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texanstarslove · 4 years ago

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everything has changed

A/N: So this little number is for @hockeynetwork‘s Winter Gift Exchange and I was matched with @bigboigritty! I hope this fic lives up to your expectations, my dear! I was thrilled to write a fic for Nolan as I had yet to do so up until this point! I also want to give a special shout out to @danglesnipecelly for listening to me rant and rave and yell about this fic NON FUCKING STOP. LOVE YOU K!

Song Inspo: Everything Has Changed - Taylor Swift ft. Ed Sheeran

Warnings: language, alcohol consumption, ridiculous amounts of fluff, cheesy friends to lovers trope

Word Count: 8.5k

*italics indicate flashbacks*

They say that opposites attract, like fire and ice or Yin and Yang. Two completely different entities that have no business being together but somehow find a way to connect and create something beautiful.

That was the definition of your relationship with Nolan.

You were the outgoing one, the one who would talk to anyone like you had known them your whole life without a second thought. You never met a stranger and were friendly and kind. One time while you were waiting for your coffee order at a local café you struck up a conversation with another customer over the most mundane of things: the straws sitting on the counter. That was just the kind of person you were. Always ready to chat with anyone about anything, sincerity in your voice at all times.

Nolan...not so much. He was a nice guy, yes, but he definitely didn’t have the same bubbly, loud, boisterous persona like you. He was happy to keep to himself, never really wanting to go out of his way to make small talk with anyone. Half the time when he spoke, it would come out as mumbles that were borderline incoherent. And although he was sometimes a person of very few words, he also carried an air of confidence. He wasn’t cocky by any means, just someone who seemed to be very sure of themselves most of the time. Some would say he gave off the vibe of someone who was constantly irritated or annoyed, a grump even.

But that was part of the reason he drew you in. He was intriguing to you. He made you want to get to know him better. He could say the same about you, how you made him want to open up in ways he never could with anyone else. The way you carried yourself made that easy, your nonjudgmental attitude made talking to you effortless.

When you first met Nolan, it was in the elevator of the apartment building you had just moved into. You were carrying the last of your belongings in perhaps one too many boxes, struggling to make it to the elevator before the doors closed. It was then, unbeknownst to either of you at the moment, that everything had changed.

“Hey, wait! Could you hold that for me?”

You moved as fast as you could, the person in the elevator holding their hand against the door to keep it open. You huffed out a ‘thank you’ before leaning against the wall to catch your breath, running your eyes over the person standing just a foot or two away from you. He was tall, easily towering over your smaller frame, hair swept under a cap that sat backward on his head. When you were finally able to get a good look at his face, the first thing that struck you were his eyes. They were the same as the sky and sea calming after a storm, swirls of gray and blue mixing seamlessly into one beautiful color. Something about those eyes made you stare just a little too long, your trance was only broken when he cleared his throat and glanced at you expectantly, his voice so much deeper than you thought it would sound like.

“What, uh...what floor?”

“Oh, um,” You blinked, shaking your head as if to bring you back to reality, and glanced at the button display to your left. The button for your floor, the sixth, was already illuminated. “Looks like mine has already been pressed. You headed to the sixth floor?”

The man just nodded, lifting his cap with one hand and running the fingers of his free hand through his hair before settling the cap back on his head. You cocked your head to the side, studying him once more. You immediately picked up on his reserved vibe but you felt compelled to talk to him some more.

“I’m assuming you live here, too?”

He nodded his head again but turned slightly to face you so it didn’t look like he was ignoring you. You noticed his hands fidgeting in the front pocket of the black hoodie he was wearing as you continued to try and coax conversation from him.

“Do you like this complex?” You asked, “I read the reviews before I moved in and they all seemed pretty good. I figure asking a current resident how they felt about it would make me feel better about my decision.”

One of his hands leaves the pocket of his hoodie to rub the back of his neck. “It’s pretty nice. I just moved in this year and can’t really complain too much about it.”

“Yeah? That’s good to hear,” You replied, “This is the perfect spot between where I work and the university. I figured having someplace right in between would bode well for me.”

“Yeah, that definitely sounds like a good idea.”

You nodded your head, clicking your tongue as you thought of more things to say to keep conversation with him. The way that he spoke intrigued you. It was almost as if he was talking behind his teeth, his voice almost coming out as a mumble. You studied him some more, noticing how he slowly rocked back and forth on his heels, his eyes downcast as if to avoid eye contact. The vibe he was giving off wasn’t exactly standoff-ish, but he definitely wasn’t jumping at the chance to keep talking. You didn’t know what it was, but something about him pulled you in and you wanted to know more about him. The elevator dinging as it reached your floor interrupted your thoughts and you shifted the boxes in your hands as the doors opened.

“Do you need help with that?” The man asked as the top box began to teeter over the edge of the one it was situated on.

“No, no,” You rushed, “I’ve got it.”

“You sure? It looks like you’re about to..”

Just as the words were about to escape his lips, the top two boxes came tumbling out of the elevator doors, its contents scattering across the floor. You sighed heavily, shaking your head at the scene in front of you before bursting into a fit of giggles. The man looked between you and the mess that had just been created by your stubbornness and sighed.

“Just like a woman,” He mumbled, “Never wanting to accept help.”

You caught on to the teasing in his monotone voice quickly, turning to stick your tongue out at him as you giggled some more.

“Oh, shut it.” You shot back through your laughter, “You can help me now if you want.”

He chuckled softly, extending his arm out of the elevator as if to lead you out. You shook your head as you walked into the hallway, thankful no one else was around to see what a disaster you had created. You crouched down to begin picking up your things, throwing them haphazardly into the boxes on the ground. The man did the same, only he was a little more careful with your belongings as he placed them inside the boxes.

“God, you must think I’m a hot mess.” You sighed, putting the last few items back in their box. “I swear I’m a little more put together most of the time.”

“Not a hot mess,” He said, “A little talkative maybe but…”

“Oh my god, I’m sorry.” You cut him off, “I have a tendency to chat people’s ears off. I’m sorry if that made you uncomfortable.”

“Not at all,” He reassured you, “I’m used to it. I have a buddy who never shuts up so really, it doesn’t bother me.”

You smiled, nodding your head, grateful that he didn’t think you were a complete loon. It was at this point you realized you hadn’t even properly introduced yourself. “And you must think I’m incredibly rude making you help me pick up my shit when we don’t even know each other’s names.” You offered your hand to him. “(Y/N).”

He gently took your hand, squeezing lightly as he shook it. “Nolan.”

“Well, Nolan,” You stood from where you were crouched down, holding the boxes you could while he carried the others. “I really appreciate your help.”

“If you would’ve let me help you in the first place, this wouldn’t have happened.” That teasing was back again. He stood from his spot as well, a sly smirk spread across his lips.

You playfully bumped his hip with yours as the two of you walked down the hall to the front door of your apartment. Setting the boxes you were carrying beside the door frame, you pulled your keys from your jacket pocket and unlocked the door, gently pushing the boxes across the threshold with your foot before taking the remaining boxes from Nolan.

“This is crazy,” He mumbled, pointing over his shoulder, “My apartment is literally right across the hall.”

“Yeah?” You turned to face him once you set the last of the boxes inside, “That’s awesome! Maybe we’ll become best friends after all.”

Nolan smiled, his already rosy cheeks darkening just slightly, his hand coming up to rub the back of his neck.

“Yeah, maybe.”

That chance meeting in that elevator was quite possibly the greatest thing to ever happen to you. Not only had you met your neighbor and actually got along with him, but you also became friends, best friends, almost instantly. It started with the occasional meet up at each other’s apartments, getting to know each other before hanging out almost regularly. Your polar opposite personalities meshed together perfectly, both of you bringing out the best in each other. Nolan felt like he could be 100% authentic, becoming more and more open with his feelings around you. He felt like he could tell you anything and all those feelings he had were reciprocated by you. You could tell each other anything about everything, sharing every aspect of your lives with the other. You were like two peas in a pod, attached at the hip whenever he was home. Eventually, the two of you had exchanged keys, mainly so when he was gone on road trips with his team you could bring in his mail so it wouldn’t pile up. He only held on to yours at your insistence.

“It’d be weird if I had your key and you didn’t have mine, Nolan.” You told him when he tried to brush it off. “Just take the damn thing. Just in case, you know?”

Most of the time, you were the one letting yourself into his apartment. You’d send a quick text of “I hope you’re decent, I’m coming over” before all but barging in, filling his usually quiet space with your over the top energy. It would be a lie if Nolan said it didn’t take some getting used to. He was so used to being by himself, him and his video games or music. And though you always told him he could, he really did not need to ever let himself into your apartment when you weren’t there. He wasn’t like you, always bringing him food or buying little trinkets and placing them in random spots in his apartment. He never complained about the meals but always balked at the idea of new decorations you managed to find for him. You insisted that he needed to liven up his space, that it looked too much like a jail cell instead of a place to call home.

“I like my place just fine, ma’am.” He once told you, poking at your latest purchase, a set of succulents. “Besides, I’ll just kill these fucking things anyway.”

“Then it’s a good thing I have a spare key.” You countered, placing the plants along the window sill. “I’ll make sure you don’t kill my babies.”

He laughed at your comparison of the plants to children. “Why don’t you just keep them at your place then? Why do they need to take up space in my apartment?”

“Quit arguing with me, Nols.” You scolded him, “Not in front of the kids.”

Conversations like that always ended with him chuckling and shaking his head, all but admitting defeat. He would never say it out loud to anyone, but he actually loved how much you seemed to care about his well being. While he was perfectly capable of doing things for himself, if it made you happy, that was all that mattered to him. There was something about the outgoing and sometimes clumsy girl he met in the elevator that made it all worth it. The mood was always lifted when you showed up and though he would tease you about invading his space or being obnoxious, you both knew he never meant a single word.

There were, however, those rare occasions where Nolan would use your key. It didn’t happen very often but whenever he was going through a particularly rough patch, he found solace in you. It could be about anything, the way a particular game went, how he as an individual player was performing or if he was just having a shitty day. Whatever brought him to the edge emotionally, he knew he could come to you. You always knew when it was coming, too. Instead of a normal greeting when he entered your apartment, you’d hear the door unlock before it opened slowly, Nolan trudging in without saying a word before closing the door behind him and flopping on your couch. He’d exhale loudly, a clear indicator that something was wrong, waiting for you to come sit beside him.

That’s exactly what happened this time. Just as you finished up an online class, you heard the key in the lock. When you closed your laptop and glanced up at the door, Nolan was there with a sullen look on his face. He went through the normal routine, keeping quiet and not saying anything, just a nod of acknowledgment before sitting on your couch with a heavy sigh. You smiled sadly, placing your laptop back in its case before walking to sit down beside him.

“What’s up, Grumpy McGee?” You teased, taking your place on the couch and resting your head on his shoulder. Typically Nolan would huff out a laugh at your eloquent nicknames for him but not this time. When all you got in reply was yet another deep sigh, you leaned back taking in his appearance. His shoulders were slumped more than usual, his posture slouched and head hanging low. He avoided eye contact when you tried to move your head to look him in the eye.

“Nolan?”

When his eyes finally met yours, you were taken aback by what you found within those ocean-blue depths. You had seen him angry, happy, frustrated; all of the feelings that came with the profession he was in. You had seen just about every emotion in those eyes but this one almost took your breath away. For the first time, when you looked into his eyes, you saw someone who was unsure of themself. Someone who lacked the confidence they so often carried with them, even if it was in a subtle way.

“Hey,” You murmured, turning your body to face him, “Nolan, talk to me. What’s going on?”

“It’s nothing,” He mumbled, turning to avoid your gaze once more. “Just had a rough day is all.”

You knew he and the team had been going through a bit of a rough patch. The team had been on a bit of a skid going into the upcoming holiday break. There was one more short road trip before Christmas and you could already tell Nolan was stressing about it. Not just because of the team’s performance, but because of his own personal struggles. The pounding migraines he had been dealing with for the better part of the season had become more frequent, causing him to miss playing in a few games here and there. The way to go about managing the migraines was somewhat of a mystery to team doctors and trainers. While they were doing their best to help Nolan, and he knew they were exhausting every option available, nothing seemed to be working and it seemed that Nolan was finally at his breaking point.

“Are you feeling okay?” You gently ask, your hand running soothingly across his bicep. When he just shrugged his shoulders once more, you gave a light, reassuring squeeze to his arm, smiling softly when his eyes met yours again.

“I feel fine right now,” He sighed, “But these things fucking come out of nowhere. Never know when they’re going to hit me.”

You nodded, wordlessly encouraging him to continue. He needed to vent, you sensed it, needed to let out all of the emotions he was feeling.

“I just…” He trailed off, his fingers running through his hair as he huffed out another breath. “What if this ends my career, (Y/N)? What if these things get so bad I won’t be able to play anymore? I don’t know what I’ll do if I can’t…”

“Hey, hey, hold on a second,” You scooted up onto your knees, kneeling next to him on the couch. “You are going to be just fine, Nolan.”

“You don’t know that, (Y/N),” He bemoaned, “You don’t know that.”

“Yes, I do.” You insisted, “I do because the whole organization is on your side. You have some of the best doctors in Philadelphia working with them to help you. They’re going to find something that makes this better for you.”

“But what if they don’t?” His voice increased slightly in volume as he sat up a little straighter, “What if there is nothing they can do for me and this team drops me? What if they see there is no use waiting around for me to get better?” He drags his fingers through his hair before holding his head in his hands, elbows resting on his knees. When he speaks again his voice comes out in a whisper. “What if they give up on me?”

The uncertainty and brokenness in his voice made your breath hitch in your throat. Moving closer to him you gently took his face into your hands and turned his head to face you, making him look you in the eye.

“They will not give up on you, Nolan.” You spoke with gentle firmness. “I just don’t see that happening. You will get better and you will have an amazing career here. And can I tell you something else?”

You could see the desperation in his eyes as he nodded.

“I’m never giving up on you,” You whispered, “That I know for an absolute fact. You can’t get rid of me that easily.”

He chuckled softly at your remark and you smiled, running one of your thumbs along his skin beneath it. His gaze softened as you continued to hold his face, your thumb still gently caressing his cheekbone. You couldn’t quite decipher the expression on his face but it made your stomach flip, made your heart rate pick up just a little bit. It was a feeling you never felt being this close to Nolan and it startled you. You swore you saw his eyes flicker to your lips but before you could process that thought, you dropped your hands to his shoulders, giving them a gentle couple of pats before moving back to your previous spot on the couch. “You want to grab something to eat? We can order in if you want?”

“Uh, yeah, sure.” He stuttered, shaking his head as if he was trying to clear his mind. “Yeah, that sounds great.”

“Of course it does,” You teased, giving his shoulder a little nudge as you stood from your spot on the couch. “You never turn down food.”

“Busted.” He gave you a small smile as he watched you make your way into the kitchen. You stood at the counter, pulling out a to-go menu from your favorite restaurant and your phone, dialing the number to place the order. You couldn’t see it but as you talked on the phone, Nolan watched you intently. He watched the way you confidently spoke and how you paced around the kitchen, making small talk with the person who was taking the order. You couldn’t see the way he looked at you with complete adoration or feel the way his heart pounded in his chest when he heard you speak. You couldn’t see the smile that spread across his lips, a smile that only you could bring out of him. You also couldn’t hear the voice in his head beating him up over not pressing his lips to yours as you held his face in your hands. He didn’t understand where the intense urge came from at that moment, but he knew he so desperately wanted to know what your lips felt like against his own.

“You alright over there, space cadet?”

Your voice brought him out of a trance when you spoke to him. He blinked in quick succession, seemingly willing his brain to come back to reality before he gave a quick nod. “Yeah, I guess I kind of zoned out there for a second.”

“I’ll say,” You chuckled, returning to your spot on the couch, flopping down beside him. “The food should be here in about thirty minutes or so.”

“Sounds good.”

The rest of the night carried on as usual. You and Nolan finished your meals and fell into your normal routine of tv and conversations about literally anything. You tried to keep things light and fun, attempting to keep Nolan’s mind off of the struggles facing him and his team. The two of you bantered and laughed and carried on as you normally would for the remainder of the evening. Occasionally you found yourself staring a little longer at him as he watched whatever was on, studying the angles of his face in the flickering lights of the tv. You had always thought that his facial features gave him an angelic look, a juxtaposition to how he spoke and how he carried himself. You smiled, hunkering down further into the couch as you got more comfortable and got pulled into the television show. You eventually found yourself dozing off as a random Christmas movie played on the screen. You had laid yourself across the couch, your legs swung across Nolan’s lap. It wasn’t until you felt him gently tap your thigh that you realized you had fallen asleep.

“Hey,” You heard his low voice speak, “(Y/N), I think we should call it a night.”

You stretched as you slowly sat up, a soft groan escaping your lips. “What time is it?”

Nolan looked down at his phone, checking the time before looking back at you as he also stretched. “It’s just past eleven. I should go, got an early flight tomorrow.”

“Right,” You grumbled, “Okay. I’ll walk you out.”

He nodded and got up to stand in front of you, reaching his hands out for you to take. He gently pulled you up but even still, being the clumsy person you are, you stumbled forward slightly, hands pressing into his chest and his catching you at your waist. You looked up at him and found the same look in his eyes as earlier when he confided in you. That same feeling you had was creeping back in as well and you held his gaze for a moment longer than necessary. You quickly averted your eyes and cleared your throat, walking with him to your front door.

“Thank you for tonight, (Y/N).” Nolan leaned against the door frame, half in the outside hallway and half still in your apartment.

“Anytime.” You grinned, “Always happy to be of service. Someone’s gotta feed you.”

He chuckled, his hand coming up to rub the back of his neck. “So, uh, I’ll see you in a couple of days, yeah? Going to G and Ryanne’s for that party?”

“You know it.” You replied, “Have a safe flight, Nols. Text me when you guys get there.”

“Will do.” He saluted you before pushing off the door frame and turning to cross the hall to his apartment. You watched as he unlocked his door and opened it to head inside for the night. Just before he closed the door behind him, you called out to him.

“Hey, Nolan?” He turned to look at you, a questioning look in his eyes.

“What’s up?”

You smiled softly, leaning your head against the threshold of your apartment. “I think you’re amazing. You know that, right?”

He leaned his forearm against his door frame and smiled.

“I think you’re amazing, too.”

You smiled as you closed your door, leaning against it when it latched shut, and took a deep breath. Something in the air felt different and you couldn’t quite explain it. It made you nervous, anxious even, but you also couldn’t help the smile that spread across your lips. Something felt different between you and Nolan and even though you couldn’t quite put your finger on it, you knew that everything had changed.

With the Flyers’ road trip winding down and it going in a way that wasn’t exactly favorable, you knew there was more than likely going to be a bit of a cloud over the holidays. The boys managed to sneak in one win out of the three games played but knowing them like you did, it wasn’t something they were going to tout as a success. You also knew, given your knowledge as to how his mind worked and the existing personal struggles he was facing, that Nolan would be extra critical of himself. He’d try and disguise it, not wanting to put a damper on the upcoming holiday festivities, but you knew him better than that.

That is how you found yourself in his apartment yet again, only this time decorating it to fit the Christmas theme. You knew it was excessive, you knew it was over the top and ridiculous, but if it would bring any semblance of a smile to that boy’s face it was all worth the complaining he’d undoubtedly do when he walked into his apartment. You had managed to snag some Christmas decorations on the cheap, scouring bargain stores for everything from lights and garland and stockings to even a tree with accompanying ornaments. When you finally deemed your collection enough to decorate with, you let yourself into his apartment and put things in place little by little over the course of the weekend. The guys were slated to be home by early afternoon with the Christmas party at Claude and Ryanne’s later in the evening, allowing everyone a little bit of time to decompress then have a little bit of fun before heading to their respective homes for the holidays.

Holiday music was filling the apartment, your soundtrack to your latest decorating endeavor. The cheesy gas fireplace in the living room served as the perfect spot to hang some lighted garland and the stockings. Fairy lights adorned every spot in which it was feasible to place them. There were even candles that were purchased, their scent matching the season but ultimately used for the ambiance they provided as well. Decorating the tree was saved until the very last moment. As you danced and sang to the sounds of Andy Williams and Bruce Springsteen, you methodically placed the red and gold ornaments on the tree. You even snuck a small Gritty ornament in the mix, making sure to give a nod to the mascot you knew Nolan loved and adored, hoping he’d find it and smile. As it all came together, you pulled out the last item to place on the tree, it’s topper. You loved how when the little star was placed at the top it felt like the finishing touch to it all, giving finality to all your hard work. You stood back a couple of feet from the tree and looked on in contentment, happy with how the decorations turned out. You chuckled to yourself, knowing that when Nolan walked into the room when he got home he’d instantly know who to blame for Christmas practically exploding in his space.

Admiring the room in its entirety one last time, you smiled once more to yourself, proud of what you were able to accomplish. You knew Nolan would be shocked, and probably bitch and moan about it, but in the end, he’d have a laugh and hopefully feel just a little bit of the holiday spirit. You blew out the candles, their scent lingering in the air, before heading back across the hallway to your apartment. It was nearly lunchtime, meaning you had more than enough time to clean up and get ready for the team Christmas party. You pulled out your phone, seeing you had received a text from Nolan saying he and the boys had just landed and would be back home soon.

You: Happy you guys made it back safely! I’ll be ready for G’s party around 6, that should be enough time for you to nap or whatever, right?

Nolan: Yeah sounds good to me.

The two of you exchanged just a few more texts before he needed to drive home. The extra time before the party allowed you to get a few house chores done before actually beginning to get ready. Not even an hour after your text exchange with him, your phone began to ring, Nolan’s name flashing across the display. You smiled broadly, already anticipating what his reaction to his newly decorated apartment would be.

“You’re supposed to be taking a nap, no?” You tried to hide the giggle threatening to bubble up, knowing exactly why he was calling you.

“Don’t you act like you don’t know exactly why I am calling you, (Y/N).” Nolan’s gravelly voice greeting your ear, “Why the fuck does it look like Christmas threw up in my apartment?”

“You don’t like it?” You feigned shock and hurt, “Come on, Nols, don’t be such a Grinch!”

“Ha, fucking, ha.” Nolan retorted, sarcasm dripping from his voice, “Seriously, you’ve outdone yourself. This is absolutely ridiculous.”

“Mission accomplished, then!” You cheered, “Now hang up the damn phone and take your nap! We have a party to go to tonight and I expect you to be my date.”

Nolan scoffed. “Oh, with this latest stunt I’m taking away your plus one status.”

“You wouldn’t dare!” You gasped, earning a hearty chuckle from Nolan.

Of course, he never would. It would be like sucking the life out of the party leaving things so much more boring if you weren’t around. Having you at his side to these events and gatherings made it all worthwhile, even if you were just tagging along as his friend. “TK and Hayesy would never let me hear the end of it if I did. And you’d end up bugging me to go all the time anyway.”

It was your turn to laugh now. You know those boys liked to rib Nolan to no end about his relationship with you, asking when he’d ‘wife you up’ or why you spent all your time with a guy like Nolan. It was all in good fun, though. They were never malicious or had any ill will, in fact, they were just the opposite. You two would never know it but the guys on the team, and some of their significant others, were secretly waiting for the day the two of you would get together. Though you and Nolan both insisted your relationship was no more than a friendship, your friends were not convinced in the slightest. You’d both just shrug off the comments and jokes, nothing ever really bothering either of you.

“Well, you can’t disappoint them then!” You teased, “Now seriously, get some beauty rest and pick me up at six.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” He replied through his laughter.

“See you in a little bit, Nols.”

You said your goodbyes and continued with your day, doing the various chores you set out to finish and allowing yourself more than the usual time it took for you to get ready. After showering and picking out an outfit, something festive but not over the top, you sat at your vanity with your makeup spread out in front of you. You took your time, playing yet another Christmas playlist to help set the mood for the get together you’d be attending. Something about the music and festivities put you in a wonderful mood and made you even more excited to see everyone before they all headed back to their respective homes for the holidays.

As you were putting on your earrings, the finishing touch to your look, your phone buzzed on the countertop as a text came through. You glanced down and saw that it was from Nolan, asking if you were finished getting ready.

Nolan: Your Uber is waiting for you outside the door.

You: Ew, that’s creepy. I didn’t think they did that.

Nolan: Kidding of course. Can I come in?

You: As long as you aren’t the creepy Uber driver.

You smiled to yourself as you sprayed the last bit of hairspray in your hair and looked over your appearance once more. Satisfied with the finished look, you grabbed your purse and walked into your living room, just in time to see the front door open and for Nolan to walk through.

“Creepy Uber driver has arrived.” He called out as he shut the door behind him. At first, he didn’t notice you had walked into the living room, speaking louder than he normally would, but then his eyes landed on you and they seemed to widen as he took in your appearance. “Wow, (Y/N)..you look..”

