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nurseofren · 4 years ago

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Keeping Your Promise - Chapter 24

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Read chapter twenty-three

Title: Prove it

Words: 6800

Warnings: Talks of pregnancy, mentions of vomit

Summary: A friend. A foe?

ST Rambles: I look pretty good for a dead bitch.

Okay. In all seriousness. In the five weeks that I have not updated, it has been chaos. School is absolutely kicking my ass this semester and I am not afraid to say it. Maternal-Newborn is a hell I would not wish on my worst enemy. With this said, I know any further updates will be sporadic, BUT - and I say this to snuff out any doubt on the matter - I will never, EVER, abandon this story. However it ends, rest assured that it will, in fact, do just that.

I thank you all for your patience and encouragement. This story is something I care deeply about and it just floors me that others do as well. I love interacting with you all, either on here or tumblr or TikTok (if you've made one and I haven't seen it, please tag me! My fyp does not work in my favor lol).

Be kind. Don't forget to be a person. All you can do is try your best.

[MASTERLIST] | BANNER/@elmidol

Good afternoon,

I can only hope this correspondence finds you safe and well.

The Board of Physicians sympathizes during this time of displacement and potential grieving. There are countless variables to be considered during uncertain times like these, but those of your safety and well-being are of the utmost importance. In an effort to convey the depth of our understanding, a unanimous vote has approved the decision to extend the dates of the trial by seven days. Upon receiving this official communication, you should plan to arrive on Canto Bight a minimum of two days prior to the morning of the initial hearing. An updated outline has been attached at the end of this e-mail for reference and sent to all pertinent parties.

Per the initial correspondence, Commander Ren is to receive a new provider prior to the trial’s start date. This objective has been met with the solemn barrier of the diminished population of approved nurses and physicians which resulted from the recent tragedy of Starkiller Base. There have been additional unforeseen circumstances also working to lengthen and altogether halt this approval process. Rest assured that we are doing everything in our power to ensure the trial proceedings occur in an organized and professional manner.

The emergent provider shortage, along with the unknown – and likely diminished – amount of surveillance retained from Starkiller Base prior to its destruction, has laid the foundation for the discussion of potential and probable employment during your time on Canto Bight. The discussions surrounding this issue are in their infancies. Should it be that you are to assume a care position during your trial, you will receive a further updated and in-depth itinerary. This would include the dates, times, and location you would be expected to work; this information would be accompanied by any specific limitations regarding your scope of practice while on trial.

Though you are encouraged to reach out to discuss any questions or concerns you may have pertaining to these new developments, the current agenda is to be followed with strict compliance. Should there be any changes, as stated previously, I will communicate these to you in a timely and conscious manner.

Respectfully,

Karmen Zag, Esq.,

Head of Communications,

The Board of Physicians

“Yeah, well, you can go fuck yourself Karmen Zag. Stupid ass name anyway.”

Not that anyone could hear you, nor that anyone would care, you could not help the petty jab. Karmen Zag, the faceless mouthpiece of the institution actively seeking your death, had little to do with anything. Karmen Zag was not the one who had carved initials into your body; that person was elusive to you now. Karmen Zag was not the one who kept you from sleep; that person was dead, killed by the trembling hands of the very survivor they’d created. Karmen Zag was not the one you were currently hiding from; that person, achingly kind and too ignorant to know different, still came to pick you up from shift every night.

Cramped in the corner of a supply room, you sat with your knees tucked to your chest and your datapad resting on your thighs, eyeing the vent at the bottom of the door to spy Mason’s tapping foot. In the seven days since waking up in the medbay, six days since returning to work to help with the increased patient population – or, at least that’s what you were telling yourself – you had found yourself with a desperate need to distance yourself from Mason. He was unaware of all that was haunting you, nescient to the fact he was at the epicenter of the majority of it. To see him was to remember the choice you’d made, to hate yourself for regretting it, to be morally ripped in half by the unwavering war in the back of your mind.

The first three days he would always sneak up on you, flurries of white lies leaving while you fumbled away from him and into the nearest room. I’m on call tonight was your favorite. No, you weren’t, though you had been staying in the on-call rooms to hide the fact that you no longer held a residence on this ship. No matter if you had not received official word on your employment status, you felt an unease when thinking of returning to Kylo Ren’s quarters. It felt too broken, like you’d be a stranger somewhere you’d once considered a home.

Eventually, Mason being an inherent creature of habit, you’d picked up on his timing. On the fourth day you’d decided to stake him out, finding he would spend exactly ten minutes waiting, send a message to your commlink, spend another five toying with his own as he waited for a response, eventually asking whoever was nearest to tell you to call him. You never did. It was despicable, watching his hope falter as the days passed and you were never there to leave with him; wretched, but that did not make it any less necessary.

So long as you were away from Mason, you couldn’t hurt him. If you could create a rift between the two of you so great as to discourage any further interaction, you could save him from all the suffering that came along with being associated with you. On the other hand, you couldn’t deny the comfort you felt in deferring any conversation with him. Avoidance may not be a healthy coping mechanism, but all the ones you’d learned of in school were useless to your set of circumstances; there was no talking this through, no way to speak of Snoke or Kylo or Robbie without getting someone else hurt. You were trapped in your own, sole company; whoever you had become recently, you were barely tolerant of them, let alone fond. It was growing increasingly difficult to recognize your own reflection. At some point you figured you might stop looking altogether.

Zag’s update had been present in your inbox ever since returning to work; with each read through – which, now, you’d have read a hundred times – you felt time pass by. Each night you spent time tucked away here, the cold tile permeating the scrub pants you now wore; the uniform you’d had on when you arrived back on the Finalizer had been too tattered to reuse. Not that you wanted to wear it; in those tattered, bloodied threads lay the obvious truth of how entirely you had failed at the only assignment you had ever been trusted with.

Trusted. The thought made you shiver. Yes. Trusted. Past tense. In every sense it could be. Thus, folded into yourself, away from prying eyes or well-meaning friends, you scrolled aimlessly up and down the message. Though its existence annoyed you, knowing full well that there was no empathy or genuine concern behind the decision to delay the trial, it also brought you ease to know this portion of your life was almost over. Again you were embracing the possibility of your death, only this time rooted in hatred for yourself, not Kylo Ren.

“Alright, well, can you tell her-,”

“Tell her to call you. Got it. Do every night.” One of your coworkers had grown exasperated with Mason – or was it with you? Either way, peeking through the vent slats, you spied Mason’s legs drag out of view. It made your heart fall, feeling more disgusted with yourself each day; it was this confusing combination of feeling a pull to run after him, to apologize to him with every breath you had left, only for that initial urgency to be swallowed by the knowledge that the action would be futile.

With tired eyes, not having gotten more than two hours of unbroken sleep since the sixteen you’d woken from, you looked to your left wrist. It was a routine gesture, pointless in the fact you had not worn the watch since finding it on your bedside table. Much like your uniform, only agonizingly amplified, the sight of the gadget inspired a hollowness in your chest. It remained in a pillowcase, hidden atop the bed you’d claimed. Each night you toyed with it, thumbed at the lifeless screen and wondered if it would ever offer another flicker; each night you caught the hazy reflection of two unfamiliar eyes, finding only the remnants of shattered promises staring back at you.

A sigh crept into your lungs when you stood, arms stretching and hands smoothing back your hair before going to activate the door. It hissed open without your indication; before you could question how, two hands pushed you out of the way and sent you flying face first into the storage shelves. Nose first, actually; the collision rang through your ears, pain throbbing in prominence as you stumbled for stability, arms widespread and eyes pinched shut.

“Oh! You have to be kidding!” Copper crept down your upper lip, cascading over your sharp tongue, foggy eyes opening to blood-stained fingers. “Watch where you’re going, jeez!”

Away from you sounded the door as it shut, but that wasn’t the sound that alarmed you. Across the room, near the sink – at least you hoped it was near the sink – came the horrendous retching that could only indicate vomit. The longer you listened, though, all the while blindly searching for a package of gauze, you found it wasn’t vomit, but an attempt towards it; echoes of dry heaves wracked the room, vomit absent even as the stranger continued in their effort toward expulsion.

A spill of winces left you, a grimace following suit when you tipped your head back, blood draining down your throat. You found a box of gauze squares and tore it open, peeling away a layer and rolling it into a cone before pushing it into one nostril. Vessels pounded against the material, injury soaking into it as you caught your breath.

“I’m so sorry,” a familiar voice said, groggy and breathless. “The refresher was occupied, and the occupancy indicator wasn’t on.” She took another breath, gasping back spit. “I figured the sink in here would do.”

Another person you’d been avoiding. Talia. Sick. As she would be, of course. It was something you’d fought thoughts on; it was too confusing, too unnerving to put the pieces you’d been offered together. Hux had left her room, had been so distraught. Talia had seized and ended up in the medbay. Armitage. Stars, how that word haunted you in the way it left her paling lips. She’d been so disoriented, so scared. Glassy eyes and green pallor. And the person she’d asked for was Armitage.

With these thoughts, dizzying as they had become, came the image of the very thing that tied them all together: that square-cut, printed, glossy ultrasound picture. Between nightmares of Robbie and desperately trying to find any amount of sleep, you saw it clear in your head, remembered how you’d lost your ability to stand when you first considered the reality of it. It all made sense clinically; the symptoms, the tangible evidence showing a yolk sac, the patient identifiers framing the monochrome image.

But, when you remembered running into Hux, remembered the ghost in his eyes and felt the rather unsettling demeanor – one not marked with errant hatred – he’d met you with, it all started to blur. Jumble. Your mind rejecting the thought that Talia and Hux-

Talia mewled, your eyes opening to find white knuckles outfitting a vise grip over the sink’s metal edge. The fluorescent lights lining the ceiling made it all too easy to see how sick she really was. Tears glinted down her cheeks, her hair dull in its tousled bun, a string of spit straying from her bottom lip; there was a suggestion of green just below the surface of her skin, exhaustion evident in the lavender drapes below her eyes.

A shaky breath left her before she rested against the sink, elbows bent and fingers rolling over her temples. For a moment there was a deafening silence, one that strangled you and emphasized the throbbing in your nose when you stopped breathing. It dissipated when Talia groaned, her head drooping and stance shifting.

“At least shift is done, right?” She sounded like she was talking to anyone. She didn’t know it was you. She didn’t know you knew.

Swallowing, dropping your hand from your face, you tried to think of anything to say. But nothing would come. And, considering how little time you had left to know her – execution or not – you saw no point in frivolous small talk.

“How far along are you?” It was a low rasp; frail in its existence yet bludgeoning the quiet that had preceded it.

She didn’t look up, but you knew she recognized your voice; her every muscle stalled, hair even stilling as your words sank into her. It was the first thing you’d said to her since she’d seized. In her silent shock it dawned on you that it had not been long since you’d been in a situation similar to this; the two of you, a pitting silence, a mess – obvious and blaring – surrounding you.

Only this mess was not something that could be cleaned. This mess existed outside all you had once thought to consider. Though this room was less gruesome in appearance, it held that same suffocated dread, carried with it the reminder that everything could change without a moment’s notice. Watching the color return to her cheeks, absentmindedly brushing your fingertips across the raised marks atop your thigh, it hit you how true that fact was.

A small sound – a swallow – filled the room, a sigh to accompany it. “Six weeks. I think, at least. Maybe more.” She stood then, crossing her arms and leaning against the sink. A wall stood between you and her, invisible yet so entirely present. “No one knows.” Her jaw fluttered at its hinge. The wall was for her; a façade, a crutch. She was scared.

The door lit cool shivers down your back, hands digging into your pockets, a weak attempt at a smile pulling at your face. “Congratulations,” you offered first, forgetting the circumstances before seeing her eyes fall to the floor. “Or not, I guess.”

She kept her eyes down. “I’m not showing, and I’ve been good about sneaking away to throw up, so…”

“Last week,” you said, her stare coming back to you, “after Starkiller. I fainted after arriving back here, and after I woke up,” I washed the Commander of the First Order’s hair and cried to his comatose body about how my life is falling apart, “I just had to know you were okay, so I visited you.”

“I don’t remember seeing you. I actually… How did you even know I had been admitted to the medbay?”

“You were asleep. I didn’t want to wake you.” You chewed your cheek, recounting any of those 48 hours made your pulse jump. “You weren’t well off when I found you, before they took you to the medbay, so I wouldn’t expect you to remember me being there.”

Her brow dipped for half a second, a crack creeping into that wall. “I didn’t know you found me. It’s difficult for me to even recall most of that day.” Her shoulders dropped, stature less rigid now. “Thank you, though.”

You nodded, not entirely sure why she felt it necessary to thank you. “Yeah. So, you were sleeping and I saw the tests ordered on your board. And then I found your ultrasound on the floor.”

Her eyes were so distant, pupils housing a familiar ghost. “It must have fallen when I was sleeping.” Her lips parted with the whisper, egregious loneliness overwhelming the thought.

It felt like the floor would fall out at any second, the interaction so fragile. Watching her with intent, measuring her reactions, you charged ahead into territory you’d been afraid to enter for so long.

“Talia,” you started, buying more time to think on your phrasing. Her focus startled back from wherever her mind had taken her. “I mean, maybe this is ridiculous, and maybe I’m so far off base in even suggesting it…”

Her arms dropped when a hand reached to tuck a collection of stray hair behind her ear, nose sniffing, teeth pulling at her bottom lip. She took her eyes from yours, breath picking up. That wall she stood behind was wearing.

You couldn’t stand beating around the bush any longer, sick of theorizing about it all. It fled out, no breath to separate any of it. “I’ll just say it: Hux was leaving your room when I came around. And he was being weird. So weird. I mean, he was being… would I say nice? Maybe just, less awful? He complimented me. And it was so weird, but I thought I would give him the benefit of the doubt because, you know, he’d just lost a lot of men. But then it was you in the room and I.. he was so distraught? That is barely the right word, but I mean? He just wasn’t General Hux. And then I found the ultrasound and remembered how you’d asked for ‘Armitage’ earlier when I’d found you, and-,”

A weep signaled the destruction of the wall she’d thrown up, hands clawing into her eyes and lungs heaving full of ragged, desperate air. “Oh, please tell me you didn’t tell him! He can’t- I don’t!” Sobs rolled off of her between each exclamation. “I haven’t told him. I don’t know how. I- he’s so evil! I can’t believe I ever slept with him!”

Seeing her come apart, feeling the guilt she did in every word she cried, you could only think to take her into your arms. In your hold you felt her shaking and the pain roll off of her in thick, grating waves. It was familiar, like she, too, had been existing alone; you had not noticed, so buried in your own avoidance that you had not thought to consider hers.

