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thosequeenboys · 4 years ago

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A Love is Lost, a Love is Won (Joe Mazzello/John Deacon-platonic)

A/N: This was written for @deakys-chesthair who asked me for a soft Joe and John. Hope you like, Love. Here’s my vision of Joe finally meeting John, who is living a gratifying life. They share their commonalities, joys and challenges. Also, Joe has an amazing movie in the works!! There’s a little repurposed content from a Love is Love chapter, now Joe-focused with mostly new material. The title is from Brian’s beautiful gem, Dear Friends.

Warnings: Reflections on death of parent and friend; some angst, mostly fluff

Sitting at the desk in his extra room just after daybreak, Joe eyed the weights and other exercise equipment around him, willing himself to work out for an hour. He sighed. OK, a half hour. Nope. Not happening. He stared hard, hoping the barbells could be moved through telekinesis and give his biceps a nice burn.

Joe slumped into the chair and logged into his phone instead. He hovered his finger over the Instagram app and then dipped it gently. It had been quite a while since he posted. He moved into the bedroom and took a quick picture of himself next to his packed, open suitcase on the luggage rack. He added the caption, “Headed to the UK for a great project. Stay tuned.”

As soon as he posted, the hearts and comments flowed: inquiries and congratulations about the project, declarations of love and a few marriage proposals. Given his non-existent love life, Joe wondered if he should consider them. Not all of those stans were crazed, he reasoned with a smirk. But then a wave of darkness crashed over him as snarky, negative comments were posted. Why were people outright mean? His heart rate quickened and he felt a sheen of sweat erupt behind his neck, physical signs of rising distress and anxiety: What if his fans were disappointed and the reviewers panned the movie? He wished he could call his father and hear his calming voice reassure him. With that not an option, he turned off his phone to stop those negative thoughts.

A few hours later, the phone rang with a London number. He presumed it was someone from the production calling to provide some details.

“Joe Mazzello.” He answered cheerfully.

“Hello, Joe!” The sweet, melodic British accent was unmistakable. “Brian May, here!”

“Brian, Hi! Wow! What’s up??” Joe asked excitedly. Had it really been almost a year since they spoke?

“Well, I saw on Instagram that you’re headed to the UK! Another movie?” Brian asked positively.

“Yes!” Joe responded, excitedly. “A tango of espionage and romance. Directed by Ron Howard. He’s a great guy. So far, so good.”

“That’s fantastic!” Brian said. “You deserve it!”

“Thank you! How have you been?” Joe inquired, adding, “I’d love to see you and Roger when I get settled in London. I’ll be there a few months.”

“Things are good. Families are good…Of course, we’d love to see you.” Then Brian hesitated, wanting to change topics. “Uh, Joe, I have a proposition for you. No pressure….I saw your post just before I rang John-Deacy-for our regular monthly call. I mentioned you’d be in London. He was very curious about you in a way he hadn’t been before. He said it was time for you two to meet. What do you think?”

“No kidding?? Wow! Yes! I mean….you’re sure he’s ok with it?” Joe was excited, though a bit of trepidation crept in.

“Yes, very much so.” Brian said definitively. “Veronica too. I’ll email you his contact information. It’s been a long time coming, yeah? Will you let me know how it goes?” Brian inquired, his voice rising with curiosity.

“Of course.” Joe said, thinking the conversation seemed surreal. He refocused on the call. “Great to hear from you. I’ll reach out to John-and definitely will be in touch with you. And thanks, Brian. Thanks.”

After Brian bid farewell, Joe smiled in a daze. He couldn’t believe he’d finally be meeting John Deacon. He laughed to himself as he conceptualized the reunion as a television mystery drama: “John Deacon: The missing link from BoRhap….uncovered years later.” He was curious how the show would play out.

*****

Joe stretched his legs and settled in comfortably in the back of the cab as it drove through the well-appointed residential communities on the outskirts of London. He couldn’t wipe the smile from his face if he tried. Nor did he want to. His mind was peppered with positive thoughts. It felt good to have a day trip out of the city – and a break from the intensity of work. Though he wasn’t complaining; the filming was going very well. The cast and crew were fantastic, and working with Ron Howard was a dream. Not only was Ron a creative and supportive director, he and Joe bonded over their experiences as child actors whose impressive careers continued into adulthood. The film had already garnered a lot of positive buzz. Joe felt he was positioned for a professional resurgence, thought it took longer than he wanted. The worrisome thoughts and sadness that sometimes lapped at him were at bay. As the cab pulled into a circular driveway with two cars, the August sun ducked behind some clouds painting a silver lining. He paid the fare and grabbed his backpack. The footprint of a modest house was built out with additions. He checked his watch as approached the heavy wood door and knocked, pleased he arrived right at the appointed time for tea.

“Hello, Hello!” Joe heard that unmistakable, slightly garbled voice enthusiastically approaching the door.

John opened the door and stepped out into the covered portico. “Joe.” he said, extending his hand with a warm smile. “So nice to meet you.”

Joe grasped John’s hand. “So nice to meet you.” Joe responded. As Joe looked at John, decades of the bassist’s images flipped through Joe’s mind. It was hard to believe this icon he had played on the big screen was before him. They were both overcome with emotion. It was indeed a moment that couldn’t be scripted. Their hands still joined, they each lurched forward into a hug. John rubbed Joe’s back affectionately, and Joe held John tightly in the embrace.

John pulled away and he took in Joe slowly starting with the wavy auburn hair sprinkled with golden highlights of the summer sun. He moved down to the firm biceps protruding from his t-shirt and the outline of the broad chest. His eyes dropped and landed on his slender waist leading to fit legs accentuated by the low-slung black jeans. He was even more handsome in person.

“I clearly got a needed visual upgrade from my movie doppelganger.” John chuckled and winked at Joe playfully breaking his gaze. Joe laughed and stared at John. He was struck by John’s charm and ease, considering all he had heard about him being dower and anti-social of late.

“Come in, let’s get you comfortable.” John said warmly, as held the door and he stretched an arm out toward the spacious living room off the foyer. Joe unzipped his backpack and took out a blue silk pouch, which he slid into his front pocket. He left his backpack in the foyer and took a few steps into the comfortable room.

This life lived, which he knew from his research, was laid out before him. Gold records were displayed against a long wall in a den beyond. A long table in the back of the living room displayed photos in an array of elegant frames. There were intimate shots of John’s family, as well as a few of him with various combinations of his band mates. On the wall above the table hung a large framed photograph with about 20 people standing in a backyard. Joe walked toward it, curiosity overtaking him, and then halted, suddenly sensitive about invading John’s privacy.

“Oh, that’s….”John’s voiced hitched. He walked up to the photo and beckoned Joe with a long finger. John took a deep breath, steeling himself to go back in time to that moment. “That was September 1991. Had everyone over for a cookout to celebrate Freddie’s birthday. Veggie burgers for Brian, of course.” John chuckled, deflecting the emotions from the day, now rising in him.

“It was the last time.” He paused, his voice shaking a bit. “The last time I saw Freddie fairly at ease, before he…his final deterioration….” Joe took a small step closer to the photo. Freddie’s thin frame was accentuated by the large belt around his narrow waist. Freddie leaned into Jim, and John was on the other side of Freddie, his arm skimmed the singer’s back. Roger leaned into John, and Brian eased closely next to smiling Roger. All of their broods were in front of them. Freddie was enveloped by the love of his band mates and, though not legally acknowledged, his husband.

“That’s lovely. Shows how much you all loved him.” Joe said. John looked wistfully at the photo and then, he looked down. His eyes scanned for a new subject, needing to distract himself. Joe related to that reaction; looking at photos of his dad since his passing conjured a range of emotions that sometimes felt too much to bear.

John picked up a framed black and white photo of the band performing. “This was one of our earliest shows, when I joined the band. I thought you did a great job portraying that time in the movie-the energy, the possibilities. The four of us finding our togetherness….” He returned the photo to the table.

“Thanks,” Joe said, allowing a faint smile.

“Ah….,” John lifted a color photo in a wood frame which featured him in a blue t-shirt and pants standing behind Freddie at his piano, casting a loving gaze at the singer. “Some version of this is floating around out there. Freddie and me during “Somebody to Love” at the Montreal Concert. One of Freddie’s favorites. He got me to sing on the recording, amazingly.” John laughed. “There wasn’t much I wouldn’t do for him really.” John said solemnly as he stared at the photo.

“You were such a good friend to him,” Joe interjected positively.

“And, he to me,” John countered, his eyes intense. John opened his mouth to say more, but closed it as Veronica entered. She carried large tray with a teapot, butter, jam, sugar and cream-and a beautiful round loaf of bread on a wood cutting board. She placed it on the coffee table that held plates,napkins cups and saucers. The treats were surrounded by comfy chairs and sofas.

“Ah, here’s my blushing bride, Veronica. Ronnie, Dear, this is Joe, Joe Mazzello.” John exclaimed. Returning the photo, he shifted his focus to the present and his temperament to upbeat.

“Ah, I do see the resemblance. A bit uncanny, actually. ” Veronica intoned with a grin. “Welcome, Dear. Come sit and relax. How about some tea and bread-made by John!” she offered graciously, as she sat on a chair and started to serve.

“Really?” Joe queried. “ I’m impressed!

“Well,” John said, a grin spreading over his face, delighted to launch into the explanation. ‘For many years, I’ve gone to this little café most mornings to get a cup of tea and a treat-and read my paper. I read mostly online these days, amazing isn’t it? But I do like the feel of a freshly printed newspaper. Anyway, they make lovely bread, and I spoke with owner about her techniques. I’ve always loved fresh bread-and the science behind it. So, I took a class and have built bread baking into my routine. It’s calming and nice to have a tangible product for your efforts. This is a cottage loaf, two loaves melded together.”

“We all enjoy this hobby,” Veronica enthused.

“This is fantastic, so buttery. Thank you,” Joe said, licking his lips after swallowing a generous bite.

After tea, John asked Joe. “Would you like to see the garden?

“I’d love to!” Joe said.

John led Joe through sliding doors into the expansive backyard that had a magical and peaceful quality to it. Off to the side there was an intricate climbing structure in the shape of a castle, complete with a moat, drawbridge and turrets. The edifice included ropes, nets and bricks for climbing to the large room on top and a slide for a quick departure.

“Wow, this is unbelievable!” Joe said. John walked over to the castle, Joe in tow, and he flicked a switch under the slide. Suddenly, the window of the top room was framed in colorful lights. Joe’s mouth opened incredulously.

“Was bored one day, and rigged that up. The grandkids have their ice cream up there in the summer as the sun sets.” John said factually.

“Great to have a grandfather with an electronics degree.” Joe said admirably. “Gosh, my nieces and nephews would have a field day on that. And I would too with them!” he added sheepishly.

“Uncle Joe, eh? How lovely,” John praised.

Joe nodded. “Yeah, they keep me young.” Both men laughed. Joe looked around at the manicured plantings. “Your garden is stunning.”

“Thank you, yes, gardening is another past-time I enjoy. Keeps me grounded. No pun intended,“ John said with a giggle. “Let me show you my absolute favorite.”

John led Joe toward a large bed surrounded by a white wood fence, and he opened the gate. Twenty or so fragrant rose bushes of all colors surrounded a sturdy, hand-crafted bench, its weathered wood was lit by the late afternoon sun. John stopped at a yellow rose next to the bench that featured orange and pink shades at its billowy edges. “This is the Freddie Mercury Rose!” (1)

“No? Seriously?” Joe bent to take in the heady scent. John gestured to the long bench, encouraging Joe to sit. John took a deep inhale of the fragrant roses as he sat and Joe joined him.

“Yes, RosaBatMercury, introduced around 1994.” John elaborated, “Fan club members raised money to name a rose in memory of Dear Fred. It has special meaning for me; it helps pull me back when I start to descend into my caverns of darkness: loss, sorrow, worry.

“I have those caverns too.” Joe said, looking down. “Especially since my dad died.” Joe focused on the Freddie rose next to him to keep the tears at bay.

“So sorry to hear. When did he pass, Joe?” John asked softly.

“May 2018, as we were filming Borhap, “Joe said, looking down.

“Must have been so hard for you.” John’s empathy showed in his eyes.

“Yeah, but the guys…they were so supportive. I don’t know how I would have gotten through it without them.” Joe said.

Ah…good to hear you had their support.” John whispered. Then he let out a loud sigh. “Fatherless sons. We can be a sad lot.”

“Yeah, I know your dad died when you were so young. That must have been hard on you. I’m sorry..” Joe said softly, raising his eyes to John.

John nodded. “Thank you. It was-and it made Freddie’s death so much harder for me. Another profound loss. But Fred always lived his life to the fullest-and kept sorrow and worry in their place-even at the end. I know he wanted me to do the same,” John smiled.

“I’m working on that.” Joe said, wiping his eyes on the back of his sleeve. John reached over and hugged Joe, and Joe welcomed the older man’s embrace. Then Joe pulled away, a smile spreading over his face.

“I guess life hasn’t always been ‘a bed of roses,’ Joe smirked, adding, “Sorry, I couldn’t resist.”

John giggled. “True, hasn’t, can’t always be, can it? But yet-here we are,” he said, motioning to the tangle of beautiful, vibrant rose bushes surrounding them.

“One thing I’ve learned,” John said, “Millions of pounds in therapy later, is that sorrow can coexist with happiness. And it doesn’t have to be the melody of the song. It can have its day-yes, and sometimes it pulls you in. But then, you get on with it. You let in the good things-and the pleasant surprises along the way, yeah? The big success of BoRhap-and now this new movie for you. New hobbies for me. And a deep love of family – for both of us.”

Joe nodded and smiled. “It’s good to see you’re well. And happy. It’s a relief actually.”

John smiled cheekily. “Yes, the mind fills in what isn’t provided, and the narrative is often a negative one, isn’t it? Roger and Brian fuel it by pretending that we aren’t in touch. They’ve certainly had some dramatic words to describe my detachment,” he said, more bitterly than he intended. “But,” he countered softly,” I know they do it to protect me. They are well-practiced in protecting friends they love.” Both John and Joe looked down.

“We missed you during BoRhap,” Joe ventured cautiously, making eye contact with John to detect his reaction. John nodded slightly.

Joe continued, “I would have loved to have had you on set. And at the Oscars,” Joe’s face lit up, thinking of that special night. Then he focused on John again. “But, I respected your choice not to be involved.”

John looked over at Joe. “Sometimes, there’s no in-between. You’re either all-in or all-out and that’s what happened. I enjoyed it – well, most of it. But it ran its course, and after Freddie died, I didn’t...it was too painful without him.” Joe nodded.

John looked around at the roses and said, “’to everything there is a season and a time to every purpose.’ (2) That season had passed for me. Had to move on, protect myself-and focus on my family. I’m happy for Brian and Roger, that they’ve continued and their shows with Adam are successful. We all got what we wanted.”

Then John smiled and touched Joe’s arm lightly, “It’s great the movie was made, and you showed our music to so many new fans--and increased our royalties.” He laughed. “I really am appreciative.” John leaned in and hugged Joe.

Joe broke apart. “I have something for you. When we wrapped BoRhap, we were able to take some props. I took a few picks-and always hoped I’d be able to give you one. Not that you need it, of course.” Joe dug into his front pocket and retrieved the silk pouch and handed it to John. “And, Happy Birthday!”

John smiled at him and carefully removed the pick and held it up. “How thoughtful of you. Well, we must give it a workout, mustn’t we?”

“Oh, no,” Joe said, “I’m way out of practice.”

“Well, good,” John laughed, “You won’t upstage me, then. Come.”

John led the way back to the house and they entered a door at the basement level. He pressed a few switches on the wall and a studio with track lights came into view. Basses on a stands, amps, a small drum set, microphones and speakers were positioned around the ample area. “Luke uses this space mostly now. Here, let me set you up.” John gave Joe a bass and took one himself. After some tuning, John strummed and said, “So, how about ‘Under Pressure?’” They jammed for awhile, and then Joe looked at this watch. “I should head back. Due on set early tomorrow. He took out his phone and called for an Uber.

They stood at the entry foyer as the car pulled into the driveway.

“It was so great spending time with you.” Joe said. “Thanks for inviting me.”

“You’re welcome. And, Likewise,” John said. “I’d like to stay in touch. if you….”

“I’d really like that.” Joe said.

As they hugged good-bye, Veronica looked on holding a parcel of bread for Joe to take with him.

John released Joe, “I think we can count each other as dear friends.”

Thanks @warriorteam1924 for the bass guidance :) Tagging some Joe & John fans: @jd-johndeacon-or-jackdaniels @deakysgurl @johndeaconshands @mazzell-ro @orionis8689 @hellysthings @cardboardbenmazzello @johndeaconstoothgap

Notes

1. Here’s info on this spectacular bloom: https://www.styleroses.co.uk/buy-plants/freddie-mercury-hybrid-tea-bush-rose

2. Ecclesiastes 3:1-8. This verse is beautifully captured in the song Turn, Turn Turn recorded by The Byrds, written by Pete Seeger

#john deacon #john deacon fanfiction #john deacon fan fic #john deacon fanfic #joe mazzello #joe mazzello fanfiction #joe mazzello fan fic #joe mazzello fan fiction #joe mazzello fanfic #brian may #veronica tetzlaff #john richard deacon #john deacon x joe mazzello

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ad1thi · 4 years ago

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keeping a low profile | AU-gust Day 11: Farm/Ranch AU

AU-gust masterlist

disclaimer: i haven’t actually watched Hannah Montana The Movie

Tony mimes cleaning out his ears, dramatically and theatrically in a way that makes his father roll his eyes.

"I must've misheard you," he says, sending his father a significant look, "so why don't we try that again? What is it you wanted to see me about, father mine?"

His father pinches the bridge of his nose, and Tony is equal parts ecstatic that he managed to garner such a reaction and worried that he's made things worse, "I said - I'm sending you to Crowley Corners Tennessee, to go live with your Aunt Peggy."

"But I don't even know my aunt Peggy! Besides, I have a life here, a life that you can't just tear me away from. You can't send me, I refuse to go."

His father scoffs, "A life? What life would that be?" he grabs a magazine from the pile stacked next to him and flings it across the desk at Tony, "A life where you get into fights with Tyra Banks over shoes?"

"Or is the life where you pass out drunk in the back-alley of nightclubs?"

"Or," he takes a second to look at the magazine cover, and Tony fights the urge to sink into his seat, "and this is my personal favourite - is it the life where you make your bestfriend's birthday party all about you?"

Tony would very much like it if the Earth could open up and swallow him whole, much like it did in that one story his Ma used to love telling him as a child.

"That was," Tony splutters, fumbling for some sort of explanation, "that was a mistake. I didn't mean to make Rhodey's party all about me!! But Hammer was just following me everywhere, and I couldn't shake him off - and you know how paparazzi are just like bloodhounds and I just…"

He trails off when Howard gives him a look. Mostly because he knows there's no excuse for this one. He's still working on getting Rhodey to forgive him for ruining his eighteenth birthday party, but it's slow going.

"You're going to Crowley Corners Tony," his father says in a voice that Tony has learnt to mean no arguing or pleading or begging will change a thing, "the fresh air and countryside will do you some good. Turn you back into that child that your mother loved so much instead of this, media monstrosity you've become."