“Do you think this is okay?” You asked, “I know they said casual but I didn’t want to just show up in what I normally wear so I-”

“Hey, you look great,” Nolan assured you, “I mean, I thought you’d be wearing one of those ugly Christmas sweaters given how you decorated my apartment so this is a nice surprise.”

You playfully smacked him in the chest before linking your arm with his. “Let’s get this show on the road.”

The drive to the Giroux household was nothing short of typical for the two of you. There was the usual chirping from you about how Nolan was driving and the incessant moaning and groaning from him about the music you chose to play.

“Any time you’re on the AUX cord, no good music is played.” He complained, attempting and failing to take the cord from you as he drove.

“Nolan, we are on our way to a fucking Christmas party,” You said, “It would be sacrilege if we didn’t play any Christmas music! Now focus on driving before you kill us.”

He shook his head in defeat, chuckling softly at the small little victory dance you did in your seat as you played your music. Every now and then he’d steal a glance at you, watching as you happily sang and danced to every song that played. He’d never admit how much he actually enjoyed the cheesy holiday music, mostly because of the joy it brought you. Everything that made you happy made him happy. Seeing you smile made him smile. Every little thing you did for him, no matter how much he may have complained about it outwardly, made him feel like he was on top of the world. Sitting in the driver’s seat of his car, thinking these thoughts, feeling these feelings at this very moment made him come to a not so shocking realization.

He was madly in love with you. He was so head over heels for you and it took his breath away.

He took a deep breath, one that caused his chest and shoulders to rise and fall dramatically and you took notice. As he pulled the car into the drive, you raised an eyebrow at him and cocked your head to the side.

“You alright over there?”

He shifted the car into park and offered you a small smile. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

You gave him a beaming smile, unbuckling your seatbelt to get out of the car and head inside. “Come on, Mr. Grinch, let’s go see everyone.”

He watched as you climbed out of the passenger seat, shutting the door behind you, and walking up to the front door of the Giroux’s home. When he saw you turn to see if he was going to follow, mouthing a ‘Come on!’ as you waved, he sighed once more, climbing out of the car himself. That big, wide grin was still plastered on your face as he walked up beside you, you linking your arm with his once again. Looking down at you, seeing how excited you were as the two of you walked up to the door only solidified his earlier thoughts. He knew in this very moment that everything between you had changed.

The evening carried on at a relaxed pace, Claude and Ryanne being the wonderful hosts they always were. The guys with families brought their children along and the entire night was filled with plenty of laughs and entertainment. You always found yourself gravitating to the kiddos when they were involved. That’s how Nolan caught up with you after the two of you were separated for a little while. You were sitting and chatting with Ryanne, bouncing a happy little Gavin on your knee.

“How is it that you always manage to end up with the kids?” He asked you as he came to stand beside you. His finger lightly poked at Gavin’s belly making the toddler giggle excitedly. “What’s up, little man?”

You smiled up at him and bounced your knee, continuing Gavin’s giggles. “I can’t help it. He’s the cutest guy in the room.”

“Can’t argue with you there.” He replied, “Thanks for hosting all of us, Ryanne. It’s been fun, as always.”

“Oh, of course!” Ryanne smiled, “It’s a blast, we love having everyone here.”

Nolan turned back to you as he spoke again. “I was going to get something to drink, did you want me to grab you anything?”

“I’m okay, thanks.” You looked back at the giggling toddler still in your lap. “I just need a few more Gavin cuddles and I should be ready to go soon if you are.”

“Yeah, okay.” He nodded, “I’ll meet up with you in a little bit then, yeah?”

He gave your shoulder a light squeeze before making his way to the kitchen, seemingly making small talk with Kevin.

“He’s got it bad for you, girl.” Ryanne gushed when Nolan was out of earshot.

You felt your cheeks warm, butterflies running rampant in your tummy before brushing her comment aside. “You’re crazy. We’re just friends, Ry.”

“And I think you are lying to yourself.” She countered, “He’s a good guy, (Y/N).”

“I know that,” You agreed, “He’s my best friend, of course I know that.”

Ryanne just smiled, that ‘If you say so’ kind of look that she gives you every time this subject comes up. She, just like all your other friends, never pushed the envelope with you. She respected your boundaries but she was always one of your biggest cheerleaders. She was like how Claude was for his team except in her place in the WAGs group, really in the whole friends group entirely; the momma of the group. She would have your back no matter what and support you with no questions asked.

“So tell me about how he reacted to your Christmas decorations.” She said, changing the subject, “Did he freak out over it?”

“Oh, god, it was hysterical.”

You indulged Ryanne in all the details of your decorating assault on Nolan’s apartment, telling her about how you almost lost your invitation to the evening’s festivities. The laughter you two shared echoed through the living room and into the kitchen, Nolan of course taking notice of your laughter specifically. He was leaning against the island that overlooked the living room, smiling at how much fun you seemed to be having in telling whatever story you were to Ryanne. He felt a pair of hands land heavily on his shoulders, a hard squeeze being given to both, before that all too familiar Boston accent filled his ears.

“Buddy, come on.” Kevin chuckled, “You have got to say something to that girl.”

Nolan turned to face his friend who had leaned on the island beside him. He attempted to give Kevin a nonchalant, playing it cool response and shrugged his shoulders. “What are you talking about? Tell her what?”

“Don’t give me that shit, kid.” Kevin told him, “You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

Nolan sighed, one of his hands coming up to run down his face. There was really no point in trying to play it off anymore. Of everyone in this house, aside from Ryanne, Kevin knew exactly how Nolan felt about you. Though unlike Ryanne, Kevin wasn’t going to play games with Nolan. He had sat back for too long watching the both of you deny, deny, deny and he was ready to at least call Nolan on his bullshit.

“What, no smart ass comeback this time?” Kevin chuckled when Nolan didn’t respond. As he watched him for a second longer, he knew Nolan had recognized his own feelings. “Oh, shit, you do have feelings for her, don’t you?”

“Don’t act like you’re surprised.” Nolan retorted.

“I’m not surprised you have feelings for her, bud.” Kevin clarified, “I’m surprised you’ve finally admitted it. Took ya long enough!”

Again, Nolan sighed, this time in annoyance. “Well, keep it down, you big idiot. I don’t need to spring any surprises on her like this.”

Kevin just laughed, taking a swig of the beer he was nursing. He watched as Nolan turned his attention back to where you were still chatting with Ryanne. He could tell just by the way Nolan was looking at you that he had it bad, just like Ryanne had told you earlier. One of his hands came up to Nolan’s shoulder once more, gaining his attention once more.

“Can I tell you something without you getting defensive on me?”

Nolan raised an eyebrow. “That depends on what comes out of your mouth.”

“Fair enough,” Kevin chuckled, “In all seriousness though, Patty, that girl loves you too. I’m just sayin’.”

“How do you know that?” Nolan scoffed, “I didn’t even say anything.”

“You didn’t have to.” Kevin grinned, taking another sip of his beer. “But I have a feeling that if you told her how you felt, I’d be right.”

Nolan looked back at you once more just as you were finishing your conversation with Ryanne. You caught his eye and smiled that big, beautiful smile he loved so much as you stood to walk over to him. Kevin gave him one last pat on the back as you made your way to where they were standing.

“Ready to go, Nols?” You asked, tucking into his side.

He nodded, turning back to Kevin to give him the handshake-hug hybrid thing that men like to do.

“Remember what I said,” Kevin told him before turning to you and pulling you into a hug. “Have a good night, sweetheart. Don’t let this guy give you any trouble.”

“I know who to come running to if he does,” You laughed, “See you around, Kev.”

You and Nolan said goodbye to the remaining partygoers before heading back out to his car. Per your usual, you snagged the auxiliary cord before Nolan could reach for it, expecting a fight out of him like always. When he did nothing but chuckle at your antics you got your first clue that something was going on in his head. You let it go, however, chalking it up to you just reading too far into his actions. But when the car ride back to your shared complex was quieter than normal, no words being exchanged between the two of you, you knew for sure something was up. You turned the volume on the car stereo down and turned in your seat as best you could to look at him.

“You okay, Nolan?”

He glanced over at you, still trying to keep his eyes on the road. “Yeah, I’m good. Why what’s up?”

“You’re just quieter than normal,” You replied, “Are you feeling okay?”

“Just tired is all,” He mumbled, reaching across the console and taking your hand in his and giving it a squeeze, “I’m good though.”

He didn’t let go of your hand. Even after he stopped talking he didn’t let go of your hand. You tried not to outwardly show how you were feeling on the inside. Your heart rate jumped, feeling like it was beating rapidly in your throat. You felt your face get hot and you were thankful that it was dark out, only street lights illuminating your face as Nolan drove. You tried to calm yourself as Nolan pulled the car back into his usual spot back at the complex parking garage. The two of you walked into your building, your hand still burning from his touch. The silence between you two remained but it wasn’t uncomfortable. You could understand why Nolan would be tired, having flown back home and attending a Christmas party all in the same day. As you went to pull out your keys, Nolan stopped you, nodding toward his apartment door.

“You want to come in for a little bit?” He asked, rubbing the back of his neck like he was nervous.

“Y-yeah,” You stammered, not sure where the sudden nervous energy was coming from, “Sure. That should be fine.”

He gave you a small smile before unlocking his door, letting you walk in first before closing the door behind him. You took off your shoes, leaving them by the front door, and removed your coat and scarf, draping them over one of the barstools at the kitchen counter. The only light in the apartment was that of the lights you used to decorate with. When Nolan went to turn on one of the lamps you stopped him.

“This is the best way to enjoy the Christmas lights,” You told him, “Come look at the tree with me, please?”

Nolan gave you a small nod and came to stand beside you. The lights gave off a soft, warm white glow and you smiled as you admired your handiwork. “Did you notice that I hid Gritty in there?”

You heard Nolan chuckle softly before replying. “Yeah, I did. He really makes the tree.”

You giggled, nudging his hip with your own. He smiled back at you, watching as you continued to look over the tree. He knew you were proud of the work you had done and that warmed his heart. He also couldn’t help looking at how beautiful your face looked lit up by nothing but the soft glow of Christmas lights. His gaze lingered for a while and when you felt it, you turned so your body was facing him, giving a puzzled look.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Just…” He shook his head, looking down at the ground before his eyes met yours. “Thank you.”

“For what?” You questioned, your head cocking slightly.

“For everything.” He murmured, his fingers coming up to brush your hair behind your ear. “For being my friend, taking care of me. For being you.”

“Nolan, you don’t have to thank me…”

“I know,” He insisted, the hand that came up to your face lingering just a little longer, not yet dropping back to his side. “I know I don’t but I want to.”

“Nolan…”

“I also want to do one more thing.”

Before you could even process a response, he was stepping closer to you and his other hand joined the first in cupping your cheeks and tilting your head upward, his lips pressing to yours in a gentle but sure kiss. You gasped softly, your eyes a small noise of surprise escaping you and your hands clasped around his wrists. His kiss was soft, gentle enough to not scare you away but it wasn’t tentative. You knew without a doubt that this was something Nolan was sure of and with just a second’s hesitation as you regained your bearings, you kissed him back, and as you did so Nolan sighed into the kiss, relief flooding him. Your eyes fluttered shut, throwing yourself into the moment. You kissed him back with the same gentle urgency, allowing his tongue to tangle with yours when you felt it trace your bottom lip. You don’t know how long the two of you kissed. Eventually, the urgency calmed and you fell into slow, languid movements until you both needed to come up for air. Your eyes remained closed for a moment longer as you felt Nolan’s forehead rest gently on yours. When you opened them once more, you were met with the ocean blue eyes that, though at the time you hadn’t realized it, you fell in love with the moment you saw them. Your hands were still clasped around his wrists, thumbs brushing the tops of his hands as you smiled up at him before he broke the silence first.

“I’ve wanted to do that for a while now.”

You giggled softly, letting go of his wrists and pushing up onto your tiptoes so you could wrap your arms around his neck. “That was nice.”

Nolan chuckled, his hands dropping to your waist. “I’ve had feelings for you I think from the start.”

“Oh is that what that means?” You teased, giving his nose a quick peck. “I thought it was just a ‘thank you for decorating my apartment, (Y/N)’.”

He gently squeezed your sides, eliciting a surprised squeak from you. That soft smile of his graced his face once more before he spoke again. “I’m serious. I think that maybe… I think I’ve loved you for a long time now.”

“You love me?” You asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Yeah,” He replied, his hand rubbing your sides, “Yeah, I love you.”

You grinned from ear to ear, Nolan’s smile almost matching yours before you pushed your lips to his again, loving how they felt on your own. You were nearly breathless when you pulled away again, speaking in a hushed tone. “Good, because this would have been so fucking weird if this was just your way of saying thank you.”

Nolan quirked an eyebrow, his little smirk spreading across his lips. “So it’s not weird?”

“No, you idiot,” You giggled, “Because I love you, too.”

He pulled you into one more kiss, this one just as slow and gentle as the very first. You couldn’t describe the happiness that was flowing through your veins, but you did know one thing. It was there, in the ridiculously decorated living room of his apartment, beneath the warm glow of Christmas lights, that everything had changed.

#my writing #winter fic exchange #nolan patrick #philidelphia flyers #nhl fanfiction #hockey fanfiction #fluff

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sweetea-rosey · 3 years ago

Note

Ooo hi I saw you take requests? I have a writing request if you want to :))

So here is my idea:

Remus has a notebook given to him by the other sides to write his thoughts down in. See, Remus has clear impulse control problems so this notebook of for him to write his thoughts down instead of just doing and saying whatever comes to mind. It gives him a chance to think about it. Sometimes, maybe like once a week give or take a few days one of the other sides will sit down with him and read his thoughts with him just to make him feel validated and heard. Well this particular time one of the sides (of your choice) sat down with the notebook and found some rather interesting things.

Now, you can take this one of two ways (it’s really all up to you!)- You can make this something angsty (hurt comfort), or you can make it something shippy! It can be any Remus ship you want but I personally am more partial to intrulogical hehe 💙��

Take your time and have fun with it!! Have a good day :)

Ah! Ty for the request! I started writing it on the day you submitted it, but Tumblr deleted it after a while of not saving :') so now my motivation to do this is deterred

Anyway, this'll be my first time not writing something Roman centric =w=""

Remus held the book in his hands. He remembered the day Roman gave it to him, when he risked traveling into the dark scape because he knew his brother needed this. Because he did, too.

An outlet.

A place for his monstrosities to be, other than inside his head, allowed to torture him to their best abilities. The illusions his mind creates are no longer just in his eyes. It's no longer insanity- it's creativity. The journal isn't the first one. But he and Roman make sure to keep eachother stocked up; they get filled rather quickly. The Imagination holds an entire library dedicated to their filled journals from over the years.

The journals have also become sort of diaries to them. So, imagine what were to happen if one of them got lost? The possibility of their secrets being seen by unbidden eyes.

Remus burst into Roman's room, "Ro!"

Roman jumped from his spot at his desk, "Jeez- ! What is it?"

Oddly, for Remus, he seemed almost anxious, "Have you seen my latest journal?"

Ah, that explains it. Roman understands the severity of losing something that holds your private thoughts. He stood up from his desk chair, turning to face Remus better, "No, I haven't. Is it missing?"

Remus nodded, unable to speak through the panic coursing through his veins, the hormone mixing with the feeling of the plasma we call blood rushing through veins and arteries, rest in his heart, which is thumping with vigor, the- Remus shook himself. The imagery coming on its own with nothing to do with it, "Thoughts, thoughts thoughts, thoughts, blood, where? Everywhere? It is me, I am thoughts and blood and gore and death and slime, and..."

Roman pulled his brother in, the physical touch of his second half grounding him, finally balanced out with his brother there to help him.

"Breathe, Ree...I get it...I'll help you look for it, okay? Do you have any spare journals?"

Remus shook his head. He had just started this one, he was too busy brainstorming on the pages to remember to restock.

"Okay, do you have the focus to conjur any, right now?"

Remus shook his head again. No no, of course not! He's too focused on the one that's missing!

"Alright, that's okay, Ree. I get it. Here, use this for now," As Roman spoke, he pressed a plain black book in the unstable man's hands, "Get some thoughts out on that, then we can start looking, okay?"

Instead of answering, he made the rest of the way into the prince's room and started letting the thoughts out.

"Feel better?"

Remus let out a breath and nodded, "A lot, thanks. Can we go look, now?"

"Of course, let's go."

It took hours. The sun was gone in Thomas' living room and they were still tearing the place apart, searching absolutely everywhere. Remus was tempted to just dismantle the mind palace and look through the stuff that gets left behind. The fear was boiling in his gut in the ocean of acid.

"What if we don't find it? My blood, sweat, and tears went into that book! Pieces of my heart are in there, I can't lose it, what if someone else finds it and reads it?"

Roman shuddered, because he didn't believe that Remus was being metaphorical, "I understand the severity of the situation, Ree. We should go look in the Lightside, now..."

Remus shrugged as much as his slumped posture will allow, "Sure..."

"We'll find it, Ree..."

"That's not what I'm worried about. If I lose it? Fine, I have others, I can start a new one. I'm scared of someone else finding it and reading it... there's things in there I don't want others seeing..."

"I get it, you know I do. We'll get it back before anyone else can even know it exists, alright?"

Remus just shrugged off his comforting hand, "Stupid prince, always making promises you don't even know if you can keep. Don't do that to yourself and don't do it to me. I'm not stupid enough to fall for that shit."

Roman recoiled, almost physically, "Sometime, people just need reassurance."

"And then, when you're wrong? I know you don't like breaking promises, Princey."

"...Then hopefully we'll figure it out."

"You're such a fucking optimist, it's gross."

Roman rolled his eyes, "I'm helping you look, be nice, you doofus."

"Oh wow, "doofus", I'm so offended," Remus said without much effort.

Roman ignored him.

"It's not HERE!" Remus screamed, a pot crashing through the wall.

Roman manged to muffle the noise and quickly put it back together, "We will, this was only the first room in the Lightside. You need to calm down."

"I can't! What if someone else already found it and read it? What if they hate me? What if they never wanna talk to me again because nothing in there makes sense, what-"

Roman caught his hands, "Woah! Woah...Remus, when did you start caring so much about what the others think of you?"

"I don't!"

"But...-"

"I don't care about what Logan and the other think of me."

"Of what...Logan and the...? Remus...is this about Logan?"

Remus hesitated just long enough.

"Oh great Aphrodite, it is..."

"Aphro-? NO! No, I don't!"

"Remus, is there something about Logan on that book?"

Remus said fuck it in his mind and sighed, "Yes... I...some fantasies...that he might not approve of..."

"Oh, Remus..."

"What if he finds out, and he...? He just doesn't...?"

Roman hit his brother on the head, "This is why you're a doofus. It doesn't matter if he finds it, you have nothing to worry about."

Remus rolled his eyes. Literally. He rolled them like dice and Roman had to look away, but got the message.

"How would you know?"

It was Roman's turn to roll his eyes (PROPERLY).

"I'm leaving you to figure that out. But, I do."

"Sure. Whatever. Asshole."

Roman moved on to look in the next room.

A flash of green leaped onto him and he was tumbling over, the item in his hands flying out.

"Remus!"

The man scrambled over and snatched the book up, "Did you read it?"

"I- no, Remus what is it?"

"It's mine. Roman, I found it!"

Roman? Since when do those two talk? But, as Remus said, Roman walked in.

"Oh, thank Hades."

"Logan had it."

Roman sucked in a breath, "Did he read it?"

Remus shook his head, relief is a weird expression on the man's face.

Logan wouldn't mind seeing it more.

"What is this about?"

Roman took the liberty of answering, "The book is Remus' and it's private. Reading it would be invasive."

"Oh, my apologies, then. But, I had just picked it up, it was left over from Remus' running through the room and into the Imagination, along with some other debris I cleaned up."

"It's alright, nerd."

Logan's gaze lingered on Remus a bit, before he bid his farewells, reminded Roman of some work he needs to do by Friday, then left.

"Y'know," Roman said as they turned to walk back, "You could tell him how you feel."

Remus scoffed, "I'm not self destructive, like you, RoRo."

Ignoring Remus' jabs is difficult for the prince, nevertheless, "And do, pray tell, how it's self destructive?"

"Because he'll say no and that will hurt. I don't like when things actually hurt. I'm not risking him hating me even more."

"Woah, woah, he doesn't hate you."

"Doesn't he? I'm chaotic, irrational, vile, ik everything he fights to keep under control."

Roman digested this and thought hard on how best to explain this, "But that's exactly why you two are perfect for each other. You help him let loose when he's being a stick in the mud and he helps you keep in control of yourself and stay organized.

"You're delusional. He doesn't like me, he can't Ro. It goes against our very beings! Go ahead and fool yourself, but you can't do that to me. That's just cruel." Remus disappeared and Roman sighed as he tried to brush off his brother's words.

As the embodiment of romance, he thinks he'd know when a couple will work out or not. How will he convince his brother and Logan of that? He supposes he can't blame them for that, who would listen to the love advice of someone who loves someone that loves someone else? Kinda hypocritical.

"Just leave me alone!"

"Remus! Would calm down? Just listen to me!"

"No! You're a liar and I hate you! Do you want me to get hurt? You're an asshole you good for nothing prince!" He screamed. Why won't his brother let this go? Doesn't he see that everyone is better this way?

"Fine! You're right! Is that what you want to hear? Call me an asshole, call me stupid, call me evil or whatever! But I'm not wrong! Why don't you believe me? Ha! Why am I trying to reason with the self proclaimed unreasonable?"

Remus looked down from his perch on the guillotine, "Wait, RoRo-!" But he was gone.

"Fuck."

He rushed out, hoping to Loki that he didn't do too much damage.

"Roman!"

But he found who he wants looking for.

"Why are you screaming in the middle of the common room?" Came that cool and sexy voice.

"Looking for my brother, duh."

"Funny, I just spoke to him."

"Where'd he go?"

"Not sure, but he told me to stop being a robotic fake and confess to you."

"He- ? ROMAN!" Remus summoned a hammer and maybe there's a new hole in the wall.

"He was right, surprisingly."

Remus was not expecting that, "Come again?"

"I have noticed, over the course of our interactions, that I have developed feelings that I didn't recognized until Roman brought them to my attention. Remus...I have romantic feelings for you."

And it was the last casual and calculated confession Remus ever heard. He imagined something with ropes. But it was the best thing he ever heard. He didn't expect to be crying.

"Remus?"

"I like you, too..."

Logan brightened and stood up, his heart beating unnaturally, yet pleasently, as he moved closer, "Then... perhaps we...?"

But before he could finish, Remus pulled him in and there was no need for words.

Part 2 with what happened with Roman afterwards?

Ty so much for the request and I apologies for the long wait.

@fireflyjunkie

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tobiosmilktea · 4 years ago

Text

red ink — semi eita

2.5k words | genre/s: tattoo shop!au, friends with benefits, smut | warning/s: uhh badly written nsfw | pairing: musician!semi x tattoo artist!reader

↪︎ in which famous musician, semi eita is a regular at your tattoo parlor and only gets work done from you and you only. the only catch is that fans only know that much and definitely not the fact that you and him are friends with benefits.

a/n: happy belated bday for my good friend @kitsunetea. here’s my shameless second (third?) attempt at writing smut as a late bday gift bc fuck it, amirite haha ✋🏻😔

please take it easy on this one,, this is singlehandedly one of the worst nsfw pieces i’ve ever written and i just want to apologize in advance...

semi had forgotten the tingling feeling of a tattoo gun striking away at his skin. he liked how each indent of minuscule pinpricks would leave a mark on him forever. the pain, though not enough to make him grit his teeth like the first time around when he impulsively got one on the side of his ribcage, was actually quite nice. the sensation was almost addictive, however, it wasn’t as nearly as addictive as you.

it was no shock nor surprise that each reveal of his newest tattoo was always done by you. most would understand the practicality of going to one tattoo artist consistently. if anything, most of his fans would come to believe that he simply just liked your style of tattooing and artistry, but no one would even claim to think that you two had even a pinch of something going on behind the scenes. it wasn’t like he would always stop by your shop all disguised and covered up in a black cap and a face mask just in case there were any hidden onlookers that would blatantly assume the worst.

the worst being that semi eita, the nation’s current rockstar heartthrob, was hooking up with some obscure, back alley tattoo artist.

but it was safe to say he was as addicted to you as he was addicted to the infamous pain of receiving a tattoo.

it had been ages since his last tattoo. this one especially was placed on his right forearm of a snake that spiraled up and around his wrist in red ink.

times like these—here, where your eyes are focused and locked onto his skin, making sure to capture each intricate detail, brows drawing together in concentration as you made swift and accurate runs over his skin—came to realize how much he missed the feeling of getting tattooed. but most importantly, he missed the feeling of you. the warmth of your skin, body blazing underneath him as your breath tickled at the nape of his neck.

at moments like these where he could just stare at your entirety for an hour and a half, admiring how the low lights cast shadows upon each and every curve of your body was enough to keep him occupied through the process.

you lifted your tattoo gun up as your other gloved hand wiped the area clean from any residual ink. you took one last look at your work, clean and well-done.

it was pretty good if you could say so yourself. the linework was easily one of your best, and the shading was even better. no wonder semi liked getting work done by you so much (other than the fact that you two are friends with benefits—he would joke, “i’ll give you the best night of your life and you can give me a free tattoo in return.”)

you’ve never seen that man back out of a joke that quickly in your life. regardless, you still found yourself taking him up on that offer, still paying for his tattoos as a good customer should. support local businesses as they always say.