“I’m so sorry! I’m so- I’m so sorry! It makes me so mad that- ugh!”

“Hey, stop. Slow down,” you soothed, hugging her tighter. “You have nothing to apologize to me for. You’ve done nothing wrong, okay?”

“No, I have! I slept with my Master! And got pregnant! And he’s such a fucking jerk! He’s the whole reason you’re losing your career, you know? And I had sex with him! And I feel- felt real things for him!” A breath stuttered into her lungs. “I never meant for it to go any further than that first night, and then… fuck.”

It burned down to your marrow that you had the power to comfort her, knew everything she was feeling even if it wasn’t hatred that left you crying at night. She would be embraced in knowing you had also slept with your Master; it would minimize the guilt she now felt. To tell her you had fallen for Kylo Ren could help her know that she wasn’t alone.

Instead, feeling her tears accumulate on your sleeve, struggling to keep in your own, you kept quiet. She would not learn how you had burned so bright for your commander. It was selfish, but it was necessary. Self-preservation. She would be testifying against you, taking the stand right after Hux. Her not knowing would do no harm; it would keep her from having to consider or commit perjury. Talia now joined Mason, another soul to protect, another person you would lie to.

Several minutes passed before she stopped trembling, another few before the tears stopped staining your uniform. Humanity existed in these moments, and though you would hide how you knew the advice you would offer her, you knew she needed to hear it. A part of you did, too.

Moving your arms from her back and grasping both her shoulders, you locked eyes with her and forced her to see that you somehow understood her pain. “There is nothing to feel guilty about. Not that you slept with him, or that you got pregnant. Not that you felt things for him or that you still do.” Her eyes shut at that, a fresh streamlet dragging into her mouth. “You can still love him even if he has done awful things.”

“Gosh, how can you say that? He’s ruined your life,” she shuddered, grimacing before looking back up to you.

“I made the choice to take that blood. I had a choice,” your throat tightened, not knowing if you were reciting the words from their origin or from your dream, “I made the one I thought was the best at the time. Hux may be an ass in the way he has gone about the issue, but it’s not like he wouldn’t have reported me.”

She sobbed your name, confusion and hurt wrought in her features. “That blood saved that patient. You saved that patient. We both know that. You saved him and you’re suffering for it and I’m the one who wrote the incident report. He made me write it. Such a fucking bastard.”

Just like that, whatever weird internal truce you’d made with Hux disappeared. “Yeah, that is a dick thing to do, I will say that.”

She wiped at her cheeks, shaking her head. “I should have lied on that report.”

“And gotten both of us in trouble? That isn’t a solution.”

“If I had, you would be less alone in this. And I wouldn’t have to testify against you.” Talia’s eyes shot to the ceiling and back, frustration hot on her breath. “It’s just so-,”

“Unfair. I know. I have… I’ve beaten myself up about it too much not to know that.” This conversation was too similar to those you’ve held inwardly. It was becoming repetitive to keep sulking over something you could not change. But Talia, if she wanted, could change her situation. “We went through the same program, got the same schooling, I know you know your options here.”

She chewed her cheek, shaking her head. A long drag of breath found its way into her chest, releasing when your hands fell to your sides. “This is where you find out how stupid I am.”

It pulled at your heart to hear how hard she was being on herself. “You aren’t stupid. And if you are? Could’ve fooled me with your class rank and just general existence.”

A laugh, weak but not acrid. “Academics were easy. Career is easy. This life stuff? Messy. Complicated. I feel like no matter what I do, it will blow up in my face.” That earlier distance glazed over her stare, a glimmer of yearning present in the way her eyebrows pinched. “And what I want…think I want? I’m not sure it’s even possible.”

“What do you want?”

Talia shut her eyes, capitulation and indignance set in her features, jaw flexed. “I haven’t spoken to him since that night,” she whispered. “He watched me fill out that report. I was sobbing in front of him and he said nothing.” A hand smoothed over her hair and clutched into her bun, lips quivering for a moment. “I didn’t even know until last week. I woke up for a few minutes and they started talking about all that had happened – fainting and seizures and blood tests – and they immediately wheeled me down to have an ultrasound to confirm the hCG results and urinalysis.”

She paused, growing in distance the more she shared. “Was it just your electrolytes that caused the seizure?”

“Yeah. Yes.” She blinked back to the present. “Belkar actually said I was severely dehydrated and that my metabolic panel reflected that.” Talia was dancing between two timeframes; gentleness framed her face when revisiting that of the past. Something so delicate in her stare; adoration cusping on hope. “I always told myself I would never have children. It scared me seeing how sick they could become when we had our unit on pediatrics. I’d never wanted to feel so helpless as the parents I saw during clinical.”

It almost winded you to watch a single tear slip down her cheek, allowing her silence during her pause before she looked up at you, desperation drowning her eyes. She couldn’t find – or, maybe, did not want to believe – the words that overwhelmed her. “What changed?” You knew, but she needed to hear it for herself.

Her lips had become puffy, teeth pulling at the bottom one. She reached into the front pocket of her scrub dress, pulling from it that square print, only now with rolled, worn corners. “I know it’s early and there are so many things that can go wrong and I know I had been drinking before I knew, but…” A swallow bobbed her throat, a fond smile forming when she toyed with the scan. “When they handed this to me? Something just, I don’t know, came into view.”

A surge of immense pain coiled into you. In her reverie you saw yourself, realized how fortunate her situation was; she had something she wanted and even though it was complicated, she had a choice in the matter.

Again, her mind had wandered, distraction framing her tone; her brows pinched together for a second, a question sparking from her memories. “Have you ever wanted something so much, and maybe you didn’t fully understand it, but you just knew? For whatever reason, this was the thing you would do everything in your power to make possible? To have what you want, no matter how daunting or nonsensical it seemed?”

“Yeah,” you choked out, coughing against the new strain on your throat, “I think so.” Talia had that ability, though, and it cracked against your skull how helpless you were to go after what you wanted.

“You said that I could still love him if he’s done awful things,” she quoted, her attention returning to you. “I don’t love him. I don’t think I really know him that well. But…” She shook her head, shoulders shrugging and a puff of breath leaving her nose. “I miss him. It’s so dumb, but the bastard is nice to be around when he isn’t buried in politics. When he’s just a person. When he isn’t the General. When he’s just—” another smile, similar to her earlier one “—Armitage.”

“That has to be the strangest part of this whole thing.” A small laugh bubbled past your lips. It had been so long since the last one. “Armitage.”

“It was very odd at first. But I’m not going to cry out General, oh please General! when I’m cumming, so I got over it.”

Dumbfounded, all you could do was gawk at her candor. It warmed you, though, feeling like that first night you’d hung out with her. A good memory. Her cheeks pinked in your silence and the sight pulled you straight into a ruckus of laughter, tears – born in pain, falling from humor – and lightheartedness. It was short lived, but Talia joined in your fit; abashed giggles leaving her smile-tight face.

“I mean, I feel like it would be weirder if you were sleeping with Commander Ren.” Talia jabbed at your shoulder. “Calling him… Kylo? That just feels downright wrong.”

Instantaneously, your high fizzling into nothing before her, you found yourself right where you were when you’d said your first goodbye. Ky. It wilted your heart, shrouded whatever glimpse of happiness you’d just caught. Talia was too lost in the joke to notice you’d backed away from her, face turned so she couldn’t see the suffering rise to the surface.

“Ha, yeah. Wrong. So, so wrong.” You cleared your throat, brushing past the weak attempt at nonchalance, ready to be off this subject. “So you miss him? You miss… Armitage? Yeah, no. I’m gonna stick to Hux, if that’s alright?”

A final laugh lit from her chest, Talia waving you off. “That’s fine, of course. And yeah. I miss him.” Her brow furrowed. “Do you think it could work? Me and him, and—” she gestured down to her abdomen, placing the scan back in her pocket “—this?”

This was none of your business, and you doubted anything you could say would help her, but there was genuine curiosity in her voice. There was respect in how she wanted your insight into something so intimate and personal.

A sigh preceded your reply, unsure if you were speaking to her or yourself. “I think… Just as you said earlier: no matter if its daunting or nonsensical or even completely impossible – if you want it and you are willing to do everything in your power to get it?”

Hope lit behind her eyes, bloomed in her chest at the suggestion. “It could work.”

Struggle hid behind a mask of hope. Of course she did not know how it pained you to offer words that would never exist for yourself, and it wasn’t fair to ruin her moment of clarity with the bitter bite of ill-placed jealousy. There was no part of you that envied her condition, but instead what it entailed; you coveted her ability to choose the life she wanted.

Talia shook her head free, a giggle warm on her breath. “We should get out of here. Night shift is gonna run us off soon. You have the time?”

“Uh, not readily available. But I’m sure it’s way past shift change.” You started toward the door.

“Hey, I noticed you’ve been staying in the on-call rooms?”

“Oh.” It surprised you that she’d noticed. The knowledge warmed you to your core, both from embarrassment and appreciation. “Yeah, I know you guys have been swamped down here with all the fallout from Starkiller, so I just thought I’d stay near to help out.”

She tsked, your name a mocked plead. “You are Starkiller fallout. You need to rest. Especially now that you can. I got an update from Zag about the trial. You’ve got, what? Three or four days before Canto Bight? Seven until the initial hearing?”

She’d done the same math you’d gone over at length. Hearing it from someone else’s mouth made it that much more real. Frightening. “I know. I do, I know. But what’s wrong with spending them here?”

“You know as much as I do that working constantly drains the absolute soul from you. Even just working these past three days I have been dying for my time off.”

“Yeah, but you have a reason to be tired.”

“I’m pregnant. You survived a planet exploding all the while keeping the Commander of the First Order alive. Are you forgetting that?”

Talia, I wish I could forget all of it. “No, I’m just-,”

“And I know you’ve been blowing off that McCarty guy. He’s a physician, right?”

Maybe you’d been less discreet in your efforts toward avoidance than you thought. It felt like being caught; this web of lies was becoming a strain, less of a benefit, a hinderance rather than protection. “He’s… Mason doesn’t know what he’s asking for, you know?”

“No, I don’t know.” Talia strode to your side, stern eyes on your own. “Look,” a breath softened her demeanor, “whatever happened on Starkiller, whatever you saw or felt – it’s affecting you. I don’t know what it is, and I’m not asking you to tell me – though, you can tell me anything – but at some point it becomes a choice to remain stagnant in grief.”

“Hey!” Talia had always been blunt, but her audacity now clawed at your patience.

“Okay, sorry, yes that was very harsh,” she placed a firm hand on your shoulder, “but you are the one who made me realize that. Here. Now.”

Tears threatened but remained stuck in your throat. “Like you said, I’m alone in this. I have to be.”

“The way I see it, you aren’t-,”

“Talia, I am.”

“You aren’t. Me being here and that physician coming here every night is proof of that.” You met her with silence. She shrugged. “You could have left me to deal with my issues alone, but you saw me and knew I couldn’t.” More silence on your part, her stare flicking between your eyes. “I see you. You can’t deal with this alone. I won’t let you.”

You fought to hide them, but one by one fell the tears you had not permitted before. For so long it seemed you had been shielding others from hurt, ensuring a safety they were not aware they needed. Talia was offering that to you, now. Rejection was the first instinct to kick in, feelings of doubt and thoughts of I do not deserve this blaring in urgency.

But then she spoke, naming what you had been too scared to confront. “Choose to not be alone. It doesn’t make you a bad person,” her hand left you, overwhelming assurance in her smile, “You’ve been strong for long enough, for so many others. Let someone be strong for you for once.”

The next breath you took was a million times lighter than any you’d had since seeing Kylo those days ago. She really did see you, more than she could ever know. It was imperfect, of course; you weren’t sure anyone would ever be fully aware of how much pain you were in, there was so much you could never share. It was her offer that brought you solace; it may be superficial for you, but Talia was in your corner, and she believed, knew, that it meant something. In her eyes, pooled with intensity, you heard her loud and clear: that oath, born in blood, was renewed here and now, its strength indelible even in silence.

“Now,” she activated the door, its hiss shivering down your spine, “I think Mason would love it if you caught up with him.” The two of you stepped into the hall, already beginning to part paths. “I’d invite you to stay with me but I, uh…”

“You’ll be otherwise predisposed?”

“…We’ll see,” rose bloomed in her cheeks, “I don’t think I’ll tell him. Not tonight. Not yet.”

“Ah,” you sighed, a yawn slipping past.

“Get some sleep! And maybe just… get some, you know?”

The joke registered too late, her paces halfway down the hall before you called out, “Oh. Oh. No, I’m not with- we aren’t anything more than friends.” Not sure if she even heard you, she waved behind her before turning a corner. Well. That’ll need clarifying.

Heat flared in your cheeks, several pairs of eyes weighing on your shoulders at the outburst. Would there ever be a day when you were not embarrassing yourself on this unit? Given this would be the last shift before going to Canto Bight, probably not. Eyes tracking your steps, deciding to surprise Mason instead of call him, you found your way to the on-call room where your entire world was set up; remnants of a past one, at least.

In it you gathered your belongings – a pair of back up scrubs, a toiletries bag, and the lifeless watch. There was a hesitance before placing the device with the other items. Six nights you had spent staring at its blank face, resenting the stranger you’d come to see. Glancing your face before placing it in the bag, you did a double-take. In the most minute details, barely there, you found a familiarity in the eyes you met; they were less dull, something like life or light peeking through the surface.

You dropped the gadget into your pocket, gathered your uniform into the bag, and took a final glance at the shelter you’d sought amidst a storm that had nearly consumed you. Even though nothing had truly mended, there was comfort in the absence of solitude; in the face of probable death, the explicit knowledge that you were not alone made it less daunting. Less impossible.

A final breath brought the door to a close, footsteps leading you into the vast expanse of the Finalizer. The change in air was nice, lungs welcoming the difference and cluing you into the fact you still had a gauze square shoved up your nose. It took a tug to pull it from its place, a sting pinching at the sudden release of pressure.

“Shit,” you hissed, feeling a new stream of warmth trickle past your lips. Two fingers pressed to your mouth, testing for a mirage but coming back with the real thing, red creaks splintering into the ridges of your fingerprint. Without thinking you wiped it down your scrub top, forgetting you were no longer clothed in camouflaging black, but instead unforgiving grey. “Fuck!”

“Wasn’t this how I left you here the last time?”

The airlock must have snapped, lungs solid, muscles frozen. Tension seized your ribcage, pulse plummeting, blood bounding against tuned ears. Every bit of moisture abandoned your mouth. Every bodily process you could think of stopped.