Ordinarily, if Tony was travelling anywhere, he prefers flying. He isn't enough admitting that he's got a taste for the finer things in life and he learnt long ago that unless he was completely comfortable with the company - land journeys were not his thing. He was a big believer in popping a pill before the flight took off, pulling a mask over his eyes, and being gently woken up by a pretty air hostess when the flight landed.

Howard however, disagreed, which is why he was in a ratty bus that moved maybe 5 miles an hour and had seats so thin that Tony could feel it digging into his skin and making a home there. This is about getting back to your roots, Howard had said when he saddled Tony with two large suitcases and then left him off the side of the road to fend for himself.

He's been trying to sleep for the better part of an hour, but funnily enough - leaning your head against the dusty window made it rattle like you were in a laundry machine and that wasn't very conducive to a good night's sleep. And since Tony was surrounded by strangers and he had some survival skills, he wasn't about to pop a pill and make it easier for the homeless guy two seats away from him to kidnap him.

His only small comfort was in the fact that once Rhodey had found out where Howard was shipping him, he'd laughed so hard that he'd forgotten why he was mad at Tony, or, more likely, he decided that Tony's life was already hard enough without him also having this weighing over his head.

His exact words were: You think I'm going to miss out on you slumming it with countryfolk? Nah we're good as long as you promise to update me every single day.

Given that there was nothing to do in Crowley Corners Tennessee (he knows, he googled it), Tony didn't think that was a hard ask.

The bus finally halts to a screeching stop, and Tony cups his hands over the glass and peers through the window to see the sign better. C-owley C--ners, it reads, in faded red paint, and Tony is fairly certain that this is his stop. He gently pushes back the large man who'd plopped into the seat next to him over an hour ago and makes his way off the bus; rocking back and forth on his heels as he waits for the bus driver to unload his suitcases from the trunk.

While he's waiting, he takes a cursory look around at the town that's supposed to be his home for the next summer. It's painfully obvious that they're no longer in the city, because Tony can't see another person for miles. Reaching into his back-pocket - he pulls out his phone and starts thumbing through his contacts, trying to look for the number that his father had sent him earlier.

"Tony!" he looks up at the sound of his voice, and sees a tall woman walking up to him, with blonde hair that curls around her shoulders. Aunty Peggy, his mind supplies, thinking back to the photos he'd seen of her. There's a touch of familiarity as she gets closer, even though Tony knows it's been years since he's seen her.

"Aunt Peggy," he replies weakly, and that's all he gets out before he's pulled in for a tight hug.

"Oh it's so good to see you darling," she says, and Tony realises with a jolt that she has a british accent. She pulls back and cups his cheeks, not unlike how his Ajji does when he goes to visit her, "you look so much like your mother."

Tony ignores the tug in his heart when he hears those words, mainly because nobody ever tells him that he looks like his mother, and says instead, "It's good to see you too."

"You must be so exhausted from your journey, let's get you all settled in."

Despite his preconceived notions, Aunty Peggy actually does have a nice house. She's got a jeep parked just off the side of the road from the bus-stand, because apparently Crowley Corners isn't big enough for more than a small bench at the edge of town; and Tony dutifully drags his suitcases all the way to the jeep and hauls them over to park them in the back.

Riding in the jeep isn't too different from the bus, except that it's less stuffy and Tony can feel the wind on his face. He isn't sure if that's a good thing yet, but he silently marks it down as a point for Crowley that he doesn't immediately hate it. It's a short journey, no more than five minutes - and soon Aunt Peggy is turning the corner into what looks like a very nice house, with a man in crutches standing at the door.

"That's my husband Daniel," she explains, as they step out and Tony goes to grab his bags, "He injured himself a couple years back and was forced to retire, and New York was no longer fun without him, so I joined him out here a couple months later."

"What happened?" Tony asks, out of politeness more than anything.

"He got shot at," Aunty Peggy replies, but before he can ask whether she's serious or not, they're at the front steps

off the house and Mr Sousa is making his way down the stairs. Aunty Peggy meets him half-way, tilting her head up ever so slightly to kiss him hello, because he's still a step above her - and then smoothly shifting under his arms and helping him back up the stairs.

He thinks he can hear Aunt Peggy scolding him for trying to come down the stairs, but he isn't sure. They remind him a lot of his father and his Ma, before she died, and he turned into a tyrannical asshole. Before that though, he remembers them being happy.

"Come on in Tony!" Aunt Peggy calls after him, and Tony moves to grab his bags, when movement from the side of the house catches his eyes. Huh, he thinks to himself, I didn't know anyone else lived here. He wants to ask Aunt Peggy who it is, but she's already gone inside, so he feels a bit foolish yelling after her.

"Hello?" he calls out hesitantly, "Is anyone there?"

There's a shuffle and then a boy who can't be much older than Tony steps out; with mud on the scuffs off his boots and wearing an honest to god cowboy hat.

"Howdy!" he says brightly, while Tony tries to wrap his head around the cowboy hat, "You must be Mrs Sousa's nephew." He wipes the back of his hand against his cotton tshirt, which is so thin that it's practically see through, "Clark Kent. I help out with Mr and Mrs Sousa's ranch sometimes, on account of Mrs Sousa being away a lot and Mr Sousa's leg injury."

"Tony," he says back, and up close, Tony notices that his thick framed glasses and wide brimmed hat are hiding blue eyes, "Tony Stark."

"Nice to meet you Tony Stark," Clark says with a twinkle, "I guess I'll be seeing a lot of you 'round here."

"Yeah," his tongue feels heavy, but Tony manages to unstick it just enough to say, "yeah I suppose you will."

Both of them stare at each other for a couple of seconds longer, missing the way Peggy looks at the pair of them with a private smile playing on her lips.

Fin

#my writing #superiron #clark/tony #clark kent x tony stark #clark x tony #clark kent/tony stark #adi does AU-gust #AU-gust #farm/ranch AU #hannah montana the movie AU #desi tony stark #i actually had so much fun writing this #and i might expand on it who knows??#i feel like i say i had fun writing this for everything that i write #but im genuinely rly enjoying myself yknow #even though my posts aren't getting that much notes and stuff #im still having a rly good time #tackling all these different AUs and different ships

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jamielea81 · 5 years ago

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Just a Simple Lie

Chapter 1

Pairing: Chris Evans x Reader

Description: Having worked on small independent films for the better part of a decade, your friend tells you about an opening for a script supervisor with a large studio. Wanting to advance your career, you apply and get an interview. The only downside, they prefer to hire crew who are married. It’s just a simple lie, right?

A/N: This fic is simply for fun. I know nothing about the personal lives of the two actors in this series and mean no harm. I am also totally guessing regarding the studio talk. This particular chapter is Chris light as it’s mainly a getting to know the reader. Chapters going forward will be heavy on the Chris aspect. Comments, reblogs, and likes are always welcome. Tag list is open, please send me an ask.

“Do you have the ring?”

“Of course, I have the ring.” You let out a frustrated breath. “This is so silly.”

Joanna chuckles over the line. “Where did you manage to get a ring from anyway?”

“It’s my grandmother’s. I feel like I’m majorly disrespecting her by wearing it when I’m not even engaged. Not to mention I’ve been single for-ev-er.” You drawl out.

“Breathe babe. Just breathe.” She says softly.

You inhale deeply and exhale it slowly.

“Maybe don’t do that directly into the phone.” She laughs again.

“Joanna Elizabeth.” You growl. “Why am I doing this?” You ask catching a glimpse of your reflection in the review mirror. Running a hand through your hair, you see the diamond engagement ring on your left finger. It feels so foreign, even stranger seeing it.

“Because this is a great opportunity to advance your career. Stone Lite is a major studio, Y/N. You can’t keep working on those student films.”

“Hey! I worked on a couple of independent movies. One even showed at Sundance.” You defend.

“And that’s awesome. Really. But this could be your big in. You’ve been doing this, what, for ten years?”

She was right. Ten years and the majority of your income came from student funded films and slinging beers three nights a week.

“And by your silence, you know I am right.”

Smug bitch.

“Ahuh.” You sigh.

“Look, I know it’s not right, but if this increases your chances of getting hired, just wear the damn ring.” Joanna huffs out.

“Easy for you to say, oh, wise married one.”

Joanna previously worked for Stone Lite Studios before moving on to Sony. It was a well-known amongst the employees that if you wanted to get hired for any position that put you in direct contact with any of the actors, you needed to be married. The studio was concerned with fan girls and fan boys. As if adults couldn’t control their urges and not make unwanted advances. Not to mention, married or not, some people still have affairs. Now granted, not every person there was married, but you had a greater advantage to get the job if you were. Right or wrong.

You drew the line at saying you were actually married and settled on being engaged. Not wanting to worry about details like how you kept your last name and lying on the tax forms you’d have to fill out. Even though you’ve only worked on small projects, Hollywood was surprisingly small when it came to the industry. It would be a lot harder to explain a sudden husband versus a fiancé. With Joanna’s agreement, you took your grandmother’s engagement ring from your jewelry box and slipped it on your finger.

“I’m just saying, give it a shot and see where this goes.” She reasoned.

“You’re right. You’re right. I better go in anyway. There’s a golf cart that keeps circling around the lot. They’re probably getting suspicious as to why I’m still in my car.”

She let out a chuckle. “They’re going to give you a ride to the offices. Welcome to the big leagues baby.”

“Ms. Y/L/N, may I call you Y/N? Barbara Floyd, the interviewer and also the production manager asked.

The two of you had already gone over your previous crew history where you held a variety of positions including editor, grip, writer, and even wardrobe. On a whim, you took a script supervisor position on an independent short and really enjoyed it. The next job you took was on full length film in the same position, that’s when you decided that’s where your passion lied. Despite the copious amount of responsibility and that often brought on your anxiety, you loved the challenge.

“Of course, Mrs. Floyd.”

Her eyes went directly to your left hand. “That’s a beautiful ring.” She says.

Here we go.

“Thank you.” You stick your hand out for added affect.

“When’s the wedding?” She asks.

“Next year. We have a lot of out of town family. We just want to make sure they have time to arrange travel.”

Look at me lie. Maybe I should have tried acting.

“I’m sure it will be lovely.” She replies with a wide smile. “I’d like to introduce you to a few people. Please come with me.”

You received a contract via e-mail later that evening. They were bringing you on for one film with the option of three additional films after production. Granted, that’s if you didn’t mess up. Joanna was right, this is the big leagues. If you could make it through the next three to four months, you’d have a long term contract with a major studio.

The next day you received the script. Winter’s Sin was the working title. Whether or not the title would stick was anyone’s guess. You had worked with a few well-known actors, but more of the B list variety. Wonderfully talented actors, but they just didn’t get the parts or the recognition they often deserved. This film had a couple of big names, Keanu Reeves and Chris Evans to be exact. Maggie Jessup was this year’s it girl and rumor had it, this movie was going to launch her into stardom. Generally, you didn’t get star struck, but this was Keanu Reeves! You first fell in love with him when you saw Speed. And again, when you watched The Lake House. Too bad you were technically “engaged”.

Pre-production was set to start next week. This week would be spent going over the script a few times and creating notes. Some wouldn’t consider it the fun part of the job, but you loved diving into a script before it was brought to life. It was also a bonus that you generally liked the script. It was sort of a weepy drama with a love story tied in. But the main plot was between two friends, Milo played by Keanu and William played by Chris. You stayed up half the night and made it almost all the way through. To say you were invested was an understatement.

You read through the script twice more over the next few days and felt ready. Next week you would meet with wardrobe and the writers. The cast would be fitted and you would take photos for your own personal files to make sure styles remain the same for the shoot. Of course, this could all change the day shooting begins which is why you needed to be on your A game and get all the drinking out of the way tonight. You’d have Sunday to recover before starting at the studio on Monday.

Laurel Tavern wasn’t necessarily your favorite bar, but it had become the place to get a bite to eat and a few drinks. It was also the most centrally located place for you and your friends to meet. Joanna and her husband Ian picked you up on the way, knowing you wanted to drink to excess. The three of you along with Travis and Jemma were celebrating your new job tonight. The five of you often found reasons to celebrate whether it was finding a twenty dollar bill on the side of the road, not getting fired from a particular job you’ve been slacking at, for the record, that was Travis, or getting a full eight hours of sleep. Tonight, was really worth celebrating.

“What do you want girl?” Joanna asked, getting up from your usual booth. “First rounds on me. If you’re nice, I might even buy you a second.” She throws you a wink.

“Ummm. I’d like a margarita, hold the margarita.” You say in all seriousness.

“Tequila. Got it.” She says before turning away and heading to the bar.

“Extra limes.” You shout.

She waves her hand behind her head, not bothering to spare your table a look.

Travis joins your booth, a couple of pints of beer in hand. “Here, I brought you one.” Setting a pint of golden goodness in front of you.

You lean over kissing his cheek. “I feel so special.” You coo.

Travis wormed his way into your life seven years ago. He was a senior in college at the time, tall and lanky with hair that stuck out from under his hat. He was filming his final project before graduation. The two of you had a mutual friend in common, Jemma, who was an ex-girlfriend of Travis, how they stayed friends, was beyond you. You helped with directing, a little bit of script management, and even filled in for makeup on a few days. Anything to help a friend of a friend. Travis became your pseudo little brother, well, a brother that you kissed once. You had just broken up with Chad, never date a guy name Chad. Anyway, you had just broken up with Chad and were feeling down in the dumps about yourself. He fed you some bullshit about never being there for him when he needed you. You got angry, he got angry, and then he told you that you weren’t hot enough for him. Yep, Chad was a douche. Travis invited you over, feed you pizza and a ton of beers, then you kissed. He wasn’t a bad kisser, but it felt weird. He was five years younger than you, but it wasn’t just that, he was too much like a brother. The two of you agreed that it was a mistake and never brought it up again. Not even Jemma knew.

The five of you munched on burgers and grilled cheese sandwiches. Jemma bought you a margarita, even after you told her you just wanted the tequila. Her motive was to mooch some of the beverage off of you.

“I don’t want all of the calories. I just want to try it.” She grins. Big rosy cheeks and wild blonde hair. Her British accent on full affect after already consuming a few shots herself. She had lived in the United States most of her life, but when she drank, the accent became heavier.

She grabs your drink, taking a hold of the straw and consumes half of it in one go. If you didn’t love her, you would have ditched her years ago.

Pushing Ian out of the booth, you get up on wobbly feet and make the long twenty foot journey to the bar. “I’ll get my tequila myself. Thank you very much.” You tell the table.

It’s after midnight by the time you’re dropped off. Running a makeup remover cloth over your face and stripping down to a cami, you call it good enough and crawl into your cozy bed.

After a pit stop at Starbucks, you make it to the studio an hour earlier than you need to be. After parking in Timbuctoo, you graciously accept the golf cart ride from security.

One of the admins directs you to a small office down a long hallway with similar offices. There’s a laptop computer, various pens and notepads on the desk. You unpack a small plant you picked up yesterday after you dragged your hungover self out of bed and to the grocery store for food. There was no window in your office which you figured; a little greenery would liven the place up, literally.

An hour later, one of the producers, David, came by to introduce himself and walk you around the grounds and through the soundstage you’d be shooting on. Filming would take place on the soundstage for a little more than a month. Then everyone would move the whole operation to Vancouver. The movie was called Winter’s Sin after all and there wasn’t a whole lot of winter in Los Angeles.

Before stopping back in your office, David popped into the office across from yours. He knocked while walking in, apparently already comfortable with the occupant.

“Hey Monica. I want you to meet Y/N. She’s the assistant script supervisor I was telling you about.”

Assistant? What?

Monica got up from her chair to greet you. You plastered on a smile and stuck out your hand. She was around your age and seriously gorgeous. Beautiful thick brown hair with a touch of caramel highlights that hung just above her chest.

“Hi, Y/N. I’m looking forward to working with you. Would love to hear some of your ideas.”

“Same.”

What could you say? You weren’t told that you were an assistant script supervisor, you thought you had the position. Apparently, it was a shared position.

“Y/N will be working primarily with Chris and Keanu.”

Whoa. Well, at least there’s that.

Monica scoffs. “Really?”

Your eyes automatically go to her left hand. No ring. Of course.

“Yes, really. You’ve got Maggie. I think she can really flourish under your direction. Not to mention you have Hector, Tim, Daisy and Joe.

After the awkward exchange, you traded cellphone numbers with her and made plans to meet after the first read through with the cast.

Walking across the way into the safety of your office, you figured you might as well ask.

“I wasn’t aware that I was being hired on as an assistant script supervisor.”

David ran a hand down his face. “Y/N, listen. This is your first big film; you need to walk before you can run. Alright? If this goes well, you’ll probably get hired on as the lead.”

“Okay.” You sighed out

“Alright, I’ll see you later. Meeting at three on the soundstage.”

“Got it.” You replied, plopping yourself down in the desk chair.

David peeks his head back into your office. “You’ve got some visitors.”

“Thanks.” You call out, standing back up and pulling your door open wider.

Your heart stopped. At least you were pretty sure it did. Keanu and Chris were both in front of you. Yes, you were there to film a movie, but this felt like a freaking movie. The two of them, side by side, grins on their faces. Keanu’s hand outstretched while Chris’ hands were snugly in the front pockets of his jeans.

“Y/N, pleasure to meet you. I’m Keanu.”

You accept his hand but your pretty much speechless. You may have muttered “hi” but you can’t be sure. Sensing your nervousness, he gives you a smile and releases your hand. He looks to Chris and they exchange a silent conversation. Chris steps forward offering you his hand and once again you can’t breathe.

Has he always been this attractive? Apparently, I haven’t watched enough Avengers movies.

His hair’s a bit longer than what you remember from the one or two movies you’ve seen. He’s also sporting a full beard. Definitely something he can pull off.

You mentally slap yourself and pull your hand from his after you realize you hadn’t said anything.

“Um. Sorry. Haven’t had enough caffeine today. It’s nice to meet you both. I look forward to working with you on this shoot.”

“Nice plant.” Keanu says, pointing at the fern taking up the front corner of your desk.

You giggle. Like actually let out a giggle and you’re pretty sure your cheeks are flushed.

You’re a professional. Get your shit together.

“Well, you know?” Shrugging your shoulders. “Need to green the space up a bit.’

Chris nods his head and offers a closed mouth smile.

“Well, we won’t take up all your time. Just wanted to say hello.”

“Hello.” You reply with a wave.

Why am I so awkward?!

They both chuckle and Chris waves back at you.

Tomorrow you wouldn’t be so starstruck. These are just two men that you work with. Who cares that they both seem nice and are dangerously attractive? You’re an “engaged” woman who is also a professional. You can do this.

Yeah. I can do this.

If you are crossed out, I can’t tag you.

Tag list: @southerngracela @chrisevansforever @chrisevansfanfic @zsuzstyina @peach-acid @tanelle83 @pinknerdpanda @allaboutthebooz @estillion14 @panicfob@patzammit @heartislubbingdubbing @collinsstanharbour @twittytelly @thefandomzoneisdangerous @linki-locks11 @jennmurawski13

#Chris Evans #chris evans fanfic #keanu reeves #actor fic #Chris Evans Fan Fiction #just a simple lie #Chris Evans x Reader #chris evans x you #chris evans x y/n

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keen2meecha · 5 years ago

Text

Coffee in Limbo

One day, you die

You die, and when you die, you hear the ringing of a bell.

"Teacher says, every time a bell rings, an angel gets its wings!"

