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moonlightwritesdisney · 4 years ago

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YOU. — Wyatt Lykensen

Pairing: Wyatt Lykensen X FEMALE! READER

Requested: Yes / No

Warnings: vulgar swearing. descriptions of blood. unhealthy behavior. mentions of rape.

Author’s Note: please note that you (the reader) and wyatt are both adults in this image. Just to clear up any confusion!

Summary: The first time he saw you he couldn’t keep his eyes off of you. He follows you everywhere. He gets jealous when he sees you invite a friend over for old times sake. Things go way to far. You will be his.

HE ALLOWED THE LOUD CHATTER and birds song in the bright summer square of ZombieTown to be slowly drowned out by all his pulsing thoughts. He stood in the distance observing you. Out of all the people that passed by blocking his view, he kept his hard eye on you.

The way your soft brunette curls laid untouched just inches away from your descending chest. Echoes of your honey dripping laugh rang through his twitching ears. The jealously and anger only grew worse.

Unbeknownst to you, not aware of the wolf watching you had just finished a few hours of shopping, you were making your way down towards the central parking just by ZombieTown’s large water fountain before you were stopped by an old school friend — who was male.

He was so surprised to see, he complimented you and watched you laugh in sweetness. Both of you stood their for at least 20 minutes catching up on old burnt out memories he was trying to re-flame. He could read your mind. He felt the same as you. He knew you were uncomfortable and wanted to make a fast escape. You didn’t trust this guy but.

“Hey uhm- i was actually wondering if you’d like to have dinner and a movie tonight?” Was this guy serious? After a twenty minute conversation?! You weren’t one to be rude because of your passive personality. “Oh — uhm sure! I’d like that. I’ll be there at seven o’clock”.

And with that you were off and on your way home. Wyatt watched as you retreated towards the silver Cadillac you owned in the parking lot. He watched all around him. He glared at the young man who was walking the opposite way. That dumb human. He couldn’t stand a chance against him.

Nonetheless, he knew you’d be his one day. He’d let you have the little amount of happiness this human could spare for a while. He’d imagine you helpless crying and running straight into his arms. The way your head laid on his shoulder while he rubbed your back in a calming manner.

Leaving little kisses on our neck when he was in the mood, the warm feeling of both your sweaty bodies pressed together in pure erotic euphoria. Tingles ran down his spine as he imagines your soft smile in his mind. His heart raced at the thought of your body. Every curve and edge. All the imperfections you could name he’d find absolutely exhilarating.

“Hey man, curfew’s almost up you have to leave”. Another voice snapped him out of deep personal thoughts, he eyed a stern looking officer dressed in a blue SeaBrook uniform, who was very tired and just wanted to go home. He nodded his way respectfully and exited the shopping plaza. The walk to your house wasn’t long.

The city had separate ZombieTown’s main housing and shopping lot so you had to drive at least a small distance to venture for a desired shopping day. He had taken the path towards your small apartment plenty of times, along with being a wolf came with advanced speed so he made due time. The sky swirled with light pinks and oranges making a beautiful sunset in the small town.

The crunching of grass under his feet made his anxious as he took a deep breathe, his footsteps became silent in worries of you discovering him. He stood calmly in your background his ears twitching hearing you humming to yourself softly — he figured you were in the shower getting ready for you date.

A scoff left his red lips in jealousy, he hated that it wasn’t him. ‘in due time’. He thought to himself confidently as he caught attention to light fogs of steam arising from the running shower. Now, Wyatt was no prude but he absolutely couldn’t resist. His curious brown eyes peered above the brick ledge.

A gasp hitched in his throat. His heart could explode at any moment. Their you stood, pampering yourself in the shower. Looking ever so beautiful. The water dripping down your pale dark skin. Your green textured hair soaking up the moisture from the water.

He bit down on his lip as goosebumps shot up his back. You were marvelous. Your beautiful voice flowing through his ears as you sung. His eyes grew yellow, his animalistic nature taking full control. Fangs flashed from his mouth.

He tightened his fist in frustration. He wanted to take you right then and there. ‘All mine’. He thought as he found himself skewing up dirty — unholy images in his mind of him senselessly fucking you, clinging to him as you screamed his name. He knew it was wrong. The tightening he felt in his boxers was painful. Too painful to even bear. He wanted you, every inch.

To him you were everything. All his. After having to agonize through his painful boner he regained composure after zipping up his pale brown pants and moved stalkingly towards the right his eyes casting view into your bedroom window, the soft white shades slightly parted allowing him to see through.

Different collages and pictures of close friends and things you adored plastered all over your walls. Small shelves that held small knickknacks and small plants lightly attracting ray of sunlight bent at the wall. Your bed, freshly made with the soft maroon red and pillows with the dark hues of blue designed with golden tassels laid neatly, untouched.

You were somewhat messy, but very articulate and decorative. Which he adored. Small white bookshelves filled to the end with large literature of your liking. Pushed up against your light grey accent wall. Posters and cute pieces of art made by yourself were taped just above your bed post.

He adored your room. It was full of positivity, light, and all things that you adored. The sweet vanilla and shea scent from your body streamed into his nose like a running river. Licking his lips in anticipation he closed his eyes and exhaled your delectable scent.

You walks into the small atmosphere the cold air hitting your bare legs, missing the warmth of the water and steam capture your body in a relaxing shower. It was a sewer green like color to which your full cheeks spread into a large smile ‘perfect’.

After reaching for a pair of distressed and ripped jeans that you had seen in the corner of your eye you pulled down the chain to your light which shut off you quickly threw your clothing on your bed and sat down on the edge freeing the sparkling red cap on your lotion squeezing the lotion onto your hand.

It smelt amazing, ever since zombies had fought for more equality from the humans. Zombies from everywhere where now able to walk into any store much to the similar human version of their Victoria Secret and others. To which they could by all sorts of cute lipglosses, lotions, night wear, and clothing. The sweet deep smell of cinnamon and rose entered your nostrils as you rubbed the lotion into your calves working your way up to the top of your thighs.

The black pupils widened in arousel and wonder as he stared into the inside of your window without your knowledge — your hands slowly rubbing the white substance on the curve of your plush butt. He was awe stricken, so captivated by the goddess he had known as you. His heart thumped wildly in his chest he couldn’t get enough of you.

Your finger pulled up the red belt loops of the maroon jeans your legs fitted around, securing the gold buttons of your jeans into the red holes in front. You sighed and fumbled with the thin green fabric you scrunched up the material and pushed your head through, then your arms.

You stood in front of the large white rimmed body mirror that leaned against the back wall with a cute colorful tapestry laid over it with pictures of close friends and fun stickers plastered on the corners of the glass. You loved the way your outfit looked. You felt very satisfied. A huge smile spread across your cheeks. The left of your head swung towards the opening crack of your door — the ring of your front doorbell.

You drowned in confusion, your eyes reached over to read the square alarm clock on your night side table. ‘6:24’. ‘He is only twenty minutes early’. Which you thought was very weird. You had just met back with your old elementary friend hours ago , and only after having a seemingly awkward conversation for twenty minutes you agree to go on a date but he’s twenty minutes early?!

You pondered at the all the possibilities as to why he suggested this. But nonetheless you shook the feeling away and picking up your towel placing it in your pale green clothing hamper. Stepping out of your room and down into the wide hallway your fingers wrapped around the chilling gold door handle and yanked it open.

There he stood, bouncing eagerly on his toes. His hair slicked back with hair spray, the clothing he wore was doused with heavy calogne — the foul heavy smell of the body spray stung at your nose the second you opened your front door. Which was something you didn’t find attractive at all. The wide smile he wore seemed like it was too toiled. Like he was trying to hard. His clothes. Ew.

He wore a bright blue and white plaid buttoned, with a black lambskin jacket over it unbuttoned, dark blue low waisted jeans and light brown flats. Yikes. How human of him. You absolutely hated what he was wearing. You knew he was being desperate. You could see it in his body language and his expression. You spotted bright red roses — in front of him you would have scoffed and sent him away.

If he truly remembered you he would have remembered you like sunflowers instead of basic red roses. How bland. But instead, you gave him the benefit of the doubt. You knew the crippling and heart breaking sorrow of rejection, you were a zombie of course so being cast out was something you knew all to well. Instead you tilted your head to the side and forced your cheeks into a great smile.

“Are these flowers for me?” You asked clasping your hands together. He looked down then up at your a small smirk plastering on his thin lips — ‘ABSOLUTELY NOT SIR PLEASE GOD SO DISGUSTING’. These thoughts screamed in your mind as you watched him with pure unattractive as his licked his lips “yes they are actually”.

He said with a very man-ly chuckle “they reminded me of you so I picked them up at the zombie market in town on my way here”. As if this dude wasn’t trying hard enough. He truly had to glamorize the fact that he picked the flowers up at a zombie store instead of the regular human one. So he was racist and trying to hard. Great. You let out an awkward laugh and stepped aside allowing him in before the air became filled with his disgusting aroma.

You had retrieved the flowers from his hand and immediately threw them carelessly on the counter. He didn’t question it but instead following closely behind you. ‘I’ll burn them later’. You thought with a pleasing smirk that played on your face. He had already sat down in your living space his flats sprawled on the floor and his feet kicked up on your glass coffee table. Dog behavior. You rolled your eyes he was stupid and too dumb to even understand basic manners.

Football was playing on your small flat screen, you had taken a seat next to him your feet flat on the floor, your toes curling in the soft plush carpet. “Would you like something to drink?” you asked politely, the man turned his attention towards you, a curl in his lip “hm sure, the finest wine you’ve got?” He requested you stood up and went into the small kitchen opening the oak cabinet next to the sink you had set both wine glasses down on the marble countertop.

The dark brown hues in your eyes scanned out the closed window above your sink watching the bright pink sky combine with beautiful colors of orange and red cascading over the oval clouds. You twisted the cork out of the bottle of white wine you had just bought from ‘Z’s Gruesome Groceriez” in ZombieTown.

You wondered if this human had tasted zombie issued wine before, since well zombie wine was a lot more bitter than regular human liquor / wine. It had a hint of brains. You shrugged with a ‘hmp’. ‘He’s too dumb to even notice anyway’.

After filling both glasses to the half point you held both of them in your hands and carefully walked back into the living room where the human sat on your white leather couch his eyes and full attention soaking into the fourth quarter and a fumbling ball.

You cleared your throat to catch his attention, he smiled towards you and took the wine glass from your right hand and thanked you focusing his content back on the television. “So .. what are you doing for work now?” you asked trying to break the awkward tension to which he perked up after taking a small sip and setting it down.

“Oh well I’d never thought you’d ask, I work as SeaBrook patrolman, you?” You ignored the sting in your gut “I work as a journalist and a proud activist for the Zombie’s and Werewolves’ against discrimination movement, or ZAWAD, it supports the bright culture of both werewolves and zombies and brings everyone together.

We try to unite the communities in SeaBrook instead of pushing away and we absolutely do try our best too peacefully speak our thoughts and have mindful conversations without violence.”

You spoke proudly watching his intense expression burn into your eyes. He nodded slowly and pursed his lips which confused you nonetheless you still tried to ignore the screaming inside your head and gut ‘make him leave’. ‘this is going to end badly’. Chills scattered down your back in anxiousness.

“That’s interesting and ... very sexy actually, your very passionate about it i can tell”. You internally cringed at that word coming out of his mouth. ‘Sexy’. He definitely wanted something, and it wasn’t a genuine conversation. You froze with disgust his nimble tender cold fingers resting on your knee. “oh uhm, thanks i guess”.

You spoke trying to give him the hint, you weren’t interested even if he was the last person on earth you wouldn’t. His hand inched closer towards your inner thigh a evil smirk plastered on his face. “god your so sexy”. He then leaned his lips towards yours capturing you in his grasp. You didn’t give an inch, you squealed in protest.

You moved your arms to his biceps and tried to push him way from you , he refused now he was on top of you. His rough calloused hands slide up towards your collarbone, you groaned in anger “can you please just stop-- STOP!” You shouted, his breathe was hot against your neck his left hand slide up towards your neck and pressed down onto your windpipe.

You gasped gritting your teeth, you used your right hand to try and push him off but his strength held your arm down. You felt helpless, weak, worthless to know that you had somehow allowed this disgusting being to get ahold of you. That is, until you felt him grasping the metal of your Z-band.

You knew that taking it off could potentially be a very dangerous action, which was only to be taken off in emergencies only. This was a very big problem and it needed to be stopped. His hand gripped the clasp of your band, you felt the dark veins pulsating throughout your body.

Using the strength to lift your left hand which caused a small chime from your Z-band to sound, it unclasped from you wrist and fell somewhere on the floor. In just a few seconds the light around your eyes had turned a deep purple cracks plunging from under them. A low growl erupted from your stomach then submerged to your throat.

The man felt you vibrate from below him, he had suddenly noticed you had changed. He gasped and stood up as you growled and snarled, you inched closer towards him as he took steps back defensively. “Stay the hell away from me you bitch!” He shouted sternly but the anger was hot and boiling inside of you.

Turning into a zombie was something you couldn’t control. It was coded in your genes. Once your Z-band was ripped from you the monster took over inside you, just as it did for anyone. Your vision had turned completely red. The low grumbles and growling roared within you, this is what you were. A monster, and damn, were you proud of it.

You stepped closer to the cowering man as he flared his arms towards you, which unfortunately, only agitated you more. In this moment you were gone, the zombie inside you was controlling you, and you smelt fear. Which was a bad thing. “Your a waste of human life”. Your normal quiet spoken speech had transformed into a lower deep growl. Using your zombie strength you grabbed the human by his leather collar and bite deeply into his neck, the loud scream leaving the dry of his throat.

The blood seeped out of his neck like a river, you lifted him to meet eyes with a demon like growl “next time you better stop”. You seethed before letting him drop to the ground, the now scared human scrambled towards his feet holding the gushing wound his hand covered in red. He disappeared out of the living space and out of your life forever. Or at least you hoped he did. Grunting you walked over towards the crack between the couch and the pale wall, getting on your hands and knees you reach down for the metal bracelet.

After securing it in your grasp you immediately push the clasps together around you wrist. ‘Online’. You let a content sigh slumping back beside the wall the dark veins in your arms slowly recoiled from your arms and legs. Your back ached and your head pounded. The sweet tasting blood of the humans still resting on your lips and along your cheeks.

Finally, after about a few seconds you steadily returned to your feet. Ignoring the few blood spatters that were now fresh on the floor. ‘I’ll clean it up later”. You let a deep sigh release from your lips as you picked up the two wine glasses and brought them to the kitchen and discarded of the waste in the sink.

You were fashioned in the bathroom taking a warm cloth and bringing it towards your face wiping off the dried blood. You sucked in a breathe the sound of your beating heart filling your ears. You didn’t feel at all ashamed for what you had done. That bastard human deserved it.

The overbearing of your anxiety flared, you were worried you might get in huge trouble, since unfortunately, the human is never to blame. You had gone to bed that night in hopes for a better day the next morning -- the only problem was, he saw everything.

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a-edgar-allan-hoe · 4 years ago

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The Last Chthonian

Bucky x Reader, Sam x Reader, Zemo x Reader

Part 8

A/N: Part 8 is here lovelies! Let me know if you would like to be added to the tag list! 🖤🔮🖤

Summary: Imagine being Hekate, the Greek goddess of magic and witchcraft, the night and the moon, doorways and crossroads, creatures of the night, and ghosts and necromancy. You stumbled upon Earth many centuries ago and since then have resided on the foreign planet. During the recent years you created an alias for yourself to hide your true identity, and after the war against Thanos you chose to live out your days in the Scottish countryside, until a certain trio appear at your doorstep one day.

Warnings: language

You and Zemo had sat there in silence in the green house for quite some time, watching the rain slowly die down. And though your eyes were focused on the rain, Zemo’s would occasionally leave the windows to glance at your profile, studying the features of your face and the scar that ran down your eye. It was then he noticed that you had a few others, like the smaller ones across your nose, eyebrow, and lip. These weren’t as prominent as the long one you had, they were older and starting to fade. Your cup was already empty while you stared out the glass windows. Your thoughts still dwelled on what Zemo had said to you earlier. As the sun’s rays started to peek out over the horizon, you let out a sigh, standing up as you did so. You needed to go outside and clear your mind.

“If you’ll excuse me. I should get dressed.” You spoke before leaving the glass room, your robe and nightgown flowing behind you as you went. Zemo watched you leave before getting up, taking the tray of the empty cups with him as he decided to get himself dressed as well.

You went back to your room to take a quick shower before grabbing some clothes from your closet to pack up. You threw on a black mock neck sweater and a pair of dark charcoal grey tweed pants along with your grey plaid blazer that had a black velvet collar. You stopped at your dresser and stared down at the intricate silver metal box that was tucked away in one of the drawers. You pulled it out, your fingers tracing along the floral and vine engraving before opening it. Inside the blue velvet lined box sat a silver necklace. Pulling the necklace out, you laid the pendant in the palm of your hand, it was a little crystal ball filled with tiny stars that had a silver tetrahedron point attached to the bottom of the sphere.

Your mother Asteria had given you this. Her being the goddess of shooting stars and nighttime divination such as oneiromancy and astrology, she had made this pendant for you and filled it with her favorite stars. And engraved on the bottom silver point were the words ‘For my favorite star of all. Love, your mother.’ Your heart sank at the words. She had made you this when you were little, to help you with your nightmares and when you had trouble sleeping. All you had to do was spin the sphere and watch the tiny night sky and shooting stars that were captured in it, and soon you would be fast asleep. The only reason you hadn’t used it, was because you would see your mother in your dreams. And though she had made it where she would be there to provide words of comfort, you couldn’t bear seeing her without breaking into tears. Wiping away the tear that slipped down your cheek you decided to put the necklace on anyways, looking in the mirror as it hung delicately under your collarbone, sparkling against the light in your room.

Lacing up your black docs and throwing your hair up in a braided low bun, you went downstairs and decided to head out to the stables as your dogs followed you out. You stopped by the kitchens on your way out, grabbing a big bag of some krystállinomílos, vegetables and a variety of peppers. You grabbed a few pieces of meat and tossed some to your dogs, laughing as they chowed it down eagerly. “I’ll be back pups.” After you exited the back entrance to your home and approached the stables, a smile broke out on your face as you saw your dark dappled grey Pegasus munching on some oats. Once she saw you she neighed in excitement, jumping around in her stall and stretching out her stormy grey wings.

“Thýella!” You beamed, stroking her forehead as you nuzzled your face against hers. “O pós mou leípeis! (Oh how I’ve missed you!)” You had always admired her and had her since you were but a small child back in Olympus. Zeus had given her to you on your birthday when she was merely a foal and you had named her Thýella, which translated to tempest since she reminded you of a storm. Her muzzle was black and faded to a grey as it went up her forehead. Her mane was jet black, and her tail started as black before fading to a white. Her body was a stormy grey with lighter colored spots throughout her coat before fading into black on her legs, save for her left legs that had a bit of white near her hooves.

“Páme gia mia vólta (Let’s go for a walk).” You told her as you set up her saddle and her reins before hoisting yourself on her back. You exited the stable, strolling through the green of your land as you headed towards the bigger stable you had. Getting off Thýella, you held her reins you stepped into the larger stable. As you peered into the wooden stalls you saw your dragon, his black, maroon red, and dark magenta scales rising and falling as he slept in his stall next to the pile of trinkets he has collected. You smiled once you saw him, he was a gift from your uncle Hades and you had him since he was a wee little dragon in his egg.

You creeped closer, hiding behind his stall before jumping out and scaring him. “Kólasi!”

Kólasi jolted awake, knocking his big horned head into the side of the stall before shaking it off. He stared at you with confusion in his fiery eyes, watching you giggle like you used to when you played with him as a child. He was surprised to see you here at first before squinting his large eyes at you and letting out a disgruntled huff as he turned his head away from you with his snout pointed in the air.

“Oh come on.” You teased. “Min eísai étsi (don’t be like that).” You stepped closer to him, stretching over to look in his eyes only to make him huff again as turned away even more. “Den mou leípses? (did you not miss me?)”

Kólasi side glanced at you, giving you a considering look before nuzzling your face since he was truly happy to see you again.

“Mou leípeis polý paliós fílos (I’ve missed you too old friend).” You chuckled as you scratched his head. “Éla. as páme éxo (Come. Let’s go outside).” You led them outside in the warm sunlight before plopping down on the grass with your bag of food. Kólasi sat down behind you, allowing you to lean back on him as his head craned around to face you. He lifted his wing up above you to provide some shade while you opened up your sacks of food. You handed over the krystállinomílos to Thýella and gave the meat, vegetables, and peppers to Kólasi. You grabbed a krystállinomílo for yourself, taking a bite out of the juicy fruit as you pondered on what the three were doing right now. They were most likely having breakfast since you informed Gudrun and the others to make something for them. You then wondered what they would think once they saw Kólasi and Thýella but decided not to dwell on it any longer since you knew there was only one reaction they would have, and it definitely wasn’t a positive one.

You felt Kólasi nudge his head against you, making you look at him. “Ti eínai aftó? (What is it?)” You watched as he nodded towards the sky and a smile appeared on your face. “I knew you’d say that. Éla Thýella. As páme na petáxoume. (Come Thýella. Let’s go fly.)” You went back into Kólasi’s stall, grabbing the special saddle you had made for him before going back outside and strapping it on his back. With a grunt, you climbed into his back, and considering he was about 16 to 18 feet tall standing on all fours, he always had to lower himself for you. Once you were situated and strapped onto the saddle, you held onto his neck as he flapped his dark red wings before taking off the ground. As you turned your head to look behind you, Thýella had just caught up with you and was flying beside you, your castle became smaller and smaller the higher up you went.

A smile was on your lips as you could see everything below you, relishing in the feeling of the wind against your cheeks as you went higher and higher until you could practically touch the clouds. With a small laugh, you stuck your hand out, feeling the whispy clouds slip through your fingers as Kólasi became level with the ground. Thýella stayed beside you, neighing happily as she soared through the sky. No matter how many times you’ve done this, it never got old. After a few rounds of gliding and loops, it was time you headed back home before Sam got worried. As Kólasi began to descend towards the earth you lowered your body to his neck, the wind picking up speed against you as you dived through the clouds. The clouds around you cleared up and you could see your castle in the distance below you, getting bigger and bigger. Kólasi slowed down as he neared the earth, pulling his body up as he and Thýella landed gracefully on the grass of your backyard.

“Theé mou to échasa (gods I’ve missed that).” You breathed out, your blood pumping with adrenaline from the rush you just had.

“Y/n?” You heard Sam call out for you, which made you curse under your breath.

It was too late now.

“Y/n?” Sam rounded the corner of your home and you saw his face turn into one of terror, his mouth and eyes wide as he tried to process what he was seeing. Bucky and Zemo shortly followed and they too mirrored Sam’s expression. “Is that a dragon or am I seeing shit now?”

“This is my dragon Kólasi, Sam. You’re not going crazy.”

“So......you have a dragon and a pegasus now?” Bucky asked you as he eyed Kólasi. Kólasi towered over the three, casting a large shadow over them as he huffed out smoke from his nostrils while a low growl emitted from his chest. He didn’t recognize any of them and they didn’t seem to be a threat, but with one command from you he would readily light them up in flames. You had noticed this uneasiness in your dragon so you scratched his neck, signaling him that they were most definitely not a threat.

“I’ve had them since I was a kid.” You answered Bucky’s question as Kólasi lowered himself to the ground, allowing you to get off the saddle. Giving Kólasi and Thýella a quick pat on their sides which meant they were free to go, you watched as they wandered off a bit before heading back into your home with the three following you in.

“Y/n isn’t he dangerous? Correct me if I’m wrong but don’t dragons breathe fire?” Sam questioned.

“Yes, they do. But trust me when I say that Kólasi is harmless. Now if you guys don’t mind, I just need to get a few things.”

Sam and Bucky decided not question on it any further, trusting your word, though the thought of you having a dragon still baffled them. They’ve read stories about knights and dragons and now were wondering if dragons really did roam the earth and whether knights had really slayed them. And though Zemo knew you meant what you said about about Kólasi being harmless, he knew that wasn’t entirely true and that you understood the limits to that harmlessness. But despite that, he trusted your word, because if you were wrong about your dragon, the earth would already have burned to nothing years ago.

The men had followed you into your library/study, watching as you went over to a certain section on the wall. You reached towards a candle sconce on the wall, pulling it down slightly before there was the sound of gears turning. Then, as they looked, a book shelf began to open up like a door, revealing a narrow stone staircase that spiraled down to who knows where.

“Of course you have a hidden passageway. Why am I surprised?” Sam uttered which made you glare at him.

“You’re welcome to follow me if you’d like, or you can stay out here, if you’re scared. And don’t touch anything.” You informed before disappearing down the staircase.

The men looked at each other before following you down anyways. At this point they didn’t know what they’d expect to find down there. They were curious as to why you didn’t bother bringing a candle with you down the dark staircase, but as they went in, they soon realized why. There were already candle sconces lining the wall of the staircase, and the candles would only light up as they neared, before going out as they passed it.

Once they reached the bottom of the staircase, they found themselves in a spacious, enormous room, which you had used as an armory and a place to keep your artifacts. The walls were hung with weapons of many kinds from different eras. Armor and uniforms which you had worn from various time periods were displayed near the walls on mannequins, as well as different strange looking artifacts dating back to Ancient Egypt and the Sumerian civilization. In the center stood an open space with obstacles and devices which was where you trained in your combat. In the back of the room, down a corridor was where you had dungeons in case you ever needed them. Next to the dungeons was a laboratory, where you used to make potions and concoctions of different kinds. There were even old paintings of you from different eras, some of them were of just you, and some were of you and other people. But the biggest painting of them all hung in the middle, a painting of your whole family in Olympus. Off to the side, separate from the large room was your underground garage that opened up to your driveway. You owned a collection of many expensive classic vehicles, but the majority of them were classic muscle cars, which were always your favorites.

Bucky, Sam, and Zemo widened their eyes as they took everything in. Just when they thought they had seen everything, they had proved themselves wrong. Letting their feet guide them, they walked over to the paintings you had, staring at the large one in the center. Your father stood in the middle and above everyone else with Hera beside him and his lightning bolt clutched in his hand. On his side stood Poseidon with Amphitrite, and Hades with Persephone. Then there was you, wearing your mulberry purple chiton and deep blood/wine red chlamys with a breastplate over it. A diadem sat on your head and a dagger was strapped to your waist, while a sword and shield was held in your hands as you stood at Zeus’s feet with Athena and Artemis on either side of you. They men stared at the painting of you, you looked extremely regal yet powerful at the same time, an embodiment of a queen. The painting next to that one was of a beautiful looking women with stars in her eyes and hair, your mother. And on her lap sat you as a very young child, your eyes holding that same sparkle as your mother’s arms were wrapped gracefully around your body.

Sam glanced around the area once more before his eyes landed on a golden box that sat on a column pedestal. There was something intriguing about this certain thing and he seemed to be almost drawn to the box as he walked towards it. Bucky and Zemo noticed Sam’s slightly strange behavior, and as they looked to see what he was staring at, they too became transfixed, curious to know what the box was. As they got up close to it, they noticed there were these ghastly engravings of the macabre all over it, of tortured souls, demons, monsters, and evil spirits.

When you had walked back into the room with your bag of armor and weapons slung over your shoulder, your eyes widened at the sight of the men crowded around the gold box. Sam’s hand was reaching for it, about to open it until you screamed at them, rushing over to shove them away. “No! What the hell do you think you are doing?!”

“Wha-what?” Bucky stuttered, shaking his head as he was brought out of the daze and so were the others.

“When I said don’t touch anything, I specifically meant ABSOLUTELY DO NOT TOUCH ANYTHING!”

“Wait, what the hell happened?” Sam asked, confusion written all over his face. Even Zemo had no idea what just occurred.

“That is Pandora’s box.”

“Pandora’s box?” Zemo tilted his head as he furrowed his brows.

“Yes Pandora’s box. Do you know what would have happened if you had succeeded in opening it?” You scolded them. “You would have unleashed all the evils into the world! There would have been complete chaos!”

“I’m sorry y/n, I didn’t know. We didn’t know.” Sam apologized, feeling guilty and terrified that he almost managed to open such a vile and dangerous little thing that had seemed so harmless at first.

“It’s fine.” You sighed. “I have what I need. Now let’s go before you guys try to touch another cursed artifact.”

Once you had your things and everything situated, you said farewell to Gudrun and Bjørn and the rest of the workers, giving them each a kiss on the cheek, their faces filled with disappointment in seeing you leave so soon. You said goodbye to Cerberus, Hecuba, Skiá, Thýella, and Kólasi as well, giving them each a hug. You sat there for a while, surrounded by your animals as they whimpered in sadness. With your final heartfelt goodbyes you left your home.

You walked over with the three trailing behind you to your 60s convertible black mustang with the white racing stripes that you had parked out front to drive to the nearest airport where Zemo’s jet would be waiting. After putting your bags and theirs in the trunk and closing it, you stared off at your home and the forest around it for one last time before your eyes caught the centaurs and satyrs that had neared the edge of the forest. You saw as they raised their hands to bid you farewell and luck on your journey, a warm smile formed on your face as you returned the gesture before hopping in the driver’s seat after the others. Making sure everyone had their seatbelts on, you turned your key in the ignition, the car rumbling to life from the sound of the engine that you always loved. Pressing your foot down on the accelerator, you drove off, watching the rear view mirror as your home got smaller and smaller the farther you drove away.

Tag List: @Little-baby-vixen @girl-obsessed-with-things @aerynchromie @sunshinepower17 @viviace @kakimakiloh @thebivirgin @gambitsqueen @spookycereal-s @lulu-yuming @mochminnie @gabitanaka47 @s00nhi @vanteguccir @tomhollandsslilslut @dracoxxyoflam @suchababie @uhhhcrypticbastard @on-my-way-to-erebor @thewinterrbucky

#bucky imagine #bucky fanfic #bucky x female reader #bucky x reader #bucky x y/n #sam wilson fanfiction #sam wilson imagine #sam wilson x reader #sam wilson x y/n #zemo fanfic #bucky fluff #bucky fic #bucky x you #zemo x reader #zemo x y/n #zemo fluff #zemo x you #zemo imagine

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thebadchoicemachine · 3 years ago

Text

Petting Party (pt 1)

Rundown of dimensions AU: Quackity’s from 1920s dimension called Prowa, Schlatt and Charlie are his business partners *cough found family cough* and they run a casino/speakeasy. Sapnap is a knight from a fantasy dimension called Quarry. Karl is like Dr.Who.

tw - Mentions of guns and alcohol (1920s mobster dimension)

This is really just the fluffiest full I have ever written.

•••

@thecatchat

•••

Quackity walked through his rooms, digging around drawers for his keys. He squawked a little in frustration as he rummaged. He felt so paranoid, like he was already short on time even though he was about half an hour early and it’s not like Sapnap or Karl would mind waiting. He just wanted this to go perfectly. They’d had dates in his world before, they’d even had proper ones where they weren’t running from cops or mobsters or some other guns/knife/bat-wielding foes. Heh, foes. He was starting to think like Sapnap… and he was starting to feel like Karl— where was his damn key? Karl had literal worlds full of stuff to keep track of, it only made sense he got turned around and mixed up, what was Quackity’s excuse?