There was no modulation, each word raw, bare, and clear as the last time you had heard their founder. At least, the last time you’d heard it while awake. It was less haunted now, filled not with insidious rage but rather bone-chilling earnest.

“I suppose not, given it’s your blood tonight.”

He drew nearer, boots heavy and steps paced to perfection, the rhythm of his stride an echo of your heart. Kylo Ren was less than three paces from you and all you could do was endure the sensation of a singular ruby droplet following the line of your artery, dragging past your clavicle, and ghosting the skin over your sternum. The crimson trail began to dry, steps no longer sounding when you forced yourself to look up.

Chaos tore into the base of your spine, every nerve ending firing at the sight of his bare face, no helmet to veil the visage you had memorized. The black strip rested in prominence, striking through his features; in it you found a curious attraction, finding it fit him. The wound was less severe now, healing with time. He wore no helmet, but that by no means meant there was no mask keeping him at a distance only he knew the measure of.

“Where have you been, officer?” Cyanosis was a likely reality, breath still evading you as each word fell in baritone; petrified pupils not knowing where to focus. “Your services finally required, and yet you were nowhere to be found.”

Nothing. No words. No sound. No thoughts. Barren in every aspect of cognizance, you remained silent and still, only knowing to perceive him for what he was: superior.

A twitch at his brow, a narrowing of his eyes. Studying. Testing. “How unfortunate; starved for words when they would actually count.” His injury moved fluidly against his words, a beauty in the way it ebbed with each syllable.

A ping sounded at your waist, commlink buzzing in your pocket.

Languid, Kylo’s eyes dipped toward the sound. “You should get that,” he drawled, eyes twitching before conquering yours once more, “could be important.”

His tone haunted you, demeanor too suggestive. You swallowed against a dry throat, locked in his stare, knuckles brushing your watch when you took out your commlink. It trembled in your grip, shocked muscles heavy with weakness. His concentration had become adamant, palpable, an eyebrow prompting your attention to whatever message had triggered the alarm.

Concerning the defendant,

In the week since the previous correspondence, it has come to be that the defendant is to partake in nursing practice during her time on Canto Bight. This allows the Board of Physicians ease in collecting surveillance imperative to their final judgement.

Commander Ren’s decision to bar the defendant from external practice has been nullified as to not contradict this process.

In permitting the defendant’s practice while on trial, the objective to obtain a new provider has been benched. Due to this, the defendant shall remain assigned to her current Master while residing on Canto Bight…

At last, breath flourished your lungs, an inadvertent gasp thrusting a glutton of oxygen into your airway. Crazed eyes darted over the message for any sign of a mistake that would prove it to be falsified; the only thing you could find was finality, a document containing the proposed schedule attached at the end of the message.

A buzz washed through your brain, overstimulated by the information, everything around you suddenly all too close and bright. Jaw bound shut but still trembling, eyes low and unfocused, a familiar pressure flicked just under your chin. The Force tipped your face upward, pupils strict in their position, passing first over a tense jaw and landing at last on the challenge that lay behind Kylo Ren’s glare.

“I’ll see you on Canto Bight, officer.” A serpentine smirk slithered along his lips, one stride bringing him so his face was hidden, shoulder linked with yours, and fingers jut out to graze at the hidden permanence atop your left thigh. His voice, an onslaught of emptiness, a cold threat, suffocated all that surrounded you. “You wanted to give me more? Prove it.”

#kylo ren #kylo ren fanfic #kylo ren x you #kylo ren x reader #kylo ren imagine #ao3 #st kyp

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the--sad--hatter · 5 years ago

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Mischief & Madness - Chapter 3 (Loki X Reader)

Fandom: Marvel

Pairing: Loki/Reader (No physical description of reader other than female presenting)

Warnings: LOKI, Angst, lots of violence, graphic gore, extreme cursing, anxiety attacks.

Summary:

Living in New York has its ups and its downs. Upside - You have a cushy job at Stark Industries. Downside - You wind up getting yourself kidnapped by The God Of Mischief.

All you wanted was a decent cup of coffee, now you’re stuck on the otherside of the universe with a sociopath who has only begrudgingly not murdered you.

To get back home you’ll have to work with Loki, and probably stop trying to stab him.

To regain his power, he’ll have to work with you, and probably stop trying to slaughter you.

When Mischief and Madness collide, chaos ensues. Even if you survive this, the universe probably won’t…

Masterlist

Chapter Three

As soon as the doors opened Natasha sauntered out of the elevator, leaving you to trail after her. The first person to notice and acknowledge you was Vision, who drifted over and held his fist out to you.

“I have garnered from watching the interactions of the team that when a friend is victorious it is customary to offer them your fist so that they may bump it.” He explained, pleased with himself.

You shifted your coffee to your non-dominant hand and accepted the proffered fist bump, cooing under your breath at his adorableness.

“There she is, my favourite lil genius!” Sam crowed loudly, jogging over to sling his arm around your shoulders.

“Excuse me? Is she the genius who pays for everything?” Tony squawked, offended.

“Shush, let me have my moment.” You scolded.

“You did very well today.” Wanda said softly, and you had to look around for a moment before you spotted her on the couch, sandwiched between Clint and Steve.

“Yeah, I had Friday pull the footage so I can watch it on repeat.” Clint sniggered ecstatically as Sam swept you over to the seating area.

Something cold touched your wrist and you looked down at Bucky who was splayed across an armchair. He didn’t say anything, just caught your eye and gave you a firm nod of approval.

“What kind of coffee is that?” Tony demanded, snatching the cup from your hand and taking a sip.

“Gimme a break, I took an impromptu and unwilling flying lesson today.” You scoffed, snatching it back.

“But I caught you!” Peter exclaimed, wiggling in his seat like a proud puppy who’d successfully performed a trick.

“Yes, yes you did. Three cheers for Spiderinfant!” You scoffed, letting Sam push you onto the couch next to Steve.

“I agree, congratulations are in order for the young ones and their part in todays battle. Were this Asgard, we would feast for days to honour them.”

“Let’s go to Asgard then.” You stage whispered to Peter.

“Alas, I have just returned from Asgard and I have much news.” Thor admitted heavily.

“Lay it on us, how much did Loki screw up Asgard?” Tony asked.

“While masquerading as my father Loki ruled Asgard fairly and justly. He built monuments to himself of course but the people did not seem to mind. I suspect many of them knew it was Loki in disguise but choose to continue the charade. Indeed, Asgard is peaceful and prosperous.” Thor admitted, befuddled.

“Huh. How about that? The would be King was actually fit for the job. Maybe we should have just given Loki the planet.” You sniggered.

“Joking. Obviously.” You quickly added when you were subjected to numerous hard stares.

“So what’s the bad news?” Steve asked, getting back on track.

“The Enchantress Amora began causing havoc in Asgard, that is why Loki came here to find a weapon to stop her. She has been captured, though only barely. I believed Loki was acting in Asgards best interest until we went to the Vaults and the tesseract disappeared.”

“Loki has the Tesseract?” Steve asked sharply.

“I do not know. The Tesseract was in the vault. It disappeared before our very eyes and we know not where it has gone.”

“Friday, where’s Loki?” Tony snapped out quickly.

“He is on the balcony reading about childhood trauma and the effects it can have in later life.” Friday responded.

“Who gave Loki a book?” Steve sighed.

You sunk down in your seat guiltily, refusing to meet Natasha’s eye.

“I did. Thought he might learn something.” The redheaded Russian said blithely, covering for you.

You put your hand up nervously.

“You can go to the bathroom, you don’t need to ask.” Clint whispered, shaking his head slightly at you.

“Good to know, but… What do you mean The Tesseract disappeared. In all the years it was studied on Earth it never acted on it’s own. Someone had to have taken it, somehow. There’s only one person we know of who can do anything similar to that, and he knew where it was. It had to have been Loki.” You suggested.

“Agreed. Friday, up the security on Loki and around the tower.” Tony instructed, taking your suggestion seriously.

“I will guard Loki personally.” Thor said sagely, picking up his hammer.

He didn’t really wait for an agreement, just stomped out onto the landing and stepped over the edge.

“Love that guy. Knows how to make an entrance and an exit.” You snorted.

“You’ll get used to it.” Steve assured, patting your shoulder.

“Will I? Because as fun as today has been, I don’t really see myself hanging out with you in much of an Avenging capacity. Feel free to invite me to Pizza Parties though! And by feel free, I mean do it or I’ll subscribe you to every penis enlargement scam on the net.” You warned.

“You wanna tell her?” Steve asked Tony.

You looked between them, teetering between curious excitement and nervous fear.

“Tell me what? Tell meeeeeeeeee!” You demanded.

“Wanna hang out with us in an Avenging capacity? Pizza parties included.” Tony asked giddily, looking quite proud of himself.

“All of our scientific minds are also out on the front, fighting. We think it would be beneficial if we had people working full time on tech, communications, weaponry etc… People we can trust. We already know you, we like you, we trust you and you’ve more than proven how capable you are.” Steve added.

Proud of you, Tony was proud of you, not himself. You were being extended a coveted invitation to…

“So you want me to be your ‘Q’?” You clarified.

“Yes.” Steve agreed, rolling his eyes when you and Tony gaped at him in surprise.

“I’ve seen James Bond.” He said flatly.

“We’re offering you a job Princess. We want you to move into the compound upstate and work for The Avengers full time. You wouldn’t be in the public eye so you would be safe, and yes you will have your own lab. All the toys and funding you want.” Tony explained.

“Barnes and I have worked out a training schedule for you, not that we’re expecting you to go on missions.” Natasha added, smiling over at you smugly.

“We picked you out a room next to mine.” Wanda said excitedly.

“I stopped Tony from making your room pink, but I couldn’t talk him out of the Canopy bed.” Sam snorted.

“That beds awesome. If you don’t want it, I’ll have it!” Clint offered enthusiastically.

“Banners at the compound now, setting up your lab equipment.” Steve added, explain the Doctors absence from the meeting.

“Wait, you’re taking her upstate?” Peter piped up, near pouting.

“Relax kid, we’re not locking her up, she’s not going from Sleeping Beauty to Rapunzel. You can still have playdates.” Tony assured.

Throughout all the excitement you had remained uncharacteristically silent, something that started to dawn on everyone.

“Uh, I… My coffee is cold. I’m going to make a fresh one.” You muttered, getting stiffly to your feet.

“Princess?”

“Just give me a minute, please. I’ll be back.” You said briskly, high-tailing it towards the elevator.

“Well done guys, you scared her off.” Sam grouched as you slipped into the elevator, trying not to hyper-ventilate.

It was a more than generous offer, it was a dream come true. But you couldn’t help but wander back to your lab in a daze, trying to untie the knot in your stomach. This was literally the biggest thing to ever happen to you, being invited to work with Earth’s Mightiest. You’d have access to resources and tech beyond your imagination, you could work directly with Tony and Banner not just for them. You could have a hand in saving the world, changing it, improving and saving lives.

So why were you sat on a chair with your head in your hands and trying not to cry?

“Princess, your heart rate is elevated and you are showing signs of distress. Is everything ok?” Friday asked, her volume lower than it normally was.

“And there is your greatest fear, laid bare. You can’t stand the thought that your death will be as meaningless and unimportant as your life.”

“I’m fine Friday.” You answered numbly.

“The genius in a tower of people smarter than her, brushing shoulders with champions and knowing she will never be one, surrounded by greatness but unable to achieve it herself.”

“Should I inform Mr Stark you need him?” She prodded.

“You hate that you are insignificant, that you will never rise above the mediocrity that is so prevalent in your race.”

“No. I don’t need Tony. I don’t need anyone.” You replied coldly.

You knew what was wrong now. You were scared. Scared that you’d have the chance to be something more, to be important and that you would blow it. It was easy to hope for something but when that hope came to fruition it wasn’t easy to follow through.

What if you weren’t as smart as they thought you were?

What if you messed up and someone got hurt?

What if you crumbled under the pressure?

What if you let yourself down?

What if you let Tony down?

What if you got what you wanted and realised it wasn’t what you needed?

What if you didn’t fit in?

What if they realised the same thing everybody else always inevitably did, that you weren’t likeable?

What if you got thrown out and lost everything?

You were so consumed with what ifs that you didn’t notice that Friday hadn’t answered you. You only looked up when something you couldn’t quite put your finger on let you know something was wrong. You looked around the lab, on alert, searching for what was wrong, when you heard it.

Or rather, you didn’t hear it. The lab was full of equipment and machines that were always on, humming and whirring, the white noise of machinery. It was silent now though, and now that you realised that you could see that all the blinking lights were off.

“Friday?”

There was no response, and a chill ran down your spine. You pulled your phone from your pocket and frowned at the black screen. You raced towards the elevator, knowing full well what you’d find and you were right. There was no electricity in the building, or anything in the building. Something had drained all the power.

Which meant…

“Hello Vænn.” He hissed, right behind you.

Loki’s cell was useless.

His fingers closed around your elbow and you were forcibly slammed into the nearest wall. His green eyes glinted in the darkness and something sharp and cold pressed into the tender flesh over your thrumming pulse.

“Is that a dagger at my throat or are you happy to see me?” You laughed breathlessly, without humour.

“You bested me once, I can not let the insult pass, nor risk you doing it again.” He explained almost amicably.

He was so close you could see the flecks of gold and emerald in his eyes, and the regret as well. It almost distracted you from the sharp pain in your neck until you felt something damp drip down your skin. The dagger was so sharp it had started to slice through your skin even though he’d made no move to injure you yet. His gaze flickered down and he watched the thin rivulet of blood roll down your throat.

“You’re hesitating.” You accused him.

“Are you so eager to die?” He threw back.

“Just wondering if that connection I felt we had was in my imagination, because after our moment on the balcony I thought we were friends. And friends don’t slit friends throats.” You told him, half joking-half imploring.

His eyes darted across your face like he was searching for something, some kind of sign about what to do. Or maybe he was just relishing in your terror and you were projecting.

“I was King. I had the throne and the power. The people adored me, even if they didn’t know it was me. I had everything and it’s lost because of you. You took everything from me and taking your pathetic life isn’t an even bargain but it is all you have, so it is what I will take in recompense.” He hissed, his eyes brimming over with darkness and hate.

“Loki, don’t. Please don’t kill me.” You whispered softly.

“For someone with so much pride, you do beg so prettily, sweet Vænn.” He whispered back, his tone hard where yours had been gentle.

