cleaned it with an alcohol wipe and sprayed it with disinfectant. By the time he was done with that, Sam was back with a drier towel and ready to take care of the blood while he did the sutures.

At the very least, this last incision was much shorter than the others, but it still took eleven stitches to close it properly. Dash told them to hold off on bandaging it while he went over to the next room to wash his hands. Sam and Tucker were both a lot better at wrapping bandages than they used to be, but he figured, given the placement of the wound, he was better off doing it himself rather than risking one of them wrapping it too tight and inadvertently suffocating their friend.

Once he was alone in the upstairs bathroom, he could finally take a breath without worrying about breathing germs directly into an open wound. When he went out and got a suturing needle and local anesthetic, he should also get a box of surgical masks. And more gauze. And sweat towels. He should make a list.

As he washed his hands thoroughly and methodically, he also saw himself in the mirror. He had blood and ectoplasm all over him. A thick streak of the stuff was smudged across his forehead from when he'd used his sleeve to wipe off sweat. That wasn't sanitary, but Danny wasn't an ordinary person, so he'd be fine... probably... hopefully.

Dash was tired. He'd looked at his alarm clock when he got up, and this all had taken a total of six and a half hours. It was nearly midnight by now.

He needed a shower.

But he wasn't done yet.

He returned to the room and had Tucker hold up Danny's head while he wrapped up the final wound. They were all disgusting. Covered in sweat and blood, and ectoplasm, and they were exhausted.

Dash didn't even have the energy to take a shower. And it didn't look like Sam and Tucker had the energy to go home, not to mention Danny probably shouldn't move.

"Let your parents know your staying over," Dash said. "We have to clean all this shit up before we go to sleep or Danny could get infected."

Sam and Tucker both groaned, but didn't argue. They cleaned Danny up with a sponge, and Dash laid out a couple of old bath towels under him in case he bled through his bandages.

He ended up just throwing the whole tarp away. If his parents needed it, he would just say he didn't think they had a brand new tarp, and maybe they were misremembering. Or, he could put it on his shopping list. If he could afford it after everything else he had to buy, he might as well.

Dash barely had the presence of mind to wedge a chair under his door so his parents couldn't come in unexpectedly before he, and Sam, and Tucker, all collapsed on the floor and fell asleep all piled on top of each other.

Dash woke up the next morning because Sam extricated herself from their human knot, stole one of his shirts, and went to take a shower. Which was honestly not cool, because Dash totally should've gotten dibs on the first shower after all that. Not that it mattered, because he almost immediately went back to sleep.

A little while later, Dash woke up on his own and detached himself from Tucker. He followed Sam's lead in grabbing some clothes and taking a shower. The clothes he was wearing were obviously gonna have to go straight in the trash, which was a shame, because he'd like these jeans.

A hot shower was just what he needed, though. The water soothed his sore back and hands, and he watched the gooey brown-ish slime of ectoplasm and blood slough off him and down the drain. It was the greatest relief of his life when he finally felt clean again.

When he looked in the bedroom, Danny and Tucker were both still asleep, Danny on the bed, recovering, and Tucker sprawled out and drooling on the carpet. So Dash headed down to the kitchen for breakfast. Sam was sitting at the kitchen table eating a bowl of Wheaties and wearing one of his concert T-shirts and seemingly nothing else—although given their height difference, the shirt went almost down to her knees, so it wasn't exactly indecent.

"Uh... are you wearing underwear?" he couldn't help but ask.

"Yes!" she replied, sounding insulted.

"Are you wearing... my—"

"No! God, I washed mine in the bathroom sink and used the hair dryer to dry them off," she said in a rush. "Is that what you wanna hear?"

"Yeah, actually, it's kind of a relief," he said, getting out a bowl and spoon. "Also, resourceful. I'm impressed."

"Thank you," Sam said, and ate another mouthful of Wheaties.

Dash opted for the Honey Crisps, and took a seat next to her.

"Your dad saw me," she said. "Apparently, he got called in for a work emergency, even though it's Sunday. I had to use the girl friend lie, and not only did he buy it, but he told me to tell you he said congratulations. Your dad's kind gross, you know that? He knows we're only fourteen, right?"

"I mean, you are wearing my shirt and no pants," Dash pointed out. "But yes, I am aware that my dad is kinda gross. He's for sure gonna be weird to me about this for a while. If he doesn't ask me about the next time my girlfriend's coming over at least twice a day for the next week, I'll be surprised."

"Yikes."

"Pretty much."

"There was no work emergency," Dash said. "His workplace is closed on Sundays. He's going to meet his girlfriend Crystal. I don't think that's her real name. Mom doesn't know about her."

"Yikes." Sam repeated, more emphatically this time.

"Yeah."

The two of them ate in silence for a few minutes before Sam spoke up again.

"About yesterday..." she started to say, then paused, her brows furrowing in thought. "You... you were fucking amazing. I mean that honestly, like, you were in way over your head, and stepped the fuck up, so... thank you."

"Oh, uh... you're welcome."

Of the three of them, Sam was definitely the one Dash felt like he got along with the least.

"Seriously, coming to you like we did, with Danny in that condition... it was pretty fucked up of us, even though we didn't exactly have a choice," she continued. "I know I've been kind of..." Dash waited as she fished for the right word, "standoffish with you, because you've kind of bullied the three of us, and especially Danny for years, but you've changed after you started to help us so..."

"I get it," Dash said. "I've been a dick. That's not exactly news to me, I did it on purpose. Actually, stopping was the accident. I barely even noticed that I'd been laying off the bullying until Kwan pointed it out."

"Wait, what?" Sam asked. "Why?"

Dash stared into his cereal and brought a spoonful to his mouth to stall. It was sweet. The crunch was starting to get mushy as the cereal got saturated with milk.

"I live my life by my parents' expectations, especially my dad's," Dash answered finally. "My dad has very specific ideas about what the ideal life is for a boy like me. Sports teams, popular friends, hot girlfriend, bullies nerds. In middle school the times my dad got a call from the school about my bad behavior picking on weaker kids—those were the only times I ever got his approval. He actually acted proud of me for it."

"You're dad's fucked up."

"No arguments here," Dash scoffed. "Kwan says the same thing to me on a regular basis, but it doesn't change the fact that while I live in his house, he's in charge. When I'm eighteen and legally independent, then I can start making my own decisions, but he's pretty much set on narrowing down my prospects as much as possible until then, to force me into the life he wants me to have. You know. The American dream, just like what he got."

"Do you want me to kill him for you?" Sam offered.

Dash laughed. "Believe it or not, Kwan's actually said that to me a few times, too."

"You know, I never thought Kwan and I would get along, especially after he got me banned from my favorite goth poetry slam, but maybe I should give him another shot." Sam put down her spoon and lifted her bowl to her lips to drink the rest of the milk. "You know," she added, taking her dishes to the sink. "I was really surprised that you had oat milk in your fridge."

"Yeah, my mom's always on some kind of diet, a lot of 'em are no-dairy," he replied.

Sam shrugged, said see-ya-later, and headed upstairs back to Dash's room.

Dash headed up too when he was done eating. Tucker was gone, but the sounds of the shower going in the next room explained that. Sam was sitting next to the bed, watching Danny's slow, but steady breathing.

"Tucker stole one of your shirts," Sam said without looking at him. "But his cargo pants actually made it out of yesterday's blood fest basically unscathed, unlike my skirt, so he's gonna re-wear them."

"Oh... good."

"You really did do an amazing job with him," Sam said. "He's not even having trouble breathing or anything. Even Danny is gonna take a week or two to recover from this, but your work on him is definitely gonna streamline the process."

"Thanks."

"No joke, you should become an ER doctor."

"If only I had the grades to get into medical school," Dash sighed, taking a seat on his desk chair. "Danny and I had pretty much this same conversation a few weeks ago."

"I'm sure a well placed bribe could get you at least admitted," Sam said, "although you'd still have to study."

"What bribe?" Dash scoffed. "My family's well off, but we don't have that kind of money. Like I told Danny, if I can get scouted for a football scholarship, I'll major in sports medicine, and if not, I'll try to become a paramedic. I think it's a pretty solid plan, don't you?"

"I guess," Sam relented. She looked back down at Danny with a slight frown. "Should we wake him up? Would we even be able to?"

Dash followed her gaze.

Danny's breathing was still steady, his gauze covered chest rising and falling without hesitation or stuttering. He hadn't bled through any of his bandages, although it was still a good idea to replace them later.

"I have no idea," Dash admitted. "I don't think trying to wake him up would do any harm, but I don't know if he's actually comatose, or just resting. He'll need a lot of rest to heal from this."

Sam nodded silently, but made no move to wake her friend. Come to think of it though, Dash had a question about the whole 'Danny being a ghost' thing. It explained a lot, honestly, but there was still something that didn't make any sense.

"Hey, Phantom has been missing for a while, but Danny's been going to school like always, so how can they be the same person?"

"After Danny went missing, Tucker tracked down a shapeshifting ghost called Amorpho who owed Danny a favor, and called it in," Sam explained. "They've been posing as Danny at school to throw off suspicions, but they'll be leaving town again once they learn Danny's back."

"Clever," Dash commented.

About a minute after that, they heard the shower turn off and another couple minutes later, Tucker returned. Dash's shirt was almost as big on him as it was on Sam. Before now, Dash had never been particularly self-conscious about his size, but either they were really small, or he was actually huge, and it was kinda awkward.

"If I wake up Danny, will something bad happen?" Tucker asked, looking right up at Dash expectantly.

"Oh, uh... I don't think so, but I'm not 100% sure. He might be in a coma."

"I'm gonna try to wake him up," Tucker declared.

He walked over to Danny and poked his chest injury hard.

Sam and Dash both immediately started to chide him for it, but Danny's eyes snapped open and he gasped sharply.

"What happened?" he croaked. His throat may have been bandaged, but obviously his voice was still sore.

"You got got, dude," Tucker answered. "Guys in White cut you open, Sam and I got Vlad's help rescuing you, and then brought you to Dash to get you stitched up. He knows who you are now, by the way. You kinda passed out while he was still stitching you up."

"Oh."

"Sam, can you go get him some water," Dash asked.

"Right," she agreed. Before she left, she turned to her friend and smiled. "Good to have you back, Danny." Then she was out the door.

"How to you feel, Danny?" Dash asked.

"Like I got run over by a truck with razor-blade wheels," Danny replied.

"Try to focus," Dash said, his tone gentle but urgent. "Tucker, help him sit up."

Tucker immediately complied, slipping a hand under Danny's back to get him upright.

"Can you move your fingers?" Dash asked.

Danny wiggled his fingers on both hands.

"Try to touch each of your fingertips to your thumb."

Danny did so, though he couldn't quite get his thumb to meet his pinkie on the side that had the forearm incision. That was to be expected this early in the healing process, and Dash assured him the that mobility should come back with time.

When Sam came back with the water, Dash handed him the bottle of leftover Norco and told him to take one. It might make him a little loopy, but it would help with the pain.

He moved on to having Danny bend his wrists, elbows, roll his shoulders and so on. They hit an embarrassing bump when Dash realized he never reset Danny's dislocated ankle, but that was a quick fix. He had Tucker grab some self-adhering bandages from the kit, which he hadn't taken back to the bathroom. Thankfully, the painkiller had kicked in before Dash reset the ankle, so Danny didn't even flinch.

"You're nice," Danny said as Dash finished checking him over and gave him the all clear.

Oh yeah, the meds had definitely kicked in. From the sound of Danny's voice alone, Dash could tell he was completely loopy.

"Thanks," Dash said, taking out a set of sweatpants and a zip-front hoodie from his closet. "It'll probably hurt to raise your arms for a while, so button up shirts and zip-front jackets until your chest heals."

"Okie dokie," Danny agreed, taking the clothes from Dash and floating off the bed to get dressed.

Dash pointedly looked away, ignoring the fact that his crush had been fully nude in his room for twelve hours and he'd never once taken the opportunity to ogle. Given the circumstance, it just felt like it would have been particularly wrong.

"You're a whole sweetie pie," Danny said, and floated over to give Dash a kiss on the cheek. "Not just a piece of a sweetie pie but the whole pie. You're a pie."

"Thanks," Dash said again, although this time his voice came out as a squeak, and he could feel his face turning bright red.

He could hear Sam and Tucker snickering at him. No. Manson and Foley. They were temporarily losing first-name privileges for this.

Dash didn't understand how finding out that Phantom was actually the kid he always bullied didn't make his crush go away, but actually made it worse overnight. He sure wished it hadn't though.

"If you're not dying anymore, then get out," Dash grumbled. "I still have to clean up the ectoplasm you dripped all over the house coming up here, and then I have to buy more gauze. If you get injured again in the next month, I'll kill you."

"Sweetie sweetie pie pie!" Danny singsonged, but didn't protest when Manson and Foley each grabbed him by one hand and dragged him, still floating, out of the bedroom and down the stairs.

Once they were gone, Dash's shoulder slumped and he sighed. He wasn't sure if it was exhausted, relieved, love-struck, but he sighed.

Being Team Phantom's official-unofficial medic was hard work.

He eyed the green drips on his bedroom carpet and sighed again.

But his work wasn't over yet.

#danny phantom #dp #danny fenton #dash baxter #sam manson #tucker foley #fic #things i wrote #phic phight #phic phight 24 #cw: gore #cw blood #injuries #minor swagger bishie #medical

[chiefbeifongcanrailme]

Can I have a second part for the BOOBIES fic? 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

You can find Part 1 on Tumblr or AO3!

You can also read this fic (Part 2) on AO3.

"I'm surprised you haven't lost your touch with sparring being around all the acolytes and temples."

Lin commented lightly as her chopsticks pounced into the bowl of salad in front of them. Even though Tenzin was nowhere close to giving her a run for her money through that spar, the metalbender was famished. With pointed focus on the food, she made small talk- it was just like old times, sitting across with her best friend. A best friend that had just asked her out on a date. Strange as that was, it was probably better (and easier), to focus on the food.

The aforementioned best friend that sat across from her had his focus elsewhere- far from the food his system truly required. He sported a pretty intense black left eye with a few tiny scabs about his cheeks and hands, but oh, wasn't it worth it now? Lin bending forward every couple of seconds was the perfect fodder for his aching body. You see, a square necked blouse framed them perfectly for him. His only qualm was having one functional eye to take that view in.

"Dad was pretty ardent in making sure I didn't skimp out on training everyday." He replied without breaking his focus.

"Well, you still lost pretty badly by the time I just started to break a sweat." She swallowed down her food and smirked, pointing at him with one end of her chopsticks.

Tenzin smiled, "I don't count that as a loss."

Lin only raised her eyebrows in response.

He clarified, "I'm here on a date with you now, aren't I?"

"Right.." Lin looked away from him.

"What is it?"

"It- it's just that- nevermind, it's silly." She continued staring her plate as she played around with the food on it.

"Lin," He reached out to cup her knuckles, making her look up at him, "I'm your best friend, you can tell me whatever it is."

She seemed to consider his words- she knew she could trust him.

Tenzin urged her further, now mimicking the concern from hers to his own face, "Is- is there someone else? I don't mean to-"

"No, no-" She said all too quickly, "There isn't anyone else."

"So then?"

Lin made note of the way he was now stroking her knuckles with his thumb. She sighed softly and looked into his eyes- well, eye, "I'm aware of things, Tenzin. And it just makes these things a little harder-"

Busted. She knew he loves her.

"Wait, what do you mean you're aware?"

"I mean," She swallowed nervously, "I am aware of the attention I get from men. I am aware of the attention-" She breathed sharply to barely mumble, "My body gets."

"Oh, I umm-"

"You're fine, Tenzin. Really. It's just that I thought you were a good friend- my best friend even. But you suddenly see me years later and you're asking me out on a date and I can't help but think it's because of my body and I really-"

"Whoa whoa whoa, Lin!" He squeezed her hand in his to catch her attention, "It's not because of your body!"

"It's not?" She looked at him with worry of some kind in her eyes.

"Yeah! I've always been in love with you." He blurted out.

Lin's eyes widened with shock and before she could verbalize her shock, Tenzin took over, "I mean- I've had a crush on you since we were kids, Lin. That couldn't have been a surprise to you. And, between travels and legacies and other things, I never got to tell you how I felt."

Lin considered his words and detected no fallacies in them.

"I didn't want to make assumptions." She shrugged.

