#not only are we letting men infiltrate our safe spaces
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being a younger lesbian in your 20s and 30s is actually insane rn because not only is our dating pool small enough as it is (especially for lesbians who only want to date other lesbians) but then we’re also having to contend with the fact that half of the lesbians around our age are going by they/them or they/he pronouns and like kudos to y’all who can maintain relationships (hell, even friendships) with people who require you to deny base reality every time you’re around them or even reference to them when they’re not even in the room but like. i can’t pretend to indulge in it, like not even for a little bit. and i really do feel like this is actually a real issue and has so many implications for the lesbian community as a whole and how it really is disappearing right before our eyes, all in just a matter of a few years etc but all that is to say! we need to free young lesbians from the shackles that is gender now before i go completely insane and end up single forever
#like I’m so tired#and it’s not just that I want a girlfriend lolol that was just a joke (kind of) but like!!!#I swear it seems like EVERY single lesbian I come across is engulfed in this gender stuff#so when older lesbians are saying the lesbian community is dying out this is part of what they mean#like there is barely any solidarity amongst younger lesbians and it’s sad#not only are we letting men infiltrate our safe spaces#but we’re also not standing up to things like the definition of lesbian being changed to ‘non man loving non man’ or whatever the fuck#like soooo many lesbians are ACTIVELY feeding into that rhetoric and it’s driving me insane and making me want to scream & pull my hair out#and like actually I’m not willing to be with a woman who doesn’t even acknowledge her womanhood#idk it just feels like an act of disrespect to not only them but all women#anyways no one asked for this lil take or my rant in the notes but LMAO it’s on my mind#lesbian#radsplain.txt
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Reader Fakes A Betrayal To Bucky And Steve For a HYDRA Infiltration Mission But it backfires and she is captured. She is turned into a winter soldier and very angsty!!
Hi Darling,
Pairing: Stucky x Reader
Word count: 5.5K
Warnings: canon level violence, abuse/torture toward reader, physical fights, sad stucky, mentions of dead characters, angst
A/N: I'm not gonna lie this took forever to write buuuuttttt I like how it turned out. I hope it's angsty enough!!
Everyone had agreed to the plan, and there was no time like the present to see it through. Bucky and Steve were running in front of you through the hallway of an office building used by Hydra, they were hiding in plain sight. As you get to the room at the end of the hallway you find your objective. Steve enters first shield up, while Bucky follows close behind. One of the higher ups in Hydra’s chain of command stood before you along with two men meant to protect him.
“Well if it isn’t Captain America and his little pet, the Winter Soldier.” He says from the other side of the room. “Have you decided to come back home, soldat?”
“No, I came to end you.” Bucky lifts his gun up. Two shots ring out.
All three men look at you with a mixture of shock and confusion as they watch Steve and Bucky fall to the ground.
“Hail Hydra.” you say from the door before leading them to a helicopter on the roof, escaping with them.
~~~~~~~~
Bucky felt that the space in between himself and Steve wasn’t empty. With eyes still closed he wrapped an arm around your waist and pulled you in wanting to stay just like that for a few more minutes. Bucky starts placing kisses along your shoulder and up your neck. You let out a frustrated groan as you turn your head.
“Good morning, sunshine.” Bucky’s voice still laced with sleep.
“No.” You hide your face under the covers trying to get more sleep. Your actions cause Bucky to chuckle behind you.
“Yes. Come on, we have a meeting in an hour.”
“Fine, but I’m gonna be grumpy the whole time. Why do we have to have a meeting at 7:30 in the morning?”
“You gotta ask our Stevie that. I would much rather stay in bed with both of you.”
You turn around and look up at him, mischievous glint in your eyes. Before he can say anything, he’s laying on his back and you’re straddling him. “Is that so?” You lower yourself so that your chest is pressed into his as you capture his lips in a heated kiss. His hands move from your hips to your back to keep you in place. But just as fast as you kiss him you snap back up. Now you aren’t looking at him with love but with anger.
“Why did you let me go? You know what they’re doing to me. It should have been you.”
Bucky’s eyes snap open as he sits up. Searching their room for you. He’s covered in sweat and his breathing is quick and shallow. You were in his arms, it felt so real but every time he woke up the truth hit him hard. The guilt has been eating away at him. He should have been the one to infiltrate hydra, they would have been more than happy to have him back and you would be safe at home.
But you insisted, logically speaking it made sense. You weren’t known to the world as part of the Avengers and hydra had spies everywhere so with Tony’s abilities they were able to make it look like you were one of them. Deep down Bucky and Steve both knew you volunteered for this mission to protect Bucky. To keep him as far away from hydra as possible, but now this kind of torture was far worse than anything those monsters could ever do to him. Because he didn’t know where you were or if you were ok. You had been gone for 3 months, feeding them any information you could find and installing a program within their computers to give Tony more access. Then at the 6 month mark you went radio silent. So the team went looking for you in the last location you had given them. It had been eerily quiet, abandoned. In the main room on the top floor of the building their worst fears had come true. On the only desk in the office was your Avengers uniform neatly folded and stained with blood. Along with a note.
Thank you Soldat.
Steve could only stare at it, his chest tightening with fear as to what was being done to you if you weren’t already dead. Bucky completely lost it, he was furious and scared for you. He wouldn’t listen to anyone trying to calm him down and It took the combined efforts of Sam, Nat and Thor to subdue him and even then they had to sedate him. By then Steve had snapped out of it but he didn’t say a word, their girl was lost and Bucky was hurting because of it. No one was to blame but him and Steve would do everything in his power to bring you back.
But that was then, you’ve been gone almost two years now. Things between Bucky and Steve have been strained. Each of them blaming themselves and pushing their bodies to the limit trying to find anything that will let them know where you are or if you’re even alive. Each day that passes and they have nothing feels like hydra is taunting them. They lost, again. But this time the stakes were higher because it was you and because they were supposed to have a future with you in it.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Pain didn’t last as long anymore but there was still an ache in your shoulders due to hanging from the ceiling as the guards inflicted as much pain as possible. Punishment for fighting back, but you’ll always fight back. You don’t know when or how but you had been caught and before you were able to send the message that you were ready for extraction you had been dragged and placed in a cell. It was completely dark and you had to feel your way around, by doing so you found a mattress on the floor and a barely there sheet. They kept the cell cold and you in just a shirt and your underwear. You were lucky if they cared to feed you once a day.
Later on you would find out that you had been kept in that cell for 2 months. When you were dragged out you were weak and on the verge of death. This was just the beginning of what they had planned for you. The only thing that kept you hanging on was the knowledge that Bucky and Steve would move heaven and earth to find you and bring you back home. So with every fiber of your being you fought to stay alive, to be able to see them again and most importantly to let them know that this was not their fault. You knew them better than they thought and you knew they would blame themselves, but you volunteered. Really you put your foot down and wouldn’t allow anyone else, especially Bucky to be anywhere near these people. The truth was that you would do anything to keep either of them safe and this was one of those times. So you let the monsters at hydra do what they needed to and fought back when they were pushing too far and it was working until it wasn’t anymore.
They had put you in the chair, the one Bucky talked about, and your memories were starting to get fuzzy. First you couldn’t remember how you ended up in this horrible place, followed by forgetting about the avengers. It got to the point where you couldn’t even remember your own name. You were the shell of the person you used to be, they made sure of that. But the one thing you couldn’t forget was the ocean blue and electric blue eyes that were so captivating. They were always there looking back at you, keeping you from going under completely and forgetting that there were two people out there that meant something to you. They broke you down until you became the weapon they needed, then they let you out to do their bidding.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Steve rested his head on Bucky’s chest while Bucky tried to soothe him.It never got easier to know you had been lost to them. Steve blamed himself for it. He seemed to think he was doomed to lose those he loved. First it had been Bucky and now you. Today was a particularly difficult day for Steve and he wasn’t sure why. He just woke up with the need to see and feel you close to him. To hold you in his arms as you sat in his lap and read. Or have you play with his hair as you watched something on tv. Steve just missed you, he did all the time they both did. But he didn’t allow himself to feel it thinking he didn’t deserve to even love you since it was his plan to infiltrate hydra. Between missing you and the nightmares they both shared, guilt had been clawing at Steve since they had found your uniform.
Bucky ran his hand up and down Steve’s back as the blond cried silently for you. They found themselves like this constantly trying to silence the ache of missing you with each other and when that didn’t work the arguments would happen. Then Steve and Bucky would realize you would hate that they were fighting because of your choice. It was a cycle for a while but it has now been five years since they last saw you. They would never give up but they had no leads.
Until they did.
