#In Glock We Trust T-shirt

[tahastore1]

(via "In Glock We Trust-Patriotic Gun " Essential T-Shirt for Sale by tahastore1)

[yelenasbraid]

𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 — 𝒑𝒆𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒔𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒂𝒏𝒅

summary — you’re the only person peter can trust. you also happen to be an fbi agent.

warnings — fem!fbi agent!reader, fluff, a gun makes an appearance

𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐂𝐎𝐑𝐍𝐄𝐑𝐄����, pinned down and unable to move. he never thought he’d be hiding from the US government, but here he was. peter sutherland made a vow that he’d protect rose larkin, and that’s exactly what he was doing.

“she’s an fbi agent, peter, are we sure we can trust her?” it was the fifth time rose had asked that in the past ten minutes.

“yes, rose. we can trust her,” his hand wrung around the steering wheel as he pulled up a few blocks away from your apartment building. you went to the academy with him, a few classes ahead, but nevertheless. you’d become fast friends, unable to separate from one another.

he put the car in park, hurrying out of the car before he and rose briskly walked to your apartment complex. he hadn’t seen you since you graduated from the academy. you planned on meeting up every once and a while, but life seemed to get in the way.

the catch was, you weren’t expecting them.

they walked up to your apartment, peter knocking on your door. a few moments passed, but just as he raised his fist again to knock, the door unlocked and opened. you stood there, your face tight. you wore sweats, a large t-shirt and your hair was sloppily pulled back.

“you’re lucky i’m too tired to rat you out,” you mumbled as you stepped aside to let them in. you never asked questions, and peter appreciated that about you. if he needed help, you were there, no questions asked. this time, though, he assumed you had the answers already.

the door shut behind them and you locked it again. you ran your hands down your face, eyes catching the man in front of you. he’d always been attractive, the warm lighting of your apartment especially accentuated that attractiveness.

“thank you,” peter wrung his hands like a nervous schoolboy. in a way, he was.

“i’m assuming you’re rose larkin,” you turned to the girl next to peter, who merely nodded her head. you nodded yours and reached behind you, pulling out the glock you’d shoved in the back of your pants before you opened the door. you could never be too cautious.

“really, y/n?”

“what? i’ve been filled in on the whole assassins thing, i’m not letting some psycho into my apartment,” you defended as you placed the gun underneath the kitchen counter. you directed them upstairs and allowed them to use the guest bedroom and bathroom, which left you a moment to yourself.

~~

peter was the only one to come back down from getting changed.

“rose went to sleep, she needed it,” he explained. peter saw your gaze soften, something that he learned was words in and of themselves.

“don’t you?” you countered. you were sat on the couch, your laptop propped open on your lap. he sat down at your feet, shaking his head.

“bau, huh?” he chuckled, eyeing the sticker on your laptop.

“yeah, profiler. happens to be a lot harder than you think,” you allowed a soft smile.

“whatever happened to the talent i saw on the gun range?” he asked, mostly teasing but part of him wanted to know. you’d been a menace on the range in handguns and rifles, never missing a beat snd never hesitating. he swore you were going to do something with swat.

“who’s saying that it’s not still here?” you countered back, closing your laptop. silence grew between you, a comfortable one. whenever you were at the academy, feelings blossomed between the two of you. feelings that scared you; falling for someone in the fbi wasn’t a smart move. yet, it was the move you made. you never confessed said feelings, but seeing the golden retriever of a man in front of you changed that. it reminded you that those warm and fuzzy feelings were still there.

“peter,” you started, shifting yourself on the couch, sitting up. you placed your laptop on the coffee table, moving yourself into a criss-cross position. his eyes caught yours, and he saw the words in your eyes before you said them.

“yeah?” his eyes flicked down to your hands, watching as they wrung. he looked back up at you, his brow creasing with concern.

you were at a loss for words. normally, you were able to say what you were thinking without much of a physical reaction. it’s what made you a good profiler. now, as you sat in front of the man you fell for, you struggled to keep your composure. how could you just spill to him, now especially, that you’ve liked him ever since the academy?

“are you sure you weren’t followed?” your gaze hardened up again, ignoring the butterflies in your gut and the warmth in your chest.

“i’m sure,” peter replied, a sigh leaving his lips. he was hoping you’d confess something, and it looked like you were going to. he saw the look in your eyes, the way they sparkled and softened. he would find himself getting lost in your eyes, drowning the rest of the world out.

“good,” you nodded your head, your eyes averting down to your hands, which were in your lap. the silence that fell over you now was uncomfortable, it was filled with a tension that you couldn’t seem to shake. the confession was on the tip of your tongue, your body begging you to just say it.

“ever since the academy,” you started, catching peter’s eyes again. his heart rate picked up and that schoolboy-like giddiness came back. “i’ve…had these feelings i can’t seem to shake,” you continued. the room was perfectly still, almost as if time had stopped.

“and?”

“peter,” could you say it? could you admit to both yourself and to peter, that you’d fallen in love with him? now?

“i think i understand,” he whispered, and oh did his whisper send the right kind of shivers up your spine.

“what-” before you could even finish enunciating your phrase, soft lips captured yours. the warmth in your chest spread down to your stomach, sending sparks all over. you’d been waiting years for this moment, and you believed you’d never get it. your hand cupped the back of peter’s neck, fingers playing with the hair at the nape of his neck. his hands snaked up your body, finally resting on both of your cheeks, cradling your face. finally, he’d kissed the woman of his dreams. the woman he’d fallen for while he was still at the academy. the woman who could knock him to the ground in a blink of an eye.

he pulled away, resting his forehead against yours. your breaths meshed together, and you gave him one last, small kiss before pulling away again. smiles adorned both of your faces, your cheeks hot to the touch.

“been waiting a long time for that,” peter’s voice was raspy, and he knew it was from the shock of it all.

“then why didn’t you do it sooner?” you teased, causing the both of you to laugh. in that moment, only for a second, peter forgot about the impending doom on the nation. peter’s only focus was you, his girl.

in honor of me finishing the night agent in two days, here’s a fic for you lovely people. i’m telling you, i love my men fbi coded

[tshirtslowprice21]

What Does "In Glock We Trust" Really Mean? Insights and Context

The phrase In Glock We Trust, emblazoned on t-shirts, bumper stickers, and even custom-engraved firearms, is more than just a catchy slogan. It's a cultural phenomenon, a statement of faith in a brand, and a reflection of the complex relationship between individuals and their firearms. While its meaning is often debated and interpreted, understanding its roots and nuances can offer valuable insights into the gun culture that surrounds it.

The Origins of In Glock We Trust

The exact origin of the phrase remains shrouded in some ambiguity. It's believed to have emerged in the late 1990s or early 2000s, coinciding with the increasing popularity of Glock pistols among civilians. This popularity can be attributed to several factors:

Reliability: Glock pistols are known for their durability and consistent performance, even under demanding conditions.

Simplicity: Their polymer construction and straightforward design make them easy to maintain and operate.

Availability: Glock's mass production and widespread distribution ensured that their pistols were readily accessible to a broader range of consumers.

The phrase's resemblance to the American motto In God We Trust further amplified its impact, playing on a sense of faith and unwavering reliance in a product.

Interpretations and Meanings

The phrase In Glock We Trust can be interpreted in various ways, with each interpretation reflecting different perspectives on gun ownership and the role of firearms in society:

Practicality and Functionality: For some, it signifies a commitment to a firearm known for its dependability. It represents a practical choice, prioritizing performance and effectiveness above all else.

Personal Safety and Security: For others, it symbolizes a belief in the power of firearms to provide personal protection and security. It reflects a sense of vulnerability in a world perceived as increasingly dangerous, and a reliance on self-defense through firearms.

Cultural Identity and Belonging: The phrase can also be seen as a marker of identity, signifying membership in a specific community or subculture. It serves as a way to express shared values and beliefs surrounding firearms.

Beyond the Slogan: A Deeper Look

While the phrase itself can be seen as a straightforward expression of trust in a particular firearm, it's important to recognize that it's also a reflection of a broader cultural context:

The Second Amendment: The phrase's prevalence speaks to the strong belief in the Second Amendment right to bear arms, a core tenet of American gun culture.

Individualism and Self-Reliance: The phrase can also be seen as an affirmation of individual responsibility and self-reliance. It reinforces the idea that individuals are responsible for their own safety and security.

Distrust of Authority: The phrase's use as a counterpoint to In God We Trust can be seen as a reflection of a deeper distrust of authority, including government and law enforcement.

Controversies and Criticisms

The phrase In Glock We Trust has also attracted criticism and controversy:

Normalizing Gun Violence: Critics argue that the phrase normalizes gun violence and promotes a culture of fear and aggression.

Lack of Responsibility: The phrase's emphasis on self-reliance can be seen as a shirking of responsibility for gun safety and the prevention of gun violence.

Commercialization of Firearms: The widespread adoption of the phrase can be interpreted as an attempt to commercialize and profit from firearms, prioritizing profit over human safety.

Conclusion:

In Glock We Trust is more than just a catchy phrase. It's a complex and multifaceted statement that reflects diverse perspectives on firearms, individual responsibility, and the role of government in a free society. While its meaning can be interpreted in numerous ways, it serves as a powerful reminder of the deep and nuanced relationship between individuals and their firearms.

For further exploration and discussion, please visit: https://tshirtslowprice.com/product/in-glock-we-trust-t-shirt/

[capitonecl]

In glock we trust merch

Buy this shirt:  https://capitoneshirt.com/product/aequitas-and-veritas-in-glock-we-trust-shirt/

Home:  Capitone Fashion LLC – – Local T-shirt Brand in the USA

[sunlightandsuffering]

NOW I KEEP THINKING ABOUT ENEMIES EREMIKA GOD DAMN IT!

Mikasa doesn't know how she's fucked things up so supremely. The situation is so un-Mikasa-like it's ridiculous, in fact it's something Eren would fucking do. And yet, here she is, the phone dialling in her ear as she stands outside the bedroom of the guy she's just fucked, hoping to god Eren answers. "Hello," the voice on the other end is groggy, confused, and fuck he sounds good, voice gravelly with sleep, it's both her biggest comfort and worst nightmare all at once. "Eren," she whispers urgently into the phone, "I need you to pick me up." "What?" He grumbles, sounding like he wants to go back to bed, "Fuck off Mikasa." And then there is a click as the line dies.

Mikasa calls him again.

"Mikasa what the fuck--" She cuts him off this time, "I need you to pick me up you asshole." "Why?" He complains, "We have like a mutual hatred and I want to go to bed." Mikasa sighs, "I umm, I fucked up and you're the only one I can trust."

It's true, he's the only one, they might loathe each other, but Eren is also the only person she can trust with this, the only one who wouldn't open his mouth.

They're a part of the same overarching crime family, both raised to be next in line for the gang leader position, so they've been at odds since they were kids, Ackerman vs. Yeager at every turn. It's widely known that they absolutely hate each other, but at least she can trust Eren, she knows he's never go sideways or purposefully put her in harms way so of course he's the only one she can call now. And as she explains her situation, she's almost relieved it's him, anyone else would have gone back to bed. "So let me get this straight, you're telling me that not only did you sleep with our rival dealer, but you're in his apartment right now and you need a ride home?" Mikasa hisses her response, can he have some urgency, "Yes!" Eren laughs humourlessly, "Well fuck me I guess."

"Are you gonna come and get me or not?" MIkasa prompts and Eren tsks her in irritation, "Yeah, just send me your location." At this Mikasa scoffs, "You already have it." "I'm sorry what?" Eren sputters and Mikasa allows herself a little smirk, feeling smug, "Don't pretend you don't have my location, you stalk me all the time Eren." One too many conveniently timed booty calls had given him away, she has no doubt in her mind he knows exactly where she is at all times.

"I do not!" "Whatever Yeager, I know you have my location in your phone you little stalker." "You know if you want Mikasa you can fuck off and I won't pick you up," Eren challenges her casually and she shuts her mouth.

It's silent for a moment and Eren makes a noise of triumph before groaning on the other line as he wrestles around, probably getting ready, "Let me get my gun, I'll be over in a sec, fucking Ackermans," her curses as he hangs up the phone and Mikasa winces. Leave it to Eren, but at least he's reliable. He pulls up to the drug dealer's apartment looking every inch the rival gang leader he was born to be, driving a discrete black sports car and glaring murderously at her from the driver's seat.

Eren gives her the most unimpressed look as he unlocks the car and she steps in. He's sitting there, looking utterly delectable, black t-shirt tight around the strong set of his shoulders, legs encased in dark jeans, his hand grasped loosely around the steering wheel. He looks like a handsome mobster, even more so as the steel of his eyebrow piercing catches the light, his glock resting casually on top of the console, like he was prepared for a drive by shooting. She doesn't doubt he probably was. "Really Mikasa?" He asks, his face pinching up in disgust, "This asshole?" "It was an accident." One she doesn't want to repeat, especially when there's a much better look accident right next to her, a much safer bet, because although her and Eren might hate each other, might be vying for the same title, at least he's from the same crime family.

He makes an irritated noise as he puts the car in drive, peeling into the street, "If you're gonna fuck up so massively at least just come to my place next time, you'll save us both some time."

She wants to retort back but he's not wrong, at least Eren is a mistake that's safe, one that she can always make and no one will fuss about.

[neutron-stars-collision]

The Art of Inversion

Neil x Reader 

Chapter 5 - A Question of Trust 

Previous Chapters: Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4 

Summary: First day in New York brings new challenges and fears. But one thing is certain, your relationship with Neil is changing.

Warnings: Minor cursing.

Author’s Notes: So this is sort of an unplanned early update because I loved what I wrote and had to share it with you. Hope you enjoy this quieter chapter before things kick off very soon...

Also this has been severely inspired by ‘A Question of Lust’ by Depeche Mode so I’ll post the link in another post!

Despite being severely jet-lagged, the next two days, you did not get much rest. You and Neil were thoroughly briefed by the TP on Saturday, and the plan seemed simple: arrive in New York; check into the hotel; research the target (a weapons dealer named Steiner); set up a meeting with Mr. Steiner; rehearse the cover; get intel; leave New York unscathed but with valuable information.

You have received a Glock (just in case), a burner phone with emergency contacts, and a dossier filled with the information about your cover. As far as you have managed to learn so far, you and Neil were supposed to pose as ‘partners in crime’ hoping to get your hands on the mysterious nuclear material. It did seem easy. But that did not help the stress you felt the closer you got to the departure.

Monday morning, you stepped onto the Amtrak train to New York Penn Station and followed Neil to the First-Class compartment. You had two seats with a large table and a window in a relatively quiet carriage. This time, sadly, you have not taken your notes with you and have been desperately looking for a distraction. Neither of you has mentioned the moment on the terrace, and you felt like it was a cause of mild tension. But instead of addressing it in any way, you decided to stare out of the window. After going through the same onboard magazine for the third time, you heard Neil clear his voice deliberately. You looked at him with a raised eyebrow:

“I’m bored” he shrugged and grinned at your eye roll “Want to talk?”

You searched his face for any signs of wicked intents. But he seemed genuinely interested.

“As long as you won’t make me drink again and embarrass myself” you turned towards him with a pointed look.

“I promise” he smiled and leaned onto the table separating your seats 

“However I must correct you and say that you haven’t embarrassed yourself on the plane” when you glared at him with disbelief, he added “At all”

“If you say so”

His piercing blue eyes were fixed on you with fondness that made you want to turn away. But you held his gaze until he grinned and asked:

“Excited to go on your first mission?”

“If by excited you mean scared then yeah” he laughed, and you beamed back “Though I suppose if my first outing is with you I should consider myself lucky”

“Oh you’re certainly lucky in that regard” he winked, grinning smugly “I’ll keep you entertained”

The smirk and look in his eyes were far from innocent and you felt your face heat up at the sight. But you did not want to let him win easily.