"And yeah, I love your body too, Lin. Don't get me wrong. I am crazy attracted to you." Tenzin added, "But how I feel about your body is just a bonus to how I feel about you. It's like that fruit tart that sometimes has the extra jelly in between and on top."

Something about that made her laugh, "You're really comparing my body to a fruit tart, Tenzin?"

"Well," He blushed, "They're both rather tempting and delectable."

"And you'd want it close to your mouth?" She bit her lip.

"Yeah!" He nodded, before realizing he what he agreed to.

"No!" His eyes grey eyes blew wide, but his ears turned the crimson shade of shame, "Yes, I mean- I'd like that very much, but it's not, I mean, I was joking, Lin." He rubbed the back of his neck nervously, "I don't mean to objectify you, of course."

Lin took pity in his pain and chuckled lightly. She dragged her seat to the side so she was closer to him and placed her hand on his forearm, "I know you're not, silly."

Tenzin relaxed and squeezed her knuckles with his other hand, "It's just- there's no denying that I have these feelings for you or that I am massively attracted to you. I don't know what to do."

"You're on the right track in starting off with this date," She offered, caressing the back of his knuckles with her thumb, "But do you know how to end this date?"

"No?"

"You seal it with a kiss." She smirked, despite her nervous blush.

"Ah." Tenzin grinned, "Now that I know how to do."

He moved his hand from on top of hers and cupped her cheek, pulling her closer and tilting his face a tad. Lin closed her eyes and moved as directed, her hand tightening its grasp on Tenzin's forearm. His lips momentarily brushed against hers, each swallowing the tension down before their mouths could rejoin and seal the deal in finality.

#linzin #linzin fanfic #lin beifong #chief beifong #tenzin

[concubuck]

What happened after the succubus left? How did Al finally manage to, let's say, bring himself down to "normal"?

Instead of answering this normally I just wrote a fic bc that's more interesting. Follow up to this fic.

(It bears clarifying that the person who left wasn't a succubus. She's a normal human sex worker—just one that's had a few centuries of experience marketing specifically to succubi. She just does this for the money, not because she's got a succubus's biological need to fuck.)

This fic takes place several weeks after the last one, during which time Alastor's finally hauled himself outside to seek more extreme solutions and go to the doctor. I plan to write that scene later but tl;dr the doctor visit goes like "you say you're fucking? but you're STILL horny? damn bitch i dunno that's supposed to work, your bloodwork looks normal idk what's wrong 🤷"

I've only very loosely proofread this, so I apologize for any typos and/or incoherency.

✨💖 Alastor figures out how to orgasm 💖✨

Warnings for attempted & referenced sexual assault/rape, alcoholism, and horrendous hygiene (both personal & environmental).

###

Alastor didn't think he'd been sober for the last two weeks.

He hadn't drunk like this since the seventies, when the weight of Hell had been too heavy for him to bear, and he'd spent most of his time trying to artificially hasten the arrival of Armageddon via serial blackouts. With the dispassionate distance with which he could now scrutinize his former human life, he could tell now that he'd spent the seventies wanting to die.

He didn't want to die now, did he?

No, he didn't. Not after he'd fought so hard to live again. He just wanted to stop feeling like this. God, he'd give anything to stop feeling like this.

The short reprieves granted by whiskey dick were the only thing keeping him going. The reprieves were irregular—he'd been lied to about how much alcohol would dampen his libido. And they were impossible to really enjoy—by the time he was drunk enough to stop feeling his constant arousal, he was also too drunk to feel anything else. But any port in a storm.

He'd started making rare trips out of his temporary quarters; first to try to find solutions to his problem, then to ask for help. Today, on his way home from the doctor, he stopped in at a bar for the first time since he'd changed. He couldn't keep asking for extensions on his new succubus stipend forever. Soon he'd lose his free housing and his one source of income, and he'd have to make a choice: either he had to get a job, or he had to return to getting his food and lodgings the way he had for the last eighty-five years—by using the Radio Demon's reputation to terrify people into giving him what he wanted for free. One meant trying to get stable employment while too horny to function; the other meant returning to the limelight and letting all of Hell see he was too horny to function; and both meant he had to get used to being out in public again. If he was going to have to be horny in public anyway, a bar was as good a place as any to start.

So he found a dive, claimed a booth—letting the shadows and seats form a flimsy shield between his wretched body and any curious customers—and grimly got to work drinking himself into a stupor.

###

"You doing alright there, sweetheart?"

Alastor didn't register the fact that he was supposed to be "sweetheart" until somebody shook his shoulder. He swatted the hand away irritably and sat up; he hadn't even realized he'd laid his head down amongst his empty glasses. "What?" he croaked.

"You alright there?" the sinner repeated. He was some kind of mammalian sinner with a twitchy, nervous snout, a buzz cut, and a t-shirt displaying the Monopoly Man with a no doubt witty caption that Alastor couldn't focus on well enough to read.

"Fine. I'm just..." He couldn't think of any excuse that didn't sound pathetic. He was sure he looked pathetic; huddled up in a sweatshirt and baggy sweatpants like he was too sick to dress himself. He'd thought the loose pants would be more accommodating to his perpetual boner, but they really just gave it more room to tent up. They weren't even a matching set of sweats. He didn't even have shoes on. He rubbed his eyes and asked, "Am I being kicked out?

"No, no, sweetie. Nothing like that. I just wanted to make sure you're okay." The sinner spoke with the sort of soft baby tone used to soothe small skittish animals. "Maybe you need help home?

Not even blackout drunk would Alastor trust that line. He'd been in Hell too long.

His mental image of himself shifted from sickly invalid to sexy victim. He realized now how he really looked—a sex demon (translation: a being undeserving of humane treatment and designed only to fuck you), face flushed and forehead sweaty and eyes glazed with arousal, sitting awkwardly to accommodate his boner, too wasted to stay awake in the middle of the day, all alone. Easy prey. Cheap meat.

Did he care?

No.

So what if Mr. Monopoly wanted to use Alastor's body? Alastor didn't want to use it. If Alastor could let him take it off his hands permanently, he would. Mr. Monopoly could certainly borrow it.

"Sure." He slid out of the booth and got to his feet. The sinner had been practically bent double over Alastor, crowding him into his seat, one hand on the seat back and the other hand extended to help him up; but when Alastor stood, the sinner took a hasty step back, retracting his hand. Why? Because Alastor hadn't accepted the hand? Because the sinner hadn't expected his pretty drunk "sweetheart" to be so tall—or male? Because he'd recognized Alastor as the Radio Demon?

That was a problem for the sinner and his Uncle Pennybags shirt to deal with—but it certainly wasn't Alastor's problem. He was leaving, with or without company. He trudged toward the door, stumbling slightly on an uneven floorboard and clinging to the back of a booth seat for balance.

And then an arm slid around his waist to squeeze his hip, pulling him close to the sinner's side; even through Alastor's sweater, the arm felt so fleshy and human that he compulsively hitched up his shoulders and lifted his hands from revulsion at the mere possibility of brushing naked skin.

"Careful, sweetie. Don't want you getting hurt," Pennybags said, and Alastor was too tired to laugh at him. "You're in a bad shape, aren'cha?"

"I'm not that bad," Alastor insisted, noting distantly that the sinner's grip redirected Alastor's walk to force him to stumble over the sinner's feet and lean on the sinner for support.

"Maybe you should come home with me, so I can make sure nothing happens to you while you sober up," Mr. Monopoly went on, as if Alastor had never spoken. "It'd be a shame if something happened to you—especially pretty as you are." The hand on Alastor's hip slid down beneath the hem of his sweater to possessively squeeze one of Alastor's ass cheeks.

Something surged up from Alastor's groin into his chest—like an underground coal fire suddenly erupting into open air, dark mining shafts that had previously only belched dirty smelly smoke now erupting bright geysers of fire. 

He stopped and seized the sinner's shoulder, squeezing tight. He didn't understand why he wasn't ripping the offending arm from its socket.

The sinner tried to keep walking, and only stopped after a couple of tugs revealed that Alastor was rooted to the spot too securely to simply drag along. 

"You don't have anything to worry about," the sinner said warily. He'd tried to move his hand a little higher on Alastor's ass, to just below the small of his back, as if he'd only accidentally grabbed so low. "I'm not gonna let anybody hurt you, sweetheart."

Alastor let out a low, wry laugh that made the sinner tense up against him. "I'm not worried. Don't you concern yourself over me..." his gaze fell on the mascot on the sinner's shirt, "... Uncle Pennybags."

"Uncle what?" Apparently suspecting he'd somehow been duped, Monopoly Man's voice thickened with anger. "Hey, cuntcubus, I'm trying to do you a favor. I'm not about to pay for—"

The sudden slackening of Mr. Monopoly's interest was like a heavy curtain falling on Alastor's mind again, dousing the lights and smothering the air. Alastor wheeled around, grabbed both of Monopoly Man's shoulders, and leaned down into his face. "I do not want," he hissed, "your money."

Pennybags stared up at Alastor in alarm; and then, narrowing his eyes, he said, "Oh yeah? You want this?" Without warning, he slid his hand down Alastor's loose waistband, groping at the shaft that hadn't been flaccid since the last time Alastor chopped it off.

Alastor's knees buckled so dramatically that his height dropped to eye-level with the sinner. He let out a quiet gasp like the sound of a decommissioned radio station turning off for the last time. Alastor didn't remember dying, didn't remember how it had felt. Didn't remember the face of the man who'd shot him. He lost those memories when he lost his humanity. But the look in this sinner's eyes—hungry, lecherous, roving over Alastor's face and throat as if deciding where to bite first—surely that had to be similar to how his killer had looked at him. Surely dying had to feel like this: exhilarating.

"Oh, you like that, bitch?"

Alastor didn't know if he liked it. Certainly it wasn't a very good handjob; he'd had dozens of better ones, not even counting the thousands he'd given himself. But God—it teased at him, taunting him with the possibility of satisfying the craving that had been torturing him for almost half a year. Was that the same as "liking" it? Do you like water when you're thirsty?

He wasn't sober enough to care about the distinction. Instead of answering the question, he growled, "We don't need to go all the way back to your place, do we?"

A filthy leer stretched across the sinner's snout. Alastor felt his member throb in the sinner's grip.

###

They were in a cramped alleyway near the bar. Alastor's back was against a brick wall so rough that its friction on his sweatshirt was enough to keep him from sliding down to the filthy pavement even though Pennybags had Alastor's hooves lifted into the air. The narrow gap between two buildings reeked of years of alcoholic urine and overflowing dumpsters festering in Hell's heat. On the opposite wall, Alastor stared blankly at a mishmash of illegible graffiti, the only bit of which he could discern was two words stacked on top of each other reading "DAWG PISS". If someone bottled the alley's fragrance as a cologne, that was what it would be called.

He could hardly keep track of his surroundings.

There was an electrified shaft of pure gold shoved up his anus.

It sent fluttering sparks dancing through his stomach and bolts of lightning jolting up his spine. He swore it felt so good he almost passed out. All of it felt so good. The oily fingers peeling away his clothing and pawing at his hips and ass and thighs and kthumbing at his nipples. The hot, stinking breath panting on his bare skin and wheezing in his face. The lips and tongue lapping at his neck and shoulders and transferring the taste of Alastor's own unwashed sweat to his lips. The eyes roving across his naked flesh, invisible and yet blazing hot, like the Martian Heat-Ray that turns men into flame.

And then the violating instrument itself, humping up into Alastor's shithole, sweaty hairy balls slapping against Alastor's sweaty hairy ass—and it felt divine. It felt like God Himself descending from heaven to tell Alastor He personally forgave him for ripping the divinity out of his eternal soul, and then puckering up His Lips to plant a sweet, loving kiss right on the ring of Alastor's anal sphincter.

He could feel himself wailing in pleasure; he could hear snips of music playing, chaotic, discordant, only a couple of seconds at a time before switching to another song. He twisted his ankles together behind the sinner's ass and clawed at the back of his stupid Monopoly t-shirt, trying to pull him closer, pull him deeper. He wanted to suck in every last drop of his savior's ambrosial attention. He wanted to devour the sinner's hunger for him.

When Pennybags grunted in pain and muttered "Keep your claws to yourself, bitch," it was like a heavy had passed in front of the sun. The electricity shooting up from the shaft buried in him stopped, leaving him with the nauseating feeling that all he really had was a lump of spongy living meat stuck up his ass.

"Sorry," Alastor said, voice a breathless whisper, hardly discernible from white noise; he let go of Mr. Monopoly, flattening his hands on the brick wall.

"Better," Monopoly grunted, still disgruntled—but approving. The clouds parted. The sunshine returned. Alastor's backbone lit up like the neon signs on Lust's casino strip.

Alastor came so hard he slammed his head back against the brick wall.

His claws dug into the brick wall so hard that a couple snapped. His vision momentarily went black. When his sight cleared up enough for DAWG PISS to swim back into view, the sinner was still hammering his ass like an oil derrick digging for crude.

He came again.

"Shut up," the sinner hissed, clamping a hand over Alastor's mouth to try to silence his screams. "You noisy prick. Do you want the whole fuckin' street to hear us?"

He did, he did, he did. He moaned openly against the sinner's hand, feeling his cheeks grow damp as his tears were caught by the sinner's fingers.

"Oh, you like it that much?" the sinner panted. "Huh? Do you?"

Alastor could feel his nuts tightening again. The sinner was turned on because Alastor was turned on by him. Alastor knew this like a fact despite never being told: the same way he first recognized the smell of fear in someone's sweat; the same way he sometimes instantly knew his shot was fatal when he dropped a deer or man; the same way in Paris during the Great War he'd always known exactly which direction and how far the Eiffel Tower was even though he'd never touched a radio before and didn't even know yet that the Eiffel was a functional radio tower. He knew it like an instinct he didn't know he had. The sinner was turned on by the fact that Alastor into this. He was turned on by Alastor.

He tightened his thighs around the sinner's waist and answered his question with a frantic nod.

The sinner grunted and slammed hard into Alastor's ass.

Alastor saw stars. He'd never dreamed it could feel so good.

He wasn't sure if he came twice more or if was just one long orgasm. When it was over, he was leaning against the wall by himself, his buttocks pressed to the rough brick with a stranger's seed stuck between his ass cheeks, hands on knees, legs trembling, breath heaving, mind reeling. What happened? Why was it different?

It wasn't a great fuck. He'd had great fucks. He'd had the best fucks a desperate succubus with a lot of spare money could buy. But great fucks hadn't satisfied Alastor. This slob hadn't bothered to touch Alastor's dick once they were outside and if he'd ever hit Alastor's prostate it had been a lucky accident. There was nothing special about his dick. There was certainly nothing special about the person that the dick was attached to. It could have been anybody, Alastor was sure of that, and it wouldn't have made a difference.

So why did it make a difference?

"You oughta shave your ass," Pennybags said, buttoning his shorts. "Or get a bikini wax, shit. Nobody wants to fuck your hairy dingleberries."

He was finished? He was leaving? Already? That hadn't even been five minutes. Alastor was picking up stations that hadn't even completed a commercial break during the time they spent screwing.

"That's not all, is it?" Alastor had tasted something close to satisfaction for the first time since his rebirth. He wasn't ready to give it up. He wasn't satisfied yet. 

"What?" Pennybags gave him an irritated look. "You expect me to kiss you goodbye? Fuck." He looked down to see why his shorts weren't zipping (he'd gotten his shirt caught in the zipper teeth), and muttered, "I thought you were drunker." He turned away from Alastor to trudge back toward the street.

"Oh, I want a lot more than a kiss!" Alastor seized Mr. Monopoly's arm, yanked him back, and swung him hard against the alley wall. Half his studio audience groaned "oooh," like an audience watching a boxer get laid flat; the other half squealed with laughter like they'd just watched a Stooge mangle one of his two brothers.

The sinner gasped and coughed, trying to get back the breath Alastor had knocked out of him. "Wh—what—?"

Before he recovered enough to push himself up, Alastor shoved him back against the wall, one hand on each of the sinner's forearms to pin him in place, his knees jammed between the sinner's; gravity tilted sharply, pulling them both toward the wall as though it were the ground, with Alastor on top. At the feeling of the world rotating ninety degrees beneath him, the sinner spasmed like he was waking up from a dream of falling ; Alastor was close enough to him that the lank, greasy hair that had been draped on his shoulders now hung in the sinner's face.