There it was again, that word. What it meant was still beyond the reaches of your knowledge but it hardly seemed pertinent right now, with the tower shrouded in darkness and your blood painting your skin.

They had to know Loki would be free, The Avengers had to know. If you could just stall long enough, distract him, you could survive. You could beg some more, play up to the pathetic mortal gig, wait for someone stronger than you to come and rescue you.

“You can try as hard as you like to lay the blame with me but we both know you were never really King, you were a bastard prince playing pretend.” You snarled.

You didn’t want to die, but in the end you were still you, and you didn’t want to snivel and beg. There was no point in surviving if the price was being unable to look yourself in the mirror.

Thunderous crashing above you made you flinch, unwittingly slicing your own skin a little more. The entire tower shook and for a moment you thought an Earthquake had struck New York, but everything soon became clear.

“Loki! Stop this at once!” Thor roared, his booming voice reaching you a split second before he came crashing into the lab, the hammer swinging in his hand. When he saw you, half hidden behind Loki and blood beginning to stain your shirt, his eyes widened. Which begged the question, if he didn’t know Loki was about to kill you, what was he demanding that Loki stop?

There was one final crash as the ceiling above your head collapsed, plaster and concrete raining down on your lab in a dusty explosion. Instinctively you hid behind Loki, using him as a shield and forgetting about the dagger that he thankfully pulled away in time. When the dust cleared you realised he wasn’t even paying attention to you, his eyes fixed on the centre of the lab. Out of the corner of your eye you saw Thor raise the hammer but you couldn’t care less.

Levitating off the ground, smack in the middle of your lab, was the Tesseract. Blue light shone from it, casting a glow over everything it touched. It was… mesmerising. Utterly entranced by it you stepped forward in tandem with Loki, unaware you’d put yourself between him and Thor. Thor was yelling something but you couldn’t make it out, it was like you were underwater, separated from the world and drowning in blue light. The only thing you could clearly hear was your own heartbeat, slow and steady, calmly pulsating as you walked towards the Tesseract as the light got brighter and brighter.

And then the floor dropped out from under your feet and swirling blue light was the only thing left.

A/N - Aaaaaaand we're off.

I think it's setting itself apart from MMYM. I feel like Princess and Kitten, while both sassy af, are quite different, and this Loki is a little bit different as well. I could be wrong though, so, thoughts?

Ngl though, I am already digging the Princess/Loki dynamics.

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#Loki #Loki x Reader #Loki Odinson #Loki Laufeyson #God of Mischief #Loki x Y/N #Loki series #Loki Fic #Loki Smut #The Avengers #Avengers x Reader #Avengers x Y/N #Avengers Reader

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authoressskr · 5 years ago

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Write Into My Arms [1]

Characters: f!Reader, James “Bucky” Barnes, Tony Stark, Pepper Potts, Steve Rogers, Sam Wilson, James “Rhodey” Rhodes, Peter Parker, Hope Van Dyne, Natasha Romanoff, Scott Lang, Wanda Maximoff, Vision, Okoye, T’Challa, Shuri, Clint Barton, Happy Hogan, Dr. Strange, Wong, Bruce Banner, Amelina Rodrigez (OFC), with mentions of Thor, Carol Danvers, Rocket Raccoon, Groot, Peter Quill, Gamora, Nebula, Mantis and Drax.

Warnings: Language, Action (in last chapter) and no Beta (just me and Grammerly up in here) :: Word Count: 8885 :: Pairing: Bucky x f!Reader

This was written for @jewelofwinter’s Writing Challenge!! I also incorporated a prompt for @jaamesbbarnes + @sgtjbuccky’s D&S’ Milestone Celebration!!

Prompt: “Tin Man lost Y/N.” (@jewelofwinter’s prompt) + “Publicly, I agree. Personally, I think it’s chickenshit.” (D&S’ prompt) Bolded in text below. Prompt #1 will appear in the third part while Prompt #2 appears in the second part. The next two parts will be posted by the end of this week. All three will be linked.

Summary: You’re a small time blog writer who is invited to interview the Avengers. ALL the Avengers.

Please do NOT repost, copy & paste, post or share my works on any other platform without my EXPRESS PERMISSION.

-+- REBLOGGING is fine and very appreciated! -+-

Looking around the compound’s living room, you can’t help but openly stare. Everything is expensive, even the doorknobs seem to know their elevated worth.

You’ve circled the room three times so far, each time slower than the last as your keen eyes searching out every minute detail. You’ve been waiting for nearly twenty minutes, which isn’t too much of a bother, and from what you’d heard from other reporters and writers isn’t that long of a wait for Tony Stark. Although your boss said that the article was supposed to cover all of the inhouse Avengers…

Happy, Tony’s chauffeur/bodyguard and right-hand man, had brought you into this room and at this point, your overthinking has begun to wonder if being made to wait here is a diversion so that he can get all the Avengers to clear out. After all, Stark Industries controls most of the press about the Avengers and they don’t do interviews...except Tony and every so often, the good Captain Rogers.

You wonder briefly if watching some YouTube would be extremely unprofessional or just a mild, millennial version of unprofessionalism.

Deciding against it, you sit on the plushest and buttery soft black leather couch, fishing around your large purse for your notebook. Carefully flipping past the first pages, you look over the list of Avengers you’ve compiled - along with basic stats, going over them for the umpteenth time since being assigned this article. And, being the person you are, you had arranged them by age, willingness to talk to you, and then on difficulty on opening up for the story.

Fishing out a pen, you make a few last-minute notes, only to feel that tell-tale prickle at the back of your neck alerts you to the three figures lingering in the large entryway that leads towards a hallway. You pop up, smoothing out your dress bottom nervously.

“Oh! Hello. I’m Y/N, writer for Undefined Muses. I’m, uh, here to interview you?”

“You don’t seem to know if you are or not,” Hawkeye, Clint Barton, says with a big smile - the last yellow traces of a bruise fading on his left cheek.

“I wasn’t sure who all had agreed to participate - and I don’t want to force anyone to do if they aren’t interested.”

“Normally, the reporters are kind of rabid about these kinds of interviews,” Natasha replies smoothly, moving into the room and perching on the arm of an oversized loveseat. She’s dressed impeccably, looking like a glamorous movie star from the thirties, with high waist black dress pants and a dark blue silk shirt with tiny red roses dotted all over.

“Well, my boss sent me because I’m,” You pause, searching for the right word. “Demure.”

“I honestly was waiting for you to say ‘unrabid’.” Clint chuckles out, tossing himself into the loveseat that Natasha is perched on directly across from where you stand.

“I’m not sure what writer would use the word ‘unrabid’. I’m also 90% sure that isn’t a word.”

“Only 90%?” Natasha queries, smiling so knowingly it makes you a little wary.

“Well, he said it, so thus it has been made a word. But you won’t find it in a dictionary. So yes, 90%.”

The large brunet, whom you knew as James Barnes, still stood by the hallway they must have come from, watching the interactions with storm blue eyes. Your shoulders tighten, straightening as you realize that they’d sent all the previous assassins in first. Quite the unsettling welcome wagon… Wait. Was this a weird sort of game? Like chicken? You very nearly chuckle, if that’s the case, because little did these people know you weren’t the bravest person - content with hiding behind your words, telling others amazing and heart wrenching stories.

“Will you all be participating?” You finally manage to get out with a smile without nerves making it forced.

“They will,” Comes the answer from behind you - Tony Stark himself, Iron Man in the flesh, says with a confidence you’d only seen on tv. “Miss Y/L/N. So glad you could make it. Plane ride enjoyable?”

“Yes, sir. Thank you so much for the use of your plane.” He waves a hand as he flashes a megawatt smile.

“No problem. No problem at all. Now, I know they’ve probably introduced themselves but that is Clint Barton, Natasha Romanoff, and one of the 100 plus pair, Bucky Barnes.”

“Nice to meet you all,” They all nod as Tony rubs his hands together then claps.

“Now, I’ll show you where you’ll be staying, I’ll have Happy drop your luggage in there while I show you around -”

“I’m sorry - uh, staying?” You tilt your head a tad to the left, blinking at the illustrious Mr. Stark.

“Yes. Of course, you’ll be staying here in the compound. Rhodey, Steve, and Sam are headed home as we speak, should be here sometime early tonight. Wanda and Vision are on their way back, they were having brunch at a nearby vineyard. Oh, and Thor, the Guardians of the Galaxy, and Captain Danvers should be in - oh, I don’t know - maybe 3 or 4 days. Everyone else is on site.” Logically, you know your mouth is open. You also know you should close it, but the shock…

Every. Single. Avenger.

Fuck.

“Um, I just...Sir, I didn’t mean...I only just brought...ALL OF THEM??”

“To answer your oh so eloquent questions, I did tell your boss I would be getting you as many as possible. I would have thought Mrs. Rodrigez, was it?, would have conveyed the seriousness,” He gives a little huff, smile firmly in place. “Anyhow, you’ll manage. FRIDAY will have a list of shops that will deliver here - we have a tab, just feel free to add to it.”

“Sir -”

“Tony,” He corrects.

“Tony. I will manage my own clothes, thank you. My boss did stress the importance of this interview block. I was told, however, that this was by choice for the Avengers or Stark Industries staff. Not that you’d make them come from outer space to be riddled with questions. And, Tony, I honestly don’t know why our little site was chosen to write these interviews to begin with, sir. How do you even know who I am…” You were so focused on Tony that you hadn’t realized that Wanda Maximoff, Vision, Pepper Potts (Stark?), Bruce Banner, Scott Lang, Hope Van Dyne and a man of Asian descent you couldn’t place had entered the room. Tony moves closer, peering over the couch and down into your purse, finger pulling at one of the edges to see into it.

“Well, that’s simple. I asked for you.” Eyebrows shoot upward in shock before your forehead furrows. “See, Pep read a piece you did on library and book importance - specifically in young and all school-age children. It was lying around, so I read it. And you know what? I liked the emotion. The thoughtfulness behind it. Every word was picked with such care - constructed to paint a picture. And that’s what I want you to do for us.” He gestures for you to sit, which you give a gentle shake of your head at and takes up the seat you’d been in before. He leans forward, one elbow balanced on his knee as he looks up at you. “We get good press, bad press too, but I want people to see the big picture. We’re a team. We’re a family. We sacrifice a lot to be able to do what we do. Paint that picture for me.” The spell Tony seemed to have cast on you raised and you look around to see the whole room staring at you, waiting.

You swallow hard and nod a couple of times. “I’ll do my best, Tony.” He rises and gives a nod of his own, flashing you a smile tinged with sadness that he quickly hides.

“Good. Good. Let’s get you into a guest room and then the tour. But first, some more introductions.”

::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx::

The voice in your room, in all the building you suppose, FRIDAY as she introduced herself, announced that dinner would be casual dress and served in an hour. Tony had been a gracious host, informing you he’d canceled your room at the winery - that, coincidentally, Wanda and Vision had been having brunch at earlier - before sashaying around the compound with Pepper, Scott, and Hope all in tow like a little tour group. Tony dutifully recited when it was built, remodeled, rebuilt. The layout and their functions. He adds little tidbits about visiting when he was little, making everything a little more real for you. You walk beside him, with him sometimes latching onto your elbow as you talk softly into your recorder, reminding yourself to get pictures of certain areas later with your camera.

It had been nice, Scott was witty and said aloud most of the smart ass comments you’d been thinking. Pepper kept Tony focused and Hope spent as much time as you did asking questions. The tour of the basic facilities ended back where it had begun in the living room, rain beginning to splatter against the massive wall of windows to your left.

You’d managed to find your way back to the room, 5th on the right, to find your overnight bag sitting on the end of the bed next to a plush white robe and a note from Tony stating he’d still asked for the stores to bring over things for you to pick out tomorrow and not to bother fighting him on it. Kicking off your shoes, you’d wandered over to the floor-to-ceiling window in your room to watch the raindrops slide down the glass, tucking your legs under you as you sat on the very soft, thick carpet with your notebook and pen.

Amelina, your boss and best friend, had bought you a gray, faux-leather sunflower embossed one to butter you up. Your little addiction and she knew it. You’d accepted the notebook and the assignment with little hesitation. Only to look at the notebook lying on your desk later and think ‘What the hell have I just done?!’

The first page is an outline of what Amelina had said she wanted from the articles (she ideally wanted to break them into separate pieces with each Avenger getting their own spotlight), your notes on the Avengers from digging online and the preliminary dates the article, or articles, would be posted on the site. Taking a deep breath you flip past the Avengers you’d already made lists for, adding the Guardians, Captain Danvers, Doctor Stranger, Wong (whom you’d met earlier), adding Scott and Hope as well, since they are West Coast-based and you had a 50/50 chance of actually interviewing them initially.

Your recorder would hold the interviews, your verbal notes and memos to take pictures of certain locations...but your gray notebook, that was for your notes and thoughts on their habits, likes and dislikes based on observation, how they interact with you, and how they interact with each other.

The alarm on your phone drags you away from writing a few more observations on the page designated for Pepper Potts, letting you know that you need to get up and changed for dinner. You plug your recorder in to download the tour from earlier while you change and freshen up your hair and makeup.

Your hopping on one foot, trying to shove your foot into the stupid pump when your alarm goes off again. Tossing yourself onto the end of the bed, you unplug your recorder and wiggle your foot into the pump better before heading out the door. You shove the recorder into the pocket of your skirt, making your way down the hall when the intro to “7 Rings” begins playing from the phone in your hand. With a quick swipe you answer, stopping almost halfway down the hall.

“Yes?”

“Is that any way to answer the phone?”

“It is when I’m on my way to dinner and your long-winded call could make me late.”

“Harsh, dude, harsh.” Amelina barely takes a breath before continuing. “So, whatcha got so far?”

“First of all, that isn’t how I work. How long have you known me, Lina? By the way, I’m mad at you.”

“What for?”

“You didn’t tell me I’d be staying here or that I’d be here for two weeks. I looked like an idiot in front of Tony Freaking Stark and Pepper Freaking Potts!” You hiss into the phone, tapping your foot in irritation as she chuckles on the other end of the line.

“Sorry! I honestly didn’t know how long you’d be staying -”

“Well, it’s nice that you let me know that!”

“Mr. Stark just asked how long he could have you on loan. I said a max of three weeks.”

“Oh my god, Amelina,” you groan, letting your head drop forward as you repeat in your head to breathe.

“You are such a -”

“You’re being a real bitch. I would have packed. I would have been prepared. But nooooo! Now I’m standing in a hallway wishing that your brother’s new puppy would pee in your expensive shoes!”

“Now that’s just mean!”

