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flannelpunkcalum · 5 years

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The Devil Wears Kevlar - Part 11

Watch this space - TDWK masterlist coming soon!

okay, so Calum doesn’t get shirtless or anything in this chapter - he doesn’t even show up so i figured i’d at least give you guys the benefit of this picture. anyway this is the penultimate chapter of The Devil Wears Kevlar! Next week is gonna be super action packed so mark your calendars. After that... we’ll just have to see. other news includes trigger warnings: Aspen briefly experiences something akin to a PTSD panic attack, and there are mentions of death of a loved one but honestly they’re not as intense as the other chapters I just thought I’d let you know ANYWAY HAVE FUN I CAN’T WAIT UNTIL NEXT WEEK

“Mac! Look alive!”

Aspen jerks her head up. Ashton was looking at her across the lab, eyebrows raised. Right. She had been doing - um, she had been working on…

“I’d really like that graph by the end of the day.” Ashton prompts gently.

Right! Graph. Jesus, was that all? It really shouldn’t have taken her this long to begin with. “Yeah, sorry, I’m just having trouble with the statistics. There’s something weird about the indications of significance. I’ll fix it and then it’s all yours.” She says quickly, focusing on the graph in front of her and not just middle distance.

Ashton smiles bittersweetly at her. She can see it out of the corner of her eye. She probably wasn’t supposed to notice that. The thought is surprisingly funny; it’s just one more thing she’s not supposed to see. “Thanks, Mac.” He says before he turns back to his own work.

“Mac” is new. He never called her that before her little, uh, incident. He wouldn’t have let her work on the error bars on her own before, either. He would have come over and fixed them himself and printed it, while he was at it. Unmean but brisk, with no room for weakness.

Was that what she was these days? The team’s weakness?

Aspen taps a little harder on the keyboard. It helps a little.

It’s been a week. A whole week since her untimely dismissal from the great office of Mr. Calum Hood. A little more than that since her cheek had gotten filleted. She was going to get the stitches taken out that evening after work. It was pissing her off that the rest of her wasn’t healing as quickly.

Oh. She blinks at the screen. Turns out the statistics were an easy fix. She hits print and takes the tiny commute to the printer before handing it to Ashton. He smiles at her for it, but his eyes catch on her scar again. Only for a second, but she notices. It happens a lot now, but she still notes it, every time. She can’t help it.

Personally, she kinda thinks the cut looks rakish. She’s started answering to inquiries about it with “you should see the other guy” and her very best mischievous smile, and people usually act a little more relaxed after that, which is nice. At night when she’s brushing her teeth, though, she finds herself looking at it and wondering if she’s always going to be introducing people to her scar.

Still, it could be worse. Falcone’s never gonna call her his pretty little girl ever again.

He’s in trouble. That’s another thing that’s changed over that week. Falcone’s been indicted for a bunch of charges related to the Sionis and Trident murders, and he’s pleading not guilty but they’ll just see how it all shakes out in court. Her only contact with Calum is emails from his lawyers updating her on what the prosecution needs from her in anticipation of the trial. She can’t believe she’s going to be so stupid as to testify against a mobster, but hey, she has a feeling the night guard is going to be keeping an eye on her for the next few weeks.

It’s funny; she feels paranoid, but it’s not paranoia if it’s true, right? After a few days of anxiously taking taxis everywhere, worrying that the cabby is on Falcone’s payroll, she allows herself the much cheaper danger of walking home. She’s heard a lot more suspicious noises on rooftops lately. Maybe it’s just wishful thinking, but it’s nice to pretend Calum is looking down at her from above and getting pissed that she’s on her own like that. Maybe if she starts waltzing into crack dens he’ll talk to her again. Maybe she’ll join a Russian roulette team.

Aspen toys with the thought of taking up cliff diving as she settles back down at her desk. The BAMF project is going swimmingly - they decided to use Tencel for the bandages and now she was helping to determine a good formula for the “healing fluid”. She loved doing R&D like this. It was only a mixture of salts and synthetic proteins, but she could make it sound like miracle juice. If she hadn’t been quite so observant that night, she would have been thrilled to be back down in the lab, doing what she loved.

But here she was.

It’s 4:30, and although it’s only a Monday she can still read the atmosphere in the lab. She’s not likely to be needed any more tonight. Plus, she’s gonna run out of mutilation-based sympathy at some point, she might as well use it while she can. “Hey, Ash, is it cool if I head out?” She says, rolling her chair over towards his desk. “I want to get my stitches out and there might be less of a wait if I go now. You know, so I miss the rush of all the people who also get off at 5 and need to get their stitches taken out.”

Ashton chuckles, putting the graph aside for a second. “Will you come in early tomorrow to score the mice?” He says, after a long moment.

Good. That’s good. She’s edging away from pity. “Yeah, sure, whatever you want. I’ll bring you something from the gift shop.” Aspen teases as she walks her chair back to her desk to grab her things.

It will be nice to come in early, anyways. She finds that she misses the half-hour of quiet she used to get before the day began. Being the first in the lab and checking up on the mice, changing their bandages and marking how they’ve healed, sounds really nice right about now. She’s always felt a bit of resonance with those little animals, anyways. She, too, is soft and skittish and just wanting to sleep in a pile of wood shavings.

As she enters the elevator, she lets herself think for the first time that maybe it’s good that Calum didn’t let her join him. It’s a thought that’s been hovering around the edges of her mind for weeks, but only now is it becoming concrete. She thinks she’s tough, sure, but she’s let herself be treated so gently the last few days and she’s starting to think she might miss it. Maybe she’s more delicate than she ever imagined. I mean, if she identifies with a mouse, how’s she gonna stand up to fucking Catwoman? Maybe Calum didn’t try to transfer her out of spite, or a pigheaded desire to protect her. Maybe he just saw something in her, some hairline fractures that would widen into faults under any pressure. Maybe he heard her tell Liam what time he got into the office.

Not that it mattered. She’d never see him again.

She had tried. The day she had been, uh, let go, she had tried to come back at the end of the day. Her excuse was that she wanted to say goodbye to Janet, but she was really hoping to talk to Calum about some of the evidence she had collected and just… make her case properly, she didn’t know. But when she had said hello to Jan, let herself be hugged and fussed over, once that was all out of the way, well… “He doesn’t want you up here.” Janet had told her, glancing at Mr. Hood’s office door. It was closed. Aspen didn’t know if he was in there, if he was listening. “He told me to tell you he was out if you ever came up. I’m really sorry, Aspen, but you know how he gets.”

It had been another blow, then, the kind that left you mercifully numb for a while before it started to hurt. “I understand.” She had managed, finally. “You’re just doing your job. Oh, my god, you’re gonna have so much work now.” And that had been that.

Now she wondered if it had been a test. If she was supposed to march in there and demand he at least let her talk to him, goddamn it, so she didn’t go crazy sitting on all this. But if it was a test, she had failed, and it was no one’s fault but her own.

It was nice outside, but windy, and on her walk to the hospital the breeze picked up her hair and whipped it around her face. She had started wearing it down more, at least while her cut still looked raw and meaty when it wasn’t bandaged up, but it was just getting annoying now. She wasn’t sure why she was even bothering to hide the cut. It wasn’t even that gross now, anyways, and if she could live with it so could that weird guy on the train who had stared at her so long he almost missed his stop.

The waiting room in Gotham General was busy, which shouldn’t have surprised Aspen. Shit went down in this city every single day. Maybe Calum had popped out on his lunch break to break a few arms. The thought of him in that Armani suit busting kneecaps was funny, making her bite her lip as she checked in.

He did that a lot, you know, she’d read an analysis of injuries attributed to the Bat. She was just thankful she had fallen stupid head over heels for a vigilante that practiced non-lethally. It made sense; he had an incredible position of power, and if he used that power to kill people who had been struggling all their lives - like, if he had killed the Joker she would have been cool with it, but the thugs, the kids like Liam… She wouldn’t have been able to stand for that.

She pulled a scientific journal out of her bag and settled in to wait. She wanted something good to bring up at the next lab meeting, put this period of weakness behind her. She had a feeling the efficiency of the collagen synthesis could be improved. They were currently using cultures of mouse fibroblasts to produce it, since using yeast hadn’t worked out, but she had seen some recent research on using insect stomach lining to produce another factor that hadn’t been viable in yeast models, and maybe if they -

Aspen heard a bang, far off, and jumped in her seat. So did the man next to her. Her heart started thumping, and she reminded herself that this wasn’t another incident. She wasn’t in any danger. She could hear yelling, back in the ambulance bays, but this was a hospital. Some people were scary when they were sick. There were people here trained to keep them and her safe. She should know, her grandpa had been dangerous in his last few days in the hospital, he had been a big football player (the shouts were getting louder) and in his last few days, in his last few days he had been so angry and he had to be restrained, she understood it could happen to anyone -

The bay doors were there one moment, and then she saw them bend. Aspen’s rising panic catches in her throat. It was happening again. She stands up, quickly, scrabbling in her jacket pockets for that knife. She had stopped carrying it a few days ago, feeling silly, but now, now - fuck, it really wasn’t there, why hadn’t she kept it - someone huge and hulking ran through the waiting room, yelling, screaming something, and burst through the sliding doors like the glass was just rain. It was over in a second. Aspen stands there, flooded with adrenaline, as a few orderlies and security guards chase after the woman. There are fat drops of blood among the broken glass.

The nurses are saying something to calm the room down. Aspen can’t hear it. Fuck, she had thought - she had really thought, for a second, that shouting, that something was for her. She sits back down. Her journal is all crumpled now.

Fuck.

But she stays. Some people leave, but she stays. She needs to get her stitches out, and anyways there’s nowhere safer when a big beefy thug is on the loose than the place said thug was trying to escape. Right?

Her name gets called soon enough, and she gets to wait a little longer in a little emergency room cubicle until a doctor can come and slip the stitches out of her face. The doctor’s a little shaken, too. She doesn’t make much small talk as she’s cleaning up Aspen’s face with an alcohol wipe. Aspen’s still sweaty and jittery. “I know there’s like doctor-patient confidentiality, but can I ask… is that lady gonna be okay? She just ran through that door like -”

“I’m sure she didn’t feel it.” The doctor says, setting the wipe aside. She’s still focused on Aspen’s face, she won’t look her in the eye for more than a coincidental fraction of a second. “You never saw someone on Venom before?”

“Venom?”

The doctor smiles. Her hands are cold. “You’re new to Gotham, aren’t you?”

“Yeah. I’m gonna have to start learning a little faster.” Aspen says, glancing at the blurry red line that was her scar in her own vision.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to -”

“No, no, it’s okay. I’m very new.”

“I saw the report from when you got the stitches in. You’re very brave.”

“Thank you.” Aspen says, quickly. She doesn’t want to talk about that, just get the stitches out. “But, uh, what exactly is Venom?”

“‘S a drug. Only really around in Gotham. We’re trying to figure out an effective treatment for - depending on the dose, it can make you feel really strong and euphoric, and if you take enough it just - it has this unbelievable effect on the muscles. It’s incredible.” Aspen feels scissors snip right by her face, cold where they brush her cheek. “And we have no idea how to deal with it. Most people we just hold and put on a saline until they detox, but the ones who have OD’d - it’s hard to restrain them.” Aspen feels the threads loosening under her cheek. “This might hurt a little.”

Aspen white-knuckles the edge of the hospital bed she’s sitting on and holds her breath as the suture thread slips right out from under the skin on her cheek.

“Perfect. No bleeding, even. You took good care of it.” The doctor says, putting the suture aside. Aspen looks at it on the tray. It has a few bits of her face stuck to it, pieces of healing scabs. It looks so small.

As she says thank you and prepares herself to go, the doctor stops her with a look as she’s washing her hands. “The report said you saw the Batman?”

Aspen feels a twinge of pain, and curls a hand into a fist to try and hide it. “Yeah, he, uh, basically saved my life.”

The doctor turns off the tap. Her eyes are shining. Aspen wonders how young she is. “What’s he like?”

“Oh, uh… brisk, I guess.” Aspen blinks. “He didn’t really give me a chance to get my bearings, y’know, he just hauled me up and pulled me out the window. It was all really fast.” It’s different, telling this story to a stranger. She wants to make herself sound braver in it. Make Calum sound kinder. Well, he saved her life, that was kind. Easier, she guesses.

The doc is still looking at her expectantly. Aspen feels a little glow of pride, attaching herself to the Bat like this. She’s never really thought about him this way. “Um… He’s really caring, when you get down to it. When he took me to the squad car the cops had their guns drawn at first because, you know, he’s like a vigilante and all, but it really freaked me out. He got between me and them and made them put their guns down before he let me get in the car. He didn’t have to do that. I know the vigilante thing is kind of controversial, but I think he really is a good guy, you know?” She shrugs, wondering if her little smile gives anything away. That she knows him. That she’s fallen for him before.

“Wow.” Says the doctor. “Yeah, wow. That’s incredible. I’m so glad you’re safe.”

“Yeah, well, me too.” Aspen’s smile is easier, now. It feels different, without her cheek stitched up.

The doctor laughs. Aspen feels charming again, even with the scar. “Yeah, well, the next time you see him, tell him to look into that Venom stuff, alright? We could really use the - what do they call him, the - the world’s greatest detective on this case.”

“I haven’t heard that one before.” Aspen says, taking a step into the hallway.

“Well, it’s what they call him. Have a good night, alright?”

“You too!” Aspen gives a little wave to the doctor, and finds her way back to the emergency room exit. Someone has already swept up most of the glass.

It sticks in her mind as she begins walking to the subway. Someone should tell him. Bring his attention to this. A new street drug without a treatment was a bad thing no matter what, but if it made you strong enough to bend steel - Batman should turn some of his thousands of dollars in funding to that.

World’s greatest fucking detective. He couldn’t detect his way out of a paper bag.

That was mean. Aspen just thought that at him because she was bad. Probably if it was a big paper bag he could manage.

Anyway, it didn’t matter if she should tell him about it or not. Calum Hood had decided never to see her again, and it wasn’t like Batman had an open door policy.

Wait.

The Batman was supposed to be a ghost; you never knew where he was going to be. Except she knew, and the GCPD knew, that at the next major disaster he would be there. And he wasn’t going to ignore her if she showed up there, all cute and vulnerable without a bulletproof vest. He’d see she was serious. He’d see she could take the heat. And he’d see there was even a convenient project for her to work on to keep her cover.

Was she really going to do this?

Aspen took a deep breath. She didn’t have to decide now. If something came up, she’d think about taking that risk.