"I said," Alastor repeated, "I want more than a kiss." His hands left the sinner's wrists, creeping up to seize his face roughly, in a parody of a tender hold, one of his broken claws running along his muzzle; but the shadow of his hands remained on the sinner's wrists, still pinning him in place. His shadow's chin jutted over Alastor's shoulder, tongue lolling out to drip smoky drool and lick hungrily at the sweat on Alastor's neck, panting silently.

Alastor went on, "After all, you were so eager to show me a good time—whether or not I wanted one. It's only polite to return the favor!" His audience's uncanny canned laughter echoed between the tight brick walls.

"Fuck," the sinner wheezed. "You're the—the—the Radio—" His stuttering attempt to name Alastor was drowned out by a louder, wicked laugh from the studio audience.

"Just figured it out?" he cooed, fumbling with the button of the sinner's pants. "I would have thought the fact that I play radio stations would have been a bigger clue." His shadow humped eagerly at Alastor's own ass, the semi-corporeal dick using the sinner's seed as lubricant. Alastor arched his back, groaning, pressing his ass against the shadow and his chest against the sinner.

"I thought—fuckin'—you had a phone in your pocket and we were bumping the skip button—?"

Alastor laughed darkly. "How creative." He leaned back to squint drunkenly at the sinner's shorts, trying to figure out why the fly wasn't unzipping. (The sinner's shirt was still caught in the zipper teeth.) With a sigh, he yanked the shorts down to the sinner's calves. 

The sinner used the opportunity to try to clamp his knees together.

"Careful, sweetie," Alastor chided. "Don't want you getting hurt." A couple more enthralled shades slunk out of the shadows, each seizing the sinner's knees and pulling them wide apart. Alastor grabbed his own cock to stroke it back to full hardness—noting in delight that for a moment it had only been half erect. "You don't have anything to worry about." Relying on his own seed to act as a lubricant, grinning triumphantly at the sinner's terrified face—oh, how he'd missed terrifying people!—he rubbed the head beneath the sinner's balls and then rutted experimentally between his ass cheeks.

Something was wrong. It felt like nothing.

No, it was so much worse than nothing: it simply felt like the absence of whatever had been right. That uncurtaining of his mind, the sunlight, the electricity, the taste of divinity. And in the absence of what felt right, everything awful about sex that had been buried bubbled back up. The nausea, the exposure, the vulnerability; his skin crawling so hard it felt like it would squirm off of him and wriggle into the dumpster like a skin-shaped blanket of maggots; the hyperawareness of the proximity of his taint to a stranger's taint, like the way food poisoning cuts your awareness of the world down to a single, interminable, inescapable second of agony.

Food poisoning. That phrase stuck in his mind. Food poisoning. He jerked his hips back.

Maybe he had to keep bottoming? He grabbed the sinner's flaccid cock. Trying to keep a grip on it felt like trying to scoop a slurry of melted flesh out of the acid bath that had melted it. Alastor jerked his hand back, stumbling backward into proper gravity in his haste to get away from the sinner.

Now that Alastor wasn't actively attempting to satiate his needs, his shadow—possessed of the same frenzied appetite but too stupid to know what wouldn't satisfy it—tried to twist around Alastor and reach for the sinner itself.

Alastor seized the shadow roughly and dragging it away from its target, hissing, "Stop it." There was no point. He knew from experience that trying to power through his revulsion wouldn't make any sparks fly. This felt no different from his every other attempt to drag a sinner into some dark alley and take whatever it was he needed. It was gone.

Recognizing the momentary escape route, the sinner tried to push off the wall and, when that didn't fix gravity, scrambled on hands and knees down the wall toward the ground. When he escaped the radius of Alastor's magic back into normal gravity, he slipped off the wall and fell shoulder-first to the ground with a yelp, then scrambled back upright to run.

Alastor allowed his worthless prey to flee, watching despairingly as the sinner stumbled over his own shorts and disappeared around the corner into the street. God, he'd been so close to satisfaction, he knew it, he'd been so close. What had been different?

His shadow despondently pawed at Alastor's groin. Alastor wrenched its hands off, snarling at its empty face until he'd wrestled it back into laying against the wall and passively mimicking Alastor's movements. And then he slumped against the wall as well, too despondent himself to even bother pulling his sweatpants back up.

What had been different? What had been happening when Alastor came (God, the best orgasms of Alastor's life)? What had he been thinking about?

He'd been thinking—he'd realized that Pennybags was turned on by the fact that Alastor was turned on by him. It was a laughable thought—Alastor was struggling to figure out what he had been turned on by, but it sure as hell wasn't that grotesque underdressed fool.

But just remembering his realization made his member twitch again. 

Chase it. The sinner was more turned on when Alastor was "attracted" to him. He'd been attracted to Alastor—(Alastor's hand slid down to stroke himself off)—and that meant... that meant... what?

And then, it had all fallen apart when Alastor had looked in his eyes and saw—no longer attraction—fear.

Alastor was turned on when the sinner was attracted to him.

Everything, everything he'd fucked and been fucked by so far—hands and toys and shadows and tentacles and whores and victims—was at best indifferent to him, at worst terrified. Nothing he'd touched so far had wanted him—until now.

His head swam, dizzy with alcohol and arousal. Another thin rope of seed spurted from his tip at just the thought of that: wanted, wanted, wanted him. Wanted him. Watching Alastor hungrily, gaze and hands roving over his body, like he was the only meal that could satiate the stranger's strange appetite, desiring his body like a starving beast desires a piece of hot, juicy, fresh, fleshy meat—

Alastor came hard again, crumpling to his knees, crying out—and this time there was nobody to muffle his cries. He screamed louder, voice echoing and raw with distortion, thighs spread and hips pumping into his fist, imagining windows overhead opening and heads poking out and passers-by peering in from the street and focusing on him like a pack of wolves circling an injured deer, and he keened louder, as if calling the predators in to feast on him, and he understood then the instincts of the cat yowling in heat.

And then the orgasm faded. He was alone; nobody had seen him. Thank God. He dropped to sit on the filthy ground and slumped against the wall, too exhausted to care about what rubbish he was planting his ass on, moaning as he tried to catch his breath.

He was satisfied.

It felt like a fever had broken. His mind was clear. His cock was going soft in his grip. He was soft. He'd almost forgotten what it felt like. He marveled admiringly at how much smaller his member was when it was off-duty; had he seen it like that since he'd become a succubus? It was over. He was done. He was free. He let out a hysterical, wheezing, relieved laugh.

Something stirring low in his stomach told him it wouldn't last long.

And next time, he wouldn't be satisfied by imagining being watched.

#((I am BEGGING you to give me a like or a reblog or a comment or something if you read this)) #((the fics are important to me!! I want to know that folks are reading them!!)) #nebula gaster #ask #ooc #art

[liptonsbabe]

Chains of a family [B.W]

Bill Weasley x Grant! reader

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3

Summary: Your chains has broken but are you truly free?

Word count: 949

Warnings: none

A/N: Hi! this is my new Harry Potter fanfic and i just wanted to clarify a few things before you start reading. In this fic the reader's last name is Grant (sorry) but it’s just for the plot of the story, you’ll see that in the next chapters. Also, i’ll like to say that i have like six parts ready to publish but they’re originally in spanish so if you want to keep reading this let me know. As always, english not my mother language so please tell me if something’s  wrong. Anyways, Enjoy!

You watched the dark sky from the Weasley's garden.

An uncomfortable heat was burning through your body even though it was the coldest times you had ever had the opportunity to remember. Maybe it was just the feeling of nervousness or the adrenaline that still ran through your veins after having escaped from home, you didn't know, however, that sensation was tightening your throat.

Up in the sky, you could see what seemed the silhouette of a snake zigzagging among the small clouds that still remained late at night. Inside the burrow there were murmurs, you guessed, of William talking to his mother through clenched teeth so that you wouldn't hear everything they had to say. The other brothers were sitting at the table, being entertained by his father who, as dismayed as only he could be, was trying to less the surprise caused by the presence of a Grant in his house.

William had told them a lot about you, but he never mentioned what family you came from or what your last name was, omitting the talks in which your name was pronounced because he knew that his parents would overreact in one way or another. You were silent all afternoon and when Bill took you out of the Malfoy Manor and into his mother's house, Molly's little blue eyes widened in surprise, almost terrified to know that the woman her oldest son was in love with was a relative of the most powerful dark wizard of all times.

Molly was not a spiteful person, but that didn’t take away the fact that she remembered the days when she and her brothers entered the Order of the Phoenix with the intention of fighting Voldemort and then finding that, after many years - and that their only siblings lost their lives in the war - their son had ended up in love with one of Tom Riddle's relatives. For Molly it was simply dreadful.

You put a trembling hand to your lips, thinking of the severe betrayal you had committed not only to your parents, but your siblings as well. For the Grants, the most important thing was the family, reason enough to decide taking the wrong way, but what it felt right to protect those they loved the most. You closed your eyes. If you hadn't been such a coward, could you have attached your life to the man your father chose especially for you? Probably not, that was the reason why, even if the path to choose was away from your family, you decided to run away from the hand of the man you truly loved.

From that moment on you both understood the consequences of what you had done, because Voldemort would not take the betrayal lightly and because it was almost certain for you that the Weasleys wouldn’t help you.

You couldn't help but think that your place was not on the side of the Death Eaters, nor was it at the burrow. You never expected William to do something like that for you, but there you were, with the uncertainty of what was going to happen the next day.

The emergence of a new war was imminent, you knew that, standing in the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix, you would be dragged into being part of it and, as bad as it was, the time would come where you’ll have to face your parents and your siblings in the battleground

Just the thought made you shiver.

"Hey, are you okay?" Bill's voice startled you, you let out a strangled sigh turning to him. You smiled at him not wanting to worry him, even though Bill knew you well enough to understand that you were worried sick. He took you by the shoulders, kissing the tip of your cold nose. "I just talked to my mother."

"We have to go, right?" Looking for another place to stay?”

Bill's brows furrowed.

“No, of course not. Mom will let us stay here”

“I don't know, Bill. It’s dangerous”

“Why?”

“I've committed you enough, I don't want to do the same with your family”

"Now it's our family, (Y/N)," he assured you. You shook your head as you looked down. "Listen, nothing of all of this is your fault, okay?" There was no way you could know ...”

"It's what the family does, isn't it?" You asked. William didn't seem to understand. You took his hands “Carrying with their guilts, their good and bad deeds, supporting them in everything. Even if that drags you into being part of their plans. You are never supposed to let them down”

"(Y/N), sharing a bond isn't always about doing what other people do," he said, grabbing you by the cheeks. Your eyes twinkled through the tears “These are bad times. Children have stopped obeying their parents and everyone writes books” You smiled “This is not about whether or not you have betrayed your parents convictions, it’s about the way you want to take your life and you know better than anyone that what you want is not with the Death Eaters”

You sighed again, hiding your numbed face on Bill's neck snatching a hiss from him. The redhead's strong arms wrapped around your waist and you both saw the huge mark that was drawn in the sky, warning the arrival of a new phase within the war. you gasped in his arms and Bill kissed your forehead time after time in an attempt to calm his own fear.

“We'll be fine, love” he whispered into your ear. You nodded “I promise”

#bill weasley #bill weasley imagine #bill weasley imagines #bill weasley x reader #harry potter imagine #harry potter #domhnall gleeson #domhnall gleeson imagine #wizarding world #howgarts mistery

[kaiparker-avengerssmut]

Their Doll 11

Silent scream

B.Barnes x Stark!Reader, S.Rogers x Stark!Reader

series synopsis:  y/n Stark, all records of her non existent, and yet Hydra still find her. When she is kidnapped by a certain super-soldier and no one believes her, she finds herself searching for unexpected familiarity in her not-so-distant past.

Series Warnings: smut, violence, torture, swearing

Chapter Summary: y/n gets shut up

Warnings: mentions of violence, swearing

A/n: The timeline in this has been altered, as there I things I wanted to include but I also wanted this fic to follow the storyline/timeline of Winter Soldier and Civil war.So for purposes of this fanfic, Peter Parker was discovered by Tony at a much younger age - when he was bitten - and has been an intern with him since, almost like a protégée.(For the purposes of this story Peter was bitten much younger too - more like when he was 9 or ten rather than 14/15)

Masterlist | Series Masterlist

"Fuck you." I snapped, mustering all the saliva I could before spitting it at his face. He flinched back when it splattered over his cheek, his fingers swiping through the spittle before he was shaking it from them and standing back to his full height.

"It appears this one is never going to cooperate. If she won't give us information, why let our experimentations on her possibly...benefit the girl the the future?" The general spoke menacingly to the guards behind me. "How about way find a way to shut her up?"

My heat thudded so hard in my chest it was like someone was punching me from the inside, all air knocked from my lungs before I was being hoisted up to my feet again with two rough grips on my upper arms. My chest heaving, I coughed a ragged breath before composing myself. The glint of the silver blade in the corner of my vision sent my eyes bugging out of my skull and my mind into a flat panic.

So, I did what any rational person with my capabilities would do. I began to hum the deep melody - one a seldom sung - and a smirk crawled its way onto my now curved lips. Clearly, the general was prepared, but the two guards behind we weren't so lucky.

A desperate cry pierced my tune, harmonising with my voice as I heard the havoc I was causing. This was the first time I'd enjoyed a kill, the very first time I'd wanted to use my powers for such a horrific reason. I'd only ever used this part of my power a few times, but this was the only time I'd been fully lucid whilst doing so.

Some people want nothing more than to blow their enemies' brains out, and trust me when I tell you; It felt good.

However, luck was never on my side, and the General had come full prepared. He wasn't even affected, it must've been something to do with the funny earpiece he was wearing.

As my eyes met his, the General's face held non of the cocky, smug tones that I'd expect. No, the only word I could use to describe his old and crinkled features was pure ire, and it was directed at me.

"You conniving, vile little bitch!" He snarled, the flash of silver weeding a sense of utter and complete dread, tangled with fear inside of me, uprooting my confidence. I don't remember a lot after that, to tell you the truth. I know the blade sliced along my throat. I know everything was rained black. And that's about it.

...

Awakening with a gasp was the last thing I expected to happen. The sight of the blade risen in front of the general burned into my mind, almost as if it'd been scorned against my flesh. But here I was: awake, gasping for breath, completely surrounded by doctors I'd never seen before.

My hand instantly flew to my neck, a stinging sensation pulsing from the delicate skin. I hissed as my sweaty palm made contact with the bandage, the material corse and scratchy against my skin. As a doctor waddled over to me, needle in hand, I flailed desperately, a silent scream ripping from my throat.

Hang on a second-

Silent scream? I tried again, the shrill noise that should be tearing from me simply vanishing as it hit my throat. My eyes widened with the realisation, my bottom lip wobbling as I suddenly pieces together what had happened.

He said he'd have to shut me up, didn't he? The thought made me want to scream loudly, that the blade had touched my skin and left me with no defence.

They took away the hell they'd reigned upon me, something I'd wished I could be rid of for years, and now I was disappointed. Maybe this was their plan all along, that little voice in my head sang. The tears pricked at my eyes, which rolled back lazily as the scratch of the needle poked at my neck.

...

My calloused fingers ran over the cut tirelessly, trying to itch somewhere that I could never seem to find. I don't know how long I was sedated for, but since waking up the bleeding had stopped and there was now an offensive red line that slid horizontally across my neck.

Every time I touched it, it coaxed a wince from me, and yet that's all I seemed to do. It was like poking a bruise, I guess. The more it hurts the more you want to do it.

They'd returned me to my cell, clearly very little need for restraints against my weakened, starved and dehydrated body. I could see the flesh thinning on my arms, my ribs pressing painfully against my skin. Not only could I see the hunger, but I could feel it.

Manifesting, biting, gnawing hunger. The type that are you from inside out, devouring everything of you until the only thing you could think about was eating. Huh, I guess I was already at that stage then.

My eyes remained locked in place, glossy with the endless tears as I stared at the floor. If I really looked hard enough, the still wet blood smeared over the floors of the hallway resembled something close to strawberry jam. The thoughts of the sickly sweat substance spread over a perfectly toasted piece of bread, accompanied with a big glass of fresh orange juice and washed down by a large coffee made my mouth water. The booming rumble in my stomach made the groan, even more drawn out than expected when I remembered all I'd get to eat today: a small bread roll and a tiny glass of water.