One of Nat’s contacts came through with information on a new assassin. The description was vague but it was enough for them to think it was you. So the mission to bring you home began.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It was a long shot but they used one of the higher ups in hydra and hoped that they would send you to either get him back or kill him. And it worked. Bucky and Steve tried to prepare themselves for what condition they might find you in. They knew hydra would have programmed you like they did with Bucky, they just weren’t really prepared to face you.
The hydra agent they had taken was dead on the floor, one shot to the head from a sniper rifle. They got your location on a rooftop far enough from them for you to make an escape. Thanks to Tony, Sam and Vision they kept track of your movements. The plan was to have Steve and Bucky face you and hopefully bring you in but somehow you managed to cause damage to Tony’s suit, taking him out of the fight. It was easy to get the rest of them off of your back. You didn’t understand why they wouldn’t fight back but you didn’t question it.
You didn’t know they didn’t want to hurt you. With the team only being on the defensive you managed to get away from them.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
You stood at the end of the hallway. The lights flickered above you, revealing the damage already done in the gunfight. Bucky stood at the other end, finally getting a good look at you. The same stoic expression on your face that he used to have. Eyes completely void of emotions with only one thing running through your mind, complete the mission. Your suit had a similar style as his, it was eerie.
You ran towards him, as he stood his ground. You kicked and punched but all he did was block your attack. Never once did he try to hit you and he had plenty of opportunities. It went on like this for a few minutes until he managed to grab both of your wrists, twisting you so that your back was pressed to his chest.
“Sunshine, it's me. It’s Bucky.” He says as he tries to fight back tears. “I know you’re in there. Come back to us please.”
The name is familiar and it catches you off guard for just a moment. You break free of his hold and begin your attack on him again until he lays unconscious on the floor. You start making your way down and out of the building. The mission was to keep them busy as the other escaped and you had done your part. Before you can get to the door a shield bounces off the doorway and cuts you off. Turning to find it had returned to its owner.
“Y/N you don’t have to go.” Laying his shield down as a show of trust. “You know me, you know us. We’re your friends.”
“I don’t have friends.” You say in a monotone voice.
“We can help you remember.”
“There is nothing to remember.” You say as you take out a gun from its holster aiming it at Steve. Then everything goes black.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
You bring a hand up to shield your eyes from the bright lights that hang above you, illuminating the incredibly white room. But this wasn’t the cell you were kept in. Yours wasn’t as bright or as clean and you didn’t even have a bed. A groan escapes your lips as you sit up. Voices reach your ears as you try to figure out where you are and how you will escape. You scan the cell and it’s bigger than you thought but what gets your attention was the two men on the other side of the glass panes, who looked at you with pained expressions and guilt. So you slowly got up and made your way to them, standing so close that if the glass wasn’t there you could feel their breath on your skin.
“Y/N?” The blond in front of you asked. Your eyes shifting from him to the brunet by his side. Their eyes are what kept your attention, red and puffy as if they had been crying but most importantly the ocean and electric blue that you remember so vividly stared back at you. It was scary, in the small moments that you had between missions or being sat at the chair you always remembered those eyes.
“Who is Y/N?”
“Do you remember anything?”
You didn’t answer because you couldn’t. Who were you? Were you this Y/N person they mentioned?
“Does it matter who I am? I only complete missions.” you say, looking at them one more time before turning and sitting back on the edge of the bed.
“Come on, we have a meeting.” You hear the blond say.
“No, I’ll stay.” The brunet says as he pulls up a chair from the corner of the room and sits in front of you.
He spends a few hours just sitting there, giving you silent company as you await for something to happen. Maybe your handler will send someone for you but you doubt it. The man in front of you, Bucky you remember him saying, stands removing the leather jacket and gloves he had on. You catch a glimpse of the black and gold arm.
“You’re the Winter Soldier.” You say very matter of fact. That gets a reaction from him. He gets tense before turning to look at you, a mixture of concern and anger at the mention of that name.
“What do you know about the Winter Soldier?”
“Enough.”
He’s unnerved by your uninterested tone. His heart aches as he looks at the shell of the woman he loves sit in front of him with no memory of everything you’ve shared. The door leading to the hallway slides open and Steve appears again. He places a hand gently on Bucky’s shoulder.
“Come on Buck, you need to get some rest.”
“No, I'd rather stay.”
“You should go.” You tell them.
Your voice was soft, worried. As if the real you were trying to get out. It was hope for them even if it was just a sliver, they would hold on to whatever they could if it meant getting you back. Both men look at you before looking at each other.
“Ok, I’ll go but we’ll be back in the morning to check on you.”
You give one single nod before both men disappear for the night.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Days passed and still nothing. There was no real change in your behavior. Even with Bucky after some time of being away from hydra and their controls there was a hint of him underneath everything. He could recall certain memories even after 70 years of being the winter soldier. With you it was a different story. They weren’t sure why you couldn’t remember a single thing. The issue was they needed to run some labs to see what was going on but you would refuse. Any medical personnel that came close to you would be met with a fight.
Currently you are staring down another nurse through the glass wall of your cell. But she isn’t who walks in, Steve does. He can take the hits if needed but he hopes you’ll let him close enough. His eyes are laser focused on you as he gets closer to the bed and sits down next to you.
“Darl-” Steve stops, reminding himself that you’re unaware of your relationship. “Y/N, we need to run some tests. Will you let the nurse take some blood?”
“Why does it matter what I want?”
“Because you’re free to choose. We just want to help you.”
“If I’m free to choose I would like to leave.” You get up with the intention of heading towards the door. Steve stands in front of you with a worried expression on his face, it makes your chest tighten at the possibility of hurting him in any way that wasn’t physical.
“Please let us help you, I- we just want to make sure you’re ok.”
Steve wanted nothing more than to reach out and touch you. To hold your hand in his, to leave you breathless after a kiss he so desperately wanted to give to you. But he couldn’t not like this, not when you were still under Hydra’s hold. He learned that lesson the hard way when it happened with Bucky. His attention went back to you when you noticed you playing with the edge of the sweatshirt you were wearing. You weren’t fighting the medical staff because of the brainwashing, you were doing it because you were afraid of needles. Steve wondered how he could have forgotten that, it was one of the first things he learned about you. This was just another reminder of what he failed at.
“I promise I’ll stay with you and if it’s too much we can take a break or stop completely.”
You consider his words, still unsure of why they’re being so kind to you. All of the people that you had fought against and even hurt would visit you constantly. They would all leave with a sadden or defeated expression. It made you question how you knew them. Looking back at the man in front of you, you nod. The least you could do was try in order to pay back for their kindness. Steve instructs you to sit at the small table that was in the cell as he lets the nurse come in.
Steve stands beside you as the nurse pulls out the equipment she’ll need. She eyes you warily before ripping open a small alcohol pad and wiping the inside of your elbow. You tense at the sensation and start moving back in the chair you were sitting on as you see the needle in the nurse’s hand.
“Hey it’s ok, keep your eyes on me.” Steve said as he crouched down, offering you a small smile. A pang of familiarity hit you, he had done this before. You just can’t remember why he cares so much. At the pinching of the needle your hand grabs his and Steve lets you squeeze as hard as you can and soon enough it’s over. The nurse excuses herself letting Steve know that she’ll give Bruce the samples. While their interaction ends Steve notices your hand hasn’t left his, and when he looks up your eyes are looking down at them. He can almost hear the gears turning in your head as you try to figure out why this is comforting, how you know him and why his touch feels so familiar.
An alarm goes off in the building and Steve is gone in a flash.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Some time passed before either Steve or Bucky came by to see you. It was late in the evening when they both walked in. Looking tired and slightly beaten up. You however were not in total control of your body. About two dozen of hydra’s men had breached the tower trying to get you out. One of them was successful in getting close enough to give you instructions. But he didn’t finish the list having been stopped by a man named Loki.
“You should check on Lady Y/N. I caught this waste of space saying something to her.”
When both men enter the room they find you sitting at the edge of the bed. Your eyes are vacant of any sort of emotion. They ask Friday to replay the surveillance video from the moment he appears and the hydra agent begins to give you instructions but Loki cuts him off before he can do any real damage.
“Fuck.”
“We lost her again.”
“We’ll get her back, Buck.”
“Will we? Whatever they did to her is different than what they did to me. Look at her Steve.” Bucky walks out frustrated, the guilt consuming him completely.
Steve stands there for a moment and walks out as well. When he does he finds Nat making her way over to him from the elevators.
“Hey, Bruce found something in her blood sample. He wants to see you both, I already told Barnes.”
“Thanks Nat.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It was an endless cycle of sitting, waiting and watching. Both men visited still, one a little less than the other. Slowly the memories of the last few days began to resurface and you could recognize them.