“I’m hanging up now. May Jedi maul all the shoes you hold dear.” You jab your thumb against the screen before taking a deep breath and continuing your trek to the living room.

::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx::

Apparently ‘casual’ at the Avengers compound is a broad term. Clint is sporting a sweatshirt with the SHIELD logo emblazoned on the front with black jogging pants and loafers. Steve has a dark blue shirt that is miraculously being held together by mere buttons, which you’re afraid if he strains, will lose their valiant efforts to keep his shirt together. His is paired with khakis and the same loafers as Clint, which amuses you for some unknown reason. Sam Wilson has a red t-shirt with a black blazer over it, dark gray jeans and some well-worn boots. As you finish taking in appearances, standing like a wallflower half-hidden by the hallway arch still, you can’t help but wonder if you should pinch yourself to see if this was reality.

Sam spots you first, or is the first to acknowledge it, and makes his way over with a friendly smile painted on his face.

“I’m Sam Wilson, nice to meet you.” His hand extends and nearly swallows your own before giving it a firm shake. You liked that. He wasn’t treating you as delicate. You detested when men did that when shaking hands with women…

“Y/N Y/L/N, nice to meet you as well.”

“Heard Tony gave you the tour.” He’s got a smirk now, eyes bright and teasing.

“Oh yeah. He offered to let me try out a suit - but only when Pepper and Steve weren’t around.”

“Killjoys,” Sam gives a serious shake of his head, chuckling as FRIDAY announces dinner is ready to be served. “Let’s get you to dinner. We’re having it in the mess hall once everyone gets here - tonight we can still have it in the actual dining room.” He offers his arm, guiding you out of the living area. “You met Bucky, right?” You give a nod, very aware the aforementioned is right behind the two of you. “His article will be the shortest. Dude’s damn near a mute unless he’s lecturing Steve, so I wish you good luck on interviewing him.”

“And here I thought that your odd friendship was all made up…” You answer slyly, hearing a snort of laughter behind you - unsure if it belongs to Steve or Bucky.

“Hey Cap, you meet the reporter?” Sam flashes you a smile as he turns the two of you around, bringing you to a hard stop so you don’t ram into the super-soldier.

“Steve Rogers, miss.” He offers his hand and gives yours a firm shake, his blue eyes holding a wariness you weren’t expecting. Captain America, wary of you? Doesn’t inspire a lot of hope in you about this whole experience…

“Y/N Y/L/N, sir.”

“Sit! Sit!” Tony orders jovially from down the table before pointing to the man at his right. “Rhodey. War Machine. Liar extraordinaire. I may need to sit in to make sure he gets all the facts straight.”

“Don’t listen to Mr. Stank over here, ma’am.”

“Unfortunately, that’s why I’m here Mr. Rhodes.” Steve pulls out your chair for you, waiting until your seated to take his seat to your left. “Thank you.”

“I think we should all get to know each other,” Tony starts, only for Rhodey to roll his eyes and Bruce to scoff from the other end of the long table.

“May I record?” You ask, watching everyone sort of tense and shuffle.

“Of course!” Tony answers as you withdraw the recorder, clicking it on and sitting it beside your plate.

“I think it’s only fair since I’ll be bothering all of you for the next two or so weeks, that you can ask me whatever you’d like as well.”

“That’s fair,” Dr. Strange concedes from his spot to your right.

“Very fair, I think,” Scott agrees, giving you a big comforting smile.

“Okay, well let’s start with where you were born.” A handful of waiters come in, setting bowls and plates onto the tabletop before disappearing.

“Family style,” Pepper clarifies before looking expectantly to you.

“I was born in California. But moved to Seattle when I was little, maybe about 3. Right before I started kindergarten we moved back to California. Been there ever since.”

“And your business?” Pepper asks, dishing some green beans onto her plate.

“It’s more Amelina’s than mine. We’re partners in the site, but I do the money part, well I prep it for the accountant - and most of the writing - and she does the schmoozing, bossing around, the sports articles and the keeping up of the site. So she’s doing the lion’s share.”

“I would think you break even,” Hope pipes up. “Well, what with you having to travel and compile the information and then write it out. Plus anything to do with money is usually more stressful. Do you both hire and fire?”

“Unfortunately, yes. We tried to hire a sports writer after we’d had the site for a year, but it didn’t work out...”

“Wait. Wait. Was it that guy that kept inserting himself into the story?” Sam laughs out, peeking around Bucky who is beside Steve. You bite back a groan.

“Yes.”

“Bucky, Rhodey - it’s that article I sent you saying that Babe Ruth was only half the baseball player he could have been and that the writer could’ve been the next Bambino.” Rhodey is at least trying not to laugh, but you can see Bucky’s shoulders shaking as you lean backward in your chair.

“That was a huge mistake. All of his work we reviewed before hiring was impeccable. I checked to make sure it wasn’t plagiarized and we called all of his references. Apparently, he’d had some experience in coding and websites, so after he handed in his first final draft, he went in an hour after Amelina posted it, and changed it. We got so many emails - we were getting all these calls... Brian up and disappeared after he did that. To this date, still haven’t had as much traffic on the site as that day.”

“Brian sounds like a douche,” Wanda mutters with a smile, taking a sip from her wine glass. You look down at your plate, finding it overflowing with more food than you’d put on there. You raise an eyebrow at Steve, who just shrugs and puts a forkful of potato salad in his mouth with a smile.

“Yeah. I blacklisted him.”

“Blacklisted how?” Clint manages around a mouthful of bread.

“Oh, um, well I emailed almost every single media outlet in California, Washington, Oregon, and Nevada. Then I asked them to forward it to their parent stations or owners. So basically, after a year of emailing people, most blogs, newspapers, tv stations, circulars, and YouTube hosts in California to Kentucky know not to deal with anyone going by his name. I helped a reporter from Pennsylvania with her story, and she began emailing people on the East Coast about it. All emails included his picture too, just in case he went by another name.”

“Effective. A bit ruthless.” Vision is seated between Wanda and Rhodey, nodding in approval.

“No! Not ruthless!” You defend, voice rising a little before the heat rises in your neck and cheeks. “Sorry. I just didn’t want anyone to get dinged as we did. We had to say a lot of apologies and lost a lot of work because of his pointless self-involved rant. And I mean, who goes after Babe Ruth?”

“Balls but no brains,” Scott adds, the two of you nodding. He points his fork at your plate. “Eat.”

“Can I ask a question?”

“That’s what you’re here for.” Tony chuckles out.

“What do you guys do in times like these? When there aren’t aliens or Loki or HYDRA? Like a big spa day for all of you guys? Karaoke?”

“To be honest,” Natasha begins. “There aren’t a lot of days like this when we are all free at the same time. But honestly, it’s more watching and waiting than action and aliens.”

“Kind of miss SHIELD to kind of take care of the day to day bad guy cartel and mafia stuff?” You manage around a mouthful of pasta. Sweet Jesus, it was decadent and cheesy.

“Sometimes I miss the help,” Clint admits.

“What Clint means is that he misses telling people what to do.” Sam teases, tossing a bread roll at him across the table, which Clint catches without even looking away from you.

“Hey! I didn’t tell people what to do. They just did it.”

“Did you buy a bar just to tear it down, Tony?” Tony smiles around a forkful of steak.

“Yes. Yes, I did. Ross just rubs me the wrong way.”

“To be fair, I think he rubs everyone the wrong way.”

“You’ve met him?” Steve sounds surprised, eyebrows raised in what you hope is astonishment.

“Unfortunately. I was in college and had to write a piece on something or someone whom you don’t agree with. Now I am all for soldiers but upper management sucks in the military, no offense Mr. Rhodes. But, everywhere, really... I just think the old guys in Congress and equally old guys in the upper ranks are calling the shots on things they shouldn’t be interfering in, as far as college me was concerned. Ross irritated me for the simple reason that he was the smartest person in the room and no matter what I said, what facts I had, what questions I asked, I would always be wrong. Never disliked being called ‘sweetheart’ so much in my life. Hard to have a conversation with the other side when they talk to you like that. Plus, I got a D on that paper, so he sucks in my book.”

“I told him to call me if he needed help. Then I left him on hold. In my own defense, I did warn him earlier I did like to watch the light blink.” Rhodey snorts into his glass at Tony’s admission.

“Like a tiny Christmas light of joy.” Steve comments, leaning back in his chair with a smile.

You shove a forkful of green beans into your mouth, giving a little sigh at how damn good it tasted before spearing a few more and eating those as Scott launches into the tale of him, Cassie, Luis and his ex-wife’s husband all hanging Christmas lights - only for the new husband to find he’d rewired and programmed them to blink in super slow motion with the fastest Christmas songs he could find and vice versa. And every 9 hours and 45 minutes, it played La Cucaracha, perfectly in time with the lights. There are a few chuckles around the table, but you’re laughing pretty damn hard.

“That’s brilliant actually! The deviousness lies in the amount of annoying that they could take. Having to time your exit must have been a bitch.”

“He and one of his buddies took it all down, bought new lights and hung those up. Cassie told me she missed hearing the Chipmunks, so I remotely programmed a timer so it would play the Christmas Don’t Be Late song right before her bedtime.”

“Cassie sounds like a wonderful girl. And very lucky to have you for her father.” Scott looks flustered but gives you the brightest smile before looking down at his empty plate.

“Th-thank you.”

“Of course. Do you guys do Netflix around here? Movie night?”

“Your mind is everywhere…” Hope says with a grin. “That’s good.”

“And to answer your question - yes. We have Netflix, Hulu, Amazon Prime…” Sam trails off as the waiters reappear, clearing the table only to return seconds later with plates of beautiful personal assorted desserts. If this was how they ate, you’d hate to see their exercise regime. Oh god, you hoped you weren’t expected to work out with them...

“I was just wondering how you all decide on a show. Do Steve and Bucky have lists? Like are you all working through AFI’s 100 Greatest Movies? I think I’ve only seen 20 of them. Do you all binge shows together?”

“Pep started a rotation. So if it’s your Sunday night and you’re in the compound or tower, then you pick the movie or show. If you aren’t here, it goes to the next person on the list.”

“Sometimes after a mission, it’s usually just decided to watch tv shows just cause we all sort of zone out,” Steve whispers after Tony’s answer, taking a big scoop of his parfait.

“We’ve never been invited,” Wong pipes up, frowning at Tony.

“Oh, I invited both you and Strange right after Pepper made the schedule. If Strange didn’t relay that…” Dr. Strange just rolls his eyes.

“I mentioned it.”

“You didn’t say it was a regular occurrence.” Wong huffs out before biting into a ladyfinger.

“Like an old married couple,” Clint chuckles out, his desserts all gone as he leans contentedly back in his chair. You give your head a small shake at their exchange before reaching to stop your recorder.

“Well, thank you so much for that delicious meal. And thank you for letting me record. I hope I get less awkward as this goes on.”

“This was awkward?” Wanda raises an eyebrow, making you fiddle with the recorder before tucking it into your pocket.

“Okay, well, um then it will get more awkward before it gets less awkward.” You all rise, pushing in your chairs before wandering out of the dining room and back towards the living areas.

“You’ll find out we’re all awkward. Well, except me.” You nod seriously at Tony’s words, managing to see Bucky roll his eyes at Tony’s words. Huh. Who knew… “Nightcap?”

“Oh, no. Thank you. I’m so full I don’t think I could even manage that.”

“Then we’ll say goodnight.” A chorus of goodnights echoes around the large living room.

“Goodnight everyone.”

You totter off to your room, cursing the fact that you’re so sleepy right now. After washing your face, brushing your teeth and changing into your pajamas, you shuffle down under the covers.

“Well, that wasn’t the most awkward or silent dinner I’ve ever been to…” You mutter before sleep drags you under.

::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx::

In the morning, you wake up earlier than you usually tend to, sitting on the floor in your pajamas in front of the rain-splattered window with your headphones on - going over the recordings, transcribing them and making notes in your dotted notebook, since it better served to add afterthoughts to. Not the nice orderly layout of your new notebook. And you’re so involved in listening and typing, snatching up the notebook beside you to jot down memos, that you don’t hear Steve and Tony calling your name and you sure as hell don’t hear them enter.

The scream accounts for that, Bucky and Sam barrelling through your door as you look up at Steve and Tony with wide eyes, shoving your headphones off.

“We’re sorry.” Tony barely restrains a chuckle. “I’m sorry. I had FRIDAY see if you were awake, then came to get you for breakfast, but,” He laughs now, the skin by his eyes crinkling. “You didn’t answer.”

“Maybe we should think about a different system!” You blurt as you stare up at the four men.

“Yes. Definitely,” Tony chuckles. “Next time I’ll have FRIDAY blink the lights to alert you.”

“Thank you!”

“Our pleasure.” Steve grins out, extending a hand.

“No, I’m fine here, thanks.” Steve shrugs, the smile not disappearing.

“Well, we’ll leave you to get dressed for breakfast. The shops are due to arrive after breakfast for you to pick some more clothes for your stay. Sam has also requested to be your first interview.” Sam winks at you from Cap’s left, sporting a wide smile as Bucky’s gaze goes from Sam to you.

“Thanks again.” You peer around Steve. “And thank you two for coming so quickly.”

“Anytime, Y/N.” Sam delivers smoothly, Bucky rolling his eyes before making a swift exit. The other three leave with smiles on their faces.

It takes you several minutes to realize you were in your pajamas; a worn and oversized ‘It’s the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown’ shirt paired with sleep shorts that could barely be seen peeking under the hem of your shirt.

“Jeez…” You groan, rubbing a hand over your face before closing the laptop and tossing your notebooks on the bed.

Ten minutes later you have your teeth brushed and you’re dressed in adequate attire, shuffling nervously into the kitchen area on the other side of the bar in the living room. Clint and Bucky are cooking, Wanda weaving between the two expertly. You slip in the seat next to Hope, her hair in a ponytail and dressed in workout clothes.

“How long has everyone been up?” You whisper-ask, setting your recorder and notebook beside the empty plate that Natasha sets in front of you with a small smile. You return it as Hope cuts her pancake which is riddled with syrup, fruit and whipped cream.

“We all did a workout before breakfast,” She puts a big bite of sugar-laden pancake in her mouth, “Speeds up your metabolism.”

“Where’s Scott?”

“Here.” He mutters, slipping into the seat on the other side of Hope.

“Not a morning person?”

“I enjoy my sleep.”

“Thank god. Me too. Under normal circumstances.”

“Yes,” A new voice pipes up from the other side of the room, making you lean back to see who it is. “We heard about the intrusion this morning.”