Finally, a glint caught his eye and he snatched up the silver piece of metal, stuffing it into his sleeve and practically skipping to the front. Their home was really just the back half of the casino so he just walked through into the back room. Schlatt and Charlie were sitting at a table, various game pieces scattered across the top, counting cards, chips, and cash. Charlie seemed to be in the middle of a failed game of solitaire and was stacking up a house of cards while Schlatt was just old-fashioned sorting, looking rather bored. It was a quiet night for them. Probably a few drinks and catching up till bed after they double-check the games for cheating. Quackity would usually join them but it wasn’t strange for him not to show. He gave them a wave as he walked past, motion enough for them to look up and acknowledge him.

Schlatt only glanced up before returning to his work. “What’s with the getup?”

“I told youse, I’m going out tonight.”

“Doesn’t answer my question.”

“I’m going out to meet my partners.” Quackity struck a joking pose. “No harm in good impressions.”

“Hey,” Charlie frowned childishly, “aren’t we your partners?”

Quackity chuckled, rolling his eyes, “Of course. My new partners, then. Actually, lemme see a cut of that doe, I wanna butter ‘em up tonight.” He snatched a few bills from the table and turned to make his exit.

“Wait,” Schlatt commanded, still barely looking up from his work. “Partners like you’re out for coffee to discuss getting new tables?” He took a sharp bite of his apple, eyes lazily growing dark. “Or do youse mean partners like I outta trail behind... y’know, keep you from gettin’ lead poisoning.”

“Uh...” Quackity blinked. “Partners like I’m off to a petting party.”

Schlatt choked. Charlie laughed while he coughed, moving to pat his back and smiled at Quackity. “Well, good luck.”

Quackity narrowed his eyes as he was almost certain he caught a ‘all knows you need it’ under Charlie’s breath. He played it cool and simply snapped, “Hey, I don’t need no luck. Certainly not from you.”

“Sorry, sorry, didn’t mean to offend.” Charlie held his hands up, grin still plastering his face. “Was just wishing you the best.”

“Yeah... yeah,” Schlatt nodded, coming out of his state but still red-faced. Whether it was from embarrassment or lack of air Quackity couldn’t tell. He rolled his eyes again, smiling but waving goodbye without giving them a chance to drag him onto another conversation.

He stepped into the front, waiting patiently by the front of the door. Karl had said they’d meet him at the Vidrio, but should he wait inside or out? He paced, routinely adjusting his feathered headband and combing the actual feathers on his wings. He still worried he was overdressing a little but when he tried to lessen his look he panicked about underdressing. He wanted to look good for his boyfriends, a bit of makeup wouldn’t hurt that... would it? In the end, he’d settled on a simple pale blue dress, eyeliner, and a small headband. Nothing too gaudy but he still looked good. He looked good in everything, of course, he had absolutely nothing to worry about. So why was he all jittery? What, was he suddenly a dud? It didn’t matter. It was probably just because of the surprise factor.

He’d assumed they would come and get outfits at his place (no offense to them, they just really couldn’t go the way they usually dressed) but Karl had insisted they pick him up like a “proper date.” He didn’t know what Karl knew about proper dates or when he’d started to care about them, most of their dates involved some form of running for their lives. Quackity wasn’t complaining but he’d be lying if he said the idea of just being a snuggle pup for a change wasn’t wildly appealing, especially if it meant getting to have Sapnap and Karl got to hang out in his world and not just flee and sneak. There were some nice things here he felt he never got to show them.

He sunk into himself, suddenly feeling ashamed. It was bad manners, it was. Combining his work and love life to the point he may as well have made chumps out of his own boyfriends. He knew they didn’t mind, it was all new and fun for them and he was pretty sure Sapnap did the same thing. (He wasn’t entirely sure what his job was, like a knight sure but where was the line between work and just regular old Quarrian life?) Still. He should take them dancing more or something. Technically, that’s what he was doing here but he’d like to make a better habit of it, it really sounded like the bees-

A bright, impossible, but familiar, swirl interrupted his thoughts. He straightened himself, quickly fixing his headband one last time. His heart was pounding out of his chest— but not because he was nervous, because he was excited. He couldn’t stop himself from smiling like a giddy sap as out from the portal stepped Karl and Sapnap. His breath was caught in his throat as he got a good look at them. He wasn’t sure what he expected, nothing bad, but he mentally made a note to give them an apology for being SO wrong. Whatever he’d imagined, they looked a million times better.

Sapnap was in a white dress shirt. He had on a maroon vest and black tie he clearly didn’t know how to wear but wore well nonetheless. He had his hair slicked back, completely showing his pretty silvery, misty, eyes. Quackity noted the headband he usually wore in his hair was tied in a ribbon around his neck. Sapnap just couldn’t be without it, he warmly mused.

Karl had on something with colors in patterns like Quackity had never seen before, not in his world at least, which— of course, it was Karl. Beautiful, strange, mysterious, adorable Karl. The top of the pantsuit was made of several pale shades of green. They washed over it like waves of seafoam, a strip of pale purple lace swirled around it, almost mimicking a deconstructed form of his usual crazy attire. A herringbone cap was pulled over his head, shaping brown curls.

Quackity stared, absolutely gobsmacked, until his brain caught up to his eyes. Sapnap was saying something and waving his hand a little. Quackity blinked, shaking himself out of it. Egad, he was goofy for them. Luckily, Karl and Sapnap didn’t seem to mind his zoning out. In fact, Karl seemed to find it tickling, he clearly held in a giggle as Quackity snapped to. Quackity guessed this wasn’t the first time he’d found himself stunned. It certainly wouldn’t be the last either.

“Hey, jackpot,” Sapnap gently flicked his forehead. “I asked how you think we look.”

“You... good. You look good. Mmhmm,” he managed to squeak out, finally remembering to close his mouth. Slick. He was slick.

“I’m glad you like it,” Karl chuckled. “I know you don’t really trust me to dress myself for nice places in Prowa.”

“Hey, I never said I didn’t trust you!”

“You never said it, no.”

Quackity gave Karl a small punch in the shoulder. He flinched way more than was warranted, stumbling dramatically, but a broad smile settled on both their faces.

“Aw, sugar! Did I hurt you?”

“Yes!”

“Hey, hey! Sir,” Sapnap stepped between them, also joking. “What is wrong with you, daring to assault my beloved in front of me?” He threateningly toward over Quackity, grabbing his shoulders and backing him up against the wall. His eyes flickered with playful malice. He leaned in close, expression caught between a smirk and a snarl, completely aware of the growing blush on Quackity’s face. “I’ve half a mind to challenge you, and another half to crush you right here for your audacity.”

“Aw, my knight in shining armor,” Karl sarcastically patted Sapnap’s shoulder, thoroughly less impressed by the display than Quackity. “Whatever would I do without you here to defend me from this sweet, cuddly, small, duckling?”

“Hey!” Quackity snapped defensively. “I could fuck you up if I-“

“Ey, Q! Have you seen-“ Schlatt stopped upon seeing the scene, turning on his heel and walking right back into the back. “Nevermind. Not my business. None of my business. Absolutely not my business…”

“I-“ Sapnap dropped his boyfriend (who crumpled onto the floor in laughter), instantly turning a shade twelve times redder than Quackity had been. “I am so sorry.”

“Ah- Schlatt?” Karl called over Quackity’s wheezing. “Schlatt, it’s fine-“

“NONE OF MY BUSINESS!” A shout came from the backroom.

Quackity dropped his face into his hands, his chortling turned to full hysterics as he sat curled up against the wall. His dress, which he had been so unreasonable nervous about moments before, creased and probably picked up some grime from the floor. He didn’t care at all. Now that his boyfriends were actually beside him he could care less if he was painted green and orange. He had no one to impress, at least no one who would let anything bad happen over a stupid look. “Oh,” he snickered, the burst dying down. “Oh wow.” He wiped his eyes as jubilant tears stung, apathetic as he’d become he hoped his makeup didn’t run. It wasn’t necessary but he’d still like to look nice for the occasion. He pulled himself to his feet, brushing off his outfit and sighing. “Ah. He’s got a point though, really should be saving that for the party.”

“Speaking of which—“ Karl snapped his fingers in a jazzy rhythm. “Are we ready to go?”

“Yes, let’s!” Sapnap turned with Karl as all three of them began to speed out the door.

Quackity made sure to bump in front of them before they made it out, he was not letting Karl anywhere near the wheel.

The car ride was bright and lively although quiet. Quackity couldn’t help but grin just being next to these goons, one could practically feel Karl vibrating with excitement in the back, even Sapnap seemed to be enjoying the drive (he’d never quite gotten over the time Karl had offered to drive... Quackity could barely blame him for remaining he cautious and paranoid around automobiles). The blanched twilight hummed overhead as they made their way through the streets. It was relatively empty this time of night, too late for errands but just before everything started to swing. They pulled into the end of the road and all stepped out.

“It’s a bit of a walk the rest of the way,” Quackity explained. “Especially cause ‘s considered… ‘impolite’ to pull attention.”

“Hmm…” Sapnap nodded, glancing behind them.

“What’s up?” Karl put a hand on his shoulder.

“Nothing.”

“You sure?”

“It’s fine, I just-“

“Just what?”

“Uh, maybewecouldgoseeSchlattandCharlie?”

“Huh?” Karl blinked.

“Is… Schlatt and Charlie coming? Could we go get them?”

“N-no?” Quackity stammered, surprised to say the least. “This— uh- ain’t exactly the kind of party you bring your family to. Not ‘less they got dates of their own... and you know Charlie ain’t keen on that stuff.”

“Okay, well, maybe we could spend some time with them for a while at the casino? Before we commit here. The night is young!”

“I means, I’m pumped for your sudden urge to hang out with them and all, but I kind of wanted to spend time with the two of you.”

“Ah-“ Sapnap shrunk into himself. “Of course, I- me as well, I’m so sorry to imply otherwise. I was just thinking Charlie may like to hear about the slimes...” He trailed off, fiddling with the headband around his neck, just the slightest hint of panic on his face. He was very good at hiding it but Quackity and Karl knew him better than that. They shared a glance, this had nothing to do with Charlie.

“Spice, are youse nervous?”

“N-no!”

“You sure? We don’t gots to do nothing you don’t wanna.”

“Yeah, it’s just-“

“Chivalry and all that?” Karl chimed in, sympathetic. “I know our courting isn’t exactly conventional.”

“No. Well, not exactly. Ah... think I’m merely... flustered?”

“Flustered?” They spoke at once.

He nodded, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s just… romance in my world is so different. Much more complicated. It involves a lot of the other’s family and specific sets or roles for meetings, it changes depending on how long you’ve been together and what kingdoms you hail from, so such and so forth. I’ve never been a martinet for the rules but, the way you describe these kinds of parties, I- I- find myself… lost.”

Karl blinked. “So, you’re used to having a bunch of guidelines and, while you don’t miss them, are floundering without the stencil?” Sapnap nodded at the ground. He took a breath and shook his head, clearing his mind before bowing slightly. He held his left arm over his chest, middle knuckle up with his pinky and thumb slightly out, keeping the rest of his hand balled in a fist. Quackity recognized the symbol by now as something like a salute of the Nether kingdom. It was used to show respect while speaking. He stopped himself from rolling his eyes, remembering the formality was only habit.

“I apologize for my trepidation,” Sapnap held a bashful tone. “I am just not used to courti-“ he paused, searching for the word, “dates being so… open. I don’t mean that as an insult to your world! I only-.”

“Okay, buddy,” Quackity pushed Sapnap upright by his shoulders. He seemed confused but obliged. “I get it’s polite and nice for you but, if you really love me, please never do this again.”

“Do... what?”

“You have a habit of getting all formal when you’re worried you’re messing up with us.” Karl shrugged.

“I do?”

“I don’t know.” Quackity tapped his chin. “Let’s see.” Without warning, he grabbed Sapnap by the shoulders and takes him downward, planting a firm kiss right on his lips. He tensed a little as he felt a sudden wave of hotness wash over him (that was to be expected from surprising a demon) but stayed in the moment. As he pulled away, Sapnap blinked a few times, stunned although the faintest hint of a smile shone through. His gelled hair fell just a little messy.

“What the fuck, Quackity?”

“There we go! Back to normal! You see the difference?”

“I- I guess so!” He nodded, a look of mild surprise mixing his comprehension as if he’d just realized what color his own eyes were.

“Now, did youse like that?”

“Yes?”

“You want more?”

“Yes...”

“You wanna go inside?”

“Yeah.” Sapnap energetically nodded, slamming the car door shut, slicking back his hair again, and holding out his arms. “Yes, I do.”

Karl jumped between them, linking arms on his side before Quackity had the chance, and holding out his own instead. Quackity shot him a look but took it, joined by Sapnap in confusion at the sudden demand to be in the middle. Karl only smiled as they made their way down the street, nearly skipping at the attention until he lowly murmured, “So… do I get a kiss?” Quackity opened his mouth, smiling, but was cut off by Sapnap swiftly swooping in and planting one on Karl’s cheek.

“Oh- you-!” Quackity squawked, envy and agitation peaking his tone. “I was gonna-!”

“Well, I did.”

“Boys, boys, I do have two hands… and two cheeks,” Karl half-sang, leaning over to Quackity awaiting his kiss.

“Oh, no. Fuck you. You’re gonna have to wait for it now,” Quackity pouted. Sapnap let out a taunting laugh as Karl gasped in mock offense. Well, probably mock. Regardless, Quackity only smirked and turned to face a door in the wall next to them. “Besides, we’re here!” He unlinked his arm, rattling out a little pattern into the door. It opened slowly, revealing a dapperly dressed serpentine blocking the view inside. He smiled wildly as the warm smells and colors hit him regardless, it had been a while since he’d been to one of these, long before he ever met them and certainly not while they were dating, but he missed them.

He couldn’t wait to share this.

#karlnapity dimensions #ksq dimensions content #karlnapity fluff #woah those are words I wrote

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no-droids · 5 years ago

Photo

Rough Day (The Mandalorian x Reader)

Rated: Explicit

Word Count: 3.1K

Summary: When you woke up this morning, you didn’t really think it would be a “fixing Mando’s knife wound and then giving him a handjob” kind of day today but hey, who knew that agreeing to babysit a bounty hunter’s weird, green little child would be so full of surprises.

Warnings: Smut, language, handjobs (duh), dirty talk, Pedro Pascal (deserves his own warning), mentions of blood, spoilers for the Mandalorian.

Maker, why is this even a thing?

You don’t know his name. You’ve never seen his face. He barely says a word, doesn’t even move much unless he needs to. If he didn’t have such an obvious complex about droids, you would’ve thought he could be one himself, quietly forged and hidden beneath gleaming beskar armor for an untold number of years. You know practically nothing about him other than the few things you’ve heard about his culture—most likely either grossly exaggerated or just flat out nonsense. Everything about him is an enigma, even down to the vaguely impersonal things, such as the technical name for his “poof gun” or what insane percentage of his body weight metal has to account for.

But that doesn’t stop you. Nope, the fact that you’ve never even seen a strip of his skin doesn’t stop you from nursing a stupid, helpless crush on the quiet bounty hunter. Stars, it’s ridiculous. The modulated, low baritone, the intimidating way he carries himself, so stoic and dark and foreboding and tall—

He terrifies you. You’re absolutely terrified of bothering him, of being too forward or inquisitive. You sit in the cockpit with him for hours in dead silence, kid perched on your lap in the copilot’s seat to keep him from touching anything, hypnotized by the way his helmet subtly reflects the streaks of hyperspace as they race by and thinking about all the impossible things you want to know but can never ask about. The last thing you want to do is accidentally test his patience, possibly get marooned on some backwater planet somewhere because you just couldn’t accept something so beautifully mysterious for what it is.

So you ultimately strive to be almost as quiet as he is, always helpful but never in the way. You troubleshoot mechanical issues with the vessel when they make themselves known, take the baby in one of the secluded areas of the hull and play peekaboo for a bit when he gets too fussy, or just pick up a rag and start cleaning when there’s nothing else to occupy your time. You sleep occasionally, curling up on the floor of the hull with a blanket to avoid taking up too much space, living out of your suitcase and making a generous ten percent of his commissions just by copiloting and keeping watch over the child while he works. With the strict schedule he keeps, your pay is always handsome and consistent, even if it is all a bit boring.

Watching him wrestle his bounties into carbonite is admittedly the most exciting part for you, the rest of your days filled with nothing but the interior of the vessel as it either travels through hyperspace or sits stationary on a planet. He always returns to you bruised and dirty, manhandling and shoving his bounties up the ramp and into the carbonite chamber one by one, not bothering with the fuel needed to collect payment until at least three or four have been retrieved.

You try not to constantly replay the incredibly vivid memory of one of them snarling something sexually obscene at you once and how quickly the bounty hunter whipped his fist out and broke his nose before freezing him.

“Isn’t… isn’t he still conscious in there?” You remember asking, studying the disgustingly crooked angle of the man’s shattered silver nose, to which the Mandalorian shortly replied, “Yes,” before clambering into the cockpit and taking off.

You had to bite down on the back of your hand to keep from whimpering when you touched yourself later that night.

Maker, you want him. You want to help him relax, give him something soft and warm to come back to after exhausting days spent in the elements, after not sleeping for who knows how long and toting elusive criminals behind him. Sometimes you can’t think about anything else besides how hard he’d fuck, how much he desperately needs it, how sexy his voice would sound raggedly gasping your name through the modulator in his helmet. You want to get on your knees and give him the reward he deserves for putting himself in danger for a living, risking his life time and time again for mere credits. If he even returns your feelings by ten percent, it’d be gracious and far more than you deserve.

But then one day he comes back limping, dragging a dead body on the ground behind him by the hem of its ankle. The baby is already fast asleep in the cockpit so you thankfully have nothing better to do but watch as he silently hauls the dead weight into the hull, heaves it upright into the carbonite chamber. He’s slow—too slow in pressing the button. He looks at it for too long. It’s like he has to double-check it’s the right one, adjust his vision until it fully focuses and registers. Breath coming out stunted and shallow through his helmet, every movement somehow looks like it’s increasingly more difficult for him, limbs heavy and weighed down with iron braces and pure exhaustion.

His silhouette slowly approaches through the thick haze of freezing gas, and you blink rather stupidly down at your hand when an emergency cauterizer is suddenly pushed into it. Without a word, he turns around and starts working at his chest plate.

You’re… you’re actually kind of worried now. He usually takes care of these things himself, shuts himself away and tends to his own wounds after capturing unexpectedly difficult quarry. How serious must his injury be to not bother getting into hyperspace before treating it, much less even closing the door to the ship?

Finally managing to find some sense of urgency, you quickly reach up to fiddle with the complex magnetics below either of his pauldrons. Once the beskar, utility belt, and underplates are all removed, the Mandalorian abruptly drops to his knees with a loud clang and curls over, reaching behind his gleaming helmet to pull weakly at his cape and tunic. You lower yourself to the floor and help him, hands trying not to shake as the warm, tan skin of his spine gradually reveals itself from under the dark fabric.

Your heart somehow leaps and contorts simultaneously, soon catching sight of the ugly tear of a knife wound steadily dripping crimson down his side. “Shit,” you whisper, fumbling with the unfamiliar piece of medical equipment in your hands. “Shit, Mando, are—are you sure this’ll be enough?”

“Not deep,” he punches out through the modulator. “Just need… close it. Be alright. Sleep. Set coordinates…”

The cauterizer zaps red and reflects against the gradually dissipating fog in the air, its threatening buzz echoing throughout the quiet hull with impending pain.

“Try not to move,” you warn, swallowing thickly and reaching your hand out to rest along the smoothness of his bared skin. He noticeably flinches.

Your fingers squeeze gently, reassuringly as you bring the laser down and start at the very edge of the wound. The Mandalorian manages to stay remarkably still for being in what you can only imagine must be incredible pain, the skin of his back feverishly warm under your palm as it periodically flickers and illuminates a glowing red.

You have to bite down on your lip when he suddenly shoots a hand back to firmly grab hold of the bend in your knee, taking slow, deep breaths through the modulator and trying to relax the tensing muscles wrapping around his spine.

Maker, this is like a fever dream. His skin is so smooth, firm and lovely and bronze under your gentle touch, muscles pulsing with life as you slowly work to stop the bleeding by scarring over the tissue. It’s so… intimate. The silence broken only by the zapping cauterizer and his tight breaths, the way you’re both holding onto each other for entirely different reasons.

His grip on your knee suddenly turns to steel and he huffs out a ragged gasp in wordless caution, giving you just enough time to pull your thumb off the button before his body jerks a few inches in pain. His tunic falls down your wrist with the abrupt movement and nearly touches the sizzling wound before you can catch it, quickly yanking the fabric up his curled back as far as you can and readjusting your hold on him.

You give him a beat to recover like that before softly reassuring under your breath, “Halfway done,” and brushing the knuckles of your other hand down his spine in a small gesture of comfort.

His muted grunt of acknowledgement follows a minuscule little tremor under your palm, the way his body seems to be responding to your touch filling you with some new, radical kind of bravery. You quietly shuffle closer to him and turn the cauterizer back on, carefully framing his hips with your open legs.

“That little green thing up there is a monster, you know,” you suddenly say, wanting to distract him by filling the void but not wanting to overwhelm him with conversation. Even small talk is considered uncharted territory here, but you figure it’s better than letting him suffer in silence. “I saw it eat a live fish today. A fish. Grabbed it out of the pond over there like it was nothing and just swallowed the damn thing whole, fins and all. Most disgusting thing I’ve ever seen in my life.”

You don’t hear him or see him move, but you do feel a subtle shake of his ribcage under your hand. It fills your heart with air.

“Was twice as big as the little hairball,” you continue on. “Surprised he’s not still flailing around in there right now, throwing him off balance.”

“Not with…those ears,” a modulated voice returns quietly, his gloved thumb barely brushing a half inch across your kneecap when you suddenly breathe out a laugh in surprised delight.

“Maker, it’s worse than I thought.” Your hand soothes gently along his back, trailing over the hills and valleys of each individual rib while you work. “A Mandalorian just told a joke.”

“S-symptom of�� of impend—ing death.”

“Yes, well. At least the dramatics are consistent,” you remark. “I deserve a raise, by the way. Holding that little gremlin over the toilet and having him stare up at me while he does his business is getting real old real quick, tell you that much.”

“Reason…” he breathes out, trying not to wince, “…hired you.”

“Jerk,” you accuse with a smile. “He’s healing you next time.”

There’s a small huff through the modulator, and his helmet tinks against the metal floor when he abruptly drops his head to rest there.

“Almost done,” you tell him, curling your fingers and softly dragging your nails down his side in hopes of distracting him from the pain. It works like a charm, his whole body instantly going boneless at the sensation. “Finish this up, close the door, set coordinates. Get you clean, then you can rest for a few days. You work too hard.”

“Mand—lorean…” he barely croaks out in response, as if the almost inaudible word counts as a valid explanation.

“Hadn’t noticed,” you say, finally reaching the other end of the wound. You turn the cauterizer off and double check your work, hating the deformed scar for marring his beautiful skin but reasonably satisfied it won’t accidentally reopen. “Alright. Done.”

He doesn’t move.

“… Mando?”

His body stays completely still, unresponsive to your inquiry and his breaths no longer immediately audible. Your blood instantly turns to ice in your veins as you drop the silver contraption to reach around his body and shove two fingers under his helmet, pressing them up against his lower jaw as best you can. Only, the thick fabric of his cape wraps around his neck in layers like a shawl, blocking you from feeling his pulse.

“Shit,” you hiss, your other hand quickly rounding his side under the tunic to travel up the front of his bare torso instead. Pointedly ignoring the way his chest hair tickles your fingers as you wiggle them up firm pectorals and a prominent collar bone, you eventually find and push against a scruffy jawline.

The quick, steady beating under the tips of your fingers allows you to relax just slightly, but then the Mandalorian suddenly grunts and shifts, trapping your elbow under his arm and bringing his hand up to cradle the back of yours over his shirt.

You freeze with your body nearly folded over him on the floor like that, praying you haven’t overstepped somehow. This is an emergency, surely he wouldn’t think you’re—

Slowly, so achingly slowly, he starts to pull your hand down the strong lines of his neck. You gasp, fingers trembling under his as he gradually leads you lower, letting you trace the dip in his collar bone, spread out across the solid curve of his chest and feel his heart beat unexpectedly rapidly under your palm.

Maker, this is real—he’s real. Warm, sturdy, clearly too delirious and lost in the same exact euphoria you are to snap himself out of it. Touch. Skin-to-skin contact after so much isolation, so many years spent by yourself. In other circumstances, you might be worried that you’re taking advantage of him in his clearly exhausted state, but his grip on the back of your hand is so strong—his path so steady and clear as you both travel across the hard ridges of his sternum and abdominal muscles. If anything, he’s not giving you much of a choice in the matter, and for some reason that fact alone serves to make you incredibly bold.

When your fingers eventually bump into the hem of his trousers, you cautiously lean forward and press your lips to the Mandalorian’s exposed shoulder blade.

He instantly goes rigid at the gentle kiss. And then his entire back quakes with a shudder.

“Fuck,” comes that dark, gritted baritone through the modulator, losing all sense of composure and frantically shoving your hand beneath the fabric hugging his waistline.

“Maker,” you whisper against his skin, equally as fervent, letting him spread his legs slightly in his hunched-over position and maneuver your palm to wrap around a warm, thick cock. He groans and gives them both a good, rough squeeze over the thick layers of fabric.

“Fuck—you’re—“ he moans hoarsely, moving to brace an arm above his head on the floor with a metallic clatter so he can slowly start to thrust his hips into your clenched fist, “fuck—soft. How’re you so f-fucking—sof—oft. ‘N pr-pretty.”

Your body fills with wildfire, ladling heat into your lower tummy. “Softer somewhere else,” you admit quietly, brushing your thumb along the tip of his cock and humming when his body jerks with it.

“I—fuck—be-believe you,” he gasps, growing harder and harder in your hand. “Bet you feel—per-perfect. S’perfect. H-home. Rough—” his breathing stutters, helmet rolling to the side on the floor with a dull scrape, “Ngh, fuck—ro—ough day.”

“Let me handle it,” you murmur, beginning to stroke his throbbing length up and down in time with his cramped, stunted thrusts. It’s not ideal, of course; it’s dry, probably too dry but for some reason you think he might like it more this way. He gets to feel every ridge and crevice your fingers catch, gets to use his hand to tighten your grip around him even more and desperately start dry fucking your fist like he’ll never get enough of the sensation.

“Let you do anything,” he agrees mindlessly, the words sounding slurred and distorted as he groans them deliriously into the floor. “Give you—give you anything. Fuck. Sw-sweet girl. Helpful. Always—always taking care of things. The k-kid. L-look so—look so pretty.”

You press soft, open-mouthed kisses along the heaving curve of his spine, letting your warm tongue come out to taste the thin sheen of moisture glistening there. He growls low in his throat and freezes, holding himself perfectly still and clenching his hand into a fist on the floor as you flutter your tongue against his skin.

“I like taking care of other things, too,” you say softly into the dip in his shoulder blade.

“Ah—fucking, stars—like it—like it, too,” he grits, his cock pulsing between his legs. “T-too much.”

“Relax,” you encourage, reaching your other hand down to gently cup his balls. “Relax. You need rest. Just cum like this, I’ll go down on you later if you want.”

And then quite suddenly—so suddenly that you think it might actually surprise him more than you—he does.

The Mandalorian cums. Hard. In your hand, right there on the floor, dark clothes bloody and prestigious armor halfway ripped off his body.

A ragged gasp tears through the modulator and his back straightens, the chin of his helmet lifting off the ground a few inches with it and his balls pulling up deliciously tight under your palm. Warmth immediately begins to coat your fingers in throbbing spurts as he clangs a clenched fist against the hull, growling the first part of your name before it turns into a savage, wordless snarl.

You bite down on his back and moan with him, caressing the swollen head of his cock as it pulses spectacularly in your hand. His orgasm is long and achingly slow, draining his body of its dwindling energy with every thick rope of cum you’re able to milk out of him. He gasps and swears his whole way through it, until he finally exhausts every last reserve he has and collapses weakly to the floor.

With careful precision, you’re eventually able to remove your hands from his crotch. His back continues to rise and fall with quiet, steady breaths, clearly passed out from overexertion, but it does give you the opportunity and privacy to lick your fingers clean without feeling embarrassed for doing so in front of him.

Nope, no embarrassment, just so fucking turned on that you might actually die. He tastes absolutely divine—warm and masculine and gorgeously thick coating the shallow hills and shores of your knuckles. Following your own advice, you manage to stand on shaky legs and close the hatch of the ship, deciding you should probably plot a course for… somewhere, before trying to clean Mando up or dress his wound.

You take a second to look back at him, laying there in a gorgeously disheveled pile on the floor, dead asleep. It fills you with a surge of pride, being able to reduce such an untouchable, reputable bounty hunter to the level of any other man. You already want him again, you’re already addicted to the glorious power trip of feeling him let go and fall apart under your touch.

Later, you silently promise yourself, climbing the ladder to the cockpit. Later.

Edit: Read part two, Heaven in Hyperspace here.

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #reader insert #smut #the mandalorian x you #this is sin #whoops my hand slipped #pedro pascal #no-droids #fanfic

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cupofsquirrelfan · 3 years ago

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Speechless

Non-magical AU in which our favorite kiddos get ready for prom! This is a song fic, set to "Speechless" by Dan & Shay. You can listen to the song if you want to enhance the experience, but you don't have to!

Enjoy!

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As Harry rang the doorbell of the large house, he felt his heart beating ten million miles a minute. His palms were sweaty, just like they always were before seeing Draco, so he rubbed them on the sides of his pants. He couldn’t help but look down at his maroon tie and fuss to fix it for the thousandth time. Or run a nervous hand through his hair, as if to gel it down even more than he had tried to. Despite his efforts, it was still the unruly mess that it normally was, now shinier with product. He stood on the front porch of the house, waiting, praying, for someone to answer it, so he could get this over with.

You say you’ll be down in five, the smell of your perfume is floating down the stairs, you’re fixing up your hair, like you do.

The door was opened by Draco’s mother. She smiled sweetly at Harry before motioning him to come in. She closed the door behind him as he walked towards the bottom of the stairs. Harry turned and saw Lucius standing in the door frame leading to the kitchen. Both men gave a quick nod.

“Draco, sweetie, Harry’s here!” Narcissa called up the stairs to her son. She turned to Harry and gave him another smile that made him feel a little less nervous. “He’s just finishing up getting ready, dear. Would you like a drink or anything while you wait?”

“No, thank you, Mrs. Malfoy.” He said politely, resisting the urge to rub his palms on his trousers again.

“Please, Harry, I’ve told you before, call me Narcissa.” She said, sternly yet with kindness in her voice.

I know that I’ll be a mess the second that I see you. You won’t be surprised, this happens every time, it’s nothing new.

Harry glanced around the room, looking around at the couches and furnishings, as if he hadn’t been to Draco’s house a million times before. His nervousness began to settle in again, making his palms even more clammy and making him want to reach for his tie once more. He settled on rubbing his hands together, feeling over the curves of his knuckles meticulously. He didn’t even know why he felt nervous! He and Draco had hung out plenty of times, why should this be any different?

It’s always on a night like tonight I thank God you can read my mind, ‘cus when you look at me with those eyes…

Suddenly, Harry could hear footsteps coming from upstairs. He looked up at the stairwell with anticipation, his heart beating as fast as ever. As Draco descended the staircase, he felt his breath hitch, and his eyes went wide. His lips curved up in a huge smile.

I’m speechless!

Draco reached the second to last step and stopped, looking down at Harry at the bottom. Harry couldn’t help but stare at the blond, looking up and down at the gorgeous maroon suit that he was wearing. It fit him so nicely, snugly hugging Draco’s hips and hanging so nicely on his legs. His jacket looked absolutely incredible. Draco’s bright hair fell in waves by his ears, stopping at his shoulders, and the front parts were braided and pulled back. Harry felt his heart rate pick up even more than it previously was, and he could only think of one word: gorgeous.