On this day their visits were short, they apologized for not being able to stay longer. That had been early in the morning and no one had come by. Unfortunately you had gotten used to the visits and you’re not sure why but it worried you when none of them came by to see you. Has hydra been successful this time? You stood and walked toward the cell door and did the one thing you had seen the others do.
“Friday, open the cell door.”
Sure enough the door popped open and you pushed it wider so that you could walk out. At the entry to the holding cell hallway you stopped and popped your head out to make sure there was no one coming. Once you were satisfied it was empty you moved. Unsure of where you were going you just walked around until you found the elevator bank and you pressed the down button. Although you were ready to leave this place you were unsure of where to go, you knew hydra wasn’t an option. You’re taken aback when the doors to the elevator opens and a small girl is standing there looking up at you.
“Auntie Y/N!” She barrels toward your legs, wrapping her arms around them and pressing her cheek into your thigh. She looks up at you with wide brown eyes and a sweet smile. “Daddy said they found you but wouldn’t let me see you. Do you want to play princess tea party?”
“What?”
“It’s our favorite game. You’re the best at it because you have manners. Come on.” You grabs your hand and you allow her to pull you into the elevator and press a button to a higher floor. “We can play at your apartment.” Her excited energy has her shifting from foot to foot as she continues to look up at you. “Daddy said you’re sick and that you might not remember me is that true?”
You look down at her and your chest tightens a little. There’s a protectiveness that surges through the longer you look at her. Somehow you know if you lie she’ll figure it out.
“Yes. For example I can’t remember your name, or where I live.”
“Well I’m Morgan Stark and you live in an apartment here.”
Stark. There was a flicker of recognition from the last few days. He had come to visit you when everyone else was sleeping. He really liked to hear himself talk, but it was the nights that he was quiet that were unsettling. He would look at you with sadness in his eyes and you weren’t sure why.
When the elevator doors open Morgan grabs your hand and leads you down towards a dark wood door. She instructs Friday to open it and the door unlocks. Her tiny hands twist the doorknob and she pushes it in, like she’s done it hundreds of times before. Cautiously you step inside, unsure if this is a trap or not. But you find yourself faced with an apartment. It’s been lived in and you wonder if you share it with someone.
“Come on. I wanna help you remember.” Morgan grabs your hand and leads you to the living room and then pats the couch for you to sit down.
Once you do as she asks you notice the small frames sitting on the coffee table and shelves. Pictures of you with the team, Steve and Bucky, the three of you. It only serves to confuse you more.
“Here, I like this one the most because you look like a princess.” Morgan gets up on the couch after handing you a photo album and sits on your lap as you open it to the first page.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“Have any of you heard from Nat yet?”
“I did,” Clint answered. “Said she met with her sister last night and is on her way back. Should be here in like 30 minutes.”
“Good, one step closer to getting your girl back. Bruce, make sure you take a sample of the antidote so we can recreate it and a sample of Y/N’s blood after.”
“Sure thing Tony.”
“How are you two holding up?” Tony turned to the super soldier duo.
“I’m not even sure anymore. Sure the antidote will remove the need to listen to hydra commands but that doesn’t mean she’ll remember us.”
“But this at least means we can take her out of the cell. Reintroduce her into the building, the team and that might help her remember.”
“I’m not so sure about that.” Bucky mumbled, he was losing the last bit of hope he had.
“Come on Barnes, if anything you can just make her fall in love with you all over again.”
Bucky glares at Clint as the door opens. Pepper stands in the doorway and surveys the area before frowning.
“Where’s Morgan?”
“I thought she was with you?” Tony stands and heads towards his wife.
“No, she wanted to see you. I told her I would bring her down in a minute but she didn’t want to wait. You know she’s in her ‘I can do everything alone’ phase. But you really haven’t seen her?” Pepper asks worriedly.
“Only one place I can think of she would try to find. Friday, show us Y/N’s cell.” Tony tells the A.I. Everyone looks at the screen with slight horror, your cell is empty. “Where the fuck is she? How did she get out?”
Pepper gasps as her hand flies over her mouth.
Steve is the first to move. “Friday, show us the footage before the cell door was opened.”
They see you stand from the bed and walk toward the door and they hear you ask Friday to open the door. Tony curses under his breath.
“You didn’t remove her from Friday’s authorization list?”
“I didn’t think she would try to use it.”
“Tony, where is Morgan?”
Tony has Friday follow your movements and they see when Morgan runs towards you before pulling you into the elevator. They’re all out of the meeting room and headed towards the apartment floors. Once they’re at Steve and Bucky’s apartment Tony starts to rush in only to be pulled back by Steve. The blonde puts a finger over his mouth commanding them to be silent. Him and Bucky stand closer to the door and listen to what the others can’t hear.
“We can go in, Morgan is safe.” Bucky tells them.
Bucky opens the door wide enough for them to walk in. Steve leads the way followed by Tony, Bruce, Clint and Bucky at the end. The sight before them claws at Steve and Bucky’s hearts. There were many pictures lying around you both and the tv was going with videos that you had recorded yourself from team get togethers, birthday parties and holidays. The laughter coming from the videos and Morgan is infectious but it only produces a sad smile on your face. The internal struggle is evident, you’re trying to remember but can’t. At the sound of movement both you and Morgan turn around, your arms wrapping around the young girl protectively before you realize it’s the same people in your videos.
“Daddy look, I'm helping auntie Y/N remember!” Morgan squeals in delight as she runs towards her father’s open arms.
“I see that munchkin but mama is looking for you, we should go find her.” Tony says after looking her over to make sure there are no injuries. “Let’s give them some privacy.” he mumbles to Clint and Bruce, leaving you alone with Bucky and Steve.
From your place on the couch you look up at them, unsure of what is going to happen next. Will they punish you because you left the cell? Steve sits down next to you, grabbing the remote and muting the tv. Bucky moves further into the living room, he grabs the album sitting on the coffee table and sits down. He opens the album and thumbs through the pages.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” You whispered.
“We didn’t know how much or little you remembered. We didn’t want to confuse you more.”
“But we’re married.” You look up at Bucky and then Steve wide-eyed. “Why was I with them?”
Steve, having been the one to approve the mission, speaks up and explains everything. His guilt is clear in every word and when it’s too difficult for him to speak Bucky fills the gaps. Once they’re done they ask if you have any questions.
“So I did it to protect you? Because I love you?”
Blue eyes full of guilt snap to yours. Was it really that simple? It seemed like there was a chance that you weren’t completely gone. Bucky reached into his shirt and pulled out his dog tags, a simple band with a beautiful diamond hung from it. He undid it and pulled the ring out and presented it to you. Followed by Steve doing the same with a simple band.
“They’re your engagement and wedding rings.” They each presented you with the ring they held on to. Bucky slipped the engagement ring on first and then Steve put the wedding ring on. You held your hand and stared at it, the sight of the rings on your finger. The memory fought to break free but you only got glimpses. Steve stumbles over his words, Bucky’s hand slightly shaking as he holds it up the first time. Smiles, kisses and lingering touches. They look at each other as they watch you fight to recall any memory.
“Why can’t I remember?”
“Hydra probably suppressed your memories.” Bucky offered.
“Did they do that to you?”
He nodded. A knock at the door interrupts the conversation and Nat walks in. She holds in her hand some sort of tube with red liquid inside. She looks at you with a sympathetic smile.
“This should counteract the agent they injected you with. If a hydra agent were to find you they won’t be able to control you anymore.” She pulled out something that looked like a spray can and added the tube to it. Nat pressed the nozzle in your direction and you inhaled it before shaking your head when you felt dizzy.
A weight had been lifted from your shoulders in a sense but dread pooled at the pit of your stomach. A fog had been lifted and you could remember all the things you’d done, all the people.
“How are you feeling?” Steve asked.
“I can’t remember anything.”
“I’m sorry Y/N, this won’t help with your memories only with the control hydra had.” Nat said before excusing herself.
“What happens now? Do I have to go back to that cell?”
“No, not at all.” Steve answers.
“But where will I go?”
“You can stay here if you want. This is your home too.”
“And if I never remember?”
“Then we’ll make new memories.”
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Have you noticed that the people fighting especially hard against the recognition of transandrophobia also seem to be rather... not bio-essentialist, but something similar? I’ve seen a call out floating around that cites that one post along the lines of how queer attraction is messy and sometimes you see a butch lesbian and a gay twink make out at a queer venue and that’s queer and awesome as the OP being obsessed with lesbians making out with men, and my TERF rhetoric senses started tingling. I think both trans men and trans women have been trained by radfems to use their rhetoric on each other to invalidate each other’s struggles.