The warm memory of black and white movies and soft blankets and sweet chocolate and even sweeter childhood envelops you, and then you frown. You frown, because you just died, and you didn't think you would hear anything when you died. You open your eyes, and then are surprised because you weren't expecting to have eyes to open, either.

You're standing in a coffee shop. The cozy, non-Starbucks kind. The kind you rarely had time to visit when you were alive, but you used to close your eyes and picture it, sometimes.

Is this the afterlife? Were those religions right?

Then again, those religions never mentioned that heaven is a coffeeshop. Maybe this is hell.

"Oh. Hey. You're new."

There's a demon standing behind the counter, wearing a barista uniform.

Not a proper demon, the way you imagine. His skin's fleshy and pale, and his eyes are brown or green or hazel, and his hair is strawberry blonde. But he's also got big horns like a bull's, and that pale flesh is marred by black markings that could be thin tattoos or eyeliner, you're not sure. He's also wearing barbed wire as a necklace, which is an interesting choice. He also spoke with a British accent, but you're pretty sure British people are just like that.

"I’m dead, right?" You ask, stepping up to the counter because there's not much else you can do.

"Yeah. Sorry about that."

"Did you kill me?"

"Er. No?"

"Then why are you sorry?"

The demon raises a pencil-thin eyebrow, but otherwise doesn't seem to have a reply to that.

"So, where am I?"

"Limbo."

"What?"

"Your guess is as good as mine. For some reason, souls aren't moving on to heaven or hell or what have you. They're just... getting stuck here. Seemed like a good place to set up shop."

"A coffee shop?"

"You got a problem with my coffee shop?" His eyes flash, although it's not nearly as intimidating as he seems to think it is.

"Oh, no, it's very nice." You lean forward so you can better see what's behind the counter. "You could use a menu, though. Don't know what to order otherwise."

"We're not on earth. You can order whatever you want."

"Hm. Like. What about a grande hot cinnamon dolce latte in a venti cup five pumps of cinnamon dolce 4 pumps of vanilla three pumps of toffee nut one pump of hazelnut no foam," A pause to inhale, "Extra whip extra cinnamon dolce topping extra caramel drizzle light mocha drizzle vanilla topping salt topping. And nutmeg topping."

The demon, who has grown increasingly more irate the longer you talk, snaps, "No."

"But-"

"If you order that, you're getting a water, because I don't know what the fuck you just said."

"Not a very good barista, then, are you?"

The demon's scowl goes deeper, and this time he looks more intimidating. But really, what is he going to do? Kill you?

"Chill," You say nonetheless because an eternity with the only person around hating your guts because you can't control your impulses hardly sounds like fun. "I wouldn't do that to you. How about just a cup of hot chocolate?"

"Really? You're going to order a hot chocolate in a coffee shop?"

"I mean, if you'd like I can order a grande hot cinnamon dolce latte with-"

"Don't you dare."

You stick your tongue out at him, but don't push. Silence settles over the coffeeshop like a particularly heavy blanket. You watch him work, doing your best to be patient. You last long enough to recognize that the machines that he's using definitely shouldn't work like that, and also that making a cup of hot chocolate was not this complicated when you were alive. Patience has never been your thing, though.

"So, are you really a demon?"

He looks up from the machine spurting water into the mug. His expression is guarded.

"No."

"You just look like one?"

"Yes." You stare at each other, and then he sighs and says. "If it unsettles you, I can-"

He goes up on his toes for a moment, and when he lands back on his heels the horns and markings are gone. He looks like a regular guy. You're not a fan.

"Nah, I think the demon thing is cool. Living out our emo dreams and all of that."

"I'm not emo," He says, rolling his eyes. He hesitates a beat, and then does the same motion again, settling back into the demon thing. "So. Fuck you."

"You're awfully rude for someone who works in customer service."

"Customer implies that you're paying me - or that I'm getting paid. Best part of being dead? The customer is never right."

You can get behind that.

"So does that mean I'm not paying for this hot chocolate?"

"Certainly not with money."

"Oh? Then what?"

He turns to face you fully, crossing his arms as he looks you up and down. The machine continues to sputter, even though the mug should probably be full by now.

"How about a name?"

You scoff and say, "I am not dumb enough to give you my name."

"I told you I'm not a demon."

"Neither are fairies, but I'm not about to give them my name."

"Well, then, give me a name."

You open your mouth to protest again, and then it clicks.

Oh.

Fair enough.

"...Pluto."

Pluto smiles wide for the first time, and you add 'fangs' to his list of demon traits.

"Not bad, kid."

He returns to the drink, and you get the sense this is going to take a while. Feeling fully dismissed, you drift away from the counter and to one of the edge tables, by the big windows that you're just now realizing make up the walls of the coffee shop. Not that there's much to see. It's like a heavy fog has settled over the world outside - and maybe that's not too far off. Pluto said that he'd set up shop - maybe there was something out there. Something to explore.

You sit down at one of the tables. The fog outside swirls steadily, just enough to make patterns that catch your attention. You don't even realize how long you've been staring until Pluto puts a steaming mug on your table.

"Thanks."

He hums in acknowledgment and turns to leave, and then hesitates. You watch him as you wrap your hands around the mug. The heat of it makes you realize that you went numb from the cold a while ago. You let your hands rest there far longer than you might have before you died, because the heat feels a little like being alive.

"You know." He turns back around, his lips tucked down in a frown that feels a little bitter, a little sad. "The door opens both ways."

"That's impressively cryptic, Pluto."

"You can go back to the, er, living world. If you like. You won't... come back to life, but." He's facing you, but he's not looking at you. He seems to have gained a fascination with his hands - which are also marked with those odd tattoos or eyeliner. "You can stir up some mischief, or see your loved ones again, or whatever spirits like to do."

"Ah. I'm okay, but thanks for telling me."

He looks up at you, his eyes - definitely hazel - startled and wide. Maybe that's why he's not a demon - too emotionally vulnerable.

"You don't want to go back?"

"Nope." You shrug. "I didn't leave behind anyone worth seeing."

"I- I see. Well, I'll be here if you need me."

"Thanks, Pluto."

He stares at you for another moment, then seems to realize what he's doing and abruptly walks away. You look down at your hot chocolate and find a sprinkling of cinnamon on top.

You smile and settle in for a long wait.

There are worse places to go after death than Limbo.

#my writing #creative writing #original writing #amwriting #tw: death #just in case #keen 2 share #coffee in limbo #anyways. uh. here y'all go.#i'm not... entirely sure what this is #it may become a future project #it may become a podcast #or it'll just be left as this #but i hope you enjoy!#maybe. if you're up for it. let me know what you think?#🥺👉👈#okay im going to bed now haha

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animekath · 5 years ago

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Christopher ‘Harrington’ Knight

Thought of making Chris’s Biography, so if you want to know him, here you go!

Name: Christopher ‘Harrington’ Knight

Age: 25 (BDay - August 9th)

Home: UK, London

Family: His father owns a bank called ‘Knight Sheild’ - His mother is a famous fashion designer And has five brothers - who have their own company or work with their father. (Chris is the youngest!)

Sexuality: Gay (His family doesn’t know yet)

Crush/Relationship: No crush/Single

Nicknames: Chris, Chrissy, Bear, Mr.Bear, Richie rich, Rich bitch, British dude

Tattoos/Scars: Has roses on his left thigh which he got in Germany and a scar across his nose which he got from a drunken fight in Australia.

Hobbies/Skills/Likes/Other: Has been boxing since he was twelve and when he was sixteen; He taught kids for two years, only leaving when he started travelling. Can also play the piano but rarely plays it nowadays, since he was forced to play it at a young age. He also speaks fluent English and Spanish, only roughly knowing a few words in other languages - (Mainly thank you, sorry, hello, goodbye.) Was quite fit and muscular at age twenty-three, but now he loves and craves pizza since his travels, that he has put on some weight - mainly his belly. (Still has some muscle on his arms and thighs)

Fears/Dislikes: Chris HATES snakes, he’ll run and scream if one is slowly slithering towards him. He can’t even look at a picture of a snake or as a toy snake. The kids are thrilled with this information and always scare the crap out of him. Chris also stays far away from coffee, not because of the taste or smell, but because he’ll go crazy after one cup; being very active and wide awake - kind of like someone on crack. If you give him one cup, he’ll want more and more, until he is a coffee maniac! If you don’t provide him with coffee for twenty-four hours, he’ll be back to his old self but will have a massive headache, so don’t give him coffee!

Childhood/Teenhood/Adulthood: Since Chris is the youngest child; he didn’t get much attention from his parents nor his brothers, so he did what any child would do...Go crazy. He could shout, break things, cause trouble in school and just make a mess of everything - Just wanting any type of attention. They punished him and even forced him to play the piano, also having an awful teacher to teach him. But when he entered a contest and won first place, his parents were proud. So Chris started going the other way and kept entering contests for anything, spelling-B, music, dancing, everything - getting first or second place.

But he realised that his parents didn’t seem to care over the years, because his brothers were getting successful in their jobs, so he started doing his own thing, which was boxing. He did boxing at age twelve and was improving massively over the years, even teaching children when he turned sixteen.

But what Chris wanted to do the most was travel!

He always watched movies and tv shows about other Countries and just wanted to see the world, meet people and try all kinds of food. So when Chris turned eighteen, he left London and started travelling all around the UK - Even going to Irland, Scotland and Whales. When he turned twenty-one and could fly on his own, he went to one Country after another - France, Germany, Spain, Japan, the list goes on!

His father was throwing money at him to spend on his travels (Mainly to stop Chris from whining) but Chris was walking on a thin line when he went to America since he spent one million in four months.

So...

Main Story: Chris spent another million in America and asked his Father for more money to go back home, but his father had enough and told him straight -

Now Chris has no money and is in the middle of nowhere, so he panics - Calling his father again and again - Even his mother but she also says no. (She’s too ‘busy’ to send money over)

Chris looks through the newspaper for job offers and sees a job in a camp just near him called Camp Cambell. He gives them a call and goes over to see them - Luckily getting the job. Well...The only person who signed up for the job, but still, good for him!

He thinks it’s easy because it’s in the middle of nowhere and is dealing with some ‘stupid kids’...Oh, how wrong he was.

Characters -

David: Chis was unsure of David at first, mainly because how can a man be THAT happy and deal with these little monsters!? But he slowly realised that is just how David is and is genuinely a nice guy, loving his job and the kids. They get along well but do have their moments when David tells Chris to stop swearing and Chris getting mad at David to try and see the bright side of things, even when they are surrounded by madness. They have gone out a few times, Chris being David’s ‘wingman’ and try to get him a lady friend - But it ends badly when the woman is not interested or when the woman is crazy...Or is three girls in a trench coat. In the end, Chris comforts David with some Ben and Jerry’s.

Gwen: Gwen didn’t like Chris at first, thinking how can a rich man have struggles when she has depts and bills to pay, AND working in a crappy job that doesn’t pay her well. But after some talks and dealing with crazy kids together, they both realise they have things in common. Gwen loves romance books about vampires, werewolves and fish people - One of Chris’s favourite books is a romance about lizard people, which kind of blows Gwen’s mind. She also sees Chris as the muscle man, helping to carry heavy things and even carrying her and David after a stressful day. If it was less work for her, she was happy!

Quartermaster: Nothing. Chris is very uncomfortable and confused around this man like everyone else, so he stays far away from him.

Cameron Campbell: Chris is not a fan of Cameron, mainly because he keeps coming over with ideas and plans to tell his father so he can give money for the project. Chris likes his strength and stories, but when it comes to cash, Chris just walks away...But has been woken up in the middle of the night by Cameron about another idea.

Daniel: Chis finds him creepy as fuck and awkwardly walks away when Daniel says something about his cult, only to see the cult leader everywhere he goes. The only way Chris knows how to protect the children from him is one thing...Fighting. But while Chris knows Boxing, it seems Daniel also knows martial arts as well, but you never see it because he just pulls out a knife and chases Chris. Chris hates him, and Daniel’s feelings are mutual, but David thinks they’re great friends.

Camp Cambell kids: Like David and Gwen, the kids make Chris suffer; tying him to the pole, throwing snakes at him and getting him hurt along the way of their adventures. They call him Mr.bear or British dude because of his accent and appearance, but Max calls him ’Rich bitch’. Chris hates the kids sometimes but finds a way to connect with them in some way or another. He does Boxing with Nurf; he plays a monster or dragon for Nerris and Preston, and he throws Space kid when he wants to fly high. Chris is mainly a guinea pig for Neil for his science experiments, Nikki always climbs on Chris like a cat post and freaks out about his accent - But keeps saying he’s French. (Which Chris doesn’t know if she’s joking or not) With Max, it is similar to Gwen; they swear at each other and Max blackmails Chris in a way, but they sometimes work together to make someone else suffer or try to get money in some way. In the end, the kids drive Chris crazy, but he has a soft spot for them.

Summary -

In the end, Chris has no idea what to do. He’ll have his ups and downs about the camp but will try his best to get money to go home...Even if he has to do crimes to get it. He’ll make friends, enemies and also meet old ones this summer. Will Chris get the money he needs and if he does - will he leave or stay until the kids return home?

Find out...If I ever make comics in the future - Maybe, maybe not!

#*sweats* I hope it's okay - it's the first time I have done this for an oc! i hope you like it!#animekath #camp camp #campsona #camp camp oc #counselorsonas #Camp Cambell #cc oc #cc #chris knight #biography #campcamp #cc david #cc gwen #cc daniel #cc quartermaster #cc cameron campbell #camp cambell kids

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goodlesson · 5 years ago

Text

peyt’s big bad bastille fic rec post

have i read literally everything in the bastille ao3 tag at least three times over? unfortunately yes. and now i’m here to share my wisdom with you all!!

bella (@dansmlth) asked for fic recs so i figured i’d just....compile everything into one post for easy access. this list has p much every pairing under the sun, so hopefully there’s something for everyone. happy reading y’all!!

please make sure you heed any warnings on ao3 before reading; some of these are certainly more heavy and triggering than others.

p.s. if you need more recs, ej (@mirandabeach) has a great list here. you can also check out my ao3 bookmarks.

dan/kyle:

i’ve never felt my heart like this by unfinishedidea (explicit, 5k)

“‘My quiff makes them panties drop,’ or, Kyle finally accepts that fans aren’t the only ones obsessed with Dan’s hair,” by Kyle Simmons, age twenty-four and a half.

lights by trash (teen, 4k)

Kyle gets a flat, with bonus flatmate.

through the years by trailsofpaper (explicit, 13k)

Five times Dan and Kyle have sex, and the one time they finally kiss again.

you are enough by trash (teen, 2k)

Kyle is in a shit house share, three miles from campus, with less money to spend on getting rat arsed than he had initially envisioned. In fact, university is turning out to be an all round utter shit show. But then there's Dan.

and in the morning you’ll be stranded in love (it goes around and around) by brujay (teen, 15k)

“Have you seen Groundhog Day?”

Kyle took a moment before replying. “I have… what exactly are you trying to say, here?”

Dan sighed again. “I think I’m living it.” Dan gets trapped in a time loop, and he is not having a good time.

help me piece it all together, darling by trailsofpaper (explicit, 16k)

Dan Smith, sometime after he turns fourteen, travels in time. What follows, if not chronologically, is a life of existential dread and an inability to follow his dreams. Dan thinks there is no purpose to it, and is resigned to this existence of inconvenience, until he goes to a party where he meets a dark-eyed man with a bright smile, who is sure they've met before.

exorcise my mind by brujay (explicit, 12k)

BBC Radio 1 @BBCR1 • 12h

BREAKING: @bastilledan just came out live on air! Listen back here -> bbc.in/2jREPsm #WildWorld

days that bind us series by lady_icarus (teen to explicit, 47k total)

When Kyle meets Dan at a party, he's not sure what he's expecting to come of utilizing the messy number scrawled on his arm. Near-daily texts of "join my band" wasn't even in his top five expectations. And yet getting pulled in by dazzling eyes and a mesmerizing smile wasn't as much of a surprise as it should have been.

nothing except my aching heart by trailsofpaper (explicit, 9k)

Dan is an exotic dancer, and Kyle is just the lights and sound guy. He didn't ever stand a chance, did he?

who the fuck is keith by cornflakes_canvas (teen, WIP, 125k so far)

"So, you want me to fake-date Kyle, whom you owe a favour, so he can convince his crazy ex that he's gay, which he's not, so she'll stop stalking him, and you can't do it yourself cause he'd never date you if he was gay. Which. He's not."

Ralph considered his words for a moment, then broke into a small grin. "Sounds about right?"

i’ll see you in the future when we’re older by trailsofpaper (explicit, 9k)

Glastonbury, 2016. Dan would look forward to it if Brexit hadn't just happened, and if he could remember the last time they performed at the festival. Whatever happened on that night in 2013, Kyle won't tell him, and Dan never thought to ask.

keep chasing echoes of my mind by orphan_account (teen, 9k)

“I’ll be okay, you know,” Dan mumbles, slowly, rubbing nervous circles against Kyle’s wrist with his thumb. “There’ll be other people coming along, we have everything planned out ahead, and if they ever start being suspicious of us we’ll be right out of there before they can even touch us.” Kyle nods, quietly. Dan tightens the grip he has on his hand a little. “It’s just a few months! I’ll be reporting back every once in awhile, too, and I’ll be fully back before you even know it.”

“It’s just…” Dan’s head perks up as Kyle finally turns around to face him. “I’d like it a lot better if you didn’t have to go at all.”

give me something to remember by thoseseconds (explicit, 11k)

They’ve cuddled like this before, just… never during the day. The cuddling is a night thing that they do when everyone else is asleep and not there to judge them, but Dan has been strangely touchy ever since the train ride here.

argonautica orpheus by trailsofpaper (mature, 17k)

Kyle, like Jason on the Argos, sets out on a journey to retrieve something important but, more importantly, he finds love along the way. Dan, unlike Orpheus, doesn’t look back.

(Dan and Kyle are flatmates in Leeds, but when Kyle wrecks his keyboard a week before he and Dan are about to enter a competition, they need to go to London to get another keyboard. Complications and even shenanigans ensue.)

don’t paint wonderful lies on me by atrophicgalaxy (explicit, WIP, 7k so far)

That was one of the reasons why Dan hated these types of conversations. He didn’t understand, couldn’t relate. It made him feel like an alien, this strange out of place being observing the real people who experienced normal things. Dan didn’t have the same urges.

Dan is asexual and he's been burnt before. Trying to navigate that, and his own head, in such close proximity to the rest of the band takes its toll. And then there's Kyle.

drown all sorrow by trailsofpaper (explicit, 4k)

Dan would rather chat with a dark-eyed and nimble bartender than watch a burlesque show. He is also propositioned via drink - twice.

turning saints into the sea by thoseseconds (explicit, 3k)

“Oh my god.” Dan suddenly says, cutting Kyle out of his thoughts. “You’re jealous.”

a million pieces by trash (g, 1k)

Dan should have never kissed Kyle.

kiss? by trash (mature, 1k)

Dan is drunk again.

you won’t remember this (a kiss is just a kiss) by trailsofpaper (mature, 21k)

1930, Los Angeles. The weather is unchanging and so is Kyle Simmons, but when he meets fellow British expat Dan Smith, the singer with the bright blue eyes, Kyle thinks he might have found something to strive for. Dan wants more from life than playing the piano in smoky Hollywood jazz clubs, but Kyle isn't sure he's able to follow him even if he wanted to. His past threatens to drag him down, and Kyle doesn't want to drag Dan down with him.

charlie/dan:

like the world is watching series by heartbreakordeath (g to teen, 14k total)

Everyone is here except for me And I can feel the world is watching - the world is watching, two door cinema club

invisible string by williever (mature, WIP, 8k so far)

That's the only thing he hates about parties - people tend to turn up to them.

i wanna pour my feelings down the drain (fall headfirst like paper planes) by dansmlth, williever (teen, 11k)

Charlie often wondered what a relationship would entail for him.