It was the kind of thing you couldn’t take back.

For the next few nights, Aspen compromised. She listened to the news while she was doing dry lab prep, and turned on all the notifications on her “Gotham News & Alerts” app, but she didn’t, like, start going out and trying to buy Venom right from the source. It gave her time to think. Really, it was bold of her to think he didn’t already have a crack team of biologists - just that he preferred the processing of the GCPD lab so they had it all recorded, maybe. He had to have a real reason for this, other than just... doing this to hurt her.

She was working on her miracle juice when it happened, with the news on and some 80s pop playing overtop to help her focus. There had been a break-in at an upscale cocktail party, which was good, and a riot at the Arkham Asylum - nothing huge, that happened all the time. Batman probably didn’t get called for those. When the news came through, she almost missed it under her music.

“The small riot at Arkham Asylum-” Ha, Aspen thought, small riot. “-has escalated after Pamela Ivey, a.k.a. Poison Ivy, began to demolish the heritage building. Known for her control over plant life, Ivey has used her abilities to destroy the foundation of the building. No inmates are reported missing, but GCPD are suggesting that all citizens in the area begin evacuation to the city centre. We’ll bring you updates as they come, but for now, we turn to journalist and Gotham history expert -”

Aspen bit her lip and tried not to freak out. Just because it was the first disaster to come along since her painful rejection, that didn’t mean it was time to make her move. What was she going to do during a prison break, anyways? She didn’t know anything about working with psychiatric patients, or overseeing evacuations, or -

“Update now from Arkham Asylum, police efforts to control the plant growth are failing. Experts are now trying to evacuate the Asylum in preparation for controlled burn, but analysts are concerned that moving large groups of inmates might end up just like every other -”

Plants. Jesus Christ, she knew biology. She couldn’t believe it didn’t hit her sooner. Aspen squints at the news report and tries to do some on-the-spot identification. Her pulse was racing. Taxonomy had her pulse racing. She couldn’t believe it. Now she got why Calum did this.

She needs to focus. It looked like… like… It looked like jute. Okay, there was that. She knew the plant. She knew the plant! Fuck, okay, she couldn’t get ahead of herself. Focus. She had read something about jute recently, something as to why it wasn’t bigger as a source of natural fiber… part of it was the water required, part of it was… cold sensitivity. The plants didn’t respond well to cold! That was how they were gonna beat this without burning down a heritage building. Batman had to have something that could do that, right?

Oh my god. She actually had to do this.

Aspen takes a deep breath. She had thought that she would have a choice, when the time came. That she’d be able to weigh her options objectively, and maybe sit this one out if it came to that. But she couldn’t. Her mind was already racing. She’d stick a textbook and a cookie sheet in her backpack, improvise some armor. She should wear black. If they were evacuating inmates, she should plan for the worst, this was Gotham after all. She packed her pocket knife.

As Aspen hustled to the door, she paused with her hand on the knob. She should say goodbye to her roommates. In case -

No. She couldn’t. It might destroy whatever foolhardy courage had gotten her this far.

She would just have to be careful not to die.

#this chapter is just all about aspen baby #if you don't like her this is not the chapter for you #my writing #tdwk #tdwk11 #the devil wears kevlar #calum hood series #calum hood fic #ch blurb #5 seconds of summer series #ceo!cal #batman!au

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harveydont · 2 years

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His name is Vegeta Prince of the Saiyans and he has long ebony black hair (that has nothing to do with his name) with purple streaks and red tips that reaches another foot above his head and fiery black eyes like a dead star and a lot of people tell him he looks like King Vegeta (AN: if you don't know who that is get da hell out of here!). He's not related to Yamoshi but he wishes he was because he’s a major fucking hottie. He's a devil monkey but his teeth are straight and white. He has a dark brown tail. He's also a planet conqueror, and he's part of a dictatorship called FriezaLand in space where he's first class (he's royalty). He's a goth (in case you couldn’t tell) and he wears mostly black. he loves Hot Topic and he buys all his clothes from there. For example today he was wearing a midnight blue undersuit with matching armor over it and a tan kevlar miniskirt, kevlar shoulder guards and white combat boots. He was wearing black lipstick, white foundation, black eyeliner and red eye shadow. He was walking on namek. It was bloody and there were explosions everywhere so there was no goku, which he was very happy about. A lot of preps stared at him. He put up his middle finger at them.

#vegeta #dragon ball #dragon ball z #scribbles

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the-writing-mobster · 3 years

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Chapter 80, the finale of What Do You Want is finally out!