Imo it's a strict policing of identity and label boundaries, more than anything, which is heavily rooted in radfem and TERF ideology. Especially when it pertains to the lesbian community.
Radfems have an obsession with lesbians and the lesbian community, beginning with the idea that they are The Most Oppressed Group- because women who only have relationships with other women are uniquely separated from men (The Oppressor) and thus must be both extra oppressed and extra pure.
It's also extremely handy for recruitment; making people feel as if they are uniquely and singularly victimized is a powerful motivator for forming and policing an in-group and out-group. This "the entire world wants to hurt you, and only others like you are safe" idea gives lesbians motivation to join radfems, fear of outsiders, and steadfast conviction that only other lesbians should be listened to at all.
It is absolutely vital, for this reason, that they have concrete lines to police between the in-group and the out-group. Lesbians must be clearly defined and easy to sort out from the rest, because they are the only safe people. They can't allow infiltrators in, lest these uniquely vulnerable people be endangered by dangerous predators- or sullied by the impure.
It's incredibly useful if the policing of boundaries is normalized, too. If we can police things like "who counts as LGBT+" and "who's allowed to say which words" and "who's oppressed enough to be legitimate", then it's normal to police "who counts as a real lesbian".
How far is the leap from that to "who counts as a real woman"?
That's what's happening when these folks raise an outcry about the blurring of these boundaries; their in-group relies on a clear line between them and the out-group, as well as the idea that their in-group is uniquely victimized. Notice the language they use: "You're obsessed with the idea of lesbians being with men", a focus on lesbian purity and the idea of predatory men wanting to invade it.
These ideas have become incredibly pervasive in queer spaces online, and they're not always passed around with these goals in mind. A lot of folks have just accepted this as Correct and Normal, and parrot it without knowing where it comes from or the purpose it serves.
Ultimately, letting people blur these lines, be messy, and be queer in whatever ways make sense to them is what our whole community is supposed to be about.
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To Topple A Giant || Chapter Four
Summary: You had made it your mission to destroy even the smallest evils. When the opportunity arises to finally take down your own family after years of gaining their trust, you reach for it. And so does Steve, the man who represents a symbol of everything you hate.
Pairing(s): Steve Rogers x Reader || Avengers x Reader
Part 4 of 10 ~ Mini-Series
Warnings: This story contains mature themes and discussions such as extreme canon violence, strong language, emotional angst, mentions of Endgame deaths and recoveries, sexual situations, and emotional/physical abuse. All trigger warnings will be listed before the chapter. This is purely fanfiction.
Warnings in this Chapter: reference to past sexual assault (very minimal); misogyny/sexism; mention of Infinity War deaths/Endgame deaths; abusive parental relationship; canon violence; heavy drinking; reference to cocaine use
Word Count: 13,900+
~
Tony’s Cabin, 2023, 8:56pm
“Uh…”
You and Steve stared at the little girl in front of you, bouncing up and down with excitement as she held up one of Tony’s repulsors, the safety on but pointed right at the two of you. Steve instinctively pushed you behind him, the obvious fact being that a blast would most certainly kill you and not the super soldier himself. You were having difficulty holding in your laughter, watching as the girl kept poking at the metal, awaiting its true power.
“Can I have that, Morgan?” Steve asked, his voice raising ever so slightly to try and seem nicer to the kid.
“Talk to her with your regular voice, Steve. She’s five, not a toddler.”
“Yeah!”
Now you laughed at Morgan’s declaration of approval, still standing behind Steve with your hands braced on his back.
Steve sighed and rolled his eyes playfully, “Alright, Morgan. Can I please have that back? It’s not a toy.”
“But daddy left it for me!”
You smiled at her, “Yeah, but he didn’t expect you to use it so early! Wait until you’re like… ten, then you can look through his things!”
“Y/N, ten?” Steve gave you a bewildered grin, eyes bright and laughter restrained.
“Okay, twelve.”
His shoulders sagged with a heavy laugh. He reached over and took the chance, grabbing Morgan’s wrist softly and ejecting the glove from her small hand.
“There we go!” you cheered, stepping out from behind Steve and scooping her up in your arms. Morgan started laughing loudly, kicking her legs to try and escape your hold. “Ah, don’t kick me!”
You had offered your time to Pepper whenever she needed it. You didn’t expect that she would call so early asking for a huge favor, her husband’s funeral not even four months ago. But you didn’t hesitate and packed an overnight bag, reassuring her that nothing would explode on your watch. On your way out of the temporary safe house, Steve had caught you just in time. A quick question of your future whereabouts and he was joining you, a tiny twinge of guilt in his chest from not seeing Tony’s daughter in so long. He was one of her godparents after all, just after Happy and Rhodey, beating out the third crowned position from Bruce.
He had been hurt by that initially, asking why he wasn’t even considered.
‘Bruce, the first time she comes into your room and stands over your sleeping body to let you know she had a nightmare, you’d scream.’
‘I wouldn’t be angry, just scared!’
‘Okay, after Cap here, you get custody.’
‘Oh, yay. Drafted fourth.’
Steve was happy to go see her on such short notice though, racing back up to his room to gather some overnight supplies as well. But you didn’t think anything of it - it was just a godparent wanting to see his godchild.
“Ouch, that hurt,” you laughed and placed Morgan down in her bed. “Nighty night time.”
“Daddy said he left things for everyone, not just me.”
Steve’s eyebrows shot up with curiosity, a sudden interest to know what his gift was exciting him. He had already given him the shield back... but then Thanos broke it. Maybe, another shield? No, T’Challa had already offered to send him a new one.
“Ooo, that’s interesting! I wonder if he got me that pretty bracelet I saw in that department store window that one time,” you gushed, pulling the blankets over Morgan. You fluffed out her hair, smiled at her, and told her goodnight.
“Night night!”
Both you and Steve called out from the doorway of her bedroom, “Night night!”
Several minutes had passed before you brought up the prospect of secret gifts again, knowing Steve was just as interested as you were.
“Want to go find them?”
Steve immediately stood up, clapping his hands together and giddy with excitement. “I won’t tell if you don’t!”
“Deal.”
You searched everywhere - living room, the garage, kitchen cabinets - even racing into the master bedroom, stealthy and secret, shame rising as you carefully picked up items around the room. “This feels like an invasion of privacy.”
Steve chuckled from outside the door, “Hurry up!”
But you found nothing. There was only one more spot to look - his office. You almost didn’t want to intrude any longer, this being his most sacred space, but the mere chance of Tony giving you a gift from the afterlife made you extremely happy. So you and Steve searched, stacking and restacking random papers and pushing away gadgets and books in the bookshelf. Finally, a small opening in the third shelf alerted you of your mission success.
“Oh, fuck yeah,” you cheered, reaching in and pulling boxes and clipped pieces of paper, all different colors and sizes, from the compartment. They were labeled with various names - Rhodey, Pepper, Happy, Clint, Thor, Steve, Nebula, you - and Natasha.
Steve sucked in his breath, his gasp similar to yours. “He got these before…”
“Yeah,” you nodded, handing Steve his labeled box. It was light blue, a white ribbon delicately wrapped around it, and with a cute little red ribbon with Steve’s name on it. It wasn’t big, but it was more than enough.
“Open it,” you said.
Steve shook his head, “Let’s open ours together.”
You agreed to his terms, taking your folder into your hands. It was one of those same art folders you had when you bought some new planners or notebooks. It was black, custom-made it seemed, as it had your name on the front in gold, cursive writing.
On the count of three, you both opened your presents.
Steve pulled out two sets of dog tags from the box, the sound of them clinking together reminding him of the times he would hug his fellow soldiers on the battlefield, cheers of victory mixed in with the smell of sweat and dry blood. He read the names on the metal.
‘Steven G. Rogers
987654320 T42 O
Brooklyn, NY. P.’
‘James B. Barnes.
32557038 T41 42 O
R. Barnes
Shelbyville, IN. P.’
He had not known they recovered his dog tags, faintly remembering clutching them tightly as he flew the plane into the ice. But SHIELD must have kept them for the museum, and Tony had recovered them. Bucky’s, however, were lost as soon as Bucky fell from that train. They were more rusted than Steve’s, almost as if HYDRA kept them underwater or stored for the majority of Bucky’s sentence. But no matter how Tony had gotten them, he was eternally grateful.
“Wow,” Steve said, clearing his throat. But you were too caught up in your reading.
‘Target whereabouts discovered mid-May of 2017. Only T. Stark and N. Romanoff approved for mission.
Transport at 20:00 hours. Target(s) confirmed and exterminated at exactly 0802 Pacific Standard Time.’