“I’ve no doubts about that” you stared back defiantly.

Your staring contest finished when he smiled and reached out for your hands that were folded on the table. He squeezed them.

“We’ll manage just fine together, I’m sure. It’s a simple mission” he reassured you softly.

“Can’t say I’m convinced” you looked back sceptically and frowned “I’m a bit surprised you’re willing to go into the field with a rookie”

“TP said it has to be us” he shrugged and leaned back into his seat.

Your hands felt cold without his touch.

“You do trust him enough to do anything he says?” you asked with curiosity.

All that you have learned during the meeting with the Protagonist was still fresh on your mind. You struggled to understand how on earth you could be important to the story. But it was made quite clear that you would have to wait for any answers.

“Yes” Neil’s tone was quite serious “I’ve learnt from past mistakes that he really does know how things will go”

You haven’t missed the distant look of sadness in his eyes. You made a mental note to one day learn the story. He must have noticed your scrutiny as he schooled his features and added:

“And it’s better to listen to him. No matter how difficult it might be” he looked at you with a faint smile.

You did wonder if he thought about the moment on the terrace in that instant. But before you could dare ask, he closed the subject with a definite statement:

“I know for a fact that you’ll be much better than a random rookie” he grinned, and despite feeling conflicted, you smiled back.

Then he quickly changed the topic to New York itself, and you rather enjoyed talking to him about your travels and experiences with other cities. While you were still stressed, when you arrived at Penn Station, you were much less tense. The conversation has distracted you enough to forget about the worries. You wondered if that was why Neil wanted to talk in the first place.

*** You took a taxi to the hotel, which was situated far off from the main city centre. It was a comfortable and stylish four-star establishment with a booking system that did not mind fake identities. Your rooms were on the sixth floor and were joined by a set of locked doors, as you were informed by the receptionist (with a wink). You were not sure what to do with this information but, as usual, Neil’s charm saved you.

“Thank you, miss” he smiled at the clerk and snatched your keys from the counter “It’s good to know” he smirked and walked away.

You followed him to the lift, where you could finally ask:

“What was that about?”

“I suppose she thought that we’re not here for…” he took a moment to think about the right word “Strictly business reasons” he enunciated every syllable “But rather for fun while keeping up the appearances”

Your eyes widened at the implication.

“Right” you didn’t dare think why she got that impression.

Neil chuckled as he led you to the rooms, pausing to hand you the key. Only once you saw him open the door to his room you sobered up:

“Wait, what do we do now?”

“Come to my room once you’re ready. I won’t lock the door” he winked and disappeared into his room.

You stared at the closing door before shaking your head and entering your own room.

He can be impossible sometimes, you thought with fondness and disbelief.

The room was quite big, with a queen-sized bed, a sofa with a coffee table, and a large bathroom. The view came out onto the maze of skyscrapers that you associated with New York. The barely visible sky was grey and threatening with rain. You decided to quickly shower, change into more comfortable clothes, and fix your make-up. All that took twenty minutes and you were quite proud of yourself. You opened the door leading to Neil’s room and hesitated at the second set. Trying the handle you found it unlocked and tentatively came in.

“Finally” he gave out a theatrical sigh from his place on the sofa.

He changed into yet another shirt and dress trousers. You did sometimes wonder how many sets of those he had.

The next thing you noticed was that while you were getting ready Neil has ordered quite a big selection of food from the room service. It has taken the whole space on the coffee table, along with water and teapot.

“Wow” you grinned at the sight, feeling your stomach rumble.

“Thought we might need it” he shrugged and motioned for you to join him on the sofa.

“I know I did” you quickly dove for the toasties before he could snatch them.

He laughed at your enthusiasm for food, but you could not care less at the moment. You felt his fond gaze for a little longer before he too started the feast. After you ate, Neil cleared the table and spread out the dossier along with any files you received.

“So…” you both looked down at the mess of papers and photos “Today we need to get to that bar” you squinted at the name “Benny’s and set up a meeting with Steiner?” you looked up at Neil for clarification.

“Yeah, that’s it” he nodded and picked up one of the documents “We’re a pair of weapon dealers who want to know a bit more about that mysterious piece of plutonium” he explained.

“That’s a manageable cover” you mused while trying to memorise your new identity.

“Well, I was hoping they’d make us fake married or something” Neil retorted innocently, and you glared at him sharply.

“What? Wouldn’t you want to be married to me?” the wounded look on his face made you laugh.

“Sounds horrible” you swatted his arm playfully and reached for another document.

But before you got that far, he grabbed your hand and squeezed it. You met his soft gaze and smiled back, admiring the sparks in his blue eyes. After a beat, he let go of your hand.

“I think we’d be a perfect match” he sent you one last smug smile and got up “We should get going if we want to catch Raul and establish contact” he added.

A perfect match? You observed as Neil put on the tie and suit jacket and considered his words with curiosity. You did like him, there was no denying that. And you felt like he enjoyed your company too. But before you could dwell on it too long, you felt his intense gaze. Caught in the act of staring, you felt yourself blush. But he only grinned and offered you a hand to get up from the sofa.

“C’mon, we need to get going” he ushered you towards your room.

Right, first mission. You took a deep breath and started to get ready. The time has come.

*** The first part of the plan went without any major fuck-ups. You and Neil met Raul at the bar, and he gave you all the information you could need about Steiner. It was clear that you both had to learn your roles perfectly as he tended to be suspicious. After that Neil went away to set up the meeting with the weapons dealer for tomorrow’s evening. All you could do was entertain Raul with random stories from your training which proved rather easy.

Once Neil came back, you both decided to go back to the hotel to get much-needed rest and prepare. The fact that so far everything seemed to go along the plan, made you feel a tiny bit more confident. But nerves were still there, and you could barely contain them when you made it back to the hotel. You lied to Neil that you were tired and shut the door before you could even look at him again.

But after showering, changing into sleeping clothes, and having a cup of herbal tea, nothing got better. You tried lying down in the darkened room only to quickly get up with a pain in your chest and shallow breath. After sitting in the dark and trying to calm down your racing thoughts for close to an hour, you gave up. You put on a cardigan and looked at the door leading to Neil’s room. It was past 1 AM but you had the feeling he was not sleeping. You knew there was no way you were able to rest now. Oh, why the hell…

You tried the handle of the connecting doors and found it unlocked. Of course. 

Neil’s room was covered in darkness, save for a bedside table lamp casting a warm glow. You were struck by how neat everything looked, with his suitcase in one corner and clothes folded on the chair. Only the bed was in disarray with papers thrown on it and Neil himself sat in the middle. He glanced up as you came in, surprised:

“Shouldn’t you be sleeping?”

“I tried but…” you shrugged helplessly “Just couldn’t get my brain to shut up”

The worry in his gaze made you freeze. He was sat on the bed with ruffled hair and a wrinkled shirt. He was probably very tired. And you were weak and overreacting again. Suddenly you realised what a mistake it was to come here:

“Sorry, I shouldn’t… I’ll go now” you blurted and started to turn away.

You heard the rush of papers falling onto the floor and then Neil’s voice.

“No, stay” he sounded concerned.

Slowly you turned around to face him again, trying to put on a brave face. It was pointless though because he saw right through you. He got up from the bed, scattering all the documents onto the floor. Seeing you hesitate, he crossed the distance and took your hand in his, guiding you towards the bed. That only increased your panic.

“What are you doing?” you tried not to step on all the papers “Don’t we need those?”

He looked down at the pile with a surprised look, almost as though he forgot about them. Then he quickly made up his mind and looked up at you with determination.

“We do. But more so I need you to calm down so get in” he gestured towards the bed.

Your mind was blank. There was so much that could go wrong. But he noticed your uncertainty and unceremoniously pushed you onto the bed. You stared in shock before recovering enough to retort:

“You know I’m pretty sure there are better ways to make a lady sleep with you” You heard him laugh as he collected the pages.

“Certainly” finally he got up and dumped the pile onto the coffee table “But it worked” he shrugged.

Neil watched as you clumsily shifted to sit up with your back against the headboard and then joined you. After a few minutes of awkward silence, you asked:

“Sure you don’t want me to leave so you can go back to work?”

You felt extremely self-conscious in your sleeping clothes, with uncombed hair and tear-streaked cheeks. Neil’s intense gaze did not help it either but before you could even think about getting up, he replied:

“Perfectly sure” he smiled at you softly “Now tell me what’s wrong”

You sighed and let yourself relax slightly, leaning on the pillows. Staring straight ahead at the wall, you explained:

“I felt very anxious and hoped that maybe the shower and tea will help. Nothing changed so I tried to go to sleep but… my chest started aching and I couldn’t breathe” you finished while feeling the tears well up at the recollection.

You felt the bed shift as Neil moved closer and took one of your hands. You watched with curiosity as he traced the lines of your veins to the pulse point on the wrist and held his pointer finger there, checking your heart rate. You felt a nervous flutter at the gentle way he cradled your hand. You were pretty positive he will detect a pulse of 100bmp. After thirty seconds of intense focus, Neil released his hold on your hand and smiled:

“Apart from a very fast heart rate, you’ll be fine” he winked, and you looked down flustered.

But you were not allowed to get lost in shame for too long as he scooted even closer, leaving no space between you, and gingerly placed his arm around your shoulders.

“Is this okay?” he asked, looking at you with genuine concern.

Your breath hitched at the closeness of him, but you quickly suppressed the feeling and nodded. After a few more tense breaths, you relaxed into the embrace, feeling him trace circles on your shoulder.

“What made you so scared?” his voice broke the comfortable silence.

“Think it’s just the idea of the first mission” you admitted “And ever since you and TP told me about the plan and the algorithm, I felt this tension rise and I guess it just hit the fan” sighing helplessly, you let your head rest on his shoulder.

“It’s okay, I probably would have been more concerned if you took all this without questions”

“I guess I reacted that way because I never expected to be important… Definitely not in something of that scale” once you started talking the honesty did not seem to stop “I’ve spent so much time looking for my place in the world and now when I think I’ve found it, I’m not sure I’m good enough” 

After your admission, you felt Neil’s embrace tighten. You propped your head on his shoulder, so it was resting in the crook of his neck again, enjoying the warmth and safety.

“You are more than good enough” when he finally spoke you were almost surprised “And I’m not only saying that because I believe in what TP says”

You looked up at Neil and met his earnest gaze.

“Since the day we met and I showed you how inversion works, I knew that you will be amazing at it” he smiled at you softly.

“Even though I nearly passed out in the training zone?”

“Yeah” he grinned at the memory fondly “I just had the feeling that you’re supposed to work with us, with me”

You would swear that his eyes briefly glanced at your lips. But as quickly as the thought entered your mind, he reached out to brush away a stray hair from your forehead and you lost the ability to think entirely. He tucked the strand with care and brushed your jawline with his thumb.

“TP was right, you know” he was looking at you with a tenderness that made your heart ache.

“About?”

“Me taking care of you” he smiled and admired your dazed expression. You could only stare, too overwhelmed with feelings to say anything. And you probably would have kept on staring if it was not for the extreme tiredness that begun to catch up. Before you could say anything, a wide yawn made you cover your face with your hands. The spell was broken.

“Think you’re tiny bit tired” Neil grinned at your sheepish expression.

“No shit” you mumbled and moved to get up, but he kept his grip steady.

“You can stay here” he answered your surprised glance.

You quickly considered the options, admitting that it was tempting. You felt safe with Neil and his presence definitely made you calmer. But it did feel like crossing some lines.

He was still looking at you with that hopeful eyes and that sealed the deal.

“Thanks… for everything” you smiled at him, hoping to convey even a quarter of what you felt through it.

“Always” he grinned back.

You both quietly shifted so that you were lying down with a small gap between you, both staring at the ceiling. After a few quiet moments, he turned off the bedside lamp and turned to face you.

“Good night” you heard him whisper and turned to look at him too.

“Sweet dreams, Neil” you replied while trying to make out his features in the darkness of the room.

“Oh I know they will be sweet” you could picture the sly grin.

And with that, he turned onto the other side. No longer than five minutes later you heard his breath level off and make way for quiet snores. You could not help but smile at the adorable sound. Maybe this night wasn’t so bad in the end.

*** You have not slept so soundly in days. When you woke up, the first thought that came to your mind was that you were being cuddled. An arm was thrown over your waist and you felt warm breath near your ear. Then as the morning fog slowly ascended, you remembered it all clearly. Neil. As though he was reading your mind, a second later you felt him stir and mumble:

“Morning sunshine” he sounded cheery.

Before you could react you felt him brush his lips over your temple. You froze, feeling the flutters in your stomach return with tripled force. Taking a deep breath to calm down you slowly squeezed the hand that was draped over your waist and sat up.

“Hi” you glanced at him only to be astounded by how unkempt and yet adorable he looked.

His hair was completely ruffled, with strands sticking out in every direction. And the shirt and trousers were crumpled to the point of needing starch treatment to ever be wearable again. And yet he still looked good. Especially with that boyish smile and sparkling eyes. One could suppose that you were not immune to him. At all.

“Do you always sleep in that?” you gestured towards his outfit, trying to divert your thoughts.

“No, but I didn’t want to overwhelm you last night” it was that shit-eating grin again “Did you sleep well?” he sat up now too but kept his distance.

“Very well” you admitted with a blush “But it’s late and we should probably prepare” you used the most sensible excuse to get up.

Before you could do that, Neil reached out and took your hand in his, intertwining your fingers.

“Just don’t you dare feel sorry for this” you knew he was serious from the look in his eyes.

“I’ll try” you smiled slightly and used this chance to leave his room in haste.

While you did indeed try not to feel embarrassed about what happened, it was difficult. You were not used to people seeing you as vulnerable as you were last night. But at the same time, he did not seem to mind and that took you by surprise. His kindness and thoughtfulness were certainly not helping in trying to be more objective about him.

You managed to get changed and prepare yourself for the day relatively fast, considering what a mess your thoughts were. Once you were done you grabbed the needed documents from the coffee table and made beeline for Neil’s room without thinking too much. As usual, the door was unlocked.

The moment you stepped into his room you knew you have fucked up. He was there, just in front of where you entered, in a new pair of trousers and no shirt. Your eyes widened when you registered that last detail.

“Shit, sorry! I shouldn’t just come in…”

“No worries, darling” Neil drawled out the nickname expressively.

He looked at you with a grin, clearly enjoying it more than you were. It seemed as though he slowed down the process of putting on a new shirt just to tease you. It worked. You stared at his rather fit body and felt your cheeks grow warmer. He caught your wandering gaze with a wink and held it with an expression that was far from innocent. The knowing smirk told you that he was aware of what he was doing. But still, you held your ground, letting yourself openly look at his toned arms and chest. If he didn’t mind then there was no harm in looking, right?

Finally, he finished the process of buttoning up the shirt, while still keeping his gaze fixed on you. He assessed your expression with one last look and grinned:

“Let’s get to work, sunshine”

You wanted to punch him in that perfect jaw.