“Holy - Princess Shuri!” After nearly tripping trying to slither out of your stool, you manage to get upright and extend a hand. “So lovely to meet you.”

“Thank you. It is lovely to meet you as well. I read your articles after Tony mentioned you were selected to do the interviews, and I must say that when you do scientific articles, there is a very nice flow and imagery that one does not usually get.”

“Thank you! I’m sure whoever I’ve interviewed in the science community doesn’t care for all the questions I have after the interview, so I’m glad that it reads well to a genius.”

“You will just make her head bigger, Miss Y/L/N.”

“King T’Challa, wonderful to meet you.” You breathe a deep breath of relief as he extends his hand, giving it a firm shake with a warm smile.

“Wonderful to meet you as well. Please sit, you must keep your strength up if you are to deal with all of us.” There is mischief in his eyes, the twinkle of a man temporarily unburdened.

“That bad?”

“Wait ‘til the Guardians are here!” A male voice pipes up, followed by a tossing sound and a huffed “Sorry!”

“Peter Parker, ma’am.” Your eyebrows shoot up as you automatically stick out your hand.

“Spider-Man,” Tony supplies as he walks by with a bowl of oatmeal. Honestly, your only thought is that he’s a baby and should be protected at all cost.

“Yeah, I think I saw a post on Instagram about someone in New York making Spider-Man ice creams...So you’re the friendly neighborhood Spider-Man?” Peter blushes, withdrawing his hand and crossing his arms over his chest.

“Don’t worry, kid. Pep had her sign contracts before she even came. She can’t reveal your identity.”

“Oh. Okay then.” His smile brightens at least a hundred watts. “Did you eat yet? Mr. Barnes makes the best pancakes!”

“Does he now?” Bucky’s back is to you, so you can’t see his expression, but there are already two hot pancakes setting on your plate next to several pieces of bacon. “I’m going to gain so much weight while I’m here…” You sigh, actually not the least bit bothered by it once you bite into the pancake, it’s buttery soft fluff filling your mouth, the second bite revealing a tiny melted chocolate chip to add to the deliciousness. Flipping open your notebook, you scribble down a note: Bucky Barnes = wonderful pancakes. Peter sees it and ducks his head as he takes his plate over to where Shuri is sitting, the two of them bent over a tablet when you glance over your shoulder.

Everything is terribly domestic. Normal.

And you want them to enjoy it. Cause honestly, after all that’s happened, they truly deserve a little peace and camaraderie.

::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx::

”Okay, so is this alright?” You ask, settling a little more into the plush blood-red chair in Sam’s bedroom, his desk to your right littered with your notebook, your phone, the recorder, and several pens.

“Great. I’m good to go.” You pick up the recorder, clicking it on with a nervous smile directed at Sam before you began.

“Interview One: Sam Wilson, known as Falcon. Okay, Sam, please tell me a little about yourself?”

“What would you like to know?”

“Let’s just start with the basics - like speed dating.”

“I’ve never been speed dating.”

“Well, aren’t we the lucky one?”

“Wait - you’ve been speed dating?”

“Unfortunately. It was for an article but nothing really was romantic or fun about asking the same questions of men who aren’t looking you in the eye.”

“Don’t gotta worry about that here. Our mamas all raised us right.”

“Noted. Alright, so I’ll ask the nice fluffy questions first.”

“Working our way up to the heavy hitter ones.”

“Exactly. What’s your favorite thing to do in New York, besides save it? What was your childhood dream job? Favorite Disney movie? How do you like your coffee?”

“Eat. Man, I love food. They have a little gumbo place in Harlem,” He kisses the tips of his fingers. “Best Southern food up here. As for my childhood dream job - man, I love birds. I wanted to train raptors, rehabilitate them...or I wanted to be a chef ‘cause I enjoy food. All kinds. Man, I haven’t seen a Disney movie in ye -- well, that’s not true because Spider-Nerd made us watch Toy Story 4 the other day...but probably a tie between Fantasia and The Rescuers. And coffee? That I take black with room so I can add cream and three sugars.”

“Good memory skills. Want more difficult ones now?”

“Oh yeah, I’m ready,” He rubs his hands together with a smile spreading quickly across his face.

“If Stark does a superhero calendar, which month do you want and what are you wearing for it?” His laughter is loud and boisterous, his hands braced on his knees before looking at you.

“Whew - went right for it, didn’t you? Are you asking everyone this question? Can I be there when you ask Cap and Bucky? I bet you twenty bucks that Tony says he’s thought of it before and he wants December cause of the gift he is.” You lean over and make a note of it in your notebook.

“I’ll take that bet. I counter with he doesn’t want to do one but he’d like to be July.” He extends his hand and you shake it firmly, mustering up a serious expression as you did so before settling in to wait for his answer.

“Man, okay. Uh, I think I’d like to be August. Not as hot but not cold either, with those pre-fall feelings. And I’m getting the tightest red shirt I own, along with my favorite pair of jeans. But I could be persuaded to dress sexier - nice fitted suit and tie.”

“Why’d you join the Air Force?”

“I just wanted to help people. And I wanted to see the world. My mom was okay with it since she figured the Air Force weren’t the first to deploy and that I’d be mostly out of harm’s way. But I enjoyed the regimen, the camaraderie I had with the other guys. But when my wingman, my partner Riley, died -- you, you know I just didn’t want to be apart of that anymore after that. I decided I’d get more out of life if I helped other soldiers deal with their problems.” He pauses, searching your face for something before continuing. “I met Steve one day when we were both out running. I knew who he was, but I also knew he was just like any other soldier who had come home and was looking to adjust - looking to find his place.”

“So you did what came naturally - you offered a sympathetic ear and some words for him to think on.”

“Yep. And, honestly, I enjoyed getting to know Steve Rogers. I think we have a lot in common, just morals and being a good soldier, but it’s more important to be a better man than all of that.”

“You really admire him.”

“Of course I do. He’s my best friend. I wouldn’t trade what I had to go through - what we all had to go through - to have it done any other way. I mean, it was brutal in some places, but I’d do it all again -- I sure as hell don’t want to, but I would.”

“May I ask why you chose to follow Steve instead of, say, Col. Rhodes? Both military, both having friends who sort of go rogue, both just wanting to do the right thing…”

“Rhodey and I are good friends, don’t get me wrong. But he had a lot on his plate: The military. Ross. Tony. Still dealing with the fallout of SHIELD in the upper ranks. I would follow Rhodey for a lot of things, but I won’t fight against any of the other Avengers again unless they’re mind-controlled or some shit.”

“Peanut butter and jelly or ham and cheese?” You ask softly, giving him a kind smile.

“Peanut butter and jelly.” He says with his own soft smile.

“Can I pet Redwing?” He perks up at that question.

“Yeah, come on, I’ll show him to you.”

“Maybe the suit too?” You tease, gathering up your notebook and phone, shoving the latter into your pocket before the extra pens you’d brought got shoved right along in there. You carefully pick up the recorder, holding it aloft as Sam holds open his bedroom door.

Once you’ve petted Redwing, letting Sam fly it around you. Luckily you were smart enough to stop at your room first for your camera, most of the time focusing on the light in Sam’s eyes as he looks at his little buddy before Steve and Clint come into the hanger, Clint playfully throwing a few rocks as Redwing dodges them, the three of them joking as they stand in a semi-circle and watch. All the while you watch them through the lens, happily snapping pictures before you notice Bucky leaning against the hangar door a handful of feet away. He looks like he’s a model, a small smile on his face that’s half turned away from you with one hand - his metal hand - tucked into the pocket of his black, worn-looking jacket. You snap a few pictures before he turns his head towards you, the smile disappearing. You snap a picture anyway before lowering the lens and smiling as warmly at him as you can. He gives a little nod before pushing off the door and disappearing around the corner.

Clint drags you to the archery range after that, carefully digging through his arrows as he answers question after question.

“Okay, Clint, last one: If Stark does a superhero calendar, which month do you want and what are you wearing for it?” Clint snickers, his shoulders gently moving.

“Really? Well, alright then. I think I’d like to be January. And I think I want to be dressed in a velvet eggplant jacket with a black shirt and some black underwear.” You nearly snort when he wiggles his eyebrows and gives you a lazy smile, twirling an arrow.

“Boxers? Briefs? Thong?”

“I think some nice fitting briefs. Don’t want to make too many people jealous if I bust out my thong…”

“I certainly learned a whole lot about you, so thank you for that, Clint.”

“Anytime, sweet cheeks. Anytime.” He leads you back to the living room for your last interview of the morning before you all break for lunch. “Wanda! I got your girl here!” Wanda is standing by the hallway, a cup in each hand with a smile gracing her too-pretty face. She gestures with her head, her red hair swinging slightly. Clint doesn’t let you go initially, pushing his cheek closer to you.

“Alright, alright, Mr. Sweet cheeks.” You concede, kissing his cheek before watching him saunter past the others, tossing himself down onto the couch beside Scott with a chuckle.

“Good luck!” Sam hollers, making Wanda glare at him for a second before you follow her down the hall.

::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx::

Wanda is teaching you a few words in Romanian when you emerge from her room for lunch.

Lunch is already laid out as you repeat “Nu, mulţumesc” until she nods.

“And that means?”

“No, Thank you.” You answer obediently.

“Now, combine everything.”

“Ce fasi! Mici sărutări pentru tine în această după-amiază. Nu, mulțumesc. Aș prefera să fac un tort.” [Little kisses to you all this afternoon. No, thank you. I'd rather have a cake.]

Bucky and Natasha shake their heads with a smile.

“And that means?”

“What are you doing? Little kisses to you all this afternoon. No, thank you. I’d rather have a cake.” Wanda chuckles out, giving your arm a loving pat.

“It was something my mother always said to my father. He said little kisses to us all and she said she would rather have cake. Y/N said it beautifully. Very naturally.”

“I am a wonderful parrot.” You smile out before Tony pokes his head in and whistles.

“Lunch!”

::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx::

Bruce’s interview after lunch is filled with long pauses, his answers thought out and sometimes not what you expected. He takes you through his lab and then he suggests a short jaunt around the garden to finish the interview. When he excuses himself, you stay in the French-style garden, snapping a few scenic pictures and unwinding a bit from the interviews of today.

With four down, you’re feeling pretty perky about the whole series, trying not to think about the 25 or 26 more interviews you needed to do. Wandering through, your fingertips brushing over the perfectly trimmed hedges before spotting a few wild sunflowers towards the path leading into the woods. Carefully kneeling you take a picture, frowning as it’s just not quite right. You settle on your belly, one foot rising into the air as you refocus the camera and nail the picture you wanted!

You don’t even realize that Bucky is taking your picture as you grin at your camera, entirely too pleased with your results before you regain your footing and trek back to the compound.

::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx::

You shoot for six interviews the next day, just trying to get them done before the Guardians, Thor and Captain Danvers arrive...Tony having casually mentioned recording a video group interview of sorts before you left. Which didn’t stress you out at all.

Not.

Hope’s interview was witty and broadening...how she described quantum physics (which just led to more questions) was outstanding.

Scott’s was quick-witted, dry and peppered with his pretty broad knowledge of electrical engineering, Captain America, and songs from the 80s. He was very open about his conviction and time in prison, his decision to be ankle monitored to be with his daughter, and how he feels all of this may affect her in the future. He’s an achingly good person and you add him to your “Protect At All Costs” mental list you’ve started.

Steve is stiff. He doesn’t see the humor in your calendar question (you have to show him the Australian firefighter one with the baby animals for reference) to which he begrudgingly requests the month of May and says a casual suit with flowers in lieu of a pocket square. You suggest him sitting slightly towards a camera, painting a field full of flowers...he seems to like the idea and it makes him relax a little - and you’ll have to thank Sam for that tidbit of information he’d given you. You ask Steve a lot about his life before Captain America, how he thinks it would have gone differently if Dr. Erskine had lived, and what he initially liked about the modern world. He tells you about art school and Bucky, getting beat up on a near regular basis in alleys all over Brooklyn, how he discovered Mr. Rogers’ TV show early one afternoon after moving into the compound.

Vision, on the other hand, doesn’t have a lot of life experience to draw upon but he’s a wealth of knowledge. He talks about JARVIS and ULTRON, the differences between the two of them and Tony, he talks about how DUM-E knows who he is and how loyal he is to Tony. He then shows you who DUM-E is, the bot jerkily “shaking” your hand as you marvel over how not just Tony has evolved but his creations as well. Do you coo how smart and handy the robot it? Of course. But it’s worth it to see the robot nodding as you talk about how smart his dad is. DUM-E then gives you a tiny circuit board before you leave, Vision remarking that he likes you very much to have done so. You scribble down a note to ask Tony if that’s okay that you have that.

Peter is your last interview before dinner, and holy cow, everyone in the compound is a fucking genius. Peter tells you about his web fluid, the neighborhood where he’s grown up, and it’s clear how much he admires Tony from how reverently he speaks. Their relationship, you notice, is a little more parent/child than a mentor/mentee relationship. It’s adorable with a tinge of awkward. Peter shows you pictures he’s taken swinging all over New York and you show him where he can get a Spider-Man ice cream. He asks you just as many questions as you do and you chuckle when he refers to nearly every movie before his date of birth as “a really old movie”. You show him a few Charlie Chaplin shorts to show him what exactly “really old” is. He, in turn, shows you Tik Tok videos that you both laugh over.

“Do you like serial killer stuff?” He asks as you both head to the dining room for dinner, tucking his phone back into his pocket, both sets of your sneakers squeaking ever so slightly on the expensive floors.

“I think most women do.”

“Why do you think that?” His little focused face is adorable, trying to link it up in his head.

“Women always think they can do things better. And they’re usually right, just to let you know.” He nods seriously. “We’re outraged by it but intrigued. Pretty sure women can get blood out of just about anything - I’ve gotten red nail polish out of khaki pants by sheer will alone. It’s different for everyone, I guess. But mostly I think it helps us to collectively learn how to plausibly commit the perfect murder while we drink wine from the couch and shove snacks in our faces. And possibly solve a crime in our heads.”

“Huh,” Peter’s brow is still furrowed but he’s nodding his understanding. Peter looks up to find Bucky studying you, and when you look at Peter, he’s just smiling. “Excuse me.” You nod, watching him high-five Shuri before you feel someone by your side. Dr. Strange gestures to your ever-moving seat, which tonight is between Okoye and Wanda.

“Thank you,” you murmur gratefully, not noticing the quick clench of Bucky’s hand as he moves around Strange to his own seat opposite Natasha.

::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx::

Rhodey steals you after dinner, Sam teasing him as they disappear to his office.