“alright,” you say, breaking the last ten minutes of silence as you cleaned him up. “you already know the drill–gently wash it with warm soap and water at least twice a day, pat dry, and then apply ointment.”

semi looked up at you once you stood up to grab a box of saniderm from another station. he stands up, making his way to one of the large mirrors on the wall to inspect his tattoo as a smile crept onto his lips.

“how is it?”

“it’s perfect,” he says, “as always.”

“well, you shouldn’t expect anything less from me.”

“you know, you don’t have to be so professional all the time. the shop’s already closed and no one else is here but us.”

you give him a pointed look as you take out a strip of saniderm large enough to cover the circumference of his forearm. you press the thin plasticine carefully around his freshly bruised skin, peeling the protective backing off of the clear bandage. “technically, you’re still a customer. can’t really give you any more special treatment.”

“says the girl who literally gives me tattoos after the shop closes,” semi fires back.

“or you could actually come in during normal hours to get one instead of coming a minute before we close just so we can hook up,” you deadpan, ignoring the look he gave you as you turn around and made your way towards the front desk.

semi doesn’t miss a single beat in following right behind you, stopping in front of the counter as you were on the other side with the cash register.

“well if you didn’t want to fuck in the back room anymore, you could’ve just told me,” says semi as you tap away at the screen in front of you, “we can go to my apartment instead.”

“paying with card again?” you ask, completely ignoring the way your body heated up all of a sudden.

the musician in front of you nods, handing you his card quickly. you take the thin plastic out of his hand and swiped it in one quick motion, handing it to him once the machine properly reads his card. within seconds, the receipt comes out of the printer. you snatch it from the opening before shoving it into semi’s chest.

“so what do you say?” he presses, continuing to follow you around like a dog as you serpentine your way back to your station.

you let out a sigh, huffing as you start cleaning up, “about what?”

“about me taking you home. maybe spend the night?”

you swerve around to face him, a spray bottle of disinfectant in one hand and paper towels in the other. you give him a coy smile, “you’re funny,” you huff before pushing past him to spray the chair then wiping it down.

“come on, (y/n), it’s been a while since we’ve last done anything together.” semi gives you a mischievous pout, “don’t you miss me?”

his words immediately flush out your cheeks as you recalled the memory so vividly, it was like you could almost feel semi’s large hands exploring every inch of your body, memorizing every dip and curve like it was second nature. to think that all happened in the storage closet while there were people still in the shop. the simple thought of your last rendezvous with him went straight to your heat.

no wonder you haven’t done anything with semi in a while after that little stunt he pulled almost a month ago.

in order for a tattoo shop to run properly, it needed to be completely sanitary to prevent any health complications considering your job was to literally puncture tattoo ink deep into people’s skin, the risk of infection runs high in situations like these. so by law, fucking in a tattoo shop, regardless if it was in the backroom, was completely out of regulations. not to mention the scandals to potentially spread like wildfire that one of the world’s favorite musicians being at the root of all this.

those poor fangirls, you thought. drama was the last thing you wanted.

“so?” you say, trying to pull yourself together as you finish sanitizing the chair. you turn to face him, hoping that he couldn’t see the way your cheeks were burning up knowing he would only keep up the teasing. “why don’t you just fuck one of you groupies or something?”

semi scoffs, “i’d never stoop that low. besides, you’re the only one i’ve been with ever since this started happening between us.”

“good for you for not being a whore, i guess?”

you brush past him again, this time cleaning up the mess on your table. placing the spray bottle of water, rolls of paper towels, bottles of red ink, and your gloves away–you discard anything else in the bin.

“don’t be like that,” he sighs as he comes and wraps a strong arm around your waist. he rests his chin on your shoulder, the tip of his nose tickling at your skin as his mouth latches onto your neck. “i for sure missed you.”

“eita,” you say, attempting to hold back a moan as he nipped at the sweet spot on your neck. despite your efforts, quiet mewls escape your lips as his thumbs rubbed circles over your hips. “i-i still have to clean up. let me finish and then maybe we could—”

without another word, semi lets go of you and immediately starts getting to work, gathering up all the one-time-use disposable items and dumping them all in the trash. he moves quickly, rubbing down every nook and cranny of your station until it’s squeaky clean. your eyes widen at his state. it was clear he wanted to get this over with as fast as possible so he can finally have you all to himself.

did he really yearn for you this much?

in just a few minutes, the job is already done. clean and spotless and ready for tomorrow’s workday as semi gives you a hopeful look. “is that all?”

you hold back a smile as you motion towards the boxes stacked up near the entrance of the backroom, “i still have to put those away and then we’re all done for the day.”

the man doesn’t even let you finish as he’s already making his way down the hallway. There was no sign of hesitancy in his actions as he grabbed two of the boxes, one stacked on top of the other as he barged into the backroom. you follow him in with only one box in your hand as you placed them in their respective places on the large industrial shelving.

you let out a grunt as you picked up the last box and inserting it into its spot. you sigh, dusting your hands as you turn around to face semi, “alright, we’re all d—”

semi doesn’t hesitate for a second to push you up against the wall, his lips crashing into yours with such desperation and fervor. he had been anticipating this for the past two hours. from the moment he walked in, to the moment you finished tattooing him; all he wanted was you.

you moan into his lips, his hand cupping your jaw while the fingers of the other were already working their magic. his touch greatly juxtaposed the zeal in the way he kissed you deeply, dipping his tongue between your soft lips as his finger, slightly calloused from years of guitar playing, gently trailed their way up your shirt.

there was a brief moment where you had to pull away from him in order to catch your breath. chest rising and falling rapidly along with the quickening beat of your heart, semi dived down to your neck, marking you with dark red bruising to anywhere he had access to. his large palms rubbed your sides before squeezing at your breasts to elicit a pleasurable groan from you. the pent-up heat within you only built the more he played with your body, fingers flicking at your nipples.

“what happened to taking me back to your place?” you asked breathlessly.

“i couldn’t wait any longer,” he mutters on your warm skin, feeling his soft lips twitch into a lopsided grin as before you knew it, he was already tugging your shirt over your head. “jump,” he says and you don’t miss a beat.

he catches you quickly, hands palming your ass as he steers you towards one of the supply tables. pushing away loose items and paperwork off to the sides.

semi’s lips meet yours again as he fiddles with the button and zipper of your jeans, diving his hand inside. he palms your sex, the pads of his fingers teasing up and down your slit as his thumb rubs circular motions around your clit. your moan muffles into his shoulder, breathe heavy and uneven.

you couldn’t seem to catch your breath as he dipped two fingers into you, pumping them in and out slowly. it was a nice change of pace from earlier, and yet you couldn’t help but let out mewls of impatience as you ground your hips into his hand, desperate for more.

semi knew what the hell he was doing.

he was a musician after all. his entire career was literally built off of his innate ability to play the guitar that each expertly placed finger and movement that accompanied it was guaranteed to send waves of pleasure throughout your entire body. he was good at what he did and he knew it. he didn’t need to see the way you were shaking under him, coating his hand with your juices, or have to hear your addicting moans to know you felt so, so good.

“eugh, eita–” your breath hitches when he curls his fingers inside you, rubbing the spongy spot deep within you in the best way possible. you curse under your breath, savoring the pleasure as you felt your release coiling in your abdomen.

“you’re close aren’t you?” semi didn’t even have to ask to know as your walls tightened around him. you nod hastily, eyes coating in lust and the desire to feel the release as you look at him.

the look that you gave him as enough to send him over the edge, his thoughts blurring once he quickens his pace, his middle and ring finger pistoning in and out of you.

you let out a cry, practically trembling under him. “oh my god, oh my god.”

with his other hand, he finds your clit again, rubbing you over the edge. it was all too much. from the mixing cacophony of the most obscene and vulgar sounds of sex emanating from the backroom to the absolute thrill of how good semi was making you feel—you were ready to feel that euphoric glow.

“fuck,” you clawed at his shoulders, nails digging into his skin even through the fabric of his shirt. “shit, baby, i’m gonna—”

semi doesn’t mind the sting of your scratches at his body as he was too busy paying mind to you cumming all over his hand. gushing fluid escapes from you in waves as semi continues pumping his fingers in and out of you, his pace matching with the way your walls pulsated around him.

as you came down from your high, your arms that rested on the table to hold you up felt weak. almost immediately, your body slumps onto semi as he licks your pleasure off his fingers. you bury your face into the crook of his neck as you both stayed there for a few beats to catch your breaths, savoring the unique afterglow whenever you were with semi.

perhaps it wasn’t so bad doing this type of thing with him a bit more often. you didn’t mind what you had with him right now even if you two were just friends with benefits. you liked what you had now and asking for more would certainly cause a strain you don’t want to happen so soon.

your hand reaches up to run through his soft hair.

“hey,” you softly say. he only responds with a hum, “what about you?” you ask as your eyes cast down to the straining tent in his jeans.

he doesn’t answer. instead, he places a few kisses on your cheek and down to your neck before placing one of your lips. “let’s continue this at home, i have a surprise for you.”

general taglist: @yongboxerrr @rosepetalhaven @tvwhoresblog @tanakaslastbraincell @kellesvt @kitsunetea @anejuuuuoy

#haikyuu!!#haikyuu #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu smut #haikyuu fluff #semi eita #semi x reader #semi scenarios #semi imagines #semi smut #semi fluff

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fandom-monium · 4 years ago

Text

Alive Together - Day 1

Summary: Welcome to the Monsterpocalypse. You’re a lone wanderer trying to survive. Until you meet Joel Dawson and Boy.

WC: 4k

Tag/Warnings: light themes of death and grief?? Cursing but minimal. Slow burn. Enemies to friends to lovers?

AN: MEET CUTE? NO. MEET UGLY.

(Entry 2#3#)

Hungry. I have nothing else to report today except that I, (Your Name), am starving. Grilled spiders and roasted centipedes are starting to get old.

I've mentioned it before and I'll do it again, but I miss home cooked meals. Even Dad's shoddy attempts at recreating Mom's recipes. The last time I think was… nevermind.

It hurts; I barely remember the last time I had dinner with Dad, much less Mom, flashes of the memories I have left blurring. Probably from the tears. I used to cry at the slightest thought of Mom and then Dad. Now my heart clenches whenever I try because I shouldn't have to try to remember my own family. Believe it or not, it’s progress.

Maybe it's my fault. I hadn't bothered to snag any mementos that reminded me of them before fleeing the bunker, like an album or something. There weren't many personal items that they'd given me, now that I think about it. Too much clutter, the Captain said.

Or maybe it's the lack of consistent stimulus to my brain. I can't read as much as I'd like to, mainly because it's too dangerous to be distracted (constant vigilance is an important virtue in this world, if you hadn’t noticed). Most books that I've stumbled across (literally, I tripped over a hill of hardcovers. Not fun. Very painful) were either tattered or worn beyond comprehension, destroyed by rain or monster attacks.

Speaking of, my stomach grumbled. I need to start hunting before it gets dark... and before I attract another monster to myself. Again.

-(Your Name) (Your Last Name)

Day 1 - First Impressions

You shut the journal as an ominous roar thunders in the distance. Heart in your throat, you’re already on your feet, shoving the book into your pack and gathering the rest of your things. Once you’re certain there’s no trace left of you on the roof, you gaze at the neighborhood below, shielding your eyes as you scan for signs of alerted monsters.

Greenery and ruins go on for miles, unperturbed.

It’s high noon, rays of sunlight seeping through the clouds and warming your exposed skin. A gust of wind brushes your face and hair, and you suppress a smile. It’s not everyday the weather is this nice, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d relish in it.

Good thing you do know better.

You trace your path to the hills. The town is a maze of torn down buildings and overgrowth, winding roads littered with abandoned houses and wrecked vehicles, and, of course, hidden monsters. There’s only a couple hours before nightfall, and you’re far from your destination.

Better start walking. You’ve wasted enough time.

You climb down the side of the dilapidated house, dropping to the ground with a thump. If there’s one thing you’ve learned since the start of the apocalypse, it’s that residential areas harbored the most monsters, aside from the cities. Too many alcoves perfect for nesting. It’s safer away from the old world.

Safer, not safe.

You keep to the shadows, avoiding the open whenever you can despite the barren streets, darting between urban remnants. Your heart eventually settles as you scan your surroundings like anything and everything will pounce on you the second you let your guard down. By the time you cross the residential area and asphalt roads bleed into dry fields (from years of neglect, you somberly note), the sun has crept out from behind the clouds and the sky is clear blue.

You find a barn after hours of trudging through shrubs and your sore feet. It looms at the top of the hill leading to a dense forest, tall enough that as you step into its shadow it blocks out the sun. Walking closer, you tense as you scrutinize the place, eyes combing over the immediate vicinity.

Nothing. Nothing moves or breathes. You don’t see or hear a peep. Not from the barn or the woods beyond. It’s completely isolated from the nearby town, a perfect fort.

Or a nest.

You huff; shit like this has happened one too many times and you’d be a fool if you haven’t learnt your lesson by now. You pull out your javelin and approach with caution, leaves and grass crunching under your boots as you take in the chipped paint and boarded up windows, steadily making your way around the decrepit building. You frown at the clear deterioration, unable to spot any visible breaches.

Reaching the front of the barn, you gaze warily at the lone entrance. Tall doors ajar, old boards are still nailed across the slim gap or hanging precariously. As if someone or something pried them off, busted through.

In or out, you can’t tell.

For a moment, you weigh your options. You doubt the place had anything to offer, pillaged long before you stumbled upon it. Hell, there’s probably a monster nesting somewhere inside, or a bunch of monster eggs.

But you need food, supplies, rest. Are you willing to risk your life on the small chance this rickety barn can provide those things?

You stare down the the opening and it stares back, deceptively innocent. But it’s mocking you, you can hear it. Just daring you to walk away.

You shuffle on aching feet, making your clothes rub against your sweaty skin.

As if on cue, your stomach growls.

Groaning, you adjust your grip on the spear before ducking inside.

You let your eyes adjust to the dark interior. Light seeps through the rotted ceiling and cracks from the boarded windows, enough that you don’t need a flashlight to see the place is deserted. You glance around the huge room, javelin ready as you wait with bated breath, ears straining to hear over your pounding heartbeat.

Nothing. You don’t hear anything, except the trees rustling outside. Nothing shifts or darts out of sight. No signs of life, not even eggs (that you can see).

It doesn’t mean you're clear, but it’s a start.

Biting your lip, you take a careful step, and another and another, your eyes sweeping the room as you tread over straw and debris. You pause mid-step when you catch a pulley system attached to the ceiling. It’s dark, but you recognize its outline. Frowning, you trace its small, thin woven ropes as they split in different directions against the ceiling and walls, hitting and crossing the floor until they disappear under a thick layer of hay.

You raise your foot, gently kicking away the straw. You step back.

A net. A decent sized one by the width of the patch of hay.

You sigh, shoulders dropping in relief. If you hadn’t been cautious you’d never have noticed it.

You make your rounds quickly as you check for resources. At this point, it’s muscle memory for you as you move through the room with silent purpose, efficient and controlled. You dig through every storage unit, every container, pulling open cabinets and drawers, tearing through the floor with precision as you toss aside rusted tools and empty cans, a pit burning in your stomach. You snarl, throwing down another torn rag. It hits the floor with a thud.

You knew this would happen. You know the chances, but after all this time you still feel the crushing disappointment? You let out a shaky breath, nostrils flaring as you attempt to quell your frustration.

You can practically hear your mother snap at you. Don’t let your emotions get the better of you, (Your Nickname), unless you want to die, her stern voice echoes. You unclench your teeth with a sigh.

It doesn’t take long, your anger simmering down with each exhale, and when you’re sure you’re calm enough, you resume your initial task: scavenging the barn. Is it a waste of time and energy? Yes. Will you find anything useful? Unlikely. Are you going to try anyway?

You head for the stairs to the hayloft. Even if there seems to be nothing left, you need to make sure.

A few minutes later, you're sifting through another trunk when a yelp cuts across the dusty air, followed by the shrill sound of grinding metal. You startle, hissing as you bang your head against the trunk lid. Pushing down the throbbing pain, you snatch your spear and clamber down the stairs, stumbling forward as your eyes darting around the dust drifting in the air. Something barks over you and you look up.

Huh. Did not expect that.

You were prepared for a snarling, limb crushing insect. Or maybe a triple jawed mammal. Even a mega-pig. You’ve seen enough of those and managed.

But a dog? More specifically, a dog caught in the net you barely avoided. It’s tangled in the ropes suspended just above your head, gently swaying. It seems it does not care for the swinging because it starts barking again, louder and more urgent than before.

“Ah, poor doggy,” you croon, lowering your weapon. To your surprise, the dog stops and jerks to face you, its dark eyes gleaming in the shadows. You eye the seemingly calm animal. “Now, how did you get here? Were you following me?”

The dog whines, squirming in a sad attempt to escape. Your lips quirk up. Aside from the occasional bird, you haven’t seen a normal animal in what feels like forever, much less a dog. Most regular animals were consumed by monsters or by people for food.

Food. You haven’t eaten.

You study the dog; its dark brown fur, sleek and short, its body small⎼almost medium sized, with pointed ears and a long snout. And by the way it looks at you, it has some intelligence.

Your stomach grumbles, and the creature cocks its head at you, ears forward.

Shit.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that,” you grimace at the dog, adjusting your hold before aiming the tip at it. “It’s nothing personal, okay? I’m hungry, and you’re the first thing I’ve seen that hasn’t tried to kill me in a while.”

Which isn’t a lie. Hunting is crazy difficult these days. But you swallow as your eyes meet, its stare unwavering like you aren’t pointing a weapon at his little body. Just one motion and you could end its life painlessly (lucky bastard), but your knuckles go white and you grip falters. Why are you hesitating now?

The dog, as if sensing your battle, barks again, this time more composed than panicked, as if trying to communicate with you. You’re grateful you can’t speak Dog. It’s probably saying something like ‘No, you’re better than this’ or ‘Please don’t do this’ or⎼

“Put him down!”

Or that.

Dear Aimee,

Guess what?

I got a dog! And he’s the coolest, his name is Boy.

He saved my life from a giant frog in a pool who tried to eat me with his tongue, and then we hung out in his bus! Man, do we make a great team. We found out that we have a ton in common too. I feel like we can talk about anything.

You gotta see us out here; we’re like this iconic duo. I don’t know, feels like when we’re together, we’re unstoppable.

“Right, Boy? Boy?” Joel glances at his side, doing a double take. The dog’s gone. His shoulders slump, “Of course, the first friend I’ve made outside and he leaves me. Sounds about right.”

He didn’t think he could gain and lose a friend within the span of two days. This has to be some kind of record.

He jerks when he hears Boy’s faint barking, guiding him as he drags himself back to the old barn they just passed. For good reasons. The decaying barn looks like it’s in need of a new contractor and a paint job… or three. And an exterminator.

God, the surface is terrifying.

Gulping down his dread, Joel crouches to peer through the gaping hole in the wall. This must be where Boy came through. “Whatcha got there?”

The barking ceases, and so does Joel’s heart.

You stand in the dark like an apparition, back turned to him so he can’t make out your features. Your attention is fixed on the shadowed lump hanging over you, and while it’s dark and he doesn’t have a good vantage point, Joel’s mouth goes dry as he seeks out Boy.

Boy woofs again, and Joel’s heart drops. You step closer to the lump.

For a split second, he sees a flash of his mother’s face, her tears streaming down her cheeks.

He doesn’t think; no thoughts, head empty. Blood roars in his ears. His hands tremble. But he doesn’t hesitate, ripping the makeshift crossbow from his back as he scrambles under the opening.

“Put him down!”

He’s not entirely sure what he expects. He’s read enough comic books to understand the situation; the hero drops in to save damsel in distress then proceeds to demolish the bad guys. Technically, he has the upper-hand here. Right?

But realization slams into him. It knocks the air out of him, and he forgets to breathe.

He shouldn’t have barged in like an idiot. He isn’t a hero. He’s nothing like the superheroes in comics and movies and graphic novels. He doesn’t have super strength or speed or highly advanced tech and he sure as hell is not a genius.

What he does have: a freezing problem.

He’s already lost feeling in his hands, and he almost drops the weapon as you look over your shoulder at him.

On the other hand, you have a pretty clear idea before you face your captor (seeing him now, can you even consider him that?). With the apocalypse, governments crumbled with ease along with laws and morals, so it’d make sense for people to disregard them. You’ve met quite a few… characters, and you’ve chalked it up to these main categories; garbage thieves, sleazy scavengers, and shitty thugs.

In short, humans are selfish creatures. Prepare for the worst.

You’ve thrown down, fought dirty, bartered with them all and still managed to come out on top, the scars across your body a constant reminder. Nothing surprises you at this point.

A fumbling boy though? You mask your amusement, raising an eyebrow as you take him in. The guy, tall and disheveled, blocks the only exit out of this godforsaken place, his red jacket rumpled and dusty like he’s fallen one too many times. However, what nearly sends you is, as he steps further into the light, you bite your lip, his eyes round and small lips pressed together as the crossbow quakes in his hands.

Who let this puppy out of their sight?

“Listen, buddy,” You finally speak, making Joel flinch. Your eyes narrow as his fingers jerk on the trigger. That’s not good. “If you’re gonna point that thing at me, you better know how to use it.”

He sucks in air, clearing his throat as his eyes dart between Boy and you. He cringes when his voice comes out octaves higher than he expected, “Let Boy go.”

“’Boy’?” You glance up, your weapon still raised at the squirming little fellow. “Oh, you mean Dinner?”

“You were gonna eat him?”

You shrug. “Maybe. Depends how this goes.”

“Okay,” Joel swallows, a futile attempt to keep his tone even as nausea sprouts in him. You plan to eat Boy? How can someone eat something so cute? “Let him go, and we’ll leave you alone. How ‘bout that?”

Beads of sweat drip down his temple as his breaths come out shuddered. He’s not used to this; he’s gone from being the chef of his colony to making demands, negotiating with a possible psycho. He never trained for this! Well, he’d never been trained, period.

What if he says the wrong thing and sets you off, hurting Boy in the process? He might faint⎼no⎼he will faint. He doesn’t think his heart can handle losing more people… or animals. How is he supposed to save Boy? His fingers twitch against the trigger.

You don’t miss it.

“I don't know about that,” You reply, studying him. His hands tremble as they clutch the weapon. He may not be a scavenger or a thief, but that just makes him all the more unpredictable. Goons, you’d expect them to shoot first, ask questions later, but the fact this guy is making an effort to talk? You want to know his angle, his intentions.

Whether it’s good or bad.

“I’m hungry. It’s going to be dark soon, and Boy here,” You jerk your head at the canine, “was unlucky enough to fall into this ol’ trap.”

You watch, withholding a sneer as emotions and thoughts flit across Joel’s face like an open book. It seems a lightbulb goes off because he looks back at you, eyes wide and hopeful. “You want food? I have some in my backpack. If I give it to you, you let him go?”

He tries not to squirm, the little courage he has waning as your eyes bore into him.

“…Put the crossbow and the bag down. Slowly.”

“You too.” You tilt your head curiously as Joel stutters, “Your spear⎼I mean, if you could stop pointing it at my dog. Please.”

Your brows shoot up. Since the moment he entered⎼wait⎼floundered in here, he could not have made it more obvious that he has no idea what he’s doing. If it wasn’t the way he carried that exposed him, it was definitely his facial expressions, and if not his face, you can hear it trickle through the cracks in his voice. Yet despite how unfair the situation is for him, he’s trying to cover his terror. Failing miserably but trying. All for this cute, little doggy.

And he said please. You ignore the way it warmed you, his tone so…. genuine.

Manners, sincere or not, in the face of danger? You have to respect that.

“It’s a javelin, actually, but I agree to your terms.” Your grip slackens. He might be a wimp, but you have to give it to him. He’s got balls.

A flicker of relief crosses his face, and you both comply with your instructions. In spite of his obvious fear, you roll your eyes as he unzips his bag unnecessarily slower than you meant him to, throwing you a look.

On second thought, he’s either really brave or really stupid. It’s fifty-fifty at this point.

Joel pulls out an aluminum can. It glints in the light as he holds it up and tosses it to you. You catch it easily, inspecting it in your hands.

“Now will you let my dog go⎼Boy!” His scream tears through the barn.