Sadly, the sink in my cell did not contain drinking water. The liquid was so discoloured that I purposely avoided washing me hands, preferring to possible have my own germs coating my hands than whatever they were giving me. I'm not kicking you about, I genuinely think the water was filtered through a clump of fucking horse shit, mixed with fish guts and complimented with a hint of rotting fruit. If I could help it, I'd be dodging that water like the plague (if it didn't contain one already) for the rest of my life.

I'm not really sure why, but my head snapped up in surprise why the door sprang open, a single guard entering.

"The general requires your presence." He deadpanned, eyes cold as eyes and sharp as a knife as they stabbed through me. I wanted to fight back, stay glued to the spot and snap back some snarky remark, but in my current condition I almost couldn't bring myself to care where I was about to be taken, or why for that matter.

I stood without a word, silently following the man until we reached an unfamiliar metal door. I found it almost laughable, really, that they'd reduced my strength so much, that no one even considered putting me any sort of restraints anymore.

The door was pushed open with a child-like whine emitting from its rusty hinges, the metal scraping over the concrete floor painfully. The guard simply grabbed my arm before tugging me into the room, letting the door shut behind his with a hollow thunk.

"Ah, she has arrived!" The general's voice exclaimed, a deviant smile spreading over his thin lips. "And just in time to meet Mr Pierce, too." He said menacingly.

I felt embarrassed, exposed, stood before the room of men. My hair was a mess, tears streaking my reddened face, eyes puffy from crying and the only clothes a wore was a now-battered hospital gown. My eyes darted around nervously, trying to avoid the blonde man sat before me, chin resting in his palm as he surveyed me.

"Why is this one...important?" The man asked, eyeing me up and down before his eyes seemed to fixate on my neck. The scar.

"This," the general spoke, but Mr Pierce kept his eyes on me, "is Miss y/n Stark." Mr Pierce's eyes widened ever so slightly, but it was barely noticeable.

"As in Tony Stark?" Pierce pondered.

"The very same." The general smirked.

"She seems awfully...quiet, for a Stark." Pierce said with almost a hint of disgust, eyes still glued to my shaking frame.

"That's because we shut her up." The general snapped, awfully harshly.

"Is that the scar? How fresh is it?" Pierce jabbed his questions, curiosity clearly becoming him in the moment.

"Indeed. Our doctors here are very good, Sir. They had her all patched up and out of bandages in just three days." The general bragged, shoulders back and head held high as if he was posing for a portrait.

"I see." Pierce mused, brows furrowed in thought. "What do you plan to do with her? Now that she can't tell you anything?"

"Oh, trust me, sir. She wasn't giving anything up either way," he paused, striding over to me and yanking my head back with a fistful of hair, my back mow  pressed to his chest and his mouth at my ear, "isn't that right, sweetheart?"he clarified, and I didn't hesitate to nod my head as much as his grip would allow.

"So why isn't she dead?" Pierce gritted, seemingly annoyed. "It's not like Tony's attached to her, he never looked for her and I've never even heard him mention her."

"But then they'll keep coming. I don't want the avengers on my back, and I'm sure you don't either." Pierce hummed in agreement. "She's with them - her and that Captain America guy arrived together - so why not use her to send a message?" The general suggested.

...

That's how I found myself tied up, wrists bound and gun to my head as I sat shakily in a chair in the middle of the quinjet. I had no clue how long I'd been since that day, but I do know that I had been sedated once again. The flimsy hospital gown allowed a shiver to chill me, skin  forming goosebumps as I sat before the open door or the quinjet.

"You will tell them exactly as I just did. Got it?" The general pressed, pushing the gun into my head hard enough to make by head throb. Tears biting at my eyes, I nodded furiously, now determined to live with the promise of being free again. "Good. Soldat, make sure she gets back to New York without being seen, I'd hate to have to spill more blood than we intended." The general demanded, a figure rustling its way out of the shadows at the edge of the room. A gasp tore from my throat at the sight of him - clad in black leather and arm as silver as the moon. The soldier - my soldier.

But he simple stared through me, eyes blank and clouded in a coldness I'd never had directed at me from him before.

"And make sure you don't fail this time, soldat." The general snapped. The soldier nodded solemnly, the echoing of boots thudding filling both their ears as the general walked off the ship.

#smut #image #images #chris evans #chris evans smut #seb stan #sebastian stan smut #sebastian stan #winter soldier smut #winter soldier #winter solider fanfiction #captain america smut #captain america fanfiction #captain america #bucky Barnes #bucky barnes smut #bucky Barnes fanfic #bucky Barnes image #buck Barnes x reader #bucky fanfic #bucky x you #steve rogers image #steve rogers x reader #steve x bucky #steve roger fanfic #steve rogers #steve rogers smut #steve rogers fanfic #marvel fanfic #marvel smut

[aynanasstuff]

Abhi Na Jao Chhod Kar// Sam Wilson x Desi!Reader.

Summary: Sam and y/n are childhood friends who drift apart as life gets in the way. However, in that moment,it's like no time has passed.

__

(Okay quick A/N:i've mentioned y/n is desi but just to further clarify, in this scenario y/n is indian desi. since the word desi encapsulates a lot of people from a lot of countries, i just thought id mention that y/n is indian here. thanks! hope you enjoy it!)

__

Sam's phone call was a surprise, to say the least. The man was off saving the world, being a hero, making headlines. It didn't make sense for him to be calling you out of the blue.

_____

Growing up in Louisiana wasn't easy as a dark skinned desi girl. The red that some people adorned their values with bled through a lot, some of their beliefs didn't align with the red bindi your mom adorned. It was difficult finding a community, let alone one you could truly say were your friends. Sam Wilson, however, was more than eager to be a part of your colorful life. You lived right next door when you were kids and he seemed more like a blessing than a neighbor. You absolutely loved dancing and Navratri was a time where loud garba music was blasting in your house all the time. Curious little Sam couldn't help but wonder what was happening and walked up to your door, knocking on your door impatiently. You opened the door, looking at the little boy who seemed to be about your age, maybe older by a year or two. "Hey, um, what's up? I live next door, my name's Sam." "Y/n", you say as you extend your hand out to the boy, waiting for him to shake it but his eyes were stuck on you. You thought it was because something was wrong with you while he thought you were the most beautiful 8 year old in the world, in your little chaniya choli and a dainty maang teeka in your parted black bob and payals around your ankles.

"Beta,kya kar rahi hai? Bola hai na darwaza akele mummy ke bina mat kholna?!"(what are you doing,kid? Haven't I told you not to open the door without mommy?!) ,your mom yelled as she ran to the door, halting beside you. "Mummy, yeh Sam hai. He said he lives next door. Aur yeh mujhe khade khade bas ghoore ja raha hai".(this is Sam,he's standing here staring at me)

Sam, realizing he's been really impolite begins talking,instantly kicking in his southern manners, "Ma'am, I'm Sam, i live next door!" "Hi Sam, what can we do for you?", your mom asks the boy with a smile, her annoyance melting away. "Well, I heard really loud music and it's nothing like what the folks around here play, um not to say you're not a part of the neighborhood, I mean you are and I'm not here to talk badly about the music because I really like the music that's why I'm here and yeah I was wondering why you're playing the loud music, it's not that I have a problem with it or anything,like I said,"he finally finishes rambling, "I really like the music." Sam takes a huge breath in as he stops. You giggle in response and your mom smiles at him. "Well Sam, today is a very special day! We're going to be celebrating a festival called Navratri!", your mom replies, "It lasts for nine whole days! We dance a lot, we eat a lot, we pray to Goddess Durga and have a lot of fun,isn't that right,baccha?," she turns to you responding with a nod. "The music playing is called garba music, isn't it fun to listen to?" "Yes, ma'am, it is!," Sam replies excitedly.

"Sam! Where are you, boy?!" Sam perks up, realization hitting him. He was late for dinner and will now have to listen to his mom set him straight. "Well ma'am, I guess I'll leave now, my ma's calling for me, it was nice meeting y'all!" He does a little hat tip, smiling sheepishly. "Sam, come over sometime if you want! You can listen to as much garba music as you like!", your mom calls out to him. "Yeah Sam, I'll teach you how to dance!", you say, confident in your ability to make him your friend. Sam smiles, "Yes ma'am, I will! Oh and y/n, I really hope you do!" He almost has to hold in his excitement so as not to skip and give it away. That fortunate day paved the way for a beautiful, nurturing friendship. Your families became acquainted with each other and they, too, loved each other's company.

The friendship you shared with the boy with the toothy grin sooned turned into something more. You were both too scared to admit it, knowing that if it was unrequited, you'd both lose something that was far too precious to take a chance on. The day before Sam left for his first tour, the two of you spent a few choice hours in each other's presence by the dock, under the stars. "Abhi na jao chhod kar, ke dil abhi bhara nahi," you hummed under your breath as you fought tears knowing the distance would probably not sustain your friendship. It wasn't out of fear that you'd lose him, it was out of the fear that maybe losing him would be better than having to be so close and yet miles away from his heart. "What's that you're singing?", Sam asked, his warm brown eyes making you feel protected against the cold breeze over the water. You reply, with a twinkle of melancholy in your dark eyes, "Just a song."

But the both of you knew it was more than that.

_____

The tours, the avenging, the war, the blip ; Sam Wilson still hadn't forgotten about you. You hadn't forgotten about him either.

You both had a way of staying with each other without having to be there in your form. You lived in each other's minds and hearts and mended each other's cracks with those parts of yourselves.

This didn't mean you had actually seen each other since that night by the dock. The both of you only had a couple phone calls keeping you connected after. But time did as time does and you felt yourselves drifting away.Neither of you tried to reconnect either. Sam felt it was the right thing to do, to spare himself some heartache; so did you. Your lives were vastly different after he left for his tour and the two of you wanted to disturb the balance in your lives after.

So as you sat on the sofa in your childhood home in Louisiana as the sun shone brightly, Sam's name on your phone made your heart drop to your stomach. What could he possibly be calling about?

_____

So much had happened, in your lives, your friendship, the world in general, even the universe if you will. You couldn't help but wish he wanted to build the spark that always was a part of your friendship into a fire that gave you some much needed warmth.

"Hello?," you answer, picking up the phone. "Hey y/n, " you hear Sam on the other end and you find yourself letting out a sharp breath you didn't know you'd held in, " how you doin'? ". " I'm good, Sam. How are you? "you respond. He answers in a single word, "Good ". As much as this small talk felt like it was sucking the life out of you especially because you guys were once inseparable , you were okay with just hearing his voice after all this time. However, you couldn't just pretend this attempt at conversation by Sam and you was exactly normal between the two of you. So, you decided to tell him exactly how it is. "Sam, I-", he cuts you off" Open the door, y/n", "What?", "Open the damn door, y/n", you can almost hear his smile through the phone.

You walk towards the door, almost too fast, nearly tripping over your teapoy and you open the door, hands shaking with nervous hope. "Hey, you," Sam smiles at you with that same toothy smile you'd seen all those years ago during Navratri, "miss me?" You couldn't help but tackle him in a hug, distance and longing and silent innocent grudges be damned and in that moment all you could do was thank Durga Ma for bringing him to your door all those years ago.

___________________________________

Wow, that was a doozy and a half to right. This was my first ever fic y'all!! I'm so excited to publish it here! I really hope y'all liked it, this one means a lot to me! So enjoy it, like it, do whatever but DON'T PLAGIARIZE IT BECAUSE THAT JUST MAKES YOU PATHETIC!

Also tagging the besties:

@lil-stark @jacquessouvenier heyyyy

That's all! Byeee y'all <3

#sam wilson #sam wilson x reader #sam wilson one shot #sam wilson fic #sam wilson x desi!reader #sam wilson appreciation #indian!reader #x desi!reader #one shot #Spotify

[mmvalentine]

Five Minutes | Feysand

I got this request from an ao3 user who later clarified they would like a "wrong bed fic" and I honestly don't even know what that is?!!! But of course I will give it a go...

The Day Court had the most beautiful theatre. Where the artists' quarter in Velaris was a passionate, bohemian little community, the theatre company of the Day Court was a high art rooted in millennia of culture and esteem. Rhys and Feyre were ushered down an honest-to-goodness red carpet on their way in, and their private box somewhere near the soaring arched ceiling was upholstered in rich, ox-blood velvet. Every ten years an invite went to all the courts for the grand opening of the Day Court's newest opera, and the event was the social gathering of the decade. The grandeur and class of the night was unrivalled across Prythian. And yet Rhys could not stop staring at Feyre's ass in that dress.

After being married for ten years, he really thought the urge to bend her over the nearest table would have dimmed. But there they were, given in the best seats in the house, with a production ten years in the making on its way, and all Rhys could do was drag his gaze over the curves of his mate's hind quarters. She was talking to someone, he had no idea who in the mother it was, and he was trying to look like he was listening as well while he snaked his arm around her and stroked his fingers over her hip.

In his defence, Feyre had spent a large portion of the last decade running after Nyx and wearing comfortable clothes that didn't mind getting all manner of stains and spills on them. Not that she wasn't achingly sexy in tights and one of his old sweaters, in fact his clothes on her drove him wild. But it had been a little while since she had worn something that hugged her like this, cupped her breasts and clung to her waist, hips and thighs before pooling on the floor. It was obscene. How were they in public right now?

Watch your hands, Feyre warned in his mind. We have company.

I can't help it, Rhys responded silkily. I just want to peel this thing off of you. Or maybe tear it to shreds with my teeth.

Well you'll have to wait, Feyre shot back. Believe it or not, I actually want to see this play. And besides, this dress was made by Emerie, you couldn't tear it if you tried.

Rhys bared his teeth in her mind. Would you like me to try? he asked. He slid a midnight claw over her mind. She batted him away.

I said later, she said. Now behave.

At that moment, a silver bell rang out over the theater, and Helion's voice drifted through the air with an amplifying spell.

"Welcome, dearest guests," the High Lord said. "I am so pleased you all could make it. If you would like to take your seats, the show will begin in five minutes."

Feyre bade goodbye to the guest she was talking to- Rhys just gave a curt nod, not at all caring who they were- and slid her arm around Rhys' waist as they walked off to their box. As soon as the guest had turned, Rhys squeezed a handful of her backside. Feyre swatted his chest.

"What's going on with you?" she asked. "Nothing," Rhys said, his lips against her temple. He drew the curtain to their private box. "You look incredible tonight." "Well thank you," Feyre said. "You're not bad yourself." She kissed him, and made to sit down next to Rhys, but he pulled her into his lap instead. Cupped his hands over her rear and pulled her lips back to his.

"Let's take a little walk," he said into her mouth. His hands squeezed at her waist. "Rhys, we're at a show." "He said five minutes," Rhys argued, and licked his tongue up the side of her throat. Feyre shivered. "Five is not so long," she said. Rhys grinned against her neck. "Five is plenty," he said, and then winnowed.

Feyre found herself in a darkened bedroom, door closed and curtains drawn, and Rhys pressing her down onto cool sheets. "Where are we?" she whispered. "Mmm," Rhys murmured. "I don't know, it's been so long since I've been in Helion's house. I just remember there being a bed here."

He pushed the skirts of Feyre's dress up her legs, and put his mouth right on her core, over her underwear. Feyre gasped at the suddenness of it.

"On someone else's bed?" she asked. Rhys pulled her underwear to the side, and licked her all the way up to her clit. "They'll never know," he said, and then she heard the clink of his belt buckle as Rhys resumed his attentions. A minute later, his face was back up over hers, lips wet from being between her legs.

"Ten years," he mused. "And I still just want to spend hours licking your every scrap of skin." "Five minutes," Feyre reminded him, and he grinned. "I can make you come in five minutes," he said, and kissed her at the same time as sliding straight inside her.

Feyre moaned into Rhys' mouth, and Rhys pulled back. "Hush now, darling," he whispered. "We're in someone else's house." His eyes sparkled. "I am going to fuck you hard until you come, and you are not going to make a single sound. Do you understand?"

Feyre nodded, and Rhys caught up her lips again. Started rocking into her, and then matching the movements of his tongue to his hips. Feyre's heart beat strong beneath him, and he hooked one of her legs over his elbow to get a deeper angle. Feyre huffed out a breath, but stayed silent.

"Good girl," Rhys crooned, and licked his thumb before placing it over her clit. He moved faster now, and kept up a steady and pounding pace.