You don't want to miss the exciting conclusion! Read it here on AO3!

~~~

The armies were gathered in Ghost Town. Common people from all realms of the Underground. Royal guardsmen who had turned to their side. Thousands of prisoners. Criminals. Families. Fathers. Mothers. Sons and daughters. All joined for one purpose. Liberate Hell from the Devil himself. Indeed, a task of biblical proportion.

Frisk herself stood hunched over the suit of armor Undyne had picked out for her. Blackened armor. A breastplate, wrist and shin guards, a chain mail dress and a kevlar vest underneath. All over a woolen undershirt and loose, black leather pants that she'd wear layered over long johns. She'd be well protected…

“Need some help with that?” asked Undyne as she entered the tent. Frisk glanced back at her and nodded slowly. Undyne smiled and gestured for her to hold up her arms and stand hip width apart while she fastened her armor to her.

“The breastplate is gonna be heavy, but I’m sure you can handle it. Besides, we’re not going to be in the thick of battle anyway.” Frisk nodded. She bit her lip and looked at Undyne. Guilt poured through her at the reminder that they’d left Alphys alone with the Counselors… alone with Asgore and his evil. She could’ve saved her. They could’ve taken her with them… She clenched her jaw and looked away from Undyne.

“Undyne…” she murmured. Their eyes met and Undyne hummed her unspoken question. Frisk’s lip trembled and she hung her head. “It’s almost over,” she whispered. Undyne frowned and nodded. Her yellow eye welled up with fresh tears and she sighed low and heavy. Exhausted. They were exhausted.

With a clap of her hands, Undyne stepped away and nodded her head. Frisk was ready. They gave each other a tired smile.

“Shall we?” Frisk nodded and followed after Undyne. Where was Sans? She couldn’t leave without saying goodbye, but… if their conversation last night was any tell, he probably wouldn’t want to hear it.

Her heart squeezed with grief, twisting and tearing apart. Frisk's lips curled as a lump grew in her throat. Don't cry. You cry too much.

“So… if this mission goes smoothly… will this be the last time I see you?” asked Undyne with a pained choke. Frisk avoided the blistering yellow eye of the former General. She sniffed and wiped her eyes roughly.

“I—”

“—Don't be ridiculous.” The girls jumped at the sound of Asriel's voice. Frisk shot a surprised look at him and he gave a wry smile. He certainly had a way of getting around.

“Jesus Asriel, you're turning into Sans, sneaking up on people like that,” grumbled Undyne. Asriel grimaced at the prospect, the face of disgust making Frisk snicker.

“Ew… Frisk! I need to tell you something before we go,” he said. Frisk quirked a puzzled brow and reached down for his little plant claws to cling to her before dragging him up into her arms.

Her face asked a thousand questions that couldn't muscle past the lump in her throat. He gazed across at her with a sad glint in his eyes. Of all goodbyes, she realized saying goodbye to Asriel would be the hardest.

He glanced at Undyne and grabbed her with one of his vines, gesturing for Frisk to walk. It was then Frisk noticed the red glint of Chara's locket intertwined in his roots.

Undyne eyed him curiously as he led them from the crowd. Frisk glanced around with a frantic breath.

“Frisk, you're not going to sacrifice yourself—”

“—Asriel, I don't need to hear this,” groaned Frisk as Asriel began his argument. Undyne tried to remain neutral. Losing Frisk would sting, but if it was for the good of monsterkind, she understood that it was a sacrifice that had to be made.

“No I'm being serious. It's not going to be you because… it's going to be Chara.” Frisk froze at the words. Chara? But… she said she'd never give her soul up. She made that very clear! Her heart fluttered in her chest and she felt dizzy. Stars burst at the edges of her vision and her feet stumbled. Undyne caught her effortlessly and set her back on her feet.

Undyne shot a shocked look at the flower. Chara? If she remembered correctly, that was the name of the fallen princess and she'd died ages ago! Her eyes flickered to the locket and a memory snapped in place.

Frisk had taken that locket from her, Undyne giving it to her with little resistance. That locket… Chara. It suddenly all made sense.

“What?” croaked Frisk dumbly. Her eyes welled up and a sob escaped her. Asriel nodded firmly.

“She told me last night. She said that… she had nothing left and you had everything to lose. She said it wasn't fair.” Frisk shook her head slowly as tears poured out of her eyes. She covered her gaping mouth with a hand and leaned against a brick wall.

“How long has this been an option?” growled an angry Undyne, her eye narrowed with simmering fury. All this time Frisk had been beating herself into submission to sacrifice her soul and there was an easy solution at their behest?

“That doesn't matter. Chara needed to make this decision on her own.” Frisk nodded slowly at Asriel. Her feet shifted and she choked.

“Capitol Brigade move out!” Frisk let out a panicked breath. That was the squadron Sans was aiding! Asriel's eyes widened and he smiled softly.

“Go to him,” he beckoned. Frisk nodded as Undyne plucked Asriel off of her shoulder.

She took off running. The damned armor definitely slowed her down, and it was noisy too. But hopefully that would make people get out of her way.

Some shouted for her blessing, throwing their adoration in her face, but she ignored them. Shouldered past as if they didn't even exist. No. The only one who existed in that moment was Sans and she was about to lose him until the end of all of this. But she had to say it…

“Sans!?” she gasped as her eyes fell on the red mist surrounding a fleet of soldiers.

She burst through the ranks and their eyes met. The smoke dissipated immediately at the sight of her and he held his arm out to her.

She ran to him, crashing into his arms. Melting into his embrace.

“Are you ok?” Frisk nodded fervently and choked on her tears. Nothing existed. Nothing else but him.

He gripped her chin and forced her face up to look at him. Those brown eyes filled with tears. He brushed them off of her cheek and hugged her again. Tight. He knew what he would lose at the end of all of this. Seeing her only reminded him of it, as if he'd even forgotten.

“Sans…” her breath hitched in her throat and she pressed her lips against his fangs with reckless abandon. She would stay. She would be his. The perfect life they'd fantasized about could be real. Because he was real, and her love for him was real too. And she loved him. So much. With every fiber of her being.

He pulled away, his thumb tracing lines on her beautiful skin. “What's gotten into you?” he asked, glancing at his men, who were watching with enthralled curiosity. After all, seeing the "angel" act so human…

“I just wanted to say… see you soon…” Sans gazed down at her, until the meaning of what she meant suddenly crashed against him like a tidal wave. See you soon…

He kissed her hard, a heavy breath of air puffing out of his skull.

Frisk pulled apart all too fast and cupped his face in her hands. He smiled gingerly at her and nodded his understanding. She smiled at him. A beautiful smile. They'd be ok. They belonged to each other and they would be ok.

“See you soon,” he whispered. Her smile brightened and she nodded. Sans didn't want to let her go, but he knew he had to. He would see her again, and that was all that mattered. With that, he watched as she disappeared into the crowd.

Chapter theme:

#wdyw #underfell #underfell frans #fanfic #underfell sans #underfell frisk #frans #my art #last chapter #it took forever to write this guys #it's 60 pages long #Nothing screams finale like a chapter exceeding twenty thousand words #I hope you guys like it!#chapter excerpt #moodboard #aesthetic board #Spotify

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neverending-space · 4 years

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Jim Moriarty x reader

A/n: So whenever I’m procrastinating, I write stories and I thought, why not share them, you know, cause I’ve been putting off writing ‘Get away’ and I was watching Reichenbach Fall

Note: there’s no real conclusion, it’s just for fun.

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“There’s been another one! Pentonville!!” Donovan threw her phone down as Greg swerved past other cars in desperation. “Greg you’re gonna kill us!!” You shouted, holding onto the seat in front of you. The minute the car stopped, you, Donovan and Greg ran out the car and into the building, putting on Kevlar vests (just in case) on your way to the vault. The vault opened and there, sitting on the throne in all his Irish glory, decked out in the Crown Jewels, was James Moriarty. “No rush.” He said in a carefree manner, waving his hand for theatrics. ‘God I love that man...’ You thought, snapping a picture of him before SWAT cuffed him. “What are you doing!?” Donovan asked you, venom laced in her voice. “What do you thing I’m doing Donovan? This is literally the coolest thing ever.” You sigh, putting your phone in your back pocket. As SWAT marched James past you, he stopped and leaned in. “Send that to me, will you darling?” He winked as they pulled him away. You struggled hard to keep the blush off of your face. Ever since the bombing case two years ago (which John dubbed ‘The Great Game’) you had had an incredibly annoying infatuation with the criminal. You would often get little notes signed with a simple ‘JM’. You knew it was a terrible idea to get emotionally invested, but oh well right? Greg gave you a strange look as you two were walking out to wait for John and Sherlock. “What?” You ask, turning you head slightly to get a better look at him. “Nothin” He brushed you off. “Greg...” You sighed, shaking your head. “It’s just- you act... weird around him.” He jerked his head in the direction of Moriarty’s departing police car. “I act weird around everyone.” You roll your eyes, but you can feel the heat returning to your face. “I know, it’s just- different. Did he do something to you?” He asked, fatherly concern showing on his face. “No. This line of questioning is over.” You cross your arms and take a defensive stance as the boys arrive. “Garry, what did you say to my sister?” Sherlock sauntered up as Greg threw his hands in the air. “C’mon you two, I’ll show you the footage.” You beckon them as you started walking. Unfortunately Sherlock is a million times taller than you, so he caught up easily. “Are you okay?” He asked, his curls blowing in his face. “I’m fine Sherl, it’s my thing, Greg was just concerned that’s all.” He looked at you, confusion now etched in his features, as if he was silently asking ‘who?’. You let out a snort of laughter and his face relaxed.

“Remember, he’s a psychopath, he’s insane!!” Greg yelled after you as you make your way to the interrogation room that Jim currently inhabited. You opened the door, looking back at Greg you yelled, “I’m a big girl dad, I can take care of myself.” You hear Jim chuckle as you close the door and sit down. “Hey man, how’s prison?” You ask, taking out a notepad and pen. He looked at you skeptically. “You’re going to take notes..?” He asked, annoyance evident in his voice. “Pff no! I’m not an idiot! I tend to doodle when I get bored.” You said, spinning the pen between your fingers. Slowly, he put his hands widespread on the table and stood up, leaning forward. “Is that a challenge...?” He asked, his tone dangerous. You mirrored him and held eye contact. “Damn straight.”

You were hanging out with Sherlock in his flat when the phone rang. After a few moments he hung up. “Not guilty?” You asked, following him to the kitchen. He hummed a response before putting the kettle on. You jumped to reach a high shelf and grabbed a box of biscuits. Sherlock snorted when he saw you. “Aw shut up long legs.” You grumbled, pulling a few biscuits onto a plate. You set them on the small table beside John’s chair as Sherlock picked up his violin. You picked up your copy of ‘IT’ and flopped onto the couch as you heard the stairs creak. “Most people knock.” You said, not looking up. “...But then again, you’re not most people... are you?” Sherlock asked, turning around. “Kettles just boiled.” Putting your book down at the mention of tea, you took in Moriarty’s appearance. He was wearing a nice white button up with matching grey pants and a blazer. He was also wearing a cool looking tie pin. “Johann Sebastian would be appalled” He said, picking up an apple out of the bowl that you had placed, his Irish drawl as prominent as ever. “May I?” He asked, tossing the apple up in the air and catching it again. “Please.” Sherlock said, using his violin bow to gesture towards John’s seat. Being the devil he was, Jim chose to sit in Sherlock’s seat instead, shooting a smirk in your direction. “You know when he was on his death bed, Bach, he heard his son at the piano playing one of his... pieces. The boy stopped before he got to the end-“ Sherlock interrupted him. “The dying man jumped out of his bed, ran straight to the piano and finished it.” He said, pouring tea. “Couldn’t cope with an unfinished melody.” You and Jim said at the same time. He, once again looked over at you, a sparkle in his eye before Sherlock’s voice snapped him back to reality. “Neither can you, that’s why you’ve come.” Sherlock walked over to you and handed you a cup, which you took with a smile. “But be honest, you’re just a tiny bit pleased...” You hid your face with the teacup, silently hoping the boys wouldn’t pay much attention to you. “What with the verdict?” Sherlock asked, now handing Jim his tea. “With me-“ He said, a sly smile on his face. ‘Fuck... Stop being so hot!’ You thought. “Back on the streets.” Sometimes you wondered how he managed to sound so much like a snake. “Every fairytale needs a good old-fashioned villain.” He said, staring up at Sherlock who had yet to sit down. “You need me,” He stated in a matter of fact tone. “Or you’re nothing... because we’re just alike; you and I. Except you’re boring... you’re on the side of the angels.” Sherlock ignored this and instead changed the subject. “Got to the jury of course.” Silently sipping your tea, you observed the two. It was like a scene from a TV show or something. “I got into the Tower of London, you think I can’t worm my way into twelve hotel rooms?” He asked as Sherlock finally sat down. “Cable network.” You said, just realizing it. Their attention was now turned on you as Jim began to explain. “Every hotel room has a personalized screen, and every person had their pressure point.” It felt like he was staring into your soul now. What he said had vaguely reminded you of Charles Magnussen, a blackmail extraordinaire that Mycroft had told you to stay away from. Naturally you learned everything you could about him. Real creep he was.

“Someone that they want to protect from harm...” At this, he turned to stare right at Sherlock, there was no doubt in your mind about what he was insinuating. “Easy peasy.” He said, taking a sip from his tea, your eyes automatically drifting over to his pink lips. “So how’re you gonna do it?” Sherlock asked, finally speaking, “Burn me?” He too brought his cup to his lips. “Eh that’s the problem...the final problem. Have you worked out what it is yet?” He asked, his voice light and detached. “What’s the final problem? I did tell you, but did you listen?” He taunted, ending his question in a sing song voice. Putting down his cup, he began to tap his fingers on his leg. You focused your attention on that. ‘Seems very familiar...’ You thought, storing the pattern away in your mind palace for further inspection at a later date. “How hard do you find it- having to say ‘I don’t know’?” Sherlock responded immediately with, “I don’t know.” You smirked, knowing that you would’ve said the same. “Oh that’s clever, very clever, awfully clever-“ Jim mumbled as Sherlock shot you a quick smile. “Speaking of clever, have you told your little friends yet?” Jim asked, peaking your attention. “Told them what?” Sherlock asked, steapling his fingers. “Why I broke into all those places and never took anything.” Of course you already knew as well. “No.” He responded. “But you understand.” It was more of a statement than anything. “Obviously.” Sherlock responded. Jim turned his body to face you. “Do you?” He made eye contact. “Of course.” You said, trying to take the emotion out of your words. “Off you go then.” He took a bite of a piece of apple he had carved out. “You want me to tell you what you already know.” You said, putting down your tea. “No, I want you to prove that you know it.” He briefly gestured at you. “You didn’t take anything because you don’t need to.” You said, matter of factly. “Good...” He encouraged you to continue. “You’ll never need to take anything ever again.” Feeling more confident, you let yourself relax. “Very good... because..?” Jim went back to carving his apple. “Because nothing. Nothing in the Bank of England, the Tower of London, or Pentonville prison could possibly match the value of the key that could get you into all three.” Sherlock looked over with what could have been interpreted as a proud look, before Jim started talking again. “I can open any door, anywhere, with a few tiny lines of computer code... No such thing as a private bank account now, they’re all mine. No such thing as secrecy, I own secrecy. Nuclear codes? I could blow up NATO in alphabetical order. In a world of locked rooms, the man with the key is king- and honey, you should see me in a crown...” He shot a quick wink at you before putting on a relaxed smile. “Twenty quid and I’ll get that tattooed.” You spoke up, breaking the tension Jim caused. He let out a little frown, knowing he lost Sherlock’s undivided attention. “Deal.” Sherlock said, tossing you his wallet. “Coolcoolcool, I’ll book the appointment.” You said, grabbing your laptop. “You were advertising throughout the trial, showing all the things you can do...” Sherlock observed, brining the tension back. “And you were helping. Big client list, rouge governments, intelligence communities, terror cells... they all want me... suddenly, I’m Mister Sex...” You stopped tyiping. “Ugh, amen!” You thought, but apparently you had said that out loud and they boys were giving you extremely opposite looks. Jim was smirking at you, his eyes wandering to who knows where and Sherlock was glaring at you. You cleared your throat, your face flushing bright red. “I’ll just- yea I’ll just leave- um, okay, bye. Don’t-“ You pointed at Jim, “Don’t kill anyone.” You slowly picked your laptop up and ran out the door.

#jim moriarty #moriarty x reader #bbc sherlock #the reichenbach fall #fanfic #sherlock fanfic

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starsinthethousands · 3 years