Was he just supposed to put his heart on the line before either of them got invested? “Hi, nice to meet you, you’re cute, also I don’t want to fuck you ever? Please don’t take that the wrong way?” Jesus. He’d like to not ever put himself in such an awkward position.

dan/will:

i’m afraid the ground will swallow me whole by theonline (mature, 8k)

They had barely aged. A couple of wrinkles had collected around Will’s eyes, but that was it. He noted that Will had dropped the American accent and he sounded like home. Dan felt himself break.

“I just don’t want to be alone anymore.”

kyle/will:

place your head on my own by theonline (explicit, 6k)

Sounds began to flood his ears: the sizzling of something cooking in a pan, Will lightly humming, and the TV in the background:

We will be with Great Britain in these final hours, right up to the very end.

dan/ralph:

sinking for something by parachutiste (mature, 3k)

Dan thinks it's worth a try, liking how it feels a little bit weird at first, and not weird at all pretty soon after. Ralph always seems to forget the next morning. Dan doesn't.

#fic rec #peyton speaks #i'm not putting this in the tag for obvious reasons #happy reading kiddos!

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kominum · 5 years ago

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swept away // t.h.

hello, new writing blog here! i have another writing blog for a different fandom, but i wanted to make a separate one for t.h./p.p. scenarios. since this is new, i’ll be writing for prompts that interest me, but you can send in some as well for blurbs and whatnot!

genre: some angst, some fluff, pining, uni!au

prompt: you’re baking cookies in the communal kitchen at 3am and you’re really angry and hungry (adjustment from the prompt where another person is angry and hungry)

length: ~1.8k

This should not become a habit, you think to yourself. In fact, it shouldn’t have happened enough to begin with to even come close to becoming a habit, but after a couple of nights with too much alcohol and hangovers you’d rather never experience again, you’re here.

Here, in this communal kitchen, at 3 in the fucking morning, baking chocolate chip cookies in the oven.

Yes, homemade cookies are better. Yes, the tear-apart cookies from the grocery store are low-key trash. Yes, you know that they’re really not that good for you. But no, your professor decided to be an insufferable asshole during a physical chemistry lab session for the fifth fucking time, and you’re going to unwind somehow. You know that if you don’t, someone else will get the bad end of the stick aka someone will unfairly be on the receiving end of your murderous stare and you’d rather not get on anyone’s bad side. There’s a part of you that desires to be liked by everyone, which is probably 80% of the explanation as to why you let this asinine professor walk all over you for four hours a week.

So here you are, messy hair, lids heavy, eye bags dark, curled up in a chair and staring angrily at the oven, just waiting for the cookies to cook and let themselves be devoured by you. In the last few times, no one has been here, and you’re not worried about anyone catching you clad in a fandom hoodie and stained sweatpants.

As you’re thinking about all the different ways you could “accidentally” spill a harmless but staining chemical on top of your professor’s hair (especially the one that he very first yelled at you about because he truly thought you were stupid enough to not wear gloves, but instead the chemical had stained past the nitrile for fuck’s sake), soft padded steps make themselves known behind you. Naturally, you freeze and peer into the reflection of the oven cover, eyes trying to make out the details of the person behind you. A young man walks in donned in an oversized t-shirt with some scrawled text on it and pink pajama pants who later jumps back when he spots you around the corner. You watch him flinch in the reflection and almost drop his unwrapped bags of microwave popcorn before you turn in your chair and just...stare.

He’s cute. Despite the outfit, he’s ridiculously cute, and you can’t find the energy to muster a smile or even say hi. So essentially, he’s receiving a bitch stare while fumbling with the unpopped popcorn, finally managing to place it correctly in the microwave and glance in any direction but you, his fingers tapping rhythmically against his thigh. Your 3AM, sugar-addicted brain decides that it’ll do the stupid thing and force you to speak.

“Don’t you have a microwave in your own room?”

Cutie in pink zips around to look at you, completely bewildered, and he clears his throat. “Well..uh..the uh, um...microwave in my room is broken. Housing hasn’t come by to fix it,” he mumbles towards the end, your ears picking up a British accent. You hum in understanding and take a glance back at the timer on the oven, gauging whether or not your cookies needed more time. They’ve got a couple of minutes.

“Housing can take forever sometimes,” you add, trying to sound empathetic. “Both bags of popcorn are for you?”

“No,” he replies, sounding slightly offended. You throw your hands up in innocence, fighting a smile. “My mate and I are having a movie marathon. What about you? I can smell the cookies.”

“Yep, all 12 for myself. One of those days, you know? And it’s perfectly fine to have 2 bags of popcorn to yourself. Lord knows I’ve done it,” you snort, thinking about how just two weeks ago, the two bags of butter popcorn had become your dinner on a night that you needed to really hunker down and study.

“One of those days? Wanna talk about it?” He asks while listening for the number of pops in the microwave. Harrison would never forgive him if he burned popcorn because he was too busy talking to a girl.

“Well,” you rub your temples and stand up to take the cookies out of the oven. “Long story short, I have an asshole professor and I see him way too much for my own liking. If he makes another snide sexist comment about women being in science, I’ll be sorely tempted to complain to someone higher up.” Your hand picks up a cookie to check the bottom and nods in approval. “Want one?” You ask over a cookie in your mouth, handing the tray to the boy who’s putting in the second bag of popcorn.

He shrugs, “Thanks.” Doing the smart thing, he blows a bit on the cookie first before popping half of it into his mouth, eyes closing in satisfaction at the warm chocolate hitting his tongue. “Anyone who argues that warm cookies aren’t the best things sent to Earth, I have half a mind to have a go at ‘em.”

“I’m with you on that,” you laugh. “Better this than alcohol. Wanna take some more for your friend?”

“Yeah sure. Actually,” he pauses, gazing deeply into the microwave. “You wanna come watch the movies with us? Bring the cookies there too?” His eyes are full of hesitation and he chews nervously on the inside of his lip. Maybe he was too forward, maybe he was too friendly, maybe --

“Why not?” You shrug, said too fast and partially out of need for human contact and partially because the popcorn smells too good. It’d be nice to balance out the sweetness with some salt. “I hope they’re good movies.”

“Trust me, we have great taste in movies.”

And that’s how you found yourself following a cute British boy to his room with a tray of cookies and a warm heart.

Things had kicked off since then, the surprised look on Harrison’s face that day still ingrained into your mind. You had also passed out on Tom’s shoulder and woken up with a sore back on the couch, both boys missing but a note on the table for you. Since then, numbers had been exchanged and a group chat formed. Tom has taken to asking you if you want cookie dough every time he goes to the grocery store now, and their room never seems to run out of microwave popcorn. Late night sessions turned into not-so-late rants, sometimes just tiredly knocking on their door and either one of the boys opening it for you. Sleep is important, and not only for the weak.

Yet when being caught up in the wind of things, you couldn’t deny that you felt something for Tom. College was a busy time and yes, you should have fun, and yes, you should shoot your shot or whatever the Internet says these days, but the fear of rejection outweighs the possible acceptance. Things are too good with Tom and you wouldn’t want to lose that. You know that if Tom denied your feelings, you’d immediately run away and lock the door on your heart for who knows how long. You’d abandon all traditions and any paths that could cross with them, foreshadowing that if you ever did see them, the embarrassment would overtake you. At that moment, you would want nothing more than to dig a hole and stay in it for the rest of eternity.

“You’re being so dramatic,” you mutter to yourself, knees bent as you lay on a throw pillow against the arm on Tom and Harrison’s couch and flip through their Netflix. The microwave had long been fixed, and though your ears can definitely register the sound of corn kernels aggressively hitting the sides of the bag, they evidently didn’t catch Tom coming to see if you’d made a choice on a movie yet.

“Who’s being dramatic, darling?” He asks in a genuinely curious tone and you almost want to smack yourself in the head.

“Harrison,” you fib, mind scrambling for a scenario. “He’s watching the popcorn like a hawk.”

“Oi!” He yells from the corner where the microwave is. “We can’t be having burnt popcorn under this roof, not on my watch.”

You give Tom the look, the kind that says see what I mean? and it only makes Tom laugh, which makes you happy because that’s the sound that dissolves any of your worries for the day. Well, except the one where you might accidentally burst and confess your undying affection for the guy. Other than that, it’s one of the few things that can really calm you down and let you relax.

As Harrison dumps the popcorn into a bowl, Tom comes to sit next to you and your feet naturally pick themselves up to give him his space. He then pushes them back down so you can spread your legs over his to create a perpendicular model, and you try to ignore how the motion makes your heart flutter or how just his hands on your legs send heat surging through your system. It’s not fair -- no person should have such an effect over another human being. Can this be illegal? Can this not be allowed?

While thoughts are swirling in your brain, Tom can only think about how much he craves the moments like these, the ones where you’re comfortable enough to be in a position like this, the ones where you sometimes crash in his bed and he gets to see what your sleeping face is like. He prides in the fact that you seek him out on the rough days, that you see him as a source of comfort. Tom wants nothing more than to be that and more for you, just for you. It’s sappy, it’s gross, it’s cheesiest of all cheesiness, but he can’t even find it in himself to be embarrassed by how enamored he is with you.

Harrison had caught on long ago on how whipped he was. “Just tell her bruv,” he pushed one time when Tom had gotten a little tipsy in their dorm. “What’s the worst that could happen?”

“She rejects me and never wants to see my face again,” Tom had immediately slurred back and his eyebrows had sagged into the saddest kicked-puppy look that Harrison had ever seen for the first time in a while. Of course, he rolled his eyes to let Tom know that he was being unreasonable. Clearly, you were just as smitten, but both of you were as blind as bats.

With the apprehension that neither will accept the other, both you and Tom have learned to become content with whatever is happening now. But at the end of the day, when good nights have been said and lingering hugs given, you and he both can’t help but wish for just a little more time with each other.

Just, a little more.

#tom holland #peter parker #tom holland x y/n #tom holland x reader #tom holland scenarios #uni!au #college!au #tom holland angst #tom holland fluff

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technoturian · 5 years ago

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I finally finished Picard. I enjoyed about 80% of it but felt like it stumbled at the final hurdle, tbh. My main issues below...

- For a show that started with Picard and Data, it felt like the show’s main emotional line was Data/Picard and Soji/Data and that it would connect Data and Soji as strongly as it started to do with Dahj before she died. But then after they left the Troi-Rikers it felt like Data was completely absent from the story and it became not about who Soji is as a person but who Soji is as a synthetic, a basic “synthetics vs. organics” argument rather than about what makes a person alive and an individual and what made Soji in particular so special. Soji became less about being Data’s daughter and more about being part of Soong’s collective of synthetics.

It was so muddled what the message even was beyond that very surface level debate, to the point where Soong found out his daughter killed one of her own he goes, “they’re just as bad as us” -- once again lumping them all together -- and chooses to “switch sides” and stop them by force. Instead of, y’know, *talking* to the rest of his children after the one individual that was clearly evil and influencing them was out of the way.

If anyone had told Soji that Narek hadn’t been the one to kill Saga, wouldn’t it have been much easier to convince her? But that would’ve undercut the big fight and their big message that.. to be honest just didn’t make sense to me at all. Soji felt completely lost as a character the second the homeworld entered the picture. Suddenly she knew things and felt things because the story needed her to.

- And let’s talk about this clearly evil android sister of hers. Why does she look just like Soji except because of all the heavy handed twin metaphors? I thought that face was like... specifically designed by Data in his painting? I’m so confused. I’m incredibly confused about the timeline of events at this point. And I’m confused as to why the Data-like androids are so capable of emotion and obviously far superior to Data, but Data could not be rebuilt. I’m confused as to why Soji and Dahj were made, superior even to these new androids, and then mindwiped and shoved off to chase shadows rather than just getting some actual humans to do that spying and protecting these incredibly precious creations. I’m confused as to why no others like Soji and Dahj were made afterwards. I’m confused as to how Narek and the others even heard about Soji or Dahj without knowing where they came from, yet they were certain there were more like them (spoiler, there weren’t even more like them, so why did Narek’s group have that impression?).

- Speaking of Narek, what even happened to him at the end? Did I just miss it? I’ve been waiting this whole show for his boring manipulative ass to die, please don’t tell me they’re going to try to bring him back. I don’t need a discount CW Romulan “I did murders but I also cried so I’m sympathetic” Kylo Ren who thinks having a British accent and a leather jacket is the same as having a personality showing up AGAIN and sucking the air out of MORE scenes.

- There were a lot of things that felt unearned in the last episode, but Picard’s “death” is a big one. Riker just goes “Okay bye!” and then Picard dies and they’re playing it off like this old man dying surrounded by his loved ones but as much as they tried to build it up with all of those goodbyes, he met half of them like a week ago. His second in command for years just nopes out of the scene so some kid he read Dumas to once over a decade ago can be the family in this situation? This is supposed to feel meaningful and earned? It wasn’t. It would have been better earned if it had been solely between Soji and Picard, as they had invested most in this relationship, and them ‘having each other’, and yet the idea of Soji finding belonging with Picard was practically thrown by the wayside in those last two episodes to ask “bigger” but less emotionally satisfying questions about her status as a synthetic. So in what should be the most emotional scene in the entire season, he just dies with a half-hearted “aww, you guys” to the new team and I felt... not much. And then it doesn’t even count! And then we’re having a funeral, but now it’s for Data? The same Data who y’all forgot to even talk about during most of that synthetics vs. organics dialogue??? It was nice to see Data again, but completely unearned by the events of the episode.

- Speaking of unearned... This show’s handling of its ‘romances’ is abysmal. It’s kind of sad that Agnes and Rios are the romance with the most buildup simply by virtue of the two of them actually having a FULL conversation with one another before making out. I really disliked Agnes and Rios in the end, partially because I don’t think they adequately built it up (even though like I said, it’s sadly the relationship they put the most effort into building), but also partially because I selfishly want Rios to die so Picard can captain and we can just have more of the great hologram Rioses because they’re way more fun. And also I love holograms more than people. Blame the Holodoc.

Soji/Narek was cringe-inducing garbage, an absolutely artless manipulation from a guy with zero charisma whose entire existence depends on him seducing a girl and him doing so by being evasive, distant and moody. Just the worst. And somehow that makes her like him instead of running for the hills, because he throws in the odd non-sequitur love confession two days into their relationship.

I thought Maddox was Agnes’ father in that old vid until she kissed him and that was. Woof. That was a real gross brain switch. In any case, not a fan, but I will say MAYBE this relationship should really earn the ‘most developed’ title because they were actually in a relationship. And she literally murdered him.

And don’t get me started on Seven and Raffi coyly threading fingers together in the final scene after, to my recollection, not even having a single conversation together??? Why do this? Why? *Why* do this. If you wanted to get them together but you know you’ve done no work on it, save it for a possible second season or *don’t do it at all*. Seven and Raffi being randomly paired off at the end made me wonder why they didn’t just throw in Soji/Elnor too for the whole set. Raffi/Agnes is more believable than Seven/Raffi because at least she gave her cake. Seven/Rios is more believable because they had that one shoe-horned heart-to-heart.

While we’re talking about alternate pairings, I personally think they all should be paired off with a member of Rios’ holosuite. Including Picard. INCLUDING RIOS. Because Santiago Cabrera is too hot for words and there are SIX of him on that ship.

- Another reason Seven/Raffi being thrown together was kind of infuriating to me is it felt the same as the scene where she said she had no one, and basically any scene that was like “Seven is completely alone and adrift and THIS is her new family! Just forget that she’s only had one random heart-to-heart with Rios and a few cute dialogues with Elnor and other than that absolutely no contact with any of these people.”

Where the heck are the rest of the Voyager crew? Okay, so nobody liked Chakotay with Seven. Okay, so Kate Mulgrew and Jeri Ryan didn’t get along so it would be unlikely to ever see them together on-screen. But Janeway literally loved Seven so much she rewrote time just to save her life or whatever that series finale was about. The Doctor, who knows *exactly* how it feels to be disenfranchised and dehumanized, is her best friend. Naomi Freakin’ Wildman who Seven called family who would absolutely have been there for her if she needed her. Why did they make her so sad and throw away all the rest of Voyager’s crew to do it?

I loved a lot of the stuff with Seven more than I thought I would after some of the things I’ve heard. But when I read someone say how “sad” they’d made her life, I have to agree. And mashing her into this crew at the end without putting in the time to show how she can fit aside from a few scenes with Elnor feels wrong and sloppy. If anything I would’ve liked her to leave with the borg at the end and then she could make another amazing grand entrance near the beginning of season two. Because basically the best things about Seven in this show were her kicking in the door scenes.

#Picard #Picard Critical #Anti Narek #Seven of Nine

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kayteewritessteve · 6 years ago

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If London Should Ring

Description: An elusive Hydra criminal finally comes out of hiding after months. Bringing Steve, Tony, Bucky and Sam to an exclusive weapons expo in London, alongside a rather interesting Secret Intelligence Service (SIS) agent. Masterlist HERE.

Word Count: 11,700 ish. Bloody hell! This one got away from me just a bit...this is basically a mini series in a one shot.

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader.

Rating: PG. Warnings: Curse words. Accounts and moments of violence. Mentions of dying and dead Hydra henchmen. And I think that’s it.

Requested: Yes, by the lovely @thedarklightwithinus who wanted a one shot with a British reader. So here it is, I truly hope you enjoy it! And sorry it’s so dang long, I just got super into it and couldn’t stop! ♥️♥️♥️ A/N: I sadly don’t own any of these characters. And no beta reader, so I do proudly own all the errors and this story, so there’s that.

Fury enters the large meeting room, a brown manila folder gripped tightly in his hand, as he makes his way to the front of the massive table. All the available Avengers already sitting around it, wondering why they are here, and what this impromptu meeting is all about.

Steve glances around the room, seeing only Sam, Bucky and Tony present. As Nat, Wanda, Clint, and Vis are all off in random places in the world, on different missions. And Thor is off—well, off doing Thor things probably, no one really knows where he goes, somewhere far out in space no doubt. And Bruce is in his lab, tinkering away on some project Steve would never be able to understand. So that just leaves the 4 guys in the tower, attempting to enjoy their off time—well as much as they can, knowing that at any given moment they could be called into a briefing and shipped out. Much like right now, he assumes.

Fury drops the heavy folder on the table with a thud and clears his throat, drawing all the attention to him. He flips the folder open and grabs a few pieces of paper, effortlessly sliding a few small, stapled stacks across the tables smooth surface, one to each man. All of them picking the packets up and briefly skimming over the few pages of information. Forgoing a greeting, in classic Fury fashion, he just begins to explain why they are all here. Not wanting to waste anyone's time, but mainly his own. “We finally got some intel on Surkov,” he starts and Steve instantly perks up at the mentioned name.