Staring at you standing there in that dress, what you’re doing to me ‘ain’t a secret, and watching you is all that I can do…

“Wow,” Harry said finally as Draco stepped in front of him at the bottom of the stairs.

“Wow yourself.” Draco said with a chuckle. He smiled at Harry and didn’t stop. Harry looked up into Draco’s grey eyes, immediately melting into the silver pools. He felt like he was about to faint.

“You look bloody gorgeous, Draco.” Harry felt his breath hitch once more as he allowed his eyes to travel the other boy’s body, returning them to the eyes that could cause him to commit crimes.

I’m speechless! You already know that you’re my weakness, and after all this time I’m just as nervous. Every time you walk into the room…

“I’m speechless.” Harry said with a final breath.

“You don’t look so bad yourself, Potter. Now, let's go out back, Pansy and Blaise will be here soon for pictures, as will Ron and Hermione, I’m imagining. Oh, and Luna, Ginny, Neville, and Hannah, right?” Harry nodded as Draco looked at him. “Mum, Dad, you have the cameras?” Draco looked past Harry and gazed towards his parents, who were looking at the two boys with complete adoration and love. Narcissa gave a quick wave with the camera in her hand.

“Draco, I want to get a picture of just the two of you! Smile at the camera!” Draco turned his body towards Narcissa, as did Harry. Harry thought he should’ve been dead by now, seeing as he forgot how to breathe entirely when Draco wrapped his arm around his waist. He slowly snaked his own arm around the other boy’s waist and tried to smile wide, hiding his immense nervousness. Narcissa clicked the camera a few times, beaming at the two of them. Lucius stood behind her a bit, looking at the two on the steps, and also smiling a little.

“Okay, Draco sweetie, step up a few stairs, and Harry, look at Draco like you’re seeing him for the first time!”

“Seriously, mum?” Draco asked, raising an eyebrow but still holding a smile, but when Narcissa held up the camera with an aggressive shake, he sighed and stepped up backwards.

Just as Harry was about to turn and ogle at his boyfriend, the doorbell rang and startled all of them. Lucius took a step back and opened the door, revealing Ron and Hermione, hand in hand. Hermione wore a gorgeous blue gown, filled with beautiful ruffles and a small train. Ron’s vest and bow tie matched the color of her dress perfectly. Behind them, Harry could see Ginny and Luna walking up together, Ginny wearing a gorgeous red strapless gown and Luna wearing a black dress with a halter top, covered in glittering sequins all over the top. Ginny’s hair was pulled up into a ponytail, which was curled at the end. Luna’s hair was down and straightened, with a red flower tucked behind her ear. Another car pulled up to the front of the house as the four others entered the house. Pansy and Blaise poured out of the back seats, wearing matching green outfits. Pansy’s strapless gown and Blaise’s dark emerald suit matched perfectly.

Draco stepped back down off the stairs, smiling at their friends. “You all look amazing! We’re gonna take pictures in the backyard, come on!” Draco grabbed Harry’s hand, causing Harry to jump and start feeling his heart betray him once more. Even the simplest touch made him incredibly nervous and eager.

Once in the backyard, Narcissa lined up the teens in front of the hedge in the back. The hedge was rightfully decorated with twinkling lights and beautiful white flowers. Narcissa masterfully snapped shots of each of the couples and the group as a whole, then even more group photos when Neville and Hannah stumbled into the backyard a few minutes late. Neville wore a black suit with a yellow vest, matching perfectly with Hannah’s flowing yellow gown. The straps hung off her shoulders beautifully, and her golden hair was in a half ponytail, with the ends of her curled hair falling in front of her shoulders. The ten of them posed for what felt like eternity, before Narcissa deemed that she had enough photos. For now.

Lucius emerged from inside the house with a few adults following behind. Harry’s dads came first, hand in hand. Remus was dressed for the occasion, as he was a chaperone to the prom as a teacher. Sirius wore his favorite leather jacket and a pair of black skinny jeans, and beamed at his husband with loving eyes. Following behind them were multiple sets of parents; Molly and Arthur, Alice and Frank, Blaise’s mom, Hannah’s mom, and Pansy’s mom. They all folded into the backyard and beamed at their kids. Each of the parents started pulling out their phones, taking their own pictures that would ultimately end up on Facebook before they all got to the venue. The parents all gathered together and reflected: How did they get so old, that their kids were all already seventeen and going to prom?

Harry smiled at his dads, walking over to greet them. Sirius held out a hand to Harry, holding a small box that held the boutonniere that he was to put on his boyfriend. He grabbed it and turned around to find Draco already walking over to him, with a similar box in his own hands.

Harry smiled up at the blond, admiring him, searching his face as if it held the answer to every problem Harry had ever experienced. And to him, Draco really did hold all the answers. Once again, he forgot how to breathe when he saw Draco smile back at him.

Draco opened his box and carefully pulled out the flower. It was a bright red rose, decorated with white flowering and gorgeous leaves. Harry stared at it with excitement. He felt his breath once again stop short when Draco reached forward to put it in place. With a large smile on his face, he reached into his own box and pulled out a white lily with tiny red flowers and leaves surrounding it. He put it in place on Draco’s suit and let his hand linger, moving towards Draco’s face, cupping his cheek. Draco leaned into the touch.

“You look beautiful, baby.” Harry whispered, as if everyone in the backyard wasn’t already staring at them in adoration. Harry paid them no attention, not even Narcissa, who was snapping photos like it was her job. Well, it was her job. Regardless, he only focused on Draco, on his beautiful, encapsulating eyes. On his pink lips, which he so desperately craved to feel on his own.

“You look beautiful too, Harry.” Draco whispered back. Harry felt himself being pulled carefully into Draco’s arms, and he allowed himself to wrap his arms around Draco’s torso and leaned his head on the other boy’s shoulder. He felt Draco lean on his shoulder and place a sweet kiss on it. Harry could’ve stayed like this for hours, if it wasn’t for Pansy loudly interrupting.

“Yes, yes, young love is very sweet and beautiful, but we have a limo to ride in, can we wrap it up?” Harry heard Draco chuckle before pulling away, and it sounded like pure melody to his ears.

“Yeah, shut up, Pans, you’re just jealous. You’re the one going to prom with a gay guy.” Harry saw Draco smirk and he felt his lips also pull upwards.

“Have you forgotten that I am also gay, dipshit?” Pansy scoffed, rolling her eyes before turning away from them and towards Blaise. She grabbed his hand and started pulling him towards the gate on the opposite side of the yard. Ginny, Luna, Hermione, Ron, Neville, and Hannah all followed them. Draco grabbed Harry’s hand and started to pull them towards the gate, when he felt a hand on his shoulder. They both stopped and turned to see Sirius’ arm outstretched.

“I’ll meet you out front, love.” Draco said to Harry, letting go of his hand and walking out the gate with the others. Harry turned his full attention to his dad.

“Moony, when did we get old enough to have a son going to prom?” Sirius asked, looking to Remus for insight. Remus just shrugged and laughed. He gave Sirius’ hand a slight squeeze before turning towards the house and walking inside to reconvene with the other parents, closing the sliding door behind him. Sirius turned towards Harry with a big, toothy grin.

“Have so much fun tonight, Pup. This will be one of the best nights of your life, make the most of it.” Harry felt himself being pulled into his father’s arms, and sunk into the feeling. Sirius’ hugs always felt like coming home. He smiled as he separated from the embrace. They both smiled at each other with a silent acknowledgement, before Harry turned and left the backyard through the gate, like the others.

Everyone was already piled into the limousine when Harry approached it. The door was still open, waiting for him. With a smile, he climbed in and sat in the seat closest to the door, right next to the blond that could make him so happy and so incredibly nervous at the same time. As he sat, Draco grabbed his hand and intertwined their fingers. They shared a brief look between each other before looking up at the sound of one of their friends’ voices. It was Blaise’s cool, calm speech. “So, are you guys ready to have the night of our lives?”

Everyone smiled, looking around at each other and chattering away about the songs they hoped would be played, or the food selection, or complimenting each others’ outfits. Harry found himself staring at Draco once more, admiring him.

Watching you is all that I can do, I’m speechless!

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Thank you so much for reading this!! I had so much fun writing it! I may write a sequel in which they have an after party, but that's only a maybe. Hope you enjoyed!

A big shoutout to @dreamingamongthestars for reading this fic and always encouraging me no matter how annoying I am!! Lots of love to you always.

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itsadamcole · 4 years ago

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christmas at the strong’s

fem!reader x roderick strong

reader spends Christmas at Roddy's house, surprising him with his present during the gift exchange. little does reader know that Roddy has a surprise of his own as well ...

word count: 1.1k+

warnings: pregnancy, a proposal

— after tomorrow’s imagine, i’m taking a small break from posting until 2021. i’ve posted an imagine (or two) everyday for 25 days and i need a small break. i’ll probably work on requests on my small break —

masterlist || request an imagine here

***

You were against the idea of spending Christmas with Roderick at first. There was so much drama between you and his ex at Christmas last year. Now you're kind of friends with Marina but you still didn't like the idea of her being at Christmas, especially with the present that you have planned for Roddy. But she's Troy's mother and both Roddy and Troy want her there.

You wear a long white sweater dress with a turtleneck. The dress falls halfway down your thighs. You wear black thigh high heeled boots. Only a little bit of skin shows on your legs between the dress and the top of the boots. Your hair is tied up in a messy bun on top of your head.

Roddy told you to be at his house by five but you show up a little late. His present is in your hand as the door opens, revealing your boyfriend. He's in his green Undisputed Era Christmas sweater and you have no doubt that he matches Adam, Bobby, and Kyle.

"Oh, look at you," Roderick says. "The prettiest girl at the party has officially arrived."

Troy comes running from behind Roddy yelling, "Y/N! You're here!"

The three-year-old giggles as you carefully pick him up. Roddy asks, "What's in the box?"

You smile and say, "Your Christmas present. You'll get it during the gift exchange."

Roderick smiles and says, "Ooh, a surprise."

"Did you get me anything?" Troy asks.

You smile at Troy and say, "I did, but you have to wait to see it too."

Troy pouts and you kiss his cheek before putting him down. He runs back into the house and Roddy kisses you sweetly. "Merry Christmas, baby," Roderick says. "Dinner's about to be ready so come on in."

Roddy closes the door behind you and you walk into the house. Adam, Kyle, and Bobby all swarm you when they greet you hello. Roderick laughs. "Wow, I was right. You guys are all matching," you say, laughing and looking at the Undisputed Era boys.

Adam says, "Every Christmas." He playfully winks at you. "Britt is in the kitchen with Brandi and Renee if you wanna say hi."

You smile and nod before walking off to the kitchen. Britt Baker, Brandi Rhodes, and Renee Young all stand in the kitchen eating at the kitchen island. They're eating hors d'oeuvres, little finger snacks.

"Hey, girlies," you say.

Britt looks at you and says, "Hey, Y/N. What's going on?"

You shrug and say, "Nothing much. Just, you know, hungry."

Renee laughs and says, "Me too. Jon isn't very happy that I keep eating all the snacks but I have to eat for two now."

Brandi says, "Amen, sister. Cody's not happy with me either."

Both Renee and Brandi are pregnant, and you can't wait until they find out that you are too.

You and Britt both laugh as Roddy calls saying that dinner is ready.

There aren't a lot of people here. Roddy's parents, the Undisputed Era boys, Britt, Brandi and Cody, Renee and Jon Moxley, Troy, Marina, and you.

Speaking of Marina, you greet her and say, "Hey, Marina. You look stunning in that outfit. I love the color of the sweater."

Marina is wearing a dark red almost maroon sweater with black leggings and black knee high boots.

"Thank you, Y/N," she says. "That sweater dress is so cute."

You smile and sit beside Roderick. Spaghetti sits in two bowls, one at the end of each table. There's a tray of meatballs next to the bowls, plus a bowl of salad in the middle of the table with a basket of rolls.

The group eats while making small talk. Troy makes a mess but Marina cleans him up.

After dinner, it's gift exchange time. Everyone exchanges gifts with someone they were assigned, you asked for Roddy and apparently Roddy asked for you too. He hands you a small box that fits in the palm of your hand while you hand him the slightly bigger box that shaped more like a rectangle than a box.

Now you all go around in a circle. Brandi opens her gift from Britt, and she gets a little onesie for Brandi's baby. Britt goes next, opening her gift from Kyle. Kyle got her a pair of wind up dental dams that make the clock noises. Adam goes next and opens his gift from Marina, which is a shot glass with the Undisputed Era symbol on it. Marina opens her gift from Cody, which is a dog toy for Marina's dog.

Now Roderick is up. Troy helps him open the gift you got for Roddy. You wait in anticipation as Roddy opens the box.

His eyes widen and he looks at you. You smile and Adam asks, "Roddy, bro, what is it?"

"It's a positive pregnancy test with an ultrasound picture," Roderick gasps.

Britt looks at you and says, "No way. You're pregnant?"

You say, "Guilty."

The room breaks out into cheers and congratulations. You look back at Roddy and he's beaming. He has a huge smile on his face and he almost runs over to you, hugging you tight.

Roddy kisses you for a second before he says, "We're gonna be parents."

You nod and giggle, "We are."

He says, "I'm, uh, glad I got you your gift. Open it."

The room gets quiet again as you open the present Roddy got for you. You gasp a bit when you see a little black velvet box in your hand.

"Oh my God," someone mumbles as you open the box. A silver engagement ring with a small diamond is inside the box.

You look up at Roddy and say, "You didn't."

He takes the ring out of the box and gets on one knee in front of you, holding the ring out to you. You begin to cry immediately. Stupid hormones.

Roderick says, "I didn't plan this, I swear, but Y/N. I love you. I've loved you for a while. I didn't expect to do this right after you announce that we're having a baby but, will you marry me?"

"Yes," you immediately say. "Yes, Roddy I will marry you."

The room breaks out into cheers and more congratulations as Roddy slides the ring onto your left ring finger and stands back up, kissing you. You smile into the kiss.

Troy asks, "Mommy, is Y/N's baby my brother or sister since daddy is that baby's daddy too?"

Marina says, "Yes, Troy."

Roddy pulls back from the kiss and asks, "So, I had plans to give you your other present later tonight when we're alone-"

"Yes, Roddy, we can still have sex," you say, laughing.

He sighs with relief and says, "Thank God."

You laugh and kiss him again.

Christmas at the Strong's this year has been the best one so far, and you get to spend forever having Christmas with the Strong's.

#roderick strong imagine #roderick strong x reader #roderick strong fluff #wrestling imagine #wrestling fluff #wrestler x reader #wwe imagine #wwe fluff #nxt imagine #nxt fluff #imagines #imagine #christmas imagine #christmas fluff

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heli0s-writes · 5 years ago

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II. Solipsis

Summary: Rogers isn’t stupid. Quite the opposite, he’s incredibly perceptive and remarkably intelligent.

It doesn’t matter how you feel about him or how you feel about this situation; there’s only two weeks to let it go. Both of you must relinquish every individual sentiment to each other and obey the system or else the neural handshake collapses and you’re crushed inside a Kaiju’s maw.

A/N: Video reference for Greco-Roman Wrestling. Please do yourself a favor and imagine Steve Rogers owning your ass. 7.8k words.

Warnings: Language. Bucky angst. Tension.

Trinity Epoch Masterpost

You wake around 0500 and flip on the light—a jaundiced splash of color that makes your skin gleam sickeningly yellow. You shake your head, rub your eyes, and try not to linger on last night’s dream.

Lashing rain. A metal shriek. Your world bursting with red.

There’s movement outside the hall—appreciated distractions to rouse you from your thoughts. Footsteps, wheels on smooth concrete, muffled alarms, all sorts of noises clanging around together in the distance. Small comforts of familiarity; you remember how these facilities work.

There’s always something to improve in a Shatterdome. Data to analyze, parts to product and repair, training to be done. From the highest to the lowest position, every single bit needs to run tirelessly like a well-oiled machine.

You will need to as well. The war clock demands it.

You have a maximum of two months to be combat-ready, but you’re not pitching your hopes on that timeline; Kaiju have been known to emerge earlier than K-Science predicts. Rogers broke it down last night: evaluations and endurance building the first week. Sparring the next. Week three will intertwine both more intensely. Week four will be when you face him in front of Fury in the Kwoon Room—prove yourself well-suited to be his co-pilot.

And you had argued shouldn’t we do that earlier? If we’re already not compatible, why waste anyone’s time?

What would waste my time is you fighting me when you’re not ready and throwing the match. You agreed to this, so start acting like it.

Out of all the rattling noises you can hear, his phantom voice rings the loudest.

Drift compatibility doesn’t happen for just any Dick and Jane, and you’re betting on that—but let me tell you again, we’re compatible. Got it?

Fine. Fine. Fine. You’ll keep your thoughts to yourself, but they’re bitter thoughts, truths that he isn’t keen on facing. No, compatibility doesn’t happen for any Dick and Jane. It doesn’t happen much at all.

Most co-pilots are related or coupled for a reason. The potential for alignment is higher with these pairs because they’ve already established a personal connection and know how one another work. There’s history, trust, and something more. Something deep and intrinsic. Something that binds you until you die.

You used to joke that you and Natasha got lucky finding each other at Kodiak. Two misplaced orphans finally given a home in the shape of Decima Red’s Conn-Pod. It was metal and cold, but it was home, even if it was too brief.

Three minutes after waking and the dread has already settled in your gut like debris floating to the bottom of a lake— another layer on top of all that old sludge inside your body but there’s no time to ponder it. You have precisely one hour after breakfast to let your food settle before he joins you in the Combat Room. You brush your teeth and dress.

“Again.”

His voice cracks through the quiet space. Fury’s closed it down for today, keeping the session private. The staff in his right hand hovers above your shoulder before it retreats. From behind a wet curl of hair, you glare.

It’s 2015 and you’re back in Kodiak Island. Except this time, instead of sparring with Nat, Steve Rogers is there in all his effortless glory. Clean-shaven, jaw set, stoic, not a single hair out of place. Ruthless.

And it’s not like you’ve been slacking these past two years; you’ve been on army bases, worked on construction sites, did a short stint in security. You’re in shape and you remember how to fight.

But he is ruthless.

1300 and you’ve been whacked in the head, chest, thighs, ankles, back, and up and down both arms. You’ve gotten a few on him. Some good, most laughable. Only six more hours to go and you’re not sure if there will be lunch in-between.

At this point, you’re too tired to think about your burdensome conscience. Too tired to feel anything but tired. It must be a purposeful tactic from him because the less capable you are to think, the less you’ll worry, and the less you’ll feel inclined to dive into Victoria Harbor and swim yourself away.

“Is this your idea of a partnership?” You snarl when your side contracts in agony, an ache burrowing beneath your soaked shirt. You grasp the staff firmly, ignoring way the muscles of your wrists beg you to stop.

“This is my idea of an evaluation. Focus.” He says it calmly, like you’re supposed to be grateful. “You’ll be better for it tomorrow. In a month, you won’t even recognize yourself.”

Well, you’re not grateful.

“I’d rather not recognize you.”

His grip falters, features flashing amusement at your comment.

You momentarily ponder a few things: the pros and cons being insolent again on the second day when he’s liberally kicking your ass; that the last memorable thing you said to Steve Rogers was fuck you three times in a row; and suddenly, the way he looks with the corner of his mouth turned upward, lips slanting.

Moment over. You take the opening and the tip of your staff stops half an inch from his Adam’s apple, letting it bob up and down. Then, you press it gently to his throat. His lips part, jaw sliding forward incrementally with attitude and another emotion you can’t place.

“I’m hungry,” you assert.

He stops breathing and closes his mouth. When he opens it again, he takes a shallow breath and says, “Alright.”

Taking advantage of your surprise, he immediately seizes the same opportunity you took. His staff pushes against the side of your neck, the cool, smooth wood landing on the slope connecting to your shoulder. The slant of his mouth grows an inch wider. You gulp at the crescent shape of his eyes, bright with mirth.

“Hit the showers,” he says, passive again, “You have one hour for lunch.”

No such luck. Not even twenty minutes pass before someone else fucks up your day.

Across the table, a man sits down with his tray, smile wide and handsome. He’s been watching you from the corner of his eye for a few minutes now, probably wondering if he should come over. Other residents of the Shatterdome have been equally inquisitive, but none as bold.

“Saw you go into the fight room with the big guy. I’m surprised you’re alive.” His head tilts forward as he inspects you playfully, “I’m Sam Wilson.”

You remember your manners, no matter how exhausted you are, and extend your hand, “Good to meet you, Sam Wilson, but I’m not sure about being alive yet.”

An understanding laugh, “Can’t help noticing you’re new. Steve training you for something?”

You shrug, sidestepping his inquiry, “You a pilot?”

Sam Wilson is polite enough to follow your path. “Yeah. Avis Dominion—the flyest girl in the game—that’s me and Riley.”

You know of Avis Dominion. Maroon and silver, propulsion rockets attached to her ankles. She doesn’t fly, of course, but she’s lithe and graceful, the jets giving her quick bursts of speed. Avis has particle dispersal cannons on her back, firing plasma charged ion rails to wound and cauterize. She’s simply incredible, and Sam beams expectantly.

“Think I’ve heard of her,” you respond, lightened by his humor.

Suddenly, a pair of heavy bootsteps pulls your attention sideways. Not even twenty minutes and Rogers is marching forward, hands clenched in fists by his side, mouth pressed into a worried and thin line. Wilson doesn’t even have the chance to greet him before Rogers stops by your hunched-over form.

“He’s up.”

And the partly chewed bite in your mouth threatens to turn sour.

He’s up means he wants to talk to you. And you couldn’t have avoided it forever, but you fantasized that meeting James Barnes might be put off indefinitely.

He’d been in and out of consciousness since last night, lucid enough to speak and question his state, enough to raise hell when he looked down at his left side, and certainly enough to thrash himself open and bloody and needing to be sedated again.

You run your hand through your hair, grip it tightly for a second out of frustration, and finally rise. You’re an eloquent orator in a pinch, so, you groan.

“Fucking fuck me.”

Back at the table, Steve’s attention never leaves the way you uncomfortably walk down the hall. To his left, Sam’s leg bounces impatiently because Bucky’s injury still hasn’t been announced and CNN has called the facility every six hours since they landed post-battle. Everyone has questions and suspicions, and Sam’s last three minutes of snooping wasn’t enough to glean a clear answer.

“Steve, man—what is going on?”

Steve looks gravely back at Sam, watchfully inspecting his expression as he admits, “That was Decima Red’s former pilot.”

A beat passes. Sam blinks once, then twice, and then his eyes fly open.

“Decim—shit— Anchorage 2017? Natasha Romanoff?” Sam clamps his mouth shut, at a loss for words, outraged and impressed all at once.

Decima Red’s story is one of those tales Rangers pass around a campfire—or in their case, a boiler room. Natasha Romanoff was a stiletto dagger— elegant and lethal and blood red. She would show up to events like a goddess, always stunning and magnetic and she never took a bad picture. Sam met her once, at some award show where he had too much champagne and Riley asked him to kindly stop drooling on the pretty lady.

He’s never met her co-pilot until now and he’s not sure if anyone outside The Icebox has. Romanoff would laugh it off when reporters would ask. She’d say her partner’s camera shy and doesn’t like crowds. Then her long lashes would flutter, her sly smile glittering, and men would drop like Kaiju in the ocean.

She was extraordinarily skilled and beautiful.

So when Decima Red washed up as a devastated heap on Anchorage’s shore with only one pilot, no one thought it would be her partner who survived. Romanoff handled the right side, after all. She was the dominant one. The stronger one.

Sam shakes his head, “Steve, what the hell are you up to? Where the hell did you find her? How--”

The slew of queries slowly tapers out as Sam lights up in understanding. But it’s a joyless light and he shakes his head again, dismayed. “You’re recruiting her. She’s replacing Barnes.”

“Yeah,” Steve frowns deeply. The truth always sounds worse from an outsider’s point of view but he didn’t expect much else because it sounds bad in his head, too.

“He’s gonna hate her,” Sam mutters, cracking a joke because if Steve’s had to bring in a new Ranger, it means that Bucky’s more hurt than they’d thought. And the two of them? Closest co-pilots he’s ever had the pleasure to meet.

Their drift was immaculate. Absolutely seamless. As if they were brothers—as if they were twins. And that’s not even – look, Sam Wilson knows some twins. There’s a pair here in Hong Kong and even their connection is nothing like Steve and Bucky’s.

From the moment they step into their drivesuits to the very last blow they land in combat, you’d think they were one single person spliced into two like a damn science fiction novel. The simple sight of Rogers and Barnes walking into the Jaeger bay was uncanny and nearly an act of God. They moved the same. They breathed the same.

Sam knows what happened to Bucky, and what Steve must do in its aftermath, must be killing him.

James Barnes is upright in bed, sheets around his waist, right fist over his thigh. He hasn’t said anything or even looked at you yet and in the strained silence, you find yourself absurdly craving the fight room. At least you know what to expect in there.

Outside of his Ranger biography—which is public knowledge—you know nothing about him. Barnes is reserved on T.V. and in interviews. Having grown up with his co-pilot, their biographies are eerily similar, and so he rarely slips out from Rogers’ shadow and is rarely anything more than stoic. He smiles for the camera, sure—real big and pretty—but never quite true.

It unsettles you. Here sits some kind of modern-day Achilles, heel pierced and torn through-- still more powerful than you.

You shift your weight from one foot to the other when his eyes flicker over to your boots before darting to your face, a quiet breath leaves him. His left shoulder jerks and you look away, tense and apprehensive, not wanting to stare.

A few curious seconds pass before his right hand shakily rises to run through his hair. His fingers tremble as he pinches dark strands, jaw ticking, and you realize James Barnes just had that moment—that moment—when he catches himself trying to use his left arm.

And you know there will be many more of those.

“Jesus...” he mutters, breaking reticence with a venomous hiss, “Fuck!”

Your tired body takes the impact of his words like a car crash. The fight has fled your heart at the sight of him and you’re left regurgitating all those jumbled-up-worse words every Jaeger pilot vomits sooner or later:

You owe a debt. You need it paid. He can’t take it personally. This is neither about you nor him.

“Look,” you begin apologetically, “I didn’t— this wasn’t my idea.”

“I know that,” Barnes retorts, scrubbing his face with the heel of his palm, the skin of it scratching against his chin and jaw. He’s grown a bit of stubble, his usual smoothness replaced by a grey-green shadow. He props himself up with his right arm, legs swinging over the edge of the bed.

“Maybe you don’t think you can do this,” he snorts derisively, “But you better.”

His line of sight is fixed on the floor, right arm flexing with the pressure he exerts on the poor mattress and you watch the way his muscles ripple up into the shade of his sleeve. When he turns to you after a deep breath, his face—sharp cheeks and dignified brow; tall, straight nose bridge; strong jaw and his distinctly wide lips—is fatal.

“Personally, I couldn’t give a rat’s ass about who gets into the robot as long as when your fucking feet hit the rig, you’re one-hundred-percent in.”

Barnes’ eyes are piercingly blue. They’re reflective like frosted gunmetal. Cold. Hard. He bares his teeth.

“If there is even one tiny bit of you that doesn’t believe you can, and in the middle of the drift you chase that rabbit, and you get him killed?” His mouth is a wide and devastating slant. “I will dig your corpse out of the Pacific Ocean--”

The door slams open with a crash. Rogers barrels inside with a cafeteria tray of food in hand. They stare at each other before Barnes shoots him an annoyed look and suddenly the threat from only seconds ago disappears with a blink of his silver-blue irises.

“You ruined my moment, Steve.” He states plainly, grabbing at the tray. He gives you a look— half of an amused quirk, tongue flicking at the point of his canines— and then tucks into the meal, moving the platter with his knee. You’re staggered.

It’s silent other than the sound of his chewing, rhythmic and carefree. He even folds a square bit of napkin inside the neck of his shirt to catch crumbs and you’re helplessly trying to reconcile that this is the same person who just promised you he’d find your dead body 10 thousand miles underwater.

The more time passes between his verbal gutting and his cheerful eating, the more your sympathy rots.

A pop of his blue Jello container opening and you snap.

“You know I just fucking got here, right? You—” your finger jabs accusingly at Rogers, “kicked my ass all day, and you—” your finger turns to Barnes, who stops slurping midway, “—sorry about your arm, that’s not my fucking fault—"

“Hey—” Rogers warns, stepping forward, hand out to derail the impending shouting match.

“No. Fuck you, Rogers.” He stumbles back with the force of your two-handed push on his chest, stunned at how quickly you leapt from the wall, “I agreed to it already, assholes. Maybe it’ll help your cause a little to not keep pissing off the other half of the fucking robot.”

And because you’re both incensed and starved from having lunch interrupted, you yank Barnes’ Jello from his shocked-slax grip and shake it into your mouth. A loud crinkle fills the otherwise silent room when you fiercely throw it into the trash bin and stomp off.

All the atmosphere gets eaten up by your temper. It’s silent like a black hole, nothing but the receding clomps of your irritation in the distance.

Bucky waits for your footsteps to pass before he begins to laugh, bright and astounded, quick puffs of air passing over his lips. He looks at his hand, still out in front of his chest, fingers curled around nothing. He looks at the trash bin by the door, plastic liner crumpled inward with the force of your arm.

He looks at Steve, standing with his hands uselessly by his side, an array of emotions passing over his face. He’d been calm—really, really calm—kept it pushed down and pacified, but it’s just the two of them now, and Steve looks like he could cry when he sees Bucky’s shoulder. He looks like he could level the Shatterdome.

“I’m fine.” Bucky says, rolling his eyes dramatically, humor gone. “Quit your blubbering.” He tilts his head towards the open door, “She’s tough, like you said.”

Decima Red’s pilot, the one who brought her skeleton back to Anchorage through a storm, of course she’d be. When Steve proposed it— explained it to him, practically wheeled out a chalkboard so Bucky could see his whole plan—Bucky was pissed. He’d just lost a fucking arm, after all. And now he was losing his fucking robot.

But he slept on it, thought about it some, knew Steve was right.

He trusted Steve. Always have, always will. Whoever Steve decided on needed to be more than just tough. Steve needed reliability. Conviction.

They needed to match that Rogers persistence. Stubborn. Smart. Torn open by guilt and walking around with the world on their shoulders as if it’s their burden alone.

Yeah. It’s perfect.

Bucky looks at the blue specks of Jello clinging to his fingertips and sighs, “You’re gonna have to break her.”

Steve nods. He knows.

Time blurs as routine gives way to monotony.

Your sanity is precariously tethered to lunches and dinners between psych evals and full-body exams. In the two weeks you’ve been here, maybe there’s been one rest day. You hoard what comfort you can from the time you limp from the fight room to the second your back hits the mattress to the bedside alarm blaring.

Ephemeral relief also trickles in by way of conversations with other inhabitants of the facility.

The rest of Hong Kong’s STRIKE team take to your presence well enough. Co-pilots Wilson and Riley; the Maximoff twins, Wanda and Pietro; cousins from Wakanda, Erik and T’Challa; Odinson brothers, Thor and Loki.

They’re supportive and encouraging, but certainly not naïve. They keep their distance, the entire thing like a caged animal they can view, but not interact with wholly. You’re here as James Barnes’ tentative replacement, still just a prospect before anyone can entertain the idea of becoming attached to you.

Not to mention, you’re a deserter. Fucked off from the Ranger life and went off the grid. Most co-pilots died together—which was the honorable thing to do—and the rare few who are unlucky enough to survive at least come back to their Shatterdomes to continue their righteous work. You understand why they’re guarded.