[denkisdurag]

midoriya, bakugo, todoroki x reader

summary : they hear you blasting music in your dorm and come to check it out bc bro what is goin on up there (headcanon)

warnings: swearing, ex-boyfriends/romance ???, it's mostly just humorous fluff lol

a/n: u kinda have to be black to read bakugo's because reader says the n-word i'm sorry 😔 also bakugo's is like super long bc i was gettin into it so yeah

(bakugo’s a lil ooc ,,)

---

izuku midoriya - smile by lily allen

first, lemme just say, bless deku's heart

mans really thought you were blasting music because you were in your feelings

but bro, you were e c s t a t i c

you had finally cut things off with your toxic boyfriend

ex now ahahahaha

and deku knew that you had broken up

so now you were vibin in your dorm

and broccoli baby thought something was wrong

so when he walked up to your door and opened it

he was extremely surprised to see you joyfully jumping around

taking a second to acknowledge the music playing, he chuckled to himself

"lily allen." he whispered under his breath with a small grin

he was more than aware of the kind of music she made

he thought you would've been crying or something

thought you would feel at least a little sad

yet here you were, doing the dougie

and then ???

you break out ???

in like ???

a choreographed number ?????

it looked like you had been preparing for this for ages

but considering how long you were with your ex, that didn't seem so farfetched

"AT FIRST, WHEN I SEE YOU CRY, IT MAKES ME SMILE, YEAH IT MAKES ME SMILE"

and you were, in fact, smiling

getting a sudden burst of confidence, deku swung the door open

and starts singing with you

"AT WORST, YOU FEEL BAD FOR A WHILE"

you jump and turn around, smiling once you realize who it is

"BUT THEN I JUST SMILE"

"YOU GO AHEAD AND SMILE"

even if he was a lil off key

you were enjoying yourselves

the vibes ? top tier. immaculate. show stopping. never seen before–

eventually the song ends and y'all leave the dorms together

and went downstairs to dine

your ex saw you two

and angrily stomped off

but needless to say, you got over that man q u i c k

katsuki bakugo - murder on my mind by ynw melly

first of all, mans was tryna nap

so what the fuck bro

anyway

your boyfriend had cheated on you and you had just broken up with him

as u should

obviously, you were moody

bc who wouldn't be

and as a result

you decided to blast music on your giant speakers you somehow managed to get into the school, let alone your dorm

no one was in the room so you didn't think of any consequences

and so it began

you started the song

and upped the bass as much as possible

nigga you were loud as hell

meanwhile, bakugo is like a few floors away

he doesn't appreciate your volume

like

at all

but of course, who's gonna stop you, he's not even up here

after trying and failing to cover his ears with his pillow, he charges up the stairs

mans was mAd

the chorus hits just as he opens the door

and you, of course, are stood up, but hunched over, screaming with everything you got

"I WAKE UP IN THE MORNING I GOT MURDER ON MY MIND"

he just kinda stands there like

what in the h e l l did mans do to you

he's like ,, frozen

but you aren't facing the door anyway

"AK-47 MAC-11 GLOCKS AND 9's" as you shoot finger guns literally everywhere around you

then you start sadly throwing it back ???

like ?? you're bent over and shakin' all that ass ?? but with a discouraged look on ur face ?????

he's still standing there

you turn around and notice

like "bro there's a whole nigga at the door"

so you guys are just kinda ,, staring at each other while deafening music is just playing in background and the floor is shaking due to the bass boost

but remembering why you were doing this in the first place, you continue sorrowly throwing it back and screaming the lyrics

instead of cussing you out like he planned

bakugo realizes what this is all about (he had heard the rumors floating around about you and your bf)

and feels ??? bad ?????

so without thinking about what he's doing

he sighs and steps into the dorm

"I GOT MURDER ON MY MIND I GOT MURDER ON MY MIND" he screams, submitting himself to the angst

as the chorus starts up again, you look at him, foggy eyed

walking over, you grab his hands and he stiffens

but as you whip your head back, looking up at the ceiling

he realizes and does the same

and now,

at the top of both of your lungs ,,

...

"WAKE UP IN THE MORNING WE GOT MURDER ON OUR MINDS"

"AK-47's MAC-11's GLOCKS AND 9's"

you got closer to him and wrapped your arms around his neck, resting your head on his shoulder but aiming your mouth away from his ear

"ALL THESE PUSSY NIGGAS TRYNA KNOCK ME OFF MY GRIND"

reluctantly, he wraps his own arms around your torso, looking slightly up again

"I GOT MURDER ON MY MIND"

"WE GOT MURDER ON OUR MINDS"

and you two stayed like that for lord knows how long, blasting songs filled with angst and screaming them with just as much, if not more attitude

and you bET that you threw it back a lot more

like damn bitch slay but at least leave some ass for the rest of us 😤

bakugo lowkey wanted to catch it all

but he thought it wasn't the right time

he's respectful 😌

anyway

one of the songs that played was smack a bitch by rico nasty and y'all got h y p e

you may have lost a boyfriend but you made a boy friend aw

shoto todoroki - raindrops (an angel cried) by ariana grande

when todoroki walks past your dorm

he can hear your soft cries and a just as soft song

his eyebrows furrow

cracking the door open and peeking through, he sees you sat on your bed and leaning on the frame, face tear-streaked and eyes shut

but then you do the unthinkable and start singing along

"when raindrops fell,"

as soon as he heard your voice, he froze and his face tinted pink

"down from the sky,"

"the day you left me,"

"an angel cried."

the way you hit all the runs perfectly

the way you had so much passion in such a quiet song

"ohhhh, she cried."

"an angel cried."

he closed his eyes, enjoying what he was hearing

"she criiiied."

that was it.

that final high note.

he was sold.

softly, he knocked on the door, "may i come in?" even if he was concerned, his voice remained monotonous

you sniffled, "i guess."

he sat with you and asked what was wrong and it all spilled out

you immediately confided everything in him

you weren't sure why

but you couldn't stop

it just kept coming

by the time you had finished telling him everything, you were in his lap, arms around his neck, sobbing into his shirt

bruh how'd the hell you get there ,,, chile anyways

he was happy you trusted him with all that

and your relationship simply bloomed

all because he thought your singing was pretty

:’)

[gripefroot]

Crazy

“And then she said to me, I think that cat is judging us for being stupid. Backed straight out of the alley then, and it hissed after us until we started running. Never did find out if the money was stored there. Guards cats are pretty effective, when it comes down to it.” 

The elevator dings. The joke between Bucky and Steve ends on twin chuckles, their attention shifted to the doors as they slide open. The elevator is not empty. Bucky is surprised. Steve, less so. 

“Morning, Nick,” Steve says easily, taking a step inside. Bucky follows behind, giving Nick Fury a nod and a once-over to the woman beside him. She doesn’t respond. Doesn’t even look his way.  

“Morning, boys. Nice to see you out early for recon prep.” 

“What recon?” Bucky makes the mistake of saying. He grunts as he feels Steve’s elbow in his side.  

“Where’s Romanoff?” Nick asks, as if Bucky hadn’t said anything.  

“She’s already underground, sir,” the unknown woman answers.  

“Good.” 

“I’m Steve,” Steve says, and offers his hand to the woman. She takes it, a polite but distant smile flitting on her lips. 

“Agent 28.” Her eyes flicker to Bucky, but he says nothing. With a raised brow her hand drops to her side where a holster is strapped around her thigh. 

He doesn’t trust himself to introduce himself when he’s thinking about that thigh holster. The brand. If it’s too tight. If it could hold anything larger than the Glock 19 she’s carrying. How sexy it is. What her name actually is, because he’s pretty sure that modern parents don’t name their kids numbers. Not entirely sure, though. 

“She’s my best agent,” Nick is saying, and Bucky reverts his gaze to the closed elevator doors with burning ears.  

“Nonsense, sir,” she replies. “You told Natasha that just last week, and I know for a fact you told Barton he was your best agent at last year’s holiday party. He brings it up every other time I see him.” 

Steve snorts. Bucky finds himself clenching his fist in the pocket of his jeans. Fury is apparently unconcerned by getting called out, and shrugs.  

“Either way, she’s been on this case since we got it three months ago. She’ll be running the recon today.” 

“Looking forward to it,” Steve says. Bucky senses the shifting weight of the woman, and he hears the lightness in her voice.  

“You might be changing your mind about that.” 

An omen.  

The tac room is underground Avengers Tower. Once the doors ding open to reveal a long hallway, Fury says something about speaking to Stark and punches the buttons as the other three climb off. Bucky slows his pace to follow the woman, who strides ahead. At the end of the hallway, Natasha is leaning against the wall, but she perks up when their footsteps draw closer.  

“About time,” Natasha says. “Hey, 28. I got the stuff you asked for. Told the boys yet?” And she falls into step beside the woman. Clearly they’re acquainted. Bucky wonders why Tasha has never mentioned Agent 28 before.   

“Nope,” Agent 28 replies. “Figured the sooner I tell them, the more complaints I’ll hear.” 

“This doesn’t sound good,” Steve interrupts.  

“It’s not.” 

Compared to the hall, the gear room is bright. Rows of vests, coats, weapon holsters, and various items for disguises are neatly lined on the wall. A few outfits are laid out on a table, and Bucky glances in trepidation at the chairs sitting empty in front of a mirror. He’s been in here before - he remembers the day Clint Barton was sat in one of those chairs and his hair shaved off because some evil scientist goo had gotten in it. That had been a bad day for Clint. Great day for Bucky, though.  

“Sit,” the woman says. Steve is quick to obey, with a trepidated glance at Bucky. He knows what it means: If we’re going to get messed up, at least we’ll be messed up together, right? Bucky struggles to have the same confidence. He sits beside Steve, glancing back towards the open door in case he needs to make a hasty exit.  

“Did you read the briefing I sent over?” Agent 28 asks, rummaging through a tub of...barber supplies. Bucky stiffens.  

“Oh, yeah,” Steve assures her. “Recon at a coffee shop for a suspect dealing in chemical warfare for Libya. We just need to find out who he’s meeting, and potential locations for any deals, right?” 

“Right.”  

She pulls out a buzz cutter. Holding it in her hand like a weapon (which to Bucky, it looks very much like one at the moment), she turns to steady meet their eyes, the opposite hand on her hip.  

“Here’s the deal,” she says shortly. “I can tell you two are ready to bolt, so I'll speak plainly. If the Avengers show up to a coffee shop all sitting together, the suspect won’t show. If the Avengers all show up to a coffee shop and don’t sit together, the suspect won’t show. You get my meaning? Anyone with half a brain will know what you look like, and anyone guilty will bolt at the first sign of trouble.” 

“We’ve done recon before,” Steve says, unwisely. “We can - ” 

But Agent 28 interrupts him. “Believe it or not, a baseball cap and sunglasses are not the height of secrecy. I’m in charge of this mission, and I won’t let it go south because a coupla boys are afraid to cut their hair. Hair grows back. Got it?” 

“Got it,” Steve mumbles. Bucky is still staring at the woman. Trying not to look at her thigh holster.  

“Got it,” he says hoarsely after a moment.  

She starts on Steve. Clumps of golden hair fall to the ground, and Bucky swallows. Several minutes later, she turns off the buzz cutter, fluffing up the short ends of Steve’s hair as he stares in the mirror. 

“Not bad,” he admits. “You a hairdresser?” 

“Only by necessity.” A smile grows on her face, and Bucky blinks. It’s a very nice smile. Maybe a little wild, a little feral. But he’d be lying if he said it didn’t intrigue him more.  

Oh, no. She’s going to cut his hair.  

“Nat has some clothes for ya laid out,” Agent 28 tells Steve. “Go on over and get dressed.” 

“What about Nat? Is she cutting her hair too?” Bucky blurts, before he can stop himself. The woman steps over to his chair, buzzer still in hand. He gulps.  

“Natasha is going to wear a wig,” she informs him, meeting his eyes in the mirror. 

“Well, why can’t I wear a wig?” Bucky sounds like a petulant child, and he knows it. 

“Because your hair is long already,” Agent 28 explains patiently. “If we put a bald cap on you and some shorter wig, it’s going to look goofy. Believe me.” 

“And what about you?” 

“I don’t need a disguise,” she says at once. “SHIELD has an algorithm to delete all footage of me from public and private security cams. No one knows what I look like.” 

“Really,” Bucky says, only half-believing.  

“Not all of us feel the need to take credit for our dirty work, Sergeant,” Agent 28 gives him a smirk in the mirror, and Bucky nearly falls out of his chair. What is it about her -  

She flips on the buzz cutter. Bucky flinches, and holds up his hand in desperation. “Wait! Wait. There’s got to be another way.” 

She turns it off. “Afraid of a haircut?” she teases. 

“Well - maybe.” 

“How old are you again?”

“Ha, ha,” Bucky says sarcastically, though he’s struggling not to grin. “Come on. You do this a lot. There has to be other options. Please don’t cut my hair. Anything else. Just don’t cut it.” 

Agent 28 bites her bottom lip. Bucky tries not to stare, and fails. She has very pretty lips. Then at last she sets down the buzz cutter on the counter, and reaches over for a comb instead.  

“Fine,” she says, and starts to drag it through his hair. Immediately goosebumps break out across his scalp, and Bucky forces back a moan of pleasure. He must be looking a little strained, because she lifts a brow at him in the mirror. “But this is your choice. You can’t complain about it.” 

“Okay,” Bucky mumbles. He won’t be complaining yet - it feels too good to have her fingers in his hair. Way too good. It’s like a massage, really. In fact, he’s so lulled that he doesn’t realize what she’s doing until he watches through a daze as she pulls a hair tie off of her own wrist to secure his hair...in French braids.  

“Er,” he says, jolting from his stupor.  

“All done. Your clothes are back there,” Agent 28 says, jerking her thumb backwards. She’s smiling way too broadly - she’s enjoying this. She’s enjoying the consternation Bucky must be exuding. With a narrowed glare her way, he slowly stands from the chair to wander over to Nat and Steve. Still she smiles.  

“What’s this look called again?” Steve asks Natasha, twisting slightly to look at himself.  

“Ah, ‘never grew out of punk rock phase to spite Mom’,” Nat replies. Bucky grimaces - it’s not a good look, whatever it is. Poor Steve. But then his amusement is cut short as he sees the pile of stuff for him.  

“The point is to blend in,” Agent 28 says, coming from behind. “This coffee shop is popular amongst the odder end of folks. Get dressed, Sergeant. Nat, can I help you put on your wig?”

“Bossy,” Bucky mutters to himself as the girls go off. Steve glances over, a grin growing on his face as Bucky rifles through the pile of black leather and chains. Luckily Steve doesn’t say anything, and Bucky tugs off his nice, soft t-shirt to don some scratchy black top. And studded belt. His black jeans and boots are good enough, he decides. And the leather jacket isn’t so bad. The necklaces are bad, though.  

“No guns!”  

Bucky jumps, and freezes, Glock halfway into his pants pocket. He can feel Agent 28’s glare on his back, and slowly, retreats and lets his gun clatter onto the table. Steve is struggling not to laugh. Bucky glares.  

Ten minutes later, they’re nearly ready to go. Natasha is dressed in a miniskirt and tall boots, with black hair that falls to her hips. Since Bucky knows her, he finds it a kind of scary look. Agent 28 is wearing a flowy skirt and top, with a bandana in her hair.  

“Starving artist,” she explains, then jerks her head toward Nat. “Daddy issues.”

“We look ridiculous,” Steve says.  

“No more ridiculous than anyone else there. We’ll blend in.” Agent 28 casts a look around the group; Bucky tries not to flinch under her gaze, but probably doesn’t manage. Then her brows crease. “I forgot about your hand,” she says irritably. Walking over to the buckets of accessories, she digs through as she speaks. “It’s a bit suspicious to wear gloves in the middle of summer, so...I know Stark has something in here somewhere…” 

And a minute later she pulls out a floppy, flesh-colored thing. “Lube, Nat,” she orders. Bucky’s eyes widen, but Agent 28 is nothing but smug smiles as she returns, spreading out the limb...thing. Oh. It’s a hand.  

“Steve and I will head out now,” Natasha says, plopping a bottle of lube on the table. “Space out our entrances.”

“Got the address?” 

“Yep.”

“See you there.” 

Talking in low voices, Nat and Steve leave the room in their ridiculous clothes. Bucky stares wistfully after them for a moment, and then turns back to the other woman. And jolts, and the cold lube hits his hand.  

“You wanna rub it in, or shall I?” she asks, eyes flickering with mischief. 