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Have You Put on the Full Armor of God?

All types of soldiers, past and present, need to wear some type of armor when they go into battle. Knights wore heavy plated armor, samurais wore bamboo armor, and modern soldiers wear Kevlar vests and other types of protection. But why would soldiers need to wear armor in the first place? Because they’re in some type of battle or war, and need protection.

The Bible tells us that as believers, we also need to wear spiritual armor. The armor of God. Why would God want His followers to put on armor? Who are God’s people fighting? Let’s talk about the answers to these questions.

Why We Need Armor in the First Place

As mentioned before, soldiers need armor to go into battle. It protects them against the enemy’s attacks. If a soldier went into battle without armor, would he stay alive for long? Definitely NOT. He would most likely get killed before he even had a chance to attack. Not only does a soldier need armor, but that armor must be strong, and he must wear all parts of the suit for it to be fully effective.

Imagine you are going into battle. You put on the knee guards, the helmet, the gloves, but forget to put on your bulletproof vest. Without that critical piece of armor, you are dangerously vulnerable to life threatening injuries. If you only wear certain pieces of armor but leave others out, your protection is incomplete.

The Ongoing Spiritual War – Why We Need the Armor of God

So, what if I told you that we are in an ongoing war, but it’s not a physical one? In Ephesians 6, we see the armor of God. He wants us to put it on fully so that we can fight our enemy (and win). Who is our enemy? Is it non-believers? People of other religions? Or maybe it’s the people of our own religion? Ephesians 6:12 puts it clearly.

“For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the powers of this dark world and against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms.”

Ephesians 6:12

Our fight is not against other people, but against the devil and his evil spirits. This verse says we must fight against the devil’s schemes. It’s a spiritual war that God and Satan have been fighting for the past 6,000 years, ever since the time of Genesis. Why have God and Satan been fighting? Jesus gives the answer in the gospel of John,

“The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy;”

John 10:10

Satan wants to steal, kill, and destroy the creation that God cares about deeply – namely, us. Ever since the Garden of Eden, Satan has interfered time and time again with God’s efforts and plans to restore and bring His people back to Him. Therefore, it has been a constant war, between those who belong to the devil and those who belong to God. And here we are, in the middle of it too.

God tells His people multiple times in both the Old and New Testaments to fight and overcome the enemy. For that to happen though, we must put on the armor God provides, and fight. If we aren’t careful, alert, or aware of the spiritual battle that’s going on around us, then we could be captured or killed spiritually.

#bible #christian #christianity #god #word #faith #bible verse #religion #heaven #scripture #blog #article #asitisinheaven #bible study #armor #ephesians 6

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luminouswhump · 4 years

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A deal with the devil: part two

Tag list (You are free to ask be to added or deleted at any moment, no judgement at all for either!)

@just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @just-another-whumper @justabitofwhump

CW FOR PANIC ATTACK, BRIEF MENTION OF NON SEXUAL NON CON TOUCHING AND PTSD FLASHBACK

The great Phoenix, winged protector of the city, leader of Starpatrol, son of the legendary heroic duo who founded The Guard, was shaking in fear and anger at the feet of one of the richest men on the planet, about to sign a contract with the devil. How the mighty fall, indeed.

“Wonderful! I was hoping you’d agree to be a part of my growing body of invaluable work on superpowers.”

Dr. Es’ voice was cheerful, as if he convinced Phoenix to take a quick five minute survey and hadn’t just threatened to burn his team alive. Why was it always those with evil intentions who turned out to be ridiculously rich? Phoenix knew that no building or place was off limits with the funds this man possesed. Then again, it did take a certain type of person to amass billions, and those types of people tended to not care if a few, or many, other people got hurt or treated unethically in the process of their road to riches.

“Now, let’s get you out of that net and into some handcuffs shall we?”

The man stood up and took a cellphone out of his pocket, dialed a number and ordered whoever was on the other side to “drive the truck to the current location”. Phoenix focused on grounding himself, trying to steady his breathing. He knew the man needed him alive, he would make it out of whatever insane experiment was waiting for him alive, that much was sure. He just needed to get through this, he was strong, he could do this. Deep breaths, in, hold, out, in, hold, out. A plain black van, how cliche, turned the corner and began backing into the alley. The back doors swung open and three men stepped out, one was holding a pair of sturdy looking cuffs. So this was really happening. Dr. Es pressed the screen of his phone and a section of the net emitted a soft light.

“There’s the opening boys, our guest shouldn’t be too much trouble but you’d be wise to remember who we’re dealing with nonetheless.”

He stepped aside and the three men got to work. One of them untangled the net, the second one ensured that Phoenix’ hands left the net first and closed the cuffs around his wrists. They expanded upon pressing a button, covering half of his forearm as well as his wrists. “Just a precaution, I’m sure you understand.” Phoenix nodded, unsure what else to do. The net was pulled away from him and he was lifted to his feet. He tried his wings and found he was still unable to use them properly. The men signaled for him to get into the van and he obeyed, stepping into the back and sitting down in the appointed seat. Dr. Es got in after him and as the men busied themselves with cleaning up the alley and attaching the handcuffs to a chain which was bolted to the seat, Phoenix scanned the van. “Comlink please” Said the man after he’d finished securing Phoenix. The hero replied by lifting his hands the few centimeters of wiggle room he was allowed and looked at the man in annoyance. “Ah, yes of course, how silly of me.” The man picked up a flashlight and roughly grabbed the hero’s chin, turning his head to one side to search his ear for an earpiece. Phoenix was sure the man purposely shone the bright lamp directly into his eyes when he turned his head to look at the other ear. Phoenix grunted in annoyance, a blind spot now dancing across his vision.

He janked his head free from the grip in agitation. “I don’t have comlinks in, you can stop looking for them, besides it’s not like I can use them while I’m like this.” He might be afraid of Dr.Es but he sure wasn’t afraid of a bunch of evil interns. He wasn’t lying, Phoenix rarely bothered with wearing an earpiece on solo missions, much to the annoyance to his teammates. If only he’d listened to them this night… The intern checked both ears again, though Phoenix suspected it was mainly done to spite him and when the man stepped back he glared at him. Phoenix wanted nothing more than to wipe the hint of a grin off of the man’s face. He snarled and lunged forward as far as the chain and tight seatbelt would let him and a wave of satisfaction washed over him when the man took a quick step backwards. Phoenix chuckled and leaned back again.

“Now now Phoenix, no need to bully my assistants, let’s all be civil here.”

Phoenix huffed in reply, as if anything this man did could be described as civil. Dr.Es sounded uninterested, he was looking at the other two men spraying the alley down with what Phoenix guessed was something to ensure no traces of him would be detected. "If he’s hiding communication devices somewhere on his body, those will all be detected and fried by our scanners anyways.“ Thehecomment was a matter of fact, of course it was. Dr.Es stood up to let the men take their seats after the door of the van was closed. He took a seat next to Phoenix, who instantly felt less comfortable, shifting uncomfortably in his seat.” So, what’s your plan this time huh, trying to figure out how to disable my wings remotely?“ Part of Phoenix didn’t actually want to know, he knew that the perverted version of a consent form he’d have to sign would explain to him in great detail what torture lay ahead of him anyways.

“Don’t be silly, the data from our last trail already lead to that discovery, hence your inability to use your wings at the current moment, my boy.”

Shock was visible on Phoenix’ face, if this man had figured out how to suppress his abilities, if that information got out, he’d be dead in a week. “Don’t worry, I’ve decided to keep that data to myself, I do not deem it ethical to publish such sensitive information. I am aware of the more unsavory types who would mean you harm should they stumble upon my publications.” Phoenix turned away from the man, looking at the intricate cuffs instead. He added this issue to the list of secrets he hadn’t been able to share with his team yet, but was going to have to talk about at one point. Goddamnit. The van had started moving, there were no windows he could look out of, no way to orient himself.

“We established what you could do with your wings last time, your materialisation speeds, the levels of density you are able to create, etcetera. This time we’re going to look into the location of materialisation, I am, amongst others, interested in finding out if they actually connect to your skin or not and if there are specialised cells present there which aren’t found in regular humans.”

Phoenix felt himself go pale. The skin around his wings was incredibly sensitive, hence why he not only wore a suit of kevlar interwoven fabric, he had an additional plate across his back with reinforced material to protect his wing area. The mere idea of anyone poking around there was enough to send a shiver down his back. He squirmed in his seat, his body instinctively wanted to get away from Dr.Es. He heard the man who had secured him a minute ago, he’d later find out he was called Matthew, chuckle softly at his visible fear. He could practically hear the man taunting him: ‘who’s scared now’. He turned to glare at him but knew that anger would be mixed with fear in his eyes.

He couldn’t turn back, he thought about his team. He would willingly undergo torture, any torture, to protect his team, his family. He could see their faces and hear their voices in his head, as long as he remembered them he could get through this. Even when they weren’t physically with him, knowing they’d be there for him if- no, when, he made it out of here, gave him strength. He was almost excited about the lecture that Jem would be giving him upon his return. Phoenix supposed that lecturing teammates about reckless behavior was simply part of the healer’s job description.

The rest of ride went by without conversation, both verbal and non-verbal, Phoenix busied himself with studying the cuffs and his shoes instead. By the time the van stopped moving his heartrate had returned to normal, picking up again when the doors were opened and he was flanked by Matthew and an as of yet unidentified second evil intern.

He knew escaping now wouldn’t be possible and so allowed himself to be lead into the building that Dr.Es called his research facility. Dr.Es wasn’t his real name of course, but the first time that Phoenix encountered the man he’s been 13 and a sidekick to his parents. They’d allowed him to name the man and the little bird had decided that Doctor Evil Scientist was the most fitting title.

The next hour went by in a blur, Phoenix wasn’t actively trying to zone out, it just kept happening. Not like anything he saw here was going to help him anyways, he knew the man was drowning in money and there was no way he’d be getting out of here without him deeming the experiment finished. He’d live and be set free, but not until the data required had been collected. He vaguely remembered signing a consent form that informed him that they’d be removing some organic tissue from his back, as well as doing a few other relatively harmless tests. Relatively harmless if you didn’t have extremely sensitive skin on your back, that was. Phoenix was escorted to a cell, the evil interns called it a guest room, but most guest rooms didn’t lock on the outside. The cuffs were removed and the interns quickly got out of the run, as if they feared that Phoenix’ powers returning would suddenly make him forget that he was in one of the most inescapable buildings out there. A set of nondescript white clothes were pushed through an opening in the door, along with the order to change, and a promise that his suit would be delivered to the Star Patrol headquarters. The mere idea of his team getting a package with just his suit made Phoenix feel sick.

He did as he was ordered, laying down on the bed, his kind was racing. He was scared. He wasn’t supposed to be scared but God he was. He rolled over to his side, his back facing the wall and curled up into himself. He was terrified of this man, he felt just like the little 13 year old sidekick who’d been captured all those years ago. When he’d finally been released and his parents and the rest of The Guard did everything in their power to hunt down Dr.Es, Phoenix genuinely thought he’d never have to see the man again. How could he have been so stupid? Here he was, locked in a semi-comfortable cell, hours away from being tortured by a man whose face he still saw every other day, moments before waking up in a cold sweat. His breathing sped up. Whose voice plagued his nightmares. He felt trapped, like the walls were closing in on him. “Oh don’t cry little one, just think of all the great scientific breakthroughs were shaping together. Now hold still.” His heartbeat was loud, everything was loud and too much. Hands grabbing him, voices telling him to open his wings, close open, now make them more dense, harder boy! Phoenix couldn’t breathe, they were in the cell, how did they get here?? Faster, faster, come on boy I know you can do it. The touching wouldn’t stop, the hands wouldn’t leave him, he couldn’t move, he couldn’t run. Stop. Stop touching me. Stop it! A knife impaled in his wings, not fast enough, a scream tore through the room, was that him? The voice again, methodological and cruel and too loud. More hands, more restraints, more tests more pain. No, no that was wrong, he was in a cell, the hands were in the past, this wasn’t right. He wasn’t being tested on, he was alone in the bed, in the cell. Just breathe, b r e a t h e goddammit! This isn’t real, you’re not there, you’re not that scared 13 year old. If Phoenix hadn’t been hyperventilating he’d have huffed at that, he wasn’t 13 anymore but he sure as hell was still that same scared boy deep down, he’d just gotten better at hiding it. Come on come on, slow down. Slow down. S l o w. D o w n.

Eventually he managed to return himself to regular breathing and heart rate. He’d been doing so well with just forgetting this whole thing had happened before, gotten so good at lying to himself and telling himself that it didn’t bother him anymore. After all, it had been over 10 years since the first experiment, why should it still be affecting him? He was a superhero for fucks sake, superheroes are supposed to be strong, not plagued by nightmares featuring new interpretations and retellings of events that happened over a decade ago. If his team could see him now…

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deifyze · 5 years

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STRIP CLUB IN VEGAS, SHADY CORNER

⸢ it’s ass-o’-clock. starring @baka--dere. ⸥

LUCIEN eyes her―mouth tilting into something of a DISGRUNTLED yikes, an audible exhalation SEEPING from underneath his tongue―and there's this gesture of RAGE towards the plastic tupperware of BURNED lasagna. « i'm telling you, » oh, he's POUTING, just look at that expression, « i can't eat that. how do you expect me to eat that, » and now he’s totally offended. it’s not even the choice of VENUE she’d dragged him to―he couldn’t care LESS about the strippers―but the LASAGNA. hideous.

« i’m not like you, i can’t shove fistfuls of burned lasagna down my throat and pray that GOD doesn’t smite me right then and there. it’s a sin, RED, a SIN. »

#with eyes like stars. INTERACTIONS*#baka--dere. LASAGNA KILLER & HELLHOUND*#TO SPEAK OF DIVINITY IS TO BLEED THROUGH YOUR TEETH. part ii of the saga*#mainverse. ZERO DAY*#AND WE'RE BACK AT IT AGAIN time to see if the devil really wears kevlar

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trashmenofmarvel · 5 years

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Devil’s Backbone Chapter 11

Pairing: The Winter Soldier x S.H.I.E.L.D. agent!Reader

Summary: With your team dead and your mission failed, you’ve been taken by the assassin to an unknown location and are at the mercy of your cruel tormentors. (This fic is explicit, 18+ only, mild dubcon)

Chapter Warnings: Blood, wound care

Word Count: 6.4k

0017 EST, January 12th, 2014

You guided the assassin to the couch after having felt along the wall for the light switch and flicking it on. You tried your best to lower him onto the cushions as gently as possible and not dump him like a sack of potatoes, no matter how tired your arms were. It was difficult; with his tactical suit and the metal arm you guessed he weighed at 250 pounds. Most likely more.

“Easy,” you said when he braced his metal fingers on the edge of the cushions and pain flashed across his face.

He met your eye, that same look of edgy wariness you had seen a few times was there very much still in place. You got the sense he was assessing you, taking your measure, but then his gaze quickly shifted away. His stare went blank and he seemed to sink within himself. Something was going on in there, something you couldn’t see or perhaps even guess at.

Unfortunately, you didn’t have the luxury of keeping your distance, so all you could do was hope he didn’t do to you what he had done to his former allies.

Leaving him on the couch, you went to the hallway closet to raid it for what you would need. If memory served, it should be well-stocked with supplies and clothing. You found it was, cataloging what you needed: a large white medical kit, an armful of towels, a blanket, a flashlight, and a grey sweater jacket. That last one you pulled out and tugged on, zipping it up your chest. The heat had been set to fifty degrees to keep the pipes from freezing in the winter, and you turned the heat up on your way back to the living room.