"Do you know," he said in her ear, "I have been absolutely out of my mind all day, watching you." He moved his lips to the hollow under her jaw. "You, and your incredible ass in this fucking dress." Rhys began pressing kisses down her throat, open-mouthed kisses, kisses that gave way to a bite and a suck. "And all I've wanted to do for hours is get you alone." And all the while, he kept up his relentless rhythm. Feyre's breathing was coming in shallow pants now, and she had her bottom lip clenched between her teeth to keep her from crying out.

"Is that good, Feyre darling?" he asked her. She just nodded. His thumb pushed down a little more on her clit. "I love watching you like this," he told her. Driving his hips home. "On you back for me. With me deep inside you, right where I'm supposed to be. Do you know how fucking good you look?" He stopped speaking then, bit off a groan and listed to the incessant squeak and protest of the bed creaking. Feyre's mouth was moving with silent sounds. He smiled down at her.

"Are you close honey? Do you want to come for me?" Feyre nodded again. "Almost. I'm going to count down from five, and you can come when I tell you to." Feyre's eyes burned in the dark.

"Five," Rhys murmured. He leaned back a little, changing the angle and getting deeper still. "Four." His thumb moved in tight circles over her clit. "Three," he said, and now his own breaths were coming ragged. "Two." He sped up, his hips now moving erratically. "One," he ground out, close to the edge now and loving the view of Feyre writhing in tortured silence. "Now," he commanded, and Feyre exploded around him at the same time as he came hard inside her, clamping down on his own moans as Feyre's nails scratched at his back.

Rhys fell to Feyre's side and tugged her body into hers. "Good girl," he breathed again, and kissed her until they were falling asleep and somewhere far away, an opening curtain was rising.

Four hours later, Helion opened his bedroom door to find the High Lord and Lady of the Night Court in his bed. They blinked at him when he flicked the light on.

"Well," he said, voice full of merry amusement. "Is it my birthday already?"

*****

This is a little rushed because it's almost 1am but it's also the first time I've been able to post all week and I hate that. So I'm sorry if it's a bit of a mess! I miss you guys when I get too busy x

TAGLIST: @ghostlyrose2 @highladysith @stardelia @feysand-babies @tillyrubes10 @ratabrasileira @live-the-fangirl-life @maybekindasortaace @annejulianneh111 @thebonecarver @rowaelinismyotp @loosingdreams @whythefuckdoiexist

MASTERLIST

UPDATE: There's now a Part 2!!! By special request.

#prompt fill #feysand #feysand fics

[desertofsnowflakes]

Incorrect Order Chapter 4 (Nessian AU)

A/N: I know I haven't been able to update as fast as you'd want me to but I'll try to fix that. Your comments and feedbacks are very much appreciated. Do inform me if you wanna be added/removed from the taglist! If you happen to find my storyline similar to another fic or one of yours, I'm extremely sorry, I might've just not known. All characters belong to the author Sarah J. Mass. Enjoy!

Summary: Don't first impressions always affect the way you see someone? Well, what more with the Nesta Archeron? Nesta meets Cassian at few unexpected places and to say it didn't go well was a major understatement. Certain circumstances make them become enemies to tolerable company to friends to lovers.

Trigger Warnings: None really

1652words | Incorrect Order Masterlist | Read on AO3

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The best way to keep whatever problems one has out of their mind was to do something they liked. That was the only way Cassian kept from spiraling. Since sending the woman to her own house, Cassian had more than a few moments when he wanted to repeatedly slam his head against a wall. That’s why he spent most of his time sparring with Azriel. He won’t admit he was simping for that woman in his free time too. Or maybe that was always.

Now, sprawled on a couch in front of the TV, with nothing to do but stare at a blank screen, Cassian led his thoughts to the box he kept all unwanted thoughts locked in. He thought about Tomas, her ex-boyfriend. Funny, he thought. I know her ex's name but not hers.

It took him a little too long the other day to realise they didn't exchange names. Again. He once thought that maybe she was purposely not giving him her name. That maybe, for her, he was just a random stranger who happened to save her life. He snorted. Surely anyone would know the name of the person they saved or was saved by— stranger or not. He supposed he'll have to make do with pronouns for now.

After she left his home, it took every scrap of self-restraint not to beat this Tomas dude to pulp and let him rot in the same alley he had the misfortune of meeting him in. He may or may not have been the cause for some extra injuries. Cassian appreciated the woman’s attempt at mercy. He, however, didn’t trust Tomas at all. He was dubious about just handing him over to the police. Who’s to know he won’t frame him and the woman for absurd things? Anyway, he left a note in Tomas’s house saying something like “Step out of line, lose your favourite part of anatomy. Name it and have it for your meal.” He made sure he printed so that no one would recognise his writing. Yet, all this didn’t calm his nerves one bit. He presumed he’ll have to stay on guard for some time now.

Now, back to the girl. He sighed. He didn’t dare change the sheets in his guest bedroom. He didn’t even let Mor use the room when she came over last weekend— which he could bet created suspicion. No, that room was only open when he craved her scent. He even realised one of his shirts was missing. He shrugged it off thinking he would've left it somewhere and just couldn't find it. Once she came to his house, he was constantly thinking about her. So much that now he started pinching himself often. It was the only way he could stop thinking about her— by creating physical pain.

Cassian glanced at the clock on the wall. 2.30 in the afternoon. He walked to the refrigerator and checked his freezer compartment. Huh. No ice-cream. He sighed, grabbed his jacket and keys and headed to the mall to get an ice-cream with a pout. He’ll have to leave for Rhys and Feyre’s first anniversary only around 5.30 to prepare everything. He has enough time to get an ice-cream and probably hang out for some time. Good enough to stop thinking about her. Or so he thought.

***

Nesta wasn’t sore anymore. Her headache was gone almost a week after the incident. Her nose didn’t hurt anymore. Okay, maybe a little bit. It didn’t hurt unless she bumped her nose against something. Today, her nose was dully throbbing because she hit her nose against a pillow yesterday. A very, very soft pillow and yet it hurt this much.

The man’s first-aid and medicines were really helpful.

It really wasn’t fair that he excelled at basic first aid too. It wasn’t fair that he looked so good. With black tattoos swirling over generously muscled arms and shoulder-length dark hair curling at the edges and gloriously tanned skin and hazel eyes with minute flecks of green and brown when taken a closer look at and dimples and—

A quiet “Who is it?” snapped Nesta out of her moping. She looked up to see Gwyn walking to her.

“Who is what?” she asked, feigning nonchalance. Gwyn's pursed lips and glare conveyed that her act wasn't enough.

“Who are you thinking about?” Gwyn clarified.

“What makes you think I'm thinking about someone?” Nesta retorted.

Gwyn sat on the chair next to her and started assisting with classifying the unceremonious heap of books on the table to be kept back in its correct positions on its own rack.

“Nesta,” Gwyn sighed, “Clotho assigned you this stack almost an hour ago. And you've barely finished a third of the stack. Normally, you'd finish stacks bigger than this in an hour. So there's clearly something.”

“It wasn't anyone,” Nesta mumbled.

As usual, Gwyn saw through her lie. “You were twirling your hair,” she said flatly.

Heat inched up her neck. “I was not!”

Gwyn murmured a “uh-huh” and they lapsed into an easy silence till they were almost over.

Gwyn's eyes lit up as it normally did whenever she got an idea. “Is it him? The guy you came with that day?”

Nesta scowled, “How do you know…” she broke off when she realised which 'that day' Gwyn was talking about. Nesta fought back a blush. “No, no, this isn't about him. We don't know each other. Much. Like, we've seen each other a number of times? That's it. Nothing else.” Cauldron, the first part was a complete lie. But at least the rest are true. Will Gwyn happen to know his name? Maybe I ought to ask her. Or maybe I shouldn't.

She should, she decided. She cleared her throat. “Uh, Gwyn? Do you happen to know his name?”

Gwyn frowned and asked, “He hasn't told you yet?”

Nesta shook her head and answered, “No, we, uh, forgot. I guess. We haven't really exchanged names.”

Gwyn nodded and smiled. “Well, he is—”

“Gwyn!” a voice called. “You can't expect me to come over to you and beg for you to help me. Help me only if you want to or don't work under me.”

Gwyn’s eyes widened. She abruptly stood up and mouthed, “Merrill. I gotta go. I’m so sorry.” She all but ran to Merrill, the very strict librarian Gwyn was working under.

Nesta sighed and continued her work. There wasn’t much left so she was able to finish fast. She picked her things and left the library with a word to Clotho, heading to the mall.

***

The best way to keep whatever problems one has out of their mind was to also eat something they liked. So, ice-cream it was. After having his ice-cream, Cassian was aimlessly walking around the mall. Here, not more than a month ago, he met her for the first time. Almost a month ago. He huffed out a breath. The fact that he was pining for her this long blew his mind off. He—

“This is your fault— not mine. I’m not taking the blame for this,” he told her. They bumped into each other. Again.

Her lips quirked up. “It is kind of my fault. But blame this—,” she poked his chest, “— for making my nose hurt again.”

Just like that, his mood sobered. “How are you?” he asked.

She pointed at the cafe to her left. “Coffee?”

He nodded. Who was he to say no to her?

So they ordered coffee and talked about everything and nothing. He grinned and she laughed. He laughed and she smirked. He wouldn’t say he knew her well but he’d never seen her so carefree. Her laugh was like nectar for a starving man. Her eyes bright and welling up with tears from laughing.

“I don’t think I’ve laughed this much,” she said.

Cassian put a hand on his heart dramatically and said, “I know, I know. I’m very funny.”

Her lips kicked up a notch. She straightened as if she just realised something. He was about to ask when she drawled, “So I just realised that we still haven’t exchanged names.”

Oh. Right. Of course. “Yeah,” he nodded. “Usually, when people meet, they start with introductions but in our case we’ve literally bumped into each other three times and still we don’t know each other.” He shook his head and extended his hand. “Well, hello there. I’m—”

His phone rang in his pocket. Fuck. He was going to kill whoever was calling him now. He was so close to knowing her name. He pulled out his phone to see an incoming call from Azriel. He apologetically looked up at her and said, “I’m sorry. I wish I could choose not to take this call and instead kill this idiot but I can’t. Just give me a moment, okay?”

She nodded and he picked up his call.

“What do you want?” he hissed.

“It’s 5.30 already, you idiot. We’ve got to get the things ready for the party. Mor already went to get the cake and you’re not even at home. Where on all earth and hell are you?” came Az’s faint voice.

“15 minutes only? Mother above, I’m coming.” he said.

Az’s “make it fast” was the last thing he heard before hanging up. “I wish we could stay here and talk forever,” he said to her, “but I have something up in a short while and I totally didn’t realise time was passing this fast. I’m so sorry. It was nice talking to you. Really. And I wish we could meet again. Though without the bumping part.”

He grinned when she smiled and said, “Bye. Have a nice day.”

“You too,” he called back. He didn’t want to think he imagined the subtle look of disappointment on her face because hell, he was a walking epitome of disappointment right now.

taglist:

@shadowsinger07 @im-someone-i-guess @saltyfortunes @cressjacquine @julian-blackthorn-supremacy @champanheandluxxury @zemiraa @ladygabrielli1997 @nehemikkele @heartless--aromantic @sv0430 @ddsworldofbooks @irenethaleia @sjm-things @dontgetsalmonella

#writeblr #kepper's writing #sarah j mass #sjm #sjmaas #sjmverse #a court of thorns and roses #a court of mist and fury #a court of wings and ruin #a court of frost and starlight #a court of silver flames #acotar #acomaf #acowar #acofas #acosf #acotar au #nesta archeron #nesta #cassian #nesta x cassian #cassian x nesta #nesta and cassian #cassian and nesta #nessian #nessian fanfiction #nessian au #nessian modern au #gwyneth berdara #merrill acotar

[dumblydork]

Summer

Hello! I am SO sorry for having gone MIA all of a sudden on Tumblr and Ao3, but life caught up once exams ended and I was in a deep, dark place for sometime. But not to worry, because I'm definitely better now, and finally got over my writer's block/unmotivation (if that's a word) and what better way to start off writing again if not with a Hinny fic?

As usual, I hope you enjoy this sort of non-magic alternate universe, maybe a modern meet-cute of sorts? From the one and only Ginny Weasley's perspective, of course.

Again, you can find my Ao3 right here where I post quite fluffy Wolfstar one shots!

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The summer was harsh in Cornwall, which was where Ginny's family home was situated. She went up to university in London, just having recently finished her second year in Drama. Last summer, she was on a long trip with her best friend Luna, and hadn't been able to make it down to be with her family. But this year, she fully intended to spend as much time as possible with them, even if her older twin brothers were being annoying arses.

"Fred, George, just wipe the bloody tables already!" She screamed, exasperated, even though the twins were not even 20 feet away. The only unique cafe-by-day/restaurant-by-night was owned by Ginny's family. It was a quaint place, serving the best coffee to tourists and locals alike, along with not such a sharply contrasted cosy restaurant theme the place adopted when the sun went down.

And currently, the cafe was a few hours away from opening as a restaurant, and was left in the care of Ginny and her older twin brothers. She had another older brother after the twins, but he was off with his university friends (being an year older) and had even MORE older brothers ranked above the twins. Her oldest brother Bill, worked as a vet in New York, also where the second brother Charlie worked as an art curator. The third brother Percy was currently obtaining his PhD in some sort of Math which Ginny was too 'humanities' to understand (in Percy's own words, that subject bigot). The brothers after Percy, twins Fred and George were as stated, being annoying prats but worked in some sort of prank shop, much to their mother and Percy's chagrin (Between us and her, Ginny never understood why Percy felt a need to voice this opinion, because if Ginny also opened her mouth to provide an opinion on every single thing under the sun, working in a prank shop was perfectly acceptable).

Finally the last brother Ron went to university in Devon, having recently finished his degree in Astronomy combined with Philosophy, and that was it. Growing up with 6 older brothers, Ginny was significantly hot tempered, a trait often made fun of because of her (and her whole family's) flaming red hair.

"Oh for God's sake the two of you, just shut up if you don't want to do any work!" She finally snapped, causing two identical pairs of brownish eyes to look at her.

"Okay!" They smirked, before actually rushing away to the back of the cafe. Ginny sighed, wondering for the tenth time that afternoon why she bothered to come down here in summer. The twins, despite being her favourite, were useless gits-

"Ginny! Where are Fred and George?" Her mother's voice flew out from the front of the store, removing Ginny from her trail of thoughts, where Molly stood with hands laden with grocery bags. Her father, Arthur, she saw outside from the huge floor to ceiling windows, was unloading the boot of their car of more paper bags.

"They ran away after being absolutely useless gits." She muttered angrily, almost aggressively wiping a glass and placing it on the shelves behind her.

Her mother let out a long suffering sigh, but nevertheless joined Ginny in tidying up the cafe. "They're quite irresponsible." Molly sighed, wiping down tables at a superhuman speed.

"Mum if it's okay, can I join Ron and his friends at the party happening down at the beach?" Ginny asked apprehensively. The question had been burning at the back of her mind since the morning when Ron actually invited her to the beach party being thrown by one of the local boys. He had brought his uni friends and girlfriend down from Devon, and Ginny had already met Hermione, Ron's soulmate, if their behaviour was anything to go by.

Being in an all girls school, Ginny practically grew up with her girlfriends gushing about boys and celebrities, often almost swooning like some Victorian women when boys from the neighbouring school passed by their grounds.

However, Ginny was smart- if having six brothers had taught her anything, it was that boys were annoying, and only a few handful of them were actually decent. But now, looking at how close Ron and Hermione were, Ginny was starting to long for her own sort of romance. It had been over a year since she broke up with her first and only boyfriend Dean. She was convinced the breakup had solidified her stance on relationships, which was that relationships were okay but there was no need to actively look for one. Ron and Hermione's lovey dovey-ness was revolting, but uncharacteristically had Ginny pining away for her love story as well. Not that she'd ever admit it, of course.

"Well there's nothing really to do, and if it's busy there's a lot of pairs of hands to help. So sure, go on." Molly finally said and Ginny could almost fist pump, if it wasn't for the wet rag she was holding.

The evening rolled around quicker than Ginny anticipated, and before she knew it, her and Hermione stood in Ginny's small attic bedroom, getting ready for the party. "So, tell me, how was Dean?" Hermione asked, looking behind at Ginny through the mirror, where the younger girl stood blinking away extra mascara.

"Oh well, he was alright. Nothing like fireworks or sparkle." Ginny flushed slightly as she processed her own words. Oh, how she sounded like a lovestruck 12 year old.