“Um - I will.” Bucky swallows and tries to be nonchalant about it. Not an easy thing which his stomach tightening. When his metal hand is appropriately...moistened...Agent 28 holds up the limb hand and he slides his fingers easily inside. It squelches in a very awkward way. He flexes his fingers, staring. They look pretty fake. But less fake than metal, probably.  

“It won’t short circuit, will it?” she asks. 

“No. I can get my arm wet, you know,” Bucky tells her dryly, glancing up with a smile he can’t resist. “Showers and everything.” 

“Is that so?” Agent 28 teases back. “I would’ve thought you’d wear a shower cap up to your shoulder.” 

“Haven’t done that yet.” 

“Too bad. Sounds fun.” 

“Fun? How old are you again?” 

She purses her lips together in a show of annoyance at his joke. But Bucky guesses that she doesn’t mind - her eyes are alight, and a little blazing. They leave the room in silence. 

Coffee shop frequented by hipsters. Well, she hadn’t been wrong. Bucky sips his coffee from a seat at the front bar, glancing around the crowd, strewn in morning sunlight and chattering way too loudly for a Thursday at 10 a.m. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Natasha pretending to text by the bathroom doors, Steve at a window seat. Agent 28 is behind him somewhat, near the entrance.  

It’s been an hour. When is the guy supposed to show up again? Bucky very much wants to ask this agent, but they aren’t wearing coms. And he suspects that if he addresses her when they’re supposed to be reconning, she’d bite his head off.  

The thought is appealing, admittedly.  

Natasha’s eyes flick upwards. Steve quickly picks up his coffee for a drink. Agent 28 coughs slightly, and Bucky stiffens in his seat. 

Target in sight.  

The man heads to the front counter to order. Bucky’s closest now, and he listens as he orders coffee. Nothing suspicious so far. But the way-too-high-tech briefcase for the West Village is a bit of a giveaway.  

A scent of flowery warmth fills his nostrils, and he stiffens again. Agent 28 is sliding nonchalantly into the seat next to him, reaching over for a little packet of creamer.  

“He’s being followed,” she says, so quietly that anyone without super-hearing probably wouldn’t be able to hear. Bucky tilts his chin down to show that he understood. He clenches his empty cup in his hand, standing smoothly and striding towards the trash can near the door. Two bulky men are hovering, just inside as their eyes scan the crowd. The hair on the back of Bucky’s neck stands on end, and slowly he tosses his garbage away.  

He returns to his seat. Agent 28 has swiveled around, facing the crowd of the shop with a disinterested stare. But Bucky can see the pulse beating in her neck. She’s on edge. Which accounts for his surprise when she meets his eyes with an enormous smile, and a loud, “Darling.” 

So that’s what they must be doing now. Bucky smiles in return, a little stiffly, and obligingly takes her hand when she reaches for him. He senses Natasha near them, getting into line behind the target. And Agent 28 draws him near, so that he’s standing between her legs, towering over her in her seat.  

Bucky gulps. He’s not sure why his knees won’t stop shaking. Sternly he berates himself, You didn’t go through super-serum experimentation and decades of brainwashing to lose control of yourself over a woman. Pull yourself together, Barnes! 

It doesn’t help. 

She smiles, as if aware of his inner turmoil, and that she’s the cause of it. “We need to extract the target,” she says softly. And then louder, “Whaddya say to heading back home?” 

“Anything you say, love.” Bucky tangles his fingers with hers, keeping them steady. Her gaze is very hard on his face, and then her eyes flicker behind him. The shout from Steve and the icy determination filling Agent 28’s face come at the same time. Bucky tenses - there’s a gunshot, he hears Natasha grunt and a crash, and suddenly Agent 28 is hiking up her skirt, drawing her Glock (from that really commendable thigh holster around her now-bare leg), as she aims around Bucky and fires. The recoil shakes him a little, since she braced herself against his bicep.

There’s a sudden tent in his pants.  

Screams. Glass crashing. A ping of a bullet on his metal arm. He can feel the heat of it, and winces. Then, as suddenly as the chaos started, the shop is quiet.  

Shaking his head to clear his thoughts (no more than 6 or 7 seconds could have passed) Bucky swivels to see...Natasha, lying on the target on the ground. Both unharmed, and a little shaky. Steve, clutching his arm as blood seeps between his fingers, and the two bulky men lying still on the ground. One shot. One taken care of...Steve Rogers-style. Bucky grins to himself.  

“I thought you said no guns,” he says as an aside, as Agent 28 flicks the safety back on, and puts the gun back in its holster.  

“I said no guns for you,” she clarifies, with a little dimple forming around her smirk as she smooths down her skirt to cover herself more modestly.  

“But you can have one?” he asks. 

“I always have one.” 

“I like preparedness in a woman.”

She merely lifts a brow in return, but Bucky sees interest in her eyes as she slides off the stool. Heads are beginning to poke back up from beneath tables, and Steve offers a hand to Nat to help her stand. The target scrambles to his feet.  

“I’ll take him back to SHIELD,” Agent 28 says, picking up the man’s briefcase in one hand and grasping his arm in the other. “When we have the intel, I’ll contact you for the follow-up.” 

Stepping on broken glass, she begins to wind towards the door. But as Bucky stares after her, she glances back over her shoulder with a smile. Just for him. 

“Make sure things get cleaned up. And take off your disguises before you address any press.” And she’s gone out the door. Bucky is speechless, but only for a moment. Sighing, he turns to Steve beside him. 

“I don’t think she likes me much. Always telling me what to do,” he says regretfully. But it’s Natasha that answers. 

“Nonsense; that’s just how she shows that she cares. Steve, go get your arm looked at. You’re bleeding out.”

~

It’s impossible to ever stop being an agent. Even tucked up in bed that night, trying to read a fantasy novel, your ears attune themselves to the sound of New York City traffic outside your window. The honks. The screeches. People calling out to each other.  

You can almost pretend the noise is dragons fighting goblins. 

There’s a soft swoosh, right outside your window. A thud on the balcony. Unmoving - you don’t want to give yourself away - you feel your heart begin to race as your hand slides under your pillow for a gun. The window is slid open, slowly. 

And you’d thought that living on the second story was high enough that you didn’t have to lock your windows. You deserve a burglar or two for that idiocy. Grasping the handle of your gun, you jerk around and hoist yourself to your knees, keeping the gun steady in your hands as you aim it at -  

Bucky. Bucky Barnes, one leg inside your bedroom while the rest of him tries to squeeze through. Bucky Barnes, sheepish and a little confused, and more than a little irritated.  

“There’s something keeping the window from opening all the way,” he says. “Could you jiggle it a little?” 

“Not even a hello?” you ask, pulling your gun back. He’s safe. You think.  

“Hello. Please open your window.” 

Biting back a laugh, you jump off the bed to oblige. “I suppose if I don’t, you’ll be stuck there forever,” you tease him. With a grunt and a pull, the window slides open the rest of the way, and Bucky lets out a long breath of relief as he pushes himself through.  

“That would be a problem,” he says dryly, staring down at you as he straightens his jacket.  

“Would it really? I think it would be fun.” With a smirk you close the window again, and the traffic is muted. And suddenly your bedroom seems very, very quiet. “Why are you here, Sergeant?” you ask him, hands on hips. “And why no warning? I could’ve dressed up for ya.” 

Immediately his face flames red. “You - your pajamas are very nice,” he stutters out, and you laugh. 

“Why are you really here?”

“I just - I…” Bucky bites his bottom lip, as his color slowly returns to normal.  

“Missed me already?” you ask lightly. 

“I - I guess.” 

Now that is not the answer you’d expected. During the recon he’d been a little tense around you; you’d assumed he was still sore that you’d threatened to cut your hair. Barnes isn’t known to be particularly friendly to strangers. But now he’s at your apartment, having climbed through the window at night, just because he ‘missed you.’ 

How very interesting.  

“What’s your name?” he blurts. “I mean, your real name.” 

How very interesting. 

“Only Director Fury knows my name, hon,” you smile up at him with a shrug. “That’s something you’ve gotta earn...if you’re interested.” 

“I’m interested. I am interested.” Bucky’s not one to mince meanings. The light in his eyes has shifted; bright to dark, full of meaning. Insinuation.  

You take a step forward, tilting your chin upwards as he catches his breath. You place a hand on the front of his shirt - his heart is racing. You can see very well the stubble on his strong jaw, the dimple in his chin. The thick lashes which ring his eyes. “You wanna get to know me, Sergeant?” you ask softly.  

“Yeah,” he breathes out, low and slow. “Yeah, I do. You...you were so...amazing. Today. You were amazing. You are amazing. Cooler than Sam or Clint, for sure. Maybe even Tasha. Probably cooler than Steve.” 

He’s babbling. It’s adorable, but you interrupt with a laugh. “Well, maybe I wanna get to know you, too. If I’m being quite frank. Which isn’t my name, by the way.”  

Bucky laughs aloud - the sound fills your bedroom with warmth and liveliness. It makes your skin tingle from your scalp to your toes. “You look like a Frank,” he teases back, lifting a finger to tap the end of your nose.  

“How’d you find out where I live, anyway?” you ask. “It’s not public intel.” 

He shrugs. “I have my ways.” 

“Which are…?” 

He holds up his metal hand, gleaming in the light from your lamp. Holding your gaze, he flicks off the end of the pinky finger. “I can hack into any technology,” he says, and you give an involuntary “ooo!” at the fancy port.  

“I could use one of those in my finger,” you say fervently, remembering a handful of instances when you’ve fumbled precious flash drives and such. “What - do your other fingers have that, too?” 

Bucky is grinning now. He knows he got you. So he flips open the ring finger - a three-pronged port. The middle finger - a mini USB-drive. “Pretty much unlimited memory,” Bucky explains. “Stark has good tech like that. He put all the updates here, in fact. And this one - ” The index fingers just looks like a hole inside. You suspect it’s not. “Miniature stun gun,” he says proudly.  

“Very cool,” you say, impressed. “What about your thumb.” 

He chortles, and gives you a thumbs up. The tip opens, and a little flame peeks out, steady and orange. 

“Very handy, if you’re going to an Aerosmith concert thirty years ago,” you tease. 

“What’s an Aerosmith?” 

Your eyes widen. “You don’t - you don’t know?” 

“I don’t have a lot of memories from thirty years ago,” Bucky points out.  

“Then you gonna learn, pal. Come on.” Bravely you grasp his hand - disregarding that he might want to leave, that he’s not interested in music - it doesn’t matter. There’s a single lamp lighting your living room, and you turn on the stereo. Still holding his hand.  

The music starts. You turn to face him, pleased to see the interest in his expression as he nods his head. So you sing along, tossing your head back to mimic Steve Tyler’s voice.  

“Come here, baby You know you drive me up a wall the way you make good on all the nasty tricks you pull Seems like we're makin' up more than we're makin' love...” 

Without realizing it, you’ve pulled Bucky in to a dance. He doesn’t protest, snaking his hand around your waist and pulling you close, pajamas and all. He’s smiling down at you, with an expression you don’t fully understand. But it’s enticing enough to keep you interested. 

“I go crazy, crazy, baby, I go crazy You turn it on Then you're gone Yeah you drive me Crazy, crazy, crazy, for you baby What can I do, honey I feel like the color blue…”

“I like this song,” he says, during a guitar solo. He’s swaying just so, his flesh hand shifting to nudge your hips to the slow beat.  

“Do you?” you ask. “Or do you like me? Hmm?” 

Bucky smiles. “How about both?”

“Okay.” Your fingers inch over to his hair, where you stroke the end of his braid. He still has the braids in. And - “You still have my hair tie,” you tell him with a pretend scowl. “You little thief!” 

“And you’ve stolen my thoughts all day,” Bucky snarks back. “We’re even.”

That kind of lovin' Makes me wanna pull Down the shade, yeah That kind of lovin' Yeah now I'm never, never, never, never gonna be the same…

The steps have slowed. But Bucky’s hold on you tightens. His eyes - oh gosh, those eyes - riveted, you catch your breath as his face grows near. Tentatively his lips brush against yours, hot and promising. Your heart is threatening to leap from your chest, and you can’t help smiling as he pulls away with pink cheeks. 

”Wait until I tell my mom that a guy I learned about in high school history has the hots for me,” you tease. 

“Ha, ha.” But he rests his cheek against your hair, all the same. I'm losin' my mind, girl 'Cause I'm goin' crazy I need your love, honey I need your love…” 

The song ends. You don’t want to stop dancing.  

“So, what do you think?” Bucky asks quietly, to the silence. 

“About what?” you murmur back. His embrace is really too warm. 

“Me. Us. You know.” 

You lift your head, holding his gaze as his eyes glitter on your face. Drinking you in. Even if he’s not terribly eloquent, you understand him perfectly. He lowers his head to nudge his nose to yours. You scrunch your face - he’s so cute. How could you say no?  

“I could probably lose my job, if...if we were to start dating,” you confess. 

“Then wouldn’t I lose mine, too?” Bucky asks. 

“Nah. You’re too important.” 

“Not that important,” he mutters. “But maybe enough that I can make sure you don’t get fired.” 

So. Cute. “Maybe we don’t have to tell anyone, so no one gets fired,” you whisper back. His hand is trailing up on your back, and you nearly moan aloud. Bucky has very good hands. Just strong enough to entice, but not so much to hurt... 

“Okay.” It’s barely a breath, but it flares the embers in your belly to life as Bucky kisses you again, no longer gentle, but hungry and fierce. 

How long have you known him, now? Twelve hours? Thirteen? You are so lost.

Bucky is tugging you towards the couch, gasping for air between kisses as you tug at his shirt. But you push him down first, straddling his legs as he stares up at you. In wonder. Oh, you like this. You draw his shirt all the way over his head, and nearly salivate on him.  

Later. You can salivate later.  

Fervently you begin to kiss him again, cupping his face in your hands as you squirm; he’s yanking at your shorts, at your top. With no luck, of course. You’re nearly about to get off so he can get them off, when a ripping sound pops your head back up.  

Bucky is smiling up at you. Sheepishly. Definitely ruefully. 

“Punk,” you mutter, feeling his cold metal fingertips on the bare flesh of your hips.  

“Next time, don’t bother with the underwear,” he retorts. You giggle, and kiss him again. Next time. Oh, good, a next time… 

You’re too impatient to bother pushing off his jeans the rest of the way, and clearly he is, too. Tossing his belt carelessly over your shoulder, you let his pants stay at his knees. The sensation of his hot flesh against the sensitive skin of your thighs makes you moan aloud, and Bucky wastes no time pulling your top off. His mouth finds your breasts, and you moan again, louder this time.  

“You’re killin’ me,” he rasps, between kisses. 

“Not if you kill me first.”  

“Is this a competition, now?” Bucky’s eyes are glittering.  

“Are you gonna make it one?” you tease back.  

Tangling your fingers into the braids in his hair, you pull his head back to kiss him again. But Bucky pulls away, his fingers ghosting along your jaw to tilt it upwards so he can taste your throat. His lips are hot. Oh...there will definitely be marks there. But right now, you don’t care. Especially when his flesh fingers travel between your legs. Your eyes flutter shut with a moan.  

“I’m ready,” you tell him breathlessly.

“I can tell.” There’s laughter in his voice, and you peek open an eye to see him gazing fondly up at you. That smile. It makes your heart stutter, and carefully he guides your hips to align with his… 

Oh, it’s so good. So, so good.  

You find his mouth again, kissing him for all you’re worth as you grind against him, drawing low groans from his throat. His hands are everywhere; guiding your hips, tracing your waist, stroking your breasts. It’s like he knows exactly how to bring your entire body to life...oh, he is good.  

With another groan, he leans his head on the back of the couch, bracing himself as he thrusts back. A whimper falls from your lips.  

“Baby…” he starts in a husky voice, his breathing short. “I - I can’t call you agent now - ” 

You’re laughing as the pleasure bursts through every nerve of your body. A slower pace and a moment later, Bucky tugs your face close to kiss you deeply as his hips stutter against yours, and stop.  