You carefully pulled out the supplies you wanted and made your way back to the living room, placing the goods on the nearby glass coffee table. The assassin’s face was pale and sallow in the garish light of the ceiling fan lamp, his left side and leg almost black with blood.

When you sat on the edge of the coffee table and reached for his chest, he flinched away, his eyes wild but glassed over. His hands clenched and released in rapid succession, but he didn’t seem to know exactly how he wanted to react himself.

You backed away a few inches, palms up to show you meant him no harm. “I need to check your wounds. Unless you want me to take you to a hospital.”

His gaze flickered from your hands to your face. When he didn’t respond, you said, “Yeah, didn’t think so. I need to stop the bleeding. I’m going to be as gentle as I can, okay?”

His taut shoulders loosened and fell marginally, the tightness of his eyes softening just the tiniest bit and he gave a small, single nod.

It was the best you could hope for. Now all you had to do was figure out how to remove his clothing, a task that would be much more difficult than it seemed at first blush. His tac suit had a halter harness strapped across the chest, and the rest of it didn’t seem to have any discernible openings.

Well, gotta start somewhere.

You slowly reached forward and cautiously unsnapped the weapon harness, pulling it away from his chest. You realized the vest had buttons; you had thought they were simply decoration at first. A ridiculous conclusion, considering how practical the assassin was. You doubted he did much for the aesthetic.

As you unsnapped each button, you watched his face, looking for signs that he was going to lash out. Sweat beaded his forehead and his eyes were glassy with dark circles underneath, but he seemed calm enough. His breathing was uneven. You assumed it was from the pain.

When you finally got through the buttons—so goddamn many of them since they went the entire length of his torso—you very carefully peeled back his vest. The assassin winced but didn’t make a sound when the Kevlar fiber parted from the blood-tacky skin beneath.

There was a lot of it smeared across the left side of his chest and stomach, but most of it was dried and very little of it was fresh. The fact his wounds had clotted was a good sign, but you had no idea how much internal damage there was. He could just as easily bleed to death on the inside.

“All right,” you released a held breath as you eyed the cause of all that blood. “I count two gunshot wounds, one below your ribcage and the other above your hip. I can’t tell how deep they are. Um…”

The assassin moved and you drew your hands back quickly, but he only stripped off the rest of his vest and tossed it to the floor.

You stared. You couldn’t help it. Your eyes fastened onto the place where his artificial left shoulder joined his body, signified by a seam of jagged scars. It was brutal, looking as if the metal had been soldered to flesh without any care or consideration for the man.

Efficient and cruel.

Your eyes wandered over his chest, then. The large pectorals, the defining lines of his abs, the sheer power in his biceps and forearms. You had thought without his bulky gear he would look smaller, less intimidating. If anything, he looked larger and more primal.

You cleared your throat and forced your eyes back down to his bloodied and torn flesh. Methodically moving your focus downward over his clothed left leg, you saw two or three more possible wounds, but you wouldn’t know until…

“Don’t freak out,” you said with a slight wince, “but your pants need to come off.”

You chanced a glance at his face. He remained as immutable as ever, his heavy gaze bore into yours until you looked away. Christ, you could feel your cheeks heating up. You weren’t sure if it was from his glare or the fact you were trying to strip him naked.

“So… do you want me to do it or…?”

Without a word, the assassin reached down and unbuckled the gun holster across his waist. There was a zipper along each side, following the angles of his pelvis. He unzipped them, and without warning, pulled his pants down his hips.

He wasn’t wearing anything underneath.

“Okay,” you remarked to no one in particular as you quickly looked away. Of course. Why would a deadly assassin bother to wear underwear?

Commandos go commando, you thought in a moment of fleeting, anxiety-induced, borderline-hysterical humor. Oh, God, this is really my life now. Mad scientists and sexy underwear-less assassins.

You managed to keep your face blank as you took deep steadying breaths. You weren’t even sure why you were freaking out. You had seen plenty of your teammates naked, an unavoidable occurrence when you went on overnight missions together, and you hadn’t given a shit then.

Of course, none of your teammates had fucked you with their tongues or fingers, either.

Seeing the towels on the coffee table, you grabbed one and held it out in his general direction.

“You can cover up with this.”

Per usual, he remained silent, but you did feel the towel being tugged from your grasp.

You needed to focus, get your shit together, patch up the maybe-friendly killer, figure out what the hell was going on, and plan your next move. The last thing you needed was to be thrown off and sent reeling just because of a little bit of exposed skin.

Or a lot of exposed skin, as the case was. When you turned back to look at him, his pants were around his calves, his torso entirely bare, and the only thing covering his crotch was a towel that was, in retrospect, much too small.

The fact he was mostly naked vanished from your thoughts when you saw the next two wounds. You winced, leaning closer to peer at them.

“One in the hip and another in the thigh. They’re not bleeding anymore, but… you’re going to want an actual surgeon to remove all of these. So for now, I’m just going to clean and cover them—“

“Take them out.”

Your eyes shot upward to his, finding he was prompted up on his elbows, staring down at you with a hard expression.

“What?” You swallowed as his intense stare stirred something between your thighs. Your body had the worst timing. “No. I’m not doing that.”

Somehow, his gaze became even harder. You could feel the tension in your pelvis increase likewise, and you became much more belligerent and irritated than you meant to be.

“Listen, buddy,” you snapped, “this isn’t like the movies. If I go digging in there I will definitely make it worse, and that’s if I don’t kill you on accident. The best thing to do is to leave them be and—”

He moved too fast for you to react. Grabbed by the neckline of your jacket, he hauled you off the coffee table and nearly onto his chest where he glared into your face, inches away.

You froze like a rabbit between the wolf’s teeth.

“Take… them out,” he growled. Actually growled. It should have been funny. Instead, it made you feel something close to fear and not far from arousal.

For a moment, you said nothing. Your limbs were taut with distress, your heart pounding in your ears. After a moment you swallowed and blinked to clear your vision. His blue eyes seemed to fill your whole world, but you forced your tumultuous thoughts into something more coherent and focused. There wasn’t time for this bullshit posturing. He might be some kind of super badass who can murder two dozen people and then take four bullets from a machine gun, but that didn’t mean you were wrong.

You took a deep breath and looked him straight in the eye.

“I didn’t bring you here, with me, against all gut instinct and better judgement, just so I could watch you bleed out on the couch.”

He blinked. It was the only reaction to your words aside from the curious way his eyes flicked between yours, as if searching for something. After a long, drawn out moment… his expression lost its hard edge and his fingers loosened their grip.

“I won’t,” he mumbled, too softly, too vacantly, and then released you.

With a lingering look you hoped made your irritation clear, you returned to your place on the coffee table and pointedly ignored the way your heart was thrumming in your chest.

Oh, yeah. You were irritated. Even a little scared. You were also undeniably turned on.

Great.

“Okay.” You muttered, pulling out a pair of forceps and sanitizing them with rubbing alcohol. “I’m just going to make it worse, but if that’s what you want... I’m warning you now though, if I do worsen it, then I really will take you to a hospital.”

He didn’t respond verbally, but he did lean back against the cushions and tensed his jaw as he stared up at the ceiling. You knew that rigid position from experience: he was mentally preparing himself for overwhelming physical pain.

You stared at the wounds and then back up at his face as you said, “I don’t have anything to anesthetize you with—“

“It doesn’t matter,” he cut in, gruff. “No more stalling.”

You would have prickled at his words, but his tone wasn’t cruel or mean. It was unnerved. He knew it would hurt, further confirmed by the fact his normal arm was gripping the back of the couch tightly.

The grim gesture prodded at your thoughts, and it made you wonder what had happened to him to provoke such a reaction. Did he have previous experience with having bullets dug out of him while awake? God, you hoped not.

You took a deep breath and began to work. You dealt with the highest wound on his side first, wiping at it with iodine, being as gentle as possible as you smoothed the cloth over the damaged skin. You took a pair of forceps and paused when you realized you needed to shine some light into the wound itself to see what you were doing.

He held his metal arm away from his body, the silver forearm propped on the coffee table next to your hip. You were nearly touching him already but you scooted closer, trying to get a better angle of approach. You leaned down and placed your free hand on his flank, feeling the taut muscles under your fingers. You clicked on the flashlight and lightly tapped it against his arm, making a metallic clicking sound.

He peered down at you cautiously, and you indicated the flashlight in your hand.

“Hold this, please.” You aimed the light at his injuries. “Just like that.”

He wrapped his silver fingers around the black handle of the flashlight and pointed it where you had instructed. In doing so, he had to lean the artificial limb against your thigh. You could feel the cold metal through your pants and you struggled against any reaction.

Praying you didn’t pass out yourself, seeing as you weren’t exactly trained to be a field surgeon and go digging around inside someone’s body, you carefully moved the forceps into the illuminated, bloody opening. You could actually see the shiny metallic surface of the bullet. It should have been much deeper than it was, considering a goddamn machine gun had shot him. You set your jaw and tried to steady your hands as you dipped the forceps into the wound and very delicately grabbed the slug.

You heard the shift in his breathing that told you he felt it. You paused and searched for something comforting to say.

“Remember to breathe,” you told him. “Wiggle your toes.”

You glanced up at his face and saw the confusion there, settled in a severe crease between his brows. You shrugged and felt your cheeks heat. “That’s what my dentist tells me when something is gonna hurt. It’s silly but it works.”

His gaze became even more piercing if that was possible, so you cleared your throat and returned your attention to your task. You grabbed hold of the slug again and began to pull it out. It took a little bit of wiggling and you went slow, trying your hardest not to cause any additional damage.

The couch creaked ominously as the assassin dug his fingers into the woodwork underneath the fabric. You couldn’t imagine the kind of pain he was experiencing—your own gunshot wound had been nothing more than a deep graze—but he bore it in silence.

It was unnerving. You almost wished he would make some kind of noise, if only for his own benefit. He certainly didn’t need to hold back on your account, and it couldn’t be healthy to repress so damn much. After all, this wasn’t the first time you’d notice him do something like that before.

Pleasure or pain, he seemed to just… hold it back.

Finally, the slug came free. You stared down at the warped piece of bloody metal, almost fascinated, before you put it down on one of the towels nearby.

One down. Three to go.

You continued onward, freeing the second slug in his side with as much ease as the first. You tried to be more careful with the bullet in his hip, suspecting it was close to the bone. The one in his thigh was also difficult. The thick wall of muscle did not make it easy for the bullet to be extracted, and you were sure you had caused some additional tearing on its removal. You kept mumbling apologies, wincing whenever his leg twitched, but he remained quiet.

The assassin may have carried the pain with stoic silence but it was definitely affecting him. Sweat trickled down his forehead and dampened his hair, his cheekbones were so prominent he looked almost gaunt, and his pupils had contracted to dark pinpricks. His fingernails had ripped small tears into the couch. The pain you were inflicting must have been excruciating, yet the control he had over his own body in the face of it was impressive, and you had to admit, a little concerning. It didn’t seem normal.

You were able to extract all four bullets first and then patch the wounds after since there was so little blood to speak of. After washing them with iodine one last time, you pulled them closed and sealed them shut with a cutting-edge medical glue, one that would expedite the healing as well as protect the wound from infection. You finished them off by taping gauze over them, protecting the glue and skin until he could get more thorough medical treatment.

You were beginning to suspect he might not need it. The assassin’s injuries should have been much worse; deeper with much more damage. You didn’t understand it at first, but then realized it was surprisingly familiar.

You had seen Steve Rogers take a few nasty blows; wounds that should have put him in a hospital. Yet somehow, more often than not, he simply walked them off and returned the next day looking as if his wounds were several days old.

The idea that the assassin could be enhanced or even gifted should have crossed your mind before now, but to be fair, you had been a little preoccupied.

“It’s done,” you said, breathing out in a long exhale. Your fingers were coated with red and orange, and they trembled with fatigue. You began to clean up the mess when his voice caused you to halt.

“Thank you.”

You looked up and found his gaze already settled on your face. The sight of those pale blue eyes watching you so closely sent heat through your cheeks.

“You took them for me,” you said, trying to sound blasé and failing when your voice slightly cracked. “It’s the least I could do.”

Needing a moment to collect yourself, you stood and picked up the soiled towels. Walking around the couch, you went to the washing machine in the hallway and tossed them in before going to the kitchen and throwing out the bloodied wipes. You went back to the living room and returned to your perch on the coffee table, grabbing the medical kit and pulling it toward you. Digging through it for a moment, you found what you were looking for and pulled out a bottle of pills, ones you remembered from your field training.

Sensing a heated gaze on the back of your neck, you nervously twisted off the top and shook four pills into your hand. When you turned to where the assassin was still lying on the couch, you saw he was watching you closely. He seemed to do that a lot, and it made you feel self-conscious.

“What is that?” he asked, his tone matching the suspicion is his pale eyes.

“A drug created by S.H.I.E.L.D.’s medical doctors for injured agents in the field.”

His eyes narrowed. You already knew where this was going, but you pushed on, hoping you were wrong and he would act like a reasonable person.

“It suppresses bacterial growth and promotes healing. I donno, something they cooked up in the labs—“

“No.”

He stared at you. You glowered back.

“I don’t want it.”

“Do you want those wounds to become infected?” you snapped. “Because that’s what’s going to happen.”

He ignored you and actually tried to sit up, so you said, “Nu-uh,” and placed your palm against his bare chest. It was all too easy to push him back down, his strength sapped by his wounds. His skin was warm under your fingers and you quickly pulled back.

He looked up through his strands of sweat-darkened hair and you met his gaze unflinchingly.

“Why are you so hell-bent on suffering through this?”

You weren’t sure why you asked. Why you even cared whether he was in pain or not. He didn’t answer, and instead broke off eye contact, looking away.

Your anger vanished, leaving you feeling tired. All you wanted was to crawl under the covers of the only bed in the entire small house, but you couldn’t. Somehow, it had taken root in your mind that the assassin was your responsibility. Whatever happened to him, whatever he did, it was on you.

You got up and went into the kitchen, proceeding to rummage through the cupboards until you found what you were looking for. Most of the shelves were filled with MRE and canned foods, but you found the bottles of supplemented water without much difficulty. You knew you were dehydrated and probably malnourished, so you took two from the cupboard instead of just one.

“At least drink this,” you muttered as you returned. You held one out to him, the blue liquid sloshing mutedly inside the bottle. He eyed it as if it were an IED. When he neglected to move, you squared your jaw. “You need to replace your electrolytes.”

He studied your face for a moment, and then carefully took the bottle from your hand. You stared at the metal fingers wrapped around the curved plastic, so lightly it didn’t even bend the material. You were curious as to how sensitive those fingers were.

Nope. Don’t go there.

“What you probably need is a blood transfusion, but this particular safe house doesn’t come with its own blood bank,” you remarked as you sat back on the coffee table, facing him as you unscrewed the top of your bottle.

You were relieved to see he had pulled his pants back up around his hips while you’d been in the kitchen. You weren’t so happy he was up in a sitting position. At least he was leaning back against the cushions. In the event that he did pass out, you wouldn’t have to carry him anywhere else. Or deal with him cracking his skull open.