Nikolai Surkov has been a thorn in Steve's side for months now. He’d first encountered Surkov—or rather, first learned his name—while in Russia taking out a large Hydro facility that was testing, and producing, animal warfare. Taking regular animals and changing them into bloodthirsty killing machines. Steve was disgusted, to say the least, and it had left him with a few new haunting images to fill his regular nightly nightmares.

They’d gone in full force and had successfully managed to take control of the entire location within 20 minutes. Along with also managing to keep all the animals safe, up until the specialists and scientists were sent in and took over. The animals were all successfully extracted and then brought to safer locations. Locations where the specialists could begin humanely attempting to undo the damage done to them, and look at relocating them all to more permanent, safe sanctuaries. Where all the animals could live out their days, peacefully. But even with that facility being permanently shut down, they knew it was only a matter of time before a new one popped up, and took over where this one had left off. And to make matters worse, Surkov had managed to escape undetected during the melee. Slipping away into the night right before they could capture him for questioning, as he was the one in charge of the whole facility. And they knew he’d be valuable for intel moving forward, being that he was rather high up in Hydra’s organization.

After they’d cleared out the whole facility, they’d then spent weeks searching for Nikolai, taking out a few more, smaller Hydra bases along the way. But he’d basically vanished, and had clearly gone deep underground. So deep that even Nat couldn’t track him, though she had tried, but it always ended up in the same place. Either just missing him, or having not even been close to him to begin with.

So, 7 months later, and they still haven’t been able to locate him. Not even so much as a single clue as to his current whereabouts, or even a hint as to which country he may be residing in. And to make matters worse, the Avengers aren’t the only ones looking out for him. A few international government organizations are searching as well, but there hasn’t been a single hit on him. Anywhere. He had basically dropped off the face of the earth. But now, now they might finally be getting somewhere. Or at least Steve desperately hopes that they are.

“Our sources believe he will be coming out of hiding to attend a large weapons expo in London. But he’ll most likely be going under an alias, and in a disguise of some sort. It is a private, and heavily guarded event, and attendance is by invite only,” Fury looks to Tony, “and since you are Tony Stark, you got one of the elusive invitations. But before you go getting too excited about that, Steve is your plus one.”

Tony glances at Steve, smirk plastered on his face, “how do you look in a dress, Capsicle?”

Steve scoffs and crosses his large arms over his broad chest, “you’d probably look better in the dress.”

Tony nods, “true, I probably would. I look good in everything.”

Steve shakes his head then turns to focus on Fury, having a few questions bouncing around in his head. “So we don’t know for sure if he’ll even be there?”

“We don’t.”

“Do we at least know why he is coming out of hiding now, and for an expo of all things?”

“We don’t, but we can assume it has something to do with the world's top weapons distributors and manufacturers all being in one place at the same time,” Fury shuffles some papers around on the table. “The risks of him attending this event are high, but there is too much potential money at stake for him to not attend. He will either be there to make illegal sales of his own weapons, or he will be there to illegally buy weapons. And both options aren’t particularly favourable to any of us, so we have to take him down before he accomplishes either.”

Steve nods in agreement, having a Hydra high up in possession of major modern warfare does not sound appealing at all. Especially if that higher up is Surkov. He focuses back on the packet of paper in his hands, one section standing out to him. “We will be working with SIS agents on this?”

“A SIS agent,” Fury corrects Steve.

“Wait, MI6!?” Sam interjects, as he sits up straighter, and glances around at the other guys, “I thought they were only allowed to handle matters outside of the UK?”

“That’s correct, MI5 usually handles everything within the UK, but MI6 has been hunting Surkov for months, just like us. So I’m assuming they have a bone to pick with him, as they aren’t usually too pleased with criminals outsmarting them. And I’m guessing in their eyes, what MI5 doesn’t know, won’t kill them. So they have chosen to quietly lend us one of their top agents to help facilitate things.”

“Meaning they want us to have a babysitter while we’re there,” Tony comments.

“Essentially,” Fury nods. “Their agent needs to stay out of the limelight on this though, so once Surkov is in custody they will disappear as if they were never there.” The men all nod, understanding that the agent will basically be a ghost to anyone but them. There to oversee and assist, but gone before anyone even notices they were in attendance to begin with.

“So what’s the plan then?” Bucky asks, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms.

“Tony and Steve will attend the function, same with the MI6 agent. While Sam and Bucky will be on the roof, watching the doors.”

“Okay, and when do we leave?” Steve questions. Fury closes the folder then picks it back up, “in 3 hours, so pack your suits boys, your going to London.”

Steve steps off the Quinjet, raising his hand to block the blinding sunlight as he looks around. Bucky, Sam and Tony joining him on the tarmac as their eyes also start to adjust to the bright light.

“Enjoy it while you can lads, the sun doesn’t come out too often,” a sweet accented feminine voice rings out in the air. Steve instantly goes searching for the source of the voice, feeling Bucky elbow him in the side as he makes a low whistle sound, just before Steves eyes lock onto a petite form.

The woman is standing about 20 feet away from them, in a simple grey pants suit, with a white blouse. Nothing too fancy, but it’s not the clothes Steve is looking at. She is absolutely breathtaking, and even in the misleading pant-suit Steve can tell she has curves in all the right places. And he instantly chastised himself for checking her out, they are here to do a mission, not gawk at the agent. A mission that could easily end badly, though hopefully it will end with a very connected, and very dangerous, man behind bars. So no, now is not the time to be ogling their liaison, no matter how beautiful she may be.

“That’s the MI6 agent?” Sam mumbles so only the guys will hear him.

“I call dibs,” Bucky whispers with a chuckle.

“Like hell you do, Tin-Man,” Sam scoffs. “Plus you’re far too old for her.”

“And you’re far too dumb,” Bucky retorts, childishly. Steve shoots both guys a stern warning glare, telling them to zip it and behave.

“You both don’t even stand a chance,” Tony chuckles as he shakes his head and makes his way towards the agent. Sam and Bucky hurrying to catch up to him. Steve just sighs deeply and slings his bag over his shoulder, following the guys towards where she currently stands beside an all black Mercedes GLS—But Steve only knows that because the back of the large SUV is currently facing him, and he can read the chrome decals with the model name on it.

You arrived to the airstrip 20 minutes before the Avengers were due to land. And to say you were excited to meet the legendary heroes was a bit of an understatement. You’d admired them all for years, maybe even longer, reading countless articles on them and their accomplishments. Even occasionally watching the odd news release on them, if you could find the time, that is.

When this opportunity was offered to you, you’d had to reign in your excitement level. Not wanting to look daft in front of your superiors. So you’d just given them a stiff nod, replying professionally that you’d accept, and then listened intently as they finished briefing you on the operation, before promptly exited the room once they had finished. And then the second you were out of eye shot you’d done a little happy dance, allowing your utter internal glee out for just a moment. Before you’d promptly reigned it back in and continued on with your day.

So now, 2 days later, here you are standing on the tarmac waiting for their aircraft to land. And desperately trying to calm your rising nerves and racing heart. You quickly wipe your clammy hands down the front of your pants, as you hear the first sounds of a descending aircraft. Then do a silent prayer to the heavens that you don’t make an arse of yourself in front of them.

You are a distinguished agent, one who has spent your whole life honing your skills and climbing the proverbial ladder. You are a top MI6 agent for a reason, you didn’t just fall into this position, you earned it. You can’t let 4 men—superheroes or not—get to you like this. You’ve done countless missions. Saved, rescued and killed many, many people. This should be a piece of cake for you. So then why are you still so bloody nervous?

As the ramp lowers, you shift your weight anxiously from foot to foot. But then quickly reprimand yourself, and force yourself to stand tall and steady. You watch as the four men start to walk off the aeroplane, you smile as they all start to squint or raise their hands to shield their eyes from the sun. It was a beautiful day out, the sun was out and shinning, which wasn’t a regular occurrence in this part of the world. But you weren’t complaining in the slightest.

Your eyes glance over each of them, pausing for a little longer on a certain blonde super soldier. You’d assumed he’d be rather dashing from the photos you’d seen, but you never expected him to be this insanely fit. Like drool all over yourself attractive. He was a dishy for sure. You giggle quietly to yourself then loudly say, “enjoy it while you can lads, the sun doesn’t come out too often.”

You watch as their eyes all search for you, each of them finding you rather quickly. You have to bite your lip to hide your grin when you watch Sergeant Barnes promptly elbow Captain Rogers. Then the guys all exchange a few words that you can’t make out over the general noise of the airstrip, but you can assume what they are chatting about. You.

Mr. Shark is the first one to make his way towards you, and you stand tall—as tall as you can, at least—and focus your full attention on him. But you are always aware of your surroundings, so you note that Mr. Wilson and Sergeant Barnes are only a few steps behind him, while Captain Rogers is still near the end of the ramp. And just as Mr. Stark reaches you, you stick your right hand out to him, “Mr. Stark, it’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Harper.”

He playfully grimaces, “please, call me Tony, no need for the formalities. And it’s nice to meet you also, Harper,” he says the name suspiciously as he shakes your hand, a smirk playing on his lips. “Though I am curious if that is your real name or not.”

You smirk right back, “it is today.” Which is true, that isn’t actually your name, but you have to be a ghost here. And using real names makes that rather difficult to accomplish. So as far as these lads are concerned, you are Harper.

He playfully narrows his eyes at you, “I tried to look you up, couldn’t find any mention of you anywhere though.”

“I should think not,” you wink at him then turn your focus to the other two men, sticking your right hand out once again, “Sergeant Barnes and Mr. Wilson, I presume?”

Sergeant Barnes shakes your hand first, sending you a handsome smile, “just Bucky is fine, Doll.”

Mr. Wilson scoffs loudly at Bucky’s use of the pet name, and you almost burst out laughing at that. Being utterly thankful he drew the attention to him, and away from the flush most likely now on your face. You offer your hand to Mr. Wilson, who shakes it and also corrects his name, “everyone just calls me Sam.”

“Sam it is then,” you smile and nod.

“Okay, I gotta know,” Sam starts, leaning in slightly to whisper, “how did you end up in MI6? I heard it’s extremely hard to get hired with them.” He leans back and gives you a once over, but not in a creepy way. More of an assessment. “And you can’t be much older then what? Mid twenties, max?”

“Yes,” Tony pipes in, eyeing you up as well, “I’m also curious about that.”

“Guys,” a deep voice sighs, exasperatedly, from your left, “you all know she can’t give us any information on herself.”

You glance over to see Captain Rogers now standing near you. Finding yourself instantly and utterly gobsmacked by the ridiculously tall and insanely attractive super soldier. Your mouth promptly dries and your heart starts to race. He is even more of a dish up close. You tear your eyes away from the solid tower of a man, forcing them back to the three others. Not wanting to just awkwardly ogle him any longer, for fear he may think you daft, or worse, a slapper. You internally cringe at the thought and externally nod to the men, “yes, Captain Rogers is correct. As far as you all are concerned, I’m just Harper, your hired tourist guide, and nothing more.”

They don’t look too pleased with your response, but you can’t risk your true identity getting out. The fact that they already know what you look like, and that you are MI6, is already too far out of your comfort zone. You shake off your worry and then turn to face the tower again, extending your hand for the final time today, “Captain Rogers, it’s truly an honour to meet you, sir. Welcome to London.”

And once again, you internally cringe, but this time it’s at how eager and utterly star-stuck your voice sounded just now. Barely even registering in your ears as your own voice. You want to face palm, instantly. Your eyes catch the movement as the corners of his lips twitched up just slightly, instantly confirming that he had picked up on your flustered tone as well. Though luckily for you, he doesn’t draw any attention to it, and instead just grasps your hand firmly. And the moment his large, warm hand engulfs yours, you want to melt into a puddle. You never expected to have this sort of instantaneous reaction to a man, let alone Steve Rogers AKA Captain America. However, in your defence, you never actually expected to ever meet the man, let alone shake his hand.

“Please, just Steve,” he smiles, “and it’s an honour to meet you too, Harper.”

How did he...? Right, super soldier with crazy intense hearing. You’d need to remember that for the future. You smile in return, reluctantly extracting your hand from his, then gesture towards the SUV. “Well, now that the introductions are all out of the way, shall we be off?”

They all nod and then move towards the vehicle. Tony, Sam and Bucky all bickering about seating placement as they hop into the back. And you make your way to the right side to get into the driver's seat. Rounding the back to the car you see Steve going to pull open the door and you giggle at that, “you planning to drive us?”

He turns to you, his brow furrowed in confusion, “I’m sorry?”

You smirk, leaning in to whisper, “we do things on the opposite sides here.”

He quickly turns to look in the window, most likely now seeing the steering wheel, then chuckles and rubs the back of his neck as he looks back to you, “I’m still not entirely used to that. Clearly.” He pulls open the door for you, stepping back slightly so you can get in.

“I figured,” you smile sweetly, as you climb into the car. “And thank you.” He nods and closes your door then makes his way to the left side of the car.

“He forgot you guys do things weirdly over here, didn’t he?” Tony pipes up from the back and you glance over your shoulder as you click in your seatbelt, and just as Steve opens the passenger door you speak.

“No, I believe he was just being a gentleman,” you reply nonchalantly as you look up at Steve, who gives you a thankful nod as he takes his seat.

You may not know Tony Stark well—or rather, at all currently—but you can already tell that he’d be someone to hold something, even as small as this, over Steve for days. Where as it’s common knowledge that the super soldiers are gentleman, being from the 40’s and all. You glance back at Tony, who looks ridiculous currently sandwiched between Bucky and Sam, having refused to let them sit next to each other.

“And we do things the right way over here. Hence why the driver is located on the right,” you gesture to yourself then turn to face forward. Starting up the car, and driving off the tarmac, heading off towards the hotel where you’ll all be staying for the next week.

The first 3 days flew by, spending most of that time touring the guys around London, showing them all the sights, and keeping up the rouse that they were just here on vacation, and to attend the expo as guests. You wore a full disguise and acted as their ‘hired tourist guide’, when in actuality you were all out hunting down information on Surkov. Trying to learn if he was for sure going to be in attendance at the expo.

By the 4th day of reaching out to informants and your lads in the underground, you managed to figure out that he was in fact going to be there. And that he would be going by the alias, Dmitry Kalashnik.

Then the 5th day, was spent huddled in Tony’s room studying Surkov’s photos, going over the floor plans, and finalizing everything else. Making sure you were all on the same page, and everyone knew where to be, who they were looking for, and what their assignments were.

And now being the 6th day, also known as expo day, you were currently getting ready for the show. But you hadn’t seen much of the guys all day, everyone taking the morning to themselves to prep and prepare for the mission. Just as you’d done as well.

However, it was finally time to start getting ready, and even though this was a weapons expo, the dress code was posh as shite. You’d had to purchase a formal gown for the event, but luckily because this was technically a mission, SIS had covered the cost of the dress. So all you really had to do was pick one out that you liked.

The dress you’d ended up choosing was a nude Gemeli Power creation, that was form fitting and had somewhat sturdy wrap around straps. Though you’d partially chosen this dress mainly for the fact it would be impossible to fight in, and as you weren’t supposed to even be in the UK. Let alone working a job for MI6. You figured having on a dress that restricted your abilities and that you risked ripping apart at the seams in a melee, was a smart choice. Mainly just to help keep you in line, and remind you that you couldn’t blow your ghost cover.

Though you had originally been looking at a red dress, but figured red would stand out too much. So you went with a flattering nude colour, it accented your skin tone perfectly and didn’t draw too much attention to you. You couldn’t be remembered by anyone tonight, but you still needed to look pretty enough to actually entice Surkov enough to chat you up.

You’re assignment was only to track Surkov down and distract him, while Tony slipped a sedative into his drink and Steve watched everything play out from afar, handling any interferences. Then when he started to feel the effects of the sedative, you’d be a caring stranger and help lead him outside for some fresh air, where Bucky and Sam would be waiting to collect him. And once that was all said and done, you’d slip silently away into the night.

You’d showered quickly, deciding to leave your hair down, and styling it minimally, then applied your makeup and gotten dressed. The final touch being a beautiful pearl ring, that held a teensy tiny secret, and that you never left for a mission without. And now all that was left to do was to make your way to the expo, as you’d be showing up alone. Instead of with the lads, as that would—once again—draw too much attention to you. You needed to pretend like you had no clue who they were, like you were just there on behalf of your company.

A company that was entirely made up by MI6, but that they used as a front for things exactly like this. In the eyes of the public, Ingenx Inc was a fully functional and operational legal weapons wholesaler and manufacturer. Yet in actuality, it was just an empty warehouse in the middle of nowhere, with the only staff members being the security guards that watched over the site. You’d never even been there before, yet you supposedly headed up the companies entire ‘acquisitions and procurement’ department.

As the hired car pulled up outside the venue, you quickly slipped in your ear piece, switching it on and then climbed out of the car. Adjusting your dress so it fell on your body smoothly and then made your way into the large venue.

Showing your invite to security once you approached, and giving them your Ingenx alias of Kelly Hartley. And then once they had found your name on the list, they ushered you through the doors and you entered into a grand lobby. Finding lots of poshly dressed people standing around in small groups, mingling and sipping drinks. You continued on ahead into the first of three massive ballrooms that were housing the expo tonight, with only one thought on your mind as you entered the massive room, lined with booths along all the walls and two rows down the middle. The game is afoot.

Steve wandered around in the second ballroom, keeping his eye out for Surkov as he went. But stopping every few booths when something caught his eye, to check out the weapons and ask pointless questions as to keep up the front that he was only here to scope out products for the Avengers.

Harper—as she claimed—was going by Kelly tonight and was in charge of searching ballroom one. Steve was in charge of ballroom two, and Tony had the third ballroom. Whoever located Surkov first would inform the others over the comms, and they would all convene to that ballroom and then the plan would be put into action. Steve raises a hand to pretend to scratch his ear and then inserts the comms device, turning it on once it was in place. Then he murmurs a quick, “can everyone hear me?”

“Aye aye, Captain,” comes Tony’s quick response. Followed closely by a, “you betcha, Pal,” from Buck. Then a, “loud and clear,” from Sam. But Harper is silent, so Steve speaks quietly again, “Harper, you out there?”

A moment later she finally speaks up, and Steve releases the breath he’d been holding. Worried that something might have already happened to her. “Yes, I’m here. My apologizes, I got stuck chatting up a smarmy git who refused to put a sock in it,” she huffs. And Steve has to attempt to not laugh out loud, as he isn’t currently talking to anyone, and that would only draw unwanted attention to him. “A what now?” Sam asks confused and Steve hears Bucky laughing loudly in the background. “And put a sock where, exactly?” Tony adds, through a chuckle.

A loud sigh rings out over the comms, and Steve figures that she is slowly becoming more used to the guys constantly asking what her British slang means. Her sigh is followed closely by her soft, slightly irritated, accented voice, “a smarmy git is like a,” she pauses. “I duno, like a greasy, unpleasant person, I guess? And the sock would have been for his gob.” Another pause, “you remember what a gob is, yeah?”

Tony chuckles, “that we do.” And Steve internally agrees with him, they had learned a bunch of new words over the last week, gob being just one of many.