“That was good,” he says a moment later. His nose is buried in your hair as he breathes deeply. You keep your eyes closed, content just to smell his musky, masculine scent all around you. You pull away to gaze down at him; his eyes are shining warmth and affection, and the tips of his fingers start to trace circles down your bare arms. 

“Really good,” you agree. 

“We should do that again, just to make sure it wasn’t a fluke.”  

Bucky Barnes is a flirt. A conniving little flirt. You love it.  

“Well, I don’t have any plans tonight,” you tease.

“I do,” Bucky says fervently. “I’m intend to get to know you better than anyone. Even Fury, if you know what I mean.” You laugh - because you do know what he means, however perverted it sounds.  

In the cold grey of dawn, you whisper your name in his ear. 

~ 

“And last order of business…” Tony Stark trails off. The effect of building up to something exciting pays off - Clint jolts awake, and Sam quickly puts away his doodles of Iron Man crash landing into a trampoline. “We will be welcoming Agent 28 as a contractual member of our team. She’s worked well with us, and proven her worth. Fury agreed that we can have her part time.” 

“But can she endure Clint walking around without his socks on?” Sam asks.  

“I once sat in a dumpster for two days just to catch a gangster,” you tell him, before anyone else can speak on your behalf. “I’ve smelled things nearly as bad. I have a strong stomach.” 

“Ha, ha,” says Clint, without humor.  

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Bucky studying your face intently from across the table. He’s not subtle - someone’s going to pick up on him. You straighten your shoulders, and meet his gaze in challenge. His lips twitch upwards. 

“Then that’s all for today. Class dismissed.” 

It had been a long briefing; a summary of the mission you’d completed, upcoming events (mostly galas and charity gigs), and a reminder that as there are no housekeeping services, everyone needs to wash their dishes before any science experiments begin to grow.  

The team begins to file out. Steve congratulates you as he passes you; you thank him with a smile, not blind to the way Bucky is bristling with jealousy. Because Steve spoke to you? Bucky’s going to have it rough, with you. 

You linger all the same, standing slowly until you’re the last one in the conference room. Well, one of the last.  

“Agent,” Bucky says in a clipped voice, standing with his arms crossed.  

“Sergeant,” you reply, with a toss of your hair as you mosey for the door. Natasha is still within earshot down the hall, but you can walk a little slower.

“I’m not done with you,” he growls. “We need to talk about…”

You glance back, lifting a brow. 

“...the way you clean your handguns. It’s not safe.” 

Laughter threatens. “Oh, please. I’ve been cleaning my own guns for years. And no one else has put up a stink about it.” 

Bucky is strolling around the table, his eyes glittering dangerously on yours. You stand tall, unwilling to back down. 

“Why the criticism, Sergeant?” you say in a much quieter voice, as he pauses at the door. Only two steps away. You smirk. “Want me to clean yours for you?” 

He blinks, momentarily distracted. Then a creeping grin grows on his face. “Yes,” Bucky says, and his voice breaks on the word.  

“Come on, then. We’d better find someplace more...private.” You crook a finger in his direction. He obviously nearly melts at this - a shudder goes through his shoulders, and his eyes darken as he stifles a groan. With your head high, you stroll into the hall. 

There’s a janitorial closet two doors down. Perfect. Without even a glance at any security cams (you or Bucky can erase the footage later), you walk straight in, closing the door after he enters behind you. In the dark, his ragged breathing is very audible.  

“Well now, Sergeant,” you say softly, tugging at the front of his jacket. “Let me show you how I do it.”

[natasha-romanoff-deserved-better]

But Even The Strong Can Fall

Hey Nonny! I choose Clint to be the one to find her, because I honestly don’t think Nat would allow or respond well too anyone else to help her other than him. 

Title: But Even The Strong Can Fall 

Words: 2,107

TW: Off-Screen Noncon, description of resulting injuries 

. 

“Has anyone seen Widow recently?” Clint asks over the comms, eyes scanning the ground from his perch on the roof. Natasha normally wasn’t very talkative over the commutation lines, unlike Tony and Thor who both enjoyed keeping running commentaries on their activities. Natasha was quieter, but she did keep them updated every few minutes at the least. Clint doesn’t remember the last time she had been this silent for so long. He had tried calling her name several times over the line already with no luck.

         “We saw her about fifthteen minutes ago.” Steve reports. Clint can hear the slight frown in his voice. “She said she was headed up to you. She didn’t make it?”

         Clint’s stomach drops to the ground. “No. Not at all. Fuck. Tony?”

         Tony responds after a few seconds. “Friday says her comms have been turned off? That’s really weird…Let me try- Fri, can you override?” There’s some slight static noise, and they can hear Tony calling for Natasha, asking if she can hear him and demanding a response of some kind. None comes.

         “It’s doesn’t matter. Maybe it broke or something. I’m going to her. Tony, does Friday have her location?”

         “Huh. Okay, well her tracker seems to be acting a bit weird too, but last logged location was about ten minutes from you, Hawk. Let us know when you find her. We’ll keep an eye out too.”

         Clint curses again, shoving his arrow back into his quiver and collapsing his bow. He takes off in the direction Tony told him, keeping watch for any sign of his partner. He tries his best to not let his mind run away from him, but he can’t help the nagging voice in the back of his head. Nat wouldn’t just disappear like this. This isn’t right.

         It only takes Clint five minutes to get to Natasha’s last location. It’s nothing special- some old worn down and crumbling warehouse that was definitely not on any paths of the plan Steve had laid out. The building was eerily quiet, causing Clint’s hair on the back of his neck rose. Narrowing his eyes, he draws his bow and arrow again, holding it low while his eyes run over the building.

         He pauses, not willing to accept what he was seeing. On the ground, several feet away from him laid a little black earpiece, along with a discarded Glock near it. Natasha’s Glock.

         “Nat?” He calls out hesitantly. “You here?”

         Nothing.

         He continues through the building, listening intently. He’s about to report back to the team and tell them this was a dead end when he notices a trail of blood droplets, leading to a door off to his left; one he hadn’t noticed earlier. He silently moves towards the door, placing his ear close against the rotting wood to listen for any clues.

         There. Someone was breathing.

         Clint backs away some feet, lining up his foot with the doorknob. Taking a deep breath, he kicks in the door and rushes though, bow raised and ready to defend himself as he enters.

         “Oh, my god.” He chokes out around the bile rising in his throat. His bow clatters to the ground as he takes in the stripped and bleeding girl in the corner.

         Natasha is curled into herself on the ground, knees pulled up to hide her bare chest. One of her arms is wrapped around her legs, hugging them closer to her body, while the other hand is holding onto her head near her temple, dark blood spilling out from under her fingers. Her once pale skin was marred with black and blue bruises, and his eyes catch on the handprint bruise that cover her hips. Tremors rack through her body mercilessly. She’s sitting in a small puddle of blood.

         The floor is littered with her torn clothing and broken weapons, carelessly strewn about. Pushed up against the opposite wall lies the dead body of a man. The man is easily recognizable as one of the high-ranking members of the group they were currently supposed to be taking down. The man’s throat has been crudely slit; the broken piece of glass she must have used still embedded in his skin.

         Clint is down next to her in a second, hands hovering slightly, not sure what exactly to do first. He settles for laying a feather light touch on her shoulder, whispering her name cautiously.

         “No!” Natasha flinches away as a frightened and pained yelp falls from her lips. “Don’t touch me!”

         “Nat! Natasha! It’s me.” He scrambles in front of her, both hands coming up to lightly cup either side of her face and guide her head up, forcing her to look at his face. “Look at me, Tasha. It’s Clint.”

         “Clint?” She breathes out, eyes roaming over his face before making eye contact. Her green eyes fill with moisture as her face drops. Her bottom lip begins to tremble and she squeezes them together desperately trying to keep somewhat of a composure. “Clint…”  

         “Yeah, babygirl. I’m right here.” He doesn’t ask for permission, just gathers up her small body into his arms and pulls her onto his lap. He holds her close against his chest, one hand coming up to cradle the back of her head as she drops it into the crook of his neck. Natasha’s arms circle his torso, hands tightly fisting into the leather of his vest. “I’ve got you.”

         She’s making a soft keening sound, something he had never heard from her in all their seven years of working together. His other hand rubs up and down her back as he tries in vain to provide any source of comfort. Her bare skin is freezing under his touch, and with her head so close now he can hear her shallow breaths.

         Her body tenses as her stomach rebels suddenly, and she gags against him. He gently repositions, leaning her to the side just in time for bile and stomach acid to fall from her lips. She gasps for air around her broken apologizes. “I. I’m sor-ry. Ow. My head, C. It’s my head. He knocked me-“ She throws up again. “He knocked me out.”

          Her unfocused eyes and bloodied forehead make a lot more sense then. Her behavior as well, aligning more so with someone suffering a severe head injury rather than normally stoic, deadly Black Widow.

         “He. I couldn’t move…” She chokes on a cough. “I didn’t know, where I was.” She takes in a shuddering breath. “I thought I was back in- “

         “I know, sweetheart. I know. You don’t have to say it.” And she doesn’t. His brain fills in the gaps for her. I thought I was back in the Red Room. He knows it’s not even the injuries themselves that are bothering her so much. It’s the pure lack of control, the reminders of a time when she was younger and powerless.

         He is suddenly aware of the voices in his ear calling his name, and he groans in annoyance. He had forgotten about them. He switches his comm back on.

         “Yeah, yeah, I hear ya. I have her. She’s... in rough shape.” He looks down at the girl in his lap, brushes her sweaty hair away from where it’s sticking to her face. He repeats their location to them, but then reconsiders upon another glance at Natasha. “Um. Don’t all come at once, though. Maybe just…” He thinks of who else on the team might be best. Thor was immediately out- his energy was too high and Clint couldn’t be sure he would grasp the seriousness of the situation. Tony was out as well; he was sure Natasha wouldn’t want Tony to see her in such a vulnerable position. Banner might have been the best suited person on the team to deal with this, but he also knew just how fond and protective of Natasha Bruce was, and he worried about the Other Guy making an appearance. “Steve. And bring some extra clothes.” Steve was a good choice. Natasha trusted him, and he was just awkward enough to not say anything stupid or stare at her.

         “Uh, sure. I’ll have to stop by the Quinjet first for the clothes. I’ll be there in a sec.” Clint could hear the unease and questions in his voice. He doesn’t address them.

         Clint pulls away from Natasha, just enough to be able to look her over. Spotting a torn piece of fabric a foot away, he reaches over to grab it, tries not to think about her undershirt he identifies it from. There wasn’t much he could do for her at the moment, but he could at least try to make her a bit more presentable, save her from having the whole team see her a bloody mess.

         He wipes the cloth over her face. She tries to move away, frowning. “Stop, Natasha. Let me help you. It’s okay.” She stops struggling, going still in his hands and letting him continue his administrations. He scrubs the dried blood from her bruised lips and busted forehead. Her hair is tangled and disheveled, so he sets to work on parting it back correctly, smoothing it down with his hands and running his fingers through the curls to work out some of the knots.

         He continues this for several moments, keeping a running dialogue going to help prevent her from falling back into a flashback. He keeps talking until he hears the footsteps of his team member coming up behind them.

         “Clint?” Steve asks, peaking into the room, but not completely entering. Clint angles himself more between the door and Natasha, blocking her naked body from Steve’s view as best he could.

         “Just throw the clothes over here, Steve. Thank you. Can you just wait outside?” Clint asks, and Steve nods, backing out after tossing the old spare SHIELD clothes near them. “Okay, then. Let’s get you dressed, Nat.”

         She nods and quietly agrees. He grabs the T-shirt and holds it out for her, not rushing her in her sluggish movements as she pokes her arms through the arm holes and helps her get it over her head and pulls it down to cover her torso. He grabs the sweatpants next, and is attempting to maneuver her legs through them when she whines and pushes away his hands.

         “Nat…?”

         She whines again in response, and searches the floor for something. Clint sees what she’s looking for, and hands her the previous cloth he used to clean her. She grabs it from him, brings it down to her legs and begins furiously trying to rub away the dried blood on the inside of her thighs. Her hands are clumsy from her head injury though, and she’s not making much progress by herself. Clint can hear her breathing start to increase again- she’s working herself back up, getting frustrated.

         “Hey, Hey, Talia.” He places his hand over hers, stilling her movements. “We can get you cleaned up more as soon as we’re on the jet, okay? I’m sorry I can’t do more right now. Will you let me get these on you first? Once we do, we can get out of here and onto the jet.”

         She nods weakly, dropping the cloth in trade of trying to help Clint with the pants. She’s too concussed to be of any real help, but Clint doesn’t brush her away and allows her to think she’s doing more than she actually is. It’s slow, but the sense of control seems to calm her.

         Once she is dressed again, Clint stands. He reaches down and holds her shoulders to steady her as she shakily follows him up.

         “Think you can walk?” He asks. She nods even as she winces while she takes an experimental step. Clint resists the urge to scoop her into his arms and just carry her. He knows she wouldn’t want the team seeing her having to be carried if not absolutely necessary, and he doesn’t want to take that slight bit of dignity away from her.

         Steve meets them outside, his face tight. He’s picked up Clint’s bow and quiver for him, and is holding Natasha’s gun. He nods at them.

         “I, uh, spoke to the team. Told them to give you guys some space on the way back.” Clint thanks him, and they begin slowly making their way to the Quinjet.

         The ride back is quiet, and although he can’t let Natasha fall asleep like she wants too, it doesn’t stop him from cradling her in his arms all the way home.

[tahastore1]

(via "In Glock We Trust-Patriotic Gun " Classic T-Shirt for Sale by tahastore1)

[the-original-b]

Archangel--Chapter 5: the Seza Situation

Format: Prose / Fiction, multi-entry

Part in Series: 6 of 9 (Previous Chapter | First Chapter)

Word Count: c. 4,300

Summary: Krueger makes peace with a few of his demons while he and Khai deal with the fallout of the events at Orham’s cabin; other parties hatch a plot against the duo.

Northern Africa, circa 2005.

The six of them sat in the back of the five-ton cargo transport as it crossed the ragged desert terrain below them. One of them, about ten years younger than everyone else there, jiggled her knee as she held her clasped hands together atop her lap.

Another one—a large barrel-chested man with broad shoulders, tan skin, a shaven head, and bushy beard—looked over at her. “You nervous, Seza?” He leaned forward in his seat. “You look nervous.”

“She looks better than you, Brock,” uttered the third one among them. This one—Wyatt—wore a baseball cap to cover his brown hair. He was a fair-skinned man with green eyes and a trimmed goatee that covered his upper lip and chin. He leered at Brock. “How is it possible that you gained weight since the last time I saw you?”

Brock smiled and patted his belly. “It’s all the home cooking,” he jested.

The fourth person, Alicia, rolled her brown eyes. “Brock Singer, ladies and gentlemen,” she said. She had light brown skin, delicate features, and black hair tied in a ponytail passed over the band of a tan snapback cap. “Two-hundred-plus pounds of beer and muscle.”

Brock chuckled. “The ladies love it, Alicia.”

The fifth one in the back of the transport—Jackson—added his input. “Well we have two with us, you’re welcome to ask their opinion.” He had fair skin, dark blonde hair, blue eyes, and messy stubble.

“I wouldn’t,” Wyatt noted. He nodded in Seza’s direction. “This one looks like she’s ready to squeeze the life out of the next thing that touches her.”

Seza perked up when she met his eyes. “No,” she stammered. “It’s just—”

“First job jitters? Trust me, mate, we’ve all been there. But this is a protection job, nothing safer to start cutting your teeth on, I say.”

“Don’t you lie to the poor girl, Wyatt,” Brock said.

“I’m not.” He looked over to the corner at the sixth man in their party. “Oi, Archangel..! How many protection jobs have you worked in your day?”