You choked on the sob that suddenly broke through, hand instantly reaching up to cup your mouth. Steve put his tags back into the box, shushing you to get you to calm down. “What is it? What’d he get you?”
Four pictures accompanied the short report, each face crossed out with red paint. A tiny laugh escaped and tears of joy started to flow. To say Steve was confused was an understatement.
“He… he got me justice.”
Steve took the file from you, reading over every word to somehow understand what you meant by justice. His eyebrows were furrowed in concentration and he looked up at you for more explanation.
You brushed your hair back and rubbed at your cheeks, the smile on your face now straining. Whether it was a sudden change of mind or the closure of your trauma was just that satisfying, you told Steve exactly what Tony and Natasha had done for you.
“After I joined you guys in New York, Fury sent me on a mission to infiltrate and bring back information about this dude my father was trying to literally destroy. But I had to play both sides - the good and the bad.”
Steve set the file down, his full attention on you.
“I got the information but for some reason, it wasn’t enough for my father. I had forgotten to get the most vital piece, something he thought I would automatically know,” you scoffed, your smile faltering at the next part of the story.
“I cost him ten million. And to teach me a lesson, he let these men do whatever they wanted to me. Anything.”
Steve’s breath hitched as he understood what you meant. And it was no longer a mystery why you had been planning to kill him ‘again’ after everyone came back from the snap.
“I returned to the compound in such bad shape. I only told Natasha. She cleaned me up, she took me to med-bay in the middle of the night, she brought me breakfast in bed,” you chuckled at the memory, hand reaching out to hold Steve’s.
“And Tony’s gift was murdering the men that hurt me.”
Steve let a few tears slip himself, his hand gripping yours tighter. “Y/N, if I would have known-”
“Hey, it’s okay. You didn’t know, though. I thought only Natasha knew. She promised me she would take care of it. I just didn’t think she would actually find them.”
“I think we know that Natasha could find literally anything and anyone,” Steve said.
You agreed with his statement, a smile returning to your face.
You jumped from your sitting position and went back to retrieve Natasha’s gift. “Hey, should we?”
Steve eyed the small, black box in your hand. He sighed as he walked over to you, eyes returning to the box.
“It was meant for her.”
You frowned, “Yeah, and I’ll ask Pepper if we can give these to everyone else.”
You paused and shook the box near your ear. It felt heavy in your hand, and the contents gave a little jingle.
“But this one was for Nat. I think she’d want us to at least see it.”
Steve chuckled and just nodded, awaiting the reveal. You pulled the ribbon and opened the box, surprised that Tony had given her a piece of jewelry. “Oh.”
Steve took the bracelet from the box, oblivious that the movement would unlock the charms from their heavy chests. In a matter of seconds, charms of similar size but different designs dropped to encircle the silver band. You inspected them in Steve’s hand - a red/white/and blue shield, Mjollnir, a pair of wings, two arc reactors, a singular arrow, a silver arm, a spider, an emerald heart, the letters ‘W’ and ‘V’ intertwined, a black cat, an ant - and your symbol, an intricately carved silver charm no bigger than your thumbnail, of your face. Tony knew no specific object or symbol was tied with your Avengers status, no one had ever given you one, but this was perfect.
“Wow,” Steve whispered, examining each charm closely with a lazy smile on his face.
“We were her family. This was an ode to that.”
“What do we do with it?” Steve asked.
You just shrugged, “Frame it? It would feel wrong just taking it for myself.”
Steve agreed. Later that night when Pepper returned home, you showed her what Morgan led you to. She let you keep your gifts and take the others, absolutely loving the idea of framing Natasha’s bracelet in the new compound being built.
Present Day, 2025, 8:10 am
The bright light from the open windows hadn’t hit you as suddenly as the random throw pillow that connected to your face, startling you with a quick gasp and causing you to choke on your spit. You snapped up, belly down and hair wild, eyes still half-lidded as you searched for the aggravator. And he stood there with a stupid grin on his face, already dressed in his stupid old man clothes, and stupid blond hair perfectly pushed back.
“What the fuck was that for?” you tried to yell, voice cracking at the end and just the slightest hint of drool threatening to spill from the corner of your mouth.
“I ordered room service. Plus, we have to leave in an hour.”
You grabbed as many pillows as your one free hand could hold, the other still tucked into the pillowcase below your head. You flung them wildly, none actually hitting the super soldier directly. His chuckle pulled a deep groan from you, and no longer wanting to look like a fool, you stumbled out of bed and pushed passed him roughly.
“You could have woken me up the same time you got up.”
“But you looked so peaceful.”
His sarcasm was not helping your souring mood. Steve headed over to the monitors to turn them on, already setting up the morning video chat with Bucky and Sam. “Do you always sleep like a mounted spider?”
You flicked him off, “Leave me alone so I can take my morning piss in peace!”
You slammed the door and made your way to the toilet. Now, you were no morning person. But it was simple enough for you to crawl out of bed with only minimal protest when your awakening was a peaceful one. Having a pillow thrown at your head while mid-dream was practically excruciating and no one, not even the grandest morning person in the world, could possibly awake happy from that. And to top it all off, you couldn’t even remember what you were dreaming of. Just another thing to blame Steve for.
After you had done your morning routine and slipped into a really comfy outfit, the breakfast finally arrived. You muttered a quiet thanks to Steve for ordering your favorites and damn him for knowing you preferred waffles over pancakes and a variety of creamers to choose from, and quickly filled Bucky and Sam in on what the plan for the day was.
You had been on missions with Steve before, but no matter how many times you regrouped in the mornings, you had never actually seen him wake up. After your rude awakening, you wondered at what point during sunrise he opened his eyes - ‘cause you’ll be standing over him with a pillow of your own.
“Torres has the air footage scheduled for around five today, then he’ll link you to the camera for the remainder of the mission,” Sam clarified.
“Is it possible to link earlier?” Steve asked.
“Not unless you can get the Wi-Fi password of the estate.”
You chuckled, still funneling mouthfuls of waffle into your mouth. “So, we can hack the Pentagon whenever we feel like it, but we can’t hack into my father’s estate without the Wi-Fi password?”
Sam cleared his throat, “You are so lucky this is a secure line.”
“Wait until she finishes her breakfast and her head will be screwed back on straight,” Steve joked, taking a long sip from his tea.
Almost immediately, your phone dinged with a new message. You angled your phone away from Steve but your smirk was enough to alert him of a side conversation happening under his nose.
Bucky: Ouch, I wouldn’t mind if you hit him upside the head.
Y/N: he threw a pillow at me to wake me up :(
Bucky: hit him
Y/N: bet
“Stop talking about me over the phone.”
“Don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Steve grumbled, the rough sound catching Sam’s attention as well. His eyes flashed back and forth between the two of you - Steve desperately trying to catch a quick glance at your messages, and you leaning away from him with thumbs moving at a rapid pace.
“Y/N, how you feeling?”
You put your phone down and pretended to not notice how Steve was trying to get a glimpse of your screen.
“A little queasy, in all honesty.”
A myriad of emotions were present and coiling in your body, each trying to sprout and bloom and gain their five seconds of fame. And for the past several years, it was easy to downplay their true power. Because the power they held wasn’t one of distressing strength, but rather one that tip-toed to the front of your anxiety driven worries. It planted itself there, up front, but ever so silent. For it to finally meet its match, to possibly be freed of such a coil - well, you were more worried about not succeeding in its erasure than its final blooming.
“We’ve come up with a system to make sure we both don’t go overboard or to tell the other that we’re alright,” Steve said, eyes on the monitor but hands loading bullets into your trusty handguns.
“Alright, that’s good,” Bucky spoke, finally. He typed away on his keyboard, “Give us a word we all use in case we need back-up immediately.”
“Mm, you should ask Steve. He loves his safe words.”
Steve rolled his eyes, “Something Avengers related? Or something no one would ever say?”
“Pick anything you want, just don’t let it be awkward to repeat out loud,” Sam joked.
Steve pondered for a few seconds before he settled on his chosen word, a hint of a smile forming. “Widow.”
You nodded, “That’s sweet. She’d like us using her alias for a dirty little safe word.”
You huffed suddenly, shoulder colliding with the carpet, the realization that Steve pushed you from your chair causing you to stare at him with your mouth hanging open. “Hey!”
“Steve, every single day I accept your fate from her murderous hands,” Bucky grumbled, Sam’s loud laugh causing the speaker to give a quick halt of static.
“She’s okay- hey!”
You flew across your chair and onto him, lunging your body as your main weapon in taking him down. You both tumbled to the floor, the sofa chair you collided with scraping along and pushing the coffee table with it. A lamp shattered on the floor right when you wrapped your arm around Steve’s neck and hooked your legs from underneath him and around his waist, his back to your front, both his arms coming up to tug yours out of reflex.