However, Hermione didn't seem to mind. She simply grinned. "I'm sure with the right person it's more than just sparkles and fireworks." Hermione winked, and Ginny wondered if there was more to the statement than she understood. However, Hermione was already done with the topic, now going on about her course and what plans Ginny had for after university.

They walked downstairs, finding Ron standing at the door, his eyes glued to Hermione as she walked down the stairs. To be fair, Hermione definitely looked stunning- even if it was for a casual beach party. Ginny noted slightly bitterly to herself how the simplest pair of jeans and top could make one gorgeous to the right eyes. She breathed deeply as Ron wrapped an arm around his girlfriend, the girlfriend in question smirking back at Ginny as she followed them. Okay, very confusing.

The walk to the beach from the cafe was short, and there was already a bonfire going in the distance, with some upbeat song playing from someone's phone. "So, where is Harry and everyone else?" Hermione asked, looking around. Ron still had a hand in Hermione's as the two of them looked around for who had to be Ron's friends. "Neville!" Ron suddenly yelled good naturedly, as a tall guy walked towards the three of them with a big grin on his face.

"Ron! Hermione!" Neville hugged each of them in turn, smiling broadly at Ginny.

"Neville, this is my younger sister Ginny. Ginny, that's one of our friends from uni, Neville." Ron introduced. Ginny waved, which was returned by Neville.

"Is your girlfriend here as well?" Hermione asked, to which Ron added, "Oh, do we finally get to meet the elusive To-Be-Mrs. Longbottom?"

Perhaps having noticed Ginny's confusion, Neville clarified. "These two here haven't had the chance to meet my girlfriend- well, fiance as of a week, yet. In answer to your question Ron, no, she unfortunately couldn't make it. But she's been inviting the two of you over for dinner since ages." He turned to Ron.

"Actually yeah, we should definitely go. Anybody seen Harry?" Ron asked, looking around the small crowd of people. Ginny moved away from the couple to sit next to the fire, and grab a cold beer in the process.

She had just made herself comfortable slightly away from the warm fire when a figure sat down next to her, causing shivers to go up her left side. "Hi, you must be Ginny." The figure spoke and Ginny looked to the source of the voice, to be met by the unruliest mop of black hair she had ever seen on a human, and twinkling green eyes. In the soft light from the fire, they glowed slightly amber.

"I am. But I don't think I've met you?"

Ginny didn't get an answer because Ron's voice interrupted them. "Harry, you came!" He shouted, the figure (Harry) getting up to tackle Ron in a hug.

"Of course I did, getting sloshed at your best mate's beach party is always infinitely better than home." Harry grinned, and Ginny started to feel her heart race.

"I see you've met Ginny." Ron said, sitting down in between her and Harry.

"I just did, yeah." Harry smiled mischievously. They had moved closer to the fire, and in the brighter light, Harry's face was more distinct. And boy was he fit. The hair, even though messy, was not unattractive (quite the opposite), and his face was slightly round, made rounder by the permanent grin which seemed to reside there. And his eyes were covered by round glasses, reflecting off the orange from the fire.

"Well anyway, Gin, this is Harry, my best mate from university. He just made it down here to Cornwall." Ron said, and suddenly got up to fetch more drinks, but Ginny didn't miss the glares Hermione was shooting Ron from across the fire.

"Do you reckon we go a bit further away?" Ginny, being so busy interpreting the look Hermione was giving Ron, hadn't noticed the boy had shifted closer to her.

"Uh, sure." She found herself slightly tongue tied, staring into green amber.

"Brilliant, Let's go?" Harry got up, and lent Ginny a hand. She took it, and a slight warmth, probably not from the fire, ran down her spine when their hands remained connected.

They walked away from the party, not too far that a search team would be required, but just far enough to hold a conversation in peace. The music slightly played in the background, a slower guitar theme, and Ginny turned around to see Ron and Hermione swaying around the fire, the brightest smile settled on both their faces. Ginny simply let out a happy sigh, attention darting down to entwined hands.

"So, Ron tells me you're in drama?" He asked, as they sat down near the water with their legs bent, just that the waves touched their toes and washed back.

"Yes, I am, final year now. Although I haven't heard a lot about you?" Ginny teased. Harry simply chuckled, a sound she realised she found much more attractive than she should have.

"Well it's a shame since I am his best mate but, Harry Potter, third year medic, at your service." He lightly bowed his head, eliciting a giggle out of the girl.

"Medicine huh, that definitely sounds hectic." She commented, as her fingers drew an absent minded pattern in the sand separating their sitting figures.

"I also captain the football team." He replied, eyes shining with humor. Ginny looked up, wondering if it was a coincidence that the man she found extremely fit also checked off all her criterion of 'boyfriend'.

"Oh- well I don't know how you found the time to be here, what with studying and football." Ginny smiled. Harry looked back at her, eyes boring into her brown ones. "Only because I was told someone stunning was going to be here." He said in a lower voice. Ginny flushed under the stare.

"I'm sure having those feelings for your best mate's girlfriend is not a good idea." She teased, feeling some confidence seeping into her. Harry scooted closer, placing a hand on Ginny's.

"And what if I said they weren't for the girlfriend, but for the sister?" His eyes darted down to her lips, her own pulse quickening. Then continuing with her sudden confidence, she unconsciously leaned in, her lips just millimeters away from Harry's. "The sister would definitely like that because she thinks you're extremely fit too." Ginny whispered, her lips just brushing against Harry's before he closed the distance completely.

The two of them sat there, away from the party, lips moving in slow sync as if they were doing the communicating. Getting to know each other in silent movements, a dance of attraction and dominance. Thee music faded in the background, as behind her closed eyes Ginny saw stars, and faintly made out the sound of fireworks exploding behind them. Not that she'd admit it to anyone, of course.

But in that moment, it was just her, Harry and the cool water playing with their feet. And when they finally pulled apart, Ginny secretly swore that she saw her reflection in green pools glow and sparkle.

Not that she'd ever admit it, obviously.

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TAGLIST: @amy-herondale-chase // @purplepygmypuffskein // @ginnypxtter // @alwaysmagica1 // @norakelly // @her-blazing-look //

----

Okay, I hope you guys enjoyed that! I wrote that when I was half asleep, so I'm not even sure if most of it makes sense haha.

As usual, if you want to join the taglist and be notified whenever I write a new Hinny story (which will be much more frequently now), please interact with the pinned TAGLIST post on my account!

Thank you for reading, and please interact with the post! Reblogs are always appreciated but likes and comments are just as amazing! Loads of virtual hugs xxx

#hinny #alternate universe #harry potter #headcanon #harry x ginny #ginny weasley #romance #au #fiction #beach #summer #party #okay out of tags #writing #ao3 writer #taglist

[spidernerdsblog]

Seven

A/N : Inspired by Taylor Swift’s song Seven from the album folklore. This can be read as a standalone as well as a continuation of the Homecoming fic.

Pairing : Peter Parker x Stark Reader

Summary : The first time you and Peter met each other but destiny pulled you apart.

Warnings : none just soft feel good vibes.

"Oh Peter! You're a lifesaver." You exclaimed.

"Thank you so much for letting me copy your chemistry assignment." You breezed into his room dropping your backpack on his bed.

"You should not keep things for last minute Y/N." Peter advises.

"Now you also don't start." You huff as Peter arched his brows shaking his head.

"I know, I know I shouldn't but with this whole hydra base infiltration mission it completely slipped out of my mind."

"Plus organic chemistry is not my cup of tea." You shrugged.

"Says the literal beauty with brains Y/N Stark that's quite hard to swallow." He looked at you skeptically.

"Oh now you think I'm beautiful huh?" You raised a sly brow smirking.

"Umm no - I mean yeah - not like the way you're thinking." He stuttered.

"Relax I was just messing with you." You chuckled.

"But believe me I hate that subject. What will I do if benzene has a constant problem with its electrons?" You complained dramatically.

"It's not that hard as you think, you just need to practice the structures daily." Peter began his lecture on organic chemistry.

"And once you understand the reaction mechanism it will be a piece of cake. Like for example during oxidation reaction.." You cut him off, unable to bear anymore of Prof Parker's lecture on organic chemistry.

"It's boring! Boring! Peter I'm giving you a boring alert!" You exclaimed.

"And If I had to learn about organic chemistry why would I come to you for help I would have straight away gone to uncle Bruce only."

"Okay sorry I just got carried away you know…"

"Yeah I know it’s your favourite subject which helped you make your web fluid blah,blah, blah but I don't have time for that right now so tell me where is your file?" You scrambled on his desk.

"I need to copy it fast!" Peter arched his brow questioningly at you. You gave your signature Stark eye roll that you obviously inherited from your dad.

"I mean take notes and write it down on my own." You clarified.

"In the right drawer of my desk."

"Okay I'll take it. You can now go for your patrolling or whatever spidermaning stuff you do." You waved your hand shooing him away.

You went near his desk and opened the drawer and rummaged around the things in it. You finally found the file and took it out when something caught your eye beneath it. You brushed away the junk stuff on it to find a cute little pink bow most probably it belonged to some little girl because it was quite old and dirty. You took your time to admire it and then turned to Peter who was about to change into his suit.

"Peter, why do you have this pink bow in your drawer?" His eyes went wide darting towards you.

"Give that to me!" He snatched it away from your hand.

"Hey!" You protested. Peter turned around clutching on to the bow.

"Whose is it Peter?" You nudged him.

"No-no one’s." He fumbled

"C'mon tell me about this special girl whose bow you have kept all these years, and we are best friends right? Best friends don't keep secrets. " You made a pouty face.

"It's actually a long time ago nothing interesting to tell Y/N." You went and sat on his bed resting your elbows on your knees and placing your chin on your knuckles. You blinked your eyes giving him your undivided attention. He understood that you wouldn't budge and shook his head in defeat smiling sitting beside you.

"I met this girl once at this park, Aunt May used to take me every afternoon to play. I was around seven that time so was she. She was like a ray of sunshine but the only thing was that her life was covered by dark gloomy clouds." Peter narrated you the story of this mysterious girl from his childhood.

Peter was a socially awkward kid since childhood so he never had that many friends. It was a lovely day Peter was strolling in the park on his own.He heard some noise it seemed as if someone was crying and it came from behind the tree. He walked around to find a girl sitting under the tree crying and went near her.

"Why are you crying?"

She didn't say a word and just looked at him teary eyed. Peter kneeled in front of her.

"Are you lost? I can call my aunt, she can help you.'' Peter asked her sweetly.

"No." she replied weakly.

"Then why are you crying?" fresh tears rolled down her cheeks again.

"Please don't cry." He wiped her tears with his small hands.

"I'm Peter. What is your name?"

"I can't say. Daddy will not like it."

"Okay." he tried to keep the conversation going.

"You come here everyday?"

"Yes. This is my playtime but I don't have anyone to play with."

"I can play with you." She smiled in return.

"What do you wanna play?"

"I don't know, you say." he was about to suggest something when a middle aged lady appeared from behind, most probably her nanny.

"It's time to go home, miss." she informed. And the little girl silently got up and held her hand as the lady took her back to the car parked in front of the park.

"Peter!" May called out as Peter looked back.

"There you are, I was looking for you everywhere." May said as she followed Peter’s gaze.

"Who's she?"

"My new friend, she was very sad as she doesn't have anyone to play with."

"Aww poor girl."

"I said I'll play with her."

"That's so nice of you Peter, you are such a good boy." May ruffled his hair.

Next day Peter was excited to go to the park to meet his new friend. She was sitting under the exact same tree like yesterday he went and sat beside her talking with her for hours. She finally started to open up to him. Both of them now always eager for afternoons a slight escape from their lonely lives. As they enjoyed each other's company laughing and running around the playground.

"Hi"

Her eyes sparkled seeing Peter as if she was waiting for him.

"Hi Petey!'' she exclaimed with joy.

"Can I know your name now?"

"I told you I can't Petey."

"Then what do I call you?"

"Whatever you want." She shrugged.

"Okay let me think." Peter frowned thinking hard when suddenly his eyes twinkled.

"How about Betty?" He asked, all excited.

"I like Betty." She smiled softly. He sat beside you as you talked about your day.

"Today aunt May took me to the cemetery to offer flowers to my mom and dad. I really miss them you know. You're so lucky that you have both your parents"

"My daddy doesn't love me." She sniffles.

"Why is that so?"

"He is always mad at me. He doesn’t like me."

"Hey don't be sad I will always love you to the moon and to saturn."

"When I collect enough pocket money we will move to India okay? I read in a book that it's a beautiful place."

"You pack your dolls and sweaters and I'll pack my Legos. Just you and me. You will never be sad again"

"Okay Petey." she gave a wide smile.

…….

"Hi Betty"

"Hi Peter!"

"I brought you something Betty."

"What Peter?" He handed her a yellow rose.

"May says yellow rose means friendship. And this will always remind you of our everlasting friendship, of me. "

"But I didn't bring anything for you Petey." she pouted sadly.

"It's okay Betty." Something went through her mind.

"Wait!" she pulled one of her pink bows from her braids and handed it to Peter.

"Here take this. This will always remind you of me."

A black Mercedes pulled over near the gate of the park. Betty's eyes went to the car and Peter noticed her body stiffen as soon as she saw a black suited man in black sunglasses step out of the car. He was most probably her bodyguard.

"Hey what's wrong?"

"I need to go. Bye Peter!" She hastily got up from the ground and ran away towards the car. The man opened the door for her. She glanced at Peter as she got inside the car. Peter stood there at his place as he raised his hand to wave her goodbye she waved back too. The black glass windows rolled up blocking them from each other's sight.

"And then she left and never came back. I never got to see her again." Peter exhaled.

"Everyday I went to the park in the hope that I’ll get to see her again but she was gone." Peter took a deep breath sighing fiddling with the bow in his hand.

"I don't know where she is now but I hope she is happy in her life. And all her issues with her dad have been resolved."

"Yup indeed they have got resolved and they are in better terms now." You chuckled lowly as your heart felt heavy.

"Yeah hope so."

"I'm sorry." You murmured.

"Why are you sorry?"

"I'm sorry I didn't come to say goodbye to you."

"What? What do you mean?" Peter asked, confused.

"That bow is mine Peter." You said softly gazing at the bow in Peter’s hand. Peter went silent as a sudden realization dawned upon him his eyes went wide. How could he forget the most important thing about that day, the man who had come to pick up Betty was none other than Happy. That means you're Betty, his Betty.

"You know after all the feud between Stane and my dad. Dad didn't want me to stay in such a dangerous environment and decided to send me to a boarding school."

"The day I was being sent away I cried, begged him to let me to go and see you for one last time but he didn't let me. And I'm sorry Peter that I left like that."

You turned to grab your backpack and took out your diary from it. You opened a significant page of your diary and delicately took out a dried yellow rose.

"I kept this too in your memory." You hold it out in front of him. You both were trying to fight back your tears but finally broke down as tears trickled down your cheeks. Those weren't sad tears, those were tears of joy. Of finally meeting your long lost friend.

Peter couldn't believe that the always sad and scared girl he knew has grown up to be such a fearless, intelligent girl who speaks her mind without giving a damn what others think of her.

When you saw the bow in his drawer you instantly remembered everything that is why you nagged him on telling you the whole story. You wondered how can you both be so oblivious about the fact that you have known each other for years. How couldn't you recognize each other even when you promised each other to remember for lifetime. Maybe you were destined to cross paths and then forget each other to be reunited again for some reason which none of you understand.

"I missed you Betty." Peter sniffled, smiling.

"I missed you too Petey." You held his hand brushing your thumb on the top of his hand resting your head on his shoulder. You remained like that for a while cherishing the moment. Peter silently listened to your slow and steady heartbeat smiling with content.

"You still wanna go to India?" You looked up at him smiling.

"I have got a private jet now." You gave a half shrug, the corner of Peter’s eyes crinkled as he laughed softly.

#tom holland #peter parker smut #peter parker x reader #peter parker imagine #peter parker fluff #peter parker x y/n #peter parker x you #peter parker and reader #peter parker #taylor swift

[kate837]

I Love You

I completely recommend watching 2x14 Borrow or Rob, and the beginning of 2x15 Draw O Cesar Erase a Coward, before reading this fic. While this fic is AU it does have many similarities and minor details that it couldn't hurt to watch the episode first! Anyways enjoy!!!!!