Sam Wilson is the one person most willing to ignore all that, it seems. He hunts you down in the dining hall, finds you on morning runs, is kind and easy-going. He grabs an extra tray when you’re hobbling into lunch and plays basketball with you when you’re well enough to amble around the court.

He keeps you grounded with reminders: Rogers is a hard ass, but look—past that, he’s just a dude, you know? Trying his best to keep it all together—and there’s a lot to keep. Shit… you seen this place. I couldn’t do it.

The whole world wants to suck his dick, Wilson. You too?

Appreciate you, but man’s not my type. But hey, I’m just sayin’—maybe the world’s onto something.

You get a laugh, and you get to complain to at least one sympathetic ear about how Rogers seems adamant on turning you into a blood bag, or how Barnes is gleefully spectating, or how Fury is willfully ignorant. You get at least one person in your corner when Rogers yells at you for mouthing off—for fighting him in a wrong way—again.

You wish you were jogging the perimeter with Sam now, but this morning there’s only persistent torture.

Apparently today is, once again, exclusively about kicking your ass.

The rules are: no kicks, no punches, nothing below the waist. Traditional wrestling only, which means your hands can barely get halfway around him before he takes you to the mat effortlessly.

All morning you’ve been pinned. Shoulders and waist constantly under his palms, flipped sideways and upside down. His reach is longer. His hold is stronger.

Barnes stands against the wall, shoulder in a sling, observing with amusement. Sometimes he clucks his tongue. Other times he smirks. He walks in and out like he’s at the movies. Fucker.

You cuss when you land on the mat for the hundredth time. The wet smear of your forehead glistens when you roll over, clutching your side. You’d woken up this morning feeling alright, taking to heart some of Sam’s advice, attempting to be understanding a little more each day, but with the way this session’s going, you’re headed for a backslide.

Your legs are shaking. Too hot all over even with your pants rolled up and shirt knotted at your hip. You plant your feet stubbornly, pacing around Rogers. A touch too soon, a weave too late. He slams you on the floor.

“This is—fuck!” you scream, “—a fucking unbalanced fight, Rogers!”

“I know,” he responds from above you, a single bead of sweat collecting on his placid brow. He gets up, yanking you along, and watches you try again.

Two seconds pass before he’s hooked, biceps locking beneath your chest, spinning you through the air, and coming down hard on top of your back. Another crash into the mat, another muffled scream of pure, helpless rage.

You’ve had it. It’s been hours of his domination and your humiliation. You’re done with wrestling and done with him. Your knees and hips dig into the plastic, fury stoking the fight, fully intending on throwing him off but he shifts immediately. His chest presses into your spine, thigh flexed diagonal over both of yours.

“Don’t.” He says, shallow breaths heavy over the top of your head.

“Get off me, asshole! You’re too fucking big to wrestle with—I’m not Barnes!”

Rogers only grunts and bears down until you’re motionless and gasping beneath him. The air is hot, too hot. Scorching waves roll from your body, between his chest and your back, scalding with heat and embarrassment.

Your cheek drives into the plastic, burning with submission. Early stinging of pre-emptive tears prickles your eyes as frustration comes to a head, seizing your body and mind, and you feel up to your throat in despair. Anger makes you want to thrash but weakness makes you obedient. There’s nothing to be done but clench your fists and bite it back, swallow the tears, chew your lip bloody.

He is too big and too strong and too overpowering.

It was different wrestling with Natasha; you were closer in size and well-matched. It was a good recreation of what Kaiju combat may be if ranged weapons were to fail. She’d be the Kaiju, you the Jaeger. Then you’d switch. It felt like preparation.

This doesn’t. This feels like a setup for failure. This feels like a lesson.

And suddenly, you shut your eyes. God damn him. God damn him. God damn him.

Allowing insight to cool your temper, you stop resisting and go slack. Your fists unclench, head dropping to lay on your sweat-slick forearm. Surrender vibrates through your chest, tremors undulating to the rhythm of his breathing.

You’ve figured it out.

Rogers lets off some pressure and you can finally take a good breath. Slowly, he moves. His weight carries to one side of his torso, then his knees and he rocks off you, rising.

His hand splays over your shoulder blade, thumb pushing gently against the back of your neck before he hoists you up by the collarbone. It’s a delicate grasp as opposed to his previous ones. Calloused finger pads avoid the bruising on your shoulder from old hits.

Barnes looks on as his hand curls over your bicep, melting around the shape of your muscles, vice-like but merciful. The heat of your body becomes indistinguishable from his as he props you securely.

“You understand?” He asks gently, “Why it’s an unbalanced fight?”

His brow furrows, earnest blue eyes respectfully apologetic, searching yours for acknowledgement and perhaps forgiveness. You press your lips together tightly.

Of course you do.

He’s breaking you piece by piece until you’re malleable and pliant, willing to surrender your ego and give yourself over to a force much larger than your personal reality. You haven’t vocalized rebellion since the second day, and many days have passed, but it’s obvious how you struggle against the current.

Rogers isn’t stupid. Quite the opposite, he’s incredibly perceptive and remarkably intelligent.

It doesn’t matter how you feel about him or how you feel about this situation; there’s only two weeks to let it go. You can’t hold onto your pride, your resentment, or your reservations about any of it in the con-pod, and you can’t have one single fleeting thought about failure.

Both of you must relinquish every individual sentiment to each other and obey the system or else the neural handshake collapses and you’re crushed inside a Kaiju’s maw.

Barnes was right: you’re either one hundred percent in, or you’ll get him killed. So in today’s simulation, no, you’re not the Jaeger and Rogers isn’t the Kaiju.

He is the drift. It’s equal parts cruel and effective.

Today’s session is a reminder. When you fight the drift, it will take you down hard and fast, there’s no changing that. Only in silence will it support you, and only in silence will it keep you alive.

“Do you understand?” He says again, in a whisper. His lips are parted, turned down solemnly. “You can’t push back. Do you understand?”

Sam Wilson’s petition for Steve Rogers’ character echoes.

He’s just a dude. Trying his best to keep it all together. And there’s a lot to keep.

You manage a nod despite the aching throb of your skull. Shame crawls up your arms, erupting beneath the clutch of his fist. You nod. You’ve learned your lesson. Of course you understand.

After that, everything seem to flatten itself out. You heed Sam’s words, bitterness chipping away in the patient flow of Rogers’ direction until it becomes smooth like a time-worn pebble. You no longer fight the slipstream of your situation and rather become more mindful of his labor-- more appreciative.

You can either be a fatalist and fixate on how much you’d rather not be here, or, like he said, you can get on board.

If Barnes is a modern-day Achilles, Rogers might as well be the Hercules. Some radiant demi-god tasked with backbreaking labours in the form of beast-slaying. Unlike Hercules though, he’s all mortal, burdened even worse with mortal toils.

You might as well not be yet another thing that gets him killed in the end. It’d be further hell on your conscience and Barnes would personally scalp you, anyway.

So you iron out your attitude and grow friendly, and on a Thursday morning, he shows up with his hands tucked into his pockets. Barnes is to his side, matching in posture, his new prosthetic arm gleaming black and gold.

“Ready?”

They walk in conjunction. Left foot, right foot, hips following a perfect cadence.

His blonde head turns back at you with an expectant grin, “You excited?”

A snort, “You’ve dangled it in front of me for weeks. What do you want to hear, huh?”

There’s no offense in your words, only a hint of mischief because you’ve discovered the joy taunting him brings. Amusement in the form of riling him up because he’s surprisingly easy to rile, because there’s many ways to do it, and because you’re a damn fast learner.

Steve Rogers might be athletic and quick, but he’s terrible at guarding his legs. It makes his cheeks flush when you repeatedly strike his thighs and even more so when Barnes cackles from the corner. It’s infinitely better than any entertainment you can buy.

He gets you back, though, biding his time until your jogs, then laps you twice to keep you humble. The best kinds of friendships are built off torment, besides. You’re hopeful.

“I’m not convinced you’re excited,” he sings now, stopping abruptly so that you bump into his back with a grunt of surprise.

Barnes smirks, “He gets you every time. It’s sad.” Cheeky bastards, but they pick up the pace again, threading through the hallways.

They’re finally taking you on a proper tour of the Shatterdome. Four weeks and you still need a map to get around. They’ve kept you from wandering, kept others from being your guide, kept you on your fucking toes because they’re absolute little shits.

It’s friendship.

The first stop is the enormous Jaeger hangar.

Stretching on and back, it’s a mess of moving parts and electricity. Cranes up and down, engineers and workers in constant motion. They walk you across the main bridge of the perimeter, taking leisurely steps to let you catch your dazed breath and absorb the view.

The anticipation was clever provocation on his part, created in jest, but the sight of it now in front of you feels like a kick to the teeth. Your teasing demeanor drops.

The Mark-3’s are beautiful despite their conditions. Scratched and dented, wind-bleached in places, but all gorgeous and exclusively equipped to best fit their Rangers. Titanium cores, angel wings, plasma casters. Assault mount sting-blades, K-Stunner warheads, sentry treads. The list of features running on and on and on.

Unique traits for unique pilots.

Pain strikes your heart.

Decima’s Crocus-9 reactor core was uranium powered and instead of angel wings or blades, she had extendable plasma batons. You and Natasha amputated six Kaiju with them. A 1700-ton ballerina, she was created to fit your partnership’s style— brutal but dexterous. The fight was always good in Decima—always, always, good.

You’ll never have that with Orion. You’ll never have that with Rogers.

In the distance, voices shout and echo over gears and metal joints. Forklifts whirr and beep, personnel scrambling like dedicated worker ants.

Two years without Decima and Natasha. Over seven hundred days and each one felt too long, stretched, infinite, miserable. Waking up was just another twenty-four hours to bury like how you buried Nat. But now, here you stand—returned to the front of the continued Jaeger Program that’s moved on without her, and the last two years comes to crush you in a tidal wave all at once.

You feel powerless, distraughtly wishing you were back in your Jaeger. You wish you were stronger than you are— wish you could take on the tidal wave.

“Hey,” Barnes calls, urging you forward his perceptive, sharp eyes. “Stay with us.”

You quell the hurt and keep up.

At the end of the ramp, Tony Stark teeters on a crane. His face is covered by a thick iron mask and he’s welding something tiny on Orion Bravo’s left flank. Over the banging machinery and screeching blades of metal on metal, he yells, “Good to finally meet you, kid!”

You don’t get a chance to holler back.

“Gotta say, Decima was one of my personal favorites,” and you flinch.

Nobody notices. Life moves on. Tony Stark does so even faster.

“Still damn proud of her after all these years! I know exactly where she is in Oblivion Bay—if this—” he gestures vaguely to the three of you on the walkway, “—doesn’t work out, let me know and I can go get your girl. Sure, her chest’s all ripped out—” he motions to his pecs, and you recoil each time his blowtorch sizzles past, “—and I’d be breaking my back to get those pieces right— but hey, a little boob job isn’t gonna hurt anyone. If you ask me, people could use more of ‘em!”

You’re speechless. You finally meet the Tony Stark—the genius mind behind every single Jaeger. His endless vat of brilliance designed them, breathed them to life, equipped and armed them, made them perfect, and— boob job?

“What?” You whisper, feeling your entire body drain of warmth.

Rogers tucks his chin to his chest in an attempt to hide his smile. Barnes speaks up, dismantling the silence of your shock with strategic and considerate intention. He snorts a clipped sound at Stark and says simply, “He’s on speed. Don’t listen to him.”

Life is moving on all around you in rushes of sound and color. The noises of the Jaeger hangar blare in your ears. The blues of Barnes and Rogers’ eyes flash like lighthouse beams and you feel yourself ebb and flow in the current of time, like a buoy floating toward the shore, and suddenly— strangely— you realize you’re laughing.

They share looks before grinning themselves. You wipe the corners of your eyes with a final smirk and run your hands through your hair.

He was right: you hardly recognize yourself. Monotony has come and pass and now you find comfort in the routine. You’re stronger, too, hitting harder and moving faster, matching his tempo and technique. You parry his every punch, slip from his grasp, deflect his force with your skill.

There’s louder talk in the Shatterdome the closer you get to proving day. Your presence no longer feels uncertain.

“Stop dicking around, Steve.”

Barnes is leaning against the wall, watching the way Rogers pads around you like a panther. Two long strides and the heavy staff comes down an inch away from your forehead. He spins it in one hand like a drumstick, kicking his legs leisurely as if you’re no threat at all.

“Point,” Barnes comments. He’s acting as judge today, another perspective on the potential of compatibility. The Kwoon Room’s got your name on it next to a time slot, the official fight scheduled for tomorrow when you’ll be proving yourself in front of a crowd.

Rogers backs up with a chuckle, goes right too carefully, and you land on his thigh in retaliation. The smack sounds like it hurts. A few feet away, the Maximoff twins pause their sparring to look over in amusement.

“Point.”

A huff, he hisses between his teeth at the sting. “This how you wanna play?”

A return whack on your arm rings out before you can respond- much harder than you hit him originally. It burns. Steve fucking Rogers. Oh, you wanna play.

“Point. Hey, careful.”

You slap his bicep with your staff and it leaves a red welt on his skin.

“Watch it. You’re gonna mark each other up.”

He returns it to your lower back and you hit him next in the same spot. His mouth opens indignantly, but Barnes has had enough of childishness, coming up behind him and yanking the back of his head. Quick as a whip, he kicks Rogers’ knees out and picks up the weapon, aiming it at you menacingly.

His arm glimmers like a warning beacon.

“Drop it, sweetheart.” And you grin.

Sweetheart. Barnes only says it when he’s feeling fully annoyed, which, both you and Rogers are particularly good at making him. If drift compatibility could be determined by how much two people can piss off another one, Orion would be looking at a new pilot right the fuck now.

You put both hands up in the air in mock surrender and he rolls your staff away with his foot. Rogers is on his back, chuckling and rubbing the back of his knees.

“Isn’t it obvious the two of you are suited?” Wanda speaks up from the corner.

Pietro stands by her side, fists wrapped in bandages on his hips. “Three of you, truly.”

“It’s just formality,” Rogers replies to Wanda, “Fury wants what he wants.”

“What Fury wants is for the two of you to get in the robot.”

From the shadows, because he’s a dramatic son of a bitch, the marshal steps forward. You immediately fix your posture, pulling Rogers up by the hand until he stretches himself tall next to you.

“I’ve seen what I needed to see.” The marshal looks you up and down, standing stiffly next to your awaiting co-pilot. “An estimated three weeks before the next breach and time is of the essence, Rangers.” He pulls his wrist from his sleeve and taps on the leather watch rhythmically, not bothering to give any of you another glance as he sweeps himself from the room.

“Hangar. Suit up five minutes ago.”

In his wake, your harried expression says it all: I’m not ready—I don’t think can. Your eyes frantically find them, emotions spiraling out of control, panicked and shaken. There is a logic to formality—you’re still working yourself up for the fight. You were supposed to have more time to prepare for the next part. Twelve hours or not, that’s still time.

But you’re being thrown into the cockpit now.

They compose themselves for your sake, all hints of levity gone. There’s determination and severity in their expressions.

In unison, because they know each other in ways you don’t yet, because they’ve been in each other’s heads, two pairs of controlled blue reply: You can. You must.

Rogers stares at your chin in the Drivesuit room, both stripped down to your underwear. His muscles are sweat-slick, dappled rose with exertion as the two of you shove your limbs into new skin until you’re encased in black circuitry. Technicians zip the first layer up, then retreat to other cabinets with haste.

Your hands are balled into fists, mouth set grimly as you fight the urge to scream or crumble. It’s been two years since you’ve been in battle armor. Even worse, it’s been two years since you’ve been in someone else’s head.

The polycarbonate shell gets snapped on. The spinal clamp sinks its hooks in.

He steps forward, geared up in matching polished white. The technicians nod and leave the two of you to privacy knowing that in just a few moments there will be none left; the entire hangar will be an audience.

“Hey,” he calls, voice low and rigid, “You’ve done this before—you know how it works. It’s just a test run. No rabbits. No modesty reflex. Got it?”

The biggest setback to the neural handshake—besides chasing rabbits—mistakes made by rookies and greener Rangers, are what PPDC psychologists call the “modesty reflex”. It’s the instinctive shielding of personal information during a drift, cluttering your thoughts with barriers to keep someone out, and the exact thing that will shut down any chance of alignment.

Simply put, it’s about sex.

“You just eye-fucked me in there. I think we’re past modesty.” A useless attempt at a joke to soothe your rattled mind. Sex is the lowest on the totem pole of things you give a fuck about in the drift. There’s nothing Rogers could learn about you that he likely hasn’t ever thought or experienced for himself. You’re both adults. Sex is merely biology.

He takes the helmets off their stands, holding one to you. Your fingers curl underneath and press tightly into the molding to keep themselves from shaking.

“It’s Tasha,” you whisper with a tremble, “I’ll find her in the drift. And—”

The admission makes him swallow, thick and nervous. You mean to say, and you’ll find Barnes.

It’s a trauma that’s been seared into his brain—a cruel truth to air—but it’s true all the same. The worry is that once you see Nat, he’ll see Barnes, and you’re afraid that after all this time avoiding her memory, you won’t be able to let her go again. Your weakness will dislodge his focus, ruin the drift, tear apart the alignment. Tear yourself apart along with it.

You’re afraid.

He’s still holding onto the other side of your helmet. His grip is tighter and firmer, and it keeps you steady enough.

“You can’t chase her,” he urges, “But if you do, I’ll come find you.”

He sounds sure, and you nod for both your sakes.

A hundred people stand in wait, hands on their hips in anticipation as Steve enters the cockpit with you by his side. Sparse clapping begins behind the glass. Engineers, flight crew, technicians, Rangers. Bucky is next to the LOCCENT officer, Shuri, at her monitors, watching electrical impulse levels rise and fall.

He’s spent all month with you, mentoring in some ways, giving space in others. He meant it on that god-awful hospital bed—get Steve killed and Bucky’s wrath would move heaven and earth to wreak vengeance. Steven Grant Rogers, his whole life being Bucky’s responsibility, now placed into two hands that are not his.

He looks at his left arm, the Stark-made prosthetic leering up at him like an excruciating reminder. Not his. Not his. He looks to the blue screen, projecting lines of data. Two bodies slowly arranging into one. One similar, one—not his.

He wants to trust you. He’s learning to trust you. Bucky squeezes his eyes shut and grits his teeth.

The rig locks in place. Feet, shoulders, arms, backs. It’s comforting and jarring, facing the flickering projections of the heads-up display, seeing the skeleton of Orion Bravo so similar yet so alien from Decima’s. You don’t dare look to your right, don’t dare think about Nat’s face over his.

You miss her, god damn it, you miss her. A panicked breath. A low, quiet, whine you hardly register as yourself.

Shuri’s voice comes over the speaker. Her usual cheery tone has been replaced with firmer speech, all business, “Orion, are you ready?”

Rogers mouths calm down and punches the corresponding buttons. He gives you a nod and you return it in good faith. Calm down.

“Initiating Neural Handshake in three—” Shuri activates the system, “—two—” Electricity shoots up your spinal column.

The first rip of immersion is searing hot and freezing cold. You try to remind yourself you’ve done this before, that you know what to expect. It’s been done—yes—and it’s been done well.

Trust the drift. The drift is silence.

Your thoughts subdue as the first tendrils of Steve’s consciousness bleed into yours in the form of red-bricked alleyway and summertime. There’s a sweet breeze rushing over your face before time slows and the seconds stretch into years.

A silver bicycle. His feet on the metal pegs. Barnes, plump-faced and pink-nosed from sunshine, grinning and whooping. Seven and eight. On top off the world. “—two—“

Past and present cease to exist. You’re in the sun, too. They’re older now. Thirteen, fourteen. Bruised from street fighting, sharing popsicles as both a treat and an icepack.

All at once, it comes.

Art school, army, academy. Graduation, first drift, first drop. Barnes by his side every step of the way. They laugh, they cry. Flashes too highspeed to be wholly memory, but you feel it flooding and soaking your brain. You feel it like intuition. It burns. It chills. It’s gone. “—two—”

His hands become your hands. His body, your body. He’s swimming in your every thought. A flash of crimson streaks through your line of vision. You impulsively turn to face it. “—one—”

Hey! Let it go. It’s your voice and his voice blended. You listen, flinching at the abrupt sound, knee-jerk reactions firing off, fear beginning to chew at the center of your brain, spreading out slow and thick.

Don’t chase the rabbit. “—one—”

A figure appears at your side, tall and quiet. He’s half torn open, red like Nat, with big, ghostly irises peering down and you hear yourself calling his name:

Bucky?

Don’t! Steve demands, don’t look, please. I can’t— I can’t either. You quiet your pounding heart at his pleading, forcing the image from your mind.

Trust the drift.

Steve continues to sink in like a palm running from the edge of your temple to the back of your skull, tugging your head toward the blue sky of his eyes. It feels like his hand— it feels like your hand. Your body lifts, weightless, secured only by a single hold. He’s everywhere, inside your muscles, your pulse, your heartbeat, like he’s been a part of you your entire life. Like the way Natasha used to feel, he’s vivid and alive, thoroughly woven through.

Okay?

The two of you look each other without looking at each other. A nod of his head— your head— vaguely registered as real movements.

Shuri returns both of you to time’s fixed pace. Her voice lifts the trance.

“—Neural Handshake complete.”

Steve’s right arm moves forward. Yours continues the motion. Orion brandishes its shield in salute.

The drift is silent, but the entire facility has erupted into cheers.

“Yes! It’s good!” Shuri exclaims from her seat. A loud exhale followed by victorious punches at the air and she can’t help grinning so big her face begins to ache.

She looks over at Bucky, standing with a smile, both proud and pained, and places a gentle palm on his shoulder.

“Yeah,” he says calmly, eyes still shut. “It’s good.”

#marvel #pacific rim #steve rogers x reader #bucky barnes x reader #mcu #fanfiction #steve rogers #bucky barnes

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angelbabyszn · 5 years ago

Note

Hi I would like to ask if it is not uncomfortable an imagine of sad eyes on my block and theme may be of your preference

Smitten (Sad Eyes X Reader)

Gif by @merakiaes

Requested twice!

OMB Masterlist

smitten

/ˈsmitn/

adjective

deeply affected with or struck by strong feelings of attraction, affection, or infatuation

"Monse! The chips go in front of the soda. Not before it!" said Ruby and he quickly went to her side and fixed the chips and soda at the food table.

"Ruby. We have been working on this party for hours now. I'm getting tired of doing these parties." said Monse annoyed.

"We don't need your negativity, Monse. If you want to leave, just gladly leave." said Jasmine as she quickly went next to Ruby and crossed her arms against her chest at her.

"Gladly." said Monse and started to walk out of Oscar and Cesar's backyard.

"There goes Monse leaving mad again and Cesar chasing after her." you said as you sit with your friend you have known forever, Sad Eyes on one of the outside couches in Oscar and Cesar's backyard while drinking sodas.

Every few months, the Santos hold their salsa dance night that was happening tonight. Oh course, Ruby planning everything out and his girlfriend, Jasmine helping him out.

"Yo, why did it take them so long to get together?" asked Sad Eyes looking at you.

"It just did. I'm not 100% satisfied with Ruby's feelings. I feel they're not completely there like Jasmine's." you said as you see Ruby and Jasmine taking a break from planning the party and sitting together in two fold chairs while drinking lemonade.

"You got a good point. I think he has feelings for her the whole time but never acknowledges it." said Sad Eyes and took a sip of his soda.

You like having these talks with him. Sad Eyes was always so understanding and supportive of you. He's honestly a really sweet and loyal guy when he wants to.

Ever since Sad Eyes protected you from the Prophet$ one night when both of you were young, the friendship bloomed.

"Sad Eyes! Y/N!" shouted Oscar a.k.a. Spooky, the leader of the Santos walking towards you and Sad Eyes.

"What is it Spooky?" asked Sad Eyes as he got up and stood straight with his hand on his gun that was right behind him in his right hand.

"Both of you need to do some work around the block and make sure nobody ruins tonight. I don't want no shootings tonight." said Spooky

"We're on it." said Sad Eyes. Spooky turned to you and smirked at you while wink before walking away.

"Ugh, why couldn't he ask the others to do it? I'm sick and tired of doing this. I know I joined the gang for you but these tasks are just boring." you said as you and Sad Eyes were walking out of the backyard to in front of the house on the sidewalk.

"Y/N, I know but this gang protects us, especially you. You should be lucky because he didn't ask a lot out of you because he knows what happened to your parents and you're raising your sister by yourself." said Sad Eyes.

"You're taking care of my sister too. Honestly, you're the only guy who stayed in my life. Usually, other guys would've left me by now but you stayed. Whatever the reason is...I'm grateful for you." you said and Sad Eyes smiled and gave you a side hug.

The other Santos that was sitting out in the front lawn started to chuckle a bit as you two hugged.

Sad Eyes didn't care what people think when he's around women. He would always treat a woman with his whole heart and with respect.

Sad Eyes was also grateful that you were in his life. He really likes you a lot and you could tell but you don't really know for sure.

Sad Eyes hopes you would become your girlfriend soon. And by soon, he means before Spooky takes you away for himself and he doesn't want that to happen.

"Sad Eyes, you smitten about Y/N, are you?" asked Joker, one of the Santos and the others started to laugh with him.

Sad Eyes slowly stopped hugging you because he didn't want to and quickly went up to Joker and looked straight into his eyes mad.

"You wanna play games huh? Remember, I'm the co-leader of this gang and I can give you orders too you know? Well it's your lucky day. Cause I got a job for you since you want to joke around, Joker. Are you listening? said Sad Eyes aggressively making Joker surprised and stop laughing.

"Now, go around the block and make sure nothing happens tonight. Got it?" said Sad Eyes still up in Joker's face aggressively. Joker quickly nodded and then he and his friends quickly got up and left.

Sad Eyes took a deep breath in and walked back up to you like nothing happened.

"Sad Eyes, did you just-"

"Y/N, don't worry about it. Spooky won't notice. What do you want to do now since we are now free until the party?" asked Sad Eyes as he looks at you with a smile.

You smiled back at him in happiness until it turned into a smirk a moment later. He widened his eyes because he knew what that face meant.

"You're lucky I'm in a good mood for this." said Sad Eyes, making you giggle as you finished putting on a face mask on his face in your bathroom.

Sad Eyes got up from sitting on the toilet seat and got in front of the mirror to see himself.

You started to laugh as you were recording a video of himself seeing himself in the mirror with the bright gold face mask on his face on your Snapchat.

Sad Eyes turned to you and his lips got big and wide on your camera by the filter on Snapchat making you laugh.

"Turn that off!" said Sad Eyes. He tried to get you but you ran away out of the bathroom in laughter.

Sad Eyes starts to chase after you around the house as you laugh. Sad Eyes finally got you, picked you up, and put you over his shoulder.

"Dude! Put me down! My face mask is going to fall off!" you said as you start to kick him and bang on his back with your hands but Sad Eyes continues to walk. He softly puts you down on the couch.

After Sad Eyes removes you from himself, you sit up and Sad Eyes sit right next to you while grabbing the TV remote.

Sad Eyes puts on a zombie-apocalypse movie on Netflix and both of you start to get comfortable.

Two hours later, you arrive back at Oscar and Cesar's backyard in a maroon short dress with cute high heels that you're able to dance in, your hair down straight, and silver jewelry.

You see people dancing, drinking, chatting, all of the usual stuff you see at a party. It seems like they haven't started the competition yet.

You keep walking until you see Sad Eyes again sitting with Spooky in a red blouse with half of it open on top, nice black pants and shoes. Spooky was wearing a white shirt on with no buttons attached showing his abs, jeans, and his regular shoes.

"Hey boys." you said as you walked up to them. They turned and both Santos quickly went up to you with no hesitation making you stop walking and smiled shyly at them.

"Y/N, you look..." started Spooky but didn't finish as he looked up and down repeatedly at your outfit trying to figure out what to say.

"Beautiful." said Sad Eyes, finishing Oscar's sentence, making you look down and gaining a red blush.

Sad Eyes started to feel heat on his face he saw you blushing making Spooky look annoyed and full of jealousy.

"Santos! It's time for the competition!" shouted Ruby through the microphone, making everybody start to cheer.

"Let's get started! Hey! Don't touch that!" shouted Ruby annoyed at the last part and the music started.

Everybody started to grab partners and start to dance. Ruby and his friends were judging the competition. Whoever stops dancing or loses the beat will be kicked and whoever is left standing wins and wins a month off of doing tasks.

"Sad Eyes, you want to be my-" you start to say as you turn around but you don't see him there.

You turned back around to see Sad Eyes dancing with another hyna.

"Come on Y/N! Let's dance!" said Spooky with a grin. Right before you could respond, he took your hand and started to dance with you.

Sad Eyes looked to the side of his dancer to see you and Spooky dancing together and having fun. He was not happy about it. This random hyna took him away before he could ask you.

An hour later, over half of the gang was out of the competition. There were only four couples left including you, Oscar, the Santos hyna, and Sad Eyes.

You notice that Sad Eyes was taking glances at you while he was dancing with the other hyna.

"SEÑORITA! Get out! You have been tagged out already!" shouted Jasmine at another Santos hyna with one of the guys that was still in after she swapped herself with the girl that he was still in with to stay in the competition.

"Stop being a little puta and let me dance!" shouted the Santo hyna.

"WHAT DID THIS PUTA JUST CALLED ME?!" shouted Jasmine as she quickly took a puff from her inhaler and started to walk over furiously.

She was about to fight her but was having trouble from Ruby and Cesar pulling her back.

Jamal and Monse continued on and took out another couple signaling they were out of the competition. There was only you, Oscar, Sad Eyes and the Santos hyna left.

"Whoo! Go Y/N!" shouted Jamal with a happy face, making you smile. Even though you didn't dance with Sad Eyes all night, you actually have fun dancing with Spooky.

Another song plays and at the same time without you knowing, Spooky and Sad Eyes spin both you and the Santos hyna. A moment later, you were dancing with Sad Eyes.

"So, you gonna tell me why you were dancing with that hyna all night?" you asked, trying to act normal.

"I'm sorry Y/N. She grabbed me first before I could ask you. Also, I didn't know you could dance." said Sad Eyes as he looked at you.

Due to this dance competition, Sad Eyes fell for you more because the whole time, he had his eyes on you as you were moving with Spooky that he didn't think you could do.

"Believe it. I saw you checking me out all night. Why is that?" you asked with a grin on your face.

"Nothing."

"Dude, yes it was. I never see you looked at me like that at all. You're looking at me like that now!" you said and Sad Eyes spun you around, ending you with your back against his chest.

Sad Eyes grabs your hips and swung it left and right and you two moved your feet to the music.

"You're so full of yourself." whispered Sad Eyes in your ear and you giggled.

"You're gonna tell me why you were dancing with Spooky all night?" asked Sad Eyes and he spun you around again with your left hand interacting with his right and his left hand on your hip.

"Why are you asking? Are you jealous?" you asked with a grin.

"Should I be asking the same question?" said Sad Eyes with a grin, making you look down at your feet.

"Shut up." you said and you slapped his face softly after you looked at him again.

"So what happens now?" you asked. Sad Eyes grinned and dipped you. He kissed you right there on beat when the music ended which made everybody stopped and started to cheer.

A few moments later, Sad Eyes stopped kissing you and you opened your eyes at him and smiled as a red blush came on your face.

"Y/N & Sad Eyes won!" shouted Ruby through the microphone, making everybody cheer for both of you.