“Yield, you little shit,” you grunted, the grip of your arm remaining loose on purpose but your legs tight, heels now digging into his slim waist.
Steve groaned, both from your pointy heels and the sudden impact his body made with the ground. “I’m letting you win.”
“You seriously got a mouth on you.”
You let him go anyway, choosing to save your strength for the mission and not waste it on a petty little fight. Besides, you could always smother him with a pillow in his sleep.
“You two done?”
Both you and Steve stumbled getting up, faces back in your teammate’s view as you smoothed down your clothing and wiped at your foreheads.
“Now that that’s over,” Sam continued, clearing his throat. “The only task for today is to get a feel of the place, establish a legit backstory providing you some leverage, and to swipe those ID’s.”
“Got it,” you acknowledged, standing again to begin hooking your weapons in discreet locations in your clothing.
“And we’re not responsible for that broken lamp so it’s coming out of your paycheck.”
California really wasn’t like any other state. There was a vast difference from Northern and Southern, the difference being the amount of green fields visible. In Southern California, the mountains and desert areas took up most of the landscape, with an industrial complex here, a growing city there, and then nothing for a good ten miles. Since most of the landscape was below sea level, the atmosphere was almost always dry, modest dust storms forming only to quickly pass a freeway and disintegrate once it found the other side. It was more urban, more lively with people. But Northern California, even if it experienced the same weather patterns as the south, was mostly humid during the winter season. The mountains here were covered in lively agriculture, livestock roamed freely in the gated areas near the freeways, and the overall environment provided a rural look.
And the differences just stood out to you, your excitement for the livestock starting to annoy Steve as you kept pointing out every cow you drove past. He threatened to stop the car and dare you to tip one.
“So, how did we meet?”
Steve chuckled, “We’re coworkers, Y/N. Thought that question was obvious.”
You whined, “Steve, we have to put some drama into it! How about we say we met during one of Tony’s parties after Fury assigned you to this?”
“And what? I asked you to dance?”
You leaned over your seat and poked his arm, teasing him. “Would you have asked me to dance?”
Steve shrugged, “I mean, sure.”
He glanced at you and then back to the road. “Can’t we just be honest? I like the way we met.”
You pouted, “The way we met is a matter of national security.”
“You brought that thing back to an unguarded planet?” Loki seethed, his voice still a whisper as he followed Thor through the hallways of Avengers Tower. A tower he had been prisoner of for a few weeks now, but would soon be released from once Thor decided to return home. Besides, it had been more than a year since his unfortunate attack and after thousands of apologies, brainwashing excuses (which were true!), and quite a few long labor hours equivalent to Midgardian community service, his leash was extended somewhat.
“How am I the more level-headed one right now?”
Thor grumbled in response, now on his hands and knees as he searched for the tiny animal that had already eaten its way through the plush of the interior walls. “It couldn’t have gotten far. And how was I supposed to know the oxygen levels here would cause it to go crazy?”
“You couldn’t. In fact, I don’t know why it’s here in the first place!”
“Keep screaming, Loki. I bet that would make it come to us quicker!”
Loki was about to come up with another quick quip, but was interrupted by a quiet mumble down the hall.
“Oh?”
You rocked back and forth on your heels as you stared at the two brothers - one sweeping the floor on all fours and the other ducked down to scream into his brother’s ear. “Whatcha looking for?”
“Now, don’t be alarmed, Agent. But I may have misplaced my dog.”
“Dog?” Loki tilted his head, hands now cupping the side of his head in disbelief.
Your eyebrows shot up from his reaction, “Not dog?”
“It’s… an animal from Asgard.”
“Okay, what does it look like?” you asked, now more interested than ever.
Thor cleared his throat and rose to his feet slowly, “Like a dragon.”
You stepped back, almost tripping over your left foot. An involuntary laugh escaped from your lips and you brought a hand up to try and stifle it. “You brought a dragon into the tower?”
“He brought a dragon back to Midgard,” Loki clarified as he walked over to the wall and pressed his ear against it.
“Oh, yeah. That’s much worse,” you agreed. “Fury’s gonna shove his foot so far up your ass-”
“Yes, yes. I know what awaits me. Now, help us find it!” Thor begged.
This wasn’t how you expected to spend your first day as an Avenger. After all the training and promoting, the paperwork and oaths, you thought you would have a pretty chill afternoon. Arrive at the conference room, get the name badge and a rundown of your new field suit, and meet the rest of the team. Freshly nineteen and energetic as ever, you accepted this as a test. Find the dragon, make a good impression.
It only took a few more minutes before you three stumbled on an otherwise empty hallway, staring down the colorful creature as it licked one of its paws.
Your eyes widened, “It looks like an alebrije.”
“You have these creatures on your planet?” Loki asked, surprise written over his face.
“Nope, alebrije’s aren’t real. They’re fantasy.”
“Nevermind that, help me catch it!”
Loki began shushing his brother, hands swatting his massive shoulders in the process. You leaned down to the floor and tapped it with your fingernails, hoping the nice gesture would cause the creature to meet you halfway.
“Hey, buddy,” you cooed. “Can you come here please?”
The creature raised its head, colorful eyes on full display. Similar to rings of fire, but face like a fox, and fur as soft as silk. It titled its head, interested for only a second, before it kicked back and rushed toward the three of you at full speed.
“Oh, shit-!”
As he was the closest, Loki pushed Thor to the wall and lifted you from the ground. But before he could throw you out of the way too, the creature leaped. Loki shielded you with his body, wrapping his arms around you and picking you up as the creature kicked his back and sent the two of you flying through wall after wall. Loki was taking the force of it all, his chest angled in a way to protect your head. It was about ten walls you two flew through before you landed in what seemed like conference room B… or C… or A. Loki rolled you over and groaned in pain. You landed on your back, bright lights blinding you as you tried to adjust. Then a figure came into view as your blurry vision cleared.
You blinked rapidly and stared up at your new Captain. You smiled, a bit delirious, and raised your hand up for a handshake.
“Y/N Y/L/N, new recruit!”
Steve just stared, eyebrows scrunched, an expression resembling a scowl and bewilderment painted on his face. He took your hand in his and shook it.
“Forgive us, Captain,” Loki spoke, coughing as he turned over. “But you might want to get that shield of yours.”
“When did we become a couple?” you continued once you agreed on the ‘party meet-and-greet’ as your previous answer.
Now, this was a question Steve was wondering about since before you mentioned the necessity of such answers. Although he didn’t fantasize about being your significant other, he did wonder what possible event could jumpstart it. If anything, and he would take this to the grave, he assumed a line would be crossed during a particularly tempting mission. Bucky had admitted to him that on one mission, and Steve promised to take this to the grave as well, Bucky had to kiss Wanda to keep their cover. The feelings subsided soon after the mission was over, but Bucky confessed to real feelings developing. So if Steve had to bet, a particularly tempting mission.
“When we were searching for Bucky?”
You nodded, “That works. We can say the fall of SHIELD basically led to us to realize how weak the system was and how we could easily manipulate it.”
The road veered off to the side, now dirt and unevenly layered. You checked the directions Torres gave you just to make sure.
“And when is my birthday?”
You didn’t expect Steve to answer so quickly, and to get it right. Perhaps he looked over your file and remembered, because you were certain only your little friend group knew it. It was Bucky, it had to be him, the little shit, he told-
“Surprised?”
“A little. How do you know it?”
“Nat. Who do you think sends you those chocolates every year?”
You were overjoyed, really. “Wha-? Natasha said she did it.”
Steve smirked, “She covered for me.”
“Why?”
“Because for five years after the snap, you and Nat did nothing for yourselves and did everything for everyone else.” He had been witness to the two of you pulling all-nighters, washing the sheets of your fallen teammates as if they were going to return that weekend, celebrating their birthdays in secret with a small candle and a prayer. Moving from the compound and into his own apartment was hard enough, but seeing his remaining teammates wallow in cursed self-determination was worse. So, he asked Nat about your birthday to send you chocolates and a lovely handwritten note, careful to write in a font different from his natural one, and he would fold tiny paper airplanes and leave them around the compound where only Nat could find them, providing her a sense of playfulness in her busy day. Little joys to make up for such an impact.
“If it makes you feel better, I sent gifts to Nat and Bruce, too.”
But because Bruce had no forwarding address at the time, Steve settled for quick text messages here and there.
“And here I was thinking I was special.”
Steve laughed at your statement. He reached into the middle compartment to grab the mics you would be wearing. “By the way, make sure to hide this behind your neck. My mic will blend in as a button.”