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Kurt had a day.

Not bad. Definitely not good. Just... A day.

A day he'll never forget actually. It was so full of ups and downs. From Shepherd plunging a knife into Sean's heart, to joking with Jane about whether or not he could handle Rich Dotcom. From shooting Rich to... Jane's date. That hurt. When Shepherd shoved a knife through Sean Clarke, Kurt's adrenaline spiked, he felt so alert for so long, he thought he would throw up. He got the same feeling from Jane. Except it was everytime she moved, spoke, brushed a lock of hair behind her ear, etc. Her admission of her date was too much. Kurt went straight home, got a damp rag, and laid down. Staring at the ceiling.

Though he did have to say, it still wasn't the worst part of his day. He felt bad. Witnessing first degree murder should automatically be the worst part of your day.

But when it comes to Rich.....

÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷

Kurt and Rich were sneaking through the secret underground tunnels of Jamison College, in order to get into the Deadalus gathering.

"This is interesting." Rich says, while coming to a stop.

"What?" Kurt replies shortly.

"Well this is the door, but the handle's different."

"Different how, Rich?!"

"Wel- well it's not there anymore?? Probably on account of all the hookers I snuck in it." Rich gestures to the handless door.

"Ok, so what's behind this door?" Kurt inquires, looking around.

"The closet. What are yo-"

"Stand back."

Kurt, with a running start, kicks the door in to find himself deep within the walls of a massive walk in closet.

"Aaaaa just how I remember it."

"SHHHHH!" Kurt puts his ear to the door, the one still on it's hinges, just in time to hear the gasps of attending guests and a soft female voice hushedly asking someone to notify security of the discrepancy.

"Shit."

"What?" Rich asks, genuinely confused.

"The guests are getting security to come check out 'the noise in the closet'."

"Oh. What are we gonna do Stubbles? I'm a sly guy but how do we explain that?"

"Oh God, why do you hate me?" Kurt says looking towards the ceiling.

"What? You're acting strange Stubbles, like weirder than normal. I mea-"

Rich was cut off by Kurt's large hands cupping both sides of his face, to kiss him. Without separating he backs Rich against a near wall, mimicking the earlier noise. Rich squirmed at first but expectedly went along with the unexpected.

"Come on Stubbles, you can at least use some tongue!"

"Shut. Up." Kurt snarls. "Actually. . . I need you to make some. . . noises." Kurt says while blushing furiously.

"Security is on their way." Tasha notifies through comms.

"Yeah you guys better get out of there." Reade warns.

"And say what? Oh hey haven't seen you in a while, please excuse my entering through a closet?!" Rich whisper-yells.

"Everyone shut up!" Kurt also whisper yells. "Now Rich I need you to moan a lot. Loudly."

"You could always make me Stubbles!"

"Rich!"

"Kurt what the hell are you doing?" Reade asks, growing increasingly concerned about his teammate's mental health.

"Rich just do it!"

"OOOOH! STUBBLES, YES!" Rich practically screams.

The party guests turn a side eye. But the security, like Kurt hoped, were turning away, figuring that the noise came from two enthusiastic partygoers. Or if the other patrons were anything like Rich maybe more.

Of course Weller didn't know that yet.

÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷

"Ohhh. Now i get it, I can't believe this is working." Reade says, half laughing at the ridiculous noises coming out of his earpiece. "Hey Kurt it's work-"

"Will you shut up?!" Tasha butts in.

"What are you tal-"

"He doesn't know that they stood down yet." Tasha says wriggling her eyebrows. "Hey Kurt most of the security guards stood down but you still have a couple incoming. . . You might need to amp it up a bit!"

Her and Reade try and fail to stifle their laughter after Rich let's out a completely overexaggerated 'UNGH'!

"Come on Stubbles, they're not buying it, you're gonna have to join me if you wanna get out of here."

"Why me? God why me?" Kurt says again looking up.

Kurt let's out a loud and breathless 'Oh God' that completely undoes all of Tasha and Reade's composure. They are hysterical by now. They completely lost it when Rich and Kurt started harmonizing!

"Stop! Stop!" Tasha said. "I can't take it anymore." She pulls herself up from the floor of the van, where she fell from laughing so hard.

"Yeah guys, the security's gone. They're long gone." Reade adds, clutching his stomach.

"Yeah Rich so goo- wait what?!"

"Yeah you're clear." Tasha clarifies.

"You could have compromised this entire op!" Kurt says furiously.

"We all know that's not why you're mad Stubbles. And as the bible states-"

"I swear to God Rich, if you say another word I will shoot you."

"Another word."

÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷

Kurt flushed red just thinking about it. What was he going to put in his field report?!

He turned to lay on his side to take in the fresh scenery of the wall instead of the ceiling. After laying there for about two minutes, he finally got up to fix himself dinner.

While gathering ingredients, Kurt's mind inevitably wandered back to Jane's date. Everything about it tore at him. What she'd be wearing, what she'd eat, would she cover her tattoos, would she wear makeup. . . . . . . .

His thoughts were interrupted by a phone call.

It was Jane.

A million questions ran through his head. Why is she calling him? Shouldn't she still be out on her date?

He lunged for the phone but then. . . He stilled. Didn't move a muscle. He picked up his phone, turned it over, and resumed gathering ingredients.

Once the phone eventually stopped buzzing, Kurt's inner turmoil came to play.

'Why didn't you answer?! Jane could be in trouble!'

'Be rational Kurt. She's on a date, probably just calling to let you know that she'll complete her paperwork tomorrow, since she's busy.'

'Look, everyone knows you're in love with her, but you can't act like some overprotective boyfriend whenever she's around.'

Kurt shakes his head. He wasn't in love with Jane Doe. Was he?

'Of course you are! That's why you lunged for the phone as soon as you saw her name, but put it down when you realized she was still on a date.'

'No. If I was in love with her, I would have immediately answered.'

'No. You love her so much that you realized that if she's having fun, even with another man, you wouldn't want to ruin that. That's love.'

'What am I supposed to do? I can't love her from afar.'

'This may be selfish but what if I proposed the idea that Oliver is Sandstorm?'

'It could work. But why not just tell her how you feel?'

"Because I'm just not ready yet." Kurt voiced sadly.

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First thing the next morning, Kurt was walking up and down the hallways, over and over again. In order to 'accidentally' bump into Jane on her way to Patterson's lab.

After three consecutive minutes, Jane appeared. She was wearing this loose, pastel green shirt, that roughly covered all of her upper body tattoos as well as bringing out her eyes. She paired it with tight blue jeans, which she almost never wears, and a few silver rings on her right hand.

"Wow." Kurt whispered. What looked like any other outfit, looked stunning on her. He almost forgot to 'bump' into her.

"Jane!"

"Oh, hey!"

"You get Patterson's text yet?"

"Yeah, heading there now."

They walk in silence for a few heartbeats, until they turn into a secluded hallway.

"Jane wait." Kurt says while gently grabbing Jane's arm.

"Kurt, what is it?"

"After you told me last night, about your date. I started thinking. . ."

Jane subconsciously starts to hold her breath. Her expression wreaks of hope.

"Hey! Glad I found you two, Patterson's got something." Tasha pops in.

"Yeah." Kurt says releasing Jane.

Saved by the bell.

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The debrief, while no longer than usual, felt unbearably long. The charged energy from Kurt and Jane's previous conversation still radiated off of them.

While any hope of continuing it was completely shut down by the tattoo clues pointing to three different entities, causing the team to split up completely. Kurt with Roman, Jane with Tasha, and Patterson with Reade.

This was going to be a longgg day.

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The team finally reconvened at about 5pm. They had just finished the field reports. All three of them. It was exhausting.

Fortunately for Kurt his adrenaline spiked right back up about an hour later when Tasha, so graciously, reminded the group that they never filled out the field report for their Deadalus mission. Which caused Reade and Patterson to burst out into a fit of giggles.

"What's so funny?" Jane asked, looking to Kurt, smiling.

Kurt goes wide-eyed. She doesn't know.

This was going to be a long night.

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The team had just finished catching Jane up while writing the 'going to be extremely redacted' field report.

"Wait I'm still confused. If you just wanted Rich to moan, why did you kiss him?"

All eyes look to Kurt.

"We- well I was under the impression that security was going to be charging through the door at any second." He says glaring at the pair of agents who were strategically avoiding his gaze. "And when they did, if they saw us. . . you know-"

"We don't know, Weller!" Patterson howled.

Kurt glared.

"Yeah I kind of want to know how far you were willing to take it Assistant Director!" Reade joined in.

"We're done here." Kurt said as he walked out.

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Jane had just walked out of the locker room to be met head on with Kurt.

"Kurt, hey!" Jane says, surprised.

"Hey."

"Umm. . . I actually wanted to talk to you."

Kurt raises his eyebrows in obvious confusion, cueing Jane to continue.

"When we were. . . Uh you know- outside of P- Patterson's lab. You didn't finish." Jane stumbles through her words as a new wave of nervousness hits her with full force.

"Oh that." Kurt says, grabbing Jane's arm, mirroring his earlier gesture and leading her away from the locker room door.

"Jane, I was up all night and I couldn't stop thinking about it. We need to be careful. Sandstorm feels like it's everywhere."

"You think Oliver is Sandstorm?"

"Yes. . . No." Kurt shakes his head.

"Kurt you're not making any sense." Jane says studying him.

"I know. I know. I just- no I don't think he's Sandstorm."

"Then why did you-"

"I've been trying to come up with reasons of why you shouldn't date him for the better part of 13 hours."

"Kurt wha-"

"And I got nothing, because the only reason is that I love you."

Jane goes wide-eyed. It was as if all the air was sucked out of her.

"I love you Jane."

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#part two? #ILY #ily #I Love You #im back #blindspot au fics

[hearteyes-for-killmonger]

Trick or Treat

A fic in The Kompound series dedicated to the one and only Josephine.

@theegoldenchild @bastioncarterstevens-udaku @hennessystevens-udaku @alyshastevens-udaku @nahimjustfeelingit-writes @chaneajoyyy

It was on sight.

His sleeves were rolled up and she could see the blonde hairs on his forearms. It looked like he had makeup on his wrist covering another tattoo.

Josephine was ready to give up the draws to the Starbucks barista. There seemed to only be two working and one was a skiny twenty-something white guy with curly blonde hair, a close shave, and a tattoo on the side of his neck that kept trying to reveal itself through the collar of his black button down.

Jojo lowered her tinted sunglasses to view his blue eyes unobstructed. He stood at about 6'3.. 6'5 which was perfect since she was 5'10 and unattracted to anything under 6'1.

He tapped the register showing the customer the price, taking their money before moving the line along. A quiet king. Jojo was sold.

She moved her glasses to the top of her head and as he moved around, she watched him calmly assemble a two sandwich/three drink order. That was when she noticed his hearing aid and decided she'd moan so loudly in his ear during sex that he'd have to keep it turned off.

Jojo's turn to order came. The barista's chin lifted to her and she leaned closer to look into his ocean blue eyes before scanning over his skinny but muscular arms. His name tag read Logan.

"Logan..," she smiled, eyes sparkling with shameless flirtation. "I want one of you, can you bring me that?"

He smiled as if his day had been made.

"Tall Caramel Snickerdoodle Macchiato," she ordered leaning in just a bit more at the counter to display her cleavage.

He shrugged as if he'd speak but Josephine quickly realized that 1) he couldn't and 2) he was confused.

"Secret Menu," she clarified.

He shook his head in confusion.

"Tall soy caramel macchiato upside down with two pumps vanilla and two pumps cinnamon dolce," she said quickly while adjusting her glistening cleavage and drawing his eye for an instant until he redirected himself. He had self control which Jojo liked, but she also knew how to break that up. She wanted him sooner than later. Quickly he began putting the drink together himself with great care despite the queue of people in line behind her. That was when she gave him her super-white smile. In no time, his number was on her cup in sharpie and Jojo had walked out into the sunshine, sipping with a new man at her disposal. It was a great day.

Josephine fantasized briefly about what his dick might look like. She had every intention of sucking the pale out of her new caucasian boy toy, but she also had a motive.

"Jojo! I'm a need to put an 'a' on that if you gonna use it. I told you already how it sounds."

The longer Josephine thought and smiled her coke white smile, the easier it was to decide that he'd be the perfect underling to draft into her plan of Halloween mischief. She skipped in the sunlight, her skin glinting. By the time she got back to her car and slid into the driver's seat to start it, she was giddy.

"Why you gotta be such a murderous lil thot," Erik muttered causing Josephine's head to snap up. His voice came crisply over her shoulder as if he were there. She quickly scanned the area, her car, and her clothes finding nothing.

"What the french toast.. Where are you," she asked looking around. She sat in her car in front of Albertson's grocery store beside the Starbucks drinking her drink. Her fingers brushed over the phone number written on the cup in black sharpie.

"Nah don't hide it now," he chuckled. Jojo primped in the visor mirror not giving a damn if he saw the number, she just didn't want her plans ruined.

"I don't know what you mean sir," her voice went up innocently as she applied her clear gloss.

"Jojo... my heart can't take this bullshit right now."

"Don't know what you're talking about. Bye!"

Josephine closed the car door and walked into the grocery store grabbing a cart and wiping it down. She patted down her jacket lapels and the pockets, her tube top, leggings, and boots.

"Don't kill family, Jojo. For once.. let's enjoy a normal holiday."

Josephine looked around wondering where Erik's voice was coming from.

"A witch can't do a lil light shopping in peace?! I'm innocent.. I'm being domestic and minding my business," she smirked looking through tomatillos and avocados. Erik didn't respond.

As she shopped for the ingredients to prepare the perfect Mexi-family dinner, she heard no more voices. Then she got back to the car to put the bags in the backseat. Her witchy senses began to tingle as she turned the wheel to leave on her way back home.

"Don't make me use magic," she paused still looking for the source of sound. "Cuz I really don't feel like it."

"Cheating make you tired huh," he teased. She slurped and sat her cup back in the holder in response. She knew what she wanted to do, she'd jinx him somehow and then laugh until he figured it out. Smiling, she continued to cruise on her way back to the compound.

"What you want nigger," she snapped. She knew he hated it, but he shouldn't have spied on her.

Erik stood to the side of his witchy wife, watching her obvious attempt at pissing him off. He knew she was plotting a long time ago, he just didn't know what.

"Errr those are your ears... This is my mouth and we're both black, nigger."

Erik kissed his teeth audibly. "What are you doing Jo.. you up to something."

"What?! You're breaking up, I can't hear you!"

"Bull."

She couldn't hang up, but she could ignore him. She honestly only wanted to cook in peace and feed the family for the time being, that was true. However, she wouldn't be Josephine without something up her sleeve.. and her fearless spontaneity was a reason why he loved her so much.. wasn't it? Everyone loved her.

She wouldn't flip the house upside down and then fix the issue every single time if she didn't love them and they didn't love her. They needed someone like her to keep them on their toes, looking over their shoulder every 15 minutes. She was the excitement. As the magical one, it was practically her duty to introduce chaos and adventure.

Afterall.. What was fun without a lil fear and screaming?

--

"You stuck your foot in that, girl," Angel praised, rolling her eyes as she pointed to Jojo in approval.

"Mhm," Erik hummed nearly in a food coma.

"Yesss and I HATE avocado with a passion but somehow you got me to eat it and like it," Charlie chuckled.

"Yeah, bitch, ya done good," Homie added, satiated.

Dinner was a hit and the family sat around the dinner table, absolutely stuffed.

"Baby, you did THAT," Ryley sighed, holding her stomach.

"Thank you niggerettes," Josephine grinned glowing with pride. She loved to cook and her skill was greater than that of Wolfgang Puck. As old as she was, and she had some millenia on her, she knew every technique and seasoning there was to know.

Aly'sha belched covering her mouth quickly after and Bastion snickered.

"On that note, let's all take a walk to the outer gate," Hennessy spoke standing from the table to lead the group in the walk outside.

They knew not what waited for them.

--

The weeks of October slipped away and after holding back patiently and silently, Josephine was able to begin the ultimate Halloween mischief she'd been planning for nearly a month. She was itching with excitement. She'd been stealing small amounts of money from Erik and each of the wives here and there just to fund it all and that was hard! Not morally... Ryley and Hennessy were just hard to steal from. She'd had to replace the stolen cash with counterfeit bills to pull it off and they never suspected a thing. She rubbed her palms together with a sneaky grin.