Sad Eyes lifted you back up and grabbed your waist to pull you closer to him and you wrapped your arms around his neck.

"I'm falling for you. I hope you'll stay in my life forever." said Sad Eyes while looking into your eyes.

"I hope so too. I'm falling hard for you and I can't wait for what happens next." you said looking back into his eyes. Both of you pressed your lips together at the same time making everybody cheered again.

#sad eyes omb #sad eyes #sad eyes imagine #onmyblock #onmyblockimagines #on my block x reader #on my block imagine #oscar spooky diaz #oscar diaz imagine #oscardiaz #oscar diaz x reader #spooky omb #omb season 3 #omb imagine #joker omb #cesar diaz imagine #cesardiaz

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runesfactory · 4 years ago

Text

run cried the crawling | 03

summary: Tasokare Hotel is a place that exists between the real world and the afterlife. A residing place for spirits whose fate has yet been decided. To die or to live on. Aesop has yet to discover the truth behind his own near demise. It was until a stranger walked through the doors of the hotel with an owl head that the horrific truth began to unravel.

pairing: aesop carl x eli clark

genre: mystery, supernatural & gothic romance

word count: 5399

warnings: mature themes. descriptive writing of violence and blood. body horror. strong angst. equally strong romance. heavy pining. mild profanity. death. tasokare hotel spoilers.

chapters: 01 | 02 | 03 | ...

The more time Eli spends at the hotel, he discovers new things every day just by observing his surroundings. He meets odd guests and peculiar staff that he hasn’t met before. Not to mention, he’d get lost through some of the halls that seem to elongate themselves and each curve of every corner lead him to many different places, he wasn’t aware of before. Surely, all with the guidance of Emma herself. He finds her never-ending enthusiasm over the smallest of things to be refreshing.

That’s not to say he’s gotten used to being there. Certainly not. He counts time passing by days by striking a line written on paper each time he wakes up from sleep. Even with seeing the same thing, nothing about the place feels like home. It brings you comfort. It doesn’t help too that the windows of his room show the night sky. It’s quite the sight, but nothing like the barren world he entered when he first arrived.

There’s the faint sound of the train tracks vibrating against the ground. The smell of grass after a day full of rain along with the breezy wind. Not to mention the small freckles of stars decorating the night sky. Looking out his window feels like he’s in a whole different world: reality. It’s nothing like the hotel because it feels real. It’s all real, aside from the fixed night sky. That aspect is very much unreal, though as a night person himself, he doesn’t mind. He takes in the cold breeze with ease in his heart.

Eli looks up at the stars and unconsciously begin to connect lines between each spec.

Like they’re meant to be connected to create a whole picture.

Constellations are fascinating. It may seem like widespread random bits of stars interconnected as a whole, but it’s far from that. There’s meaning to them, even as random or sporadic it may seem pattern-wise. Perhaps it’s the same for our memories. Plenty of it scattered all over our tiny heads like sprinkles on top of ice cream, and each of them holds meaning.

So, when one piece is lost, then it’s impossible to create something whole again.

Eli believes that, at least. But perhaps, it’s all too hopeful since memories can be so fragile. Recollecting certain memories can have so much effect on you and it is so painful that it leads us to our worst points. Having to regain his memories back feels like he’s being tasked to gather the stars, rebuild the constellation again. But without knowing how it looked like, to begin with. An impossible task.

He’s written down things that he remembers, but couldn’t come up with anything significant. It brought everything to a halt. Although Eli maintains a calm demeanor most of the time. However, the moment the door of his bedroom closes, he’s devastated. What happens then if he doesn’t remember? He can’t imagine living the rest of his not-so-alive life in this state of limbo. Not for him, at least.

From the amount of thinking he’s done, he feels he’d be bound for yet a sleep-deprived week. So he’s come up with an idea. An idea that, well, to keep him occupied while doing his own investigation and that idea would be—

“You want to help around at the hotel?” Emma tilts her head to the side, albeit her smile still displayed across her face as friendly as ever. It’s a new day at the hotel and Eli finds himself assisting in Emma’s room with her surprisingly large indoor garden. She’s been staying up all morning making sure every single plant is well-taken care of. It’s quite surprising to see how vastly different other people’s rooms are compared to his, convinced that each of those rooms does reflect the individual. A room is like a heart after all.

“Sure! I don’t see why not! I mean, the manager’s probably not opposed to the idea of having extra hands on board. But can’t say the same for Ms. Nair.”

“Ms. Nair? The bartender?”

Emma nods. “She’s mostly responsible for, well, everything. Ms. Nair is a little bit strict on choosing who gets to help around here. So, it might be harder to convince her.”

Vera Nair. Eli’s only seen her once before while he’s exploring around the hotel. She was quite the busy woman, always rushing from one end of the hotel to the other when there are a handful of guests around. Her appearance is quite distinct. Always wearing a campy outfit dripped in the colour purple, with her sharp heels clicking against the floors being one of the things that will make anyone aware of her presence.

“Then I would need to speak to her to help around here, right?” Eli questions putting one hand under his chin in a fist.

“Yep, but I’d say it’s best to talk to Norton first before approaching her! She trusts Norton a whole lot so who knows he can put a good word to ‘ya!” Emma nudges the side of his arm.

Norton Campbell. He remembers the man from the other day. He’s quiet, almost unhinged by Eli’s presence though Eli can’t quite point out exactly the atmosphere the man exudes. He has a peculiar getup himself. A mask that hides a portion of his face with such refined details accompanied by a dark maroon blazer, accentuated by gold threads sewn in patterns. The red scar over his left eye, the metal piercings over the bridge of his nose, and well, his glare. Uneasy to him, but maybe it’s just him.

“Good luck on finding Norton though. He’s a bit of a fickle to find.” She adds.

“How so?”

“Hmm,” Emma pauses, “It’s like… he’s everywhere, but nowhere all at the same time? I mean, one time I would see him with Naib then the next, poof! Gone! Nowhere to be found!”

Everywhere, but nowhere. He’d agree more on the latter.

He continues to find the figure from every corner of the hotel, but luck doesn’t seem to side with him. Eli finds himself on the unexpected side of the hotel. The indoor gardens, a much bigger one than the one in Emma’s room. Now that he thinks about it, just how big her room is? Oh well, it doesn’t matter really.

The greenhouse has a tall ceiling watching over him and quite the jungle in there. He could only hear the water hitting the surface of a fountain placed at the center of the glasshouse. His steps echo through the empty room as he fondly gazes over the plants around him. An excitement bubbles within him when his eyes land on small critters wandering around certain plants, recognizing them by heart. Unfortunately, he doesn’t bring along his journal.

“Aren’t you a lovely one?” He gleefully says to the squirrel that’s giving him a puzzled look with those large, glimmering eyes. The place makes him feel at ease. Animals do at least. His fingers gently graze over the soft fur, causing the little animal to lean closer to his hand. He remembers about his own lovely bird, Brooke. He misses her. Seeing the empty birdcage in his room becomes a reminder of the empty confinement in his heart. At least he knows being in nature brings him comfort, another thing for him to hold onto in a world full of unfamiliarity.

It doesn’t seem searching through the place bears any fruit after all. He takes the last few glances around as a way to make sure. Then, his eyes catch the presence of a certain silver-haired man. Eli carefully watches him from a safe distance before approaching. Aesop looks down at the golden flowers. Yellow roses. His covered hands touch them gently as if a mere touch would break them. There’s a soft look in Aesop’s eyes that Eli couldn’t describe. Fondness, perhaps. That’s the word he’s looking for.

But while he’s preoccupied feeling mesmerized at the individual, he fails to notice his shifting body. Bump! He trips falls face-first onto the ground. Causing a ruckus, unsurprisingly. “Shit,” He curses to himself. Quite the elegant fall, he hisses at himself internally. A hand appears before him, his face shifts from a painful wince to a surprised one. When he looks up, he sees the same gentle eyes he was admiring just a few seconds ago.

Eli takes the hand, heart beating fast now before standing up. Patting off the leaves clinging onto his pants while chuckling to himself. “My! That was, uh, very clumsy of me! Not surprised. My sense of balance is shaky at best.” He jokes. As if it would lighten up any awkwardness that could come up from him being a creep by watching from a distance.

Aesop’s eyes flutter away, pulling his hand away slowly. He stares at the scratch that appears on Eli’s hand. Probably from brushing itself against the harsh branch. He did fall with quite the impact through the bushes. Not to mention the thorns. Why did he think hiding behind a bush full of roses was ever a good idea? But then, good ideas are not exactly Eli’s strongest suit.

“You’re hurt.” A simple fact stated by Aesop himself, but coming from him, it’s laced with worry. He says it quietly, but it doesn’t hide away the exasperation.

“Oh, it’s fine. This is nothing, really. You don’t have to worry about it. It was my clumsy mistake.” Eli brushes it off with a fling of his hand and a soft chuckle. But it doesn’t wash away the concern now forming on Aesop’s face. Like clockwork, Aesop pulls out a handkerchief and a tiny bottle from his inner pocket. He gently dabs the content of the bottle onto the cloth, letting some sip through before pressing it gently on the wound.

“Antiseptic. So, it doesn’t get worst.” He continues to carefully brush over the wound with the cloth. He does it all with so much care and attentiveness. Eli notices that almost immediately. From their first encounter when he first arrived. Aesop’s mannerism, way of speaking captivated Eli. Some might find it standoffish, but he just finds it riveting. It’s probably because he’s pretty. He thought of that once.

Although to be fair, Aesop is very attractive. He’d be lying to himself if he ever says otherwise. The first encounter they had when he first arrives, he tried his best to not show his nerve-wracking self.

All that aside, Aesop cares about his craft. He’s very meticulous with his tasks. He seems unwavering especially in front of others. “You’re very prepared, Mr. Carl.” He compliments him instead, trying to brush off the very fact that this very attractive man is tending to his wounds. By the gay gods, what will he do? If he says something stupid and makes a fool out of himself, he’s going to—

“It’s simply part of the job,” Aesop replies shortly. Giving the wound a final rub before covering it with a bandage that Eli doesn’t see him pulling out. It’s no ordinary bandage though. It’s a blue bandage covered in some patterns he couldn’t describe. It’s cute. So very cute.

He continues to ask Eli, “What are you doing here, if I may ask?”

“Oh,” Eli stammers, “Oh, uh, I was looking for Mr. Campbell! I’ve been looking everywhere, but it seems that he’s nowhere to be seen.”

Aesop tilts his head to the side slightly. “Norton?"

He nods, a tad bit too enthusiastically maybe. “I want to ask for him to put in a word for me to Ms. Nair. I’m looking to help around the hotel, as I’ve told already to Emma.”

Aesop’s eyes widen slightly but don’t say much. Eli wonders if it had rubbed him in the wrong way from the way the slightly taller man’s expression switches almost in a blink of an eye. The silence coming from the man lasts longer than his own comfort, but he doesn’t say it.

“It’s just that,” He ponders over his words for a moment. “I’d hate to put the burden on you for helping me recover my memories. I thought about it after what had happened, and I completely understand you need some time away from it. Take as much time as you need.”

Eli just smiles at Aesop then continues. “I thought it’d be best to figure things out by mine how things work around here. I must be honest, I’m a little lost most of the time but think I’ll be less confused if I just get the hang of things.” He gestures a thumbs up playfully. Probably embarrassing himself slightly, but it’s the truth. “And again, I apologize for what happened. I don’t think any number of apologies could convey how sorry I am.”

“No, not at all. It’s okay.” Aesop responses come out like soft whisper almost.

Of course, the tension is a little awkward. Eli doesn’t want to scare away Aesop like last time, but he keeps in mind to make sure not to overwhelm him. His mind scatters what should he say then it comes out. “So, how are you feeling now?”

“Much better,” This time Aesop smiles a little. It sends warmth through Eli’s chest. “Thank you for asking, Mr. Clark.”

“Eli.”

“Hm?”

“Just Eli is fine. But feel free to call me anything you’d like, whatever fits your cup of tea. I just thought Mr. Clark would be much too formal unless you prefer Mr. Clark. Then that’s fine!” He stammers. Aesop nods at that.

“Thank you, Eli.” His name slips out of Aesop’s lips like a gentle whisper. It feels just right, Eli thinks. He just can’t figure out exactly why it feels that way, so he brushes it off. For now.

“Well,” Eli takes a deep breath. “I best be on my way to continue my search. Or I’ll just ask Ms. Nair right away, doesn’t seem like Mr. Campbell’s available anyway.” He takes a few steps back, bowing slightly at Aesop. “It was nice chatting with you, Mr. Carl.”

He turns around with his back facing Aesop. The sound of the water hitting the fountain’s surface echoes through the chamber along with his footsteps. All is quiet, until-

A little murmur.

“Hm?” Eli turns his head towards Aesop, who’s now looking down at his feet. Avoiding eye contact it seems. His fingers fidgeting, not knowing what to grasp nor do. “Did you say anything, Mr. Carl?”

“Aesop…” It’s very faint, but Eli catches it in his ear. “Call me Aesop.” Although Aesop is generally soft-spoken, there’s a certain lightness in his tone. A positive one. To that, Eli smiles widely at him.

“Okay, Aesop.” He speaks through his smile, unable to put it down it seems. “It’s nice talking to you.” It feels right and he can’t leave it be.

“Same to you,” Aesop pauses, forming a small smile on his face. “Eli.”

Just as Eli walks away, he finds it hard to control the explosive sparkles blasting within his chest and the churning tickles in his stomach. It feels right, he echoes in his mind. And he can’t let the feeling go.

After their meeting, Aesop feels oddly lighter though unsurprisingly, quite wary. A little less than before though. He feels he’s been walking on thin ice all this time ever since the last memory trigger. Unconsciously always, his hands would reach to the back of his head. His eyes fluttering, confused, and lost. But time passes, so he too must move forward somehow. He’s gotten a little better now, less tense and less frequent visits to the doctor’s office, but there’s always that dread that it’ll happen again. At some point, it will. It has to.

“Focus.” He tells himself through deep breaths.

In the middle of brewing some tea, he’s lost himself in his own thoughts it seems. Only brought back to the present from the ting of the spoon against the ceramic cup. The slight pinch he gives himself doesn’t help besides leaving a red spot. Maybe he needs some caffeine in his system to wake him up, but what good does that do to a barely living soul? He stares down at his hands. The way his slender finger curls up to his palm, but rather than his own skin it’s the white gloves that he’s been wearing.

He gets the sense that he’s always worn gloves. Part of his wardrobe as he worked his days at the morgue. By the looks of it, the habit comes along with him even now. He wonders if he’ll ever be out of there, rather if it’s worth the effort to fight for the life he once knew. There are too many questions, too many uncertainties. It makes him anxious, causing his heart to beat fast at the thought of the unknown. So, Aesop brushes it off. For now, at least. Let him live a moment of peace without dreading the unknown. If the afterlife can grant him that, he’ll live his way here to his end.

Aesop carries the tray full of snacks and tea down the hallway of the third floor. Emma was responsible to assist this guest, however, she has come to him for aid and he agrees. With him, he’s brought freshly baked cookies aside from the full course meal that Naib has prepared. Something about the guest barging into his kitchen unannounced, but mostly Norton is to blame. So here he is. With his feet stomping against the carpeted floor, balancing himself to avoid the tray from wavering even the slightest.

“If it’s not too much, please make sure there’s not another bottle of liquor in there! Ms. Nair has made sure it wouldn’t happen, but I’m just worried.” Emma’s note stuck in the back of his mind.

When approaching the door, Aesop prepares himself. He knocks on the door. And before he could say anything, it opens.

“Ms. Bourbon?” He calls out to her, greeted by the darkness of the room. Now both hands tightly grip on the food tray. He pushes the door further, now the light of the hall shines inside of the room, giving a glimpse of its state. Messy would be one. Plenty of items are scattered all over the wooden floor. Several bottles on the side of the bed, covering almost all its surface. There, on the bed, is a lump. It rises and down slowly and Aesop concludes where the guest is resting.

“Ms. Bourbon, I’ve come with your food and drinks,” Aesop speaks softly, placing the tray on the coffee table that’s placed not far from the bed. Half of its taken over by even more empty bottles and glasses. It’s a wonder that the room doesn’t smell like alcohol.

He takes one last look around the room, observing every corner. Perhaps, he could assist in cleaning it a little, but he wouldn’t want to disrupt her rest.

“Please make sure to eat, Ms. Bourbon.” He says to her one last time before heading towards the door. Just as he’s about to step out, he hears a loud thump. He turns his head towards the source of the sound, and he sees her slipped out of the sheets. The upper half of her body fallen over to the floor, with her legs hanging onto the bed with all their might. “Ow, ow,” she mutters under her breath. He quickly moves to her side, lifting her slightly by the waist with one of her arms over his shoulders.

“Slowly,” He mumbles under his breath. She rests herself back on the bed, now her eyes fluttering open. “Who-”

He takes a few steps back, “I’m Aesop Carl. Ms. Woods has asked me to deliver your food to your room, as you requested.”

“Give me,” Her hoarse voice speaks, sleepiness still lingers. He tilts his head to the side while she flimsily points at the tray. “Food.”

Quick on his toes, Aesop removes most of the bottles on the side of her table and replace them with the food tray. She swiftly grabs the bottle, chugging it down, but quickly frowned. “Water in an empty wine bottle? This Emma’s idea?” She never looks nor glances at him, assured of the answer. He stands there, still. “Well, I am hungry so don’t mind if I do.”

Demi munches down on the cookies first, all in big bites almost she is swallowing them whole. Between bites, she finally looks at Aesop. After swallowing them, “So, you here to help me, right?”

“Assisting you,” Aesop corrects her. “In recovering your memories, yes.”

She shifts her gaze slightly to behind him. “Emma’s not with you?”

“She’s asked me to be here in her stead. She’s told me all that I need.”

Demi snickers, “Oh, all that you need, hm?” She says mockingly, then continues to bite on the cookies. She takes another chug of the water.

“Then shall we begin-”

“I’m tired. Leave me be.”

Aesop simply stares at her, unable to form the right words at her nonchalant respond. But he persists still, as it is his duty there after all. “Ms. Bourbon, we need to recover your memories or else-“

“Or else what?” She cuts him off again. This time taking big bites of the food Naib’s prepared. “That I’ll be trapped here for the rest of my life? That I’ll die?”

He’s silent for a while, but still, maintain an unwavering posture and gaze on her. She slouches over the plate, taking less messy bites of the food. Looking down at it with fluttering eyes, her hair’s tangled up. When Demi looks at Aesop, there is a disdain in them. Full of distrust and frustration, something that he’s familiar with.

“Need to recover memories,” Demi repeats his words bitterly. “What if I don’t want to, hm? What are you gonna say to that?”

Nothing, he wanted to say. Nothing, if he's being honest.. Is there truly a need to recover them? What if you don’t want to remember things? Then what? But he couldn’t say it. Not to anyone, especially to guests who rely on them to move on. He wouldn’t do that.

So he doesn’t say anything.

“Leave me be.” Another pop of a bottle, “I’ll call you if I need anything.”

Demi dismisses him without looking.

It takes a while for him to finally make his move. He wants to say something, but the words never arrive in his mouth. There's no use to confront her in this state, he tells himself. So he leaves the room, leaving Demi alone in her disheveled state and a bottle in one hand.

“What is it with people and asking for jobs here? You’re not even getting paid!” Vera’s exclaims loudly, voice echoing through the bar causing a couple of eyes to turn towards them. “Enjoy your barely living state! Relax! You humans can’t avoid capitalism even in death, it’s tragic.”

The remark’s meant to be out of concern, but rather it’s laced with pity. Eli doesn’t blame her, really. The exchange didn’t go quite so well, as he expected, but now he doesn’t have much to do but dig through on his own. At the very least, now he can stop his attempt to find Norton. Oddly enough, still nowhere to be found. Just how big can this place hide a man. Wrong question to ask, really. Considering, he'd gotten lost several times his first day here. Relax, she says. Funny enough, that’s the last thing he’s able to do here. Such a grand place of this size intimidates him. The chandelier that towers over him, the empty rooms, and hallways. It’s even much more terrifying with this state.

He makes his way back to his room. Slow steps this time, fatigued after spending an entire day of searching up and down through the hotel. What a mystery. Eli hasn’t been successful in his search, not even once he’s able to find him. Not even a glimpse of Norton anywhere. How can someone just vanish like that? He’s quite certain he’d be somewhere in this house. Perhaps he should’ve asked Vera where Norton might be. However, all for naught.

The walk through the hallway is quite daunting. Sometimes, he feels as if the length of the halls had been stretched. Like a never-ending maze that he must overcome. The lengthy red-carpeted floor taunts at him, like a stretching bloody river. He walks and walks, faster with each step.

He can feel his own footsteps. The bottom of his shoe pressed against the carpeted floor. But he can’t shake the feeling of a presence. Someone else’s steps that are slightly offbeat from his. Is there someone following him? He quickens his pace a little. Now the sound is more audible. Footsteps following right behind him. Eli’s heart beats faster and faster. He turns around.

Nothing. Was it just in his head? He could’ve sworn someone, or something was following him. The feeling of someone staring at the back of your neck. Maybe he’s more tired than he thought.

“Should sleep,” He mumbles to himself approaching his door. At the swing of the door, a ring echoes through his room. A telephone rings. There was a telephone in his room? Since when? How come he never noticed it before?

Eli enters his room, closing his door shut, and follows where the sound comes from. And there it is. A telephone vibrating against the side table beside his own bed. There’s never been a phone there. Never. Now there is. He still can’t shake the feeling of another presence nearby. His nerves are scattered, but he tries to maintain a calm demeanor. The phone continues to ring and ring itself into his head.

He tightens his fist, easing the trembles before picking up the phone. It picks up with a click, then he says, “Hello? Who’s this?“

Heavy breathing greets his ear. ‘You,’ A hoarse voice speaks from the phone.

This voice. The air grows too thick for him to breathe, the rapid heartbeat in his chest pounds against his chest. Eli can feel himself starts to lose himself.

‘I’m sure you understand why I’m making this call,’ The person continues, ‘You should know better than to continue the route you’re going. He won’t be going with you. Do you think I haven’t noticed what the two of you have been up to? I know him more than anyone. I know what’s best for him, that is not you. Aesop will stay. Forget about him if you know what’s best for the two of you.’

What have we been up to? What’s best for him? He wants to ask, but no words come out of his mouth.

‘Don’t think for a second I’ve forgotten about you, Eli Clark.’

A sudden pound strikes Eli’s head. He winces, one hand holding against his head while he falls onto his knees. A memory trigger. He crouches, curling his bed as if to protect himself from the pain he was feeling. His fingers tighten around his hair, clenching it as the voice continues to speak through the phone. It hurts, it really hurts, it--

--is soft. Both of Aesop’s hands take hold of his face, with his glimmering eyes sinking into his blue ones. They’re surrounded by glowing, yellow roses. Eli’s hands rest on top of Aesop’s and the man in front of him smiles. A smile so wide, so beautiful. Eli presses his lips against Aesop’s in a deep kiss. He presses further, deepens it while Aesop’s fingers tangle themselves in his hair. Pulling on it. Now, his own hands wander down Aesop’s back, gently caressing his exposed back while his lips travel down to his neck.

He hears a soft gasp. A sound that he yearns for more. So, he bites, earning another reaction from Aesop. He can feel his hot breath against Eli’s ear. He can feel the warmth. Aesop whispers, “I love you. I love you so much, Eli.”

“I’ll go with you,” Aesop tells him. Despite his shaking hands, there is a determination clearly written across his face.

“We’ll go as far as we can. You don’t have to be afraid.” Eli tells him. His mouth moving, speaking words as if it’s beyond his control. “He won’t get to us. We’re in this together, okay? If you’re in trouble, call me and I’ll be by your side in a heartbeat.”

Eli gasps, bringing his consciousness back out. The phone shuts. Click.

He needs to find Aesop.

Aesop makes his return to his room after he was at was the guest’s room. A little later than usual. The hotel’s quieter if it’s possible to get quieter than this. He shuts the door of his room, locking it with a click.

Just as he begins to undress, he felt something. In the inner pockets of his blazer. Aesop’s fingers pressed against the surface of his inner pocket, and he can hear a rustling. The sound of paper. Carefully, he reaches into the pocket and pulls out a… letter.

The letter’s blank. It leaves no trace of anything to identify the sender. Who could’ve possibly slipped this into his pocket without him noticing? All of a sudden, his shoulders become tense as his eyes wander around the room.

Has it always been there? Did someone slip a letter into his jacket?

Frantically, he tugs on the window’s lock. His doors. Opening closets, even drawers, rubbing his hands over shelves. Finding any possible entrance that would have led someone into his room without him noticing.

And, he finds nothing.

There’s a dreadful sense of curiosity rising within him. There’s no harm in reading a letter, right? His fingers trace over the opening cracks of the letter. He lets out a deep breath and rips it open.

He pulls out the piece of paper tucked inside the envelope. It reads…

My love,

His heart stops.

I’ll be there soon. I promise I’ll come for you. I’m sorry that I have to send letters like this. It seems that he’s caught onto us, but don’t worry, we’ll be out of here before he gets to us. I wish you could’ve stayed with me. I’m so afraid that one day I’ll never be able to see you again, especially knowing what he’s done to you. I know you hate it when I bring this up, I’m sorry for making you angry the other night.

Meet me where the yellow roses grow. Same time.

Please be careful.

I love you.

E.C

My love. The same initials. He’s caught onto us. The very thing he tries very hard to avoid comes back to taunt at him. This letter unlocks new memories. Aesop remembers now that he was trying to run away, but from who? And why? Another pain strikes his head like a bang. As if a wooden bat struck on his head with a hard swing. He winces, groaning loudly before falling on his knees and--

--his heart’s beating fast seeing the words on the letter. He’s caught onto them, as it says on the paper. He’s been careful so far, how could he possibly figure it out? Aesop’s grip on the letter tightens, gripping hard causing it to crumble slightly. He pleads silently that nothing would come to harm his lover.

He reaches to his neck, looking down at the ring hanging on the chains. Their names carved onto the surface. AEC. They’d be together, no matter what.

He looks down at the lifeless body of a client before him. A pale body spread across the metal bed, covered in a thin white sheet. He fears for the worst, and he can’t brush it off of his mind.

The metal doors to his office swings open. A loud slam. A shadow of the figure appears on the ground, in the shape of a silhouette. His sense of fear begins to overwhelm his senses when the figure approaches. Each step echo through the room, like the sound of impending doom making itself known. And he knows. He’s more than aware.

Aesop wakes up coughing out the sudden tightness that has put him on hold. The split in his head is unbearable. A distinct feeling of his head being patched together as if things are beginning to make sense. In the most painful way possible. Another memory.

He needs to find Eli.

#identity v #elisop #aesopeli #aesop x eli #aesop carl #eli clark #mystery #supernatural #gothic romance #tasokare hotel au #thriller #romance #hurt & comfort #pining #slow burn #tragic but with a happy ending #runesfactory

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dariadraws · 4 years ago

Photo

and my final piece so far for @geekinthecorner‘s @batfam-big-bang fic Bats Of The West, it’s Jason Todd! ngl i think this is one of the ones i had the most fun with, and also the one i crammed the most details into that no one but me will ever know exist, but i’ll share a few of them under the cut, along with the image description. plus, a list of all of Jason’s scars in this au, and how he got them.

also, like i said, this is my final piece so far but i fully intend to come back and round out the batfam, draw all the other characters i havent had a chance to get to yet, so keep an eye out for that, and in the meantime here’s some fun facts!

alright so. first off, just some general overall thoughts on Jason and some of the details i added here.

his gun in the first pic is super expensive and pretty, but i imagine he doesnt use is as often as some of his other ones, simply because when he’s out in The Wilderness tracking down criminals for weeks on end, it’s not really the kind of place you want to bring your prettiest, most expensive gun. when he’s on the ranch or in town tho, or really just anywhere where he doesnt anticipate needing to rough it for more than a couple days (which isnt the same as not expecting the need to get rough), he’s probably got this gun.

his gun belt and holster are a whole other story tho. he spent exactly zero dollars and zero cents on them, just assembled them from some spare leather they had lying around, which is why theyre in such Not Great condition, and also why the belt itself ended up so long. he could cut it down to a more reasonable size, but it’s not like there’s anything else he could make from those scraps anyways, so why bother.

that big gun in the second image isn’t technically his tho, it’s the Communal Ranch Rifle. mainly it’s just used to scare away coyotes (or, yknow, actually hit coyotes) but it does occasionally see real action as well, tho not often.

also. does it even need to be said? his hat.. holder... bead... thing. with the turquoise inlay. is a gift from Dick

alright and now the fun part! i go through all of jason’s scars, and how he got them. there are quite a few and a lot of them are. Sad. so be warned, and take care of yourselves! (also just for the record, i promise the fic itself isnt actually as dark as this will make it sound. basically none of this shows up in the story, i was just given free reign to design whatever i wanted, and poor jason ended up paying the price)

ok so. scars.

first off, the claw and bit marks on his arms and shoulders are from getting attacked by some coyotes back when he was still just a kid. to quote my explanation back when i pitched this to Em, “bc as a Young Human with minimal supervision and not necessarily having someone to call him inside once it gets dark, he was unfortunately Very Delicious, if somewhat scrawny, by coyote standards”

next up: a bullet scar on his abdomen, on his lower left side (our right), from some kind of shootout with a criminal. this one is middling-recent; after bruce adopted him, but before the joker thing. i dont really have anything concrete for that one but it was a through and through, and somehow, miraculously, missed hitting any bones, and any organs. just missed his lower rib by like. an inch. that one messed bruce up more than jason, honestly. if anything, he was just surprised it took him that long to get shot, with the life he's had

the ones on his cheek and on his chin were just Regular Childhood Shenanigans scars, no real story.

the one through his mouth is from his time with the joker though. there's also the J brand on his right bicep, also from the joker.

also joker related, hes got a lot of scars on his hands, especially his knuckles and fingertips, from trying to fight his way out of his captivity, and scratching his fingers raw trying to pry open the door to his cell/untie the rough rope he way tied with/whatever the specific situation was. also some minor rope burn scars on his wrists from the same deal.

also some blade scars across his palms from trying to stop/block knives. definitely with the joker, but probably at some point in his youth as well

a few faint lines across his neck from being a temporary hostage a few time while helping Bruce on cases when he was younger, but none of them ever went deep or caused any serious damage

oh and also, whip scars on his back from his time with the joker, which arent too prominent, and mostly cant be seen from the front, except for a couple of spots where they crest over his shoulders and the very tail ends of them can be seen, but they’re there

and also some kind of straight scar on his left forearm, which was a carry-over from my usual Jason design, that i like but dont really have a story for, so that one’s purely aesthetic, lol

and that’s it! i think? that’s all my notes on that? either way this post is getting Way Too Long, and i still gotta do the image descriptions, so i’m calling it there.