During one of their ‘touring’ days, as she called them. Harper had been cut off by another car and had made some strange hand signal and yelled, “you tosser!” out the window at the other driver. Sam had promptly asked what a tosser was, and she’d just sighed and then explained that it meant ‘a wanker’. And even though Steve knew that the guys understood what she meant by that, Tony, being Tony, still questioned it further. Causing her to shoot him a playful glare but then explained that in some cases, much like being cut off, it meant an idiot with a total lack of regard for others.

Then, the next day she accidentally turned the wrong way down a one way street, and uttered a, “bloody hell!” when she noticed. That time, the guys didn’t need to ask what she meant by that, but yet in classic Tony form, he had said ‘language!’ and then, because she obviously didn’t know the context behind that phrase. Nor would Tony clearly ever let Steve live that down, he explained exactly where ‘language’ came from. Causing Harper to giggle uncontrollably but then, surprisingly, she hasn’t brought it up or joked about it since. Which did not go unnoticed by Steve.

“Anyone have eyes on him yet?” Steve asks over the comms. “Negative Capsicle,” Tony answers. “Nothing yet,” Harper replies, “though I have searched the entire room and he isn’t here. What would you like me to do now, Steve?”

“Stay there for now, Harper. If he isn’t here yet, the first ballroom will most likely be where he goes once he arrives. Tony, is your ballroom clear?”

“Yeah, he isn’t in this one either.”

“Alright, then let’s all convene in the first ballroom to wait it out,” Steve answers as he makes his way out of the second ballroom and heads towards the first.

“I just have to see a man about a dog, and then I’ll be there,” Tony replies, cheekily.

A snort followed by an angelic giggle plays through the comms, causing an involuntary smile to break out on Steve’s lips as he enters into the first ballroom. He was growing pretty fond of the sounds of her laughs. Or rather, just her in general. More fond than he should be after only a week around her. And with every passing day, the realization that he’ll have to leave soon sinks in more and more. Leaving him completely clueless as to what he is going to do about that. But for now he has to focus on the mission, focus on finding Surko—

His eyes instantly land on her as he enters into the first ballroom, and he is positive his jaw is actually laying on the floor now. He is speechless. Or gobsmacked, as she’d put it. He hadn’t gotten a chance to see her all day, let alone since she’s been in that dress. She’d been wearing loose fitting clothes all week, in an attempt to help mask her identity. He’ll admit, even in the ill fitting clothes she was absolutely stunning.

But like this?! This dress, the way it hugs her like a glove, and shows off just enough skin but also leaves some to the imagination. He can barely contain the urge to go to her, scoop her up and take her away from all of this. Somewhere he can keep her forever, and do everything in his power to make her happy, safe and carefree. He shakes his head, clearing the thoughts, and forces his eyes to move away from the goddess in front of him. He is supposed to be a stranger to her, and vice versa. He can’t blow her cover, nor his own. He has to get a handle on his emotions, his thoughts, and his eyes.

You’re standing in front of a booth that has a display of long range missile launchers. Listening to the vender explain all the features and you’re not going to lie, you want one. Badly. Maybe you could buy one for yourself? But would you really ever use it? Would you ever need to? Who are you kidding, of course you would, you’d honestly find any reason to use it. But what if you lose it in a melee? Best to get 3 of them, just to be safe—

Something large and royal blue catches your eye, and you glance over to see Steve, slowly making his way down the row of booths towards you. And your heart skips a beat as you take in just how utterly handsome he looks in his suit. So handsome it should probably be illegal. You’d write a letter to parliament later about that.

You glance around the room, noticing a few female eyes lingering on the ridiculously fit super soldier. But honestly, you’d have expected way more eyes to be on him. How are some women, and men, not even paying attention to their surroundings enough to notice him?! Who could not want to just stare longing at the tower of a man. He was utter perfection.

You shake your head, suppressing a laugh at your ridiculous thoughts, and then attempt to focus back on the man going over the missile launchers you so desperately wanted just 4 minutes ago. But now, now you don’t want 3 of them anymore. You just want 1 Steve. Bullocks! You sigh deeply, then thank the vender for the presentation as you step away from the booth. You need a drink now, or maybe 5.

And just as you turn, you collide with a wall of muscle, and know instantly who it is, without a shadow of a doubt. You glance up at the piercing blue eyes that you’ve grown so enchanted with over the last week. Then your eyes drop down to his lips, as the corners of them twitch slightly. Clearly he is suppressing a smirk right now. Cheeky bugger. Your eyes snap back up to his just as he starts to speak, “my apologizes, ma’am. I wasn’t paying attention to where I was going.”

You force your face to stay neutral, “that’s alright, neither was I. No harm done.”

“How’s about I buy you a drink to make up for it?”

You furrow your brows at him momentarily, you both were supposed to be steering clear of each other. You weren’t supposed to even chat him up, let alone get a drink with him. What is he doing? In your peripherals you notice people watching you both, realizing that if you decline the offer it may seem more odd then if you just accept the drink offer. Because honestly, who would turn down a drink with Steve Rogers? No one, that’s who. And if you do turn him down, people may question as to why you did. You nod, “that sounds like a splendid idea.”

He offers you his right hand, “I’m Steve Rogers.”

You shake it, “Kelly Hartley.”

“It’s truly an honour to meet you, Kelly,” he smirks at you, offering you his arm and reciting the flustered line you had originally used when you both first met. You have to bite your lip to prevent yourself from laughing at this big beautiful bugger.

“Likewise,” you say as you place your hand in the crook of his arm, then he leads you towards the bar.

Tony’s voice rings out in your ear, “Cap, did you miss the part where we weren’t supposed to interact with,” he pauses for effect then continues on to say your name slowly, drawing attention to it. “Harper.” And just like every other time he has used your name, over the last few days, he always says it slowly and with a sarcastic emphasis on it. Making you well aware that he knows it’s not your real name, and that he desperately wants to know what your actual name is. But that is one bit of information that Tony Stark will not be getting his hands on. And that thought makes you grin, knowing that you are frustrating thee Tony Stark makes you proud.

You and Steve reach the bar and you reluctantly remove your hand from his arm, turning to him as he speaks, “what would you like to drink?”

“Surprise me, I’m easy,” you smirk up at him and he chuckles softly, then turns to the waiting bartender and orders you both a drink.

Turning to face you again once he’s finished. “So, Kelly, what is it that brings you to a weapons expo?”

“Same reasons as you, I presume,” you smile, and it’s slightly cheeky, “here to check out the merchandise, and possibly leave with some. If one catches my eye, that is.”

The twinkle in his eye tells you he caught your double entendres, like always. “Have any?” he pauses, then adds, “caught your eye yet, I mean.”

You glance around the room, nonchalantly, “a few,” then you lock eyes with him again, “one in particular.” Then you see the bartender put your drinks on the counter beside you and you pick yours up, taking a deliberately slow sip. But keeping your eyes locked with his the whole time.

“Oh?” He says, intrigued, also picking up his drink, “and which one was that?”

“A rather large, rather robust,” you lick your lower lip, your eyes flicking down to his plump lips before snapping back up to his eyes. “Long range missile launcher,” you finish, watching as his cheeks flush slightly, and you almost want to pat yourself on the back. Over the last week, Steve and you have had a very interesting friendship. You both had clicked instantly and within a day, you were curious just how proper America’s golden boy really was.

So you tested the waters, starting with a few small and slightly flirty innuendos. And you were not disappointed by his responses, at all. Yes, he’d blush like a schoolgirl, but he would play into them and respond in kind. It quickly became a game to you both, seeing just how far you could take the double entendres or innuendos, before one of you caved and either laughed or forfeited.

You were pleasantly surprised by just how quick on his feet he was—and you aren’t talking about his fighting skills. The games score was basically tied up at this point, you both being pretty evenly matched in the wits department. But there was one secret part to the game, one Steve was gormless too. And that was that you were also seeing if you could make him blush. And each time you did, you’d get a sweet. Looks like you owe yourself a sweetie now.

“Is Cap blushing?” Tony’s voice cut into your mind once more, “you two are playing that game again, aren’t you?” You bite your lip, and nod, knowing wherever Tony is, he’ll see your subtle reply. Then you glance around and catch sight of him off to your left, near a booth for miniature grenades, but your eyes don’t pause on him and instead continue on around the room. “And you didn’t invite me to join?” He gasps playfully, then continues on in the worst English accent you’ve ever heard, “I am completely and utterly appalled.”

You snort and Steve subtly shakes his head, then continues on with the charade, “I don’t believe I’ve seen those yet. I’ll have to thoroughly check them out before I leave.”

“Oh yes, you simply must,” you nod.

“Guys, I got eyes on Surkov,” Sam’s voice rings in your ear now, and both Steve and yourself tense up slightly, “he is entering the building now.”

And just like that, the game is over. We’ll just call this one a drawn. You hold up your glass in front of you, “thank you for the drink, Steve. But I must be off, though I do so hope you thoroughly enjoy checking the weapons out.”

He smirks, “same to you, Kelly.” Then you move away from the bar, and the insanely fit super soldier, and start to make your way around the ballroom. Heading towards the entrance as to position yourself where you may be able to catch Surkov's eye.

And just as you reach the booth closest to the door, you see him entering the ballroom. You position yourself so that your bum and exposed back are facing towards him, and then you glance over your shoulder as if looking for someone. But then you pause your ‘search’ when your eyes lock on to his, before giving him a very obvious, and very played up, once over ending it all off with a coy smirk as your eyes meet his once again. And once that is competed you promptly turn back around, continuing to look at the wide selection of artillery attachments, before picking up an advanced clip on thermal scope. Pretending to be ridiculously interested in it and all its features.

After a moment you feel a presence right next to you, closer than proper society would allow, and you glance over to see Surkov standing there. Checking out the accessories as well. And you almost laugh at just how easy it was to catch his attention. “Can you believe just how far weapons accessories have come,” you start, stepping a little closer to him as he glances down at you. “I could probably fit that sniper rifle stand in my handbag, but I’d wager 100 pounds that she could easily support the weight of a rather large,” you eye him up and down again, licking your lower lip, “man. If need be.”

He smirks at you, giving you a full up and down as well, “easily, you say?”

“Oh yes,” you nod, “very easily. Care to wager against me?”

“No,” he shakes his head and chuckles, “I only bet on sure things. Not against them.”

“Well darn,” you sigh, playfully. “I was rather looking forward to taking your money,” you smirk up at him, “seems you are too smart for my tricks.”

“So it would seem. Care to join me for a drink..?” He trails off, prompting you for your name.

“Kelly,” you stick your right hand out to him, “Kelly Hartley.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Kelly,” he clasps your hand and brings it to his lips, kissing your knuckles. “I’m Dmitry Kalashnik.”

You deliberately think of Steve being the one kissing your hand—and maybe other places as well, you dirty birdie—the images causing an instant flush to take over your cheeks. Helping to play up your act of being interested in Surkov. “You, as well.”

He grins and then leads you both off to the bar, and once you get there he orders for you both. Not even asking what you’d like, but you already figured that’s what he’d do. He seems like the type to need constant control in every situation. So you’d play to his ego and give him exactly that.

You spend the next 20 minutes listening ‘intently’ to everything he says, answering the odd questions he asks here and there, and absentmindedly playing with the pearl ring on your finger. Spinning it round and round as a distraction.

You are still on your first drink, but he is now on his third. You’ve caught eyes with Steve a few times when he’d check in over the comms, letting him know with your eyes that you were okay. But other then that, every one stayed away and quiet, allowing you the peace to continue pretending to be focused on Surkov. You catch movement behind him, and hear Tony quietly say over the comms, “I’m ready when you are.”

Your eyes flick momentarily passed Surkov and lock with Tony’s, giving him the signal, before focusing back on the large Russian. He is yakking on about his homeland or something, you aren’t really sure anymore. You tuned out a while ago, but continued to nod every once in a while. Seemingly very interested in whatever he was saying.

And then your celly chirps from with in your small handbag, and you open the snap and go to grab your phone. But just as you reach your hand inside the clutch, it falls out of your hands and crashes to the floor. The contents scattering all over the place. “Oh bullocks,” you mumble and then quickly crouch down to collect up your scattered things.

Surkov places his drink down on the bar, then crouches down to help you pick everything up. His hands instantly finding the 3 condom packages you’d strategically placed in you handbag for this exact reason. He lifts them up between his fingers, a smirk playing on his lips and one eyebrow raised.

You instantly force yourself—though you’re not going to lie, it honestly doesn’t take much effort at all—to think of a certain blonde tower, possibly using those rubber johnny’s with you. And once again you flush, instantly.

Making you realize right away that using images of Steve to help you fake being flustered works surprisingly well, and you plan to exploit that new little trick further in the future. It could definitely come in handle in situations just like this. As long as the images themselves don’t kill you on there own—that being a very real possibility for sure. But is exploiting your attraction to Steve like this, creepy? Probably. Are you going to let that stop you from fantasizing about the man in the buff? Not bloody likely.

You internally shake yourself, forcing yourself to focus, and decide to play it up by coyly bowing your head, pretending to be embarrassed. You gather up the last of your things, placing them back in your handbag and then take the condoms from Surkov, making sure to graze your fingers along his as you do. “Better to be safe, I always say,” you place them in your bag as well, then stand back up. Instantly noticing that Tony is now gone.

“All clear,” Tony’s voice comes over the comms again, and then he chuckles out a, “and the condoms were a fantastic touch, by the way.”

You bite your lip to suppress the smirk that wants to form, as your eyes flick instantly over to Steve’s, seeing him raise a brow at you. The expression almost causing you to blush even more. You glance back to Surkov, who has a smug smirk on his lips as he replies. “that it is.” He picks his drink back up and takes a generous gulp. Just like you hoped he would.

You both continue to chat, Surkov finishing off his drink and ordering another. And then after 10 minutes he starts to sway slightly on his feet, slurring his words and looking a little flushed.

“Are you alright?” You inquire, feigning concern. He just nods erratically in response, but doesn’t offer any verbal reply. “Do you need to go take some air?” You ask, as you tentatively take a step towards him. “You’re looking a little off colour.” He just silently nods again and you offer him your arm, giving him what little balance support you can, and then lead him towards the back exit. Which leads to a set of stairs and then some hallways and finally into a large courtyard, where Bucky and Sam will be waiting for you.

You throw Steve a look with a slight nod as you pass him, telling him to inform the guys that you’re on the way outside. And he nods back once, in confirmation.

You exit the ballroom into a long corridor, hearing Steve’s voice in your ear, “Buck, Sam, Harper is making her way to you both.” You smile to yourself at the sound of his deep voice, hearing Buck and Sam’s acknowledgement of his words shortly after. You go down the hall a bit then through a door that leads to a set of stairs. You caustiously and carefully help Surkov down them and then through another door, making a left once through. And then heading down another long hallway, towards the final doors that will lead you both outside.

But as you are slowly making your way, finding it rather hard to maneuver the giant half asleep man, you feel his hand shift on your arm. And then all of a sudden your back is slammed into the wall, his large right hand on your throat, firmly pining you in place. You were caught completely off guard, which isn’t like you, at all. You are usually always alert, always vigilant. And you normally never underestimate your opponents. But, unfortunately, this time you had. “Who do you work for?” He growls directly in your face.

You put both hands up in front of you, trying to show you aren’t a threat. “I-Ingenx I-Inc,” you stutter out, playing up Kelly’s fear. While Y/N devises a plan.

“Bullshit!” He yells, yanking you forward then promptly slamming you back into the wall. You quickly clasp your hands together, covertly removing the ring off your finger. “I’ll only ask one more time, who do you work for?”

And just as he finishes the words, you secretly slip your ring into my suit jacket pocket, and then turn your body quickly to the left, as your right hand comes up and your palm slams into his wrist. Knocking his hand off your throat and then you promptly elbow him in the neck, with your already lifted and primed right arm. And before he can even comprehend what is going on, you bend down, yanking up the bottom of your dress, and remove the small handgun you have strapped to your right ankle. Then aim it directly at his head. “I work for a very interested party, who wants nothing more then to see a disgusting prick like you behind bars,” you click off the safety, “now get on your knees and put your hands on your head. Nice and slow, Surkov.”

He glares at you and is just about to lower himself down, when a door near the end of the hall opens and a few rather large and unfriendly looking chaps emerge. Guns drawn and raised in their hands. And then they all take aim at you and begin to fire, you spin and quickly throw yourself into a small door alcove. Gun clasped tightly in both hands in front of your face, posed and ready to fire should any of them come for you.

You take a moment to try to steady your breathing, while bullets loudly embed into the walls surrounding you. Then with a deep breath in, you drop down to a crouch and lean out from your hiding place to return fire, managing to take out two of Surkov’s henchmen and then tuck back into the alcove to stand. Knowing that trick would only work once, you try to come up with any sort of plan to escape. You only have so many bullets on you, and at this rate you are going to use them all in no time flat.

You startle when you hear Bucky’s voice over the comms, having almost completely forgotten about your ear piece, “Harper, are you okay?”

“Is she not there yet?” Steve asks, concern laced in his voice.

You release one hand on the gun and raise it to your ear piece, “I’m okay, but I seem to have gotten myself into a bit of a jam.”

“Where are you? What happened?” Steve quickly asks, already sounding like he is in motion.

“In the lower hallway to the courtyard, the sedatives didn’t work, and he brought back up,” you rattle off then pause, leaning out again to return fire momentarily, so you can count the henchmen. And thanks to your stellar marksmanship skills, you manage to take a third henchman out while at it.

“How many?” Tony asks hastily, while you are in the midst of figuring that out.

Once tucked back into the alcove you continue, “there are only 7 of the buggers left, and all with truly appalling aim,” you scoff. “Though best be careful when you enter the hall, they do have full control of it at the moment.”

“Where are you, exactly?” Steve questions.

“Tucked into an alcove about half way down.”

“Good, stay there, we’re coming for you.”

You barely even have time to release a relieved sigh when a door, down near where you had originally entered the hall, bursts open, followed by the sound of another door bursting open at the other end. Then as if seeing land for the first time after weeks at sea, you catch sight of the iconic shield coming down the hall towards you. Watching as bullets ping and ricochet off it as if they were mere balls of paper.

And in no time at all, Steve is sliding into the already cramped alcove with you. “I heard someone needed some assistance,” he says playfully through a grin, though you can see the worry deeply etched into his face and eyes. He raises his shield to block you both from the hall, in case a bullet ricochets off a nearby wall.

The shield basically makes a small enclosed space for you both, causing you to become acutely aware of just how close you are to each other. Steve is almost the same width as the alcove and damn near just as tall, so there isn’t much room to work with currently. But you aren’t about to complain about having the handsome super soldier pressed up against you. Though you will complain that you wish it was due to more personal reasons, preferably ones that involve less clothes, and less of a potential for death.

“Splendid timing,” you smile up at him. Just then all the gun firing and commotion stops, and you hear Tony call from down the hall, “all clear you two.” Steve lowers the shield and you both step out of your hiding place and into the open hallway, the henchmen’s bodies all lying in various places along the hall.

“Is Surkov one of these?” Steve asks as you both make your way towards Tony, stepping over the bodies and checking for your guy as you do.

“No, he wasn’t in the hall when we arrived,” Tony responds and you glance up to notice him in his full Iron Man get up, minus the face piece.

Steve quickly lifts his hand to his comms, “Sam, Buck, please tell me you guys have Surkov?”

The comms channel opens up, and gunshots can be heard in the background along with Sam’s breathy voice, “we almost had him Cap, but the asshole brought heavy back up. If you guys don’t have anything better to do in there, we could really use a hand out here.”