You’re already composed. Uncoiling like a snake, you seize your spear and swing, all in one motion. He lunges for you, but you’re too far. He hits the ground.

Groaning in pain, he berates himself. He should have known; they had no reason to trust each other, so of course this stranger, this psycho, would betray him. He tries to brush it off, the false sense of security dissipating, the relief replaced with crushing betrayal and horror.

This is what the surface is like? His chest clenches. He can’t breath, but this isn’t like when he freezes up on a monster. At least, not those monsters. This is worse. So much worse.

The net rips, then a pained grunt. Joel shields his eyes, burying his face in his hands as tears trail down his dirt-smudged cheeks. His heart thunders in his ears as he prepares for the inescapable sound of Boy’s pained yelps, the squelch of metal piercing flesh. He chokes down a sob.

He only knew Boy for less than two days, but within that timespan he bared his soul to the animal. He probably knew him better than his own colony. In the short time they had together, he became his best friend⎼

Okay, ew. What is licking him?

“Boy?” Joel groans, flinching away as the dog bombards him with wet kisses. “Wait, you’re not dead?”

You step into the light, javelin in hand as you snort, “Of course not. Did you think I was gonna kill him?”

Yes. Joel sits up and cradles Boy to his chest, gawking at you.

You glare at him, almost offended. “I’m not a monster.”

No. No you are not.

Decked in a faded blue jacket, you stand relaxed, spear perched over your shoulder (or a jav⎼java-something). Your eyes glint in the sunlight like steel, hard and piercing, with dark circles under them. You watch him with a slight frown. And like him, there’s smudges of dirt on your face and clothes, but you manage to make it look cool and purposeful.

You don’t look like a monster, but you kind of acted like one. Joel is conflicted.

He opens his mouth to respond, but he's not sure what to say in this situation, overwhelmed by a cocktail of emotions that he’s still coming down from. Before he conjures an appropriate response (is there even one?), you're shouldering your backpack and slipping through the gap. Joel rushes to his feet. “Hey, wait!”

You continue up the hill, not bothering to turn to him as you purse your lips. “Oh. You’re still here.”

“Yeah, I’m ‘still here’! You held my dog hostage; kind of hard to get over,” he grumbles, panting as he trudges after you with Boy at his heels. You’re faster than you look. “So⎼uh⎼where you heading?”

“Away.”

He nods almost sage-like, wringing his hands together. “Cool, cool. So mysterious,” He pauses, inhaling deeply. His voice, now deeper and a bit more relaxed, comes in a rush as he asks, “Is there any chance we could go with you?”

You freeze, and Joel almost crashes into your back. You whirl around and suddenly you’re faced to face, but you’re too astonished by his question to care that he’s in your personal bubble.

His breathes come in heaves. His eyes are big and round, brown and bright with… hope?

It occurs to you that this guy, who hasn’t even given you his name, is a loser. A hopeful, naive loser.

And it’s for that reason you come to a decision⎼you’ll entertain him.

“Where are you going?”

“West,” Joel’s shoulders hunch, his voice self-assured as he adds, “to the coast.”

Yeah... fuck that.

You turn to walk away. “No.”

“Wait!”

You glower at him, stopping him in his tracks. “Dude, we got what we wanted. I got food, you got your dog. End of transaction.”

Joel stares at you for a moment, like he’s debating how far he can test you. He seems to think better of it as his shoulders sag and he caves, “Fine, I’ll head west without you. I can do it.” The last part he says more to himself before turning on his heel, starting in the direction opposite of you.

You nod. This is good, for the both of you. And safer, you tell yourself as you turn to begin your trek again. You’re two strangers in the apocalypse; you don’t know who he is, where he’s been, and, from your experience, it’s best to travel alone. It’s inconspicuous, efficient and⎼

Where the hell is he going?

You halt, squinting as you watch him hike away from the west coast. “Hey!”

He looks at you over his shoulder, his face surprised but expectant. Hopeful. He reminds you of a puppy being called over by their owner.

He thinks you’re caving into him.

Well, jokes on you, loser. You raise an eyebrow, “You know that’s not West, right?”

“Oh,” Joel’s eyes widen, clearing his throat. Boy woofs and he shoots him a withered look, altering his trajectory. “I knew that.”

“That’s not West either.”

He switches directions again.

You shake your head. “No.“

And again.

“Nope.”

Joel’s face reddens, unable to meet your eyes as he stops trying so he doesn’t further humiliate himself.

You make your way over to him, rolling your eyes. He seems to make you do that a lot. “Okay, how much food you got on you?”

“Enough to last me a week? Why⎼”

That’s all you needed to hear.

“Then it’s settled,” You decide, clapping him on the shoulder. He winces. “You share your rations with me, and I’ll help you get to the West coast.”

He blinks, clearly taken aback as you begin your trek once again, gesturing him to follow you. You feel his eyes on your back. “Really?”

“Really. You are a food source. Also I’m pretty sure you’d die before getting halfway.” You add, unabashed.

He frowns, unsure whether to be grateful or not. He decides on the latter. “Oh…thanks anyway?”

“You're really not from around here, are you?” You pause, looking back at him.

He scratches the back of his neck. “No. Is it that obvious?”

“Painfully. So free advice,” You, with a hand on your hip and tone clipped, gesture up and down at his⎼well⎼everything. “Try not to let anyone know you’re a newb. Might keep you alive.” With that, you start heading West, not bothering to see if he’s comprehended the note you bestowed on him.

Joel glances down at himself before trailing after you. “Good to know.”

AN: I want to make it clear: I would never eat a dog, you would never eat a dog, no one would ever eat. A. Dog. That was a joke for this part 1. I even wrote emphasis on your character’s hesitation. It’s just that this is the apocalypse, so it’s safe to assume that survivors are driven into corners, desperate and have to make some hard choices.

The end dialogue is reference to @teenwolffanclub-me TW rewrite bc i love it and them so if you like Dylan O’ Brien and Stiles pls read their shit. <333

This part is a slow starter, but I don’t want to rush this, your intro and your development. But, now that you’ve finally met, hopefully the rest won’t seem any slower than the beginning.

I’ve never wrote for a lone survivor kind of character before. I hope you enjoyed the intro nonetheless!

I think I’ll forgo the 7 parts idea, but that’s a goal.

Part 2 in progress.

Also, how to get a beta reader??

#joel dawson x reader #dylan o'brien x reader #stiles stilinksi x reader #joel dawson #love and monsters #dylan o'brien #stiles stilinski #dylan o'brian imagine #stiles stilinksi imagine #joel dawson x you #joel dawson x y/n #love and monsters x reader #reader insert

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hockeyboysiguess · 4 years ago

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three french horns -> three goal horns | n. mackinnon

a/n: and like clockwork, here is fic number three in my 12 days of christmas series! i wrote this one a while ago and i hurt myself re-reading it to proof it, so i hope you all like it! rest of the christmas series linked here.

word count: 4,037

warnings: alcohol, drinking

“Hey, Nate?” you called out from the living room when you heard the back door open, signaling his reappearance in the house after letting the dogs outside.

“Yeah, baby?” he asked as he stomped his boots on the mat, shaking the last bit of the early Denver snow off.

You asked the question you’d been asking him since two weeks after his birthday, the same question you’d been asking a variation of for the three months before his birthday. “Nate, what do you want for Christmas?”

The sound that left Nate’s mouth was barely human, a groan coming from deep within, from the place that never knew what he wanted for any major gift giving holiday of any kind. You tried to be original, get sentimental things, but it was hard to buy for someone who could literally buy anything they ever wanted. Nate didn’t have big, expensive wishes, so if he wanted something, he often just bought it on the spot and you were none-the-wiser until it showed up at his house. This penchant, this bad habit, carried throughout the holiday season; it was a perpetual state of being for Nathan MacKinnon. This meant that items Nate ordered for himself were as likely to show up December 24th as any other day of the year, which was eternally infuriating as a person in his life trying to buy him gifts on the semi-regular basis.

“I don’t know,” he answered you, like he did every other time. “I’ll like it because it’s from you.”

That response was sweet the first, second, and half-sweet the third time he’d used it on you. Now, that response was worn out like an old pair of jeans, with holes in the thighs and the knees hanging together by a thread, absolutely unusable at this point in time really. Yet Nate continued to say it, like that string of seven words didn’t light a fire in your stomach completely unlike the kind crackling under the stockings on the mantle right now.

“Nate,” you groaned, all too similarly to how he had when you asked your question. Spend enough time with a person and you pick up their habits. You and Nate were a completely unoriginal example of that. “You know I hate when you say that.”

Nate rolled his eyes and shrugged, “Well, I don’t really know. A hat trick? But you can’t get me that, I’ve got to get that for me.”

The infamous illusive hat trick. While it wasn’t those dreaded seven words, you were pretty sure you had heard about this hat trick that was alluding him every other day at this point. In all fairness to Nate, the amount of times he had scored twice in the first two periods of a game this season and been held off the scoreboard in the second was absurd. Commentators were joking about it, his teammates were chirping him over not one, not two, but three missed empty netters that would’ve sealed it, even though Nate liked to say those didn’t really count as hat tricks. Greater than all of that, Nate was starting to incredibly frustrated with himself and his performances. You knew Nate was a competitive guy before you even went on your first date with him, but his competitiveness ran deep and honestly you weren’t sure your relationship would work if you were even an ounce more competitive than you were. Nate had to win, he had to achieve his goals. This goal was quite simply just three goals, but it continued to be just out of reach this season and coming up on the holiday season, pushing the halfway mark, Nate was starting to think it might not happen this year.

“You’ll get one, Nate,” you sighed. “You’re so close and you’re too good not to get whatever you put your mind to.”

“I got a good feeling about the game tomorrow,” he replied, sliding up next to you on the couch to throw a Christmas sweater-covered arm around your shoulders. “My good luck charm is going to be there, right?”

Nate wasn’t superstitious in the slightest, but he said he always scored more whenever you came. Statistically, a complete lie, but it made you feel special all the same. He kissed your temple softly as he relaxed into the couch cushions next to you.

“So, what are we watching? Classic or trashy Christmas?”

That question itself somehow encapsulated every single reason you loved Nathan MacKinnon, despite his pension for buying his own Christmas presents, his overly competitive nature, and the difficulty that came with trying to buy him a present. Nate didn’t love Christmas movies; he wasn’t a hater like some people you’d dated before, but you adored them, both classic and trashy alike. Nate jumped on board with whatever you liked, no questions asked. He always said you didn’t sign up to date all of his teammates that walked through the door scrounging for homemade food or the long hours alone, the least he could do was be as supportive of the things you liked as you were about hockey for him. Nate’s support came in casual, steady waves of constantly and consistently showing up, no matter how tired he was, no matter how long the day before had been. He might fall asleep twenty minutes into the movie, but Nate was here and active and present for as long as he could stay awake. He’d cross deserts and move mountains for an hour with you, and some days that’s what it took, but Nate showed up and jumped on board, which made him the easiest person in the world to love in spite of everything else. It made him the only person you wanted to spend this Christmas and every other one in the future with.

The next day, with his last name on your back and a Santa hat on your head, you found yourself in a position that felt all too familiar this season. You were watching the ice with eager eyes among the other wives and girlfriends. Your breath caught in your throat halfway through the first when you saw two seconds after him that there was nothing between Nate and the net but open ice and a goaltender. You slowly stood up, leaning forward as if those all important inches would help you see the ice better. You didn’t miss the puck sailing over the blocker’s side of the goaltender, or the eruption of cheers from everyone around you as the goal horn rang out, hopefully the first of three for Nate this evening. Mel hugged you, as if you had anything to do with Nate scoring. You adjusted your hat, pulling at the fluffy white edge until it sat a little less haphazardly on your head as you cheered.

“Two more, right?” Mel waggled her eyebrows at you and you rolled your eyes.

“For my sake, I hope so,” you laughed.

Going into Christmas break without this elusive hat trick meant the next four days would be spent with Nate’s mind half at the rink, trying to scheme and plan and game his way into a hat trick, as if the part he was missing was anything other than luck. Maybe he didn’t need regular luck though, maybe just a little bit of Christmas would do the trick tonight. Your third beer in, a vain attempt to calm your nerves with alcohol, and five minutes into the second, on the power play, you watched as Nate easily sailed in his second goal of the game from the high slot, causing the ever familiar cheers and the ringing of the Avalanche goal horn to sound out across the arena.

Two down, and hopefully one to go.

“Hatty watch,” one of the other girls sang out from behind you, giving your shoulders a squeeze.

You let out a loud, long breath, causing a wave of laughter to ripple across the other women around you. Mel teased you about it; they all did. Nate’s quest was well known among the group, something they were equally supportive and teasing about.

“He’ll get one,” Mel assured you with a comforting pat to your leg. “He’s too good not to.”

You really thought he had it. You watched as Mikko and Nate peeled off from the defenders caught on an odd change, leading to a two-on-one with a lone opposing forward doing his best, but poor, impersonation of a defensemen. Mikko passed the puck to Nate, which Nate passed back easily and set himself up for the perfect slap shot on the return. The quick passing had sent the other team’s player sprawling over the ice. It was just Nate and the goaltender, who was frantically shifting his eyes from Mikko to Nate, tilting back and forth on the ice. Mikko’s pass was perfect, right on the middle of Nate’s tape and Nate was ready for the pass. It was tracking high glove side, exactly where Nate wanted it to go, right into the back of the net. The goalie was facing Mikko, two key seconds behind the actual action. Except out of nowhere, the Grinch stole Christmas and Nate’s hat trick when the goalie’s glove suddenly appeared in the path the puck was taking and wrapped around the puck, just on the wrong side of the goal line for Nate.

The referee blew the whistle and signaled no goal. Nate’s hands dropped down, stick hanging low. His head tilted up toward the ceiling of the arena and you could practically hear the groan rise from deep in his chest. It was absolute robbery at its finest and the entire arena knew luck wasn’t on Nate’s side that night. You slumped down into your seat, preparing yourself for yet another two goal game and a frustrated Nate waiting for you in the tunnel when it was over. There were another twenty minutes left in the game, but if the first half of the season had taught you anything, third periods weren’t where Nate racked up anything other than wins and assists, both of which he loved, but he just wanted a third goal, just once. Mikko and Gabe each having one already this season, all six goals involving Nate as either the primary or secondary assist, didn’t help either.

“I think you need to pray or something,” Mel told you with a laugh. “Pray to anything and anyone out there at this point.”

You cleared your throat and looked up at the ceiling of the Pepsi arena, “Santa, I know this isn’t how you take requests,” Mel and the girls around you were already laughing, “but please, pretty freaking please, can we just get some Christmas miracle magic vibes in here? It’s all he wants for Christmas. Please and thank you and I hope you have a Merry Christmas.”

“Are you supposed to say amen if you pray to Santa?” someone behind you asked.

“Look I’m not opposed to it,” you sighed. “It just didn’t feel like the right ending when I was asking for a Christmas miracle.”

The girls all laughed and you just stared up at the ceiling. Maybe Santa might grant your unorthodox request delivered via an even more unorthodox method. Maybe you should’ve written him a letter and dropped it into one of those charity red mailboxes at Macy’s. Maybe Nate just wouldn’t be getting the one thing he wanted for Christmas and there was absolutely nothing you could do about it. You knew he was joking when he asked for a hat trick for Christmas, but joking or not, it was the only thing he even sort of mentioned wanting. If sending out a Christmas wish audibly in the middle of the Pepsi arena was what it took, you were more than happy to do it.

You grabbed your fourth and fifth beer together during the intermission, knowing full and well that you didn’t want to miss a second of one of Nate’s shifts in case something good happened. If after all of this time, all of this waiting, all of Nate’s back and forth debating, if you missed his hat trick goal because you were grabbing another beer, you would have to guess that higher powers didn’t exist and the hockey gods loved laughing at you and maybe Christmas wasn’t that magical after all.

The third period was half over when you finished your fourth beer. Your right leg had been bouncing on the concrete since the period started. Nate was getting some good looks, and added another assist to his point tally for the night, but you and everyone knew what he actually wanted tonight. A slashing call with eight minutes to go put the Avalanche back on the power play, and you knew Nate was going to fight to play every bit of those two minutes he could get, which meant you were about to be in for a mentally exhausting two minutes. Mel offered her hand to you, already knowing you would need her to ground you through this.

The first shot on the power play from Mikko ended up in the opposing goaltender’s glove. Nate lined up for the next face-off and you swore you didn’t breathe as soon as the puck left the referee's hand. Nate swept it back easily to a waiting Gabe. You gripped Mel’s hand hard, grateful you both did this for each other often enough that she didn’t mind. Nate slid up through the low slot and you saw the stars aligning as Gabe sent the puck perfectly in Nate’s direction. Nate was already ready for it when it came, the puck on his stick for less than a second. Your eyes went wide and you felt like you were about to break Mel’s hand as the goaltender shrugged his shoulder up to block Nate’s shot, but he came up short and the puck hit the back of the net.

You were screaming as you jumped to your feet, arms wrapping tightly around Mel as someone else hugged you from behind, again like you’d done anything other than practically give yourself a heart attack watching it. Nate was surrounded by his teammates on the ice, earning a swift pat on the top of the head from Gabe. A glance up at the Jumbotron showed you the wide, bright smile on his face, filling with relief and absolute joy. Mel grabbed your hat by the pom pom and chucked it down towards the ice, making you laugh and a smile that rivaled Nate’s come across your face.

“Finally,” you breathed out a sigh of relief as the arena calmed itself, calming you with it.

You plopped back down into your seat, hatless with half a beer and your pride in Nate left to coast you through the next ten minutes. You knew Nate was going to be in a good mood, and you just wanted to get through the next ten minutes of the game to get to him and congratulate him yourself. The score was heavy in favor of the Avs and they weren’t in any danger of losing this game, so you got to drink your beer and let out a long breath you’d been holding since Nate first came home after back to back two goal games in October without a hat trick in sight.

You were practically bouncing on your heels as you waited in the tunnel for him, fingers fussing with the frayed edge of your denim jacket to get out some of your anxious energy. The second he rounded the corner, a wide, gorgeous smile on his face, you ran toward him. Nate wasn’t the type for large public displays of affection, but satisfaction from your incredibly competitive boyfriend was a hell of an influencer and he opened his arms wide for you. You jumped into him and he stumbled a second before catching you easily, one hand guiding your legs around his waist, the other supporting the back of your thighs.

“Congratulations,” you mumbled in his ear as he laughed at your openly shared excitement for him.

“Thanks, baby,” he told you, the smile he was wearing evident in his voice.

“Proud of you always,” you reminded him as you untucked your head from his neck.

You said it after every single game, win or lose, five points or no points, goal or no goal, you told Nate you were proud of him after every single game. The stats sheet didn’t matter to you. You loved him and you saw the grueling work he put in every single day, every single second he was on the ice. You were proud of him no matter what, and it was one of the thousands of reasons he had come to love you for. Your support, your pride in him and the work he put in never wavered. It was steadfast, something hard to come by in a life as crazy as he lived. You were his rock, his home, and he felt it like the gradual, comforting warmth from sitting by the fire on Christmas Eve, when the world seemed a little more good than it actually was, when you told him you were proud of him.

Nate smiled as he pressed a soft, quick kiss to your lips before gently guiding your feet back to the ground. He pulled you in tighter, collapsing you into him as he let out a long breath that had been holding his tension for months, caught in the hollows of his chest, finally working its way out into the open air. It had been haunting him, like a ghastly Halloween hangover that dared to last until Christmas. Thankfully, it was December now and Nate felt lighter and freer than he had in months.

“You got what you wanted for Christmas,” you mumbled into his chest, causing his chest to vibrate with laughter.

“Guess I sort of did, yeah.” He kissed the top of your head softly. “Ready to go home?”

“Ready for four days of you and me time?” you teased him a little.

Despite your teasing, his response was entirely genuine, “Been looking forward to it for weeks now.”

Your smile in response to his words stuck with you the entire way home. Nate loved you in actions, but sometimes it was nice to hear words from him as well. You kicked off your shoes at the front door, just in the knick of time before the dogs could come and greet you both.

“Want me to crack a bottle of wine or champagne?” you asked Nate as he dropped his bag by the front door.

“Champagne,” he told you before dropping a kiss to your temple. “We’re celebrating tonight.”

You slid into the kitchen, dogs hot on your heels, as you made a beeline for the champagne in the fridge. You’d slid it in before you left for the game on the chance Nate finally got his hat trick tonight. You hadn’t wanted to drink warm champagne if that was the case and now, holding the cold bottle of champagne and two flutes, you knew you had made the right decision betting on your boyfriend tonight. He rounded the corner into the kitchen a few moments later, game day suit still on, jacket and tie lost back in your shared bedroom.

“Glad you got yourself what you wanted for Christmas, Nate,” you smiled teasingly at him as you started to fuss with the gold foil over the champagne cork.

“Before you pop that,” he told you, reaching a hand out to place over yours as you worked on the foil covering the cork, “I, um, I have something for you.”

“Nate, it’s December twenty-third,” you sighed, setting the bottle down on the cool stone counter. “Can’t it wait a couple of days?”

Nate smiled softly at you, a smile that seemed to mean he knew more than you in this exact moment, “I’ve actually been holding on to this gift for a long time and I think tonight is the perfect night to give it to you. Are you okay if I blow up Christmas a little bit?”

You sighed again and gave Nate a stern look up and down, but the softness in his blue eyes and the innocence in his lazy smile pulled you in and had you nodding in approval. Your nod caused nerves to dance in Nate’s eyes and his hands to slide into his pockets, fidgeting with their contents. He shifted softly from one foot to the other. His eyes dropped to the floor for a moment to watch his feet move before he slowly lifted his head back up in time with a bounce on his heels.

“Okay, here we go,” he mumbled softly to himself.

He cleared his throat before speaking, “I told you I don’t know what I want for Christmas. Hell, I told you that I didn’t know what I wanted for my birthday and that was back in September. The truth is I’ve known what I’ve actually wanted the whole time. The hat trick was nice and all, but it wasn’t really what I wanted.”

“Whatever it is, you could’ve told me,” you chided him a little.

Your words were met with an anxious smile and more shuffling of his feet across the floor. He shook his head softly and let out a tight breath before continuing.

“The only thing I want for Christmas is something you can give me, but you can get it for me,” he told you softly, his voice shaking as he spoke, the nerves in his eyes and his feet and his hands tightening and constricting his voice resonating in his chest.

Nate slowly pulled a hand out of his pocket before purposefully, and painstakingly slowly, dropping down on one knee in front of you. Your hands flew over your mouth on instinct and your eyes clouded over instantly. Nate smiled softly at your reaction, trying desperately not to let what he hoped your actions meant take over and make him too hopeful of your answer to his question to prevent him from asking it. He carefully opened the small black box in his hand to show you your early Christmas present, a beautiful ring nestled among the black velvet inside.

“For Christmas, I’d like for you to say you’ll be my wife,” he continued slowly and as steadily as he could. “The thing I’m most proud of, of everything I’ve ever done, is being your partner. I love you so much more than I say, but I hope I show it enough that you want to sign up for me forever because it’s just you. It’s just you forever, for every single day, every single holiday, every single moment. I want to spend every single Christmas for the rest of my life with you. So, what do you say? Will you be my wife? Will you make my Christmas wish come true?”

The cliches hung thick in his words, but the emotions behind them, the sentiment was so true you could feel it in the very core of who you were. Nathan MacKinnon saw you, faults and gifts and everything in between and loved you in the steadiest, most true way you had ever known. In the light of the Christmas tree, in the home you built together, with the life you build together palatable around you, Nate was asking you to build the rest of it together. You didn’t have to think about your answer.

“Yes, Nate. Yes, I’ll marry you.”

Nerves gave way to relief which even more quickly gave way to joy on Nate’s face as he slowly slid the ring he’d had tucked in the back drawer for months onto your finger where it belonged. Nate let out a long breath at the sight of it finally on your hand before slowly standing up in front of you, his hands reaching out to cup your face gingerly.

“Best early Christmas present ever,” you told him with a wide smile on your face.

He smiled back just as widely and happily as you grinned at him, “Merry Christmas, my future wife.”

#nathan mackinnon #nate mackinnon #nate mack #100% certified canadian beef #nathan mackinnon imagine #nathan mackinnon fanfic #nathan mackinnon fic #nhl fanfic #nhl fanfiction #nhl fic #nhl blurbs #nhl imagine

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captainsimagines · 4 years ago

Text

To Topple A Giant || Chapter Four

Summary: You had made it your mission to destroy even the smallest evils. When the opportunity arises to finally take down your own family after years of gaining their trust, you reach for it. And so does Steve, the man who represents a symbol of everything you hate.

Pairing(s): Steve Rogers x Reader || Avengers x Reader

Part 4 of 10 ~ Mini-Series

Warnings: This story contains mature themes and discussions such as extreme canon violence, strong language, emotional angst, mentions of Endgame deaths and recoveries, sexual situations, and emotional/physical abuse. All trigger warnings will be listed before the chapter. This is purely fanfiction.