The assassin made no remark to your dry comment and instead downed the bottle in one go. You were pulled from your sour thoughts at the sight of his large Adam’s apple bobbing with each gulp.

Oh, for fuck’s sake—

Needing a distraction, you pulled out the bottle of pills he’d rejected. You opened it, tapped out two pills into your palm, and popped them into your mouth, swallowing with the supplemented water. After the torture, dehydration, exposure to the elements, and the incredible psychological stress, you hoped they could tide you over until you sought actual medical help. The beating your immune system had taken, not to mention the actual beating at the hands of the soldiers, was going to take a nasty toll. Already the fatigue and pain was settling into your bones and muscles like a dusting of broken glass.

You realized the assassin was staring at you again.

“So,” you prompted suddenly, “Do you have a name?”

He blinked and slightly tilted his head, mouth forming into a frown.

“I… I don’t know.” He paused, chewed on his lip, and added. “I think it’s… Bucky.”

You raised an eyebrow.

“Bucky? That’s a… unique name.” You had almost said it was a weird name, but you decided to try the diplomatic approach rather than the dick-ish one.

The assassin remained quiet, his eyes staring somewhere near your knees. He looked almost lost in thought.

It didn’t seem as if he would say anything else, so you cleared your throat and said, “Well… my name is—“

“I know who you are.”

You snapped your mouth shut, feeling the corners of your mouth tug into a tight frown.

“Okay. Then maybe you can tell me why you killed the people you worked for and opened my cell door.” You hadn’t meant to sound so scathing and annoyed, but now that the danger of him bleeding out had passed, a restless urgency for answers was taking hold of you.

The assassin met your eyes only briefly before they slid away again.

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know much, do you.”

You could have winced at the ice in your cold words, but it was the effect they had on him that made you feel like a real piece of shit.

He looked downright miserable as he stared at his hands and said in a faint voice, “I’m sorry.”

His odd change in behavior and personality made you remember this wasn’t the first time he had acted this way. There was something very wrong with him.

Guilt needled at you. When you spoke again, it was with a gentler tone. “What can you tell me?”

A blank look passed over his face, followed by furrowing brows.

“It’s… hard. There’s fragments. Bits and pieces, but I can’t… focus on them. I try, and… they slip away.”

It was the most words you had ever heard him speak at once. But the next ones made your breath catch in your throat.

“I think… they did this to me?”

He raised his eyes to meet yours, a pained expression that was disturbing to see. He looked like a soul lost in the wilderness. “I can’t remember,” he added, his eyes trailing down to stare near your shoulder again.

Perhaps you should have been afraid. Or at least alarmed that you were stuck with a killer assassin with retrograde amnesia, but his words, his behavior, everything about him prodded at something vulnerable within you. A chink in your well-hewn armor.

You had maimed. You had killed. You had done truly despicable things in the line of duty, but at the end of the day, you could put all of that away in nice, tidy little boxes. But this man refused to go into a box quietly. Every time you tried to pack him away, to forget what you had done with him in the loneliness of your isolation and treat him like an enemy at worst and a hostile ally at best, you just… couldn’t.

He had dug himself under your skin and seemed intent on staying there.

“Who were those men?” you asked, making an effort to get him to keep talking. “The ones who kept and tortured me?”

“HYDRA,” he replied simply.

You sighed heavily. No matter how many times you heard that name, it was still difficult to swallow. You made one last-ditch effort at denial.

“The last time I checked, HYDRA doesn’t exist anymore. S.H.I.E.L.D. wiped them out in Nazi Germany.”

He shrugged. “They didn’t.”

You fought the urge to roll your eyes, and instead rubbed your tongue across the front of your teeth. To say this man was taciturn was putting it mildly.

“Okay. For the sake of argument, let’s say they are HYDRA. Why would they go after Mister Kartal? And why take me?”

The assassin set his jaw into a grim line, but this time when he spoke, he met your eyes.

“Because there is no S.H.I.E.L.D. HYDRA has been within them from the beginning.”

You could only blink at him.

“I’m sorry?”

“Kartal was a HYDRA agent stationed within S.H.I.E.L.D. He took steps to go to the FBI and expose HYDRA in exchange for protection. I was ordered to kill him, his family, and all of the agents involved.”

His pale eyes drifted over your face.

“Except you.”

You felt like you couldn’t draw a full breath of air.

“I don’t understand,” was all you could say.

“I was ordered to bring you in. Alive.”

“But… why?”

He looked away.

“They didn’t tell me.”

You sensed he wasn’t being entirely truthful, but then he was talking again before you could follow-up.

“What I can tell you is that the man who gave me my orders is S.H.I.EL.D. I don’t know his name, only that he has a lot of power in your organization. And he’s implementing his plan in a few hours.”

You frowned, remembering the conversation that had taken place in your cell.

“The man who asked you all those questions? Was that him?”

The assassin studied you before nodding once.

“Do you know what he’s planning?” you asked, dread sitting in the pit of your stomach.

The assassin pressed his lips firmly together. “He has been working towards this for a long time. The ability to assassinate millions of people in an instant. And at your headquarters, using three Helicarriers, he’ll be able to achieve that.” He swallowed once before adding, “The launch is in less than twelve hours.”

You were glad you were sitting down already, because you were fairly sure you would have planted ass-first into the carpet. Everything he was saying was unreal, unbelievable. And yet… you couldn’t deny things had gone horribly wrong from the moment the first vehicle of the convoy had flipped in a plume of fire and smoke. That mission, not to mention the escort route itself, had been kept secret; from the feds, from the state department, even from S.H.I.E.L.D. besides the members of STRIKE who had been there.

Yes, you had sensed something was wrong from the start. But still, you hadn’t realized the situation was so fucking dire. Like, world-ending, apocalyptic dire.

“I have to do something,” you said flatly. It was your responsibility. Especially if you and this man were the only ones aware of what was really going on inside S.H.I.E.L.D.

The assassin’s expression changed, and at first you couldn’t understand what it was. But then you realized he was… almost smiling. But God, you had never seen such a sad, hollow smile in your entire life.

“The last mission directive he gave me was to wait for… for Steve Rogers to arrive at the Triskelion. I had orders to kill him.”

His words should have disturbed you; instead, they filled you with sudden hope. You got to your feet and exclaimed, “That’s it!”

The assassin looked up at you, wide-eyed.

“Captain Rogers!” you explained with a wave of your hand. “He can help! I mean, if you were sent to kill him, he’s definitely not HYDRA, right? He’s not compromised. We have to contact him, tell him what’s going on. And then help him stop the launch, and…”

Your words trailed off, dying as you caught sight of the expression on his face. You had thought he would have been glad to hear your idea. Apparently, were wrong.

He looked down and sighed through his nostrils.

“I can’t.”

“Why not?” you asked, scrunching your face. You were completely confused over his reaction.

“He won’t trust me.” He curled the metal fingers of his left hand. “Not after… what I’ve done. And I don’t trust me either.”

You sat down slowly on the coffee table again. The ease with which he had spoken earlier was gone, and he had returned to sounding unsure, his speech halting and hesitant. There was no mistaking the shame there; you of all people would recognize it.

“I don’t even know who I am, or… what kind of person I was.”

“Hey.”

He looked up, dragging his eyes as if with great reluctance. You met his blue eyes steadily. He might be unsure, but you weren’t.

“By the sound of it, none of that was your fault. Those men, those people did something to you. Brainwashing, maybe.” You sighed and ran a hand through your hair, recalling just what they had done to you by the aching points along your scalp. “Psychological torture and manipulation falls under the purview of HYDRA if I remember my history lessons correctly.”

At the mention of HYDRA in a historical context, something tugged at the back of your head. History. S.H.I.E.L.D.’s history. There was something there you needed to remember. It was too bad history had been your worse subject at the Academy.

Your mind tried to grab the loose thread to pull it, but it was just out of reach—

“But…”

You blinked, focusing your attention on the assassin. He was staring at you again, and you were alarmed to see he looked on the verge of tears.

His voice was soft and edged in horror as he stammered, “You… how can you try to defend my actions? After… after what I did to you?”

A heavy stone dropped in your stomach, splashing with a ripple of dread. This was the closest either of you had gotten to acknowledging what had happened aloud. You pressed your lips together and looked away. You couldn’t think about that right now. There were bigger issues to deal with.

“You may not know what kind of person you are,” you said quietly, “but I can tell you this much. You’re the kind that saves someone from being tortured to death. And you’re the kind that wants to prevent more lives from being lost.”

When you looked back at him, his eyes were no longer as glassy but his expression was so sad it was almost sweet. And in that moment, all you wanted to do was run your fingers through his soft hair and tell him it was going to be okay. The urge was so strong your hand actually moved across your thigh.

You halted the movement and rose to your feet so quickly you saw spots in your vision.

“You need sleep and so do I,” you announced, not quite meeting his eye. “Even a couple hours will help clear our heads so we can come up with a better solution for the… HYDRA threat.”

And then you hesitated and looked at him. In fact, you eyed him for so long that he tilted his head and asked in a curious tone, “What?”

You chewed on your lip. This was a bad idea, but what were you going to do? Handcuff him to the couch?

“Can I trust you?”

He searched your eyes, his jaw tensing into a grim expression.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean…” You took a breath. “Can I trust you not to kill me in my sleep?”

His expression fell; you immediately regretted asking. Or at least, being so cruel about it. Why couldn’t you use your damn head before you opened your mouth? You had just told the guy he had saved your life, and then you go and say something like that. Goddamn typical.

Before you could continue berating yourself, his face smoothed into that unreadable look you were becoming familiar with.

“I won’t hurt you.”

You hugged your arms in front of you, knowing it made you look defensive but really you were doing it for self-assurance.

“How do you know that? If you’re still under someone’s control, I mean, how do you know you won’t hurt me?”

“Because I don’t want to.”

It was circular logical. A nonsensical appeal. But his tone was open and he managed to hold your gaze without looking away again. You trusted he believed what he was saying, and that would have to be enough for now.

“All right,” you said slowly. “Can I trust that when I come back out of that bedroom in the morning you’ll still be here?”

His eyes softened in that sorrowful way again.

“Where would I go?”

I really do have a way of making myself into an asshole every time I open my mouth, don’t I? But he did have a point, as sad as it was. Even if he had a safe place to hide, safer than here, he was being hunted just as much as you were. And while you had no doubt he was still dangerous, he was also vulnerable until he was fully healed.

It occurred to you that he needed you. Maybe as much as you needed him.

Realizing he was still staring at you, you cleared your throat and said, “There’s only one bed, so… the couch is all yours.”

The assassin didn’t speak but he nodded once, his eyes dropping to focus on his hands with hard scrutiny. You could almost feel the waves of guilt radiating off of him, and you sighed. Grabbing the blanket you had fetched earlier from off the table, you held it out for him.

“There’s food in the kitchen if you get hungry, and the shower is down the hall. Help yourself to it. I’ll be… in the bedroom. If you need me.”

Not that he would. But you wanted him to understand that whatever this weird thing between you was, you weren’t afraid he would hurt you. Maybe you should have been, but you weren’t.

He stared at you for a moment before taking the blanket. You turned around, your cheeks heating up again, and you prepared to make a quick exit.

“I know you… saved my life.”

You paused, his soft voice halting you in your tracks.

“You didn’t have to. You could have just left me there, but… you didn’t.”

His speech was awkward but heartfelt. You glanced over your shoulder but he wasn’t staring at you; he was looking down at the blanket in his hands.

“I… appreciate what you’re doing. Trusting me. And… believing me. About HYDRA.” He paused and clenched the blankets tighter. “I’m not used to... all of this.” He said it as if he meant more than the immediate situation. It felt like he was saying he wasn’t used to being treated as a person. As human.

Something churned within your stomach. A sensation.

Guilt. Shame. You had endured so much over the past few days and you weren’t sure when the full realization of everything was going to hit you. You knew when it did, it would be ugly.

You wanted to help him. But you didn’t even know how to help yourself. So you did what you always do in uncomfortable situations. You pushed it away.

“It’s nothing,” you responded flatly, turning back towards the bedroom so you wouldn’t look at him. “You saved my life. I saved yours. We’re even now.”

You tried to make it sound like it didn’t mean anything. It was just an exchanging of debts. A life for a life. And now he would help you stop HYDRA. He was a means to an end. That was all.

The effect was lost by the slight waver in your voice. You ducked your head and left the room, feeling his gaze on the back of your neck every step of the way.

Next Chapter

#bucky barnes x reader #the winter soldier x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #the winter soldier fanfiction #reader fanfiction #marvel fanfiction #devil's backbone #my fanfiction #my writing

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pinkbubbles-and-bigtroubles · 5 years

Text

Tanya’s Friday Fic Recs

I have been shit about reblogging some of the amazing writers on here so hopefully I’ll remember to do this weekly and spread some love. Please feel free to send any recommendations or your favorite writers my way

The Devil Wears Kevlar (part 12) by @flannelpunkcalum

if you’re not reading this yet WTF not? You need to fix that right now...I’ll wait

Seriously, action, drama, suspense...this story has it all

Unravel by @sublimehood

CEO Calum.... let’s face it Calum in a business suit is a kink we all have.

Your Kind of Heaven Part 6 by @cal-puddies

This is my favorite Luke series at the moment. Depicts depression and anxiety but there’s a sweetness and strength to the relationship

Something Wicked by @angelbabylu

Vampire Luke...Jay is always so good and after the Easier music video I needed this.

Veiled Valor by @calpops

Pirate Captain Calum my lady. This was a fun read. Thanks to @itstheholls for sending it my way

Shameless self promotion plug Colour Me In part 9 Calum falls in love with a deaf woman

@kiiiimberlyriiiicker1995 @wildhearthood @cal-pal-cuddles @5sos-ficssmut

#calum 5sos #5sos fic rec #calum fic rec #luke fic rec #calum hood #luke hemmings #calum hood imagine #calum hood blurbs #calum hood fanfiction #luke hemmings fanfic #luke hemming imagines #5sos fics #5sos imagine #calum hood smut #luke hemmings smut #fic rec friday #calum fic #luke fic

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cinaed · 4 years

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Chapters: 24/? Fandom: Red vs. Blue Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Dexter Grif/Dick Simmons, Dexter Grif & Kaikaina Grif | Sister, Michael J. Caboose/Leonard L. Church, Kaikaina Grif | Sister/Huggins, Lavernius Tucker/Crunchbite, Agent Texas | Allison/Sarge, Chrovos/Donut's Moms, Franklin Delano Donut/Agent Washington Characters: Dexter Grif, Kaikaina Grif | Sister, Dick Simmons, Franklin Delano Donut, Sarge (Red vs. Blue), AI Program Epsilon | Leonard Church, Lavernius Tucker, Michael J. Caboose, Dylan Andrews, Frank "Doc" DuFresne, Agent Washington (Red vs. Blue), Agent Carolina (Red vs. Blue), Vanessa Kimball Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Secret Identity, Friends to Lovers, Temporary Character Death, Implied/Referenced Torture, Heroes & Heroines, Villains, Slow Burn, Canonical Character Death Summary:

Dick Simmons has a multi-step plan. Move to Blood Gulch, become a superhero, assume a civilian identity, and save the day with the other heroes of the city. He didn't count on his fellow superheroes being so weird, the villains even weirder, and getting stuck with the most annoying coworker in the universe at his civilian job. But there are secrets and danger in the city, tensions boiling under the surface, and Simmons may be in over his head.

Chapter Twenty-Four: The Devil Wears Flame Proof Kevlar

Chapter Summary:

Simmons almost has a good day.

#rvb fic #my fic #Grimmons

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danyka-fendyr · 5 years

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As the Raven Flies: Part 2

Taglist: @dreamwritesimagines @rhabakoli

Are there only two people on my taglist? Yes. Am I making it anyway? Also yes. It makes me feel more official. Anyway, here’s the next chapter of my disaster fic. The good news is that I took the time to edit this time and actually like...paced myself somewhat while writing.

Wordcount: 3246 bc apparently I have no self-control???

“My entire family is dead.”

“What?”

“You gonna make me say it again, Castle?”