Upon hearing the gun fire, you sigh deeply, knowing the smart thing to do right now would be to leave this to the Avengers. You really should head back to the expo and leave out the front. You aren’t even supposed to be here, and getting into a melee outside and in public isn’t a smart move. At all. But one glance up at Steve, and you know you can’t just walk away now. You owe it to them to help, and you also owe it to yourself to put Surkov behind bars. He has seen your face, if he gets away now you will have to forever be looking over your shoulder. And that’s not something you’re even remotely interested in.

So it’s settled then, you will see this through till the end. You bend down and quickly removed your heels, knowing they will only hinder you. Then you shed an internal tear for what you are about to do. “Bugger, I was really looking forward to wearing this again,” you mumble as you remove the hidden knife that’s attached to your left ankle, and then cut a vertical slit into the bottom of your beautiful, and expensive gown, then with both hands you pull apart. Tearing it to midway up your left thigh, instantly allowing you a way better range of motion.

You tuck the knife back away, grab your clutch off the floor then stand back up. Quickly retrieving your phone, then discarding the handbag, full of fake personal items, back on the ground. It was just a prop to distract Surkov, nothing in the handbag is of any value, or can help anyone locate you. Once that is done you glance up at Steve, who is just watching you, brows furrowed in confusion. “Like I’m going to let you chaps have all the fun,” you sass with a grin, tucking your phone into Steves pants pocket. “Hold on to that for me, would ya? It may come in handy later.”

Steve chuckles, “will do,” then he raises his hand once again and says, “on our way, guys,” as he starts to run towards the exit doors. Tony right in front of him and you hot on his heels.

Tony’s face piece forms back in place as the three of you burst out the doors, Steve's shield blocking you both as Tony thrusts up into the air. You glance up momentarily to watch him, and notice Sam up there as well. The guys clearly came fully prepared.

You focus back on the mission at hand, and start shooting any henchmen foolish enough to get in front of you. And as you are taking out a rather stupid henchman, you see Surkov hopping into a car. You reach up to click the comms button, “he’s getting away.”

“We got him,” Tony replies as he takes off at full speed to chase the car, Sam hot on his trail.

You, Steve and Bucky make quick work of the remaining henchmen and then are left in complete silence, no sight of Tony or Sam anywhere.

“What do we do now, Cap?” Bucky asks as he approaches you both, a massive assault rifle in his flesh hand. Steve is just about to click his comms device, most likely to ask where the two others are. But you halt him, then without breaking eye contact with him, you reach into his pocket and pull out your phone.

Receiving a curious look from Steve and then you glance at Bucky and see him shake his head, a smirk on his lips. “I believe now is the time that this,” you wiggle the phone, “will come in handy.” You quickly unlock it and then open the tracking app, bring up a map with a little red blinking light on a location a few blocks away. “I might have slipped my tracking device into his pocket,” you smile smugly at the lads, as you show them your phone screen.

“Can we keep her?” Bucky whispers through a laugh. And Steve only chuckles at his friends question, but doesn’t answer as he takes your phone to look more closely at it.

“They are 2 blocks over,” Steve comments as he hands it back to you, a smirk on his lips, “looks like we’ll have to leg it.” You giggle at his British term and then you all ‘leg it’ to the location where Surkov is.

And just as you reach the spot, you find his car crashed and on it’s roof, while Tony and Sam have him out of it and laying face down and cuffed on the ground—Which is a little anticlimactic and a bit of a piss off, if you’re being honest. You were really looking forward to catching the prick yourself, but he is apprehended nonetheless. So all and all, you are pleased. Sort of.

But now that they have him, your mission here is done. You slowly move away from the commotion and see a taxi nearing you. You lift a hand to flag it down, and just as you open the door you turn and lock eyes with Steve. Giving him a smirk and a small nod as you get into the taxi to leave.

This wasn’t exactly how you envisioned this night playing out, but you were happy it was all over with. And now you can go back to the hotel, pack up your things and then go home for a while. Or at least until you are debriefed and shipped off to the next mission location. But just as the taxi is pulling away you hear Tony’s voice ring in your ear, one last time, “hey kid, if you ever find yourself in New York, look us up.”

“That will probably be sooner, rather than later,” you giggle, then continue, “as I’ll need to trade this posh little comms device for my pearl ring. Keep it safe for me, will ya?”

“Pearl ring?” Tony asks, confused.

“Which pocket is it in?” Steve questions. And you reply, “his left jacket pocket. I’d be rather unhappy to lose it, it’s quite important to me.”

“Got it,” Steve replied after a moment, “and don’t worry, I’ll keep it safe for ya.”

“Thank you, Steve. Stay safe lads.” “You too,” Steve replies.

Tony, Bucky and Sam all say their goodbyes, and then with that you turn the comms device off and pull it out of your ear. And just as the taxi slips away into the night, one thought floats through your mind. You’re really going to miss those lads. But especially Steve.

3 MONTHS LATER - IN AN UNDISCLOSED LOCATION.

You are running down a corridor, gun in hand, and chest heaving from the exertion. You are currently hot on the heels of yet another smarmy prick. One who thought it would be fun to attempt to plot world domination. These utter pillocks will just never learn.

You come to a corner, and halt, knowing to check before you go any further. You aren’t interested in gaining any new ventilation holes today. You raise your gun and peek around the corner, seeing the bloody idiot still running down the hall. You take a second to calm yourself then aim and shoot, hitting him in the upper leg, and knocking him down to the ground in a mess of limbs and curse words. You step out from behind the corner, and hastily make your way towards him, kicking the gun away from his reach once you get there.

“Good try, chap,” you say as you pat his shoulder, pressing your right knee down onto the middle of his upper back, “but you were a tad bit slow on the exit.”

He says some rather unpleasant things back to that, but you just ignore him and quickly cuff his hands behind his back, just as another person rounds the corner. You glance over your shoulder and see Tony, in his full Iron Man get up, and smile smugly at him. “Got him.”

“I can see that,” he replies through a laugh. “Well done, Harper,” he says the name sarcastically, just like before, which causes you to giggle.

You stand up, and pull the prick up with you as you do, then start to make your way back to the exit. “Ya know,” you drawl, as you hand the prick off to Tony, “you don’t actually have to call me that anymore.”

He smirks, “it’s sort of grown on me now.”

“Of course it has,” you shake your head. “So, how did I do?”

“Consider yourself hired,” he smiles and starts to pull the imbecile down the hall towards the exit, yelling over his shoulder as he goes, “that is, if you’re still interested.”

You grin widely, and once Tony is out of eye shot you do a little happy dance in the middle of the empty hallway. Then reign in your excitement level and make your way to the exit as well. Now you have to go home and pack!

1 WEEK LATER.

You walk into the posh lobby of the Avengers Tower, still not even able to comprehend that you now work here. You are now an Avenger, and you haven’t been able to wipe the grin off your face all week. You shake your head in disbelief as you make your way towards the front desk, Tony had informed you just to give them your name and they’ll set you up with a clearance pass.

You reach the desk and give the gorgeous woman your name, she quickly looks it up and then smiles up at you as she hands you your pass, pointing to the lifts off to the side and telling you the floor number. You thank her and then head for them.

The lift doors open up on the correct floor and you are just about to step off, when a body pushes you back in and enters the lift with you. And you are just about to show this prick why it isn’t smart to sneak up on an ex MI6 agent/current Avenger, when you realize it’s Tony. And he has a massive smirk on his lips, as if he knew you were just about to kick his ass into next week.

“You wanted your eye to match your suit colours, didn’t you?” You grin at him.

“I do always like to colour coordinate,” he chuckles and clicks a new floor button. “Welcome to New York, kid. How was the trip over the pond?”

“Long and uneventful,” you nod once.

“Everyone is gathered in the living space, he still has no clue that you are even here. Let alone that you now work with us,” Tony smirks wickedly at you.

About 2 months after the weapons expo in London, you’d gone to New York for a mission and had stopped off to exchange the comms device for your ring. Tony had secretly approached you and offered you a job with them, and you’d agreed to interview for it. Except, when it came to becoming a superhero, a regular, stuffy boardroom interview just wouldn’t cut it. So you’d finally had to cave and tell Tony your real name, plus give him all your actual contact information, and then he said he’d be in touch doon. So then 3 weeks later, he called you up about a small, simple mission that he would be doing alone. Hunting down a prick who was attempting world domination—Yeah, that guy you shot in the leg.

You had agreed almost immediately to do the mission with Tony as your interview. And holy shite! You might be an Avenger soon! But more importantly, you had managed to not squeal like an idiot at the offer! Though you’d only managed to hold it in until you hung up the phone. But that’s neither here, nor there.

The other Avengers all knew a new agent named Y/N was being interviewed, but not where the agent had come from. But it’s not like most of them would even know who you were, if they did know. However, Sam and Bucky both knew who you were, and were sworn to secrecy weeks ago by Tony, as he wanted to surprise Steve. That or they all just wanted to mess with him some more. With these lads it could be either or, really.

So he had no clue you’d even been offered a job, let alone taken it, passed with flying colours and had been hired on the spot. Nor was he currently aware you were even here. In the United States. In New York. In the tower. In the bloody lift, for crying out loud!

And now here you are, riding up with thee Tony Stark, AKA Iron Man, AKA your new boss. On your way to surprise Steve. And bloody hell! Can this lift not go any faster! You just want to get there already. “I can’t wait to see his face,” you smirk back just as the doors open up into a large, posh living area. Seeing all the Avengers lounging around, chatting and relaxing.

You smile as you see Bucky and Sam, both with knowing grins on their faces. You nod to them and then your excited eyes meet Steves curious blue ones, and you almost want to burst out laughing or bounce in place, because you are THAT excited to see him. You and Steve had kept in touch over the last 3 months, talking damn near daily either via text or over voice calls, when you both had the time for them that is. So you’d grow very close with the handsome super soldier, you’d even go as far as to say you were good friends now. Maybe even more.

He is just about to stand up when Tony loudly clears his throat next to you, “alright, as all of you know,” he glances at Steve, “well everyone, except Capsicle. This is our newest member,” he turns to you, “I’ll let her introduce herself, as her accent is much cooler than mine.” He smiles and gestures for you to go.

“Hello everyone, my name is Y/N Y/L/N,” you wave, “and I’m so utterly thrilled to be here.” Everyone comes over and introduces themselves, chatting you up a bit before they leave the room, heading off to go do whatever it is they do in their spare time. The last few to greet you are Sam and Bucky, both hugging you tightly and giving you a warm welcome then leaving as well. So now the only two left in the room are Steve and you. He comes over to you and you grin widely up at him, “hiya Steve.”

He chuckles, “hey Y/N.“ And the sound of your actual name falling from his lips, for the first time in person, makes butterflies instantly erupt in your tummy. “So, I was the only one who didn’t know, huh? And more importantly, when did this all come together?” He asks as he gestures around the room.

“Are you asking when this room was built?” You glance around, then continue to reply cheekily, “now that I’m not too sure about, you’d have to ask Tony.”

He shakes his head, but smiles at your horrible joke nonetheless, “I mean, when did Tony approach you about joining the team? And why didn’t you tell me?”

“Don’t look at me, it was Tony’s idea to keep it a secret from you, and we all know what Tony wants, he gets,” you giggle. “But you remember when I visited last month, yeah?” You ask and he nods, so you continue on, “well during my visit Tony offered me a job. Then a week ago I did my interview and now here we are.”

“So you did well on the interview, I take it?” He smirks.

You scoff playfully, “of course I did. Have we not met?” You laugh and stick your right hand out, “Hello, I’m Y/N,” you jokingly introduce yourself.

He chuckles and shakes your hand—and of course you have the same reaction as the first time he did. The instant need to melt into a puddle. “Steve. And it’s truly an honour to meet you, Y/N.”

You giggle at the use of that darn line again, but before you can say a word back, Steve speaks up again. “If you don’t have any other plans, would you like to go grab a coffee with me?” He rubs the back of his neck, sheepishly then adds, “ya know, like a date.”

“‘Like’ a date?” You repeat, raising a questioning brow at him.

“Is a date,” he clarifies.

You smile up at this big beautiful tower of a man, and nod, “then that sounds like a splendid idea, Steve.”

He smiles widely and offers you his arm, which you instantly accept and then you both head for the lift. Off to enjoy your first date with Steve—a date for which you hope there are many, many more to follow. But as long as you have any say in the matter, there will be. Because you’d have to be off your damn trolley if you ever let this wonderful man get away now.

And If London Should Ring, looking for you to return, you’ll just tell them that you’re busy, from now until forever.

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

@hopefulmoonobject @caps-lockdown @itsstillnotwhatyouthink @tessvillegas @boxofteenageideas @wangdeasang @giggleberts @casuallydarktiger @theonelittleone @agentbadbitch @ratwrites @starrystellars @bandsandanimefreak @rockyroadthepastryarchy @lovvliies @cuffski @icesoccerer @alwaysright4 @lilsthethrills @imdiegohargreeves @zombiepotterfour @mu-mu-rs @ledandan1244 @straightforwardly @badassbeckettswan @denzmallows @xremember-me-notx @gwynethjodie @lollipopdomination @capstopavenger @jemimah-b99 @rcvenqers @justkending @marvel13princess @alagalaska @silent-loucidity @sabertooth-potato @pies-wands-and-more @interstellarmess @gabriella69816 @phantom-soilder @wordlesscaptain @captain-hammer-of-asgard @starstucknature

#au fanfiction #fanfiction #long post #long read #marvel au #marvel fanfiction #steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x british!reader #british!reader #if london should call #one shot request #everyone lives happily in the tower #everyone is alive

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stahlop · 5 years ago

Text

I Get Knocked Down (but I get up again) (1/1)

I've rated this M for some overall dark themes. There is no smut whatsoever.

This was inspired by an interview I heard Sophia Bush do about how her parents met.

Thanks to the @cspupstravaganza event! I had a lot of fun working on this.

And thanks to @profdanglaisstuff for being my beta and to @thisonesatellite for being my cheerleader behind the scenes.

Rated: M (for mature themes, no smut)

Or read on Ao3.

Summary: Emma thinks her new neighbor is hot. Like really hot. Now if she could just get her Great Dane to stop knocking him down every time she sees him.

It started with a dog.

A dog that didn’t start out as her dog. Emma Swan is much more a cat person. But when her friend Lily needs a dog sitter for her Great Dane, Maleficent, while she goes to a meeting with an agent in LA, Emma can’t refuse. LA is only an hour away from their little seaside town of Storybrooke. It won’t be a big deal.

Until Lily doesn’t come home. The agent wants her now. She’s going to get her big break. She’s going to have to live in an apartment the agency puts her up in, and there are absolutely no dogs allowed. Especially Great Danes.

So now she is stuck with Maleficent (Mal for short), who, despite being named for a Disney villain, is the sweetest dog ever. Emma considers giving her to a shelter for about one second, but Mal’s sweet doggy face just doesn’t let her. The fact that she is the size of a pony is the issue, considering Emma lives in a small bungalow with an equally small backyard. Luckily she owns it and doesn’t have to worry about pet restrictions. And after doing some research, Emma discovers that Great Danes actually do quite well in small houses and don’t need much exercise. Which is good since Emma prefers the gym to running.

Emma’s had Mal for a month when he moves in behind her. Now, the bungalow does have a fence, but considering Mal’s size, she easily looks over it when on her hind legs. Which could be quite scary for people walking in the alley. Or for people living behind her. The second he moves in Mal becomes moody. Every time he’s in his yard she starts barking and whining non-stop. Not to mention the absolutely girly shriek he gives the first time he sees Mal’s head peek over the fence.

“Bloody hell!” he yells after the shriek subsides. Emma, giggles at the sound he makes, and rushes over to the fence. It is short enough that it comes up to her shoulders so she can see her new backyard neighbor across the alleyway. “What the hell is that?”

“Sorry!” Emma says as she sees her new neighbor flat on his back in his yard (he has a much lower fence so she can see into his yard perfectly). It’s as if Mal’s barks had enough force to knock him down. And then her jaw drops.

Emma isn’t sure what she expected from her new neighbor, but it wasn’t this gorgeous guy, picking himself up off the ground, before her. His black jeans hugging his ass and his gray Henley hugging his muscular arms just right. Emma notices that he wears several rings on his right hand and a chain with several charms around his neck. But his face. Oh god! That face. Emma is in no way, shape, or form a poet, but she’s pretty sure inspiration would come from the beauty that is his face, and the wonderfully disheveled hair and scruff all around his chin and upper lip. Emma starts to feel tingly in her lower extremities. She hasn’t felt this turned on since...well it’s been awhile.

The new neighbor sees her peeking over the fence and makes his way over. He smiles the moment he sees Emma’s head over the fence instead of Mal’s.

“Sorry about that,” Emma says as he makes his way across the alley and toward her fence. She notices the heavy eyebrows and the guyliner as he crosses over. God he is hot! “Mal likes to freak out the neighbors,” she says giving a shy smile.

Hot neighbor raises an eyebrow making the tingly sensation even worse. Get a grip, Emma! she thinks to herself. Just because he makes her all hot and bothered doesn’t mean he is interested in her.

“Mal?” he asks hesitantly. Emma thinks she detects a British accent.

“My dog, that scared you,” Emma says, biting her lip to suppress another giggle about to emerge when she thinks about his reaction to her dog.

“That was a dog?” he asks incredulously. Yep, definitely British. “Oh, thank god! I thought it was some kind of demon come to take me to hell.” Emma almost bursts out laughing.

“Nope,” Emma shakes her head, her blonde ponytail swishing behind her, “just a very large Great Dane.” He reaches the fence and slowly peers over it to see Mal, now sunbathing in the backyard. “Sorry for such a scary introduction to the neighborhood. Mal’s still getting used to it here. I’ve just recently acquired her. My name’s Emma, by the way. Emma Swan.” She lifts her right hand over the fence to shake his and hopefully also get an introduction.

“Mal?” he asks instead of giving his name or shaking her hand.

“Short for Maleficent. I think it was the ears that earned her the name from her former owner. She kind of looks like she has horns.” Emma explains, remembering how bad she felt for the dog when Lily saddled her with the name. Especially since she is not evil in the least.

“Ah, I see,” hot neighbor responds. He studies Mal for a few moments before finally continuing with, “Killian Jones.” He lifts his right hand to shake for his introduction, which is a little awkward since it is the same hand Emma held out. The sleeve of his shirt lifts up and she can just make out a large heart tattoo with a woman’s name in it. Emma drops his hand awkwardly. Of course hot neigh -- Killian -- has a girlfriend. Why wouldn’t he have a girlfriend?

“Well, Swan, I must be getting back. Lots to unpack. I’ll see you around,” he says with a grin.

“Of course,” Emma says, a little flustered. She really likes the way he’s calling her Swan. “Um, if you’re interested in a beer sometime, let me know. I can show you some great bars around here.” She grins, and then hoping she isn’t sending the wrong message, “ You being new and all.”

He looks up, surprised, but then his face breaks into a gorgeous smile.

“I’d like that, love. I’ll let you know when I have a free moment.” And with that he crosses the alley back into his own yard.