Warnings in this Chapter: reference to past sexual assault (very minimal); misogyny/sexism; mention of Infinity War deaths/Endgame deaths; abusive parental relationship; canon violence; heavy drinking; reference to cocaine use

Word Count: 13,900+

Tony’s Cabin, 2023, 8:56pm

“Uh…”

You and Steve stared at the little girl in front of you, bouncing up and down with excitement as she held up one of Tony’s repulsors, the safety on but pointed right at the two of you. Steve instinctively pushed you behind him, the obvious fact being that a blast would most certainly kill you and not the super soldier himself. You were having difficulty holding in your laughter, watching as the girl kept poking at the metal, awaiting its true power.

“Can I have that, Morgan?” Steve asked, his voice raising ever so slightly to try and seem nicer to the kid.

“Talk to her with your regular voice, Steve. She’s five, not a toddler.”

“Yeah!”

Now you laughed at Morgan’s declaration of approval, still standing behind Steve with your hands braced on his back.

Steve sighed and rolled his eyes playfully, “Alright, Morgan. Can I please have that back? It’s not a toy.”

“But daddy left it for me!”

You smiled at her, “Yeah, but he didn’t expect you to use it so early! Wait until you’re like… ten, then you can look through his things!”

“Y/N, ten?” Steve gave you a bewildered grin, eyes bright and laughter restrained.

“Okay, twelve.”

His shoulders sagged with a heavy laugh. He reached over and took the chance, grabbing Morgan’s wrist softly and ejecting the glove from her small hand.

“There we go!” you cheered, stepping out from behind Steve and scooping her up in your arms. Morgan started laughing loudly, kicking her legs to try and escape your hold. “Ah, don’t kick me!”

You had offered your time to Pepper whenever she needed it. You didn’t expect that she would call so early asking for a huge favor, her husband’s funeral not even four months ago. But you didn’t hesitate and packed an overnight bag, reassuring her that nothing would explode on your watch. On your way out of the temporary safe house, Steve had caught you just in time. A quick question of your future whereabouts and he was joining you, a tiny twinge of guilt in his chest from not seeing Tony’s daughter in so long. He was one of her godparents after all, just after Happy and Rhodey, beating out the third crowned position from Bruce.

He had been hurt by that initially, asking why he wasn’t even considered.

‘Bruce, the first time she comes into your room and stands over your sleeping body to let you know she had a nightmare, you’d scream.’

‘I wouldn’t be angry, just scared!’

‘Okay, after Cap here, you get custody.’

‘Oh, yay. Drafted fourth.’

Steve was happy to go see her on such short notice though, racing back up to his room to gather some overnight supplies as well. But you didn’t think anything of it - it was just a godparent wanting to see his godchild.

“Ouch, that hurt,” you laughed and placed Morgan down in her bed. “Nighty night time.”

“Daddy said he left things for everyone, not just me.”

Steve’s eyebrows shot up with curiosity, a sudden interest to know what his gift was exciting him. He had already given him the shield back... but then Thanos broke it. Maybe, another shield? No, T’Challa had already offered to send him a new one.

“Ooo, that’s interesting! I wonder if he got me that pretty bracelet I saw in that department store window that one time,” you gushed, pulling the blankets over Morgan. You fluffed out her hair, smiled at her, and told her goodnight.

“Night night!”

Both you and Steve called out from the doorway of her bedroom, “Night night!”

Several minutes had passed before you brought up the prospect of secret gifts again, knowing Steve was just as interested as you were.

“Want to go find them?”

Steve immediately stood up, clapping his hands together and giddy with excitement. “I won’t tell if you don’t!”

“Deal.”

You searched everywhere - living room, the garage, kitchen cabinets - even racing into the master bedroom, stealthy and secret, shame rising as you carefully picked up items around the room. “This feels like an invasion of privacy.”

Steve chuckled from outside the door, “Hurry up!”

But you found nothing. There was only one more spot to look - his office. You almost didn’t want to intrude any longer, this being his most sacred space, but the mere chance of Tony giving you a gift from the afterlife made you extremely happy. So you and Steve searched, stacking and restacking random papers and pushing away gadgets and books in the bookshelf. Finally, a small opening in the third shelf alerted you of your mission success.

“Oh, fuck yeah,” you cheered, reaching in and pulling boxes and clipped pieces of paper, all different colors and sizes, from the compartment. They were labeled with various names - Rhodey, Pepper, Happy, Clint, Thor, Steve, Nebula, you - and Natasha.

Steve sucked in his breath, his gasp similar to yours. “He got these before…”

“Yeah,” you nodded, handing Steve his labeled box. It was light blue, a white ribbon delicately wrapped around it, and with a cute little red ribbon with Steve’s name on it. It wasn’t big, but it was more than enough.

“Open it,” you said.

Steve shook his head, “Let’s open ours together.”

You agreed to his terms, taking your folder into your hands. It was one of those same art folders you had when you bought some new planners or notebooks. It was black, custom-made it seemed, as it had your name on the front in gold, cursive writing.

On the count of three, you both opened your presents.

Steve pulled out two sets of dog tags from the box, the sound of them clinking together reminding him of the times he would hug his fellow soldiers on the battlefield, cheers of victory mixed in with the smell of sweat and dry blood. He read the names on the metal.

‘Steven G. Rogers

987654320 T42 O

Brooklyn, NY. P.’

‘James B. Barnes.

32557038 T41 42 O

R. Barnes

Shelbyville, IN. P.’

He had not known they recovered his dog tags, faintly remembering clutching them tightly as he flew the plane into the ice. But SHIELD must have kept them for the museum, and Tony had recovered them. Bucky’s, however, were lost as soon as Bucky fell from that train. They were more rusted than Steve’s, almost as if HYDRA kept them underwater or stored for the majority of Bucky’s sentence. But no matter how Tony had gotten them, he was eternally grateful.

“Wow,” Steve said, clearing his throat. But you were too caught up in your reading.

‘Target whereabouts discovered mid-May of 2017. Only T. Stark and N. Romanoff approved for mission.

Transport at 20:00 hours. Target(s) confirmed and exterminated at exactly 0802 Pacific Standard Time.’

You choked on the sob that suddenly broke through, hand instantly reaching up to cup your mouth. Steve put his tags back into the box, shushing you to get you to calm down. “What is it? What’d he get you?”

Four pictures accompanied the short report, each face crossed out with red paint. A tiny laugh escaped and tears of joy started to flow. To say Steve was confused was an understatement.

“He… he got me justice.”

Steve took the file from you, reading over every word to somehow understand what you meant by justice. His eyebrows were furrowed in concentration and he looked up at you for more explanation.

You brushed your hair back and rubbed at your cheeks, the smile on your face now straining. Whether it was a sudden change of mind or the closure of your trauma was just that satisfying, you told Steve exactly what Tony and Natasha had done for you.

“After I joined you guys in New York, Fury sent me on a mission to infiltrate and bring back information about this dude my father was trying to literally destroy. But I had to play both sides - the good and the bad.”

Steve set the file down, his full attention on you.

“I got the information but for some reason, it wasn’t enough for my father. I had forgotten to get the most vital piece, something he thought I would automatically know,” you scoffed, your smile faltering at the next part of the story.

“I cost him ten million. And to teach me a lesson, he let these men do whatever they wanted to me. Anything.”

Steve’s breath hitched as he understood what you meant. And it was no longer a mystery why you had been planning to kill him ‘again’ after everyone came back from the snap.

“I returned to the compound in such bad shape. I only told Natasha. She cleaned me up, she took me to med-bay in the middle of the night, she brought me breakfast in bed,” you chuckled at the memory, hand reaching out to hold Steve’s.

“And Tony’s gift was murdering the men that hurt me.”

Steve let a few tears slip himself, his hand gripping yours tighter. “Y/N, if I would have known-”

“Hey, it’s okay. You didn’t know, though. I thought only Natasha knew. She promised me she would take care of it. I just didn’t think she would actually find them.”

“I think we know that Natasha could find literally anything and anyone,” Steve said.

You agreed with his statement, a smile returning to your face.

You jumped from your sitting position and went back to retrieve Natasha’s gift. “Hey, should we?”

Steve eyed the small, black box in your hand. He sighed as he walked over to you, eyes returning to the box.

“It was meant for her.”

You frowned, “Yeah, and I’ll ask Pepper if we can give these to everyone else.”

You paused and shook the box near your ear. It felt heavy in your hand, and the contents gave a little jingle.

“But this one was for Nat. I think she’d want us to at least see it.”

Steve chuckled and just nodded, awaiting the reveal. You pulled the ribbon and opened the box, surprised that Tony had given her a piece of jewelry. “Oh.”

Steve took the bracelet from the box, oblivious that the movement would unlock the charms from their heavy chests. In a matter of seconds, charms of similar size but different designs dropped to encircle the silver band. You inspected them in Steve’s hand - a red/white/and blue shield, Mjollnir, a pair of wings, two arc reactors, a singular arrow, a silver arm, a spider, an emerald heart, the letters ‘W’ and ‘V’ intertwined, a black cat, an ant - and your symbol, an intricately carved silver charm no bigger than your thumbnail, of your face. Tony knew no specific object or symbol was tied with your Avengers status, no one had ever given you one, but this was perfect.

“Wow,” Steve whispered, examining each charm closely with a lazy smile on his face.

“We were her family. This was an ode to that.”

“What do we do with it?” Steve asked.

You just shrugged, “Frame it? It would feel wrong just taking it for myself.”

Steve agreed. Later that night when Pepper returned home, you showed her what Morgan led you to. She let you keep your gifts and take the others, absolutely loving the idea of framing Natasha’s bracelet in the new compound being built.

Present Day, 2025, 8:10 am

The bright light from the open windows hadn’t hit you as suddenly as the random throw pillow that connected to your face, startling you with a quick gasp and causing you to choke on your spit. You snapped up, belly down and hair wild, eyes still half-lidded as you searched for the aggravator. And he stood there with a stupid grin on his face, already dressed in his stupid old man clothes, and stupid blond hair perfectly pushed back.

“What the fuck was that for?” you tried to yell, voice cracking at the end and just the slightest hint of drool threatening to spill from the corner of your mouth.

“I ordered room service. Plus, we have to leave in an hour.”

You grabbed as many pillows as your one free hand could hold, the other still tucked into the pillowcase below your head. You flung them wildly, none actually hitting the super soldier directly. His chuckle pulled a deep groan from you, and no longer wanting to look like a fool, you stumbled out of bed and pushed passed him roughly.

“You could have woken me up the same time you got up.”

“But you looked so peaceful.”

His sarcasm was not helping your souring mood. Steve headed over to the monitors to turn them on, already setting up the morning video chat with Bucky and Sam. “Do you always sleep like a mounted spider?”

You flicked him off, “Leave me alone so I can take my morning piss in peace!”

You slammed the door and made your way to the toilet. Now, you were no morning person. But it was simple enough for you to crawl out of bed with only minimal protest when your awakening was a peaceful one. Having a pillow thrown at your head while mid-dream was practically excruciating and no one, not even the grandest morning person in the world, could possibly awake happy from that. And to top it all off, you couldn’t even remember what you were dreaming of. Just another thing to blame Steve for.

After you had done your morning routine and slipped into a really comfy outfit, the breakfast finally arrived. You muttered a quiet thanks to Steve for ordering your favorites and damn him for knowing you preferred waffles over pancakes and a variety of creamers to choose from, and quickly filled Bucky and Sam in on what the plan for the day was.

You had been on missions with Steve before, but no matter how many times you regrouped in the mornings, you had never actually seen him wake up. After your rude awakening, you wondered at what point during sunrise he opened his eyes - ‘cause you’ll be standing over him with a pillow of your own.

“Torres has the air footage scheduled for around five today, then he’ll link you to the camera for the remainder of the mission,” Sam clarified.

“Is it possible to link earlier?” Steve asked.

“Not unless you can get the Wi-Fi password of the estate.”

You chuckled, still funneling mouthfuls of waffle into your mouth. “So, we can hack the Pentagon whenever we feel like it, but we can’t hack into my father’s estate without the Wi-Fi password?”

Sam cleared his throat, “You are so lucky this is a secure line.”

“Wait until she finishes her breakfast and her head will be screwed back on straight,” Steve joked, taking a long sip from his tea.

Almost immediately, your phone dinged with a new message. You angled your phone away from Steve but your smirk was enough to alert him of a side conversation happening under his nose.

Bucky: Ouch, I wouldn’t mind if you hit him upside the head.

Y/N: he threw a pillow at me to wake me up :(

Bucky: hit him

Y/N: bet

“Stop talking about me over the phone.”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Steve grumbled, the rough sound catching Sam’s attention as well. His eyes flashed back and forth between the two of you - Steve desperately trying to catch a quick glance at your messages, and you leaning away from him with thumbs moving at a rapid pace.

“Y/N, how you feeling?”

You put your phone down and pretended to not notice how Steve was trying to get a glimpse of your screen.

“A little queasy, in all honesty.”

A myriad of emotions were present and coiling in your body, each trying to sprout and bloom and gain their five seconds of fame. And for the past several years, it was easy to downplay their true power. Because the power they held wasn’t one of distressing strength, but rather one that tip-toed to the front of your anxiety driven worries. It planted itself there, up front, but ever so silent. For it to finally meet its match, to possibly be freed of such a coil - well, you were more worried about not succeeding in its erasure than its final blooming.

“We’ve come up with a system to make sure we both don’t go overboard or to tell the other that we’re alright,” Steve said, eyes on the monitor but hands loading bullets into your trusty handguns.

“Alright, that’s good,” Bucky spoke, finally. He typed away on his keyboard, “Give us a word we all use in case we need back-up immediately.”

“Mm, you should ask Steve. He loves his safe words.”

Steve rolled his eyes, “Something Avengers related? Or something no one would ever say?”

“Pick anything you want, just don’t let it be awkward to repeat out loud,” Sam joked.

Steve pondered for a few seconds before he settled on his chosen word, a hint of a smile forming. “Widow.”

You nodded, “That’s sweet. She’d like us using her alias for a dirty little safe word.”

You huffed suddenly, shoulder colliding with the carpet, the realization that Steve pushed you from your chair causing you to stare at him with your mouth hanging open. “Hey!”

“Steve, every single day I accept your fate from her murderous hands,” Bucky grumbled, Sam’s loud laugh causing the speaker to give a quick halt of static.

“She’s okay- hey!”

You flew across your chair and onto him, lunging your body as your main weapon in taking him down. You both tumbled to the floor, the sofa chair you collided with scraping along and pushing the coffee table with it. A lamp shattered on the floor right when you wrapped your arm around Steve’s neck and hooked your legs from underneath him and around his waist, his back to your front, both his arms coming up to tug yours out of reflex.

“Yield, you little shit,” you grunted, the grip of your arm remaining loose on purpose but your legs tight, heels now digging into his slim waist.

Steve groaned, both from your pointy heels and the sudden impact his body made with the ground. “I’m letting you win.”

“You seriously got a mouth on you.”

You let him go anyway, choosing to save your strength for the mission and not waste it on a petty little fight. Besides, you could always smother him with a pillow in his sleep.

“You two done?”

Both you and Steve stumbled getting up, faces back in your teammate’s view as you smoothed down your clothing and wiped at your foreheads.

“Now that that’s over,” Sam continued, clearing his throat. “The only task for today is to get a feel of the place, establish a legit backstory providing you some leverage, and to swipe those ID’s.”

“Got it,” you acknowledged, standing again to begin hooking your weapons in discreet locations in your clothing.

“And we’re not responsible for that broken lamp so it’s coming out of your paycheck.”

California really wasn’t like any other state. There was a vast difference from Northern and Southern, the difference being the amount of green fields visible. In Southern California, the mountains and desert areas took up most of the landscape, with an industrial complex here, a growing city there, and then nothing for a good ten miles. Since most of the landscape was below sea level, the atmosphere was almost always dry, modest dust storms forming only to quickly pass a freeway and disintegrate once it found the other side. It was more urban, more lively with people. But Northern California, even if it experienced the same weather patterns as the south, was mostly humid during the winter season. The mountains here were covered in lively agriculture, livestock roamed freely in the gated areas near the freeways, and the overall environment provided a rural look.

And the differences just stood out to you, your excitement for the livestock starting to annoy Steve as you kept pointing out every cow you drove past. He threatened to stop the car and dare you to tip one.

“So, how did we meet?”

Steve chuckled, “We’re coworkers, Y/N. Thought that question was obvious.”

You whined, “Steve, we have to put some drama into it! How about we say we met during one of Tony’s parties after Fury assigned you to this?”

“And what? I asked you to dance?”

You leaned over your seat and poked his arm, teasing him. “Would you have asked me to dance?”

Steve shrugged, “I mean, sure.”

He glanced at you and then back to the road. “Can’t we just be honest? I like the way we met.”

You pouted, “The way we met is a matter of national security.”

“You brought that thing back to an unguarded planet?” Loki seethed, his voice still a whisper as he followed Thor through the hallways of Avengers Tower. A tower he had been prisoner of for a few weeks now, but would soon be released from once Thor decided to return home. Besides, it had been more than a year since his unfortunate attack and after thousands of apologies, brainwashing excuses (which were true!), and quite a few long labor hours equivalent to Midgardian community service, his leash was extended somewhat.

“How am I the more level-headed one right now?”

Thor grumbled in response, now on his hands and knees as he searched for the tiny animal that had already eaten its way through the plush of the interior walls. “It couldn’t have gotten far. And how was I supposed to know the oxygen levels here would cause it to go crazy?”

“You couldn’t. In fact, I don’t know why it’s here in the first place!”

“Keep screaming, Loki. I bet that would make it come to us quicker!”

Loki was about to come up with another quick quip, but was interrupted by a quiet mumble down the hall.

“Oh?”

You rocked back and forth on your heels as you stared at the two brothers - one sweeping the floor on all fours and the other ducked down to scream into his brother’s ear. “Whatcha looking for?”

“Now, don’t be alarmed, Agent. But I may have misplaced my dog.”

“Dog?” Loki tilted his head, hands now cupping the side of his head in disbelief.

Your eyebrows shot up from his reaction, “Not dog?”

“It’s… an animal from Asgard.”

“Okay, what does it look like?” you asked, now more interested than ever.

Thor cleared his throat and rose to his feet slowly, “Like a dragon.”

You stepped back, almost tripping over your left foot. An involuntary laugh escaped from your lips and you brought a hand up to try and stifle it. “You brought a dragon into the tower?”

“He brought a dragon back to Midgard,” Loki clarified as he walked over to the wall and pressed his ear against it.

“Oh, yeah. That’s much worse,” you agreed. “Fury’s gonna shove his foot so far up your ass-”

“Yes, yes. I know what awaits me. Now, help us find it!” Thor begged.

This wasn’t how you expected to spend your first day as an Avenger. After all the training and promoting, the paperwork and oaths, you thought you would have a pretty chill afternoon. Arrive at the conference room, get the name badge and a rundown of your new field suit, and meet the rest of the team. Freshly nineteen and energetic as ever, you accepted this as a test. Find the dragon, make a good impression.

It only took a few more minutes before you three stumbled on an otherwise empty hallway, staring down the colorful creature as it licked one of its paws.

Your eyes widened, “It looks like an alebrije.”

“You have these creatures on your planet?” Loki asked, surprise written over his face.

“Nope, alebrije’s aren’t real. They’re fantasy.”

“Nevermind that, help me catch it!”

Loki began shushing his brother, hands swatting his massive shoulders in the process. You leaned down to the floor and tapped it with your fingernails, hoping the nice gesture would cause the creature to meet you halfway.

“Hey, buddy,” you cooed. “Can you come here please?”

The creature raised its head, colorful eyes on full display. Similar to rings of fire, but face like a fox, and fur as soft as silk. It titled its head, interested for only a second, before it kicked back and rushed toward the three of you at full speed.

“Oh, shit-!”

As he was the closest, Loki pushed Thor to the wall and lifted you from the ground. But before he could throw you out of the way too, the creature leaped. Loki shielded you with his body, wrapping his arms around you and picking you up as the creature kicked his back and sent the two of you flying through wall after wall. Loki was taking the force of it all, his chest angled in a way to protect your head. It was about ten walls you two flew through before you landed in what seemed like conference room B… or C… or A. Loki rolled you over and groaned in pain. You landed on your back, bright lights blinding you as you tried to adjust. Then a figure came into view as your blurry vision cleared.

You blinked rapidly and stared up at your new Captain. You smiled, a bit delirious, and raised your hand up for a handshake.

“Y/N Y/L/N, new recruit!”

Steve just stared, eyebrows scrunched, an expression resembling a scowl and bewilderment painted on his face. He took your hand in his and shook it.

“Forgive us, Captain,” Loki spoke, coughing as he turned over. “But you might want to get that shield of yours.”

“When did we become a couple?” you continued once you agreed on the ‘party meet-and-greet’ as your previous answer.

Now, this was a question Steve was wondering about since before you mentioned the necessity of such answers. Although he didn’t fantasize about being your significant other, he did wonder what possible event could jumpstart it. If anything, and he would take this to the grave, he assumed a line would be crossed during a particularly tempting mission. Bucky had admitted to him that on one mission, and Steve promised to take this to the grave as well, Bucky had to kiss Wanda to keep their cover. The feelings subsided soon after the mission was over, but Bucky confessed to real feelings developing. So if Steve had to bet, a particularly tempting mission.

“When we were searching for Bucky?”

You nodded, “That works. We can say the fall of SHIELD basically led to us to realize how weak the system was and how we could easily manipulate it.”

The road veered off to the side, now dirt and unevenly layered. You checked the directions Torres gave you just to make sure.

“And when is my birthday?”

You didn’t expect Steve to answer so quickly, and to get it right. Perhaps he looked over your file and remembered, because you were certain only your little friend group knew it. It was Bucky, it had to be him, the little shit, he told-

“Surprised?”

“A little. How do you know it?”

“Nat. Who do you think sends you those chocolates every year?”

You were overjoyed, really. “Wha-? Natasha said she did it.”

Steve smirked, “She covered for me.”

“Why?”

“Because for five years after the snap, you and Nat did nothing for yourselves and did everything for everyone else.” He had been witness to the two of you pulling all-nighters, washing the sheets of your fallen teammates as if they were going to return that weekend, celebrating their birthdays in secret with a small candle and a prayer. Moving from the compound and into his own apartment was hard enough, but seeing his remaining teammates wallow in cursed self-determination was worse. So, he asked Nat about your birthday to send you chocolates and a lovely handwritten note, careful to write in a font different from his natural one, and he would fold tiny paper airplanes and leave them around the compound where only Nat could find them, providing her a sense of playfulness in her busy day. Little joys to make up for such an impact.

“If it makes you feel better, I sent gifts to Nat and Bruce, too.”

But because Bruce had no forwarding address at the time, Steve settled for quick text messages here and there.

“And here I was thinking I was special.”

Steve laughed at your statement. He reached into the middle compartment to grab the mics you would be wearing. “By the way, make sure to hide this behind your neck. My mic will blend in as a button.”

You inspected the flat, button-like mic, awed by how intricate their design was. “They connected to Bucky’s?”

Steve clipped his onto his shoulder, the camouflage effect throwing you off. Yup, you loved science. “Yeah, they record everything and immediately send it back already transcribed.”

You unfolded the sun visor and watched how the mic picked up the color of your skin and blended naturally. “Remind me to send T’Challa and Shuri a gift basket.”

“And more.”

The estate was exactly how you remembered it. Modern and simple all at once, a brown exterior to easily blend into the surrounding forest, and massive front gate that only opened with a specific code. You leaned out the window and typed it in. There was no speaker this time, probably evidence of newly installed cameras.

“It’s beautiful,” Steve muttered, pulling into the long driveway and following the brick road.

It truly was. Even from where you were, you could see into the mansion as the walls were all practically made from glass. The walls in the back were normal, however, as that’s where most of the business was conducted. There were no swing doors, only large and heavy double doors made from cooled lava rock. And even though your father was a very organized man, the house was littered in trinkets of all origins: professionally stuffed exotic animals, roman and oriental statues, porcelain eggs, multiple pianos, and first editions of some of the most popular books in the world. There wasn’t any set theme for this house, but it was screaming ‘money’.

Steve parked the car away from the others, careful to leave enough room around it to ensure an easy escape if needed.

“Remember what I said - play the part. Leave the smart mouth to me, they know me. It’s what they’ve come to expect.”

Steve clicked his seatbelt and sighed heavily, “I apologize in advance.”

You gave him a small smile, “Nothing to apologize for, Steve. Like I said, this is a mission. Don’t stress about it.”

He shook his head, “Still.”

The sincere look in his eyes sent a tingle down your arms. You cleared your throat, “I feel dirty saying this, but know your place. You may be a Captain but you’re not manning this boat.”