Frank looked speechless. “How did it happen? If you don’t mind..”

“I mind.” Vivien crossed her arms over her chest, trying to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear even though it was all bunched up in a ponytail. Nervous tick.

Thus ensued the longest, most regret filled pause of Vivien’s life. She didn’t know what to say any more now that no one was asking her about her dead family, and Matt seemed to think he either wasn’t a part of this particular conversation or just didn’t have anything relevant to add on. Vivien waited as the silence stretched out, just about ready to kick Matt Murdock for not opening that big fat mouth of his the one time in his life she actually wanted him to.

Finally, Frank spoke. “Are you hungry miss?”

Vivien blinked. “What?

“You hungry? I only ask because Red here doesn’t seem like the kind of guy to remember what food is, let alone that he needs to feed someone else.”

Vivien laughed slightly. “Yeah. He’s pretty bad about that. So am I though.”

“I’ll take that to mean you’re hungry. C’mon. I know a pretty good diner about 3 blocks down from here. You can keep the mask on if you don’t wanna show me your face.”

Matt went to speak up, but Frank interrupted him. “The invitation was for you too, Red. Though you should probably lose the costume.”

“We can swing by my place first. That way I can change into something a little less...conspicuous,” Matt said.

“I don’t mind showing my face, so if nobody objects I’ll be wearing something not made out of Kevlar to this late night snack party.”

“Fine by me,” Frank said. “But we ain’t doing that running across rooftop stuff you two do. I’m getting my car.”

Vivien turned to Matt, hands on her hips. “Why don’t we have a car?”

“I’m still blind, Vivien.”

“Excellent point.”

Eventually, they got everything sorted, and thankfully they ended up somewhere that didn’t smell like blood and urine. Said place also happened to have a killer burger, which was currently making Vivien very happy. Whoever invented eggs on cheeseburgers was a genius.

Frank didn’t speak much, just letting them eat and doing the same. Matt, on the other hand, suddenly couldn’t keep his mouth shut. Maybe that was why he was so bad about eating. He would have to stop listening to the sound of his own voice to do that.

Currently, he was giving Frank a lecture on morality that Vivien gathered was a standard precursor to every conversation they had. She couldn’t be sure though, since she had stopped listening shortly after, “This city needs heroes, not your twisted version of justice Frank.” Blah blah blah, blah blah, blah blah. She made a face, copying Matt behind his back as he leaned across the sticky green tabletop, intense. She exaggerated his movements, hamming it up because frankly, she was bored.

Frank’s laughter was slow. It started as a quiet snicker, but it quickly turned to a loud bark that devolved into what could only be called giggles, spurred on by Matt’s sheer indignance at not being taken seriously. When Vivien started laughing too, he turned on her.

“You too? Is there some kind of joke I’m missing?”

“Oh, this is...this is too good,” Frank gasped, wiping his eyes.

“Thank you, thank you, I’ll be here all week. The impressions are free, but if you want me to tell you exactly what Matt Murdock would say to you in any given situation, that’s going to cost you $5 an hour. If you don’t think that’s a practical business model, then I don’t know what to tell you. Clearly you’ve never been lectured by Matt. I’m surprised he doesn’t charge by the hour.”

Frank was dying. Absolutely dead. What could she say? Vivien was quick to feel out her audience. Or something like that.

“Were you mimicking me again? Vivien, we talked about that!”

“You said not in front of clients,” Vivien reminded him, waving a fry pointedly.

“Frank used to be a client.”

“Keywords being, ‘used to be’. I don’t deal in the past anymore Murdock. Makes me uncomfortable. Plus I’m cranky that I have a traumatic backstory because that’s just cliche.”

Matt pouted. Matthew Murdock, the devil of Hell’s Kitchen, Daredevil, attorney at law, was sitting in some grungy diner smack dab in the middle of New York, pouting over a turkey sandwich.

“You know what I think? I think we owe Frank our lives for introducing us to this place. This is a truly awesome burger.”

Frank smiled. “I’m glad you like it miss.”

Vivien nodded, eating another fry, her burger officially gone now. “Like I said, we owe you our lives. In lieu of those though, since we are currently making great use of them -or at the very least, mediocre, in Matt’s case- how about we feed you next time? Karen’s been dying to have you over for dinner.”

Frank paused, shoulders stiffening.

“Yeah? She say that?” He asked carefully.

“Didn’t have to. She’s been talking about how much she misses you for weeks. It’s getting irritating. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I love Karen, I do. But if I have to hear her wonder what you’re doing one more time…”

Frank smiled. “I could maybe come around and visit sometime. But only if you promise to do more impressions of Red over here.”

“No more impressions! I am being targeted here,” Matt objected.

“Only because you make it so fun, Matty,” Vivien said. “You know really I love you, you self-righteous jerkface.”

She leaned over, hugging him from the side in a silent plea for forgiveness.

“Those words did not sound like love.”

“I can hear you pouting Murdock.”

“I don’t pout!”

“What’s that? I couldn’t hear you over the sound of you pouting. I think it’s getting louder.”

Frank was laughing again. “Oh, you’ve got a deal. I can’t possibly miss a dinner with all of this happening.”

“Good. Let’s say...Tuesday?”

“That works for me.” Frank nodded. “Thank you for the invitation, miss.”

“You’re welcome,” she said.

Matt glanced down at his watch. “You’ll have to excuse us Frank. This little munchkin is up past her bedtime.”

He patted her head patronizingly, causing Vivien to glare at him.

“I have to tuck her in and read her Green Eggs and Ham five times so she can drift off into dreamland.”

“Don’t get confused. I’m the funny one in this partnership,” Vivien said.

“Sure you are,” Matt looked quite pleased with himself.

“I have to let him win sometimes. Otherwise, he gets cranky and refuses to feed and house me and then I have to become a little old bag lady like Vanellope from Wreck it Wralph,” she said solemnly.

“Wait, you live with Red?”

“Yes. He was kind enough to take me in after everything that happened. But that’s a story for another time.” Or never.

“Tuesday,” he said. “You’re telling me that story on Tuesday, miss.”

“Okay, fine. But you better come!”

“I’ll be there. Promise.”

“Cross your heart?” she asked.

“Cross my heart.”

“Good. See you!” Vivien sat up, waiting for Matt to grab his cane and join her.

“You told Frank what to get him to come to this dinner?” Karen whirled around, hands swallowed up by oven mitts and carrying a pot roast fresh out of the oven.

Karen’s kitchen was small, but cozy and warm. Everything had a sort of yellow accent to it that seemed to brighten the place up, even at the worst of times. And right now was not the worst of times, not even a little bit. For once.

“I told him you’re in love with him and you want to have his children,” Vivien said nonchalantly, sitting on the counter and letting her legs dangle, swaying in the nonexistent breeze.

Karen leveled her with a scolding look Vivien was very, very familiar with.

“Okay, okay. I told him that you really wanted him to come over and that you missed him.”

Karen turned bright red, setting the pot roast down on the table before burying her face in her hands. “You told him that?”

“Yep. Left out the lovey-dovey bits though. Figured you can’t force true love.”

“It’s not-it isn’t-just….just toss the salad, please!”

“Whatever you say, K.” Vivien hopped off of the counter, grabbing everything she needed to toss up a mean old salad.

Karen peered over her shoulder. “That’s too much dressing.”

“No such thing. Besides, your lover probably likes dressing.”

“Vivien, so help me!”

Vivien was giggling like mad, pausing in her enthusiastic efforts at pouring dressing. Karen took this opportunity to snatch the dressing from her, and as she put it in the fridge the girl’s smile slowly faded.

“You know what this reminds me of?”

“What?” Karen asked, voice soft.

Vivien leaned against the counter, staring at a crack in the wall shaped a little bit like Ohio. “My mom. Whenever we had people over she would fuss over everything like this too. And she hated having too much dressing on the salad. My dad liked a ton, but my mom was always trying to get us all to be healthier or whatever.”

“That sounds nice,” Karen said.

“Yeah. Yeah, it was.”

Vivien blinked sharply, wiping at tears that refused to fall out of her eyes, just hanging there off the ends of her lashes and stinging. She turned to the table, busying herself with making sure all the plates and forks and such were set up right. Karen let her, watching for a moment before grabbing the bread basket and setting it out.

“How is that story you’re working on going?”

“Pretty good. It’s just a boring fluff piece though.”

“Still in trouble for that last one you wrote?” Vivien grinned.

“Uh, yeah.” Karen laughed a little bit. “Yeah, definitely still in trouble for that.”

“Well, you know, Matt would say-”

There was a knocking on the door, and Vivien went to go answer it. Speak of the devil. Or the Daredevil, as fate might have it.

“Am I early?” Matt rested his cane on the wall.

“No. For once in your life you’re on time, actually. It’s everyone else that’s late.”

“Don’t give him any credit.” Foggy appeared behind him. “He’s only here on time because I dragged him.”

“You don’t get enough credit for all the good work you do, Foggy.”

“I know.”

Vivien moved out of the doorway so they could come inside, squeezing into Karen’s modest dining room. The tablecloth had more than a few wine stains, but fortunately it was wine colored, a wise decision on Karen’s part. Everything was set out and ready to go, the pot roast buried in a nest of carrots and potatoes, the rolls sitting pretty in their basket, and a glass of wine ready to be filled for everyone except Vivien. She had tried to argue in favor of her drinking wine because she already broke the law anyway, but Karen vetoed that. In truth Vivien thought that wine was absolutely horribly nasty, but she definitely didn’t want to be the lame kid drinking orange soda in front of The Punisher. No matter how much she loved orange soda.

“Is that...orange soda in a wine glass?”

“Don’t call me out like that Foggy. I’m doing my best.”

“That’s absolutely adorable,” Matt said, trying not to laugh.

“I’m going to punch you.”

The doorbell rang before Vivien could make good on her threats, and Karen’s head snapped up, swiveling over to the door.

“You going to get that?” Matt was still visibly amused.

“Yes. Yeah. Definitely. I’m going to go…” Karen wandered in the direction of the doorway.

“It’s true looooovvveee,” Vivien whispered.

Karen shot her a look.

“I bet you $5 he has flowers,” she said, ignoring the look.

“That’s ridiculous. You’re about to owe me $5.”

Karen opened the door to Frank holding a bouquet of flowers.

“Hi Karen,” he said.

Was The Punisher...blushing? Yes. Yes he was.

“Oh. You brought flowers,” Karen said, looking pretty red herself.

“Um, yeah. Thought I would thank you for dinner,” he said.

“That’s really nice of you Frank.” She smiled at him.

They were totally making eyes at each other. Vivien communicated as much to Matt through barely audible whispers, making Matt laugh very audibly. Karen glared suspiciously at her, and Vivien shot her an innocent grin as she let Frank inside, letting him pull her chair out for her.

Frank sat down across from Vivien, giving her a concerned look. “So, do you have a name miss?”

“Oh, we never actually formally told you that, huh?”

“It’s Valerie or something, right?”

“Vivien.” She smiled at him.

“Well, it’s very nice to meet you in a setting where you probably won’t die, Vivien.” Frank glared pointedly at Matt.

“I just want you to know that I can’t see you glaring at me.”

“What you just said contradicts that, Red.”

“I made an educated guess.”

“It was still my idea to be a vigilante, Mr. Castle. Matt objects every time. It’s very annoying,” Vivien said.

“Have you ever considered… I don’t know, not recklessly putting yourself in danger?”

Karen poured wine into Frank’s glass as he spoke, going around the table.

“Sometimes I think about that at night when I can’t sleep, and then I start laughing because can you imagine how boring leading that kind of life would be?”

Frank looked like he was about to say something, but Karen interrupted. “Alright, who wants to cut the roast? Matt?”

“Karen, I really think that’s a bad idea.”

Karen looked down at the table, biting her lip. “Right. Sorry.”

“I’ll do it.”

Frank stood, starting to slice the roast into thin pieces. It was obvious this wasn’t his first roast slicing rodeo. The man knew what he was doing. He wasn’t as good as Foggy, admittedly, but Foggy was raised by butchers, so that was sort of a given.

“I’ll say grace,” Matt said.

“You still say grace, altar boy?” Frank scoffed.

“Yes, yes I do. And you could probably benefit from it.”

Frank rolled his eyes, but bowed his head to pray with the rest of them as Matt blessed the food and prayed for the safety of the city. He kept it short and sweet, no doubt trying to avoid complaints from Frank, who Vivien was starting to get the sense was very jaded. She figured that was more than fair.

They ate in silence for the first few minutes, before Matt started trying to lecture. Karen intercepted though, not about to have any arguments break out at her dinner table.

“So, Frank, how have you been lately?”

“Oh, the usual, I guess.” It was a non-committal answer if Vivien had ever heard one. “And you? How is the reporter thing working out for you?”

“Good. I like it a lot, although I...tend to get in trouble.”

Frank chuckled. “Yeah, I figured as much. Your last article seemed like it might ruffle more than a few feathers.”

“You could say that.”

“It was good though. Great, actually.”

“Thank you.” Karen looked down at the tablecloth, smiling to herself.

They returned to silence before, surprisingly, Frank started the conversation.

“So, miss, how did you end up living with Red over here?”

“Well, that’s a somewhat complicated story,” Vivien dodged.

“Try me.” Frank speared a carrot, stuffing it in his mouth.

“Long story short? My family died and Matt found me living on the street through a fortunate series of adventures that involved some unpaid legal representation, which is what most of Matt’s adventures involve. Anyway, he found me, decided that I should probably not be homeless at such a young, vulnerable age, and took me in. And here I am today, thriving.”

Frank look at her appraisingly. “You don’t seem awfully torn up about your family.”

The change in Vivien was immediate. Her eyes darkened, hands balling into fists under the table. This son of a-

Karen placed a hand on her shoulder. “Hey. Easy there. It’s okay.”

Viven stabbed her fork violently into her pot roast.

“Some of us murder dozens of people, others deflect with humor. Just because I don’t feel the need to shoot anyone in the face doesn’t mean I don’t grieve, Castle.”

There was silence at the dinner table, but not the comfortable kind like before. This was cold and stunned.

“I’m sorry. It wasn’t right of me to assume.”

“No. No it wasn’t.” Vivien chewed viciously.

Frank watched her carefully, but Vivien refused to meet his gaze.“You have a lot of anger in you, huh kid?”

“You have a problem with that too?”

“No. Seems pretty natural to me. I guess you take that out on criminals, huh?”

“It seemed more constructive then becoming a cheerleader and being horrible to every teenage girl that might threaten my supreme reign over all things high school related.”

Karen laughed softly, and Frank smiled at the sound.

“Yeah, I guess you’ve got me there. And I’m not in a place to judge how you take out your anger, as you so passionately pointed out.”

“Sorry about that.” Vivien glanced tentatively up at him now, doing her best to look genuinely remorseful.

“It’s okay. You were right.”

“Being right doesn’t mean you should say something.”

He chuckled. “You’ve got me there. So, Red trained you?”

“I trained myself.” She set her elbows on the table with complete disregard to all traditional manners. “And then Matt helped because apparently I was clumsy.”

“You still are.”

“Matt, please.” Vivien gave him a rather pathetic look.

“It’s just the truth.” He held up his hands in surrender.

“You’re mean.”

“You know, I get that a lot for a guy who does as much pro bono as I do.”

“Probably because you’re an a-”

“Ah!” Foggy reached over to his right to cover Vivien’s ears. “No swearing around the baby!”

“I’m not a baby! ...But he’s right, you shouldn’t swear. There are much more creative ways to express yourself,” Vivien said.

Frank looked at her like she had grown another head. “You don’t swear?”

“No. And if you have a problem with that then I hope a flaming squid falls on your face and squirts ink in your eyes.”

“Okay. Point taken.”

The rest of dinner was fun. They ate, they laughed, and nobody further mocked Vivien’s orange juice in a wine glass. Eventually, though, it had to come to an end, as all good things do.

“I should be heading back,” Frank said.

“Yeah, us too.” Foggy nodded, slightly tipsy.

“Did you want to stay the night?” Karen asked her softly.

Vivien may or may not have half-fallen asleep on the kitchen table. She reasoned that it wasn’t her fault that they had talked till 1 in the morning. She nodded sleepily, turning her head to look at Karen with sleep-blurred eyes.

“I’ll come by and get her in the morning,” Matt said, grabbing his cane.

“Okay.” Karen began trying to pick Vivien up in order to move her to the bed in her room.

“I’ve got her.” Frank scooped her up like nothing, carrying her into Karen’s room and setting her down gently on the bed. For a moment, Vivien almost could have confused him for her Dad.

She could hear them speaking in soft voices, trying not to wake her up.

“Thanks Frank.”

“No problem.”

Vivien may have only been half-conscious, but she could feel the way they were staring at each other.

“Red, I need to talk to you,” Frank said, breaking away from Karen.

“Yeah?”

Vivien tried to listen in on their conversation, but they went outside to talk, much to her chagrin. Slowly, what little she could hear of their voices faded away. And then she was fast asleep, gone until the next morning.

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flannelpunkcalum · 5 years