[IMAGE ID: two images of Jason Todd in old-fashioned cowboy clothing. He has red, curly hair with a streak of white running through it at the front. his skin is pale but sunburnt, has deep-blue eyes, many freckles both on his face and on the rest of his exposed skin, and his body is broad and muscular, and he has many scars. he has small round metal piercings in the lobes of both ears, as well as an additional two in the top cartilege of his right ear.

in the first image, he is facing directly at the viewer with his arms crossed, and a challenging look on his face. he is wearing a maroon cowboy shirt with checkered red accent at the chest and the sleeves rolled up to his upper arms. he has a dark blue polka-dot bandana tied around his neck, and over that pass two strands of red braided cord holding his tan cowboy hat, which is visible hanging off his neck behind him. the cords are tipped with small metal beads, and pass through a large, dark brown wooden bead inset with turquoise, which regulates their length. he is wearing dark-wash blue jeans with prominent yellow stitching, pulled over his cowboy boots up to the ankle until only the foot of each boot is visible. the boots are dark brown with pale seams and red stitching, and light brown heels and soles. fastened around each boot are embossed red spur-straps, with metal spurs extending from them behind the boots. at his waist are two cracked leather belts. one is dark brown, with a pale silver buckle stamped with vine designs, and it is threaded through his belt loops. the second belt is hanging diagonally over his hips and holds his gun and holster. this belt is a reddish tan with a pattern of darker brown, overlapping rings down its length, and has a darker silver buckle. it is long enough that the loose end of it wraps back around itself several times before hanging down. the holster is simple brown leather folded over the gun, with two straps to tighten it. the gun itself is an ornate and expensive-looking revolver, black metal with intricate gold detailing and a mother-of-pearl grip.

in the second image, he is facing slightly to the side, with a long shotgun propped over his shoulder with one hand and an unimpressed expression on his face as he looks somewhere to the right of the viewer. he is shirtless, and his torso is muscled, stocky, and as sunburned and freckled as the rest of him. his cowboy hat is hanging off his neck again behind him, once more held in place by the braided red cord and round wood-and-turquoise bead. he is wearing tan, high-waisted pants tucked into his cowboy boots, which are the same as in the first image but now fully visible, with red pulls at the top. the pants are attached to red suspenders, though they are not on his shoulders and hang down around him instead. his gunbelt is once more around his hips, but the holster is obscured behind him, and isn't visible. the hand not holding the shotgun is down loosely at his side, and has a red and white bandana wrapped around the wrist. END ID]

#batfam big bang 2020 #jason todd #red hood #Bats Of The West #daria draws #alright im done #it's like 2 am and im passing out at my keyboard and im sure there's a million typos in this fucking novel of a post but #it's FINISHED #soct 07 edit: i JUST realised the first pic was an older non-updated version but it'e been fixed!#god i cant believe im releasing my art w fucking patchnotes now

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inyournightmares97 · 5 years ago

Text

All I Want For Christmas Is: Money [Bambam]

Bambam is running the Christmas Raffle for “charity”, but you’re not convinced of his motives. Can someone as selfish as him ever understand the true spirit of Christmas?

Word Count: 5k

Part of : All I Want For Christmas Is: A GOT7 Collab

One Month Ago

“You know what I love most about Christmas?”

Yugyeom raised an eyebrow. He and Bambam were sitting in a cozy little coffee shop, drinking sugary mugs of hot chocolate to ward off the cold. Christmas decorations filled nearby stores and the holiday season was seeping into the atmosphere.

“Presents?” Yugyeom guessed. “I’m assuming you like the presents.”

Bambam made a face. “No, man. Let’s be real. People are shit at giving Christmas presents. I think the last time I got a present I actually wanted was when I was ten years old.”

“I bought you a designer jacket last year.”

“Which I loved.”

Yugyeom rolled his eyes. He knew when Bambam was being insincere and he had ceased to care. “Sure you did. You loved it so much that you never wore it. Anyway, I’ll bite. What do you love most about Christmas?”

Bambam grinned. “The spirit of giving.”

“You’re kidding.”

“I mean, not exactly the fact that I have to give,” Bambam clarified quickly. “But that everyone else is in a giving mood. People save up for Christmas-time. Workplaces give holiday bonuses. Wallets are full and purse-strings are loose, Yugyeom. Do you know what that means?”

Yugyeom took a sip of his hot chocolate. “Tell me.”

“When everyone wants to give, there needs to be somebody to take. And I selflessly volunteer to be that person. I intend to be the lucky recipient of all the goodwill that fills people’s hearts during this fine holiday season.”

“How?”

Bambam leaned back in his chair, a smug smile on his face. “Where do people go to spend time and money during Christmas?”

“The White Miracle Market.”

“And what’s the best way to convince people to part with their money without promising anything in return?”

“... I don’t know.”

Bambam held up two fingers. “Number one, charity. Number two, the lottery. These are the ways you convince people to hand over cold, hard cash for nothing in exchange. It requires no investment but I will rake in the profits. Get ready, Yugyeom. I’m going to be rich by the end of Christmas; season of giving be damned.”

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

Present Day

You had a knack for sniffing out bullshit.

The White Miracle Market was a beautiful place to be during Christmas-time. The enormous Christmas tree, the twinkling lights, the creative stalls and shops and little eateries filled it's visitors with warmth and the true spirit of the holiday season. The streets echoed with laughter, pleasant chatter and screams of delight.

So why did that clumsy-looking raffle ticket counter give you bad vibes?

“Let’s go get some chocolate!” your friend suggested. “I heard that there are some awesome homemade chocolate stalls around the corner.”

“Just a second,” you insisted as you made a beeline for the raffle ticket counter. Your friend followed you, confused when you stopped a few feet away from the counter and squinted at it. The big colorful sign above the stall was handwritten. Standing behind the counter was a painfully familiar face.

Bambam.

“Hey. Isn’t that Bambam?” your friend asked with a giggle. “That guy you went on a date with that one time who stuck you with his bill?”

You flinched. There could not be a more unpleasant memory to recollect during the lovely holiday season. You had gone on exactly one date with Bambam; arguably the worst date of your life. The handsome young man had picked you up in his fancy car, driven you to one of the most expensive restaurants in town and nearly charmed your pants off with his smooth talk while he ordered all the priciest things on the menu.

And then he’d had the gall to ask you to pay half the bill.

It wasn’t the splitting of the bill that you had a problem with. You would have offered to share the cost even if he hadn’t asked. The problem was that Bambam had ordered three extra servings of the most expensive seafood dish on the menu, and two glass of the most expensive wine, while you’d had a salad and a coke.

His food had cost four times more than yours but he wanted to split the bill in half.

For shame.

Understandably, you’d politely turned down his offer of a second date and then ghosted him afterwards. Part of you wondered if he’d only asked Jackson to set the two of you up because you worked as a veterinary doctor and presumably earned a lot of money.

So what if Bambam was devastatingly handsome and tall and looked like a male supermodel?

He was a gold-digger.

“What is he doing here?” you grumbled.

Bambam was wearing a dark maroon Christmas sweater that hung off his slim frame and telling some wide-eyed kids about all the cool prizes they could win if they bought a raffle ticket. It seemed extremely unnatural for the man. He looked like a sleazy addition to the colorful, fun environment.

“Selling raffle tickets?” your friend asked with a chuckle.

“That’s weird.”

“Why is it weird? Lots of people organize events at the White Miracle Market. I set up a stall to sell handmade scarves last year, remember? Maybe Bambam wanted to organize the raffle. It’s probably for charity.”

You laughed. “Charity? Bambam? I’m not buying it.”

“Why not?”

“It just doesn’t suit his image, okay?”

“You mean it doesn’t suit the image you have of him,” she corrected. “Which, to be fair, is based on only one date that didn’t go very well. You can’t judge his personality based on that. Maybe he’s really a nice person and you caught him on a bad day? Now come on. I want chocolates and I’m not willing to wait!”

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“What can I offer you ladies? A sweet, sugary delicacy? Or perhaps-something more dark and sinful?”

Your friend giggled. Jackson Wang was charming and flirtatious when it suited him. He had a cheerful smile on his face, but you couldn’t concentrate on the festive-shaped chocolates he was showing your friend.

“What’s Bambam up to?” you demanded abruptly.

Jackson blinked. “Sorry?”

“Your friend Bambam. He can’t be serious about that raffle ticket stall, right?”

“Oh now you’re curious about him?” Jackson raised an eyebrow and folded his arms across his chest with a smug smirk. “Sorry, darling, no can do. You can’t come around here and suddenly show interest after ghosting him. You had your chance.”

You flushed. “I’m not interested in Bambam.”

“Then why are you worried about his raffle?”

“I just-well-”

“If it’s really the raffle you’re curious about, go ask him yourself,” Jackson told you.

“Maybe I will.”

“Fine.”

“Fine!” you stormed away, barely listening to Jackson calling for you to buy a chocolate first and help him make some money.

You couldn’t be mistaken about Bambam. It simply wasn’t possible.

He was a greedy, selfish, conniving little brat and you would prove it no matter what.

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

Bambam’s dark eyes widened in surprise when he recognized you. You reminded yourself miserably that whatever else the man lacked, he was undeniably handsome. His Christmas-themed sweater was as stylish as it could get, his long legs cushioned in expensive jeans and a silver watch adorned his wrist. Bambam was…

Classy.

“Hi,” you greeted him.

“Hey,” he responded with a sheepish smile. The curve of Bambam’s lips was almost shy; uncharacteristic for a man that was shameless enough to dump more than your share of an expensive bill on you. Looks could be deceiving. “I didn’t expect to see you around here. Are you here to check out the market?” he asked.

“Evidently,” you replied coldly.

“Oh. Nice.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Selling raffle tickets,” Bambam informed you cheerfully. He pointed to the board behind him that listed out all the prizes in bubbly red and green font. “First place wins a flat screen TV, second wins a new laptop and third an iphone. The next four people win gift hampers. What do you say? Want to try your luck? The proceeds go to charity!”

You raised an eyebrow in disbelief.

“Charity,” you repeated.

“Sure.”

“Which charity?”

“It’s… a charity for abused animals.”

“Fascinating. Tell me more.”

“Uh…” Bambam laughed awkwardly but he was saved from having to answer your question by a pair of 7-year old girls that interrupted you. One of them was dragging another by the hand and she pushed past you to the front of the counter.

“Can you show us the picture of the cat again?” the girl asked Bambam with a pout. “My friend wants to see them.”

“Uh-sure, kids-”

Bambam pulled out his cellphone and handed it to the girls. The other girl gasped as soon as she saw the picture; her hands went to cover her mouth in horror. “Oh no! It looks so thin and starved! What happened to all its hair?”

“The raffle ticket man told me some evil people pulled out her hair before she was rescued! We have to buy raffle tickets so that they can save the poor cats from those evil people!” the other girl insisted. You watched in disbelief as the two girls gave Bambam his phone back, along with fistfuls of coins to pay for their raffle tickets.

You waited until the kids left before you stared at Bambam.

“That’s a sphynx cat. It’s not supposed to have any hair,” you stated.

Bambam laughed awkwardly. “I mean, yeah, but you know kids. They have wild imaginations, and who are we to reign in their creativity, huh?” Bambam noticed the unimpressed look on your face and his smile dropped. “I know how this looks, and I’ll admit the cat was a white lie. But the raffle is really for charity! And you might win something!”

“I highly doubt that,” you replied dryly.

“But-”

“Because not only is that a sphynx cat, it’s your sphynx cat. Or did you forget that you showed me pictures of all your cats on our first date?”

Bambam bit his plump lips and sighed, shoulders slumping. He was painfully reminded that your first date had been your last date.

And not by his choice.

“Yeah, most girls are impressed by cute pets. I guess you’re used to them since you’re a vet? Or are you just not a fan of men who have cats?”

“I’m not a fan of men who take money from little girls on false pretences,” you quipped.

“But-”

“Hou can be better than this, Bambam. I hope someday you realize that money isn’t everything and there are more precious things in the world.”

Bambam was silent for a moment before he gave you a soft, sad smile.

“Me too.”

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Bambam wasn’t sure why he found you so alluring.

Maybe it was your no-nonsense attitude and the way you never seemed to take any bullshit from anyone. Maybe it was that you were really kind and beautiful and you had this aura about you, one that had captivated him from the very first time he heard you speak.

Bambam had the biggest fucking crush on you.

But it didn’t matter, because he’d already had his chance and blew it.

“I just don’t get it,” he complained miserably. “Most women love me. I’m handsome and charming. How was she so put off by me on our first date?”

Jinyoung sighed. “Come on, man.”

“What? I genuinely don’t understand.”

“Let me put it this way.” Jinyoung reached into his pocket and pulled out an expired ticket, along with a pen. He flipped the ticket over and drew a line on it. “This line is the group of women that are interested in you. And this line right underneath is the group of women that you’re interested in.”

Bambam blinked at the two lines.

“I don’t get it.”

“They’re parallel lines, Bambam. They never meet.”

“So?”

“So you’re fucked,” Jinyoung replied simply. “Now go away.”

Bambam walked through the market miserably. His raffle ticket stall was doing great and he should have been delighted at the amount of money he was raking in. A little lack of ethics went a long way.

But he felt uncomfortable. Not because he was doing something wrong, but because of that weird, queasy feeling that you thought less of him.

Maybe Jinyoung was right. Maybe he was shooting for women that would never like him.

Women like you weren't easily impressed.

“Do you want to come play with our kittens?” a small voice asked.

Bambam stopped in his tracks, realizing he had nearly run over a young boy that was looking at him hopefully. The kid was wearing a vest with a paw print on it and Bambam couldn’t resist the urge to follow the boy over to a stall where a number of little kittens were running around in a small play pen.

“Wow,” he mumbled.

“You can play with them!” the kid prompted.

Bambam chuckled, bending over to reach into the pen as a pair of soft grey kittens instantly leapt onto his hand and tried to nibble on his fingers. They were adorable and fluffy and squishy.

"Fuck, you guys are adorable," Bambam mumbled.

"Will you donate to our animal shelter?" the kid asked hopefully.

Bambam hesitated, one kitten still nibbling harmlessly on his finger. "Uh… I'm sorry, kid. I don't really have any money on me right now."

The kid nodded sadly.. "That's okay. We're just trying to take care of the kittens because we're not sure if we can find them new homes by Christmas and nobody wants to adopt them right now."

"Really?"

"Yeah…"

"Well, damn."

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

Less than four hours after you'd first spotted the raffle ticket stall, you came across Bambam once more.

He was sitting gloomily on the curb with a box of kittens in his lap.

You wanted, so badly, to just simply past this man without stopping to ask him what he was doing, but your curiosity wouldn't let you do that. Despite not particularly liking Bambam, you had to admit that he was one of the most unpredictable and unique people that you’d ever met.

Ah, fuck.

You just had to ask.

“What are you doing with those?” you asked.

Bambam looked up at you, eyes wide and plump lips falling open for a moment. Then he collected himself and cleared his throat. “These?” he asked, gesturing towards the kittens.

“Yes, those.”

“I… may have adopted them?”

You stared at him. He didn’t offer any more information and you started to wonder if perhaps Bambam was really all right in the head. You took a deep breath and decided that your curiosity was unhealthy. Why did you care so much about the weird guy you’d been on a date with one time? You needed to find something else to think about.

“I see. Cool,” you replied before walking away.

You would leave Bambam to his eccentric exploits.

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Except the curiosity was insatiable.

You went back to the market the next day to get some presents for your nieces and nephews and inevitably, the path to the wooden toy-shop required you to walk past Bambam’s raffle stall.

It was closed.

Why was it closed? It was a Sunday, shouldn’t Bambam know that Sundays were the days when most people came to the market? It was also a great day for his target audience- gullible and helpless little kids who were either convinced they would win an iphone or thought they were rescuing the helpless cats.

But Bambam wasn’t there.

“So, uh… how come the raffle stall is closed?” you asked Jaebum casually. He was extremely busy working on something that looked like a dollhouse and he barely looked up at you. The man was the exact opposite of Bambam, you noted. Passionate and dedicated to his craft.

“The raffle stall?” Jaebum asked absent-mindedly. “No clue. Why?”

You bit your lip. “No reason.”

He finally tore his eyes away from the dollhouse and turned to you with a more friendly smile. “Hey, so I think I’m going to need until tomorrow to complete your order. There’s still some finishing touches that I need to give the toys although I can show you what they look like so far-”

“That’s okay,” you reassured him. “I’ll come back tomorrow.”

“Great, thanks.”

You left the wooden toy-shop and strolled down the market street, looking at all the pretty shops and stalls that were bursting with life during the winter season.

And then there was the clumsy, deserted raffle ticket stall.

A small group of kids walked up to the stall, noticed that it was shut and sadly walked away. You frowned.

Where was Bambam?

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He didn’t turn up the next day, either.

The raffle ticket stall was conspicuously shut while you went to buy some chocolates from Jackson and some pretty handmade Christmas cards for your family and friends. By the time you finally reached the wooden toy stall to pick up the toys you had ordered, you couldn’t stand it anymore.

“Where is Bambam?” you demanded as Jaebum packed up your toys for you.

Jaebum blinked. “I don’t know. Maybe you can ask Yugyeom.”

“Is he here?”

“Sure. Hold on. Yugyeom! Come out here for a second!” Jaebum yelled. A tall, broad-shouldered young man emerged from the back with a friendly smile. “Do you know where Bambam is? People have been wondering why his raffle ticket stall is shut.”

Yugyeom blinked. “Oh, him? He’s too busy with the kittens.”

“Kittens?” you demanded.

“Yeah. He adopted them from the shelter but it turns out that they were sick. All of them. He’s been running over to the veterinary center at the hospital for the last two days. I guess they don’t have many vets on duty since it’s the holiday season so he keeps making appointments to meet different doctors.”

“Oh.”

“It’s his fault, he shouldn’t have adopted a whole litter of kittens at once. But what can you do? Bambam’s not the type to give up on anyone.”

You raised your eyebrows. “You mean he has redeeming qualities too?”

Yugyeom folded his arms across his chest and frowned at you. “Look. I’m only telling you this because he likes you. Bambam had a difficult childhood growing up and maybe life taught him to love money more than his pride. But he also knows what it’s like to suffer. Bambam always helps people in distress, and he never gives up on them.”

Your throat felt dry. “Oh.”

He grabbed the bag with the toys you had ordered and handed them to you. “Will you be needing anything else?”

“Uh, no.”

“Great. Thanks for your business. Merry Christmas.”

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You walked into the hospital the next day to see one of the receptionists waiting for you nervously.

“Oh great, you’re here!” she greeted.

You blinked. “Is everything okay?”

“This guy brought in a box of kittens. They’re suffering from a genetic disease and they’re not likely to live long; we’ve already had two other doctors look at them but he keeps asking to see a different doctor every day because he doesn’t believe them. I told him that you’re the best we have and that if you couldn’t do something then nobody could. Can you take a look at them?”

You bit your lip. “A box of kittens, you say?”

“Yeah.”

That sounded familiar.

“... Send him in.”

You were not surprised when five minutes later, Bambam entered your office with a small carrier full of grey, fluffy kittens. He looked both surprised and relieved to see you. He plopped down into the chair opposite your desk and gave you a sheepish smile.

“Hi,” he greeted. “I thought the next vet they sent me to would be you. Apparently you’re the best.”

“I’m pretty sure my colleagues’ diagnosis was accurate, Bambam.”

“No, don’t say that!” he insisted desperately. “I’m sure there’s something that can be done. It’s okay. I don’t care how much money it costs. I just couldn’t stand it if anything happened to these kittens. I took responsibility for these little guys when I adopted them and I’m going to see it through to the end.”

You sighed.

“I hear blood tests and scans were done? Let me pull up the reports.”

“Okay.”

You pulled up the reports on your computer and instantly noticed the problem. It was evident from the reports that the entire litter of kittens suffered from a genetic illness; one that veterinary sciences had yet to find a cure for and one that would ensure that these kittens lived a short and painful life. Your face fell and consequently, so did Bambam’s.

“Bambam….”

“Please don’t say there’s nothing you can do,” he pleaded.

You couldn’t help it. You felt bad for him. The man had clearly formed an attachment to these kittens and he was clutching the carrier tightly as he looked at you with wide, horrified eyes. You hadn’t imagined that the cool, classy and suave Bambam would have such a soft corner for such a helpless group of kittens.

“Bambam, I’m sorry. I think all we can do is make it so they don’t go through any pain.”

“Fuck.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Well that’s a shitty-ass way to start the holiday season, isn’t it? Isn’t there some treatment? Surgery or something? It’s okay even if it costs a lot-”

“It’s not something you can solve with money, Bambam. Veterinary science hasn’t found a cure for genetic diseases like this yet. You could put them in some kind of experimental treatment but it would only prolong the pain and the chances of finding a cure are next to nothing.”

Bambam blinked at you. “Right.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Why are you sorry? It’s not your fault. I’m an idiot for thinking I could help them, I just…” his eyes were shining with the hint of tears and he cleared his throat. “I guess I don’t know what I would have done with them even if they had been healthy. I don’t have enough room at home for eight more cats. I just didn’t think they should be alone at the shelter over Christmas.”

“That’s… kind of you.”

“Nah, it’s hypocritical of me, maybe I just wanted to feel like I was doing something good to make up for all the shit I do.”

You bit your lip. “Hmm.”

“So can I just…” he cleared his throat and looked uncomfortable. “I’m sure the hospital has ways to um… I don’t think I could do it myself, you know?”

“How about you keep them with you over Christmas?”

Bambam blinked. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. You can give them a warm home and keep them comfortable for the holidays. And then afterwards you can drop them off at the hospital and um, we’ll find a way to make it painless for them. I promise,” you suggested.

“Okay. That… that sounds nice.”

“Great.”

“Thanks for your help,” he muttered. He stood up to leave, picking up the carrier full of mewling kittens and walking towards the door. Your throat felt tight as you watched him walk away and you couldn’t control yourself from calling.

“Bambam?”

He turned. “Yeah?”

“Are you going to re-open the raffle ticket stall?”

His lips curled into a pained smile. “Ah. That. I don’t know if I can. I spent all the money I made so far on the medical tests and scans for these little guys. I don’t think I can afford to keep it running. I’ll have to find some way to make some money and refund people who bought tickets.”

You sighed and folded your arms across your chest. “I’ll get the hospital to waive the fees for you on one condition.”

“What’s that?”

“You reopen the raffle ticket stall. And this time you really give your proceeds to an animal abuse charity, instead of conning people into thinking that you will.”

Bambam bit his lip and then gave you a small smile. “Yeah, okay.”

You smiled back. “Great.”

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Christmas Eve

It was late evening when you walked past the stalls at the Christmas Market. Being a vet, you’d had to work through most of the holidays but you’d managed to escape early just on Christmas Eve in time to make it to the market before it closed.

Bambam was just closing up.

“Hey,” you greeted him lightly. “Am I too late to buy some raffle tickets?”

Bambam’s eyes widened cheerfully when he saw you, and he waved a gloved hand in greeting. His neck was cushioned in a fancy scarf.

“Hi! I didn’t expect to see you here! Of course you can buy some raffle tickets. How many do you want?” he asked.

You shrugged. “Ten?”

“That’s a lot,” he smiled and reached down to rip the tickets out of his little book. “You sure you want to spend that much money here?”

“It’s for a good cause.”

“I guess it is,” he mused as he handed you a bunch of tickets and you gave him the cash in return. “You made it just in time. I was about to close up and go home to the kittens. They’ve become incredibly naughty. I don’t know how I’m going to let go of them.”

You smiled sadly. “Don’t get too attached.”

“I know,” he muttered. He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “It’s okay. I think I’m coming to terms with it. Sometimes that’s how life is. The innocent are the ones to get hurt. But I’m glad I could give them a warm home for the holidays.”

“I’m glad too.”

Bambam nodded before he turned the lights off and closed the shutter of his stall. The street was emptying out; most people were headed towards the huge Christmas tree and the dazzling lights but you’d had a long day and planned to go home. You walked towards the exit with Bambam.

“Can I ask you something?” Bambam asked hesitantly.

“Sure.”

“I know… you dodn’t want to go out with me again after that first time,” Bambam explained with a nervous smile. “And that’s fine! I mean, that’s totally your choice. But… can I ask what went wrong during that date? Did we just not click? Did you not enjoy yourself? Or did I say something to upset you?”

You stared at him. “No. I had a great time during the date. It was a lot of fun.”

“Then what was it?”

“You mean you don’t know?”

He shook his head innocently. “I’ve been wondering what could have gone wrong but to be honest, I tried my best to make sure you enjoyed yourself. I figured you just didn’t like me.”

“Bambam. You made me pay for way more than my fair share of the meal. It was a really dick move to pull considering that we were at a really expensive restaurant. If I had known I would be paying for your food too, I would have chosen a cheaper place. The fact that you so coolly asked me to pay was a huge red flag!”

Bambam blinked at you in confusion. “What? But Jackson told me to!”

“Jackson?”

“I was going to pay for the date myself. But Jackson texted me right before the bill came saying that independent women like you were probably feminists and that I should treat you like an equal and that ask to split the bill in half so that you didn’t feel awkward about me paying.”

You stared at him. “Bambam.”

“What?”

“That’s a nice thought, but you ordered all the most expensive things on the menu and I had a salad and coke. Don’t you think going halfsies wasn’t a fair split?”

His cheeks flushed red and he quickly averted his eyes from you. “Okay, yeah. I see it now. I swear it didn’t even occur to me then. I was just following Jackson’s suggestions.”

“Jackson didn’t know what we ordered.”

“I guess not.”

“So you weren’t a gold-digger. You were just an idiot.”

Bambam chuckled awkwardly. “There’s a statement I can’t dispute. I was nervous about messing it up. I really liked you. I still do, I mean. Really like you. But I understand why you’re not interested in me so I won’t push it.”

You sighed and shoved your hands in your pockets. You couldn’t deny that you had seen a different side to Bambam. A more endearing and innocent side. A side that maybe, just maybe, made up for his faux pas at the restaurant and his failure of an attempt to defraud the general public by misappropriating the proceeds of his raffle tickets.

“Do you have any plans tonight?” you asked him.

“Nope. Just going home to watch the cats.”

“Can we pick up a bottle of wine and watch the cats together?” you suggested lightly. “It’s Christmas Eve and I don’t have anywhere else to be either.”

Bambam grinned. “Yeah. We could do that.”

“Then let’s do it.”

Bambam’s dark eyes were fixed on you as you both continued to walk, and you found your heart fluttering a little. He was a sweet guy; perhaps a little stupid, and perhaps his moral compass was a few degrees off, but deep down you had the feeling that Bambam was a nice guy.

“Hey,” he suddenly said with a grin. “How about this? How about I give the charity the exact amount of money you waived from the hospital fee, and keep the rest?”

“How about you keep nothing?” you retorted.

Bambam’s smile fell. “Ok, that’s an issue.”

“Why is that an issue?”

“I don’t have enough money to buy a nice bottle of wine.”

You sighed and resisted the urge to smack yourself in the forehead. “Fine. I’ll buy the fucking bottle of wine.”

Bambam pouted. “You don’t have to get mad, it was only an idea-”

“Here’s an idea. How about once we get to your apartment, we talk about finding you a nice, honest job that you can work at to make money?” you asked.

“Doesn’t sound like much fun,” he pointed out.

“What does sound like fun?”

“Being rich.”

You sighed. Maybe it would take some time getting used to Bambam.

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#got7 #got7 bambam #bambam scenario #got7 scenarios #got7 scenario #bambam fluff #got7 christmas #bambam christmas #got7 christmas collab #got7 fluff #got7 drabble #bambam drabble

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evien-stark · 4 years ago

Text

✧I Need You✧ Chapter 173

It was terribly difficult to get a speech written for the press conference coming up in… three hours from now. You’d been lingering over it all morning. Rhodey had gotten the first phone call over it- one of appreciation for his efforts, of course, and to check on his status. And then to ask him if he’d like to make it official. Him agreeing set another feeling of relief in motion. Knowing you had so many good people taking your spots… that made the thought of stepping back easier. It was also terribly funny. The thought of appointing him as the Avengers’ military liaison. When the two of you had met… he’d been doing the same thing for Stark Industries. And round the circle went...

While you and Tony had gotten caught up in thoughts of retirement you knew this was far more likely to be a changing of positions. The Avengers still needed a lot of help, even if it wasn’t physically fighting battles. You still had your own title with the UN, forced on you or not. And after a catastrophe like Sokovia, it wouldn’t look good for anybody if you just walked away. You had to still do PR work for them, and they still needed to be funded. But that was a far cry from early morning phone calls and being on the frontlines of world-ending events.

...of course, you hoped no more of those would come knocking at earth’s door. But. The probability of them showing up from time to time was higher than them not. And. In the event that the Avengers needed to recall Team Iron… yes. Absolutely. You and Tony would never turn your backs so completely. How could you? That was what had started all of this, after all. Tony’s proclivity to make things right. His need to protect people. Sometimes even from things he’d created himself.

A knock came on your home-office door, and Tony opened the door, standing half in the room. You looked up from your computer screen. He was already dressed. Smartly. Sharply, as always. Three piece suit. Dark silver slacks and a fitted suit jacket, black waist coat and button up shirt, and a maroon tie. His dark plaid pocket square was a little askew, but you’d have time to fix it before the two of you took the stage downstairs in the press room.

You must have been staring, because his grin was a little knowing as he put one hand in his pocket and flicked his other arm up to make a show of checking his watch. “Thought I’d see how you were doing. It’s been an hour since you locked yourself in here. But. I can tell I’m distracting you.”

“Immensely.” Smiling at him. You’d been caught. There was no need to hide your appreciation for just how incredibly handsome he was. “Who dressed you today? They did a fantastic job.” You hung your arm over the back of your computer chair, now putting your roving gaze on full display.

“I dressed myself, thank you very much.” Hand to his chest for a moment, mocking the highest of offense. “Now- who picked out my suit- I can’t recall-”

“Someone who has an eye for what you look good in, no doubt.” Grinning then.

“Mn. She’s pretty good at it by now. Definitely has my unique flare locked down.” She being you. He moved out of the doorway to come closer to your desk, propping himself on the corner.

You made no attempts to hide your roving eyes yet again as you reached up to lightly pluck at one of the top buttons of his jacket. “I’ll have to send her a thank you card. You always look so good.”

He leaned in as you tilted your head up to meet him, your noses brushing. “I’ll pass the message along.” Sealing the sentiment with a lingering, sweet kiss. A little hum traveling from his lips to yours. This was dangerous, and the two of you could very well end up being late for the press conference. You also ran a high risk of ruining his nicely tailored and finely picked out suit. The thing that was getting the both of you in trouble. When you found the strength to part he threatened it all over again as he wore a small smirk on the edge of his lips. “Oh. Honey. Got a message for you- there seems to be a secret admirer for your talents of fashion-”

You silenced him with another kiss, one that half missed its mark as it was marred by his chuckling, but you put a stop to that pretty soon. Turning the laughter into some warm and breathy noise, replacing his ever-present sass with a more inherent need. It was hard to shut him up.

That was yet another one of your unique talents where he was concerned. You were sure he knew.

---

The pair of you were a stylish yet somewhat dour match at the front of the Stark Industries media room. You matched his suit with a fitted, long sleeved houndstooth dress, with thick steel gray trim at the hem. Your pops of dark red came in the form of ruby drop earrings and a heart-shaped necklace you were overly fond of.

The press had been buzzing for an hour waiting for your arrival. Most of your speech was not drafted, which was dangerous. But you couldn’t linger on it any longer. You had a base. The rest would have to come from somewhere deep inside you. ...just hopefully not too deep.

“The loss of life that occurred in Sokovia forty-eight hours ago is a devastation unlike anything the earth has seen. And the loss of land is something that had previously been unfathomable.” Statistics came up on your prompter that you read over, trying not to wane while you called out the known casualties. The known injured. Even while the Avengers had tried their best to save lives… it was never a zero sum. Never.

“The Stark Relief Foundation is on the scene currently, rehousing, rehoming- trying to find a place for every person that lost theirs in that terrible battle. In times like this it’s important to come together. It’s important to see through the fog of war and remember that we are one planet. We need to look out for each other. Take care of each other. That’s why I’m looking forward to discussions with the nations of the globe on a solution for the people of Sokovia. Sokovians didn’t have much, but I know they would have helped if it were anywhere else.”