For some reason Steve felt that he truly needed to apologize in advance. For the past several years, it wasn’t entirely real to him. He had not been directly involved. But now that he was here, parked and staring at you - the one person who had a first hand account of the horrors inside - he needed to make sure you understood he would never actually hurt you, or you him. “I trust you.”

You removed your seatbelt and opened the door, “I trust you, too.”

It was windy today, the ruffles from the trees almost disguising the labor coming from the back. You assumed they were still building the reception area. Steve jogged over to your side and hooked your arm in his, his body tenser than yours. Someone opened the heavy doors, immediately swallowing the oxygen for miles with merely their presence. You couldn’t help yourself from a small grimace, lips spreading into a straight line as you forced any other expression besides hatred.

Seda, standing at barely six foot and a smug look plastered on his aging face that worried even Steve. This was the man that had shot you when he was on the run - the man that would most likely do it again.

Seda quickly stepped down the stairs, “Y/N, so lovely to see you again!”

You let go of Steve to walk ahead, arms extended to match the idea of a grand entrance. “Really? Because the last time we saw each other, you shot me in the gut.”

Steve swore he saw Seda’s upper lip twitch. “You hold too many grudges. I was just following your father’s orders.”

You rolled your eyes and finally came to a stop in front of him, arms crossed over your chest. “Obviously.”

“And I’ve finally got the chance to meet Captain America! You’re much larger in person.”

No matter the acting skills one must obtain for this line of work, it was still obvious Seda was speaking through clenched teeth. He scanned Steve up and down, somewhat intimidated.

It was such a sudden shift, one you obviously knew was coming, but the deepness of Steve’s voice still caused unnatural goosebumps to rise. “I get that a lot. Helps in this business, though.”

Seda let out a low chuckle, “I would think so.” He turned and instructed the two men who had followed him out to reopen the heavy doors. “This way.”

Steve tried not to gawk at the amount of decorations and old-timey artifacts he swore should belong in a museum. So much furniture, so much history that shouldn’t mix but somehow worked. And was that… was that a stuffed polar bear?

“So, how you doing, Seda? Besides the usual,” you asked, hooking your arm back with Steve’s.

Seda walked with his head held high, only tilting his head downward when giving a silent greeting to those who walked by. You tried to memorize faces or see if there was anyone you recognized. But your father barely kept the same team for more than a few years. They either left voluntarily and luckily, or were simply never heard from again.

“Excited for the wedding. Jackeline has been running around nonstop on her finishing touches,” Seda responded.

You huffed out a laugh, “I bet she has. She used to have a scrapbook that outlined six different wedding themes.”

“And I haven’t seen the end of it.”

Only a few more twists and turns and you were finally near the familiar hallway that housed your father’s darkest work. The interior design was purposeful, no windows and no cameras. Steve unhooked your arms, opting for a more formal presentation between the two of you. Seda was difficult to please, but your father was near impossible. Better to not have his hands all over his daughter during their first meeting.

“Hey, what’s the wi-fi password? I’m expecting a few important emails today,” you asked before Seda opened your father’s office door. Steve had to restrain himself from blessing the ground you walked on. Bless you for remembering.

“‘Guadalajara’.”

“Thanks,” you mumbled, sending the password to Torres as quickly as you could.

It wasn’t the grand entrance you expected, truly, but you didn’t expect to see your father simply chilling behind his desk signing a few papers. He usually paced, was in a random meeting, or on the phone. Here, he was just… strangely normal.

He looked up, eyes locking with yours for the first time in seven years. “Now, I haven’t seen you since your little weekend trip to Jalisco!”

Yeah, since you had me shot.

Stepping into the office, the smell of cigars was heavy. Musty and daring, enveloping you like the times it did before. But now you had Steve - sweet Steve whose warmth you could feel behind you.

You shrugged, “I’m not traveling much outside the country these days. Too much shit going on.”

Your father stood up and let out a dry laugh, “No lie about that. Seda was telling me how loose the borders were when half the world croaked.”

“Emigration was common, yup.”

He smiled at you, walking over and placing his hands on your shoulders. You did your best not to tense your muscles. “I wish I could have been there. You guys made millions those five years.”

You swore you heard Seda scoff near the corner of the room.

“It’s about time we met! Ernesto Vega,” your father introduced himself, holding out his hand for Steve to take.

It was instant, the change, and you found yourself pushed softly to the side as Steve stepped forward. “Steve Rogers, sir. It’s an honor to meet you.”

Your father was practically beaming, “Y/N isn’t giving you a hard time with all the business, aye?”

Steve chuckled, “None at all. She steps back when asked.”

Okay, maybe he was a better actor than you took him for.

“I can’t believe you even have to ask,” your father hummed, glancing back at you with a disapproving look.

Steve shrugged, “More like ‘ordered.’”

It was scary how easily Steve was making your father laugh. “So, she listens to you? I wonder what that’s like.”

You interrupted, scoffing quietly. “I have literally done everything you’ve asked.”

And without glancing at you this time, your father quipped. “Everything but learn how not to complain.”

You rolled your eyes and met Seda’s stare. He always enjoyed the torment your father caused you. When he ordered you do something sketchy and you objected, Seda always had a front row seat to the slaps and harsh language spit in your face. He had a way of bringing up the abuse in almost every conversation he held with you - like it gave him some form of sick satisfaction.

“Regardless of my daughter’s inability to listen, I was still surprised when she named you as her partner.”

“The whole hero game was getting boring. I needed excitement.”

Your father agreed, “Don’t we all?”

Before he continued, he squinted his eyes at Steve and scanned him once more. Almost like he was double checking his initial choice.

“And you’re fine with breaking the laws of the country you’re the mascot for?”

“America has changed over the last hundred years. Trust me, I should know.”

Steve was answering exactly how you two practiced. You couldn’t help the small tinge of pride that it ignited.

“Oh, I can’t believe you’re older than me. I mean, look at you.”

“The positives and negatives of being America’s science experiment, sir.”

“But here you are now. Working for me.” Your father stepped back to sit behind his desk again. “I’m very happy.”

“Likewise, sir,” Steve replied as he shuffled closer to you, trying to not seem so suspicious. Last time Steve wanted to crawl out of his own skin was when he was barely being introduced to the new world. Times Square really was a concrete jungle, his and Bucky’s old apartment building had been demolished in the fifties, and inflation… don’t get him started on inflation.

“I’d like you to meet my two friends.” Your eyes widened. No, you weren’t supposed to meet them today. You hadn’t planned for this.

“Friends and competition alike.”

You tried to keep your voice steady, “Shouldn’t you warm them up before you invite them in? They’re gonna take one look at Steve and freak.”

Your father motioned for Seda to open the door. “Then prepare your speech quickly.”

Before you or Steve could come up with a game plan, your father called out to the new arrivals. “Amigos! Me gustaría presentarles al hombre detrás de toda mi operación.”

The men summoned were completely different from the last time you saw them. Given you saw Ramirez long before the snap and White even before then, change was destined. Ramirez was skinnier, no more protruding stomach, wrinkles almost nonexistent and eyes lively. He hadn’t disappeared with half the world, but one of his daughters did - so getting her back definitely helped his overall health. White, on the other hand, aged overnight. His hair was now gray, eyelids sullen but eyes wide, and his nose was tilted awkwardly, like a surgery to counteract the powder he sniffed. You couldn’t remember if he was dusted or not.

“Tienes que agradecer a mi hija por esto.”

He did not just give you credit for this.

“No fucking way?” Ramirez spoke, almost like he was out of breath.

Curse your father for not preparing these two. You quickly reminded yourself where your gun was hidden in case things got out of hand.

White stepped forward, circling you and Steve as if you were displayed in a museum. “Do we each get our own Avenger?”

“Maybe in the future. But this one’s mine.”

“I’m an Avenger, too. But okay,” you mumbled, offended by his singular statement. Steve’s lip twitched slightly but the look he threw at you let you know he wanted to smile.

“¿Cómo lo hiciste?”

“Ya sabes cómo es... La gente simplemente sigue mi ejemplo.”

You decided to speak, anything to get White to stop inspecting you like some ancient artifact. “Steve green lights the routes and passages. He’s been a main player all along.”

White squinted at you, “And how long has this been going on?”

“For almost ten years,” you answered.

White shook his head in surprise, eyes wider than you thought possible. His accent was more slurred than you remembered. “And you’re telling us now because-?”

Your father cut in, “The world is still in ruins. If we combine our forces like we discussed before that unfortunate disappearing act, we’ll be unstoppable.”

This seemed to catch Ramirez off guard, as if he truly didn’t remember the conversation your father brought up. You shoveled his reaction deep into your memory. Maribel would have to look into it.

Still, Ramirez played along. “And you’ll be loyal to us, too? Not just Ernesto?”

Steve nodded, his posture straightening. “I would.”

Now, the two new arrivals looked at you. You raised an eyebrow.

“Don’t look at me. I do what he says,” you admitted, nodding your head toward Steve.

They seemed to accept that answer.

“And he’s here to help us move the shipment this Saturday?” White asked.

“That’s the plan,” your father confirmed.

It was time for Ramirez to circle you both. But he did so more casually and without the intent of kicking you in the shins, it seemed. He went to sit on the couch nearest the door, away from the crowd. You could sense Steve tensing up, so you turned your body slightly to the side so you could see Ramirez through your peripheral.

“How do we know we can trust him? What those stars and stripes have to do with us?”

“You hear that Captain?” your father asked, leaning back in his chair with that twisted smile that always made your stomach drop. “Time to prove your loyalty.”

“Are you seriously going to haze him?” you spoke, a hint of a teasing tone on your words. It was time to liven up the conversation, for both your sake, or else your father was sure to go overboard. His hand… where’s Steve’s hand?

“Does she speak for you?”

Steve stepped forward, “No, she doesn’t.”

“Prove it.”

You should really punch your chest to get your heart beating again. Was he going to make Steve try the product? Record something as blackmail? Kill someone?

“Wha-” you began, but were immediately silenced as an arm wrapped around your neck and held you in place. The coldness of the gun’s muzzle tickled just below your chin, still and steady, but nonetheless terrifying. Your father had held you in this position before - hell, most of his men did when asked. But it wasn’t any of your father’s men threatening you under orders - it was Steve.

“Obviously, I’m not going to kill her. You need her for this whole operation to work. But a little roughing up never did any bad.”

He removed his other arm but kept the muzzle under your chin, grabbing both your arms skillfully and pinning them behind your back.

You had never seen your father so pleased. “Why are you dating my daughter?”

Steve chuckled and clicked the safety. No, no.

You scrambled to open your right palm and squeeze what you could reach. Steve seemed to understand right away, and he loosened his grip and placed his other shaking hand into yours. You squeezed tightly.

“Now, that’s like asking a man why he breathes air.”

No matter the position he currently had you in, you still praised his acting skills.

“Perhaps. But I know my daughter. Why you?”

Steve kept a firm grip. “Luck?”

“It seems so. Let her go.”

He released you immediately, clicking the safety back on. Seda was in front of him before Steve could place it back on his person, grabbing the gun and emptying it. Seven rounds tumbled and scattered to the floor. This seemed to please both men, as Steve wasn’t presenting himself with an empty threat. He really could have killed you.

“I’m assuming Y/N has told you stories about me. About my men.”

The floor beneath you was uneven, it seemed, but once your mind stopped playing tricks on you, you settled. You shot a quick glance to Ramirez, his eyes closed and hands clasped in his lap. He seemed distant.

“Only the ones worth repeating, sir.”

“Oh? And which are those?”

“Orders and the like.”

“So, you don’t know much? Nothing interesting? Nothing that could make me seem like the bad guy?”

The room grew hot, whether it was the natural air or the bubbling anger boiling in your stomach.

“Like I said, sir. I ask her what I want to know and she tells me. Other than that, it’s your call.”

The room fell silent as they debated their other questions.

“How much do the other Avengers know?”

You were about to respond when Steve spoke instead. “Oblivious. I’m still the stars and stripes for them.”

White scoffed, “Those symbols don’t mean shit in this new world. Ridiculous of them to still assume you’re the same man.”

Steve’s jaw tensed, “Exactly right, sir.”

This seemed to be enough for your father. He stood from his chair, walking over to shake Steve’s hand again. So righteous and personal, almost like he hadn’t just ordered the assassination of an old friend a few days ago. “I like you, Captain. You’ve boosted my business, you’ve handled my daughter, you’ve made me a lot of money.”

He looked away from Steve to look at you now, laying eyes upon a person he hadn’t bothered to reunite with in person. You had fought so hard not to be in the same room ever again, but now you were. A small little office, holding whatever air you were forced to share, on a mission that could change everything. You hated him, absolutely detested the ground he stood on, blamed him for the fallout, the change, the hurt.

“Seda, you trust him?”

Seda opened the office door and started ushering the other two men out. “I’m getting there.”

Your father laughed, “Always so cynical.”

Ramirez stood from his seat behind you, already gunning to make a good impression on your Captain. He shook Steve’s hand, “Until next time.”

“Sir,” Steve returned the handshake. Ramirez only adjusted slightly, and held his hand out to you. You looked down at it, momentarily stunned from any attention, but shook it in the way you were taught. Firm, short, and ready for business. You grinned at him and he returned the same emotion.

“Two Avengers. Wow,” he mumbled, and tilted his head in a farewell. You watched him go, a silly smile on your face.

You went to take your leave, cautious of being left alone with your father. But as fate had it, he stopped you from leaving so simply.

“Oh, and Y/N?”

You turned on your heel, lips plastered in a straight line. You raised your eyebrows at him, already annoyed from the request he most certainly had, no doubt. “Meet me in a few minutes. Alone.”

You forced yourself to nod, turning quickly and leaving the room. You shuffled down the hallway, Steve hot on your trail and reaching for your hand.

“Hey, hey. I don’t want to leave you alone.”

He tugged you back to him, but you pushed him into the corner room you were originally heading for. You shut the door softly, and allowed Steve to grip your hands in his.

“Well, you gotta. Link our mics. You’ll hear everything.”

“Safe word?”

You chuckled lowly but retracted the teasing attitude when you saw genuine worry written on Steve’s face. “Widow, Steve.”

“I didn’t mean to scare you back there. I couldn’t think of anything else to do-”

You shushed him, voice barely above a whisper. “It’s okay. You didn’t hurt me.”

“I fuck with you all the time but I would never take it that far.”

Where was this coming from? Steve looked like he was about to start hyperventilating. “I’m good. You didn’t hurt me. I’m fine, see?” you placed his hand on your chest, making sure he could feel your heartbeat. “I’m good.”

“You’re good?”

“I’m good.”

Steve removed his hand and placed it over his own chest, rubbing slightly. “I’ll be right outside when he talks to you.”

“I know you’ll be. Now, stand guard, whistle low to alert me.”

“This the room? You know the code?”

It was a simple office as well, but resembled more of a library than a workspace. It was dimly lit, cluttered, smelled of the wooden cabinets and the dust collecting on the books, and lacked any windows as well. You nodded to confirm Steve’s question, heading over to the farthest bookshelf and pushed it away from the wall. The loose dust swooped from the wood surface and into the air instantly, and you had to pause to sneeze down your shirt.

You wiped your nose, “I’m third in command. My father may have some things hidden but I have to know the codes to shit like this.”

Steve leaned his ear on the door gently, “You’re clear.”

You gave him a thumbs up and fiddled with the outside of the safe. It was built into the wall, black in color and definitely made way before you were born. It was quite rusted, the gold numbers on the lock almost faded.

“Let’s hope he didn’t change it.” You turned the dial - seven, thirty-three, eighteen - and it clicked on the first try. “Bingo.”

“Did you have a backup plan if that didn’t work?”

You snorted quietly, “Smash?”

Steve rolled his eyes and pressed his ear back on the door.

Everything inside had been recently rearranged. You figured your father used some of these ID’s when entering the country for the wedding and left them stacked on one another for the quick heist on Saturday. “We’re in luck! Both my father’s and Seda’s ID’s are here, along with-”

You cooed, taking out your phone and opening the camera app. You snapped multiple pictures, with and without flash. “Stacks and stacks of cash.”

You pulled your purse in front of you and pulled out your wallet to make room, shoving it into your back pocket instead.

“Help me put this in my purse.”

Steve left his post to help you shovel the ID’s discreetly into every pocket your purse provided, shoving things into corners so nothing protruded.

“Damn, we gotta leave the money,” you pouted.

Steve chuckled, “What a horrible thing.”

A sudden, boisterous laugh right outside the door caused you to rip your arm away from the safe, thankfully pulling the last of the ID’s with you. You pushed them into your purse, zipping it up. Steve reacted quickly as well, shutting the safe and rotating the dial, pushing the bookcase back into its original position.

“It’s Ramirez and White,” Steve whispered, looking around the room for any help. “What do we do?”

“Ramirez…” you blinked, eyes wandering around the room as well. Think, think, think. The doorknob jiggled. “Trust me.”

You ripped your purse off and threw it to the nearest couch. You hooked your arms around Steve’s neck and jumped to wrap your legs around his waist.

“Oh my-”

In any other scenario, the whimper that left your throat would have been caused by a surge of ecstasy. But you were frightened of being caught, the whimper a blatant signal to just follow your lead.

“Slam me into the wall, Captain.”

The door flew open just as Steve did as he was told.

“And I told him it was ridiculous - oh my…”

You lifted your head from Steve’s neck, wide eyes to accompany your surprised state. “Oh! I thought we locked the door!”

Ramirez covered his eyes bashfully, turning around and staring at the wall. “Don’t mind us, we were just looking for loose smokes.”

Opposite to his intruding partner, White laughed at the scene before him. He dipped low, hands on his knees as he joked. “Didn’t think Captain America had it in him! Been a stiff ever since the ice, huh mate?”

You could feel Steve tense against you, and he froze entirely. You drew your hand up to play with the strands of his hair, putting on your best flirty tone possible. “Oh, trust me. He’s pretty stiff right now.”

Steve seemed to calm under your touch, so he turned his head over his shoulder and gave an embarrassed smile of his own.

“Excuse us again, Y/N. You two enjoy your time,” Ramirez apologized, pulling at White’s jacket to guide him out of the room. Once you heard the click of the door, you jumped from Steve’s grasp and immediately began patting his back.

“I’m sorry.”

Steve chuckled, his blush rising from his shoulders to his cheeks. “It’s okay, you saved us.”

You inspected him closely, a little embarrassed with yourself. It was a bold move, but one that needed to be done. You stood in silence for a few more seconds, each of you adjusting to such a sudden change of breathing pattern.

You shut your eyes and groaned silently, “I need to speak with him.”

“Can I wait outside the door?”

You picked up your purse and swung it around your torso, “No, you need to wait in the car. Or smother Ramirez and White, your call.”

The lines on Steve’s forehead deepened, “Y/N, I can’t leave you alone with him.”

You wanted to argue further because Steve really over exaggerated. You fought a whole army of aliens, robots, and even the infamous Winter Soldier. Sure, you lost the battle with Thanos on the first try, you lost a teammate with Ultron, and gained a collapsed lung from Bucky’s insane roundhouse kick, but you were positive you could take your father. “You’re gonna have to. I’ve been alone with him before.”

Steve placed his hands on his hips and gave you a blank stare. “He shot you last time.”

“Ehh, Seda did.”

“Y/N.”

You laughed softly, “Then wait in the living room.”

“The shield’s in the car. If you need help, I may not have enough time-”

Steve and that goddamn shield. The guy was acting like he wasn’t a super soldier. You were annoyed. Annoyed with a pinch of salt?

“You whip that shield out to save me and I swear to god-”

“Okay, okay. I’ll link our mics.”

He fumbled around on his phone for a few seconds before you heard the softest beep from below your ear.

The last time you had entered that room alone, you left with a bullet lodged deep in your abdomen and with the threat of having it done again. Stumbling and crashing into the walls and random trinkets, leaving your blood stains on anything you used to steady yourself. This time would be different - it had to be. Your father wouldn’t shoot you with the Captain America waiting in the other room. Then again, your father always seemed to top himself each time you were forced to interact personally. In an instant, he dropped the good guy act. Or, hyped joy.

Now, his stare was cold and calculated, posture upright like he was awaiting your arrival. You couldn’t help but smile and roll your eyes, a tiny scoff breaking the silence as he returned it.

“You’re one damn good actor.”

He chuckled deeply, “We do what we have to do in front of the people who threaten our reign.”

You kicked the leg of a nearby chair to turn it toward you. Sitting down, you retorted with a chuckle of your own. “You’re not royalty.”

“We are... you are.”

Third in command. Daughter of the biggest drug lord south of the border? In most cases, you could be considered goddamn royalty. Did you want to be? No, because the title that seemed to fit was ‘a chess piece in the middle of a mad supremacy’. But that was too long.

“So, what is this? You scared my Captain is gonna knock you off your feet and take your place?”

His hands slammed the desk. His little basket of pens and pencils toppled over and spilled onto the floor. “I have waited seven, long years for you to bring that man to me. And each time you defied me. Tell me why I shouldn’t kill you right now!”

You remained seated, a blank stare boring into your father’s. “Uh, probably because he would avenge me. Get it?”

He wasn’t one for jokes, though. “It would be so easy.”

Aggravating him further was not the smartest thing to do. And Steve had the same thought as he fumbled with his own thumbs outside, hearing the conversation from afar. He almost wanted to barge in just to put your ass in time out.

But you had seven years to make up for - a little joke here and there shouldn’t hurt much.

“You do know I’m an Avenger, right? Trained by Natalia Romanoff herself?”

You worded your sentence carefully, her alias need not be spoken out loud unless you needed backup.

“Answer me.”

When his nostrils flared, you knew better than to twist the knife.

“Steve didn’t sign the accords. He was on the run for two years before you asked me for him. This is public knowledge.”

He pointed his index finger at you, shaking it wildly. “You lie. Why you lie?”

You had to blink multiple times through your shocked state, mouth agape and involuntarily racks of laughter spilling. He couldn’t be serious. You could only repeat the same thing so many times.

“Like I said all those years ago - He. Was. On. The. Run. No contact. I had no way of contacting him!”

He struggled to grab whatever on his desk to raise toward your face. In this case, he pointed his phone in a threatening manner. “Excuses! Remember the last time you made such a poor excuse?”

The laughing stopped, your mouth immediately shutting. You clenched your jaw to work through your murderous impulses.

You wondered how your hands would look wrapped around his neck. Red and angry, tightening as each desperate second passes, nails forming crescents as they pressed in his skin. If there was a window, you would definitely kick him out of it. Wave goodbye as he fell dramatically. But the mansion was one story high and you couldn’t magically conjure up a window. God, this would be the absolute best time to have Wanda or Loki here to use some of that dark magic. Either way, you just wanted to wipe that shit-eating grin off his face right now.

“He. Was on. The run.”

“And I thought you learned your lesson.”

You stood from your seat and leaned on the desk, arms holding you up and face inches away from his. “You gonna send in your men to remind me? With my Captain a few feet away?”

His lips were trembling as much as yours were - face blotchy with silver droplets of sweat and an angry blush now reaching his forehead. For a seventy-five year old man, he still had such a rage in him that didn’t risk a heart attack. Lucky bastard.

“He best not interfere if it’s what I choose to do.”

Outside, Steve gripped the back door handle to the point it squished in on itself, metal twisting awkwardly and splintering the paint. His free hand was balled into the meanest fist, even his stubby nails wreaking havoc on his pale palm. He was making himself bleed by the restraint. He took slow breaths, eyes closed but ears fully alert. He wouldn’t cry. Not right now.

“I called you back alone to invite you to breakfast the day after tomorrow.”

Whether it was because he knew you were only a few seconds from lunging yourself across his desk to break his neck or because he was tired from all the energy he had just exerted, your father slumped back into his seat as he spoke.

“The hotel has free breakfast.”

He shook his head in complete astonishment, “You’re not getting out of this. I have important business to discuss with each of you.”

You continued to stare him down, “Over coffee?”

He shrugged his shoulders, “I can’t leave the estate so close to the wedding. Your sister is flying in tomorrow and I have to make sure construction is done by then.”

“Right, ‘cause you’re the best father in the world.”

Being in the same room was suffocating, but you couldn’t help but be fascinated by the man. How unbelievably thoughtless yet calculated he could be. How unbelievably fake yet so damn real in all his hidden meanings.

“Jackeline likes to think so.”

Your sister was sweet, sure, and there was an unspoken agreement between the two of you to not fight one another, being the only daughters and all. But you were eight years old when she was born, already tainted by the world in which she was just born into. Forgive your lack of sisterly bond. When you were sixteen, you dipped. Now, at the sprouting ages of twenty-six and eighteen, you two couldn’t be more different.

Actually, yes you could. If she thought your father was a good man, she was entirely ignorant of the world she lives in.

“Good for her. Why don’t we discuss the shipment transport during the most important day of her life?”

“Nice try. That’s what the rehearsal dinner is for - rehearsal.”