“Come on, man. Just talk to her.”

“Shut up, bird brain.”

“She’s pretty nice. I was concerned she was just gonna go after us, with the questioning, but she eased into it and just didn’t focus on the darker stuff. She seems to want to get to know us as people.”

“It’s weird, huh?” Clint comments as Hope nods.

“It’s nice to be treated like a person. Not someone who’s infallible or holier than thou…” T’Challa remarks from his spot in the plush crimson chair across from them.

“Very inclusive, as well,” Okoye adds as Shuri and Peter come skidding into the room, Peter holding a tablet.

“What are you two doing?” Steve asks as he arches one blonde eyebrow high at the two.

“Nothing,” Shuri says smoothly, Peter nodding a few times too many when Tony comes into the room.

“Why is there a herd of deer in my hanger?” Both teens shoot off towards the patio door, laughing the whole time. “I don’t know what they did, but Redwing is acting like a herding dog with them, so you might need to go check that out, Sam.”

“Damn kids, I swear...I’m gonna need to squash me a spider…” He mutters loudly, heading briskly for the hanger.

“So, you gonna talk to our little journalist?” Tony smirks down at Bucky, which makes him scowl at the billionaire.

“I’m supposed to do that tomorrow,” He grumbles, making Tony smirk harder.

“You know that’s not what I mean, Tin Man.” Bucky wisely says nothing as he tries to calm his ramping up heart rate. “Even the kids have noticed you looking.”

“He has some competition,” Vision adds, smiling at Wanda who tilts her head slightly but returns his smile. “DUM-E.” Tony snorts, shaking his head as he turns away to gather himself.

“The robot? So the two are evenly matched then.” Natasha chuckles out, taking a healthy sip of her gin and tonic as she meets Bucky’s eyes.

“Nat, that’s not fair. The robot shook her hand and gave her a circuit board. He’s leagues ahead of Buck.” Clint teases, taking Natasha’s drink and taking his own healthy sip before handing it back. Bucky looks at his best friend, who is trying desperately to stop his shoulders from shaking with his laughter.

“40’s you would be ashamed. A robot who can’t talk?”

“Bucky Barnes vs a Roomba!” Shuri comments from behind Tony before making a break for it down the hallway with Sam hot on her tail. T’Challa, Okoye, and Bucky all point Sam down the hallway where she disappeared to when he comes panting into the living room.

“Now me is more inclined to hit your once-asthmatic ass for being the little shit you are,” Bucky growls at Steve, getting up from the couch turning to head to his room, only to freeze when he sees you and Rhodey standing by Peter in the door frame to the patio.

“Do you know there are deer in the hanger? And are you guys running a weird robot/human fight club?”

“Is that all you heard?” Tony asks, turning around and slinging his arm over the back of the couch with a smile flirting on his lips.

“We picked up the pace getting in here when we heard Shuri shout Bucky Barnes vs a Roomba. I mean, I’ve seen a raccoon with a machine gun, so that would have just been something else to add to the Weird Shit I’ve Seen list.” You press your lips together hard to keep from laughing at Rhodey’s nonchalant attitude and suddenly, Bucky isn’t as pissy as before. Well, he is - but at his friends - not at you.

Shit.

It’s been three days. Three fucking days and he’s smitten.

“Goodnight,” He says gruffly before retreating down the hall.

He’s nearly in his room, so he doesn’t hear you ask if you’ve done something wrong.

::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx::

Tagging: @jewelofwinter @sgtjbuccky @jaamesbbarnes @thewhiterabbit42 @nobodys-baby-now @unleashthemidnight @stay-frosty-royal-unicorn @chelsea072498 @clockworkmorningglory @sakurablossom4 @marichromatic @blondecoffeecake @ourloveisforthelovely @whinywingedwinchester @feelmyroarrrr

NOTE: Found the pic online and edited it, props to Google and all rights/privileges/ownership goes to who took the photo and to Marvel who made up all these characters.

[PART 2]

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spn-destiel-enthusiast · 7 years ago

Text

Cas’s birthday

Sam and Dean are sitting the bunker library with more books spread out all over the table. Trying to brush up on everything they can for when it comes to battling whatever comes their way next. Deans on his third beer when Jack walks in the room, smile on his face.

He takes a seat next to Dean and he glares at Jack before going back to his reading. “Hey guys,” Jack says.

Sam and Dean nod, engrossed in their books. Jack sighs. “Guys, we need to talk about Castiel’s birthday,” he whispers.

Sam and Dean share a look. “Uh, Jack. Cas hasn’t celebrated a birthday in the entire time we’ve know him,” Sam answers and goes back to reading his lore book.

Jack frowns. “But why?” He asks.

Sam shrugs and Dean closes his book. “Who knows. But what day is it?” He asks, curious to know his angels birthday.

“I’m not sure what day or even month. But we are going to celebrate this weekend,” he tells them.

Sam looks up from his book and closes it. “I’m sorry, you said this weekend?”

Jack nods. Sam and Dean share another look and gives their attention to Jack. “So what’s the plan?” Dean asks.

Jack leans forward and goes into details on what is going to happen. He even presents Sam and Dean with a list of things to accomplish in twenty four hours. Sam and Dean get to work. Sam is in charge of food, cake, and keeping Cas distracted and out of the bunker when it comes to setting up.

Dean is in charge of decorations and and presents. So Dean heads to the party store down the road. He grabs a buggy and heads inside, met with bright colors and frilly stuff, everywhere. He walks up and down the isles not finding anything that catches his eye.

When he turns down the last isle, he spots bee themed decorations. Dean fist pumps the air and starts filling the cart. He grabs bee banners, plates, napkins, silverware, cups, little bees that can be hung on the walls and even frilly bees that he can hang from the ceiling. When dean decides he has enough bee themed decoration he heads to the checkout line.

The cashier is a girl who looks to be in her teens. She has bright blue hair, a nose and eyebrow piercing. She’s flipping through a magazine when Dean starts unloading his cart.

She sighs and throws her magazine underneath the counter. “Your kid must really love bees,” she says.

Dean chuckles. “Yeah, he does.”

She rings up the times and tells him his total. He cringes and pulls out the cash and tells her to keep the seventy five cents in change. She gives him a glare and hands him his bags. He exits the store and loads the car up. Once he’s behind the wheel, he pulls out his list and crosses off decorations. Next up, presents.

What do you buy Cas? The guy literally has everything. Dean thinks to himself. Okay, maybe he doesn’t have everything. But seriously? What do you buy an angel of the lord? He turns the car on and heads to the mall.

This is why Dean doesn’t do the mall. For one, it’s packed with nothing but teenagers. Two, he had to park far away. And three, these kids keep staring at him like he’s some old fart, walking into these stores.

Dean has walked into almost every store and still hasn’t found a present for Cas. He sighs and walks into Things Remembered. Once inside a sales lady greets him, “Hi sir, what brings you in today?” She asks with a smile on her face.

“I’m looking for a gift, for my best friend,” he her.

She nods. “Awesome,” she walks over to a display and motions him over, “Do you think he would like any of these items?” She asks.

Dean looks over the display rack and picks out two puzzle piece keychains. An idea strikes Dean and he hands the items to the lady and goes back to looking.

Next he picks up a stainless steel coffee travel mug and cufflinks. The sales lady smiles and walks back towards the checkout counter. She places the items on the counter and pulls out order forms.

“What would you like engraved on these items?” She asks, pen ready.

“On the puzzle pieces, can you do Dean on one and Cas on the other?” He asks. “And on the back of Cas one, could you write a message?”

She nods and jots down everything dean tells her. “What would you like on the travel mug?”

“Castiel, please,” he tells her. She nods and writes that down as well.

“On the cufflinks, can you do just Cas?” He asks.

She nods and hands Dean the paper to finish filling out his information. When he’s done he slides the paper back to her.

“Your total is going to be $368.80,” she tells him.

Dean pulls out his wallet and counts out the money and hands it to her. She counts it and gives Dean his change.

“You can pick everything up in an hour. Just make sure you bring this back with you,” she says, handing him his copy of the paperwork.

Dean nods and exits the store. He walks into the store next to the one he was just in and realizes it’s a children’s store. But the cute bee plushie stops him from leaving.

He picks it up and knows that he has to get it for Cas. And then he spots another bee that has a cute little hat on. Dean picks that one up as well and heads to the checkout.

He smiles proudly when the cashier hands him his bag. He exits the store and see that there’s a target a few stores down. So he heads there next.

Once in target he heads towards the men’s clothing. He finds himself looking at the plaid and realizes Cas doesn’t have an plaid.

He was going to text Cas asking him his shirt size, but remembers that he has lent Cas clothes before. So he goes about picking out some plaid.

He picks out a green, yellow, red, black and white, orange, grey, and a couple of different shades of blue flannel shirts.

He also heads to the cards and gift bag isle and grabs a few shirt boxes, wrapping paper, cards, and gift bags. He checks out and about cries at his total, but realizes that Cas is worth all the money he’s spent today.

So he checks his watch and heads back to Things Remembered. When he gets there he walks back to the checkout and the sales lady grabs his bag and hands it to him.

“I boxed and wrapped everything for you, Dean. Have a great day. I hope Castiel enjoys his gifts!” She says waving.

He waves back and exits the store and the crowded mall. He loads up the car and heads home. Once home he decides to leave everything in the car, to avoid Cas seeing it.

Inside the bunker, it’s quiet. “Uh, Hello?” Dean calls out.

Cas appears a few seconds later, “Hello, Dean,” he greets him.

Dean smiles and nods. “Hi, Cas. Where is everyone?” He asks.

“I’m not sure. I just got here a few minutes ago and the bunker was empty,” he explains.

Ah, birthday preparations, he thinks. “That’s weird. I just got back from running a few errands. But, I’m not sure where Sam and Jack would have gone,” he tells him, taking a seat at the table.

Cas joins him and sits across from him. “I was going to see if Jack wanted to train some more. But I guess that will have to wait.”

Dean nods. “Yeah, I guess so.”

Cas narrows his eyes at Dean and tilts his head. “Dean, are you okay?” He asks, concern lacing his voice.

“I’m fine. Why wouldn’t I be?”

Cas stares at Dean, trying to read him. “You seem, off,” he says, tilting his head and squinting his eyes.

Dean shakes his head. “I’m fine.”

Cas doesn’t buy it but nods anyways. “Okay, if you say so.”

Dean goes to answer when Sam and Jack walk in and down the steps. “Hey, Cas,” Sam greets as he lands on the bottom step and strides into the library.

“Sam. Jack,” Cas nods.

“Listen, Cas. Would you want to go see a movie with Jack and I tomorrow morning?” Sam asks.

Cas thinks about it before he answers. “Okay. But what about you, Dean?” He asks.

Dean shakes his head. “I’m not up for a movie. Maybe next time?”

They all agree and head about their merry ways. Jack and Cas head to the training room, Sam heads to his room, and Dean heads to the kitchen to make some food.

He makes a grilled cheese and grabs a beer and heads to his room. He plops on his bed and scarfs down the grilled cheese and washes is down with his beer.

He sets the plate on his night stand and grabs his iPod and headphones. He puts his headphones on and starts his music. Led Zeppelin fills his ears and he closes his eyes. Eventually falling asleep.

The next morning Sam comes in and wakes Dean up, telling him to get started on decorating. Dean grumbles and rolls over and shoos Sam away. Sam rolls his eyes and exits the room threatening to throw ice water on him if he’s not up and out of bed in five minutes.

That gets Dean up and moving. He rolls out of bed and heads to the bathroom, needing a shower. He takes a quick shower and goes back to his room and gets dressed and heads out to the car.

He grabs everything and heads inside and starts decorating the library. Once the library is properly decorated with bee decorations he pulls out the presents and starts wrapping them.

Just as Dean finishes wrapping the last present Sam texts him to tell him they are five minutes away.

Dean neatly piles the presents on the table and waits for them to get home. He hears the door open and shut and footsteps descend the stairs.

Cas walks in with Sam and Jack right behind him, and everyone shouts. “SURPRISE!”

Cas covers his face with his hands. “What is this?”

“We are celebrating your birthday,” Jack answers.

Cas removes his hands and smiles. “Thank you Jack. This means the world to me,” he says, pulling Jack in for a hug.

Sam hugs Cas next and Dean can’t help but smile at their interaction. When Cas finishes hugging Sam he glances at Dean and makes his way over to him.

“So this is why you were acting weird yesterday,” he says, crossing his arms.

Dean scoffs. “No,” he says, voice cracking.

“Liar,” Cas says, smiling.

Dean smiles and pulls Cas into a hug. As much as he doesn’t want to let go, he knows he has to. But that doesn’t stop him from holding onto him for a few more seconds.

When the break apart Jack grabs Cas and pulls him over to the table, “Open your presents,” he says, happily.

“You guys didn’t have to get me anything,” he says, taking a seat and letting Jack hand him a present at a time.

Sam sits down and Dean follows. “Well if you don’t like something, blame Dean. He was in charge of gifts,” Sam says, patting dean on the back.

Cas chuckles and opens his first gift, to reveal a flannel shirt. The next couple gifts are flannels. Cas chuckles at his new wardrobe and Dean smiles proudly. Next, Cas opens his stuffed bee plushies and his entire face lights up.

“I saw them and instantly had to buy them for you,” Dean explains.

Cas looks at Dean and smiles. “I love them. Thank you, Dean.”

Dean nods and Cas places his bee plushies on the table and opens his last couple of gifts. He loves his coffee travel mug and the cufflinks. When he gets to the last gift, dean stands up and stops him.

“Why can’t I open it?” He asks, looking up at Dean.

“Could you do it later, when we’re alone?” He asks softly, making sure Sam and Jack can’t hear.

Cas nods and tucks it safely in his trench coat pocket. “Okay. Is it time for cake?” He asks.

Jack bolts up out of his chair and pulls Cas towards the kitchen. They eat and laugh and even sing when it comes time to doing the cake.

After they eat their cake, Cas hugs them all. “Thank you for everything. I really appreciate it,” he tells them.

Sam and Jack pat Cas on the back and leave the kitchen, leaving just Dean and Cas. Dean busies himself with cleaning up the kitchen.

“Can I open my last present now?” Cas asks, pulling the box out of his pocket.

Dean hums and Cas rips the paper and takes the box top off. “Dean,” Cas breathes out.

Dean stops what he’s doing and leans against the counter to watch Cas. Just as Cas flips the puzzle piece over and reads the message, Will you be my boyfriend? He looks at Dean. “Are you, are you sure?” He asks.