It was as important to mention that Stark Industries (and the Avengers by extension) were running clean up. And not so much mention it was clean up of a mess that maybe had been potentially caused by them. It was important to call out the need to come together, and to bring leaders into the narrative, so that they would have to call. So that they would have to do something. Otherwise be labeled as the ones who failed to act during an international crisis. You knew you couldn’t count on anyone’s blind charity. Forcing them was the only option.

“The Sokovians have faced real horrors. It is going to take a lot of time to heal. While we are glad that the Avengers were there to assist them, I have to make special mention of Colonel James Rhodes. He is a highly decorated officer who has been a valuable asset to several missions as of late- this one especially. It’s why I’m pleased to appoint him our new military liaison. I know with his guidance and with his knowledge, we can build a much needed bridge between the authorities of the world and the Avengers- the Avengers who without fear and without hesitation charge into every catastrophe that calls upon them.”

This speech might have been better given by someone that wasn’t part of the Avengers. But there was no one else to give it. Even if there was- your team wasn’t one person after all- they didn’t want to. This seemed to always be something that you had to do. And you’d still have to do it. Even when you and Tony announced that you’d be stepping away. ...which wouldn’t be a public affair. That would be a team discussion. And maybe even less of a discussion and more just… telling each individual. When the time was right. Which would be sooner than you were comfortable with. But you had to just do it. Or else you might not ever.

---

The next day, in your brand new office at the brand new Avengers Facility, while you were busy wading through damage reports and expense reports and emails and email reports- ...okay it was getting a little ridiculous. Like it always did after a huge incident-

There came a hesitant knock at your door. And an even more hesitant man behind it. Clint, in fact. Who put his hands in his pockets and hung his head a little. “Do you have a minute?”

Already you knew what this was about. This bastard was going to do it before you. Talk about guts. You stopped your keystrokes. “Sure. What’s up?”

He shut the door behind him, only more confirmation of what was about to happen. And then he came to sit in front of your desk, putting his hands in front of him. Cloudy. Thinking. Thinking about how to- “You know. I rehearsed this a thousand times in my head. It was supposed to be really simple.” His smile was self deprecating. And a little sad.

Yours suddenly matched. “You’re leaving, huh?”

“That obvious?” He glanced up at you suddenly but his surprise faded quickly. “-yeah. Guess it would be.” To you, he meant. And meant nothing by it, either.

“You have kids. And another one on the way. Something I had no idea about. I can’t imagine how Laura does it.”

“She’s stronger than me, that’s for sure.”

“I wouldn’t doubt it.” Grinning a little wryly. He seemed to appreciate the humor. “You tell anyone else yet?”

“Nat knows.” Obviously she did. Nat knew everything about him. They were closer than you’d ever be with either of them. That was fine. “But. I wanted to come to you first.”

“Why me?” Not that it mattered. But really, you hadn’t considered yourself high on the list of people Clint would tell that he was leaving. At least not the first after Natasha.

He took a deep breath and let it out in a sigh as his head tilted. “Well… you kinda run things around here.” Part of you wanted to reject this. Wanted to also follow it up with not for long. But that wouldn’t even be true. “And. You look out for us. I know I haven’t said as much but. I really appreciate everything you’ve done for me. And for the team. I don’t think they appreciate it as much. How much you put yourself out there. So we don’t have to.”

Someone like Clint would be the one to openly admire the benefits that came with something like that. It was true. For someone who hid almost all of his private life. Someone who wanted nothing to do with the fame that came with being a superhero. Someone who just wanted to do what was right- ...and then not get caught holding the aftermath the way you had to-

His aforementioned appreciation was just that. And it was deep.

“Tony and I are used to it.” Deflection came as a natural reflex. Out of everyone on your team, you and Tony were the most used to being media darlings. Or being the ones everyone loved to hate. Either way. It was a life you knew.

“Doesn’t mean you had to. Doesn’t mean you had to do any of what you’re doing right now.”

You felt a little helpless as he looked at you. “Someone had to.”

“And we’re lucky it was you.”

You couldn’t recall a time Clint had ever been this candid with you. But, if he really was leaving, maybe this was the best time for it. To get out everything the two of you had never had the chance to. Your smile was small but you couldn’t help it. “Thanks, Clint. Will you at least send me some baby pictures?”

At this he laughed. “Sure. Why not? Maybe it’ll give Stark some ideas.”

Your hand came straight up. “Don’t start. Or I’ll rescind my blessing.”

“I’ll still leave.” He grinned as he stood.

“But it won’t be as nice as it just was.” You stood after him and offered your hand across the desk.

He considered it. For almost too long a time. But finally he gave you a shake. And right in the middle of it he gave you a more serious look. “You and Stark consider going down that road yet?” Apparently before Clint left, he needed to be sure of this.

“We’ve talked about it.” Not so much specifically having kids, but, about having a life. Which you were a few weeks out from attempting. And still not ready to tell anyone.

“Don’t talk for too long.” He held your hand still then. “Opportunities don’t come often.”

“No they don’t.” Agreeing with him. It certainly wasn’t now or never. But… That moment was getting awfully close.

---

Over the next handful of days, the Facility really started coming to life. Some of the team had gotten a little more settled in their personal private quarters. Damage Control also had their own host of barracks- which you weren’t sure how you felt about. The Avengers had never been about trying to recreate SHEILD. And the way they marched around campus wasn’t all that convincing that someone wasn’t pulling the strings while you had your back turned but…

You couldn’t control everything. You didn’t want to anymore, in fact. So you had to let that go. It helped to have experienced agents in the field, when you dispatched them. When you needed them. So. ...maybe it was a necessary evil. You tried hard not to think about it.

Instead you focused on your meeting with legal that afternoon, and promptly afterwards you dropped down to the science labs. Alight with excitement and activity. There was one person you were there to see specifically, and she seemed to be hosting a mini-lecture, talking strongly about things that went right over your head in concerns to her research. You politely waited for her to finish and clear her assistants out, and once she did-

“Helen, can I have a word with you?” You felt a little nervous, but had no inclination to show it.

That she even still wanted to be here after everything that had happened to her was a miracle. But… you suspected what you were offering- or about to- had a lot to do with it. “We’re running on borrowed time.”

“Don’t I know it.” Joking. But it seemed to miss its mark. She gave you a polite smile and nothing more. So you quickly moved on. Plopping a hefty folder down, you pushed it her way over the table. “We’re done drawing up the documents to merge Stark Industries and U-GIN. It’s less about us and more about you. We’d like to offer you a permanent position here. As head of bio-organic sciences for the Avengers.”

She made a play at not being so intrigued. It failed, but she probably had no idea. “Is that so? What are you offering?”

“Your own labs. Your own funding. Public backing. We just ask that when the Avengers need help you give it.” That was really more what this was about. Her tech had been instrumental in helping the team. In keeping some of them alive even. It was useful. And they needed it. Not everyone was a Super Soldier.

Opening the folder, she flipped through a few of the pages. She was an extremely smart woman, smarter than you would ever hope to be, but even you knew that telltale glaze of the eyes when faced with legalese. “What about housing?”

This- ...this you hadn’t considered. “Uh- it’s not in the official documents. But, if you want something here, we’d be happy to accommodate you.”

As suddenly as she’d opened it, she snapped the folder shut, putting her hand on top of it and looking directly at you. “I’ll be very straight with you. I need stability. If you offer that I’ll stay.”

Seeing as how you had nothing to lose by doing so, you nodded. “Sure. Tell me what you need.”

“I don’t want quarters here. I need a house. I have a son and… I’m sure you can imagine that life going back and forth from labs hasn’t been easy on him.” She softened then, and there was a sheen of guilt that ghosted her. Worried she was a bad mother, perhaps.

“I had no idea.”

“Not many people do. And I’d like to keep it that way, as well.”

You almost shrugged. But this was a little bit more important than a casual conversation. This was everything to her. You had money to throw around that no one else on the planet did. Sometimes that slipped by you. Terrible though it was. “Sure. A house. And confidentiality. We can provide all that.”

Hearing your agreement, and trusting you for that matter, she eased up. Her smile was a little more real. “Alright then. I’ll sign.”

“Great. Glad to hear it.” The meeting was over. So you thought you probably should leave. She’d hand in the documents to Pepper or somebody else who would then hand them to legal for processing- but- “What’s your son’s name?”

At this she really did brighten. It was easy to see- she loved her work. She loved being a scientist. But she loved him more. A feeling maybe one day you would know… “Amadeus. He’s twelve.”

“I bet he takes after you.”

Now she was grinning. “You have no idea.”

---

Tony had introduced you to your quarters that night. While you weren’t excited at the idea of living there, and clearly neither was he, it was still nice to have a home away from home away from… well, if the two of you could actually get it together enough to make an actual home… maybe that’s why it felt so bad. The penthouse suite of the Tower wasn’t supposed to be your home either. You didn’t want to get too attached to the lofty Facility living space that Tony had put aside for the two of you. And there was always the danger that you would.

It was why you didn’t want to decorate it too much but it needed a little bit more personality than what he’d given it. Which was fine. Tony wasn’t really a homemaker. He seemed to give you credit where it was due, though, over the next three days around other more important things like meetings and press junkets of goodwill and hope, you did decorate it. Make it more cozy. And the night you decided you were done enough, he actually slept.

And so did you.

For a little while, at least. At five in the morning your mind stirred. It would have been so nice to sleep like a normal person. You were getting there. Close. Things were wrapping. You just had a few more personal things to do. But your head was clearer than it had been in a long time, and while the sun was lifting, you decided to go for a run around the campus. It meant leaving Tony asleep alone in that giant bed, but you did stop to admire his deeply sleeping form. Not held by terrors or worries. If only he could be like that all the time.

The run was nice. Nobody else seemed to be up yet. But as you stopped just outside the living area again after a good five mile tour, breathing hard, hands on your knees, you spied Steve sitting outside on the patio. Alone. Cup of coffee wisping away. This was probably a sign. And no matter how hard this was going to be, it was now or never.

You rounded the area and came over to the table, he seemed like he was a million miles away until you got close enough. He then looked up and his smile was warm. “Good morning.”

“Good morning.” Huffed out a little, still gathering yourself up. “Mind if I sit with you?”

He made a broad gesture with a sweep of his arm. “Please. Sit. You want some coffee?”

Water would have been better, but while he was offering- “If you don’t mind making me a cup.”

“Not at all.” Just like that he got up and went back into the kitchen. It left you sitting there, thinking about just how you were going to do this. How you were supposed to. What was the right way to break the news. When he came back he set down not only a cup but a shaker of sugar and a little carton of half and half. “-I don’t know how you take it. I should have asked.”

“That’s okay. Thanks for making me some.” This was nice but it was also stilted. He probably sensed it. And even after you prepped your cup, the two of you sat in silence that was less than amicable. Finally you decided you just had to rip the bandaid off and get it over with. “So.”

“So.” He was gazing at you. Just short of intensely. Almost like he was expecting you to talk about something.

Your smile back was weak at best and brief. A flash and then gone as you looked down into your coffee. “So… uh. Tony and I…” The thought trailed off, not sure what to say even after all that thinking.

“Are pregnant?” He tried to finish what you were trying to get out.

And it completely stunned you. Your head whipped up- even stranger still- getting the sense of a small well of hopefulness from him. “No- no.” Denial was quick and easy. “What?” Your head reeled a little further back, almost in offense. “What? No. Why would you say that?” He looked completely caught. Eyes a little wide. Suddenly very, very nervous. “Steve why would you say that?” Your words were quick and clipped.

He was very close to grimacing. “I- ...I don’t know what to say right now that won’t get me in more trouble.”

“Do I look pregnant to you?”

Quickly he shoved his hand out, palm up. “No! You look great! You look- you look how you always look!”

“Then why would you say that?” You weren’t sure why but you found yourself a little disturbed that he’d just say something like that.

“I don’t know- you-” He sighed, shoulders dropping from their tense position as he hung his head with a little shake. “I don’t know. You’ve seemed happier, I guess. These past couple of weeks. Despite everything that’s happened. And…” Another long breath pushed out of him and he looked up at you again. “Let’s be honest. You kinda seem like you’re getting your affairs together. At least that’s how it’s felt.”

Had you made it that obvious? “Oh.” Now you felt terrible. “Yeah I… I guess I have been.” Letting him down finally from that anxious high. A little too soon actually, so you threw a look back at him. “Well I’m not pregnant.��

“Okay. I won’t make that mistake again.” Grinning, testing the waters.

Your grin back was not as full. “But. Tony and I… we’ve been thinking of taking some time away.” The way his heart just sank killed you. He tried not to show it. But you felt its quick drop. It propelled you into overcorrection. “Just- just for a little while.”

But he shook his head, and spoke through his sad smile. “Not for a little while.”

“No. Not for a little while.” Echoing him, unable to look at him then. Guilty. “We want a lot of time. We want-” It sucked, that it hurt saying this. It shouldn’t have. You wanted a life with Tony. Why was that such a terrible thing to say?

“If anyone deserves it, it’s you and Tony.” He was sure about this. A steady presence after all that initial stumbling.

“Thanks.” But it all felt hopeless.

He tipped his head a little. “Are you asking for my blessing?” Joking, just a little. It wasn’t really that funny. This exchange was familiar to both of you now.

You gave a shrug and then decided to stop meandering, looking down. “I can’t leave unless you’re okay with it. And I don’t want that to back you into a corner- tell me- honestly- if you’re not-”

“I’m okay with it.” He cut you off with a strength you did not possess right now. And then surprised you again as he set a hand over yours on the table. The way he said your name was strange yet familiar at the same time and you looked up at him. “We’ll be okay.”

But it was like he’d stuck a knife into you with that. Like he’d actually denied you. It hurt all the same. “Will you?” You asking this seemed to stun him, for some reason. His gaze went a little more than foggy. Distant. Until eventually his eyes left yours. Something tangled inside him, though he was holding back. Knowing exactly who he was sitting with. His guilt poked you like a hot knife. And soon you worried… you worried you weren’t actually going to be able to leave. He didn’t want you to go. But it seemed he was feeling guilty- ashamed, too- of thinking of asking you to stay. Even for a little while longer. “Steve? You can talk to me. About anything. Whatever it is you wanna say. Just say it.”

Getting his attention back finally he breathed a noise out, dropping his head in a nod. “Look… we’ve been through a lot. And… I’m gonna miss you.”

“Come on.” Turning your hand over in his, giving him a wiggle. “I have an office upstairs- and a suite. Tony has labs here and projects he’s excited about. You’ll still see me. I’m not disappearing completely. I still have to do press for the Avengers. And do payroll and all that. I’m not leaving here. I’m not abandoning you guys.”

“Good. I’m glad to hear it. But that’s not what I meant.”

Steve meant… he’d miss fighting alongside you. He’d miss getting mission statements. Getting debriefings. Hell, even fighting with you about what direction was best. It wasn’t always fun, it was never easy. But… it was the basis for a lot of your relationship. And he would miss having you in that part of his life.

The two of you were staring at each other. Before you knew it, a few tears had escaped down past the line of your lashes. “Yeah. I’m gonna miss you, too.”

It was hard to tell who got up first. But the end result was still the same. He’d pulled you into a tight hug. He was letting you go. He was telling you this was okay. It was okay to leave. To start a life. He was letting you know he would take over. Without question. He would do his best. He would lead the Avengers. He would fight the fights.

...and you’d miss each other.

---

Aside from all the usual work you had to put in after a crisis, nothing happened immediately after your talk with Steve for the next few days. It was why you suspected a storm was on its way. Especially if you kept putting off having a similar talk with the rest of your teammates. The one with Steve had been so emotionally taxing, it had put you off wanting to do it again.

But the universe perhaps for once was on your side. And it forced your teammates to you instead. All at once.

You’d just come out of a long meeting hosted at one of the conference rooms in the Facility. Once the air had cleared and everyone had left the area, you double checked your schedule. Clear for the rest of the night. It would be a nice time to reconvene with Tony. See if he’d done any similar talking yet-

“Lady.” Thor called your attention from down the hall, heavy boots bringing him to you in just a few steps. “I would like to speak with you.”

For one reason or another, anxiety flared tight in your chest. But you had no good reason not to. Feelings aside. “Sure, Thor. Why don’t we take a walk?”

“I’d like that.” His smile tried to ease your fears. It missed its mark. Outside in the dying light of the sun the air was muggy and not at all as refreshing as you’d hoped. Still, you stuck your hands into your pockets and waited for him to say whatever it was he had to say. He didn’t take too long. Only waiting until you were far enough out of earshot of the compound. “Before the Vision was born, I visited a holy place called the Water of Sights.”

Oh. So he was jumping right in. You had little time to react to this new information. “Is that on earth?” Or had he traveled somewhere else?

“It is everywhere. In every realm. The Water of Sights is inhabited by a people called the Norns. They see what is to come.”

Even though you really didn’t understand too much about this, you nodded. “That’s where you had your vision, right? About JARVIS- or- err- Vision- and the Infinity Stones?”

“Yes.” He said this so resolutely it startled you momentarily. But much more so when he stopped walking. You turned, a little in front of him, but still close. His eyes watched yours. Deeply. “I saw you.”

“Me?” Hand raising to not only gesture at yourself, but to press at your chest just a little. That anxiety was starting to get the better of you. You felt very tight. “Why me?”

“That is what I would like to find out. In my vision I saw the Infinity Stones. Four of them.”

“Four? I thought you said there were six?”

“I saw the four I believe we know of. That we have had contact with, even if brief.” Really, though, what it sounded like was he was pitching you this information in the hopes that you knew something he didn’t. So he could tie it all together.

But not only did you know nothing about this. You also wanted nothing to do with it. You started shaking your head. It was too little too late now, though. You couldn’t deny this. Thor had seen you in a vision about the stones. All you could do was plead ignorant. Lie. ...it didn’t seem right. “My powers- whatever they are- come from a stone.”

“Are you certain?”

“Mostly?” Offering this with a raise of both your hands and a tight uptilt of your voice. “I don’t know. We’re still trying to figure it out. Nobody else knows. Tony had been doing some experiments with Bruce- having to do with gamma signatures and… stuff that’s way beyond me. But. They said that’s what they think. And if that’s what they think-”

“Then the probability that it is correct is very high.” Thor’s gaze went a little foggy as he nodded. “But you know nothing of which stone? Or what happened?”

You crossed your arms. “No. I’m sorry I can’t help you. When I know more you’re now the first I’ll check in with.” Aside Tony, of course.

His attention returned fully to you and his smile was sure as he reached out to lay a hand on your shoulder. “I appreciate that, Lady. I mean to leave soon, to travel the realms and find out more about the stones. But. Whatever it meant- you in my vision- I believe it can only mean good things.”

Your nose wrinkled and reluctance was easy. “Why?”

“For the same reason that I trust the Vision. He possesses the Mind Stone, and means to do good with it. If you have anything to do with another stone, it will only help us. You are one of the most trustworthy people I know. And I know your heart is good.”

His optimism was a little hard to take in all at once. You decided to focus on something else, “Wait- I mean- thank you- but… Tony thinks I was experimented on- or that I had some interaction with a stone when I was younger. Kind of like Wanda. And Pietro. But you didn’t see them. I don’t understand.”

“Nor do I. But I’m hoping my travels will reveal more information.”

This was an unsatisfactory answer. In fact it wasn’t an answer at all. And really now you felt worse. Thor was putting a lot on you all at once about these stones, not that he was doing it on purpose you were sure. But you really didn’t want anything to do with them. You’d almost mostly decided as long as Tony never brought it up again… maybe you’d just never talk about it. But now Thor was telling you he saw you in a vision-

“Lady, everything will be alright. You have my word.”

Your spiraling must have been a little too obvious. You forced a smile. “Sure.” Not really agreeing with or even believing him. “Can I just ask you that we keep this between us?”

He nodded. “It was why I wanted to speak with you alone.”

You were undecided if this was better or worse. That Thor’s instinct was to not let anyone else know, too. ...probably worse. ---

The talk with Thor had left you a little frazzled and worse for wear. Your immediate instinct was to find Tony. So you went back to the compound. And while your heart was already in the suite, your attention was stolen by two fingers on the ground level training floor. You could have easily passed them by, but- moving beyond the catwalk, one of them spotted you.

And then in the next second Pietro was up there with you. “You’re a hard woman to get a hold of, you know that?” He leaned over the balcony, grinning.

“Just busy.” Your nerves were too shot for this encounter. But it didn’t seem like you had much of a choice. “How are you feeling?” The least you could do was check in on him. Maybe he was right. Maybe you were extremely unavailable. Little did he know that was about to get worse.

His head dropped, hands clasped together. “Fine.” Answer short and clipped. The air between you was tense. You thought about excusing yourself. “As far as I can tell, that’s because of you. I’ve asked around. No one seems to know what I’m talking about.”

You found yourself a little too upset very quickly and you put a hand up to him to get his attention. When he looked at you, “What happened between us? Whatever I did for you? It needs to stay between us. Okay?”

Turning the other way on the railing, he splayed his arms out, brows knit. “Why?”

“Because I don’t know what I did.” You were being a little harsh, but you just didn’t have it in you to be gentle right now. Even if he seemed like he needed that. “All I know is you’re alive. That’s what’s important, right?”

“I shouldn’t be alive.” That careless sarcastic facade reduced to ashes in mere seconds. And… for a moment, behind your eyes, you saw Tony. Collapsing into a chair in the lab. Looking at you with pained eyes. You had to shake yourself free. “I shouldn’t be but…” Pietro continued and you tried to yank yourself out of that memory. He put a hand on his chest. “But I am. And I’m trying to figure out what comes next.”

Wanda had stopped what she was doing and was now standing just below. Listening in, no doubt. You took a deep breath. “Are you two staying? With the Avengers?”

He shrugged. “Seems like we are.”

“Then you need to work really hard. The world is going to be looking at you two. Sokovians who fought in its war. Who now stand for something greater. The media is already trying to take advantage of you for headlines.”

The roll of his eyes- his carelessness- it bugged the hell out of you. “I don’t care about all that.”

You got very close to putting your finger right into his chest as you pointed at him. “Well you have to. If you’re going to be part of this team you have to care. You and your sister. And they’ll look after you. They’ll protect you.”

He seemed annoyed. “Who says we need protecting? We got by on our own. We can again.”

“The world has seen you. They know you now. You are enhanced individuals. Not only that, but you’re now only under the protection of the Avengers. An American organization. You’re going to have to get your citizenship-”

Wanda had stepped onto the catwalk. And she was interrupting you. “We are citizens of Sokovia.”

You were about to flare. Burn them both up to a crisp. You didn’t want to deal with this right now. But a new energy had entered. Where Wanda had joined on the left, you heard pointed footsteps on your right. Tony had appeared. You didn’t know where from or how he knew to come get you. You just knew that you were grateful. He started waving his arm about. “Look. That’s great and all. I get it. The patriotic flare. But Sokovia is gone. And someone needs to take you in.” When he finally came to a stop you were seconds from sagging against him. His loving brush across your back kept you sane in that moment.

Both of them stood together, almost opposite you and Tony purposefully. Wanda narrowed her eyes. “You cannot ask us to abandon our home.”

Tony put a hand up. “Not abandon. Nobody said abandon. But, let’s get real here for a second. You’re enhanced. You’re on American soil. You don’t get smart about this, the President is gonna roll up here and make examples out of you. The guy’s been pretty twitchy these days. Don’t count on his mercy. He’s not like us.”

“Not like you. Yet it sounds like you aren’t giving us another choice. So how are you different? One prison over another.” Wanda really seemed vehement about this. You weren’t sure why.

So you tried to find some footing on her level. Every attempt was made to keep your tone gentle. “You fought. You understood the notion of helping people. Of righting what went wrong. You saw what the Avengers stood for. You see the work that’s going in now. We are not your enemies. We want what’s best for you. Sokovia is gone. I know nobody is more devastated about that than you two. All we can do now is rebuild. This team wants you as part of their family. Not as prisoners.”

Pietro touched her hand with his and she seemed to soften. If only a little. He then looked up at the both of you. “If we agree… what does that mean?”

You and Tony exchanged glances, and he fielded the question. “Nobody’s gonna babysit you. You wanna be here, you put in the time. Really. Citizenship first. I’d expedite but- given you’re the center of a media storm right now- might be good to do it the old fashioned way. It’s gonna take a while, so you gotta get on it. Other than that… show up, when somebody needs you. Fight the good fight. Doesn’t get simpler than that.”

The two of them looked at each other. You were sure a million words passed between them. When they were finished, Wanda turned back. She seemed a little more subdued. And finally, “We will stay.”

Tony’s relief that the two of you wouldn’t have to fight them anymore soaked you through. “Great. Glad to hear it.”

And that was that. ---

While it would have been nice to just go back to your suite and maybe go to bed or decompress, you found Natasha waiting at your door. Today was really just going to keep going. Maybe that was on you. If you’d only spaced all these little talks out, they wouldn’t have piled together like this. She stopped in the middle of a knock when she heard you approaching, and when she turned you noted the big bottle she had in her hand. “Was wondering where you two were.” Grinning just a little. “Hoping I hadn’t missed you already.”

Ah. So. That’s what this was about. Tony opened the door first and you went after him, motioning for her to come in. “You know, huh?”

Her laugh was short. “These guys aren’t the best at keeping secrets. Honestly, my feelings are just hurt because you didn’t tell me first. Out of everyone here, I’ve known you both the longest.” She seemed like she was in a fantastic mood, but some of that was a little bit fake.

She wanted something to do. Something to focus on. Bruce was gone. They’d been getting close. It wasn’t easy for anyone, but you expected she was having a tough time with it, too. You pulled a couple wine glasses out of the cabinet in the kitchen. “Well the only one I told was Steve. So unless Tony has been blabbing all over campus…” Turning back to look at the two of them, Tony looked guilty and Nat looked amused. “Ah. I see.” Turning away again.

Tony started fumbling. “Some things just slip out.”

Natasha wedged the cork out of the bottle as you came over and set glasses down. “Sure. Exciting times, it’s understandable.” You poured a fair amount into three glasses- she’d picked a rather expensive red wine. Always classy, that Natasha. “You gonna miss it?”

You sat down opposite the two of them at the kitchen island. “Like I told Steve- we’ll still be here, you know? You know that more than anyone. Someone’s gotta do paperwork for the Avengers.”

Tony sipped heavily at his glass and then shook his head. “Mn. Not me. You people don’t pay me enough.”

Nat laughed a little. “You pay us.”

“Don’t I know it.” He sipped even more. Exaggerated, putting on a show for the humor of it all.

You shook your head. “You don’t know it, actually.” Caught, he hid a smile behind another sip.

Once the mirth died down, Natasha looked at Tony first and then you. “So. What’s the plan? House in the hills? Big extravagant wedding? Kids? White picket fence?”

Tony made a face. “I think you’re thinking of someone else.”

Instead of letting them pick on Steve, you spoke up quickly. “We don’t know yet. We just… know that it’s time.”

Nat smiled again. “Yeah. That’s more than fair, I think.” She was incredibly sad, but hiding it well.

It was kind of getting to you, though. You didn’t want her to be sad. Not over the two of you- and not over Bruce, either. But you could only alleviate one of those things. “Really. You’ll probably see us all the time.”

Tony seemed offended by the notion. “Well- not all the time-” Almost like he was realizing you two had a different perception of what starting a life looked like. But one look at him and he seemed to smarten up. Because he cast a sideways glance at Nat next. And- then- yes it clicked. “But. You know. Often enough.”

Nat also seemed to get it and grinned. “You guys don’t feel bad for me, do you?”

You put your chin in your palm. “No. Not at all.” Then you took a slow slip of your wine. “What’s your retirement plan look like?”

At this she really did laugh. Something genuine. “Retirement? I don’t think so.”

Tony leaned in on her side. “Why not? If we can do it, anyone can, I think.”

Nat lifted a brow to him. “The question is can you do it?” Perhaps a little disbelieving. Which was valid. You and Tony were workaholics, after all…

“Won’t know until we try.” You lifted your glass. “How about a toast. To trying.”

Not a toast for goodbyes, which was why you guessed she’d brought the wine in the first place. She softened, looking at you. Then she lifted her glass. “To trying.”

The soft clink of all three of your glasses made a nest in your memories. It kind of felt like the end cap you’d been looking for this entire time. A small moment, but by no means insignificant.

And then, after a long sip, you broke the quietness. Feeling better now enough to joke. “Do you know when I tried to tell Steve, he asked if I was pregnant?”

Tony looked shocked, Nat did too- but in an extremely tickled way that led to her stifled laughter. “No he did not. Tell me he didn’t.”

“He did.”

A little gossiping never hurt anyone.

---

It was the day before Tony’s birthday. May 28th. You knew because you had been counting it all down. Almost down to the minute in the last week. The two of you had gone back to the city, finding it easier to do pressers and meetings closer to that homebase, rather than keep going to and from the Facility. The early morning meeting that day had been that the ribbon cutting of the Facility was finalized. The Avengers had a new home. New teammates that they were excited to introduce to the public they so lovingly served over the next few months. And when asked where the Facility was… well. That was private. The Avengers deserved privacy, too, after all.

May 28th was also the day you and Tony were officially stepping away. Everyone knew at that point. It was no longer a secret. It was out there. It was real. And you couldn’t wait to start.

The drive back up from the city to the Facility was a couple of hours. Tony drove a little faster than he should have, more excited than you, in fact, to close everything out. He’d only been asking for this very thing for the last few years. You couldn’t hold it against him. His hand had found yours as soon as the two of you had gotten in the car- maybe a little bit before that, showing off for the media.

And still the two of you were clutching to each other as you stepped out onto the Facility grounds that afternoon. After approaching the main compound you cast a look up his way. “You’re sure you’re ready to do this?” Grinning just a little.

His own wide smile was very telling. “Me? Yeah. More than. What about you? It’s gettin’ a little late to turn back.”

“Guess I’ll just have to go with it then, won’t I?” You were teasing, but saying this seemed to make him just a little unsure. Something you quickly eased away as you put a hand to his chest, leaning up on tiptoe to press a light kiss to his lips. He melted. Immediately. And you sensed he was seconds away from telling you to get back in the car and just send a note saying goodbye. When you tried to break, he followed you, so much so that you had to actually put a finger to his lips. “We still have to make some rounds.”

“Mn.” Mumbling against your skin. “How many?” Whatever number you gave him it was going to be too high.

A presence standing a few feet back from you caught your attention, and you half turned to see JARVIS standing there. Waiting. As if you two had a scheduled appointment. Tony’s gaze followed and then when he looked back at you, a small touch of understanding passed between the both of you. To ease him, you gave him just one more small kiss. And then, “I’ll meet you when I’m finished. I know Thor’s leaving, too. We’ll all say goodbye at the same time.”

He just nodded. “Don’t be late.” His hands went into his pockets, and even as you turned and walked away, you felt him watching after you.

JARVIS tilted his head upon your approach, his eyes glancing briefly at Tony. But when you got near enough he put his full attention on you. “It seems the time has come. You and Tony are leaving.”

The past few weeks it had turned from an open secret to people actually knowing. Yet somehow still it was strange. To just have it out there. “Is that okay with you?”

“With me?” It was a rare treat, to see JARVIS surprised about anything- whether in this body or as a disembodied voice watching over your lives. “What have I to do with it?”

“Everything.” You smiled up at him. “You’ve looked after Tony and I for so long. And I know everything is still fresh and new. It’s going to be… strange. Not having you around. Having you here.”