________________________________________________________________

It’s a few days before Emma sees Killian Jones again. She knows when he is out in his yard because of Mal’s incessant barking. Her bark sounds different whenever it’s Killian. More high pitched and whiney. Not the deep bark she associates with Mal when she barks at the mailman or the garbage collectors. She says hi over the fence and he says hi back, but otherwise, they haven’t had much interaction. And it isn’t like Emma is waiting around for Killian to get back to her about getting a beer. She’s been staking out some high end hotels and restaurants for a glimpse of her client’s wife getting it on with someone other than her client, without getting kicked out of said establishments for hiding out and taking pictures. One of the dilemmas of being a private investigator.

Emma hasn’t taken Mal out for a proper walk in weeks because of this job, so she feels it is about time. She puts on some workout gear, pulls her hair back into a messy ponytail, grabs Mal’s leash and sets out for a walk.

It is glorious to be outside in the cool California afternoon. Emma takes in deep breaths of the salty, ocean air (she only lives a few blocks away from the shore). She misses just being able to walk around and take in the gorgeous scenery of the town she lives in.

She sets a relaxing pace with Mal. Emma is thankful that Mal is not the type of dog to be curious and run after every little thing that catches her attention. Emma would probably end up with a dislocated shoulder otherwise. And, because of Mal’s size, Emma is usually free of men who try to hit on women with dogs. That is, except for Walsh.

Walsh used to be the owner of a posh furniture shop in LA proper, but decided to open up a beach shop on the boardwalk for ‘kitschy beach chairs’. LA is apparently too modern to buy antique furniture. No matter what time of day it is, he always seems to be at the shop, and he always tries to talk to her and ask her out, despite her repeatedly turning him down, and that Mal starts growling whenever they get anywhere near the vicinity of his shop. He gives her the creeps.

Emma attempts to come up with an excuse for Walsh about why she can’t talk to him today when she feels a sharp tug on Mal’s leash. It’s pretty much all the warning she gets when Mal starts running full speed and barking at some intended target.

“Mal! Stop!” Emma screams at the 100 pound dog. Luckily, previous years working in the bail bonds business helps her keep her balance while running and not dragged down the boardwalk by Mal. She tries to pull on the leash, but Mal’s will is much stronger. Emma has no idea where Mal is heading but she has to drop the leash or risk injury to herself.

But before she can let go, Mal finds her target, rears back on her hind legs, and pins it to the ground.

Pins him to the ground.

Oh dear lord.

“Oh my god! Mal get off! Killian! Are you okay?”

Killian is sprawled out on the boardwalk with Mal’s front paws on his chest. Mal is alternatively giving off her higher pitched whine-bark and licking Killian’s face. He looks like he’s had the wind knocked out of him, and Emma is sure Mal’s body weight isn’t helping matters in the breathing department.

She pulls with all her might and finally manages to get her large dog off of Killian. Emma ties Mal to a nearby bike rack that is built into the ground. Mal seems happy with the outcome. She barks a few more times at Killian before flopping unceremoniously onto the wooden walkway.

“Shit! Are you okay? Do you need a hand getting up?” Emma asks holding out both her hands. By this point, Killian’s managed to start breathing normally again although he still seems a bit dazed. “Here, let me just…” She reaches down to grab his hands, but realizes that his left arm does not, in fact, have a hand at the end of it.

“Always need a hand, love,” Killian jokes. He tries to laugh about it, but ends up wheezing, his lungs still not getting all the required oxygen. Emma walks him over to a nearby bench.

“I am so sorry,” Emma says sitting him down and dusting him off. “She’s never gone after anyone like that before, at least, not since I’ve had her. Lily always said she was always real well behaved.” Killian quirks an eyebrow at that. God, he has such beautiful blue eyes. She just wants to drown in them.

“I think my life just passed before my eyes, Swan,” Killian says, but she can tell he says it in jest.

“Again, I am so sorry.” Emma says. She briefly looks past Killian to check on Mal, who is still lying contently on the boardwalk.

“It’s alright, Swan,” Killian says looking at her earnestly. “I’ve been meaning to ask how you came to own such a creature. From what I’ve glimpsed, you seem more like someone who would own a feline, maybe a small dog, definitely not that monstrosity.” He grins at that so she knows he isn’t insulting Mal or herself.

“Oh.” She smiles. “Well, I kind of, inherited her? I was pet sitting her for my former best friend, Lily, who I mentioned earlier, when she skipped town and left everything behind, including her dog. And, well, I kind of know what it’s like to be left behind. So now she’s mine!” Emma says in mock enthusiasm and she realizes how much of herself she has revealed in that statement.

“Yeah,” He is staring straight into her eyes now, practically into her soul. “I get that, the left behind part.” He reaches for a piece of hair that has fallen out of her ponytail and pushes it back behind her ear. Despite the nice weather, Emma shivers. The tingle in her nether regions is also definitely back.

He has a girlfriend! He has a girlfriend! Her mind keeps yelling at her. Emma suddenly feels very naked in her fitted yoga pants and tank top.

“Um,” Emma stands up suddenly. “I should probably take Mal home before she decides to attack anymore unsuspecting boardwalk patrons.” She gets up quickly and is about to head toward Mal when Killian gently grabs her wrist.

“Would you like to grab that beer tonight?” He flashes a smile that she is pretty sure would make her melt right on the spot despite the cool temperature.

“I…” HE HAS A GIRLFRIEND!!! She gives her best smile, preparing to let him down easy, but instead what comes out of her mouth is, “Sure, I’d love to.”

________________________________________________________________

Skinny jeans, white sweater, brown knee-high boots.

Emma checks her image in the mirror. She curled her hair just a touch, and put on just a little bit of makeup. Just what she wears on a normal basis. She is not dressing for Killian, nope, not at all.

Killian is coming over to pick her up and they are going to walk over to a local bar that Emma frequents. Just two neighbors getting to know each other. Yep, that is all it --

Emma’s thoughts are interrupted by Mal’s barking. The bark she now recognizes as the one she uses for Killian. And then she hears Mal running and then a whump. And then-

“Bloody hell!”

Shit!

She told Killian the door would be open and to just come in.

Emma rushes out of her bedroom to see Killian pinned against the door by Mal. Her tail is wagging and she is licking the crap out of Killian’s face.

“Mal!” Emma shouts. Mal looks over at her, gives a huff of annoyance before licking Killian one last time, and heads off to another part of the bungalow.

“I am so sorry. I have no idea why she keeps attacking you,” Emma says. She leads him over to the couch. “Are you hurt? Did she hurt you? Let me get you a washcloth to get all that slobber off your face.” She hurries into the kitchen and comes back with a warm, damp kitchen towel.

“No worries, Swan. I actually think she rather fancies me,” he says, a warm smile coming over his face as he rubs the towel over it. “But she may have knocked some of the handsome out of me,” he cheekily says.

“I don’t think even she’s that powerful.” Emma jokes grabbing the towel and laying it on the kitchen counter to put in the laundry basket later.

“Ah, so you think I’m handsome.” Killian smirks at her when she walks back over to the couch. Emma immediately starts to blush. Her cheeks feel like they are on fire.

“Well, I can see why Mal fancies you. She probably confused your scruff as dog fur or something.” That is so lame. Really Emma? He laughs at her joke anyway, staring into her green eyes. Suddenly, there’s an awkwardness permeating the air. Killian’s hand goes to scratch a spot behind his ear, a nervous tick if Emma’s ever seen one. Emma’s about to just haul off and kiss him when she notices the tattoo peeking out from his sleeve. That stops her cold in her tracks.

“Um, maybe we should just forget going out tonight, and you should just go back home,” she says regretfully. Killian looks bewildered at the break in the tension. He shakes his head as if seeing Emma for the first time and his eyes question hers.

“Did I do…” Killian’s expression is one of confusion, but his features are schooled very quickly. Emma isn’t even sure if she actually saw the confused look or if she’s just imagining it. She doesn’t know him well enough to know his expressions yet. But she’s almost positive that he does not want to leave.

Killian gets up slowly. He takes his time, smoothing out non-existent wrinkles in his pants and pulling his sleeve down. He doesn’t even glance at the tattoo when he shakes his arm to get the right sleeve down, but he does look defeated when pulling the sleeve over his wrist where his arm ends. He looks resigned as he heads toward the door.

The second Killian’s hand clicks the door handle, Mal comes running out, ready to attack Killian again. He anticipates it this time though, and moves quickly to the side so that Mal smacks herself right into the door with a loud thud and ends up sprawled out over the floor.

“Mal!” Emma groans. She swears she’s said Mal’s name more in the past few days since Killian moved in than she has the entire time she’s had her. Mal looks confused when she picks herself up and Emma can’t help but laugh at the ridiculousness of it all. She whines as she walks over to Emma and puts her head in her lap.

“Aww, did someone hurt herself?” Emma says in a baby voice while petting Mal’s head. Mal just looks at her and huffs.

Killian looks at the insane situation that has just occurred in front of him and realizes something. “Swan, I don’t think Mal wants me to leave,” he says, slowly walking over to Mal and petting her backside. Mal’s tail starts going full force.

Emma stares at Mal with a questioning expression. Mal stares back at Emma with her patented ‘it wasn’t me’ look before she lets out a whine, licks Killian’s hand one more time, and then runs off toward the back of the house. What the hell?

“Do you still want me to go?” Killian asks, a hint of longing shining in his eyes. Emma shakes her head. He turns to Emma to ask another question but she cuts him off before he can even get a word out.

“Tell me about your tattoo,” she says states plainly. Killian sinks into the couch, his face going pale.

“That’s not usually something I talk about without a few drinks in me, love.”

Emma holds up her hand to keep him from continuing. She gets up and walks over to the fridge and comes back with some local IPA that she bought from some Artisanal Beer festival she had gone to recently. She pops the tops and hands one to Killian before she settles herself back onto the couch. He takes a swig, puts the beer bottle on the end table, and uses his stump to push his sleeve back.

It is an intricately drawn tattoo and absolutely stunning. A blood red heart takes up Killian’s entire wrist. The name Milah is written in beautiful script in the middle. A blade pierces the top of the heart. Killian reaches back for his beer before he begins to speak.

“Her name was Milah,” he begins. Emma does not miss the fact that he uses the word ‘was’. ”and she was an amazing woman. She was my brother’s neighbor. I met her when I had some leave from the Royal Navy. I thought I’d surprise Liam, but he was with his girlfriend, now wife. Milah took pity on me and showed me where the spare key was. I guess she recognized me from my pictures in Liam’s house. She was older than me. I was 25, she was 32, same age I am now,” he gives a small chuckle at that, as if he just realizes what that means. He takes another swig before continuing.

“Milah was like a ray of sunshine. I was beginning to get disillusioned with the Navy. Liam had been in it as well and had always talked about it as if it were the best job ever. He’d gone into the private sector when he met Elsa. I had been debating it, which is why I was wanting to see Liam. Milah was in a bad marriage. She’d married too young to someone she didn’t really know well. He was controlling. Wouldn’t let her work. Isolated her from family and friends. Typical abuser.” Emma nods understanding. She’s dealt with many abusers in her past and line of work. “She was an artist. Beautiful watercolors. I have some hanging in my place.” Killian stops to take a breath. Emma places her hand on his. She wants to let him know that he is safe.

“She had a child. She wouldn’t leave even if she could, because she refused to let her son grow up with only his father. She wanted to shield him. He was only six when we got involved. Eventually, her husband found out. He threw her out of the house, told her not to come back for the boy if family wasn’t important to her. She had no job, no means of support, no place to live, and no money to hire a lawyer. We came up with a plan, a stupid plan, to take her son, get married, and go to the base. Her husband wouldn’t have been able to follow us there.” He is taking more sips of his beer, almost after every sentence. Emma squeezes his hand. Killian looks into her eyes and sees there is no judgement there. She has had her own dragons to slay.

“We planned it for the middle of the night. Bae wouldn’t be home during the day because of school, and we’d discovered that her husband had told the school that she was not permitted to pick Bae up. He had hired a full-time ‘nanny’ to watch him while he was at work.” He shakes his head. Emma isn’t sure if it’s from the memory or the absolute absurdity of it all. “We snuck in around midnight. Bae always kept his window open. He was scared when we woke him, but he hated his father. He was perfectly willing to come with us. Milah and I tried to be quiet, but her husband heard us. I’m not sure if he knew what was going on or if he truly thought we were burgling the place, either way, he came in with a knife.” Killian closes his eyes, the memories overwhelming him.

‘I’m still not clear on why he had a knife instead of a gun, maybe he was afraid that a stray bullet would kill or hurt Bae. What I do know is that he immediately went after Milah. I managed to block the first strike, but he cut straight into my wrist. Cut several tendons and broke several bones with the force of it. A centimeter over and I would have bled out according to the surgeon. I was lucky I only lost the hand.” He rubs his hand over the stump. “After I was out of commission, he went for Milah again. Stabbed her in the heart. She didn’t stand a chance. The ‘nanny’ must have heard all the commotion and had called the police. They shot him dead.” Tears were pricking at the corner of Killian’s eyes. Emma brings his hand back to hers and kisses it. Killian smiles at her, letting her know he’s okay.

“I tried to get custody of Bae, knew it was what Milah would have wanted, but since we never got married I had no legal claim. He ended up with a distant relative. I couldn’t stay there after that. Because of the injury I was medically discharged from the Navy. I couldn’t stay at Liam’s, not when her ghost was haunting me next door. I ambled around for a few years, got the tattoo as a reminder, then got a call from an old Navy buddy of mine to stop wallowing and start living again. Said he had a bungalow for rent in California.” He pauses and gauges Emma’s face for any sign that she is not ready for what he’s about to say next. Killian takes a deep breath before his confession. “And I never thought I’d find someone again. Didn’t want to find someone again. I never thought I’d be capable of letting go of my first love, that is, until I met you. So here I am.” He finishes up by chugging the rest of his beer. Emma looks at him without an ounce of pity in her face. Yes, his story is sad and tugs at her heartstrings, but without it, he would not be the man sitting in front of her. The man she still really wants to know.

Killian looks up at her, not sure what to expect. She doesn’t say anything, just grabs his empty beer bottle, along with hers, and brings them into the kitchen. She grabs two whiskey glasses and pours an amber liquid into them. She comes back to the couch and hands one to him.

“Rum.” Emma explains. “I figure we both might need something stronger than beer.” Killian laughs at that. Tragic backstories usually didn’t make it into the romcom kind of story they’d been going down.

“I was raised in the foster system.” She begins. She rarely tells anyone her humble beginnings, especially not men she barely knows, but his honesty touches her and she knows that he knows she has had demons in the past as well. She knows he sees it in her eyes. Knows that he’s been able to read her like an open book ever since the talk on the boardwalk. Killian nods his head signaling that it’s okay for her to continue. “Never knew my parents. Never want to know my parents. They left me on the side of the road. I mean, what kind of people do that? Leave you on the side of the fucking road in just a baby blanket? I could have been run over!” She’s angry now. Killian wants to take her hand and console her, but he knows she needs to work through it on her own. She sips her drink and takes a breath. “I used to think that because my baby blanket was homemade and had my name on it that my parents must have cared. That the abandonment was some sort of accident. But then I noticed in the group homes how we would get personalized items donated to us. The one thing I thought had belonged to me may not have. I may have just been randomly wrapped in a blanket with someone else’s name.” Killian’s hand inches toward Emma’s. He doesn’t hold it like she had with him, but instead, rubs his thumb in small patterns on the back of her hand. It comforts her immensely.

‘When I was 16 I ran away from what was probably the best foster home I’d been in. The mom had wanted to adopt me, but because she was single and fostered several children, the state wouldn’t allow it. That was the last straw for me. I left, went up to Portland, and met Neal. I thought he was just about the greatest thing ever. He was older, 23 I think, he never actually said. But he was old enough to buy beer legally. He was also wanted for stealing a large amount of watches, like $100,000 worth of watches.” Emma grips Killian’s hand for support before she continues the next part of the story, her rum long gone.

“It was my idea, so I thought it was my fault. I volunteered to go get the watches from a locker at the bus depot. If they were looking for Neal, a young girl wouldn’t show up on their radar. I got them and, God, I was so proud of myself. Neal was going to sell them, get the money, and then we were going to go over to Canada and lay low. I had just turned 17. Neal gave me one of the watches as a belated birthday present. Told me to meet him over by some deserted fairgrounds where we would sleep sometimes.” Emma takes a breath. She sees that Killian knows exactly where this story is heading.

“It was a set-up. An anonymous tip had the cops all over me. I had one of the stolen watches around my wrist. They had video from the bus depot of me taking the watches from the locker. I thought it had to be a mistake. I couldn’t have been set up by the first person to ever love me. Happy birthday to me, right? I wouldn’t give Neal up. I still trusted him. Trusted that he would make things right somehow. I ended up in juvie for 11 months. And I was so fucking naive. Every visitor’s weekend I was convinced he’d come and see me somehow. Or he’d send a letter apologizing for what he’d done. But he never did. But you know who did? Sarah, my foster mom. The one I’d run away from in the first place. And she would send me letters letting me know I always had a place to stay when I was out. I was lucky to still be a minor when I got out. Sarah got custody of me, finally, and she helped me straighten out my life. I even changed my last name to match hers when I turned 18 since she’d always wanted me with her. So, at least one of my names is truly mine.” Emma stops to laugh as a memory pops into her head.

“Her favorite song was that Chumbawumba song. You remember that one? ‘I get knocked down, then I get up again. You’re never gonna keep me down.’” Killian nods. “She used to sing it all the time. That kind of became my mantra. And while it’s always been a figurative mantra for me, it seems like it could be a literal mantra for you with the way Mal’s been knocking you down.” Emma smiles. Killian still holds her hand and it comforts her, it doesn’t feel awkward in the slightest like it should for two people who barely know each other. The cathartic release of their demons have bound them together in ways Emma didn’t know existed outside of movies.

Mal has snuck back in at some point. She lies next to the side of the couch, her head peeking out from around the corner. She notices Emma eyeing her and she edges out a little, asking permission with her face to come out all the way.

“Come on, Mal.” Emma says. Mal knows not to over do it. She would love to jump on top of them on the couch, but instead, satisfies herself by lying at Emma and Killian’s feet instead.

“So, apparently my dog likes you.” Emma says to Killian as she brings Mal’s face to her own and kisses her nose.

“Well, I like you too, Mal,” he says as he scratches behind her ears. He scoots forwards a bit and is right in Emma’s space. His blue eyes look right into hers when he adds, “And I like your owner as well.” The tingle turns into a full on swarm of butterflies in Emma’s stomach. She surges forward and attacks his lips. She desperately holds his shoulders bringing him closer to her. His lips glide along hers. He tugs on her lower lip as she moves her fingers to his hair and runs them through it. Killian wraps his blunted arm around her and brings the other to her chin. He pulls away slightly asking permission with his eyes to do a little more than kissing. Emma scoffs.

“Trying to be a gentleman?” She asks sarcastically.

“Swan, I’m always a gentleman.” Killian goes to kiss her again when a loud noise shatters the moment. Both Killian and Emma look down to see Mal yawning below them.

“Are we boring you, Mal? All that hard work to get me to stay and now you don’t want to watch the fruits of your labor?” Killian asks petting her head. Mal whines and puts her head under her paws.

He goes home promising to take her out properly the next night.

They don’t go out the next night.

They don’t leave her house for the next week.

Their engagement photos feature Mal pinning Killian to the ground as Emma helps him up.

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#cspupstravaganza #cs au ff #cs au #dogs #great danes #killian keeps getting knocked down #neighbors au

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