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The Devil Wears Kevlar - Part 1

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7

hiiiiiii i feel bad for making all these empty promises so here’s something i know i can update - I’m gonna publish a very long slow burn ceo!batman!cal AU that is so self indulgent and sexy and yes Liam is in it and yes I know Summer already has an Aspen who dates Calum and no I’m not changing it!!!! love you all very much hope you enjoy this first taste!!! I’m gonna be updating about every week so stay tuned!

This is how it starts, all of it; Aspen gets a job at Hood Enterprises on a team that is trying to use molecular mechanisms based on fish skins as a burn treatment, someday making it available in hospitals, and maybe even commercially. It was big in Brazil when supplies were in short supply, and if they can make it available for the military, well- it would be low cost, biodegradable, and more effective.

It’s almost boring, looking back on it, but back then she was thrilled. She was in a new city, with roommates she loved, with her dream job lined up. She makes work friends, like real adults do - Beth from advertising, Michael from sales, Liam the administrative coordinator on the top floor, Ashton on her research and development team. They sit together at lunch. She learns the ropes.

It felt too perfect. And it was.

After her first week, Liam doesn’t come down to lunch for three days. After a few days, he shows up so she finally asks why; apparently he’s been finding a new assistant for the CEO. It’s “the second toughest job in the place, second to mine because I have to keep finding the damn things. You’ve been through our interview process, right? You know how stupid extensive it is? Ugh. Please let’s talk about something else.”

They talk about the CEO of Sionis Investments, instead, until Liam complains about that, too. Nasty business; CEO was kidnapped, blackmailed, and the police are saying they have no leads. Aspen isn’t sure she believes that. She tells that to Ashton later over the centrifuge. She hopes she gets a hunky bodyguard out of it, though. “I’m an asset, Ashton.”

She falls into a routine while they research the new bandage. She’s taken to calling it Nurse Shark, while Ashton is calling it BAMF (Bandage And Medicine Fish). Beth says there’s a reason they’re kept in the lab and not in advertising; her money’s on Pisciform, from the Latin. Aspen says that she minored in English and she knows a good idea when she hears one. Liam says that Calum Hood’s new assistant is finally working out; maybe he’ll be able to go a month without having to fire him and take over. Michael wants to know if that’s the only thing he thinks about, Liam? Liam tells Michael to shut up or he’ll make Mikey a secretary. Michael throws a french fry at him, even though they’re all way too old for it.

Those are the good days.

She’s researching alternative biodegradable fibers to base the bandage on (partly just because they’re waiting for the shareholders meeting to pass and give them a direction) when she meets Calum Hood for the first time. She didn’t expect to see him until the Christmas party but he comes into her - well, Ashton’s - lab in a gust of expensive cologne. Liam is with him. They talk in hushed tones to Ashton while she pretends to read through the Canadian Journal of Botany. Liam sneaks peeks at her the whole time, but she doesn’t let herself guess why until the boys wave her over.

Calum Hood is tall and broad and he doesn’t smile very much. Ashton’s voice is warm when he talks about Aspen, the work she does, her history of project management, her research abilities. She’s up for the position as personal assistant, she realizes, and she doesn’t know how she feels about that. She loves Nurse Shark or BAMF or whatever you want to call it. She didn’t get two degrees in molecular biology to pick up dry cleaning. Liam is nervous, too, like nothing she’s ever seen. Aspen wants to take risks, though, and she agrees to be interviewed for the position later that afternoon.

It is casual Friday. She doesn’t even have a good cardigan. This is a bad idea.

Ha. Like that’s ever stopped her.

Calum Hood - Mr. Hood - had been quiet in the lab, and he was quiet at the interview. Liam asked her most of the questions. It’s weird to have her friend ask her about her experience in administrative duties. He doesn’t even flash her a reassuring smile when she says she doesn’t know how many words she can type a minute.

It’s the first time she wonders if something is wrong.

It’s not the only time, either, not even in the interview. Near the end Mr. Hood cuts in and asks her about her family, where she worked in the past, her plans for the future. He has a look in his eye that makes her feel like a specimen. Like he’d give anything to dissect her.

There’s only so much of it she can take. “I’m sorry, I don’t feel comfortable talking about that right now,” she says when he asks about her medical history. “I don’t think you’re allowed to ask me that,” she says when he asks her if she had a boyfriend or husband. She didn’t, but that’s not any of his fucking business and it shouldn’t affect his decisions in hiring her - she doesn’t want to be hired, anyway, she likes the lab. Doesn’t need some wunderkind in a fancy suit to invade her professional and private life. Doesn’t need overtime pay. Well, she does, but not that badly. She can always find some work on the weekends. It’ll figure itself out.

It’s only two hours before Liam pokes his head back in the lab. Aspen crosses her fingers behind her back, but it doesn’t change anything; Mr. Hood wants to talk to her. Liam’s face is like stone as he leads her to the elevator and takes her to the top floor, and she’s still trying to unbutton her lab coat as he leads her to the CEO’s office. She feels like she’s in trouble, but he can’t fire her for protecting her rights, can he? She moved to Gotham for this job, she can’t lose it now.

Calum Hood asks her to sit down.

Liam leaves and closes the door behind him.

“Before anything else, I’d like to apologize for the way I treated you in the interview.” He starts off, making Aspen struggle to hide her surprise. “It was disrespectful and invasive. I needed to make sure- the nature of this position is that you would be privy to a good amount of confidential information and I need a personal assistant who knows the boundaries. That is, if you want the job.”

He’s actually- she’s got the job? That’s- Aspen could have the job, if she wanted. She could work with a brilliant CEO on top of the heap. She could have that.

But.

Aspen takes a deep breath to steady herself and properly look at her boss. She’d been too scared to before, just barely brave enough to hold his gaze, but now she picks her head up and tries to analyze him. He’s big, even for a young man. He looks solid enough to carry a company, even if he also looks a little young for it. He’s handsome. He’s well-dressed. He’s… frankly, he’s terrifying. He looks tired. She doesn’t trust him, she realizes.

“I don’t know, Mr. Hood. With all due respect, I heard about when Cathy Potolsky got fired. It seems like a very high-stress position, and I don’t know if I’m qualified to meet your exacting standards.” Aspen says. She tries to be sweet about it, but she’s still a little mad about the questions he asked her. She hasn’t been able to focus on plant fibers all afternoon, either, and it was all his fault. Should she care if he can tell? Eh, probably.

That business with Cathy had been nasty, too. Liam had told them in low voices how Mr. Hood had thrown a vase across the room when Cathy left too many voicemails go unheard. Aspen didn’t know if she could put up with that. She was terrible at replying to texts.

Mr. Hood has eyes like a rifle’s scope. “You are if I say you are. You seem very capable, and Dr. Irwin showed me some of your writings.”

He wasn’t going to let this go easily. “I’m flattered.” She says, but it’s an attempt to get him to stop trying to persuade her. “To be perfectly frank, Mr. Hood, I really do like my work in the lab, and if it’s all the same to you I’d rather not put that position in jeopardy to work as your assistant.”

He’s quiet for a moment, and for a second she thinks she’s out of the woods.

“How about this, then; if we find that you working as my assistant isn’t working out, I’ll send you back down to work in the labs. I’ll guarantee you a position with your project, or, hell, any project you want.” His eyes search her. “The position comes with a promotion and a better holiday bonus. We both know Dr. Irwin can’t pay you the overtime you deserve.”

It stings, but he’s right. She sighs. “Can I think it over?”

“Of course.” Mr. Hood stands, shows her to the door. “Why don’t you take fifteen minutes to enjoy the top floor? I assure you it’s a far cry from the basement.”

“Fifteen-”

“I don’t think you understand how urgently I need this position filled.” Mr. Hood’s voice leaves no room for argument. Aspen swallows a scowl as she exits the office, where Liam’s leaning against the wall with his arms crossed.

“Well?” He asks as soon as the door closes behind her. Aspen doesn’t think she’s ever seen his brows creased like that.

“He offered me the job.”

Liam snorts. “Of course he did. You’re not taking it, though.”

It’s very clearly not a question, and all of Aspen’s anger makes her lightheaded for a second. How can Liam talk to her like that after her scumbag of a boss tries to manipulate her in a job interview she didn’t even want? He’s supposed to be her friend. She takes a deep breath before she answers, just to be safe. “I don’t know. I could really use the money, and - I mean, if I can look after a lab, I should be able to look after one man, right?”

Liam looks uncomfortable. “Aspen, you have to be kidding yourself.”

“Wow, thanks for the support.” Aspen says, but she can’t keep the sarcasm from steeping through.

“I’m serious. You’re not qualified, I’ve seen your people skills, and Calum Hood eats girls like you for breakfast. Take a look at yourself. You don’t belong up here.”

Aspen doesn’t break Liam’s gaze, but she does a mental check. She’s in her stained polyester lab coat and jeans from the Gap, while Liam - he’s in a shirt that probably cost more than her weekly food budget. The people humming quietly through reception are poised, polished, like chrome, and she’s suddenly all the more aware of her split ends and chipped nails. He’s not wrong.

But this isn’t right.

“What’s wrong with you? How can you - Liam.” She says, and it sounds like pleading. At least she’s not yelling yet, though. She’s tired and frustrated and it’s almost 4:30 and if she was back in the lab Ashton would be telling her to sneak out by now but she’s in this shitty situation instead. What the hell?

Liam’s sweet face looks mean, now, malice in the curve of his brows. Aspen might be going crazy. “I’m trying to protect you, Aspen, you wouldn’t last a day. You look like you’re going to cry, honestly. Save yourself the humiliation. I’ll tell Calum you refuse.” He reaches for the doorknob before she can say anything.

Aspen’s not even remotely close to tears, and she’s not about to let some jealous secretary fuck this up for her, either. As Liam turns the knob she grabs his wrist, trying to keep him from fucking with her career any more, but he grabs her arm to pull her back - is he trying to fight her, right here, right now? Is he actually- Aspen jerks in his grip, and when Liam pushes back he pushes her into the door and it swings open and -

In an instant they separate. Mr. Hood takes his sweet time looking up from his papers, where Aspen’s nervously pushing hair out of her eyes. “That was quick.” He says, all mild.

Liam acts first. “Aspen wants to say that she can’t-”

“-can’t turn down your offer.”

Was that her who just spoke? Aspen tries to keep herself calm, rock-steady as Calum Hood looks her over slowly. Liam is silent beside her, but the tension feels sharp and painful between them. They’re two ends of a capacitor, building up charge.

Mr. Hood’s voice breaks the silence. “Excellent. Everything Cathy left behind is in the office, that’s everything you’ll need. I arrive at the office at 8:30 every morning; I expect you to meet me Monday with my coffee and daily schedule ready.”

Aspen blinks. “I- great. Excellent. I’ll have that.”

Her new boss stands up and comes around the desk to shake her hand, and Aspen swears she catches the first real smile she’s seen from him. “I’m so glad to have you.” He says. He’s warm, is what he is, for the very first time. When he draws away, Aspen can see why he’s a leader and CEO, just for a second.

The second passes. “Liam will show you to your new office and make sure you’re set up. I’m sure he can help you with any questions you may have.” Calum nods to Liam and gives her another tiny, tiny smile, effectively dismissing them. Aspen says thank you one last time until the door closes behind them, and then it’s just her and Liam again.

He speaks first, after a very long second. “What the fuck did you do?”

“You tried to ruin my chances here, and you grabbed me -”

“You grabbed me first!”

“Yeah, because you were going to tell the CEO that I didn’t want the job. Which - what the hell is wrong with you?” Aspen hisses. She hopes Mr. Hood’s door is thick and soundproof.

“Me? You should have just listened to me. Fuck.” Liam swears again.

“You shouldn’t have treated me like that.” Aspen snaps, and then she makes herself take another deep breath. He looks… genuinely distressed. Aspen, against her better instincts, feels bad for the asshole. “That’s the second time I’ve ever heard you swear. You’re really wound up, huh?” She teases very gently. It’s mostly out of hope.

Liam doesn’t answer right away, just points to an office by a secretary. “That one’s yours. Good luck.” This man, who Aspen thought was her friend, has never sounded colder.

The office is dark when she steps in, and she has to fumble for the lightswitch. It takes longer than it should. Once she finds the lights she sees the planner lying open on the desk, weighed down with post-it notes. There’s a fancy computer monitor and a sad-looking African Violet on the corner of the desk. The space is nice, though; it’s airy. There are proper windows and everything, and there’s just glass dividing it from the main entryway so it feels secluded but still close enough to be useful. It is nicer than the basement labs, she’s not going to lie to herself. She’s seen Devil Wears Prada, she knows what this is supposed to do to her life and soul and all, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t some perks.

That reminds her.

“Liam?” She asks, poking her head out of the doorway. His office is just across from hers, and his door is open, she knows he can hear her. He doesn’t answer, though, just keeps clicking at his computer. “Liam?”

“Mr. Payne?” She jokes, but his head turns and her heart sinks. That’s how he wants it, then?

He doesn’t answer her, just looks at her with this blank fucking look in his eyes all expectant. He’s got this look in his eyes like she’s already let him down. “How does Mr. Hood take his coffee?” Aspen asks. It sounds a bit like pleading, even to her, but she’s confused, and it’s Liam - he feels bad eating sushi because of the little baby fish eggs, for chrissakes, she doesn’t know why he’s acting this way.

He looks angry already. “God, it hasn’t been five minutes and you’re floundering.”

“I’m not- we’re on the same team-”

“Thought this was an opportunity you couldn’t pass up, hm? Act like it.” He turns away after that.

Aspen feels cold all fucking over. “Fine. Thank you.” She says, feeling too sad to spit back venom. She’s confused. She thought - nevermind.

It takes her exactly eighteen minutes to clear out her desk, stealing a box from Ashton so he’ll have to visit her to get it back. “It’s lonely at the top,” she jokes, although she already knows that it really fuckin’ is. At least Ashton hasn’t turned on her; he gives her a hug and a warm smile, and says he’ll keep her updated on the project “until Mr. Hood gets tired of you and you come back home”. For a moment, she wonders if it’s too late to back out.

Aspen bundles her lab coats into the box and doesn’t let herself turn back.

Once she gets back to her lofty prison, she starts typing up a template for Calum Hood’s day to day. This time, she notices that she’s got her very own printer, and she gets a little too excited about that but she doesn’t think anyone outside the glass walls notices. She takes a call from the Daily Gotham and manages to put the reporter on hold all by herself, and gets the secretary to teach her how to transfer calls. Janice also tells her Mr. Hood takes his coffee decaf with one cream and he’s partial to The Coffee Lab but also Cafe Reznikoff if she doesn’t want to go four blocks out of her way. Aspen could kiss Janice, she’s so thankful.

Aspen feels a little goofy but she prints out her brand new template and starts transcribing Mr. Hood’s plans in her neatest writing. It’s past 5:30 when she finishes, and she starts to pack up her things when she remembers that she’s not a researcher right now and she’s has to ask Mr. Hood if she can go home. Her hand hovers over the phone before she makes the decision to stand up and go talk to him face to face, like a grown up. Liam is still at his desk when she walks by, but she doesn’t pause to look at him as she knocks on the CEO’s door.

Mr. Hood sounds stressed when he says “come in,” but Aspen’s spent her whole afternoon in the belly of the beast so it barely phases her. When she enters he’s got a cell phone in his hand and a look on his face so she doesn’t waste time with pleasantries. “Is there anything else you need me for today, or…”

God, she feels underdressed standing near him. “There’s - no, there’s nothing. Go home, Aspen, I’ll see you on Monday.” He says, with a wave of his hand he’s perfected through countless assistants before her.

“Eight thirty, decaf, one cream.” She says, smiling. She finds she wants him to smile back.

She gets something stiff-lipped, but his lips curve in the right direction and really, that’s enough. It’s technically her first day. She’s content. She steps out of the office and closes the door, and breezes through her packing up. “Night, Janice. Goodnight, Mr. Payne.” She hums on her way past, so he knows at least she can conduct herself civilly.

The Aspen who steps out of the building doesn’t feel like the one who walked in for work a few hours ago. She knows this.

Anyway. That's how it starts.

#calum hood series #calum hood blurb #ch blurb #my writing #ch series #tdwk1 #the devil wears kevlar #ceo!cal #batman!cal #i mean not yet #but he is #no spoilers or anything but

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