The leader of the bunch—Archangel, known to a handful of people across the globe as Milo Krueger—leaned back in his seat with his arms crossed and stared straight ahead. “Enough,” he said. A tan shemagh rested on his neck and shoulders atop a pale t-shirt.

“Yeah, and how many of them went sideways?”

“Enough.” He quickly glanced over his gear.

At this, Seza retreated back into herself. For all her prior training and preparation, she never actually partook in battle.

Wyatt noticed it. “Don’t let it scare you,” he advised. “Just stay by him, if it all goes FUBAR he’ll pull you out of the fire.”

Seza looked back at him, incredulous.

“He pulled my arse out at least twice… And Brock’s. And Jackson’s, and Alicia’s.” Wyatt leaned back in his seat. “Trust me, you’re in good hands with him.”

Seza looked down at the floor, and then at Krueger. She could see it in the way he carried himself—an undeniable sureness of who he was and what he was capable of. She could tell he earned the respect and admiration of everyone else in the truck with her.

She took a breath and tried to relax as the vehicle came to a stop and the rear gate opened. When Krueger stepped out to assist in unloading the cases of weapons, she took her spot a few meters from him, not just to survey the others, but to keep an eye on him particularly. Seza knew if she was going to make it in this line of work, her start would have to be with him.

Rego Park, six miles southeast of Manhattan, present day.

Krueger held one hand against the shower wall as he let the water hit the back of his neck and run down all of his his five feet and ten inches. He reflected on the day’s events—the meticulous planning that didn’t matter once the others showed up, the return of a ghost he previously thought dead for eight years, the fact that he failed his mission.

None of it ate at the corners of his mind as much as what she said to him. Seza wouldn’t tell him who hired her to kill Miles Orham, or why. He had taken too many kill orders from too many people to believe that Seza’s presence there coincided with his own by accident. Whoever sent her knew he and Khai would be there too, and probably knew what they were there for. Besides himself, there were only two other people in the room yesterday morning in a position to leak any details. And he didn’t like the possibility of having to kill either or both of them.

He shut the water off and stepped out of the shower to dry himself off. He winced a little as he passed the towel over his left shoulder, and the dull pulsing pain radiating from a circular bruise on his upper right chest reminded him of the bullets he took in Hoboken just two days ago. He looked deep in the empty eye sockets of the grinning skull tattooed under the bruise, and then lowered the towel to study the marks on his left arm and shoulder. Now, perhaps more than ever before, they were haunting reminders both of Seza and of his failures.

 ~~~~

Krueger dressed himself in a pale gray A-shirt and dark loose-fitting track pants, then sat down in his kitchenette to eat his dinner of lean beef and grilled vegetables, keeping his P30L within reach. He was just about halfway done when his doorbell rang. Slowly, methodically, he stood up from his chair and approached the door, keeping his handgun pointed towards it the whole time. He placed the muzzle on the door as he looked through the peephole at the woman on the other side. He considered walking away from the door for a moment before he lowered his gun and cracked it open, holding the gun in his hand behind his back.

Khai stood before his doorway, wrapped in a double-breasted pea coat and scarf. Under it she had the same pants and boots from this morning. She greeted him with a wave and nervous chuckle before putting her hand back into her coat pocket. “So, I ran your license plate number and got your home address,” she confessed. “Don’t be mad.”

“I’m not,” Krueger said.

“Then why do I get the feeling you don’t trust me?”

“Probably for the reason you figured I might. There are only two other people who knew where we would be this morning, and they may have tried to use that opportunity to have me killed.”

Khai averted his gaze and nodded, understanding his suspicion but still hurt by the insinuation. “Will you at least let me in so I can come clean properly?” she asked, looking back at him.

“On one condition,” Krueger articulated. “I’m going to ask you simple questions, to which I want simple answers.”

“Of course.”

Krueger stepped back to open the door fully and let Khai in, keeping his place behind it. She took a few brisk steps to cross the threshold and waited for him on the other side while he peeked over the door to scan the street quickly before closing it. He let his hand hang by his side, allowing her to see the P30L he still held.

She took solace in the fact that his finger was away from the trigger. For the moment, at least, he hadn’t intended to shoot her. “That smells incredible,” she said, noting his dinner. “What is it?”

“I based it on a Mediterranean recipe I picked up working in the region.” Krueger stepped away from the door toward her, gesturing the seating area to her left with the gun in his hand. “Please have a seat.”

Khai complied, placing herself on a large couch int which she sank. She crossed her feet at the ankles and placed her hands into her lap, palms down.

Krueger took a seat in an upholstered armchair across from her. A glass-topped coffee table separated them. He leaned forward a little, resting his elbows on his knees and letting his hands hang between them. “Are you armed?” he finally asked.

Khai shook her head. “No, I’m not carrying,” she said. “There’s a Glock 19 in my glove box, but that hardly matters right now.”

“Did you think about carrying it with you inside?”

“Briefly, but it wouldn’t do much to repair our relationship if I had.”

“No, I suppose it wouldn’t have…” Krueger straightened his posture, pulling his elbows back to rest on the arms of the chair. “Did you order Seza to murder Orham?”

“No,” Khai affirmed.

Krueger paid close attention to her. She was rock-steady; she didn’t fidget or move in her seat before or after answering, and her pitch and tone of voice remained where it had been since he first started questioning her. Khai, he was relieved to find out, was telling the truth. “Then why did you say you wanted to come clean, earlier?”

At this, Khai broke eye contact and wringed her hands. “Because I owe you an explanation, and an apology for not coming forward with this sooner.” She tucked her hair back behind her ear before continuing, placing her hands in her lap again. “I don’t work for Simon Wells,” she admitted. “I never worked for him or his father William. I report to people higher in the organization than them.”

“The actual Managing Partners,” Krueger surmised.

Khai nodded, confirming his theory. “There are five of them, each presiding over a piece of the United States,” she explained. “Remember Charles Silvio, CJ’s father? He’s in charge of the Southeast Region. There’s also Karin Marlow in the Southwest, Herman Gallagher in the Northwest, and Dana Frazer in the Central region. I report to Isaac Hayden, the Northeast Region’s controller and Simon Wells’ boss.”

“I see,” Krueger said. “So Isaac Hayden installed you at the Branch in oh-six to get it back in working order.”

“It wasn’t Hayden at the time, but yes, the region’s head gave me the order. And when Simon inherited the Branch after William’s death I was tasked with transitioning him into the position. During that time Hayden was promoted and found that the Branch ran wonderfully with me as its co-pilot, so he had me stay there. Either that, or he didn’t trust Simon to run it without me,” she mused, smiling to herself.

“I’m inclined to agree with that theory,” Krueger said with a half-smile of his own. His expression flattened again. “Why did you keep this from me?” he asked.

Khai looked away from him and shrugged. “I guess I didn’t think we would be working together long enough for it to matter… and since we ended up staying together I was afraid if I shared it with you then, you would think less of me for not being open with you about it sooner.” She reclaimed his green and blue eyes. “I know it’s silly.”

“Not really,” Krueger said. “Truth be told I would have thought the same, were I in your position. It’s rare for people in my line of work stay with an employer long enough for such details to emerge, rarer still for them to care about such things.”

Khai let out a quiet sigh of relief and grinned. “Guess that means there really is only one of you, huh?” She crossed her legs and leaned back in the couch a little.

Krueger, happy to see her relaxed again, smirked too. “I did tell you, didn’t I?”

“You did,” Khai chuckled. She sat there for a little, looking at him and admiring how he filled the sleeveless shirt he wore, studying both the tattoos she could see and the one tucked mostly out of sight. Though she read about them in his dossier, she had never actually seen them with her own eyes. They raised questions, and one in particular that rose above the others. “May I ask you something?”

“Of course you may.”

She took a breath, choosing her next words carefully. “Who is Seza to you, really?”

Krueger broke eye contact while he organized his thoughts. “Seza is many things to me,”he began. “A student, a partner, my sister-in-arms... a lover.” He set his P30L down on the table top and looked at her again, clasping his hands together. “She is both my greatest success and harshest failure,” he continued. “I first met her in 2005, when she joined as the sixth and final member of my squad of private contractors. There was Brock, Jackson, Alicia, Wyatt, myself, and her. We were Amur Company, a band of apex predators greater than the sum of its parts.” He gestured his left arm and shoulder. “We each got these tattoos, the tiger’s stripes that set us apart from the rest.”

Amur, Khai understood. As in the Siberian tiger.

“We were the best at what we did,” he continued, “but she was something entirely different. Dangerous in a way none of us were. I paid special attention to her. Trained her, taught her everything I knew in an effort to stop her from becoming something terrible. But it seems that in so doing,” he lamented, “I created a monster.”

“At the cabin,” Khai noted, “you said she outgrew you.”

“I meant it,” he said. “She’s a chameleon; can hide in plain sight anywhere in the world. She’s fluent in seven languages, can infiltrate, impersonate… she can be a barista at your local Starbucks, a fitness instructor at the gym around the block, an art gallery director, anything; you’d never see her coming.”

“You almost sound proud of her.”

“In a way I am, but in another I feel sorry for her. She never shared much of her early life, but I knew there was a deep pain behind her eyes. I hoped to help her turn it into something better, but all I did was give her a set of tools to spread that pain.” Krueger shrugged. “I guess I should have foreseen that; altruism isn’t a lucrative trait for a soldier of fortune.”

Khai leaned in a little closer to him. “What happened between you two?”

Krueger looked away from her for a moment, then back at her. “My group was out of work for months when I agreed to what would become our final job, near the Laos-Cambodia border,” he said.

“The one you mentioned this morning.”

“That’s the one. After days of failed attempts of dragging them out of the forests we were given an ultimatum, put the resistance down or forego the pay. I had to take care of my people, so I took… steps.”

“Steps?”

“White phosphorous munitions,” he said. “Incendiary devices, the nasty kind.”

Khai knew what he was avoiding saying. “…you burned the forest down.”

“It worked,” Krueger said. “The resistance was routed, but it left a bad feeling in my gut. So I left, didn’t even wait to get paid. The others who stayed ended up dead, murdered in their sleep by the warlord’s militia.”

“Except for Seza,” she correctly deduced.

“She contacted me shortly after the others were killed. Told me she’d escaped and wanted to avenge them with me. I told her to walk away, but she didn’t. She called me a deserter and a coward, said she’d do herself what I was too weak to do. And I didn’t hear from her again—until this morning I thought she was dead.” Krueger tapped the tattoo under his shirt. “That’s why I got this… Have I ever told you what it is?”

“It’s a Jolly Roger, isn’t it?”

Krueger took a breath, pulling at his shirt strap to show more of it to her. “My great-uncle, he wore a sigil like this on his collar. From 1939 to 1943.”

Khai recalled that chapter in history. “He was SS,” she deduced.

Krueger nodded. “Totenkopfverbände,” he elaborated. “In charge of a death camp in Poland. I grew up hearing my father tell me about the letters he sent him, how he expressed his deep regret for carrying out his orders. He was a good man, forced to do evil.” He straightened back up. “And that’s what this is, a reminder of when I did something terrible for someone else’s benefit. A reminder of what never to do again.”

Until now, Khai had never heard him talk so much about himself or his past. She had been curious for a while, and now that she knew she pitied him for enduring so much pain throughout his life. She appreciated his relationship with Seza a little more now, and understood both his obligation to steer her on a different path than him, and his disappointment in her choice to keep doing as she had. “That couldn’t have been easy to talk about,” she finally said, cursing the distance between them. “Thank you for sharing that with me.”

Krueger leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees again. “Trust is a two-way street, Miss Khai. You reassured me I can put my faith in you, and I felt I had to reciprocate.”

He said it. She could rest easy again. “And I’m grateful that you have. Thank you, again, Milo.”

Krueger offered her a nod. “You’re welcome, Elizabeth.”

They shared a moment of mutual understanding and newfound respect, neither daring to break the perfect silence between them.

Khai’s groaning stomach killed the mood. “Oh!” she said through an embarrassed laugh. “Excuse me, I’ve been so wrapped up in everything today I forgot to eat..!”

Krueger looked over at his dinner plate, and the stove top. “Well, I did cook enough for two meals. You’re welcome to stay and eat something before you go—”

“Oh, no,” she said, standing up again. “I wouldn’t dare impose.”

“Nonsense,” Krueger added, standing up as well. “You wouldn’t be imposing at all. Besides, it’ll be too late by the time you get home to do anything about dinner. So please, stay, make yourself comfortable. Let me take your coat.”

Khai couldn’t help but smile to herself. “Well,” she chuckled, “how am I supposed to say ‘no’ now that you asked so nicely?” She unbuttoned her coat and unwrapped her scarf.

“You don’t,” he jested, taking her outerwear. Underneath she wore a form-fitting navy blue long-sleeve cotton shirt. “Have a seat at the table, I’ll be right with you.” He moved to a coat rack by the front door to hang her outerwear.

“Sure thing.” Khai walked past the seating area to the dining area across from the kitchenette and took a seat at a small square table. “You have to tell me where you got those couches,” she said. “I can’t remember the last time I sat on something so comfortable.”

“I ordered them from Amelia’s,” he said, trotting over to the kitchenette to prepare a plate for her. “You know, the furniture store next to Everett’s boutique shop?”

“I have walked by there a few times, yeah. I’ve never actually taken a look inside, though.”

Krueger retrieved a square plate from the cabinet and set a portion of beef and vegetables onto it. “Remind me to give you her number sometime,” he said. “Tell her you’re a friend of Sebastian’s and she’ll take care of you.” He set the plate down in front of her with a knife, fork, napkin, and a bottle of water. “I’m sorry, but I don’t have any wine to offer you.”

“This is plenty,” she said with a smile. “Thank you so much. Really, you’re a life-saver.”

“So I’ve been told,” he chuckled, taking a seat across from her at his own half-finished plate.

“Hang on,” she laughed, “is that where ‘Archangel’ comes from?”

“Oh, that?” Krueger chuckled. “I spent some months working in Mogadishu. The locals called me that—for all of my good deeds, no doubt. I never particularly liked it, but I suppose it stuck.”

“Well I’d say it fits..!” Khai cut a piece off her vegetables and took a bite.

 ~~

When dinner was over, Krueger walked her back toward the front door. “So what happens now?”

“Now?” Khai looked up at him as she wrapped her scarf around her neck. “I thank you for dinner, bid you good night, and replay this evening in my head on my drive back to Westchester.”

“I meant for the Branch,” Krueger laughed.

“Oh, them… I keep my eyes on Simon, and you stand by for the next assignment.”

“Any idea when that will be?”

“Hayden didn’t give me a timeline yet,” she disclosed. “But if you’re asking when we’ll see each other again, there’s a fantastic restaurant within walking distance of the office. I wouldn’t mind seeing you there for lunch tomorrow.”

“I’ll be sure to let you know my schedule.”

“Do keep me posted.” She stood there for a moment looking up at him. Then, throwing caution to the wind, wrapped her arms around the base of his neck and held a tight, earnest hug which Krueger returned. She untucked her head from the side of his neck to place a tender kiss on his cheek. “Thank you for dinner,” she said as she released him. “Gute nacht, Milo.”

Krueger watched her slip her coat back on and head for the door. “Gute nacht, mein freund.” He took a moment to watch her walk back to her car through the window, and when he saw her enter and drive away, he turned back toward the kitchen to clean up.

 ~~~~

Simon Wells rolled his chair away from his desktop computer in his home office late that same night to prepare a nightcap before heading upstairs to bed. The light of the computer monitor had altered his visual acuity in the surrounding darkness; the only way he would see the butler bar at the far end of the office was if he switched a light on.

He reached over to a floor lamp and thumbed the switch, and nearly jumped out of his own skin when he saw her seated by the butler bar, clad in dark tactical pants and an A-shirt.