“Are you, are you sure?” He asks.

Dean nods and walks over to him. “Hell yeah I’m sure,” he says smiling.

Cas smiles. “Yes,” he whispers and puts the box in his pocket. He then places his hands on Deans waist and pulls him close.

“Happy birthday, Cas,” he whispers, face inches from his.

“Today has been the best day ever. Thank you, Dean,” he whispers before closing the distance and kissing Dean.

279 notes · View notes

onemuseleft · 7 years ago

Text

Fic: Afterparty, 1/1, Voltron

This is for @maplerosekisses who had a rough day and wanted Keith to have a happy birthday.

Title: Afterparty Pairing: Keith/Lance Characters: Keith, Lance, Shiro Rating: PG-13 Notes: Mild spoilers for season 4 if you know what you’re looking for. Completely unapologetic fluff. Team as Family. Shiro adores his stupid paladins. They Are Going to Have a Serious Adult Discussion About Their Relationship. Brief warning for Keith’s dirty mind, but no actual sex. Summary: “Thank you for the party. I know it was your idea.” “It was a team effort. And you should really be thanking Shiro because he was the one who forbid us from jumping out at you in the dark and yelling surprise at the top of our lungs.” “Yeah, it would have sucked to accidentally kill all of you on my birthday.”

****

The party had long since ended and the others drifted off to bed – or Pidge's workshop, as the case may be. The rest of the cake had been packed up and carried away to the kitchen, but everything else was how they left it – streamers and confetti and a banner almost as tall as Lance was that read Happy Quiznaking Birthday Galra Keith! in two foot tall multicolored letters.

There were plates and cups everywhere, and despite Shiro's best intentions there were still scraps of wrapping paper and ribbon all over the floor. Keith's gifts were stacked in a heap on the far end of the couch – the black leather combat boots Shiro had had commissioned for him, the matching jacket Allura had given him. Coran had presented a datapad with a complete history of the Altean Empire as narrated by a significantly younger and more scantily-clad Coran (seriously, if Lance was the jealous type they'd have a problem right now) and Hunk had offered to cook for Keith any five times of Keith's choosing. The dirtbike Pidge and Matt had built him was propped against the wall in the corner of the room, waiting to be moved to Red's hangar in the morning.

Keith wore Lance's gift: a silver chain, with a charm in the shape of the Voltron symbol, carved out of a blue stone that shimmered slightly in the light. Lance had almost changed his mind at the last minute but Shiro had seen it and convinced him Keith would like it. And Keith had certainly seemed to, pulling it out of the box, eyes wide and lips parted slightly. He'd held it in his palm for a minute, running his finger over the pendant before pulling it over his head and wearing it for the rest of the night.

Hours later he was still wearing it.

Keith had sprawled out on the couch with his head in Lance's lap a few hours ago. He'd been a little overwhelmed, had been all night really, ever since he walked into the room, saw the decorations, and asked them what was going on.

Lance sighed and ran his fingers through Keith's hair. He knew, intellectually, that Keith hadn't had a family growing up, but the blank look of surprise on his face when Shiro had informed him that it was a party for his birthday... It should have occurred to him that no one had thrown Keith a birthday party since his father died, but somehow it hadn't. Not until the look of shocked gratitude had come over Keith's face and Lance had to pull him into a bear hug or completely lose it.

The others had noticed too, and Hunk had taken it upon himself to guide Keith through the stages of a surprise party, so subtle and cheerful that Keith hadn't seemed to notice that Hunk was basically holding his hand the entire time, escorting him through the steps of this particular social interaction. God, Lance loved that big teddy bear.

At some point Keith had fallen asleep and the others had drifted away until it was just the two of them on the couch, surrounded by decorations and gifts.

Lance was starting to fade himself. It had been a long day after a stressful week. He'd wanted this to be good for Keith, had wanted to do something to show Keith how much they appreciated him. Shiro hadn't wanted this party, had warned them Keith might not like the noise and the fuss but had caved under Lance's assurances that they'd make sure it was something Keith would enjoy. The need to make it perfect, to do right by Keith and to make sure he didn't disappoint Shiro, had run him half ragged.

And the gift... He'd probably stressed as much over that as anything else. He could admit to over-thinking it a little.

But now the pendant hung around Keith's neck and Lance had caught him touching it over and over again all night with an expression Lance thought (hoped) meant he was pleased.

“Take a piece of me with you,” Lance said. He skimmed his knuckles down the line of Keith's jaw, brushed his thumb over Keith's bottom lip. “Maybe the next time you get your head up your ass you'll see it and remember someone loves you.”

He didn't hear Shiro until he leaned over the back of the couch and hooked an arm around Lance's neck. “I think after today he'll have a harder time forgetting.”

Lance turned his head to grace Shiro with a grin. “Remember who we're talking about here.”

Shiro gave Keith a look that could only be described as fond. “He's learning.” He turned his gaze to Lance. “He fought it, for a long time. Even after I met him. He'd learned the hard way not to trust and I think he'd started to believe that he wasn't the sort of person who belonged anywhere. Or with anyone.”

Lance skimmed his fingers over Keith's cheek. “Idiot.”

“We all try to protect ourselves.” Shiro gripped Lance's shoulder and squeezed. “You were right about tonight. It was a good idea.”

“I get why you weren't sure. I didn't, at first, but when I saw his face.” Lance sighed and spread his fingers flat over Keith's head, stroking his hair. “If I think too hard about how he grew up I'll just end up going back to Earth to kick someone's ass.”

“I think Allura wouldn't approve,” Shiro said dryly. “Come on, sleeping on the couch isn't going to do either of you any good. You need help getting him back to your room?”

“Nah, he wakes up pretty fast.” Lance hesitated. “I just don't want to move him quite yet.” It wasn’t rational, but he didn’t want to take Keith away from the party yet, not when he’d been so happy. Keith didn’t get to be happy as often as he should.

“All right. You know where I am if you need anything.” Shiro paused, then his grip on Lance's shoulder tightened. “Thank you.”

Lance shrugged. “Hunk did most of the planning, really.”

“Not for the party.” Shiro looked down at Keith who hadn't so much as twitched during this entire time. It was either a testament to how tired he was, or, more likely, how safe he felt. “For the look on Keith's face when he opened that necklace. For the way he laughed when you tried to hand feed him a piece of cake the size of his head. For the way he's asleep right now, with his back to an open room and no weapon in his hand.” Shiro shook Lance's shoulders. “I could not have asked for someone better, Lance. If he was going to let someone in, I am so damned glad it was you.”

Lance froze, his hand trembling against Keith's hair. “Shiro.”

Shiro leaned in for a second, his voice soft enough that even in the stillness of the room Lance could barely hear him. “Don't you dare tell me he could have done better.” He squeezed Lance's shoulder. “I don't take kindly to people talking shit about my family like that.” He stood and stepped away. “Get some rest. I canceled hand-to-hand training for the morning, but you're not getting out of maneuvers after lunch.”

“Got it. We won't be late.” Lance lifted his head. “Shiro. Thank you.”

“Don't be stupid,” Shiro said. “And fair warning, no one's getting any breakfast until we help Coran clean up in here.”

“Can we take Keith's new dirt bike out for a spin after maneuvers?”

“Not until Allura checks it for explosives,” Shiro said. He flashed Lance a rueful grin. “I mean it, get some sleep. I'll see you guys tomorrow.”

Lance sat there for a long moment after Shiro left, listening to the distant creaks and rattles of the castle at night, the soft sound of Keith's breath. He wasn't sure what to do with this information, with the confidence and gratitude that had been in Shiro's voice.

It wasn't like he'd thought Shiro hated him or anything – they were friends and they worked well in combat and Lance had no illusions that if Shiro had honestly thought he was bad for Keith Shiro would have done something about it long before this. Possibly shot him out an airlock or something. But he had worried, a little, that Shiro didn't think he was good enough for Keith. He hadn't realized how worried he was about that until just now. It wasn't until he basically had Shiro's blessing that he realized he'd been half braced for a shovel speech for months now.

“I probably would have cried,” he admitted to the empty room and he had to laugh at himself.

Keith stirs at that finally, shifting onto his back to blink up at Lance. “Hey.”

“Hey.” Lance skims his hand through Keith's hair. “You ready for bed, sweetheart?”

“Yeah.” Keith sat up a little and scanned the room. “Nice. We trashed this place.”

“Don't tell Shiro but there is absolutely cake on the ceiling.” Lance grinned when Keith tipped his head back and almost fell back into Lance's lap. “Okay, when Keith the ninja cat burglar can't keep his balance, it's definitely time for bed.”

Keith narrowed his eyes at him, but didn't argue when Lance urged him upright. He did leaned heavily into Lance's side as they made their way to their room, his head on Lance's shoulder and his arm around Lance's waist.

Lance tugged Keith's jacket off his shoulders, pulled his shirt over his head. Keith grimaced at him as his hair fuzzed around his head with static electricity. But when Lance tried to lift the pendant over his head, Keith caught his hand. “Leave it,” he said. “I like it.”

Lance's eyes flickered over the dark blue stone resting on Keith's sternum. It did something to his heart, to see his color against Keith's skin. It did something to other parts of his anatomy too, but it'd been a long day so he ignored it. “I thought about having them make you a red one instead.”

“Yeah? You should take me there.” Keith looped his arms around Lance's waist and pulled him closer until they were pressed together, the pendant caught between their chests. “I think red would look good on you.”

It felt like a lot more than a necklace when Keith said it in that tone. “I think red suits me pretty well,” Lance said. His voice was dry and he licked his lips. “I like the way blue looks on you.”

“Yeah?” Keith smiled, lazy and sweet. “Imagine how it'll look on me the next time you fuck me.”

Shit, shit, Lance couldn't unsee that now. The dark blue stone against Keith's pale skin, flushed red and sheened with sweat, slipping back down toward his throat with each heaving breath. Lance's color, there for anyone to see, proof that Keith belonged with him, that Keith had chosen him. He closed his eyes and forced himself to think calm thoughts. “You're terrible.”

“Yeah, that's not really news,” Keith said. He kissed Lance's cheek. “Thank you for the party. I know it was your idea.”

“It was a team effort. And you should really be thanking Shiro because he was the one who forbid us from jumping out at you in the dark and yelling surprise at the top of our lungs.”

“Yeah, it would have sucked to accidentally kill all of you on my birthday.” Keith grinned. “Always listen to Shiro, he's the boss for a reason.”

“I'm glad you had a good time. We all just wanted you to be happy for a little while.”

Keith hummed. “Lance. You know I'm happy, right? It might not be the same kind of happy that you feel, but I am happy now. Here. With you and the others, with Voltron.”

“Good.” Lance's voice was a little husky but he swallowed hard and shook his head a little. “The emo moping was getting a little old.”

Keith rolled his eyes. “Come on, I'm getting cold. Get rid of your clothes and come to bed.”

They stripped and cleaned up quickly, and Keith even conceded to sit patiently on the bathroom counter while Lance carefully massaged lotion into his face and throat. They traded slow, lazy kisses afterward, Lance standing between Keith's legs, until Keith pulled back with a sigh. “God, I'm getting old, but I think I want sleep more than sex tonight.”

“Birthday boy gets whatever he wants,” Lance said. “But I will absolutely make a number of crude erectile dysfunction jokes tomorrow, I want that understood.”

Keith grinned. “If you do it in front of Shiro I'll fucking kill you.”

“No promises,” Lance said. “I can't control when inspiration strikes.”

Keith heaved a heavy sigh. “I could have had my pick of the Blades but no, I had to go and fall in love with a fucking comedian.”

“You picked good,” Lance said. He got his hands under Keith's thighs and hefted, lifting him off the counter and against his chest. Keith blinked at him, but didn't flail or startle, just hooked his legs around Lance's waist and his arms around Lance's neck. “Their jokes might have been better but they couldn't possibly have loved you as much as I do.”

Keith kissed him, just a brush of lips over Lance's mouth, soft and... not chaste, not exactly, but gentle. “It doesn't matter anyway, because once I knew you I couldn't want anyone else.”

Lance sighed into the kiss. “It would have been nice if you'd told me instead of letting me think you hated me for two years,” he said. He tightened his grip on Keith and carried him across the room to the bed. “Lotor knew you liked me before I did.” He let go, intending to dump Keith onto the mattress, but Keith didn't let go, pulling Lance down on top of him with a startled shout and some manly and dignified flailing.

Keith rolled them over until Lance was beneath him. “If you mention Lotor in bed again I'm dumping you.”

Lance grinned, big and stupid and happy. “No you won't.”

Keith blinked down at him, then a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “No, I won't.”

“Come here.” Lance tugged Keith down until his head was on Lance's shoulder, legs tangled together. He tugged the blanket up over them and gave the computer the command to kill the lights. The room went dark and he felt Keith relax against him.

Keith ran his fingers down Lance's stomach, nails just barely scratching over his skin, hard enough not to tickle but not hard enough to leave a mark. “Shiro was right, you know.”

“Hmm?”

“I heard what he said back there. About me, not wanting to change. I'd learned my lesson a long time ago.” Keith reached for the pendant, curled his fingers around it. “And then one day I woke up. I don't know what it was but I just. Saw. All of you. And I knew I could have everything if I was just willing to risk it one more time.” He was silent for a long minute, but his breathing was easy and his body was still relaxed and warm against Lance's, so he held his silence and waited for Keith to find the words in his own time.

“Friends. A team I could trust. A place I was wanted and not just useful. Shiro. And you,” Keith added, a little roughly. “The chance that I could have you was worth whatever happened to me.” He slid his arm around Lance's waist and turned his face into the curve of Lance's throat. “It still is.”

The enormity of that felt like it could crush him, if he let it. Lance was still and quiet for a moment, counting the beats of Keith's heart against his side, each soft breath against his throat. He thought about what it must have cost someone like Keith to admit that out loud.

Lance has never been alone in the world. Even in the early days of Voltron, his family may have been a million light-years away but they’d still been his family and he'd had Hunk, had known Pidge and Shiro and Coran cared about him. He couldn't imagine what it was to be completely alone in the world, to know there was no one out there who loved you enough to come looking for you once you were gone.

He couldn't imagine how hard it must have been, to let the seven of them in and risk being rejected or abandoned again.

“Nothing's going to happen to you,” he said finally. “I won't let it. I won't let anything take me away from you, you know that right?”

“Nothing would dare.” Keith's voice is low, rough, and there's a shiver in it that makes Lance pull him closer, but he doesn't doubt the promise in Keith's words.

#klance #team as family #shameless fluff #voltron #happy birthday keith

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