You gave your father a sad smile, “You really won’t trust me. After all these years of following your orders.”

“Now, let’s not go bringing up the past.”

You interrupted, “Why not? You’re trusting my Captain and I to help you move that shipment but won’t trust me enough to tell me where it is right now?”

He was back to standing but he was much calmer. “Right now, I trust your Captain more than you. What kind of man would leave everything moral behind for a bunch of criminals? A bad one.”

“You’ve known him for like, two seconds.”

Your father searched his pockets for loose cigarettes. “He left everything moral behind for me. For you. And you left me behind for everything moral.”

Rolling your eyes, you backed away from his desk and headed for the door. “Sometimes you don’t make any sense. Is that it? Are we done?”

“You accept my invitation?”

“Do I really have a choice?”

“No.”

The mansion seemed larger than when you entered, the hallways longer, the walls closing in, the trinkets reaching out to stop you by the wrist. The longer you stayed in this hell hole, the more likely you were probably going to unleash the rage attached to your body in the form of your favorite weapons. Bomb the hell out of this place.

You marched to Steve’s car. He was already waiting, leaning along the passenger door like he was going to open it for you. If he did, you might kill him too. So, you repeatedly snapped your fingers at him and pointed around the car, silently but angrily motioning him to get in. He didn’t need to be told twice. In fact, he thought it might be therapeutic for you to throw the door open and slam it yourself. It was.

Steve started the car. He didn’t need to ask, there was no reason to since he heard everything. And so did Sam. Bucky. Scott. It was being transcribed as you swerved out of the estate. God, you wanted to throw up.

“I’ll tell you when to stop.”

Steve choked on his breath, “Stop?”

You rolled down the windows to breathe in the crisp cold air, teeth becoming sensitive as it passed into your lungs. “Once we get past the cameras and nearby neighborhoods.”

“Did you need-“

“When I say stop, stop. Fucking damn, Steve! Listen to me for once!”

Steve didn’t know why he was challenging you. Your father had just brought up one of the most traumatic moments of your life, basically called you a hypocrite and a coward - he tried to tear you down. And here you were, holding it all together like the champ he found you to be. But he never handled your outbursts well, even if they were completely justified.

“Don’t fucking give me orders if you won’t tell me what they’re for!”

“Stop the fucking car!”

He slammed on the breaks, instincts still kicking in during your argument and he reached his arm out to your side to hold you back from the powerful surge. His body lunged forward, however, chest hitting the steering wheel and horn.

You scrambled out of the car and ran into the woods, feet guiding you through mud and prickly bushes until they reached a more secluded spot. Steve stumbled along after you, nearly tripping over the same rocks you had avoided masterfully.

Before he could ask what you were doing, you pulled your gun from its hidden holster and clicked the safety. Steve’s eyes bulged out of his head just in time to see the first round sound off mid-air. He crouched down to the floor and shielded his head. You shot away from him, obviously, until all seven rounds were dislodged, aimed in the sky diagonally.

Once the last bullet exited, you simply packed everything up. Now calm and collected, you turned around and headed back for the car.

Steve’s voice cracked as he spoke, “Seriously?”

You pushed branches away from your head as you walked, “Seriously.”

“Do you know how dangerous that is? Those bullets don’t just disappear into thin air,” Steve scolded, jogging up to speed walk beside you.

“So fucking what? I’m keeping the rent low in this area, then.”

Steve sighed in defeat, “Talk to me.”

“Sorry, I’m shutting down.”

“Y/N-”

You groaned, tears of frustration not entirely formed, but in their beginning stages. “You already know what’s stressing me out, Steve. Do you need it in writing?”

“I know, I’m sorry,” Steve lowered his voice. “What do you need me to do?”

“Just,” you paused, stopping to face him. You opened and closed your hands mid-air as if that would help you formulate your sentences better. “I don’t know. But when I find out, I’ll let you know.”

This Steve could accept. So he simply nodded, guiding you the rest of the way with his hand gently placed on your lower back.

The drive back to the hotel was fairly silent. The radio provided a calming relief from such drama. Steve would glance at you every so often to check on you, but you were always resting your eyes. This was only the first day of the mission - officially. If you were this drained from one encounter, Steve needed to rethink this whole operation. Whether it was healthy to keep you on, or if the threat was just too large. But no matter the alternatives, Steve understood that this week was going to be difficult either way, and you needed to be present. This was your mission after all. He was just your partner.

Even with a thousand things on your mind, you were still conscious enough to check your surroundings, check-in with the agent posted behind the front desk, and reconnect your mic with the teams.

Steve pushed open your room door and threw the car keys on one of the nearby tables. “Nap time?”

You ignored his initial question, “I didn’t think seeing them in person again would be so draining.”

Steve watched you carefully, somewhat scared that you would pull out your gun again and shatter a window. “It was pretty cramped.”

You started to disarm yourself, tearing off your sweater and holsters clumsily. “And they acted like we were all on good terms! Around you, at least. I know they’re acting for my sister’s sake and then we can go back to hating each other after, but really?”

Steve sat on the edge of his bed, eyes sorry. “I really don’t know what to say.”

You threw yourself onto your bed, burying your face into the pillows. You continued speaking, albeit muffled. “You don’t have to say anything - just let me rant.”

“You’ll tire yourself out, Y/N. C’mon, we gotta draft up this report-”

You lifted yourself up and started smoothing down your hair, “I need a drink.”

Steve pointed to the computer, “The report.”

“A drink.”

“Y/N, it’s getting late. The sooner we draft it, the sooner-”

You grumbled out again, already opening the door and shoving your boots on. “Steve, I need a drink. You know what they do to me, what they’ve done to me, what they continue to do every single day. Now, join me or not but I am going downstairs for a drink.”

Steve paused for a moment, looking around the room hesitantly. “Can I at least take the laptop?”

You threw your head back and walked out the door, “Take the goddamn laptop, jesus fucking christ, c’mon.”

If there’s one thing you were happy about today, it was that you booked a hotel with a mini bar on the second floor. It wasn’t an outright full bar, but it was low lit, clean and the counters were made from fine wood, and there was a variety of flavors to choose from. There were only a few hotel guests spread out and a single bartender. You and Steve took seats at the counter.

“Whiskey sour,” you called for the bartender, trying and failing to give him the nicest smile you could.

Steve settled in his bar stool, “Thought you wanted to drink to drink hard.”

You chuckled at him and extended your arms in a stretch, “I’m mad, not depressed.”

He grinned at your movements - as if just sitting in a bar already loosened you up. “In that case, get me a beer.”

Natasha had called Steve for help after your fourth beer and fifth whiskey. Her coaxing proved to be pointless, each request of a safe passage home seeming to enter one ear and leave the other. And you’ll end up killing her when you were sober enough for sending unwanted reinforcements, but even she didn’t want to fight you. If you wanted to drown in liquid courage, that courage churning itself into raw despair, then she would allow it.

Steve stared at you for a few moments. Head hanging low, a deep frown etched into your tired expression, index finger tapping your glass as if you were debating whether to down it in one go or to leave it. Steve had never seen you like this, guard destroyed and face practically pale, just begging to be left alone. And it seemed the whole bar felt the same way, as there was no music playing and everyone was wallowing in their own grief.

“I can spot you from a mile away, you know?”

Your voice immediately pulled Steve from his own mind and he was surprised you could still form coherent sentences given the amount of empty glasses in front of you.

“I don’t mean to interrupt.”

You scoffed, leaning away from him as he sat down in the stool beside you. “Natasha sent you. Don’t tell me otherwise.”

“I’m not saying anything.”

“Good.”

Steve ordered a beer for himself, and although he was driving, one beer wouldn’t impair him anyway. It wouldn’t even cause a dent in his 20/20 vision.

“Fucking ridiculous, it’s fucking ridiculous!”

The bar patrons seemed to wince simultaneously and the bartender simply gathered a few of your empty glasses to wash. Steve didn’t hush you, didn’t touch you, didn’t try to reassure you. If you needed to cause a scene, it was time. Your silence for the past week had been frightening, but when Tony returned last night, half dead and without the kid, it seemed to be your breaking point.

“Wanda destroyed it. She destroyed the fucking stone and all he did was use another to bring it back.”

Steve took a sip of his beer to disguise his quivering lip, but his eyes had no curtain. His waterline swelled with fresh tears, eyes instantly reddening, an undesired sting pinching the corners.

“Strange must have had a reason. He must’ve, but - how can that reason include the death of trillions?”

“We’re going to find a way-”

“And if we don’t?”

Steve kept his lips on the bottle, incisors biting down only slightly as he took in your rhetorical question. You continued speaking.

“He destroyed the stones.”

“Carol is looking for answers.”

You shook your head and pulled out your wallet, leaving whatever cash you had on the counter before standing up. You stumbled but Steve latched onto your arm and pulled it to hug his waist.

“Loki?” you mumbled, raising your head to lock eyes with Steve. He didn’t know if you were calling him another name or if you were asking for the God’s whereabouts. “Bucky?”

“Hey, stop, stop.”

“Peter?”

Steve could only nod. What use was it to lie to you? Your new vertical position seemed to magnify the true extent of your intoxication as your eyes finally glazed over and limbs trembled.

“Let’s get you home, okay?”

Gripping his shirt, you apologized each time it would crumble and you would accidentally tug it downward. But Steve didn’t care. You were practically limp in his arms, heavy and without proper use of your legs.

“You’re a good man, Steve.”

Steve sighed sadly but couldn’t help the small smile that formed as he looked down at you and found you sporting a silly one of your own.

“A really good man. I’m happy you’re still here.”

Steve paused for a moment, taking in your words and holding back his own tears. If there was a time he wanted to be drunk off his ass, it would be now. He was somewhat jealous of the brief relief alcohol had given you, loose and not fully aware of the drama of the world. “I’m happy, too.”

“No, you’re not,” you slurred, allowing Steve to guide you to his car. You slumped against the passenger door as Steve searched his pocket for his key. “I heard you crying last night.”

Steve halted his search mid-pat, a hard crease forming between his eyebrows as he lifted his head. “I wasn’t-”

“I cry too,” you admitted, a drunken pout on your face. “You don’t have to lie to me.”

Perhaps it was a dirty thing for him to do at this moment because you wouldn’t remember a single word of this conversation in the morning, but he figured there was no immediate harm. He found his key, unlocked the car, and helped you inside. Only once he entered the car himself did he take advantage of your blurry mind.

“I cried for Sam and Bucky. Who do you cry for?”

You clicked the seatbelt on, mind clear enough for safety precautions it seemed. “Poor Wanda.”

Steve nodded and started the car. “Anything else?”

“Did I ever tell you about the time Loki asked me on a date?”

Steve immediately shut off the car and turned to you. “Huh? When?”

You grinned, small giggles bubbling from your chest. “A few months ago. He was so shy, too. I said yes.”

Steve ignored the twinge in his chest, “How was it?”

You leaned your head back and tilted it towards him, your smile faltered slightly. “Never went on it. And now he’s dead.”

The urge to lean over and wrap you in a much needed hug was there, eating away at him since you called him a good man. But he had taken advantage of this situation far too much, so he simply nodded in understanding and started the car again.

“I’m sorry.”

You barely heard him, but you mumbled a quick response before letting the alcohol fully consume you. “Me too.”

You thanked the bartender when they slid you your drink. “I hadn’t seen him since before the world went to shit.” You took a quick sip. “Kinda strange.”

Steve nodded, wondering if he should dive deep into the issue at hand. Instead of outright saying his outdated spiel, he eased into it. He gave you a few needed sips of your drink, at least. “Y/N, can I ask an honest question?”

You hummed, “My toes are already tingling. You could probably ask me what my kinks are and I’d tell you.”

Steve suddenly burst into a fit of giggles, “You never could handle a sip of alcohol.”

Your eyes rounded at his reaction. Perhaps the alcohol affected him in other fun ways that he didn’t know. “Nope, I’m a lightweight.”

Steve contained himself before clearing his throat, “The question…”

“Go ahead.”

He rolled his shoulders and took a sip of his beer. Leaning in closer, he lowered his voice. “If it comes down to it, and god forbid you’re incapacitated, do you want me to kill your father?”

Your mouth opened slightly, the words stuck behind your tongue. You looked down at your drink, as if some special response was swimming in it. You knew your answer, but the way to phrase it was lost.

“I don’t want his blood on your hands.”

“But if it was the last choice?”

You sighed, “If you pull that trigger, they’ll never stop coming after you.”

Steve’s eyebrows scrunched together, “But if you pull it?”

You shrugged and raised the glass to your lips. “That’s my life, Steve. Let me deal with the consequences.”

“That’s just it - you don’t have to. At least, not alone.”

God, you hated how perfect Steve sounded all the time. Whenever he was annoying you, fighting you, or protecting you, his syllables were stretched in the most glorious way, dipping into every crevice of the person they were delivered to and warming inches of body slowly. You wanted him to have somewhat of an evil side for once in his life, but no matter how many times you thought he would explode, he didn’t.

Two years ago, when he dropped you from his life in an instant, you had assumed you finally caught a glimpse at this evil side. It was the only time you were truly scared of him.

“You really are a good person.”

Steve swished his beer bottle around, “I wish everyone would stop being surprised by that.”

“I’m not surprised. I guess I just want to hate you, and I can’t.”

Steve’s shoulders slumped like crumbling mountains and you couldn’t stop thinking about how vulnerable he looked. You wanted to pull him closer and rest your head to his chest, hear his heartbeat and apologize for theorizing a possible hatred.

“Why do you want to hate me?”

“When you wouldn’t sign the accords, part of me saw that as the mascot of America not caring if he invaded and pillaged everything in his path.”

“But I-” Steve interjected, but you stopped him by raising your hand and waving it gently.

“I know why you didn’t. Hell, I helped you escape.”

“Why did you help if you hated me?”

Being vulnerable with Steve wasn’t anything new. You were each other’s support system for those lonely five years, but it all changed the moment you defeated Thanos. So, for the last two years you didn’t quite get along. But here, now, you could always tell when Steve was being honest and open.

“Guess I thought that if you were willing to help me with my family, I should help you with yours.”

His therapist desperately tried to rationalize the experiences Steve would tell, instructing him to look past hard exteriors and accept help from others. That his old friends were still friends, and enemies should never be compared to those he loved. And he knew he was easily blinded when something or someone had the slightest mishap, instantly writing it off as harmful.

He spoke of you often during his one hour sessions - stories of your blatant silliness and crude jokes; how you would poke your finger into his sandwiches when you thought he wasn’t looking; how you almost beat up a kid and his little gang for baiting Peter after his identity was exposed; and how you and Sam had gotten into a bar fight over something so trivial, so unnecessary, that it was almost unbelievable to see you innocently scoot away from the body on the floor in the police video, as if you had nothing to do with it and those few feet of distance automatically cleared you.

His therapist would just listen.

“Did I ever thank you?”

You smiled sadly, “You went into hiding soon after. Then we went to battle, lost everyone, went to battle again, and then…”

“And then.”

‘And then’ wasn’t really something you two liked to bring up. It was still a fresh wound, somewhat patched up, but still open.

You spaced out for a few minutes, both of you enjoying your drinks. You were no longer drinking to get drunk, not that it was your original goal to begin with. You just sat in comfortable silence, reliving the events earlier that day and drafting an internal report.

“What are you thinking about?”

You pursed your lips and thought, clicking your tongue when it finally dawned on you. “This was the first time I saw Marcus White sober.”

Steve sat up straighter, “Are you sure? He didn’t look it.”

“Yeah, he usually speaks quickly and he fidgets. But he was coherent this afternoon.”

“Should that be a red flag?”

You took out your phone and sent a quick text to Torres for him to monitor White closely for the next few days, just in case. “A big one. My father referred to him more often than he did Ramirez.”

Steve tackled every idea in his head quickly, speaking as a new one popped up. “They could be planning a move against Ramirez. He’s close to overthrowing your father.”

You raised your head from your phone, “And the wedding would be a perfect distraction.”

“He would kill his greatest rival on your sister’s happiest day?”

You let out a low chuckle, “This man has nothing to lose. It won’t matter who he topples along the way.”

Steve opened the laptop, silently congratulating himself for bringing it despite your insults, and began drafting the report. The two of you worked for the next hour, nursing a couple more drinks before you sent the final copy to Bucky.

TAGLIST: @dumb-ass-writer @justab-eautifulmess @supraveng @mycosmicparadise @missnighttigress

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mightymorphingayagenda · 4 years ago

Text

So I received an ask a few months ago about my thoughts on nessian having kids and then last night I had a lot of wine and this happened so, enjoy!?

This was one of those little moments Cassian would bundle up, like some cherished Christmas ornament, and tuck inside his heart forever. If his heart remained in one piece. It was so full he was worried it might break.

The smell of Nesta’s perfume and shortbread had lured him to the kitchen, where he’d found her sat at the table, bottom lip tucked between her teeth and brow furrowed in concentration as she’d iced a cookie. The beam of her high cheek bones a blushing pink in the warmth.

Cue tears brimming.

And he couldn’t even blame it on the presence of any smoke because by some Christmas miracle, his girlfriend had managed to cook something without nearly burning his house down.

Júlia had tucked herself into his girlfriend’s lap, and was mimicking her little mannerisms. Brows dramatically knotted and biting her lip. She’d even clearly tried to match their pyjamas, Nesta’s lose fitting red pants and white tank top a mirror to his daughter’s own long sleeve white shirt and fuzzy red pants.

The two of them were hunched over a cookie each, armed with little icing tubes and humming along to Mud’s ‘Lonely This Christmas’.

“One of those better be for me or it’s the naughty list for you too.”

“Daddy!” Júlia whipped her little head round, grinning excitedly in the way that children did- less actual smile more oh my god look at all my teeth.

“The one and only,” he smiled right back, picking her up as she tried to literally jump from the chair to Nesta’s terror and amusement.

He made a little mwa noise with every kiss he planted on her cheeks, and she was giggling in his arms uncontrollably. Probably hopped up on sugar if the crumbs on the table and the green frosting in her dark hair was anything to go by.

Finally he stopped and his daughter didn’t miss a beat. “Daddy me and Nesta made cookies and we even made the icing on our own and it’s all different colours and she’s really good decorating and she taught me how to draw a snow man!”

It was impossible to determine where one word ended and the other began. Perhaps his daughter had invented her own word several hundred syllables long.

“Can I see?” Cassian pleaded excitedly, putting Júlia down when she nodded so hard he was a little concerned her head might fall off.

“Hi you,” Nesta’s voice like velvet hummed soft and low as he leaned down to give her a chaste kiss, murmuring his own “hey, sweetheart”. Her lips tasted like sugar and he swore he saw a few granules dusted through her thick hair as he pulled back to asses one of Júlia’s creations.

“No way you made that!”

“I did I can show you I’ll show you how to draw a snowman too. And it’s harder than with pencils daddy, because you have to squeeze but you can’t squeeze it too much.”

“She’s got very steady hands,” Nesta said, like she was proud, her head falling back against Cassian’s chest where he stood behind her. He began massaging her shoulders gently. “She could be a brain surgeon,” his girlfriend continued.

Cassian was dangerously close to getting all choked up again.

He’d been a little worried asking Nesta to keep an eye on Júlia this evening. Not because he thought she’d let his six year old start licking plug sockets or anything. It was just they’d never hung out just the two of them before. He and Nesta had only been together eight months and he’d only introduced his daughter to his girlfriend two months ago.

But he hadn’t had anyone else to call when the snow had started falling with a vengeance on his way back from picking up a Christmas tree. It wasn’t Mor’s week with Júlia so she and Emerie had booked a Christmas mini-break, and his brothers were at a conference. So he’d called Nesta.

She’d been more than happy to pick up Lia from school and keep an eye on her. Almost as happy as she’d been nervous. He’d read it in her voice even through the phone. Nesta had never wanted kids, she’d told him as much, and it had put the brakes on their first date for a while. But Júlia had a mum, two in fact, and the idea that there was any pressure on Nesta in that department had slowly began to dissipate.

Still, Cassian had felt a tiny bit...scared. A bit crushed by his wanting them to adore each other as much as he adored them. So walking in and finding them like that, it had taken the wind out of him.

“I am going to be a baker!” Júlia proclaimed from her own seat now, knees tucked beneath her so she could reach the table.

“What will you call you bakery?” Nesta asked with genuine interest. It was lovely. She spoke to Júlia the same way she would an adult. There was no entertaining or humouring his daughter’s insane babbling, she treated every word as though it held the weight that of a wisened librarian’s might.

“Lia’s Bakery and I will you give you free cookies!”

“What about me? Do I get free cookies?”Cassian enquired. “I haven’t had a single one of your amazing cookies yet.”

“You weren’t here! And you didn’t help make them so I don’t think you should get any.”

“I was getting our Christmas tree!”

“Yes where is this tree that has kept you so busy?” Nesta demanded, tilting her head back to look up at him with arched brows. A naughty twinkle in her dove-blue eyes.

She loved teasing him, but Cassian always gave as good as he got when it came to her. With Júlia, well, his daughter got away with murder. Which Nesta found endlessly amusing.

“It’s by the front door. I think I’m gonna need a cookie to restore my energy before moving it again,” he looked to Lia.

“Fine,” she huffed. “But you’re not allowed to pick it, Nesta has to pick it.”

The way she said Nesta. Like she were one of the Disney Princess she loved to tell him about even though he’d literally just watched the film with her. It made his heart explode like a powdery snowball.

“Hmmmm, what about this one,” Nesta hummed, picking up a sugary treat frosted with a big red heart and offering it up for Júlia’s approval.

“Yes, daddy can have that one,” she nodded curtly.

“You can have a bite now, and the rest once you’ve put the tree up,” Nesta told him as he rested folded forearms against the back of her chair and hunched down to tuck his head over her shoulder, tilted a little to give her his best I-fucking-adore-you-woman eyes.

“Tease,” he smirked.

“Strategic,” she corrected, feeding him the cookie.

“Mmmmm,” he groaned. He wasn’t even putting it on, it tasted fucking delicious. Buttery and somehow melting and crumbing in his mouth at the same time.

“You’ve got a little something,” Nesta laughed, brushing the manicured pad of her thumb against her bottom lip.

“I was saving you a taste,” Cassian grinned, giving her a gentle kiss.

“Nesta doesn’t want kisses she wants the Christmas tree!” Júlia exclaimed, exasperated and impatient.

“You read my mind, Lia,” Nesta said.

Cassian chuckled, pushing off the back of Nesta’s chair and wondering back through to the front door.

Lia was hot on his heels, grabbing Nesta’s hand and tugging her from her seat.

It was a fucking massive tree, and his daughter’s eyes were wide as saucers as she took it in, halting in front of the sofa and nearly vibrating with excitement. By contrast his girlfriend collapsed onto the coach and he was tempted to laugh again. Childcare had clearly done a number on her.

But apparently she wasn’t so exhausted she couldn’t manage a little ogling of him.

Cassian might have been smirking by the time he got the tree upright in its stand, preening a little at the way Nesta’s gaze had lingered on his arms as he’d hauled 120 pounds of festivity about.

A fresh blush blemished her cheeks and she was rolling her full bottom lip between her teeth as she watched him. Knees half tucked beneath her and an arm laying across the back of the sofa, her ear resting against it and lose hair falling carelessly about the cushion.

He was going to wife her up so hard.

“Right, how about some decorations then?” He grinned down at Lia, having thrown Nesta a wink she’d batted off with a roll of her eyes.

“We did them in the colours look, we put them out colour coorninated.”

“Co-ordinated,” Nesta corrected fondly from the sofa as Cassian took in the neat sections of ornaments laid out on the floor.

“Co-or-din-ated” Júlia repeated, already on the floor and searching for the first glittering item to hang.

“We’ve gotta do the lights first though, anjinho,” he reminded her.

“Nesta we have twinkly lights and they can flash or you can leave them so they are always shining or when you click it you make it so they go like,” Lia wiggled her fingers in the air which Cassian recognised referred to the cascading setting on the lights, but knew meant nothing to Nesta.

She laughed none the less, Júlia’s happiness and excitement infectious.

“Will you show me?” She asked, propping her head up on her fist.

“You wanna go grab them, Lia? They’re in my office, on the desk.”

“Yeah I will go get them!” She yelled, already barrelling up the stairs, her little feed padding up the wooden slates like she were merely a skeleton of springs bundled up in the body of a little girl.

Nesta laughed again, a wide smile revealing white teeth and one of her beauty spots quirking in a dimple as she watched.

Once Júlia was out of sight however, Cassian was making a play for her attention. Falling onto the sofa beside her and throwing an arm around her waist.

“I think we have a problem,” he sighed happily, a smirk that promised trouble tugging at his mouth.

“We do?” She asked, letting her head rest against the pillow that was his bicep. Looking up at him.

“I only got one tree. But I have two angels.”

Nesta rolled her eyes and groaned through a subtle laugh, burying her lovely face into his shoulder and thus a telltale smile.