Phase 1 of the plan was already complete. The first order of business was to lure the household into a false sense of security. Josephine had been sweet as pie for a good month or so. There was no reason for things to change.. or so they thought.

Phase 2 was in the works. She had already secured herself a caucasian side piece, now she wanted to flaunt him like a new fur, shake things up. Phase 3 would begin within the chaos. But first.. she needed to call him.

"Logan," she spoke through the phone once she heard him pick up. "It's been.. wonderful.. You giving me massages, free coffees, and doing that thing I like," she giggled. "BUT...," her face straightened and her eyes glowed purple. "It's time," she spoke cryptically. "You know what you gotta do."

When she hung up, she received his text message reading 'I know what I must do.' She sighed a knowing sigh, staring at his handsome picture and replied, "Tell your family you're moving to Kenya and then drop this phone in the acid I gave you. I'll see you at dinner."

She didn't want his family to worry.

--

Three nights before Halloween, Josephine prepared a heaping spread of crab legs, shrimp three ways, oysters, linguini, biscuits, corn on the cob, and bisque. Tasting the bisque with her small spoon, it was perfect. She hummed in satisfaction.

As Kennedi set the table, Josephine grinned evily over the pot of corn and potatoes. She was a wicked but beautiful woman. She just wanted some fun was all. The madness couldn't happen on Halloween because she actually wanted to go to the family party and she knew said family would need a day or two to... recover.

"Jojo, what you doing," Kennedi asked when Josephine had been stirring the bisque too long.

"Oh nothing, I'll call the others."

Josephine's way of calling the others was to push a thought into their heads telepathically to make them all think the kitchen was on fire. They all came rushing down with the exception of Aly'sha who determined her nap was more important.. and Bastion who was busy drying her toenails. For them, she'd had to take out her phone and call.

"Now that we're here as a family," she smiled sweetly serving them each in her kente apron. She gave Erik an extra piece of corn and a kiss on the forehead.

"There's an extra table setting," Ryley noticed. "Who's coming?"

"I don't know, Jojo added it," Kennedi looked up, suddenly as suspicious as the rest of the table who were all looking at the door. It was Logan.. and just as planned, he walked in like he owned the place and took a seat at the opposite head of the table. Josephine walked around and kissed him on the forehead next.

"Oh hell nah," Kimora whispered as Charlie scratched a nonexistent itch on her neck looking to Kennedi and down at the table.

"What da hell," Angel's high voice of confusion sang, echoing everyone's thoughts while Ryley shook her head and quietly bit into a biscuit.

"Disrespectful," Hennessy muttered with Aly'sha nodding in agreement.

"Hella," Bastion added sipping her water.

Erik, however, he sat very still watching the scene ahead of him. Time sat still with him as tiny clinks of water glasses and spoons could be heard and Josephine sat on Logan's lap, feeding him soup and feeling on his tattoos. Every wife wondered silently what would happen.

Erik's chair skid as he stood and all eyes went between him and the scene unfolding on the other end of the table.

Erik passed Angel, Hennessy, Bastion, and Charlie, and Kristina who was sitting there quietly having joined her friends on whim. She was suddenly regretting it, wishing she'd went to her own man Trevante's place instead.

Smirking, he took a step back.

"Have fun," he smiled leaving the room. Bastion followed. Then Kristina. Then Hennessy left. Then Aly'sha and Kennedi. Then Angel and Ryley.

"At the dinner table," Charlie hissed looking at the tall, gangly man. "He looks high," she noticed suddenly. "Not normal high.. it's-" she gasped putting it together. "You bewitched him!!!"

"Shh!!! No.. He's.. just a little crossfaded," Josephine lied watching Charlie rush from the room to tell the others. She let out a deep sigh. Her plan wasn't unfolding the way it was meant to. Erik wasn't even angry, for one. That pissed her off. Because of it, he'd forced her hand.

After kissing the doting Logan goodbye and running her nails through his curly blonde hair, she wrapped her hands around his neck and choked him out until his life left him. Then she ate her bisque.

She'd see them once they relaxed a bit. They'd get over it.. afterall, what was Halloween without a lil trick or treat?

"Now you've done it," she fussed entering the living room where Erik layed tangled in the legs of his wives. Kristina had left. "How dare you not murder the man I cheat with!!"

"I ain't feel like it," Erik muttered, pleased with himself.

"Jojo, we're watching Lovecraft Country," Hennessy snapped. "You wanna watch?"

"No, I'm mad!"

"Then shhh," Bastion and Kennedi said in unison.

That was the last straw for Josephine. They were ruining her mischief! She had to get things back on track.

"Stop that," Charlie pointed when Josephine's eyes turned purple, but it was too late. With a snap of her fingers the power went out. Josephine vanished and only her disembodied dramatic voice was left behind.

"You have offended the great Josephine and now... you all must pay," she cackled wildly, panting slightly in excitement. "I have trapped you all here and if you don't find the bomb I've planted within the next ten minutes... there will be DEAAAATH!! Muahaha!"

She was completely serious, she'd planted a bomb. The collective groan on her household was music to her ears as she watched them drag themselves from room to room in pitch black searching for a bomb with their phone flashlights.

"JOSEPHINE GET YOUR ASS IN HERE," Hennessy yelled tired of the bullshit. She threw a pillow across the floor and Ryley was the next to scream in frustration.

"I'm a kill this girl," Angel muttered, jogging with Charlie to move the babies to the panic room.

"JOSEPHINE," Erik yelled in anger. "Just WAIT till I find you!"

Josephine felt jolly as if she'd accomplished a great feat. She loved her angry husband.

"Ahem," she grinned once they'd eaten up 8 minutes. "I have a clue! The bomb is.. implanted in something.. or should I say... someone. You find it, you win!"

Instantly, the house stampeded into the kitchen finding the body propped up in the chair at the dining table.

"I THOUGHT HE WAS STILL ALIVE," Angel shrieked once she realized. She and Kimora jumped back to grab Erik's arms and he stepped in front of them.

"Get to the panic room," he muttered quickly, "Now!"

Angel, Kimora, and Bastion ran with Kennedi who went to keep them safe.

"Hand me a knife," Erik demanded plunging it into the body once Ryley placed a large one in his hand. Hennessy had to walk away, her stomach feeling weaker.

Recklessly, Erik cut the body open getting blood everywhere and there it was.. a small bomb. Charlie was jittery, covered in blood, but she held her light while Aly'sha looked on to offer any verbal help she could as Erik worked to shut the bomb off and spare the house.

7... 6... 5... 4...

He couldn't figure it out so he threw it and snatched his wives from the room as quickly as possible, pushing them down and diving over top of them as best he could as a cover. For seconds they all laid there in anticipation of the explosion.

"Um," Ryley sighed. Hennessy scrambled to her feet to walk, heading to the panic room.

"Something's not right," Charlie whispered.

Just then Josephine cackled, her large voice filling the room. "It was a trick, the bomb was dead!! Happy Halloween, niggeronis!!!"

Suddenly the power flickered back on, but Josephine couldn't be found. She was long gone having vanished and teleported to the beach. She was laying in the sand watching the moon, still laughing.

#original #erik killmonger #killmonger #erik stevens #the kompound #josephine #erik x oc #trick or treat #eriknutinthispoosy

[rogue-barnes-16]

THE MYSTERIOUS DISAPPEARANCE OF NATASHA ROMANOFF (part II/?)

Summary: after the too convenient disappearance of Natasha Romanoff, the Avengers —a local biker gang— search for help in the most unexpected place in order to get their friend back.

Pairing: biker!Bucky Barnes x reader

Genre: angst-ish (biker gang au)

Tags:

The mysterious disappearance of Natasha Romanoff: @shirukitsune

Permanent taglist: @notexactlythatgirl @thisismysecrethappyplace @sofreakinmanyfandoms @pizzarollpatrol @bubblycypress87 @1a-girl-has-no-name1 @loislp @lovenaturefirst @dyanna-corona @2ptonpt @goodnightmode @disneyprincessbuffyannesummers @mannls @cutie1365 @catch22inareddress @mybooradley @sebastianisasnack @butifulsoul125 @unlikelygalaxygiver

Warnings: language.

A/N: lucky me, when I told you guys to choose a number from 1 to 12, 12 was the second choice. 12 was also the second part of this fic. I wasn't planning on starting this series so soon but meh, here it goes.

Part I

Rogue-barnes-16 masterlist

The steering wheel gripped, my jaw clenched.

"it's Natasha. She... Dissappeared"

I drove at full speed until I reached my building, and, once I exited my car, I made a beeline through the lobby to reach the elevator.

"it's Natasha."

I entered in my apartment and tossed the bag I had been carrying all the goddamn way to there. My door wasn't even locked before I kicked off my heels and started to unbutton my blouse.

"she... dissappeared"

All my clothes, one by one, had been discarded all over the hall on the way to my bedroom.

I let my body fall over my soft mattress, warm blanket and cozy pillows. I was so tired and my bed was so comfy.

It had been a long ass day.

My boyfriend refused to talk to me after the fight we had had; I argued with my boss and Wanda, my secretary and bestfriend got caught in the crossfire; I had to do a whole tone of work, and when I got out of the building, those two fuckers were there.

They had the nerve to come to my work place.

They had the nerve to come to me.

Natasha dissappeared, they had said.

And I didn't know why I couldn't get it out of my mind, because it couldn't be the first time something like that happened in their gang. They hadn't needed my help before, therefore, they didn't really need my help now.

No, it was a lame excuse to... God knows what.

I really could use some sleep, so I closed my eyes and let my body relax as my mind drifted off.

It's Natasha.

She... dissappeared.

I woke up after around three or four hours of tossing and turning due to the redhead's face coming to me every single time I started to doze.

Her eyes, her laugh, her smirk, her ferocity when she defended someone she cared about, when she defended me. All those moments in the bar she listened to my problems, all those times she sided with me even if that meant argue with her friends.

"what the hell?" I rhetorically inquired to myself, taking my hands to the sides of my head. "they got this handled, for fucks sake." I reminded myself "Stop overthinking"

A moment of silence, in which it seemed to me as if I was going to finally resume my sleep.

"fuck."

I left the bed and grabbed a clean outfit from the chair in my besides my desk. Ten minutes later I was heading out with my car keys and my phone.

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

"You planning on letting me in?"

"are you gonna come in or...?"

Bucky and I spoke at the same time, which created an even more awkward situation. He moved aside for me to enter before the vibes were unbearable.

Once I had gotten in, I turned left and went upstairs, where I knew the living room was. "I saw Sam in the balcony." I informed him. "are the rest here?"

"Some of them, yeah" the brunette replied, walking upstairs right behind me. "we've been trying to figure out a way to solve this."

To solve what exactly? I had no idea.

Just like I had no idea of how they could possibly need my help, and, most importantly, how the fuck I could help.

The first person I saw when I entered was Steve. He was sitting by the window in the largest couch, which wasn't that large. Besides him was Rhodey, who gave me a grateful smile that spoke by itself.

Sam got in the room accompanied by Clint who seemed to be complaining about something, until he saw me. "Holy fuck." He then stopped dead in his tracks, with disbelief in his gaze.

"Hey Barton" I greeted him with the most sincere smile that I could find in myself, which sure wasn't a great one.

But honestly, could they blame me?

"Hey Y/l/n" his voice spoke the astonishment he felt more than his words did. "Holy fuck." He repeated, which teared a chuckle from me.

"Okay" I spoke after a moment of uncomfortable silence, at least for me "so... is someone-"

Hesitant steps were heard coming from the third floor, and I turned around, waiting for whoever else was in the house. The rest turned to the stairs too, but they knew who was going downstairs.

"Buck, is that Y/n's car?" the brunette, green-eyed girl had been making her way to us until she saw me standing mid-way between the living room and the hall. "oh my God."

Rebecca, Bucky’s younger sister, didn't think twice before stalking into the room in my direction before crashing against me in a hug, which I instantly returned.

"I missed you so damn much" her whisper was muffled by my jacket. "oh my fucking God."

A smile tugged the corner of my lips "missed you too Becca" I pulled away, just to properly see her. "You look different"

"I chopped my hair off" she stated proudly, as if I hadn't noticed the most obvious thing of her change of style.

"looks great"

One of the boys cleared his throat and I remembered we weren't alone.

"okay" I spared Rebecca one last smile before walking towards the boys. "someone explain what happened. Like" I gave them all a warning look. "I want an actual explanation, not just one dramatic statement." My eyes landed on Steve, who had already his eyes shamefully fixed on the ground.

"C'mon Becs"

Becs.

No one would call Rebecca Becs apart from Bucky. No one was allowed too, because Rebecca hated it, except when Bucky said it.

When I first came to know about how it started with her older brother teasing her, it seemed so adorable to me, yet so hilarious.

I looked over my shoulder to peek at Bucky, whose hand was on Rebecca's back to guide her out of the room.

"I wanna know what happened too" she complained in lower voice, almost pleading her older brother with her jade eyes. "Nat's my family too."

Bucky denied "we talked 'bout it Becs. 'M sorry" what happened next, for some reason, shocked me and confused me at the same level.

Bucky glanced at Barton and gave him an almost imperceptible nod, right before leaving her sister and shutting the door behind him.

"Natasha was spying on someone" the dirty blonde man spoke. "She'd been for a while and-"

"who?"

"it's better if you don't know" I scoffed. "she would call us twice a day."

"until she didn't" I finished his explanation. "why was she spying on that someone"

"we owed a favor" Sam joined the conversation with that short and vague statement.

"to whom?" I questioned with my arms crossed over my chest.

"we can't tell you." Steve's words made me lose the one bit of patience that I had left in my body after a sleepless night and an stressful morning. "we really can't."

I tried to cool down before speaking, still, my words came out sharp and tense, and just a bit frustrated. "why am I here? Where's the rest?" they exchanged a couple of hesitant looks. "why. Am. I. Here."

"Y/n" Rhodey's voice was careful and worried as he meticulously measured his words. "we really need your help. We have nothing else, no one else, but we're gonna need you to trust us."

My humorless, sarcastic laugh was accompanied by a scoff, which made it sound even more dramatic. "that's not happening." shaking my head no, I turned around to leave.

I was rushing down stairs when I heard Bucky’s voice. "Y/n, wait" for some reason I didn't acknowledge, I did wait. "where are you going?"

"home." I bitterly stated. "I don't even know why I came in first place"

" 'cause you got a gut feeling" he walked downstairs when he was sure I wouldn't leave immediately. "and 'cause Nat's important to you."

He leaned against the corner of the wall, waiting for me to say something.

"why the hell did you leave the room?"

It was obvious that my question took him by surprise. "uhm" a frown made its way to his confused gaze. "I thought it'd be better if I wasn't there."

If you didn't have to see me, his blue eyes said.

"this is your house"

"I don't want to make it to make it more difficult than it already is" he shrugged, fidgeting with one of his rings. "I already fucked it up at the parking lot and--"

"Bucky" I pinched my nose, feeling the headache that would come sooner rather than later. "I didn't even know they were here" I clarified. "I came to see you"

His confusion grew in his face as he pushed himself off the wall with questioning eyes. "I mean-- why?"

"you said it." the car keys that I had picked out of my pocket while I traveled downstairs, returned to their original place. "I got a gut feeling. A bad one." I looked through the small window besides me. "You told me I was your only option. I came here 'cause I wanna help." he pressed his lips in a thin line. "I came for you to tell me what's happening, but no one tells me anything."

Silence.

"Bucky, I can't help if I don't know what's happening."

More silence.

"And y'all can't ask me to trust you." that was an actual warning, and he understood. "so either you tell me or--"

He walked towards me and reached behind my back to grab what I knew was his leather jacket and gloves, which he always kept on the hall besides the main door.

I spun ninety degrees and moved aside for him to have it easier to put his jacket on. "here" he handed me what used to be my bike helmet and grabbed his own.

"Where we going?" I inquired, making my way side by side with him towards his garage, already zipping up my leather jacket.

"Need a coffee." He replied climbing on the bike. "a good one. What 'bout you?"

He was already putting his helmet on, and I took it as a queue to hop on top of the back seat of his bike. "I could use one, yeah" I mimicked his previous action and, when I heard the engine, I secured myself by holding onto him.

"we'll talk while we have that coffee, okay?"

"Sure" I agreed, right before the bike took off at an insane speed, which made me hold onto him tighter.

Maybe, just maybe, I missed it a little.

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