His expression grew contemplative and eventually he nodded. “Yes, I agree. But. I feel there is something enjoyable to new beginnings.” Rolling off him there was just the faintest sense of blue. He didn’t want you to go. But he wouldn’t say as much. He even threw his chances at doing so away when he gave you a little smile. “You two have talked about this for quite some time. Far longer than this. You deserve it.”

Your shoulders came up in a pronounced shrug. “I don’t know about deserve-”

“I do.” His hand came out, fingers gentle as he touched over your arm. You stood very still. Just watching him. “For everything you and Tony have been through. Everything you have seen. Everything you have endured… and everything yet to come… enjoy this. Please. You’ve more than earned it.” His words were busy seeping deep into you- and it took you a little too long to answer. So he grasped you just a little tighter, “I will be alright.”

That was the root of the issue. He knew it. He knew that’s what you were really worried about. You didn’t want to abandon him. This was all so new for him. And now you and Tony were leaving, too. “Promise?” It was almost sort of selfish, asking this of him.

His smile then was one of admiration. And no less of love. “I promise.”

You made the first move, reaching up to wrap your arms around him. Squeezing him tight. It was strangely rewarding. When he hugged you back just as hard.

---

It took you a little while searching the compounds, but you found your three favorite confidants roaming the eastern outer wing, shoulder-to-shoulder-to-shoulder with each other. Though they would have met you coming up the other way, you were alight with sudden nervous energy. It was starting to feel like now or never. As Thor, Tony, and Steve approached, you smiled at them. “You boys having a rousing discussion about something important?”

Tony reached his hand out, putting it on your shoulder. “Terribly. I need your opinion. Vision. He’s not- he’s not human, right?”

This blindsided you. “Uh- I guess- technically- no? Why?”

Steve snapped with a point afterwards at Thor. “Ahah. See? It doesn’t count.” You were worried what you’d agreed to. They were all in a fantastic mood it seemed.

Tony shook his head, putting his arm around you. “No. It’s not a person lifting the hammer.”

“Right. It’s different rules for us.”

Oh. ...were they serious? You nudged Tony just a little. “What’s the matter? Egos bruised a little?” You cast a look up Thor’s way although he was extremely amused. Clearly not upset by the talk at hand. “You gonna let them go on like this?”

“It’s alright, Lady. As I’ve already said. If he can wield the hammer, he can keep the Mind Stone.” -ah, that was a little bit of a different discussion than the men worrying about who was more worthy. “It’s safe with the Vision. And these days safe is in short supply.”

The four of you took up walking down the rest of the hall. You couldn’t help yourself. “Don’t say that. Please. Or else we’ll be here a few more weeks.”

Tony raised his free hand in a sweeping wave. “Absolutely not. We’re safe. He said it. No takesy-backseys.”

Steve spoke from your other side. “Let me just say this- if you put the hammer in an elevator…”

A sharp and quick chuckle came from Tony. “Elevator would still go up. We can test that theory.”

You shook your head, feigning exasperation. “You two really aren’t gonna let this go, huh?”

Looking over at you Steve raised both his brows, “Now- see- the elevator isn’t worthy. That’s my point. But it’ll still go up.”

There was another stinging edge you wanted to put in- men and their egos- but Thor’s laughter stopped you. He reached out, laying one of those heavy hands on Tony’s shoulder, giving him a small shake. “You know, I’m going to miss these talks of ours.”

Tony grinned at him. “Not if you don’t leave.”

Raising a finger, you had to ask, “Doesn’t Asgard have better communication tech? We need to have cellphones. Hell. Even pagers would be better than no contact.”

After a slow blink, Thor asked, “What is a pager?” Steve seemed equally interested.

Tony rolled his eyes. “Please. Let’s not step back. I can figure interstellar communication tech out. Give me a month.” A month of working. Of Thor staying here. And… the two of you not actually leaving to go on your own, too.

Something Thor understood very quickly. “Ah. Lady would not be too pleased with that, I fear. You will have to figure it out on your own time.” Your smile was gratitude enough, and the three of you followed him as he finally exited the hall to go onto the lawn. “The Mind Stone is the fourth of the Infinity Stones to show up in the last few years. That’s not a coincidence. Someone has been playing an intricate game and has made pawns of us. But once all the pieces are in position…”

This was… this was not how you wanted a send off to go. He was speaking so darkly. Surmising about the future. And it didn’t sound great. Tony offered his usual sassy levity. “Triple Yahtzee?”

The mood had turned. Steve put his hands on his belt. “You think you can find out what’s coming?” This was work. It was duty.

Thor nodded. “I do.” But he eased the mood by breaking with a smile. Lifting his hand, he gave Tony a small pat to the chest. “Besides this one? There’s nothing that can’t be explained.” He stepped further back and the intent was clear. While he gave the group a nod, you raised your hand in a small wave. And while he lifted his hammer towards the sky- you got lucky. And he offered you a small wave in return.

Right before he summoned that ridiculous rainbow lighting. And disappeared in the next flash. Leaving behind a burned patterned ring in your freshly laid and cut grass.

Tony’s annoyance hit the mark first. “That man has no regard for lawn maintenance.”

You just sighed. “I’ll send him a bill when he’s here next time.”

“Yeah. And he’ll pay it with money we give him. Paying ourselves. What a scheme.” Reaching into his pocket he pulled his keys free with a little jangle, and then once he had his fob in hand, he called his car over. “I will miss him, though.”

“Me, too.” Echoing the sentiment easily. Thor often came and went whenever it suited him. But that didn't mean you liked him any less, or were any less attached.

That fancy sports car made its way down the drive, and you and Tony went over to it. Steve followed at a lingering distance. The two of you looked at him, and Tony smiled. “Don’t tell me. You have the big we’ll miss you card that I’ve been asking for. I’m impressed. Where’ve you been hiding it?”

Affectionately you rolled your eyes. “Oh please say you do. I don’t want to hear him whining about it.”

Steve’s smile was soft. Something bittersweet. “I will miss the both of you. Even if I didn’t bring a card.”

The quipping mood seemed to die rather quick, and Tony nodded slowly. “Yeah. Well. ...it’s time for us to tap out. Barton’s kinda making us look bad. And…” He didn’t know how to say it exactly. Maybe it was his present audience. Tony had never had trouble explaining his desires about this to you.

You twined your fingers with his, but kept your eyes on Steve. “We want a life.” Saying it just the way it was. As plainly as could be. You felt Tony looking at you, so you glanced up at him. “Together.” His smile then wrapped a warmth around you.

Steve interrupted your gazing. “Hopefully a simple one.”

Tony looked back at him. “You’ll get there one day.”

You couldn’t help your grin. “Sharon’s welcome to come by any time, you know. Have you talked to her lately?”

And this seemed to ruin his mood completely. He gave a heavy shrug and looked away. “She hasn’t answered my calls in weeks.” You wanted to offer maybe she’s just busy- you didn’t want this to be the thing that made him give up. But he kept talking. “I don’t know anymore. Family… stability…” He looked up at you and Tony again. “The guy who wanted all that went in the ice seventy-five years ago. I think someone else came out.”

This broke your heart. Completely. To hear him say this. Yet despite the way he was talking, there was the burgeoning hopefulness welling up inside him. Maybe Tony had been right. Maybe this was the life Steve wanted. He seemed to be leaning that way, too. With a little nudge, Tony got you around the other side of the car, and he opened the door for you. Though before you moved to sit, the two of you looked at Steve one last time. Tony was the one to ask. “You alright?”

Steve just smiled at the both of you. “Yeah. I’m home.”

---

The drive away was quiet. This wasn’t forever. You still worked for the Avengers. And like you’d told everyone else that you’d said it to, the both of you would still be around. Maybe not immediately, though. You thought perhaps a vacation was in order. A true celebration to kicking off this strange idea that the two of you could be on your own. Live a life.

Your hand reached over to take his. Almost a little possessively. Tony Stark was yours. For now… for now the earth needed to back off. Stop laying claim to his genius. His efforts. His heroism. You wanted him. You needed him.

You wanted to be with him. And finally… finally just live.

His smile caught you sideways, and you felt like you might melt right onto the floor. He was clearly thinking the same thing as you, with a look like that. So warm and intense. So full of that deep love. You had to put a stop to it. Or you might have to pull over. “What do you wanna do for your birthday?”

Tomorrow. Tomorrow was his birthday. He could do anything now. He was free. What did Tony Stark want to do?

“Let’s find a house.”

At this point you’d started smiling so hard it hurt. “A house, huh?”

“Plot of land. House. Whatever. I want the present I’ve been asking for for years. As long as you’re ready to give it to me.”

Shifting over you laid your lips on his cheek, felt the stretch there as his smile got the better of him. Your murmur was careful, but sweet. “I’m ready.”

#Tony Stark #Tony Stark x Reader #INY Chapter One Hundred Seventy Three

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angelicthor · 5 years ago

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billion dollar man - part 13

pairing: tony stark x reader

summary: after mounting bills and debt cause you to look at alternative means of making money, you’re thrown into a whole different kind of life when one of the most famous billionaires on the block offers to be your sugar daddy, of course in exchange for a different from of payment. non-superhero au.

warnings/genre: +18 only, sugarbaby/daddy relationship, fluff, slight angst, nat & wanda centric chapter

masterlist | billion dollar man masterlist

a/n: am i recasting the entire mcu? why yes. yes i am. as always, please let me know what you think!

The bar you were in was a slight change to the establishments you had recently been frequenting, but it was an old favourite of yours and Wanda and honestly, it was nice to be back, to exchange the extravagant dresses for a pair of worn in jeans and expensive champagne for a bottle of beer.

You were somewhat nervous at bringing Nat here, not knowing how she’d find it but she surprised you when she said she used to come to bars like this all the time before she started her brand and that she had rather missed the atmosphere they provided.

What stunned you more was the fact that her knee wouldn’t stop bouncing with nerves, foot tapping on the floor as she pecked at the label on her bottle whilst you both waited for Wanda to join you.

“Nat would please relax, trust me Wanda’s gonna love you,” You tried to reassure her.

“Sorry, sorry; It’s just – I’m not exactly a people person, and I don’t usually make a great first impression, I mean remember how I acted around you? It wasn’t exactly the height of hospitality.”

“Don’t worry about that, Wanda’s got this…energy – it’s like she can get into people’s minds and put them at ease or something, I swear the girl’s magic. The number of difficult situations she has got us out of is unreal.”

Before Nat had a chance to pry on what kind of difficult situations you two had to wiggle your way out of, your name was shouted from across the bar, your eyes meeting those of Wanda walking through the door with her arms spread wide as everyone gaped at her.

Wanda’s hair fell in thick dark curls over her shoulders, dark eyes sparkling with glee as a devious smirk played on her crimson painted lips, she was adorned in a maroon velvet shawl, a long flowy black dress underneath, her fingers decorated in a multitude of rings and a collection of bangles decked her wrist, tinkling with every movement of her arm. Around her neck was a long silver chain with a Star of David charm dangling from the centre that you had gifted her on her last birthday and she had worn nearly every day since.

“Hey sweetie!” Wanda hollered, Serbian accent still slightly coating her words as she plopped into the seat next to yours, throwing her arms around you as she pressed a kiss to your cheek, no doubt leaving a red stain of her lips on your skin. “You must be Natasha - Y/N told me a lot about you, it’s nice to finally put a face to the name,” Wanda extended her arm for Nat to shake which the redhead readily accepted.

“God what a day, tell me why I’m stuck dealing with the bridezilla from hell? I’ve done nothing in my life to deserve this, ever.”

Wanda complained as you snorted at her dramatics, Nat asking what she did for a living which started Wanda on explaining that she owned her own florist shop in Brooklyn with you interjecting at random points to compliment her work – she did the most amazing floral displays you had ever seen, which unfortunately left her rather in demand.

You let Wanda and Nat become accustomed to each other, asking things you already knew about them both as the three of you sipped on your beers, grinning as you noticed the way Nat’s shoulders lowered and her leg stop bouncing under the table as her nerves left her.

Soon enough, the beer turned to shots of tequila at Wanda’s excited demands, you and Nat laughing at her instance, watching as she precariously balanced a tray laden with shot glasses as she staggered towards the small table you were sat at. You tipped your head back as you swallowed the liquor in one gulp, face twisting in disgust at the burn as you quickly grabbed one of the lime wedges, the sour juices easing the bitter aftertaste of the tequila.

A slight fog settled over your mind as the alcohol took effect, your thoughts becoming hazy and movements lethargic as you stumbled out of your chair and crossed the bar, stumbling slightly as you made your way towards the jukebox in the corner, struggling to insert the coins before you searched through the hundreds of songs available, a grin tugging at your lips as found what you were looking for.

Nat and Wanda both cheered as Nancy Wilson’s opening rift filled the bar, Ann Wilson’s killer vocals following soon after as Crazy on You began to play, the pair beginning to belt out the lyrics as if it were karaoke, forcing you to join in as you sat back down, ignoring the peculiar looks from the other patrons.

“Let me go crazy on you,” Nat cut off her performance, giggling drunkenly as she eyed you mischievously, “So Y/N, I’ve always been curious, do you go crazy on Tony or does he go crazy on you? I’ve never been able to figure it out, he’s definitely into it either way.”

You choked on your drink, spluttering as you stared at Nat with wide eyes waiting for the inevitable storm coming your way.

“You’re sleeping with him?” Wanda erupted, eyes blazing with rage as you offered her a guilty smile. “You told me it was just for appearances, you never said anything about sex.”

You recoiled as Wanda hissed at you, the fury radiating from her being reminding you just how scary the seemingly docile woman could be.

“Wan, please don’t yell,” You spoke calmly, casting your eyes about the bar to make sure no one was staring at you, “I swear, there’s nothing to worry about. It’s just a friends-with-benefits type situation, just with more benefits than usual.”

The underlying worry in her eyes didn’t waver at your words and Natasha, who until then looked sheepish for letting something slip that she shouldn’t have, also joined her in her concern.

“Are you sure? I’ve known Tony a long time Y/N and I’ve never seen him act like the way he is when he’s around you, the way he looks at you – is it really just friendship?”

You gawked as you searched for an answer, mouthing words but no sound coming out as you tried to wrap your mind around what Nat had just told you. You tried to be logical: Tony only acted that way around you because he needed to, he was grateful for what you were doing for him, you two had become friends over the course of your fake relationship and it was fake. But there was a part of you, that stupid rotten romantic heart of yours, that warmed at the thought of Tony wanting more, of feeling more.

“Y/N,” Wanda spoke softly, reaching across the table to place her hand on top of yours, “I just don’t want to see you hurt again, Tony - he just reminds me too much of-”

“He’s nothing like him,” You spat, voice laced with venom at the mention of you ex.

Or perhaps it was the fact that Wanda apparently thought that he and Tony were equals.

You didn’t wish to dissect these thoughts, instead you excused yourself to the toilets, avoiding the anxious stares of Nat and Wanda as you did. Locking the door behind you, you splashed cold water on your face in an attempt to calm your racing heart, resting against the countertop as you bid your thoughts to slow themselves down and allow you to collect yourself.

Back at the table Wanda and Nat were waiting for your return, guilt gnawing at them both for pushing you for an answer you clearly didn’t want to give, but their pressure stemmed from a good place, their love for you their top priority.

“You said you knew Tony well, right?” Wanda asked, Nat nodding her head in affirmation, “Be honest with me, do you think he’d hurt her?”

Nat mulled over the question, trying to find the answer, but it was difficult; she’d never seen Tony in a situation like this before, his dates lasted the night and there was a new one on his arm when she next saw him.

“No, I don’t think so,” Nat answered her after much consideration, “Not on purpose at least; Tony cares about her, more than he realises, but he’s never had a serious relationship before - he may not know how to handle it.”

“If he does hurt her, I’ll tear him limb from limb,” Wanda threatened, voice dropping to a near growl.

“If he does, then I offer you my assistance,” Nat remarked, a dark smirk pulling at her lips before her and Wanda burst into a fit of giggles.

They were still laughing when you came back, the corner of your lip quirking up at the sight of them together, you knew before the night even began that they would get along like a house on fire and regardless of the slight hitch in the nights festivities you were glad of it.

“Hey, did you ever tell Nat about the Billy Russo incident?” Wanda asked with a mischievous glint in her eye.

You threw your head back with an embarrassed groan, burying your face in your hands as Wanda recounted the tale to an eager Nat of the time you saw your then crush on a night out, nerves and alcohol getting the better of you as you ended up retching your stomach contents all down his pant leg much to your horror.

It had taken you weeks to recover from the mortification, refusing to go out with Wanda much to her annoyance and you could feel your cheeks heat up as Nat and Wanda boisterously laughed at the story, fighting off your own smile as you remembered the shock on poor Billy’s face.

More tales were told; most by Wanda, the woman loved a good story, some by you, and some by Nat. You had an inclining that Nat choose her stories with the purpose of warming Wanda up to the idea of Tony, each one she said left you with a soft smile on your face as you vividly imagined your little group of friends and the shenanigans they got up to.

Before you knew it, the night was drawing to an end, Happy pulling up to the curb outside the bar where you were all waiting. Nat’s own driver came for her and she bid you goodnight with a hug before moving to do the same to Wanda, promising you both that you’d get together again soon.

You offered to take Wanda home and she reluctantly agreed, marveling at the interior of the luxury car as you introduced her to Happy. The ride to her apartment was quick and as she was stepping out of the car she asked if you were staying at yours tonight but you decided against it, wanting to go home to Tony’s and check up on him - you had texted him earlier on in the night and he still hadn’t replied, a dark feeling of dread building up in you as your mind conjured a number of unpleasant scenarios.

Home.

You froze when you realised that you considered Tony’s apartment to be more your home than your own did now. You blamed it on the fact that you spent most of your time there, that staying in your own apartment was foreign to you now.

That was all it was.

“Hey Hap, have you heard off Tony tonight? I text him earlier, but he never answered me,” You asked, hoping your voice sounded as casual as you willed it to be, teeth gnawing at your lower lip as your stomach began to twist into knots.

“No, haven’t heard from him. I’m sure he’s fine though, probably blasting AC/DC in his lab way too loud to hear his phone.”

You forced a chuckle at his jibe, knowing that he was probably doing exactly that, but his logic was a poor remedy to your paranoia and it did nothing to calm your growing nerves. The second the car came to a stop outside of the Baxter Building, you bolted from the backseat, throwing Happy a ‘thank you’ and ‘goodnight’ over your shoulder as you rushed towards the entrance.

The in the elevator seemed to take forever, foot tapping on the metal floor in impatience as you waited for the doors to open into Tony’s penthouse, wondering why everything seemed to move so much more slower when all you wanted was for it to hasten.

The doors finally opened into the apartment and you hurried inside, dumping your bag in the hallway as you called out Tony’s name, the lack of response causing your panic to rise before you froze in the doorway to the living room, mouth snapping shut as you silently crept forward.

Across the couch lay Tony, one arm dangling on the floor next to a discarded cushion, the TV still playing in the background, his mouth hanging open as a soft snore resonated from his chest with every exhale. Your heart fluttered at the sight, a soft smile playing at your lips as you watched him get the sleep he so desperately needed, Tony was normally the last to sleep and the first to rise and so this was a rare sight for you and you couldn’t help but think how far he had come from when you had first met him.

You moved to kneel beside him, fingers gently stroking through his short tresses, watching as his eyes flickered beneath closed lids. His phone lighting up on the coffee table next to you drew your attention away, the device reminding him of your text that remained unopened and you picked it up in curiosity, swiping the text away and pausing when you saw what was under it.

A picture of the two of you filled the screen, his arm wrapped around you, lips pressed into your hair as your eyes shut in bliss, basking at the attention. You can’t remember seeing the photo before and you didn’t know which you found more startling: the fact that you were his lockscreen or the way he was looking at you.

Nat’s words came circling in your head like a record on repeat.

I’ve never seen him act like this.

He’s never looked at anyone the way he looks at you.

The way he looks at you.

You glanced back at the photo on the phone, how both of you seemed so wrapped up in each other, the adoration, the tenderness. The, dare you say it, love.

Your well-rehearsed excuse, the idea that it was all a front, a trick to fool the world felt so weak now. You wondered if maybe it had worked to well, that maybe you had managed to trick yourselves into thinking this relationship was on a platonic basis only when it couldn’t be further from the truth.

You didn’t like these thoughts, they invited unwanted feelings into your heart that weighed it down like a rock in a river. What if Nat was wrong and Tony didn’t feel the same? He was an infamous womanizer and the only reason he had supposedly changed his ways was to keep his company, you’d be foolish to think that you alone could accomplish that.

The darkness clouding your mind evaporated as you glanced back down at Tony’s sleeping form, stroking your fingers over his face as you softly urged him to wake up, bleary eyes staring up at you before a lazy smile tugged at his lips.

“Hey,” he rasped, voice thick with sleep.

“Hey baby, wanna head to bed?”

Tony nodded in answer, swinging his legs over the edge of the sofa as he sluggishly sat up, the both of you stumbling up the stairs towards his bedroom. You readied yourselves for bed in silence, Tony because he was still on the verge of sleep, barely conscious enough to brush his teeth, and you because you were afraid of what you would say if you did try to speak.

You sighed when you finally settled into the bed, the fresh sheets wrapping you in a blanket of serenity, the feeling of Tony’s arms around your waist providing you with a level of comfort you couldn’t quite explain.

Tony pressed a kiss to your forehead, wishing a good sleep before he fell back into the realm of dreams once again. You burrowed your face into his chest, pressing a chaste kiss to the scar that ran down his sternum, pushing your unwanted thoughts to the side as you joined Tony in slumber.

a/n: i don’t have a tag list but if you want alerts please follow @angelicthorwrites and turn on notifications

#tony stark x reader #tony x reader #tony stark x you #tony stark series #tony stark x y/n #angelicthorwrites

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redrebecca · 6 years ago

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Effortlessly Endearing

You met at the Met Gala, where you saved his ass and he saved yours.

Warning(s): Just swearing

A/N: Hiya, so this is a little Met Gala fic that doesn’t have Hailey in, at all. I just thought it was a kinda cute idea so yeh. Feedback is always appreciated, have a nice day.

Words: 2.2k

“And breathe in.” The woman from behind you commanded. The fabric restricted around your torso as she expertly stitched the material of the dress so it clung to you like a second skin, accentuating the curve of your chest and hips.

You had initially said no to this. A list events such as the Met Gala were never considered fun by your standards, more of a pain in the ass – you would much preferred to stay in your bed, eating junk food until your heart was content. But no. Instead you were stuck in a small, stuffy room being gawked at by more people than you were comfortable with, your internal organs groaning in discomfort at the all-too-tight dress and you wouldn’t dare to think the amount of unimaginable pain your feet would be in after at least 4 hours of walking in those ridiculously high heels that were placed in the corner of the room. You swore your feet ached from just the sight of them.

“Done!” The seamstress exclaimed, the first bit of emotion she’d shown since arriving. You gladly stepped off the pedestal and into your slippers, humming as your toes were finally enveloped in warmth. Unfortunately, your little moment of bliss was interrupted as you were swiftly ushered towards the hair and makeup chair. Your manager scolded you as you accidentally let an annoyed groan slip out of your mouth.

Luckily, or unluckily – you were undecided – the hair and makeup team were extremely efficient. They applied countless amounts of product on your face and put so many bobby pins into your hair you could actually feel the weight of them, in record time. However during this, someone had parted you from your beloved slippers and replaced them with the dreaded heels.

“But they’re custom Louboutins!” Your manager had expressed her disbelief when you had complained about them when they arrived. Like you cared what they were, if you made it through the event without breaking something you would be happy.

Unfortunately for you she didn’t take your request of wearing trainers instead too kindly – in fact she stormed out of the room.

You arrived at the event, the familiar buzz heightened your senses as you took in the other celebrities in ostentatious outfits surrounding you.

“Okay so you know the plan?” Your assistant said.

You inhaled and exhaled calming your nerves. You’d done enough met galas that you should be able to do it in your sleep, but nerves still ate away at your composure.

“I’d much rather be at home.” You muttered, wondering how many of these other celebrities felt the same way and which ones craved the attention this served them on a silver platter.

“I know you would,” She pulled you into a hug, granted it wasn’t the smoothest as she had to be extremely careful around the intricate design of your gown, but it was comforting nonetheless.

“You’re an actress right?” She said with a small smile. You nodded. “Then if you need to act, act.” You shoved her lightly, a smile gracing your features at her teasing. “You got this.” She assured you before you turned to walk the red carpet into the huge building.

As soon as you entered through the doors, interviewers began doing whatever they could to attract your attention and the sound of camera clicks increased as paparazzi swivelled and turned their focus from the people they were photographing, to you in your eye catching dress.

Sure the process wasn’t great but the outcome was simply stunning. Everything from the daring neckline to the elegant train that graciously moved behind you, like a shadow following your every move, even the colour – a charcoal grey with flecks of silver that caught the light perfectly – made this one of your favourite dresses.

The raucous caused upon your arrival resulted in many heads turning your way. You straightened your posture and put on your award winning smile before walking over to the closest interviewer.

You felt as though you had been here, jumping from tedious interview to tedious interview, for a long time, but, according to your watch, you had been here for under an hour.

Great.

You sped through your interview, deciding it was probably time to walk the carpet – and the dreaded stairs. The sooner you got your hands on that drink at the after party, the better. You politely declined interviewers’ offers that were being shouted at you from every angle and made your way to the buzzing centre of the event.

Several of your past co-stars approached you to have a much needed catch up, granted, it was quick and rushed, but it was always nice to see them.

You walked with Zendaya as you turned towards the long stretch of cameras paparazzi and a sea of very expensive suits and dresses, one man in particular caught your eye. Shawn Mendes. You couldn’t recall seeing him last year, or the year before that. A newbie.

He was talking to Troye Sivan, who perfectly timed scanning the room – just as you looked at him – and pointed towards you, drawing the taller man beside him’s attention to you. You waved, causing the two to smile and wave back. You turned back to your conversation with the actress before she was called over to the side by her assistant, urging you to go on without her.

Your eyes quickly found the maroon suit again, but this time the bright red of Troye’s suit was no longer there. He looked almost lost, certainly unsure. However, you didn’t blame him, you had been to countless events before your first ever met gala but you’d still found it daunting. Your eyes involuntarily trailed down his broad figure before something caught your eye. Your eyes widened when they landed on his crotch area – and not for that reason. You inhaled sharply when you noticed the white that significantly contrasted with the darker tone of his suit. The idiot hadn’t zipped up his trousers.

You panicked, not sure what to do. Should you tell him? You cringed at the thought of approaching a rather attractive human being, who your only interaction with was a brief wave, and telling them that you were staring at their crotch? No thank you. You willed yourself to turn around, after all, it wasn’t your problem. But just as you were about to distract yourself with god knows what – you saw him begin to walk towards the paparazzi. Fuck it, you thought, rushing faster than you thought was physically possible in your heels towards the man who was about to make a huge mistake – whilst wondering how catastrophic yours would be.

You reached him just as he turned towards the first cluster of cameras. Purposefully not giving yourself enough time to overthink your actions you stepped inches away from him, shielding him, and his modesty, from the mob of shouting photographers behind you. His expression morphed into shock very quickly at your unexpected appearance.

“Hi.” You said, the awkwardness of the interaction already had you wanting to hide in your apartment for at least a week, and you hadn’t even addressed the crotch situation yet.

“Hi?” He replied with so much uncertainty it was phrased more like a question than a greeting. You winced. God why did I do this? You swatted those thoughts away. As embarrassing as this was, it was the right thing to do.

“Y/N it’s nice to finally meet you but I-” He started.

“Your fly is undone.” You blurted. You hoped that your foundation was thick enough to hide the deep blush that was unquestionably heating your cheeks.

His eyes widened like a deer in headlights before they quickly left yours so he could check for himself. You looked away to try and reduce the embarrassment, for him and you, only turning back when you heard the hum of the zipper.

His perfectly flushed cheeks had darkened to a shade that almost matched the colour of his tailored suit.

“Thank you so much I- oh my god can you imagine the headlines.” His breaths were becoming more and more shallow with every word he spoke.

“Hey don’t worry about it. Wardrobe malfunctions happen to the best of us.” You nudged his shoulder gently and a beautiful smile grew on his face. To your surprise, he wrapped you in a hug, at first you were worried about creasing your dress, but that thought was erased almost as fast as it had come when you realized just how strangely comforting his hold was.

However you were abruptly brought back to reality by the deafening sound of camera clicks. You pulled away despite everything in you wanting to stay wrapped in his ridiculously strong arms. It was difficult to miss the way his eyes raked down your figure – just like you had done to him – as he too took a polite step back.

“See you at the after party?” He opened and closed his mouth a few times before just settling with a nod. You smiled, your confidence levels thankfully replenishing after that… experience. You turned as attractively as you could to walk away, hoping to ‘flaunt it’ as your assistant would tell you. However when you went to move your foot, it stayed still and you went flying forwards. You closed your eyes and braced yourself for the impact. But instead, before you could physically harm yourself, two muscular arms looped around your front, hoisting you up and towards him, so your back was pressed securely against his chest.

“You okay?” He asked. You tried, and failed, to refrain from shivering as you felt his warm breath on the shell of your ear.

“Yep.” You squeaked, still recovering from your almost-fall. If you couldn’t even walk without falling on a flat surface, your chances with the stairs were not looking promising.

“Just stand still for me.” He said, slowly removing you from his arms, ensuring that you were able to stay upright. He leaned down and you inhaled when you felt his large hand gently wrap around your ankle. “You might wanna hold on for a second.” He said and you just managed to hear it over the chaos that meant a popular celebrity was arriving. Your eyebrows furrowed before you caught onto what he was suggesting. You reached down to hold onto his shoulder. When he felt the pressure of your hand, he lifted your foot up, his long fingers untangling the train of your dress from the heel of your Louboutins. Just as carefully as he had picked it up, he placed your foot back on the ground with so much attentiveness, you felt as though you could melt into a puddle right there and then. He didn’t remove his hand straight away, meaning that when he stood back up, his hand trailed dangerously far up your leg causing you to suck in a breath of air.

Shawn’s eyes had a sheepish glint to them as they connected with yours, as if he was unsure of whether he had crossed a boundary. You smiled gratefully “Thank you.” You murmured.

“We’re even now.” He said with a toothy smile, which subsequently made you grin back.

Around the two of you cameras continued to flash and the obnoxious people behind them shouted different orders at the stars who were posing for photos, trying to show off their best angles

“Hey, um do you have a date?” He asked, bringing your attention back to him. He scratched briefly at his neck, surprised at himself for being so audacious. His signs of nervousness made your heart beat a little faster – he somehow managed to go from having his hand on your thigh to being an absolute gentleman, and easily got away with it.

“No I don’.t” You responded. Not wanting to get your hopes up about the intention of his question. You were never that lucky.

“How about we make a deal? We do this together – you tell me if my zipper comes undone,” He quickly motioned to his crotch “And I will catch you when you trip on those stairs.” He finished, nodding towards the steps which you had been dreading since you had received the phone call about the event.

“What do you mean ‘when you trip’?” You said incredulously.

“Come on sweetheart, we both know you won’t make it up there in those,” he referred to your heels, playfully scrunching his nose up as he pointed dismissively at the designer stilettos. “Without at least one fall.” He finished, a wry smile on his lips.

You gasped dramatically, hoping to draw the attention away from your flushed cheeks which were a result of the nickname that slipped from his lips.

“So is that a yes?” He asked, a hint of insecurity seeping into his tone.

You nodded. “I would love to be your date, as long as you promise not to let me fall.” He grinned from ear to ear, your face no doubt mirroring his delighted expression.

“I promise.” He said honestly, extending his arm for you – which you gladly accepted.

You didn’t fall over once.

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