You inspected the flat, button-like mic, awed by how intricate their design was. “They connected to Bucky’s?”
Steve clipped his onto his shoulder, the camouflage effect throwing you off. Yup, you loved science. “Yeah, they record everything and immediately send it back already transcribed.”
You unfolded the sun visor and watched how the mic picked up the color of your skin and blended naturally. “Remind me to send T’Challa and Shuri a gift basket.”
“And more.”
The estate was exactly how you remembered it. Modern and simple all at once, a brown exterior to easily blend into the surrounding forest, and massive front gate that only opened with a specific code. You leaned out the window and typed it in. There was no speaker this time, probably evidence of newly installed cameras.
“It’s beautiful,” Steve muttered, pulling into the long driveway and following the brick road.
It truly was. Even from where you were, you could see into the mansion as the walls were all practically made from glass. The walls in the back were normal, however, as that’s where most of the business was conducted. There were no swing doors, only large and heavy double doors made from cooled lava rock. And even though your father was a very organized man, the house was littered in trinkets of all origins: professionally stuffed exotic animals, roman and oriental statues, porcelain eggs, multiple pianos, and first editions of some of the most popular books in the world. There wasn’t any set theme for this house, but it was screaming ‘money’.
Steve parked the car away from the others, careful to leave enough room around it to ensure an easy escape if needed.
“Remember what I said - play the part. Leave the smart mouth to me, they know me. It’s what they’ve come to expect.”
Steve clicked his seatbelt and sighed heavily, “I apologize in advance.”
You gave him a small smile, “Nothing to apologize for, Steve. Like I said, this is a mission. Don’t stress about it.”
He shook his head, “Still.”
The sincere look in his eyes sent a tingle down your arms. You cleared your throat, “I feel dirty saying this, but know your place. You may be a Captain but you’re not manning this boat.”
For some reason Steve felt that he truly needed to apologize in advance. For the past several years, it wasn’t entirely real to him. He had not been directly involved. But now that he was here, parked and staring at you - the one person who had a first hand account of the horrors inside - he needed to make sure you understood he would never actually hurt you, or you him. “I trust you.”
You removed your seatbelt and opened the door, “I trust you, too.”
It was windy today, the ruffles from the trees almost disguising the labor coming from the back. You assumed they were still building the reception area. Steve jogged over to your side and hooked your arm in his, his body tenser than yours. Someone opened the heavy doors, immediately swallowing the oxygen for miles with merely their presence. You couldn’t help yourself from a small grimace, lips spreading into a straight line as you forced any other expression besides hatred.
Seda, standing at barely six foot and a smug look plastered on his aging face that worried even Steve. This was the man that had shot you when he was on the run - the man that would most likely do it again.
Seda quickly stepped down the stairs, “Y/N, so lovely to see you again!”
You let go of Steve to walk ahead, arms extended to match the idea of a grand entrance. “Really? Because the last time we saw each other, you shot me in the gut.”
Steve swore he saw Seda’s upper lip twitch. “You hold too many grudges. I was just following your father’s orders.”
You rolled your eyes and finally came to a stop in front of him, arms crossed over your chest. “Obviously.”
“And I’ve finally got the chance to meet Captain America! You’re much larger in person.”
No matter the acting skills one must obtain for this line of work, it was still obvious Seda was speaking through clenched teeth. He scanned Steve up and down, somewhat intimidated.
It was such a sudden shift, one you obviously knew was coming, but the deepness of Steve’s voice still caused unnatural goosebumps to rise. “I get that a lot. Helps in this business, though.”
Seda let out a low chuckle, “I would think so.” He turned and instructed the two men who had followed him out to reopen the heavy doors. “This way.”
Steve tried not to gawk at the amount of decorations and old-timey artifacts he swore should belong in a museum. So much furniture, so much history that shouldn’t mix but somehow worked. And was that… was that a stuffed polar bear?
“So, how you doing, Seda? Besides the usual,” you asked, hooking your arm back with Steve’s.
Seda walked with his head held high, only tilting his head downward when giving a silent greeting to those who walked by. You tried to memorize faces or see if there was anyone you recognized. But your father barely kept the same team for more than a few years. They either left voluntarily and luckily, or were simply never heard from again.
“Excited for the wedding. Jackeline has been running around nonstop on her finishing touches,” Seda responded.
You huffed out a laugh, “I bet she has. She used to have a scrapbook that outlined six different wedding themes.”
“And I haven’t seen the end of it.”
Only a few more twists and turns and you were finally near the familiar hallway that housed your father’s darkest work. The interior design was purposeful, no windows and no cameras. Steve unhooked your arms, opting for a more formal presentation between the two of you. Seda was difficult to please, but your father was near impossible. Better to not have his hands all over his daughter during their first meeting.
“Hey, what’s the wi-fi password? I’m expecting a few important emails today,” you asked before Seda opened your father’s office door. Steve had to restrain himself from blessing the ground you walked on. Bless you for remembering.
“‘Guadalajara’.”
“Thanks,” you mumbled, sending the password to Torres as quickly as you could.
It wasn’t the grand entrance you expected, truly, but you didn’t expect to see your father simply chilling behind his desk signing a few papers. He usually paced, was in a random meeting, or on the phone. Here, he was just… strangely normal.
He looked up, eyes locking with yours for the first time in seven years. “Now, I haven’t seen you since your little weekend trip to Jalisco!”
Yeah, since you had me shot.
Stepping into the office, the smell of cigars was heavy. Musty and daring, enveloping you like the times it did before. But now you had Steve - sweet Steve whose warmth you could feel behind you.
You shrugged, “I’m not traveling much outside the country these days. Too much shit going on.”
Your father stood up and let out a dry laugh, “No lie about that. Seda was telling me how loose the borders were when half the world croaked.”
“Emigration was common, yup.”
He smiled at you, walking over and placing his hands on your shoulders. You did your best not to tense your muscles. “I wish I could have been there. You guys made millions those five years.”
You swore you heard Seda scoff near the corner of the room.
“It’s about time we met! Ernesto Vega,” your father introduced himself, holding out his hand for Steve to take.
It was instant, the change, and you found yourself pushed softly to the side as Steve stepped forward. “Steve Rogers, sir. It’s an honor to meet you.”
Your father was practically beaming, “Y/N isn’t giving you a hard time with all the business, aye?”
Steve chuckled, “None at all. She steps back when asked.”
Okay, maybe he was a better actor than you took him for.
“I can’t believe you even have to ask,” your father hummed, glancing back at you with a disapproving look.
Steve shrugged, “More like ‘ordered.’”
It was scary how easily Steve was making your father laugh. “So, she listens to you? I wonder what that’s like.”
You interrupted, scoffing quietly. “I have literally done everything you’ve asked.”
And without glancing at you this time, your father quipped. “Everything but learn how not to complain.”
You rolled your eyes and met Seda’s stare. He always enjoyed the torment your father caused you. When he ordered you do something sketchy and you objected, Seda always had a front row seat to the slaps and harsh language spit in your face. He had a way of bringing up the abuse in almost every conversation he held with you - like it gave him some form of sick satisfaction.
“Regardless of my daughter’s inability to listen, I was still surprised when she named you as her partner.”
“The whole hero game was getting boring. I needed excitement.”
Your father agreed, “Don’t we all?”
Before he continued, he squinted his eyes at Steve and scanned him once more. Almost like he was double checking his initial choice.
“And you’re fine with breaking the laws of the country you’re the mascot for?”
“America has changed over the last hundred years. Trust me, I should know.”
Steve was answering exactly how you two practiced. You couldn’t help the small tinge of pride that it ignited.
“Oh, I can’t believe you’re older than me. I mean, look at you.”
“The positives and negatives of being America’s science experiment, sir.”
“But here you are now. Working for me.” Your father stepped back to sit behind his desk again. “I’m very happy.”
“Likewise, sir,” Steve replied as he shuffled closer to you, trying to not seem so suspicious. Last time Steve wanted to crawl out of his own skin was when he was barely being introduced to the new world. Times Square really was a concrete jungle, his and Bucky’s old apartment building had been demolished in the fifties, and inflation… don’t get him started on inflation.
“I’d like you to meet my two friends.” Your eyes widened. No, you weren’t supposed to meet them today. You hadn’t planned for this.
“Friends and competition alike.”
You tried to keep your voice steady, “Shouldn’t you warm them up before you invite them in? They’re gonna take one look at Steve and freak.”
Your father motioned for Seda to open the door. “Then prepare your speech quickly.”
Before you or Steve could come up with a game plan, your father called out to the new arrivals. “Amigos! Me gustaría presentarles al hombre detrás de toda mi operación.”