“Jesus..!” he exclaimed in whispers, careful not to wake the other people in the house, sleeping a floor above him. “Are you trying to give me a heart attack..?”

Seza, seated with crossed legs, swung her airborne foot. “Zero-seven-two-six-one-zero,” she said

“What?”

“The day of your wedding. Cute, but predictable.”

Simon made a mental note to have his home security system fixed. “You disabled the audio chimes, didn’t you?”

“It wasn’t difficult,” she said plainly.

Simon sighed and headed over to where she sat. He scooped up a tumbler and shoveled some ice cubes into it, almost filling the glass with bourbon. He took a gulp from his glass, finishing half of it, and took a seat opposite the specialist. “Why are you even in my house?”

“To learn more about you, Mr. Wells. Tell me,” she mused, “where does your darling wife sleep? Your son? Do they know what you do? Are they listening to us now?”

“Leave them out of this, will you?” Simon took another gulp. “Just tell me why you’re here.”

“I’m here to inform you that Miles Orham has been terminated. Per the kill order you issued.”

“What do you want, a medal? That’s your job.” He stood up with his drink in hand. “Now go away.”

“Another professional was there too,” Seza added.

“Yeah, a guy named Krueger. He’s supposed to be good, but I spared no expense with you.”

“I know he’s good. I got to watch him work up close.”

Simon froze. “And you didn’t kill him?” he snapped.

“No.”

“Why the fuck not??” His yelling was stifled by the hour, and his sleeping family.

“That wasn’t the order,” she commented.

Simon cursed under his breath. He sat back down and placed his glass on the butler bar, pinching the bridge of his nose with his thumb and first finger. “How much do you want?”

“Nothing.”

“Okay, so what do you want?”

“To inform you of your current situation,” she said. “Our business is concluded, but as a professional courtesy I will provide you with a word of warning: Milo Krueger is a very clever, very dangerous man. If he hasn’t yet determined it was you who sent my unit after Orham he will soon. And what do you think he will do when he does? What do you think will happen to your darling wife and son?”

Simon recoiled again at her mention of his family. “Will you kill him, then?”

“I will not,” Seza noted.

“Fine then..! Will you draw him into the open, so I can have one of my guys do it?”

“No. Our business is concluded,” Seza repeated, uncrossing her legs. “I will do nothing else for you.” She stood up and slipped on a waist-length down coat she had hanging over the back of the chair.

Simon threw his hand up to stop her. “Wait, goddammit..!” he pleaded. “Wait.” He took a moment to compose himself again. “If I offered to pay you again to take that job, would you?”

“That depends,” Seza said, sitting back down. “I’ll have to see the offer.”

“Alright,” Simon conceded. “I’ll draw up the contract in the morning.”

“You do that.” Seza stood back up to leave. “My men were talking, you know,” she added. “They’re saying they want another shot at Krueger, after what he did to them in Pennsylvania. You may want to include them in your offer.” Seza moved in total silence to the front door, where she re-engaged the security system and exited the Greenwich home, disappearing into the night.

(Next Chapter | Masterlist)

[erikismybitch]

Waiting In Vain: Chapter 15

Caramel .

“Why can’t we just go to your place ? “

Tiana watched Erik as he got dressed . His back muscles flexed as his T-shirt slipped on his body. Tiana could watch him all day. She still laid naked in her bed, exhausted from the workout he just gave her . Erik was this mysterious man who had captivated her heart and yet she knew almost nothing about him. She didn’t even know where he lived . His last name was non existent and she only saw him at night . Besides the fact that he made her feel so damn good, there was nothing of substance there. It was a dangerous game when the woman liked the man more than the man liked the woman. That was something her mother never mastered . So she had nothing to learn from. And the more Erik held back, the more Tiana drew to him . Tiana was head over heels , infatuated. She even doodled his name on documents sometimes like a high schooler . The way he kissed her , the way he touched her with so much passion. She just knew he felt the same way .

Of course he didn’t say it , but that’s just how he was ... she told herself . Every guy she had been with was always at her beck and call. Erik made her drop every guy to deal with him, so of course that meant he was serious about her . He worked long hours and was always gone, so she understood why he couldn’t always answer her call or message . But if Tiana was out and Erik wanted her, she’d damn near catch a plane for him. Her love for Erik was toxic , and it ran through her veins .

“My place , girl you know I’m homeless” he joked . She laughed , extra hard just to please him . It did nothing but annoy Erik because he could tell . “But nah, here is coo”

He stood up and pulled his jeans over his picture perfect ass . Buttoned and designer belted , then put on his shoes . He was about to walk out of her room when she spoke .

“Call me when you get home ?”

He searched for his keys, and seemed to be more concerned with finding those than answering her question.

“There they go” he spotted them slightly under her bed and grabbed them. “Um...yeah” he finally gave her an answer. “I’ll lock the door too” Erik only said that because he noticed her getting out of the bed. She would only slow him down with questions about when he would be back . He gave her a hug and she kissed him . Then he left her room .

Marley was up , with her headphones on minding her laptop. The reggae music she was playing was loud . She nodded her head and typed at her keyboard . He was impressed at how she could multitask that way. Marley always seemed to mind her business and keep busy .

“Lock the door” he stood in front of her , speaking quietly. He knew she couldn’t hear him. “Lock the door” he mouthed .

Marley rolled her eyes and removed her headphones . “What?” Interrupting her while she was listening to music was the ultimate pet peeve .

“You didn’t hear me?”

“No, you know I didn’t hear you !”

He giggled and started walking towards the door . “Lock the door”

With a sigh , Marley tossed her laptop and walked behind him . “You know you could have locked it yourself “ she slammed the door behind his exit .

“I know, but I wanted you to do it” his voice muffled through the closed door . She was tempted to open it and yell at him , but all she could do was laugh . No matter how much she told him off, he never seized or stopped .

-

-

“You had a crush on me ?” Marley cheesed like a kid . The duo were wrapped in Eriks sheets, in his huge bed, in his house .

“I wouldn’t say all that “ he defended his behavior from the past. They were dwelling on the earlier days , when they fought like cats and dogs.

“You did, that’s why you were so mean to me “ She pinched him in the middle of his arm. His back was facing her, they both laid on their sides . Facing his glass block windows .

Erik took a deep breath , getting the aroma overcast of garlic. It was because of the roasted chicken she had made them for dinner . Erik didn’t tell her it was the first time some of those pans had been used . Other than his high carb , high protein pre made meals . He didn’t cook, at all.

Erik was feeling uneasy about her being there . Since he was so private about his personal life . Maybe this was that thing called trust that everyone was talking about .

Where do you live Erik ?

You married or something ?

I knew you were scamming

Tiana said she never been there , I’m not comparing myself to her, I’m just saying .

Erik picked her up from work and instead of taking her home, he brought her to his. Let her bathe and gave her one of his T-Shirts to relax in . And thank god for her emergency overnight bag that she left in her car .

Marley was shocked at how messy he was, not dirty , messy . The place was nice in itself . The opposite of her light space , but she felt okay there . It was blissfully dark and devoid . It was wide and airy . Everything was an open space . There were no doors . He had these tall wooden barn sliding doors that were a barrier between his room and the rest of the home . The outside of his building was brick like a loading warehouse .One probably wouldn’t know this was a place that people actually lived . It was far off from any common living area .

“What’s your favorite thing to do ?” Marley asked him. Neither one of the wanted to go to sleep on the other , so the night resulted in the immature game of twenty one questions .

“I like to do you”

Marley felt her blood rushing when he said that. She slid closer and wrapped her leg around him. He rubbed along her leg , still under the sheets . Erik was giving in to this weird force that caused him to want to make her comfortable. He started to move the sheets off of his body . In his way , everything about Marley’s appearance was solid. She has to have ugly feet he thought . She always wore socks when they were together , like now . He slid the sock off . Go figure , she had nice feet too . Erik began massaging her foot .

“Why you never show your feet ?” He toyed with her pinky toe, which tickled so she snatched her foot back.

“Don’t tell me you’re a foot freak” Marley pulled him down so he could lay flat , then she climbed on top. He grunted at her weight plopping on top of him so quickly . She kissed him and couldn’t help but to laugh into his mouth . “I’m sorry, E”

“You good, I just wasn’t ready” Erik held his arms behind his head , signaling for her to take control. Marley pulled his semi hard dick out of his briefs. Just when she thought to slip her panties to the side and slide him inside of her . She stopped .

“Wassup?” He frowned , Erik noticed the pause .

“I’m not on the pill , last three times we slipped up”

Erik continued to lay , like he was in a state of confusion. Three times wasnt a slip up, that shit was tradition now. He saw nothing wrong with the pull out method , it worked every time . As tempting as raw sex was , Marley was smarter than that . She glanced around his room . Erik was a bachelor, a fine one at that . She figured he had to have some type of contraception. And since Erik wasn’t putting forth any effort , she would .

“You got condoms in here ?” Marley leaned toward his closest night stand and opened the drawer.

“Aye, wait!” Erik tried to move her arm from reaching the knob. He was too late , she had already seen the gun . Erik was almost sure she would freak out , but she didn’t . He had no reason to hide anything in his space , Marley being here was unplanned . It wasn’t in any plan, but just like his feelings for he ... it just happened .

He watched Marley pick the gun up ,surprisingly holding it the right way. The gun was on safety anyway . Erik knew how to fully disarm her if her form slacked off , so it wasn’t a big deal .

“You live alone too. I mean , you probably need one just in case” his words were choppy . Erik tried to make this situation as casual as he could . “Yeah, so don’t be scared of it”

“You can see I’m not scared , don’t try me” Marley was blunt with him . “ This gun is different, not the kind of gun people around here got”

He was intrigued now, no longer able to beat around the bush. “You right, but I’m not like the people around here ” Erik admitted . He sat upright and put his dick back in his briefs . It had gotten soft anyway. She remained on his lap , one eyebrow up ready to interrogate him.

“You a spy or something ?” Her manner was in the form of a joke .

“I just got the connect, that’s all” Marley placed it back into his night stand drawer . “You know how to use it , do you?” Erik his tone had become a little more serious now . He didn’t expect her to say yes, but he wasn’t all too sure . She handled the gun better than the average person.

“I know how to use a few guns . Not this one though , But I’m sure I could figure it out” Marley said as if it was simple math .

She then briefly told him about how her ex taught her how to use a glock. But most of the credit was given to her dad . He taught her to use a handi rifle , an alpine shooter and a .45.

“My daddy had guns all through the house , he was from the country . Where they hunt and wear guns like belts. He rotated them, I never knew where he hid them . So I searched until I found every hiding spot . One day I found a .45 gun case , opened it started playing with it”

Erik listened closely , as if it was a bedtime story. “Then what happened ?” He was curious .

“My dad caught me eventually and beat my ass . I still have a bruise” Marley showed Erik the permanent mark on the back of her left arm.

“My dad would have did the same thing” He ran his thumb on the mark . Reminiscing on the times he got beat for being defiant , which was always.

“You don’t talk about your family” she said this in hopes to start the conversation.

“Fuck my family” Erik spoke in such a way that made Marley not want to question it . He always did .

“I only know the little you give me . You from some place in Africa called Wakanda , you hate everybody there and you’re a liar” she mocked the previous conversations. And threw in that last jab.

“A liar?”

“You’re lying about this gun, I know guns Erik”

Erik didn’t have to respond, he gave her a look that was fairly understandable to her . Marley could tell that Erik knew he had been caught . He knew he couldn’t lie but he wasn’t ready to let her know exactly what the gun was for.

“You know, you real smart kid” his thumb finger brushed along her chin. Even though she fell for his charm each time, her face was solid .

“What happened with your dad?”

Marley decided to share her history with him, in hopes that maybe one day he would trust her enough to tell her his . Marley talked about how her dad ran off with her mothers money with his new wife . And being a minor , there was little she could do about it . Then she explained how Tianas mom took her in . And made her the Cinderella of the family .

“So I get what you mean by fuck family” Marley concluded after the run down about all that they had put her through .

Erik could hear the sadness in her voice , and it pissed him off . She had been through hell , but a mini-hell compared to what he had been through . He brought her under his arm and rubbed his chin against her forehead . Marley needed that affection.

“I like when you hold me” she told him .

“Why is that?” he kept at it , still rubbing his chin against the top of her head . His hair made a static noise that slightly began to sooth her .

“Makes me forget about how mean you actually are” Erik kisses his teeth , but didn’t say anything to defend her comment. “ You don’t have to tell me everything about you, but I need something. Don’t shut me out. If I’m here for any reason , it’s for you to be yourself with me”

Erik gazed into an open space in his apartment. Still unable to respond to Marley . He didn’t know if he could allow himself to be as vulnerable and she was .

“Just know that... okay?”

“I don’t trust anybody . I don’t know anybody like that , nobody knows me on a personal level”

Marley wanted to think she was the exception .

“Understand that this is new for me, but in the little time we’ve known eachother , I’ve told you my version of a lot” He said , like he was reading her mind .

“It’s not new for me though . Trusting someone, maybe I’m too trusting” Marley came to the conclusion that she just moved faster than he did . If she wanted him, that’s something she would deal with .

“You trust me?” He asked , but quickly answered the question for himself . “I know you do”

“I don’t know why I do , but I do” Marley was content with her answer.

“This shit getting too deep” Erik removed himself from the bed and began to walk to his living room space .

“I’ll back off” she called out to him .

“Nah,You good”

Marley could sense his irritation, but Erik was always that way . She had learned not to take him moods seriously. He was very cut and dry . He went into the kitchen and picked off a piece of baked chicken , then ate it . Then took a seat at his small desk. His computer was on, after a while he seemed to be knee deep in something on the screen . Marley grew tired of laying there and watching him, so she got up .

He could hear her , using his peripheral vision he was able to see her walk into his closet . She shuffled through his clothes, he didn’t fret because he never hid anything worth finding in his closet .

His closet was bigger than hers . His space was messy, but this closet was organized. Everything in order , from the color , to the material and even the matching brand . His things seemed so expensive. His belts were designer, and his shoes filled up an entire wall space . They all looked barely worn .

Marley sniffed a blue hoodie that was close to her . It smelled like his cologne. She closed her eyes and sniffed it again . Marley wanted to smell like him , subconsciously it made her feel like she belonged to him. She started to hum, a Stevie wonder song that has been stuck in her mind all night . Eventually, she felt comfortable enough to break into full song . It captured Eriks attention.

“I ain’t never heard you sing ” he said from the living room space . Marley was no Beyonce , but she could hold a few notes when she tried. Marley had totally forgotten that he could hear her.

“Just didn’t have anyone to sing to” she smirked and let go of the hoodie. Then walked out of his closet.

“Now you do”

Marley day on his couch now. Just watching him, even if it was his back . This girl was just happy to be around him . He tapped his foot and sat with his legs wide open, she liked how he did that. Whenever he would pause and scratch his head in deep though , Marley liked that too.

It was way past dark, sunset probably was on its way. Her eyes were heavy, so she fell asleep in her position to watch him. He walked over to her a couple minutes after , she wasn’t in a deep sleep though . Marley pretended to be fully sleep when he called her name . Why she did that , she didn’t know. Maybe she was scared he would ask her to go home or something.

Erik groaned when he called her again and she didn’t respond . With little to no effort , he quickly slid his arms under her body and cradled her into him. Marley’s eyes popped open in shock .

“I knew yo ass wasn’t sleep” she laughed while Erik continued to walk with her to his bed. He dropped her like a load of clothes.

“Ouch!” She screamed and tried to hit him, but he was too swift . They both laid back down . He on his back and Marley facing him on her side .

He turned on the tv that sat at the foot of his bed. She squinted at the light .

“I like to sleep with the tv off” she moaned .

“Go home then” he refused. Marley Pretended to be appalled.