“You’re the worst.”

“And you, are the best,” he grinned, pressing a kiss to her hair and she looked up, smiling casual and soft. “Thank you for looking after her tonight.”

Nesta pressed her mouth to his, kissing him with a supple pressure for moment. “My pleasure,” she said as they pulled back just barely.

Cassian grinned again at that and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear with his free hand. “How was it?” He asked.

“Honestly?” She said, a hand coming to his opposite shoulder, thumb rubbing soft circles there. “Made me fall in love with you all over again.”

Brows immediately rising he let slip an, “oh shit.”

Nesta laughed. “I mean it,” she said, head tilting a little as she watched him. “I don’t think I ever actually appreciated what your being a dad meant. There’s this whole person, this kind, clever, funny person who’s just perfect and you made her, from scratch. And you’re raising her and every little thing she does is because of what you’ve taught her it just...” she trailed off. Overcome by a sentiment she couldn’t put into words.

“What are you doing this weekend?” Cassian asked. Unable to help himself. And if he hadn’t been so preoccupied with how she made his heart ache in the best way, he would’ve noticed a similar ache in his cheeks, because he was smiling like crazy.

“I know we weren’t meant to see each other and if you have plans of course you should do those but, well you’re here now, and judging by those very sexy pyjamas you’re staying the night?”

Laughing Nesta slapped at his hand playfully as it slid from her knee, up her thigh to take a greedy handful of her ass, her jersey pyjama bottoms soft beneath his touch.

“Lia and I are going to go ice skating tomorrow. She’d love it if you came.”

“Really?”

“In fact I think she’ll be heartbroken if you don’t,” he admitted.

“You sure you want me there? I know you have this sad little crush on me or whatever but you’re allowed to want time with just the two of you-“

“Shut up,” he laughed. “Of course I want you there. Really it’d just be cruel sending you home to pine over me-"

“Asshole,” she grinned.

“Daddy I will put the lights on but I need to sit your shoulders!”

They both turned their heads as Lia hurried down the stairs with strings of lights spilling over in her little hands.

“Wowwowwow slow down,” he leapt up. “We don’t run down the stairs, do we?”

“Can we sled down the stairs again this year?” Júlia begged excitedly as Cassian scooped her up at the foot of the stairs and held her at his chest with one arm.

“I don’t know what she’s talking about,” he told Nesta. “We have never once done that ever.”

His girlfriend laughed as she stood up and Júlia shook her head very seriously.

“Never ever,” she agreed.

“Then I’m going to beat you both when we do it this year, because I’m a stair sledding pro,” Nesta flicked Lia’s nose playfully.

Her wide eyed gasp made it seem as if Nesta had told her she was Santa.

“Don’t make me haul the mattresses out into the hall right now,” Cassian warned.

“Bring it, old man.”

Honestly Cassian would lose to her gladly, so long as it wasn’t the only ride she’d be taking on his mattress this evening.

* @featherymalignancy

* @sleeping-and-books

* @my-fan-side

* @hearts-of-persephone

* @witchling13

* @theoverlyenthusiasticwriter

* @typicalmidnightsoul

* @sezkins79

* @thebitchupstairs

* @fourshizzle149

* @monstrousloves-explodinggalaxies -

* @yikesitsmaddie

* @jjellybean

* @thronesandstars

* @mis-lil-red

* @rhysandsdarlingfeyre

* @cf-mist-and-fury

* @breezy-freezy

* @dayanna-hatter

* @anishake

* @candid-confetti

* @goldbooksblack

* @impossiblescissorspeachpaper

* @justgiu12

* @twansy17

* @caotica-e-quieta

* @singinginthedarktimes

* @carebear1339

* @keshavomit

* @januarystears

* @bookstantrash

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allen-desu · 4 years ago

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Intrigue: A Canute and Thorfinn Character Study

Canute had learned to do one thing above all else- discern men. It was simple. Either he should be wary of a man or not, and of those he was wary of, who should he make face with.

But then there was Thorfinn..

Very mild Thornute | Vulgar Language | Canon Compliant (Volume 3 specifically) | Spoiler Free

Brushing off my Tumblr to post this somewhere, best read on mobile.

Canute often found himself studying Thorfinn. In fact he was now, stealing glances of him while riding in a wagon through Wales. His nerves were getting the best of him and not wanting to think of signing a treaty without his father present, Canute instead tried to place Thorfinn to keep his mind occupied. The Prince found him to be a most intriguing character, and one that often eluded any solid characterization. It was egregiously annoying; for you see, growing up in the bloodbath of regal politics, Canute had learned to do one thing above all else- discern men. It was simple. Either he should be wary of a man or not, and of those he was wary of, who should he make face with. Granted, Canute had Ragnar, and therefore he never had to put this skill to a real test for his vassal always fought on his behalf, keeping the young Prince’s best interests in mind. Nevertheless, his cautious observation skills were more often than not proven correct as the time revealed untrustworthy men to Canute.

But then there was Thorfinn. There are always exceptions to any and every rule, but even that logic still couldn’t stick Thorfinn under a neat label inside the Prince’s mind. The boy was not like the men he traveled with. Yes, he did the dirty killing, but he did it in a way that oozed indifference. Thorfinn killed swiftly and acted as if each man was a simple stepping stone to the fight being over, for the killing to be over. While the others he traveled with had a sick enjoyment for the act. Thorfinn did not socialize with the Askeladd’s band. He did not share in their spoils, including that of food and drink. Instead the blond hunted his own food, collected his own water. Only rarely did he ever get what he needed from what was plundered. Those rare instances were either when it was offered to him while marching, or on late and loud evenings, while the rest of Askeladd’s band made themselves merry, Thorfinn would slip some goods from tables abandoned for the night.

So, no, Canute would not label him as part of the band. This conclusion was frustrating, for if Thorfinn was not one of Askeladd’s men, why was he one of Askeladd’s most trusted pawns? Perhaps part of the answer was in the word “pawn” itself, but Askeladd was a cautious man as well. So much so that Canute knew it would bode well for him to try and keep tabs on what the man was thinking. So what was his reasoning to keep Thorfinn- who literally wanted him dead for some unknown reason to the Prince- under his thumb. The young blond was skilled and dangerous to have around. How did Askeladd tame-

Ah.. perhaps that was it.

Thorfinn was like something wild, pacing in its cage and waiting for its chance to do something about its keeper and free itself from its confines. Tamed to compliance, but would still happily bite the hand. Something akin to a wolf perhaps.

Canute looked up from his thoughts over to Thorfinn who was leaning on the opposite side of the wagon, his gaze far off and his eyes hard. Feeling that the Prince was looking at him Thorfinn shot daggers at Canute . Seeing the dirty teen do this with the image of a wolf in his mind nearly tempted Canute to chuckle and he swiftly hid his face from the other in case the temptation won him over. He could hear Thorfinn scoff and that was the end of the whole exchange. A lone wolf in an unfamiliar pack. The young Prince was satisfied with the description for the young warrior.

Canute was no longer satisfied. Thorfinn was his guard and, surprisingly, was taking the job seriously. He seemed not to care, was quick with sharp words at either Canute, Ragnar or Father Willibald. But on more than one occasion, the Prince would catch a small glimpse of Thorfinn nearby, seemingly disinterested, but close enough to come to aid or rescue. Any time he was not lurking and couldn’t be seen or found, a few hours or less after the fact, the shorter blond could be seen emerging from the tree line, a rabbit or more hanging over his shoulder.

In fact, this had just happened and Ragnar had convinced Thorfinn to add the rabbit to the meal he and the Prince were making.

“Highness!” Ragnar had announced upon entry. “We have beans, cabbage and a hare!” As he listed the items, Thorfinn had walked in behind him and closed the door to the cold. Canute was surprised to see him, tensed and annoyed, looking very out of place in the little home they had… procured.

“ A hare?” The Prince asked, ignoring how his own bout of tension was threatening to rise in his shoulders.

“Thorfinn caught it.” Obviously. “We’ll put it in the soup.”

“Well done.” As if Thorfinn needed or wanted praise for a deed he probably found to be child’s play. “Bleed it and skin it so we can wash the meat.” Truth be told, Canute wasn’t expecting for Thorfinn to just comply without some remark, and he surely wasn’t expecting Ragnar to take the rabbit from Thorfinn to do the task instead. It was jarring seeing his caretaker grab the rabbit from him, as if he had just seen Ragnar take a kill from a wild animal. At least that’s what flashed through his mind when the moment started. However, as it happened in real time, Thorfinn let his catch be taken and he was left to simply stand, awkward and unsure.

Canute, stirring the broth in progress mindlessly as he watched on, couldn’t help but consider Thorfinn for a long moment. This boy in front of him was no lone and wild wolf. The moment his gaze was felt, however, the creature came back and Thorfinn found a spot off to the side against the wall that he could sit at and brood.

Once the soup was done and the table was set, Canute and Ragnar somehow coaxed Thorfinn to join them at the table. The tension in the boy’s shoulders was palpable and Canute couldn’t help but take notice of it, trying to further categorize it. When Thorfinn actually acknowledged the meal in front of him, however, his demeanor changed. It was quick, merely a fraction of a second, but the Prince saw it- tried to burn the image into his brain to try and decipher later.

Ragnar’s compliments of the meal they prepared took Canute’s attention and he took this as an opportunity. Agreeing with Ragnar, “The rabbit made it work.” He looked to Thorfinn, “I’m tired of salted meat. You have my thanks.” There was no answer from the shorter blond, he just continued to look at their spread on the table and look lost. Almost as if he didn’t think it was real. The thought threatened to furrow the Prince’s brow. It made him realize yet again, Thorfinn was not amicable with the men he traveled with. When was the last time anyone showed this young man any kindness? When was the last time Thorfinn had the simple pleasure to share a meal with someone at all?

“What’s wrong?” Canute spoke, aiming to pull Thorfinn out of his stupor. “Eat up, you caught the rabbit.”

It seemed to do the trick, for Thorfinn picked up his bowl and spoon and tentatively took a bite. The look on his face, before it was hidden behind matted bangs, was one Canute would very much like to see again. Anger and/or indifference seemed to have a constant monopoly on Thorfinn’s features, but that one, quick moment of.. surprise? Or maybe he was just pleased with the taste of his meal. Either way, the emotion fit his face better, let the ridges between his brows smooth out for a second. Genuine, that was the word. Thorfinn seemed more genuine in that one instant than he did the entirety of the time that Canute had known him thus far.

“Pretty good isn’t it?” Ragnar mused, though the Prince couldn’t quite tell if he had also caught the glimpse of surprise from Thorfinn, or if he was just rearing up to dote and brag on Canute’s cooking talents. “Catch us a deer next, and we’ll really have a meal!”

“...” Not a real reply, but the young guard had acknowledged Ragnar. Thorfinn continued to eat, and almost absentmindedly, “I thought you noble types had everything cooked for you.” It wasn’t a question, a simple statement of thought, but Canute thought he would answer it anyways.

“I enjoy doing it.” The Prince began, “I don’t normally get the chance. Only Ragnar knows that I can cook.” A pause and Canute laid his spoon down in his bowl for a moment. “Do not tell anyone of this.” Thorfinns reply was instant and disinterested.

“Why not?” Followed by, “Who cares?”

Not sure what persuaded him to do so, but Canute began to tell Thorfinn of his father’s, the King, displeasure in the fact that he liked to cook- that it was a frivolous and useless skill to have. Though the shorter blond’s face was as neutral as ever, he did slow in his eating to listen, that alone made Canute feel as he wasn’t wasting his breath, that it was worth having someone other than Ragnar know of how intensely inadequate his father found him to be. Ragnar seemed to be confused at his tellings though. He was obviously not expecting his Highness to share. Giving his Highness an odd look he decided to try and lighten the Prince’s mood, though Canute wasn’t in need of it.

The two of them held their own conversation from there on out, speaking about different dishes Canute could prepare, or what Ragnar could teach him about new dishes he had yet to prepare. The mood in their little borrowed house was light. It was familial in its own way. The young Prince would glance over to Thorfinn every once in a while and was pleased to see that the ever present knot of tension in his shoulders was slowly becoming unraveled. The guard ate and listened.

Something in Thorfinn snapped and Canute shuddered because of it.

What happened in the next instant was too fast for Canute to follow in real time. Thorfinn had gotten up, more like sprung up, and was immediately at the door one of his signature knives pointed at someone’s throat. Had the man had worse reflexes, he would have impaled himself on Thorfinn’s steel. Ragnar was next in the initiative, questioning both Thorfinn and the man on what was going on.

“Agh- I’m on your side Thorfinn!” So it was one of Askeladd’s men. “I’m just bringing a message…” Despite this, it still took a long moment for Thorfinn to remove his knife from the man’s throat. Ragnar took the lead from there and was questioning the newcomer on Canute’s behalf, but Canute himself was still trained on his short bodyguard.

Thorfinn was still tense, still alert and ready to strike, but his initial instinct was slowly recoiling back into its original state. It was interesting to watch the slow movement of his shoulders and back muscles through threadbare clothing. However, Canute’s gaze was felt and Thorfinn shot him a look that could kill. Oddly enough the look from the dirtied blond softened a little, as if he was reminded that Canute was still there and his presence wasn’t something he should be afraid of. The thought struck the Prince as oddly satisfying. He wasn’t able to really dive further into that train of thought, however, for the man brought news of the English advancing on the hideout they had procured. Canute’s shock couldn’t beat out Ragnar’s rage. Heated words about Askeladd and his poor decisions were spoken, and then, just as suddenly as they had come, the man was gone, Ragnar following after him.

The little house was now too still and too quiet until it was broken by Thorfinn huffing through his nose.

“Can’t even manage to close the damn door on their way out.” He muttered, moving to do just that so the winter’s day wouldn’t try and suck any more of the hard earned heat out of the house. With the door closed Thorfinn relocated to his new post beside the door, leaning against the wall. The Prince watched him do this and suddenly Thorfinn was glaring at him again. “Have I fucking done something?” The shorter teen hissed.

“What?” Such an elegant reply, good job Canute. Not that Thorfinn gave two shits about that kind of thing.

“You’ve been staring. Like a lot.” Thorfinn turned to fully face Canute, leaning only one shoulder on the wall. “Still mad, Princess?” A smirk. Of course that’s what he would call him, but Canute realized he was talking about their squabble in the wagons the other day. “I don’t give a rat’s ass who your father is or who’s womb you crawled out of.”

“Still have the vulgar audacity to speak to me like that, but no.” Thorfinn raised a brow at him. “It was more of a shock than anything else. I don’t particularly mind that you speak so blatantly.” No matter how sharp the words, unfortunately. It seemed that the shorter blond did not have a reply for that and instead just refocused his attention to the fire instead. Canute also took this moment to recollect his thoughts. He knew Ragnar was angry, he warned Askeladd about the very problem at hand. Askeladd had paid him no mind at all. Still, the Prince was worried. Ragnar had left in the heat of the moment to a battlefield only to argue with the man leading the defensive charge. Not to mention, his soup would be cold by the time he came back. What a waste.

Perhaps the moments before Ragnar’s return wouldn’t entirely be a waste, though. Not if Canute played his cards right. He wanted to understand Thorfinn. Never before had he met someone that has proven themselves to be so complicated, especially since at first Canute thought him to be a simple brute among other simple brutes. Why was Thorfinn here, why was he in, but yet not considered, part of Askeladd’s band? What happened to him? The short blond hates the man, yet follows him around the country and overseas. He even follows some insane orders with the promise of some kind of reward.

Thorfinn let out an aggravated noise and was suddenly leaning over Canute, hands flat on the table with a bang.

“You’re doing it again. Quit.” The shorter teen growled. Canute blinked owlishly at him. What? Oh, had he been staring again? Nevertheless he continued to study Thorfinn, which was quickly making his guard’s blood boil. Then Canute stood forcing the other teen to stand back a bit and look up at him. He knew that Thorfinn was shorter than him, but it was still amusing to actually see it. Thorfinn carried himself to be larger, more intimidating. Said young guard was now glaring up at Canute through his dirtied bangs. “What?” He hissed.

“You confuse me, Thorfinn.” The Prince replied. Thorfinn also had a fair amount of confusion mixed in with his usual anger, and that fact pleased Canute a bit- at least the feeling was mutual. “I’ve just been trying to figure you out.”

“Well stop.”

“No, I shan’t” Canute replied swiftly. Thorfinn was prone to argue, but nothing came out. The Prince could take a guess as to what he was thinking. That the person in front of him was the same as the shy and bumbling Prince that was showcased and dragged around all of England these past few weeks? Yes and no. There was nothing political in this task, Canute had nothing to fear if he took a misstep. No repercussions. This was a purely selfish motive in which he had no problems pursuing as long as it was kept private. “Also it’s not that I can not, it’s that I will not”

“You…” Thorfinn struggled. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

“To you, perhaps not.” This reply really made Thorfinn angry, Canute could see it in the way his whole body tensed, gearing up to fight. Part of him wanted to see if his guard would actually hit him. However, before either of them could think through what they wanted to do next, for some odd reason, Canute had moved and held Thorfinn’s face in his hands. Both teens were now wide eyed and tense. Why did he do that? When did he do that? Just now? A moment ago?

Canute was the first to settle down from the shock of his own actions, and instead of pulling away like he thought he would, the Prince settled into the position. He let his hands feel the warmth of Thorfinn’s jaw and slid down to where his thumbs were still on the other blond’s face, but the rest of his fingers curled delicately around his neck. He knew his hands must have been cold, he was prone to be, but the proof lies in the fact that Thorfinn’s skin puckered into bumps right before he shuddered just slightly.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Thorfinn asked, his voice surprisingly tame. He was definitely still angry and on edge, but thus far it seemed as if Canute was not in danger of being bitten by the wolf that accompanied Thorfinn’s anger.

“Indulging, just let me for a moment.” Canute replied softly, as if trying not to spook Thorfinn away.

“...the hell does that even mean?” The guard muttered in reply. Canute laughed lightly, amused.

“Don’t think on it too hard,Thorfinn.” No reply to that, but the dirtied teen in his hands didn’t pull away either. Good, that was good.

Now that Canute had somehow managed to get them into this situation, he took as much time as he damn well pleased to study the other boy. Not that he was naive enough to believe that staring at Thorfinn would somehow unlock his secrets, but he did think it would help. Thorfinn was a recluse. No one ever got too close to him and he would never let them, so the fact that Canute was quite literally in his personal space seemed like a major victory.

Thorfinn had hard light brown eyes, but if the fire flickered right they were more like unearthed amber or sweet honey. They were nothing like the Prince’s own eyes, a sky blue. The sky may be vast, but Thorfinn’s eyes were deep. What was that saying? The eyes were a window into the soul? Canute could readily believe that looking into Thorfinn’s.

Next Canute took note that, under all the dirt, Thorfinn was tired. He had coloration and lines on his skin that a boy of their age shouldn’t have. Did he ever sleep through the night? His guard was always up late and always up early, always seen at odd hours thinking about something far away... or a time long gone, perhaps? Beyond what dirt and sleepless bruising lay on his skin, was what lacked beneath it. Thorfinn was a genuine threat on the battlefield, how could someone so strong have such gaunt in his cheeks? He knew Thorfinn fended for himself, but from what he has seen, he does a rather good job at it. Granted, he doesn’t eat square meals. Canute thinks that just earlier was the first time he’s seen Thorfinn eat anything green, or not meat related. Still, a soldier's diet of salted meat and wine wouldn’t result in malnutrition. Was malnutrition why he was short? Just… Just how long had Thorfinn been taking care of himself? The men didn’t bat an eye at Thorfinn’s presence. In fact, while marching and the men told old stories, Thorfinn was in a good many of them. Years? Had it been years since Thorfinn had a meal like the one he had today?

“I don’t need your fucking pity.” Thorfinn’s voice startled the Prince. Was he making a face of some kind?

“I didn’t mean..”

“Save your breath, I don’t care.”

Canute thought it was best to not reply, so instead he wiped some dirt off of Thorfinn’s face with one of his thumbs. With a fresh bath, a sturdy brush, and some new clothes, Thorfinn could be considered handsome.

He wondered what Thorfinn was thinking. Was he actually trying to decipher Canute in turn or was he just waiting for the Prince to be done? Canute also wondered, truly, when was the last time Thorfinn was shown kindness? Affection? Perhaps he wasn’t a lone wolf at all, but something lost instead. When one finds themselves abandoned in one way or another, in an unfamiliar place, one must adapt. Did Thorfinn just adapt to killing? Fights because he has to? It was frustrating going through all these thoughts himself, but Canute knew for a fact that Thorfinn would not simply answer any questions that he asked.

Perhaps… Perhaps Canute could be the one to show him kindness? Maybe he could properly tame the wolf that was Thorfinn’s anger, and find the lost person it was protecting. Thorfinn was so hard to get close to though, even today he had been reluctant to simply share his rabbit and then a meal. So what could the Prince do? He thought of this and that, feeling Thorfinn’s pulse through the fingers on his neck. Absentmindedly he rubbed his thumbs in time with it, studying him. Again Thorfinn couldn’t suppress a shiver and again Canute was moving without thinking at all.

He had pressed their lips together. Why? Not even God above would know. Thorfinn’s lips were chapped, still and shocked against the Prince’s own, but he was warm. Unfairly warm and it seeped into Canute. He could stay this way for a long while if he was completely honest with himself, but one kiss was enough. A gesture of both kindness and affection that Thorfinn could seek out from him if he chose to do so if he ever needed to feel wanted. So Canute pulled away, but instead of the awkward moment he was expecting, strong hands pulled him back in at the hips. Thorfinn had leaned back up and continued the kiss.

The taller blond was not expecting this, but then again he was also not expecting to have kissed Thorfinn in the first place either. His pale hands slipped from Thorfinn’s face and neck and instead slid so Canute could rest his arms on his guard’s shoulders. The hands on his hips were most likely bruising him with how tight they held him, but that was part of what he liked about this moment. Thorfinn was holding him and kissing him like this was something he desperately needed. Canute returned its ferocity and leaned in, making Thorfinn crane his neck at an odd angle, and then ran his tongue over the shorter’s lips. Again this was something neither of them were expecting, not experienced enough to really know what they were doing at all to be honest.

However, surprisingly enough, Thorfinn had again let it happen, letting Canute test the waters. So he did. Canute pushed his tongue into the other blond’s mouth. He felt Thorfinn’s tongue with his own, the roof of his mouth and back of his teeth. It was oddly exhilarating, even more so when Thorfinn mimicked Canute and did the same to him.

As Thorfinn kissed him Canute moved them, pivoting them so Thorfinn was between him and the table. The shorter blond grunted when it happened and turned his head out of the kiss to look at their new position, to which the taller blond took as a chance to place kisses to Thorfinn’s jaw and neck.

“Don’t think that I’m just going to bend over like some paid whore.” Thorfinn muttered, his voice was a little deeper, thicker, Canute couldn’t help but like it, but also couldn’t help the laughter that bubbled up from him.

“I wasn’t really planning on it.” He mused, resting his head in the crook of Thorfinn’s neck. Canute watched as Thorfinn reached for his low ponytail and played with the strands tentatively. It almost seemed as if he had been wanting to do so for a while but never had gotten the chance to do so until now. Canute kept that nice little thought in mind as he placed more kisses up Thorfinn’s neck, trailing back up to his mouth.

The two of them kissed some more, each exploring at their own paces. Canute also let his hands wander; Thorfinn was all muscle and bone and very thin. The prince knew that one day, if Thorfinn’s disinterest in his own health didn’t kill him first, that he would be properly strong, with healthy muscle, and a fuller face. At least that’s what he hoped for. Thorfinn did not explore the way Canute did, but his grip remained tight and would squeeze him whenever Canute did something he liked. At some point their hands inched a little higher.

The heat between them slowly, so very slowly, faded and they were back where they started, Canute cupping his face. After a few moments that stopped too.

“Did this ever happen?” Thorfinn asked, voice quiet. Canute blinked at him, it wouldn’t bode well for him if Thorfinn ever told anyone of their little venture, but he was honestly surprised that the other cared at all. But more than that, Canute was surprised to see that the anger that was seemingly permanent on Thorfinn’s features was gone. In its place was something the Prince could not identify, but he would burn the image in his brain. Hard eyes were gone, in its place was only honey and a fair amount of color in his cheeks.

Canute decided he would be the one to give Thorfinn the kindness he deserved. Even if it was just in small doses, seemingly meaningless gestures.

“No.” He replied, leaning down to press a kiss to Thorfinn’s cheek. “But it could happen again if you want.”

The shorter blond huffed and made a gesture for Canute to move. He did and Thorfinn moved towards the door. Canute had expected him to leave, but instead he had taken his previous makeshift post at the door. “Whatever, your Highness”

The Prince took his place back at the table, smiling to himself. That response certainly wasn’t a no. He had more thinking to do.

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