“Take me home then ”

“Go to sleep Marley”

She tried to. Her eyes were closed for the most part . But she couldn’t stop opening them to look at him. Marley felt her way to his bare chest , then start rubbing it. She found her hands caressing trailing in between his defined abs.

He didn’t say anything , Erik didn’t even flinch. He just continued to watch tv. She moved closer now. Wrappinbt her leg around him like she did earlier , when they were about to have sex. Now she wished she didn’t find the gun, she would have been exhausted and satisfied by now. Raw sex didn’t sound too bad anymore. Erik still remained focused on the screen.

Marley was tired of the teasing. Claiming what she wanted , her hand aimed for the inside of his underwear. Erik scowled at her like she was insane .

“Oh my god, Fine!” Wining at the top of her lungs, she pushed away from him . His bed vibrated on account of how hard he laughed at her reaction . “That’s not funny !”

“That shit is funny” he pulled her close to him, even though she tried to refuse . Eventually she gave in. “You want some dick?”

She wanted more than his dick. She wanted moments like these , as many as he could give her. Marley shamelessly nodded her head for him .

Erik got right on top of her . Marley didn’t need his help or his command , her panties were already off and lost somewhere . He turned on the dresser light. He really see her body . Not in the dark like the other times . Erik wanted to see everything .

“I really fuck with you Marley, and I want to see all of you” He spoke low . Slowly he pressed her legs apart and open . He leaned in and started kissing the slightly dark inner parts of her thigh. Erik wanted to see the things she thought were not so pretty . Marley was super insecure about so many things . She was tense at first , but he kissed her in such a way that made her feel beautiful . He worked his way up to her belly, kissing and worshiping Marley like she was his personal goddess. Marley had these small stretch marks on the side of her waist, he kissed those too.

She didnt know why, but she wanted to cry. Erik was triggering all these emotions within her . It was too much, she didn’t feel like she deserved to feel this way . Just as she fixed her lips to weakly tell him to stop, he kissed them. “Baby” she whispered against his lips . He hooked his two arms under her thighs and slid himself right inside of her . She moaned , exhausted from the build up. Finally getting a feel for what she came for.

Sorry for typos :)

[afewmarvelousthoughts]

Only For A Moment Ch. 8

Master List | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7

Pairing: Bucky X Reader

Summary: For most of your life you’d been able to keep your abilities a secret, that is until Hydra got wind of you. After years of being in their clutches, you break out when The Avengers expose SHIELD/Hydra. Since then, you’ve been on the run. Things are going as well as you could hope when you see a familiar face… Could the Winter Soldier really be in Bucharest too?

Warnings: References to past violence... pretty much it. 

A/N: If you’re continuing down this rabbit hole with me. Thank you! I can’t help but laugh that my initial idea for this was a one-off and now I’m just so invested in these two and their journey together I don’t ever want it to end (and we all know that one way or another it will end). This is probably so in-depth because I don’t feel like we get near enough time seeing Bucky be a human and it’s tragic because he’s a character that’s filled with so much potential (for love as well as violence). It’s way too much fun to explore him through the eyes of another character. 

Tags are open!

@bluegirlusa1 @l0kisbitch @tazzi-baby @disagreetoagree @woodyandbuzz20-01 @mooniightbucky

Enough time passes that it’s full dark when your sobs slow to nothing more than hitching breaths. Your eyes have adjusted and the streetlight out front is on sending dingy light shooting through the boards on the window. You lift your head a bit and try to wipe at your snotty nose realizing you’ve soaked this man’s shirt with more than just tears.

“Ugh, I’m so sorry.”

The muted light barely illuminates his face but it’s just enough to make out his soft smile. “Trust me, I’ve had worse on my shirt.” You concede that point with a nod and sit up. You’d been perched on his thighs, legs out to his right. He can’t be comfortable. Even with being pretty malnourished these past few months you still weren’t what anyone would call slight. You take a shaky breath and notice that his metal hand is still on your upper back. You lean into it for just a second, appreciating the immovable feeling before going to move.

“You sure?” He says sensing you shift.

“Yeah. Plus, you’ve got to be uncomfortable.” His right-hand rests on your knee.

He shrugs, “I’m good, you don’t have to go… unless you want to.” You meet his eyes and get the feeling he doesn’t want you to go. It is nice, to feel another person there.

“Thank you,” you lay your hand on his and you swear you can feel a small shiver run through him. Even though it feels so nice you shift off his lap to the floor next to him. His hand lays flat between you and you butt your pinky next to his, not quite wanting to let go of that physical connection.

You rub your burning chest, grimacing. Been in this for too long, you think and the crying only made it worse.

He glances down where your bodies touch and lets out a small sigh. You think he’s going to ask more about what happened after he got you out instead he looks around the room, “How long have you been living here?”

You can’t help but laugh bitterly, “Live? I personally prefer the term, squatting.”

His left-hand raises to his chest in false anguish, “Oh, I’m truly sorry to offend.” He looks around once more, “But… do you even have running water…?”

“What do you think?”

“Gonna go with no. And no electricity either. Or any way to properly secure the entries.” These aren’t questions. Just observations. You shrug. “Just because you’re on the run from a diabolical group of well connected nazi assholes doesn’t mean you have to live in a hovel you know?”

“I don’t know actually,” you spit with much more venom than is deserved. His hand slides over yours in silent apology. “Sorry. Look. I’ve been homeless before and honestly, this isn’t so bad.”

“It’s just,” he clears his throat, “I have those things.” You don’t say anything. “And…” he runs his left hand through his hair nervously, “if you wanted… you could go there.” You only stare, not sure how to respond. He looks like he’s said something off-putting rather than remarkably kind, “But not if you feel uncomfortable or anything. I, uh, don’t even have to be there for a while if you want to just… I don’t know have something a little more… a little less…”

“Hovel-like,” you interject.

“Yeah… yeah.”

You look around at the dark room, your few clothes strewn about and the nightstand busted from your outburst earlier, the bed that was, likely, older than you were. “An actual shower would be amazing.” You’d been breaking into the gym of the nearby high school a few nights a week to bathe quickly, very quickly. He nods and stands. This time you don’t fling him against the wall. He holds his right hand out to you and you take it.

Bending down he gathers the books you scattered when your power lashed out and his knives. You notice he had already reclaimed his Glock from your waistband. “But you don’t have to leave your apartment.” His eyes meet yours silently questioning, “Seriously. I’d feel really fucking guilty. So… If you’ll stay I’ll gladly go with you.”

“Yeah,” he smiles that incredible smile again, “I’ll stay.”

It takes hardly ten minutes to gather your few belongings and you’re ready to leave this place behind you.

Bucky’s apartment isn’t too far away on the top floor of a Soviet-era apartment block. It’s small but feels… safe. And almost reminds you of that first place you and Nix had shared, a tight studio with the bare necessities. A mattress on the floor, ratty couch, windows covered in newspaper, but there’s a balcony. When you walk out you breathe deep, loving the feeling of being up so high.

“It isn’t much,” he says, looking around not meeting your eyes.

“It’s perfect,” and you mean it. This. In this moment. Is perfect.

“Oh and here’s the bathroom,” he opens the door to a small room. Unexpectedly there's a bathtub and you dream of bubble baths. He opens a closet to the right and points out the towels. 

For a moment you both stand awkwardly not knowing what to do. “Well,” he clears his throat, “I’m going to run to the market before they close.” You give him a questioning glance. “I will be back though.”

“Ok.” He nods and turns to leave. You have a question, it’s haunted you for years you’ve got to get it out now or you’re worried you’ll never do it. “Wait. Can I ask you something?”

He turns back, “Yeah... If I can ask you something?”

“Home field advantage, you go first.”

He takes his baseball cap off and runs a hand through his hair, something you’re realizing is a nervous habit. “If… if I helped you… uh…”

“Why did I hit you over the head with a brick and tie you to a wall today?”

His mouth cocks in that crooked smile, “Yeah.”

“That was maybe two years in so once they got me back I was in Hydra for five or so more years. I… heard things.” You pause, hating this. “And… He… He brought you back some time after, a few months maybe. Time… all that time is so fluid so I’m not certain. And while I was… restrained… he asked you if you knew me. You said no. He asked if you’d kill me. You looked me in the eyes and said yes. He… ordered you to choke me.” You hear the metal plates shift. “You did. He stopped you before I lost consciousness. Sent you away. Then told me not to be mistaken, what happened before was just a moment of dumb luck, a malfunction. That the Soldier wasn’t on my side.”

His jaw is tight and you notice a vein throb in his neck, “He wasn’t.” Taking a deep breath he asks, “What was your question?”

“Why’d you do it?” He stares not understanding. “Why’d you help me? Why risk it for someone you didn’t know?”

Suddenly he looks a million miles away. “You reminded me of someone I used to know, someone… someone important to me. He didn’t know when to quit when he was outgunned. Neither did you.” He smiles, not the show-stopping one, this smile is melancholy, almost mournful.

“Sounds like a good dude.”

“Mhm…” again his hand rakes back his hair and he dons his cap. “I gotta get there before they close.”

“Alright. Thank you…” He nods and you’re alone.

You don’t have anything to make a bubble bath so you stick with just a shower, water so hot it stings. Had a shower ever felt quite this good?

Leaning your head against the far wall you let the scolding water pound against your back, reveling in the lack of urgency. Massaging your breasts, so sore from being bound all day, happy that you can finally breathe unencumbered. Muscles you had forgotten were tense begin to release and a few racking wet coughs rip through your chest. Suddenly you’re exhausted. You shut the water off, quickly dry your cropped hair, and wrap the towel around you.

Annoyingly you realize all your shirts are filthy, you had intended to do laundry today. He let you in his house you don’t suspect he’ll mind that you steal a t-shirt. 

Slipping into a pair of clean boxer briefs, you go to the closet and pull out a black t-shirt. It’s soft and smells vaguely spicy as you slip it over your head. The fit isn’t exactly oversized on you but just big enough to be incredibly comfortable.

You sit cross-legged on the double mattress, even without a bed frame its worlds more comfortable than what you’d been sleeping on, to put your few toiletries and dirty clothes in your bag. Another wave of bone-deep exhaustion hits. You rest your head in your hands… Then there’s nothing.

[poly-bus]

MiniCat : Apocalyptic Drabble

Genre: Fluff (Might be some strong stuff/gore in here)

AU: Apocalyptic AU

Time: 30 minutes, boys

This is a teaser drabble of a series I’m going to be starting up ;)

Pretty much, the thing you read below is a teaser for Mini’s character, but the actual drabble/scene under the keep reading line is one day before that~! You’ll understand later.

Enjoy.

~Podz

The scuffle of his shoes smacking on the pavement had the attention of his captors.

Their chained zombies were released from their caged within seconds from the push of a button.

He had to get out of there fast.

1 Day Earlier:

Craig grinned at his partners, the group that had rescued him a year earlier from starvation.

He’d been able to trust this group of wild maniacs, even after being abandoned by his first group.

If not for Smitty, he could have been the youngest there, sitting at a brandished 23 years old.

The Canadian had watched his own group get eaten alive, luckily Craig and his new group had hopped in the compound to save his sorry ass.

The gravel of broken down and battered brick crunched beneath his combat boots.

He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t shocked when the group had given him a sack of supplies to start off with.

Craig’s eyes darted through the group, slightly stumbling on a larger chunk of brick and gripping tight on Tyler’s sleeve to keep stable.

The man glanced at him, unimpressed of course, before glancing to their leader.

“Evan, how much farther?”

Their Canadian leader simply nodded toward the last building on the street, “That one, then we’ll head back.”

They used to crack jokes, used to make fun of rotting flesh and broken zombie jaws.

But they’d lost Evan’s boyfriend to a horde shortly after rescuing the youngest of their group.

Tyler almost lost his arm, a swollen claw mark scarring over tattered, rough skin.

Apparently it was only the bite, that was the only thing that turned you.

Otherwise, Tyler was just a fucking superhero.

A snarl on his left alerted the group, Craig snapping his face to the approaching noise.

A child with fuming saliva dibbling down her chin and blood coating her tattered teddy bear and ripped dress.

Craig moved to step away, unable to bring his gun up or even swing his dagger at her head.

He wouldn’t- couldn’t do it, it’s a little girl.

His back knocked against Tyler’s vest, the other bringing an arm safely around Craig’s waist as he drew his gun up.

The few kids they had rescued the same day as Smitty, crowded behind Tyler, Marcel and Scot keeping them together.

They murmured frightfully and the two Canadians, Smit and Ev, scouted the area and waited for Tyler to shoot, prepared to kill off unwanted visitors and snapping jaws.

The gun barrel gently pressed against the girl’s forehead as she neared closer, Craig melted against his front to get farther from the tiny vicious child zombie.

The bullet had wiped her brains out on the pavement in seconds, blood splattered the front of Craig’s t-shirt and he trembled against the taller male.

“Not human, Craig. It’s dead.”

They kept moving, Craig sticking close to the taller American’s shoulder, nearly bumping into him on occasions.

The older simply ignored him, flashing him questioning glances the closer they got to the building.

Craig attempted to hide his fear, his unguarded side really.

He should be stronger, he was a man for fuck’s sake!

Although, he had every right to be as pussy as a toddler in this shit world.

“Here, we take what we can find and leave before dark,” Evan instructed, pointing at the other Canadian, “Stick close to me, the rest of you in pairs.”

Tyler headed towards Marcel, holding out a glock before turning and smirking at the young Brit.

“You and Me, we’ll take the kids with us.”

Craig gulped nervously and nodded, glancing at the 5 children they’d rescued after Smit.

“We’re taking all 5 with us? What if something happens?”

Tyler hummed and nodded, “Marcel and Scotty.”

They hummed before gathering their gear and leading the kids inside.

As they followed Smit and Evan up the stairs, the rest of their group branched off downstairs in search of resources.

“This is an office building, why would there be supplies for us in here?”

Craig’s voice was quiet but he attempted to converse with the other American.

A few of the kids trembled in front of him, two girls holding hands in an attempt to comfort one another.

They did save half an orphanage from burning to the ground....

He noticed a lone boy, attempting to seek for comfort while trying not to invade on the other’s space.

“Hey, kid, what’s your name?”

The boy stopped and glanced at Craig, halfway up the stairs.

Craig held out his free hand, “Come on, kid.”

He hopped up and gratefully took hold of the Brit’s hand, allowing Craig to lead him up the rest of the steps to join the others.

The building was majorly empty, an infestation had occurred there but someone had already cleared it all out before they’d arrived.

Tyler glanced at Craig, eyes trailing to the small boy before a smile crept onto his face.

“You good with kids I take it,” his eyes rose to meet with Craig’s own.

The Brit offered a small smile, “Not really. Never had younger siblings and I’ve never gotten married so...”

Tyler shrugged, “Happens to the best of us,” before winking.

Craig grinned, “Fuck you, yeh?”

The American shrugged, clearing out a room and checking each zombie’s dead body before waving Craig and the bundle of kids over.

As they entered, he pulled the zombies into the large hallway, “Clear that room of supplies into your knapsacks, kiddies, make yourselves useful.”

The girls trembled in a corner for a moment before one sighed and led the younger looking one to a desk.

They rummaged through the drawers and pulled several pencils, pens, snack foods, paper, and more from them.

Each item was carefully stuffed into their small bags.

The boys were next, searching through any cabinet, wardrobe, and table.

Craig pulled out his pistol, letting his rifle hang behind him from hsi strap, and scoped out the room and hall.

He had to make sure nothing would kill the kids, otherwise he might as well jump off the roof right now.

His American crush briefly stepped through the door, lowering Craig’s weapon a bit before a hand moved up against his cheek.

Without a word’s notice, their lips were together for a mere second before the air once again wavered in his face.

Craig gaped at the other as they winked and moved back to the hallway to watch the pile of bodies.

Did that just happen?