The men summoned were completely different from the last time you saw them. Given you saw Ramirez long before the snap and White even before then, change was destined. Ramirez was skinnier, no more protruding stomach, wrinkles almost nonexistent and eyes lively. He hadn’t disappeared with half the world, but one of his daughters did - so getting her back definitely helped his overall health. White, on the other hand, aged overnight. His hair was now gray, eyelids sullen but eyes wide, and his nose was tilted awkwardly, like a surgery to counteract the powder he sniffed. You couldn’t remember if he was dusted or not.
“Tienes que agradecer a mi hija por esto.”
He did not just give you credit for this.
“No fucking way?” Ramirez spoke, almost like he was out of breath.
Curse your father for not preparing these two. You quickly reminded yourself where your gun was hidden in case things got out of hand.
White stepped forward, circling you and Steve as if you were displayed in a museum. “Do we each get our own Avenger?”
“Maybe in the future. But this one’s mine.”
“I’m an Avenger, too. But okay,” you mumbled, offended by his singular statement. Steve’s lip twitched slightly but the look he threw at you let you know he wanted to smile.
“¿Cómo lo hiciste?”
“Ya sabes cómo es... La gente simplemente sigue mi ejemplo.”
You decided to speak, anything to get White to stop inspecting you like some ancient artifact. “Steve green lights the routes and passages. He’s been a main player all along.”
White squinted at you, “And how long has this been going on?”
“For almost ten years,” you answered.
White shook his head in surprise, eyes wider than you thought possible. His accent was more slurred than you remembered. “And you’re telling us now because-?”
Your father cut in, “The world is still in ruins. If we combine our forces like we discussed before that unfortunate disappearing act, we’ll be unstoppable.”
This seemed to catch Ramirez off guard, as if he truly didn’t remember the conversation your father brought up. You shoveled his reaction deep into your memory. Maribel would have to look into it.
Still, Ramirez played along. “And you’ll be loyal to us, too? Not just Ernesto?”
Steve nodded, his posture straightening. “I would.”
Now, the two new arrivals looked at you. You raised an eyebrow.
“Don’t look at me. I do what he says,” you admitted, nodding your head toward Steve.
They seemed to accept that answer.
“And he’s here to help us move the shipment this Saturday?” White asked.
“That’s the plan,” your father confirmed.
It was time for Ramirez to circle you both. But he did so more casually and without the intent of kicking you in the shins, it seemed. He went to sit on the couch nearest the door, away from the crowd. You could sense Steve tensing up, so you turned your body slightly to the side so you could see Ramirez through your peripheral.
“How do we know we can trust him? What those stars and stripes have to do with us?”
“You hear that Captain?” your father asked, leaning back in his chair with that twisted smile that always made your stomach drop. “Time to prove your loyalty.”
“Are you seriously going to haze him?” you spoke, a hint of a teasing tone on your words. It was time to liven up the conversation, for both your sake, or else your father was sure to go overboard. His hand… where’s Steve’s hand?
“Does she speak for you?”
Steve stepped forward, “No, she doesn’t.”
“Prove it.”
You should really punch your chest to get your heart beating again. Was he going to make Steve try the product? Record something as blackmail? Kill someone?
“Wha-” you began, but were immediately silenced as an arm wrapped around your neck and held you in place. The coldness of the gun’s muzzle tickled just below your chin, still and steady, but nonetheless terrifying. Your father had held you in this position before - hell, most of his men did when asked. But it wasn’t any of your father’s men threatening you under orders - it was Steve.
“Obviously, I’m not going to kill her. You need her for this whole operation to work. But a little roughing up never did any bad.”
He removed his other arm but kept the muzzle under your chin, grabbing both your arms skillfully and pinning them behind your back.
You had never seen your father so pleased. “Why are you dating my daughter?”
Steve chuckled and clicked the safety. No, no.
You scrambled to open your right palm and squeeze what you could reach. Steve seemed to understand right away, and he loosened his grip and placed his other shaking hand into yours. You squeezed tightly.
“Now, that’s like asking a man why he breathes air.”
No matter the position he currently had you in, you still praised his acting skills.
“Perhaps. But I know my daughter. Why you?”
Steve kept a firm grip. “Luck?”
“It seems so. Let her go.”
He released you immediately, clicking the safety back on. Seda was in front of him before Steve could place it back on his person, grabbing the gun and emptying it. Seven rounds tumbled and scattered to the floor. This seemed to please both men, as Steve wasn’t presenting himself with an empty threat. He really could have killed you.
“I’m assuming Y/N has told you stories about me. About my men.”
The floor beneath you was uneven, it seemed, but once your mind stopped playing tricks on you, you settled. You shot a quick glance to Ramirez, his eyes closed and hands clasped in his lap. He seemed distant.
“Only the ones worth repeating, sir.”
“Oh? And which are those?”
“Orders and the like.”
“So, you don’t know much? Nothing interesting? Nothing that could make me seem like the bad guy?”
The room grew hot, whether it was the natural air or the bubbling anger boiling in your stomach.
“Like I said, sir. I ask her what I want to know and she tells me. Other than that, it’s your call.”
The room fell silent as they debated their other questions.
“How much do the other Avengers know?”
You were about to respond when Steve spoke instead. “Oblivious. I’m still the stars and stripes for them.”
White scoffed, “Those symbols don’t mean shit in this new world. Ridiculous of them to still assume you’re the same man.”
Steve’s jaw tensed, “Exactly right, sir.”
This seemed to be enough for your father. He stood from his chair, walking over to shake Steve’s hand again. So righteous and personal, almost like he hadn’t just ordered the assassination of an old friend a few days ago. “I like you, Captain. You’ve boosted my business, you’ve handled my daughter, you’ve made me a lot of money.”
He looked away from Steve to look at you now, laying eyes upon a person he hadn’t bothered to reunite with in person. You had fought so hard not to be in the same room ever again, but now you were. A small little office, holding whatever air you were forced to share, on a mission that could change everything. You hated him, absolutely detested the ground he stood on, blamed him for the fallout, the change, the hurt.
“Seda, you trust him?”
Seda opened the office door and started ushering the other two men out. “I’m getting there.”
Your father laughed, “Always so cynical.”
Ramirez stood from his seat behind you, already gunning to make a good impression on your Captain. He shook Steve’s hand, “Until next time.”
“Sir,” Steve returned the handshake. Ramirez only adjusted slightly, and held his hand out to you. You looked down at it, momentarily stunned from any attention, but shook it in the way you were taught. Firm, short, and ready for business. You grinned at him and he returned the same emotion.
“Two Avengers. Wow,” he mumbled, and tilted his head in a farewell. You watched him go, a silly smile on your face.
You went to take your leave, cautious of being left alone with your father. But as fate had it, he stopped you from leaving so simply.
“Oh, and Y/N?”
You turned on your heel, lips plastered in a straight line. You raised your eyebrows at him, already annoyed from the request he most certainly had, no doubt. “Meet me in a few minutes. Alone.”
You forced yourself to nod, turning quickly and leaving the room. You shuffled down the hallway, Steve hot on your trail and reaching for your hand.
“Hey, hey. I don’t want to leave you alone.”
He tugged you back to him, but you pushed him into the corner room you were originally heading for. You shut the door softly, and allowed Steve to grip your hands in his.
“Well, you gotta. Link our mics. You’ll hear everything.”
“Safe word?”
You chuckled lowly but retracted the teasing attitude when you saw genuine worry written on Steve’s face. “Widow, Steve.”
“I didn’t mean to scare you back there. I couldn’t think of anything else to do-”
You shushed him, voice barely above a whisper. “It’s okay. You didn’t hurt me.”
“I fuck with you all the time but I would never take it that far.”
Where was this coming from? Steve looked like he was about to start hyperventilating. “I’m good. You didn’t hurt me. I’m fine, see?” you placed his hand on your chest, making sure he could feel your heartbeat. “I’m good.”
“You’re good?”
“I’m good.”
Steve removed his hand and placed it over his own chest, rubbing slightly. “I’ll be right outside when he talks to you.”
“I know you’ll be. Now, stand guard, whistle low to alert me.”
“This the room? You know the code?”
It was a simple office as well, but resembled more of a library than a workspace. It was dimly lit, cluttered, smelled of the wooden cabinets and the dust collecting on the books, and lacked any windows as well. You nodded to confirm Steve’s question, heading over to the farthest bookshelf and pushed it away from the wall. The loose dust swooped from the wood surface and into the air instantly, and you had to pause to sneeze down your shirt.
You wiped your nose, “I’m third in command. My father may have some things hidden but I have to know the codes to shit like this.”
Steve leaned his ear on the door gently, “You’re clear.”
You gave him a thumbs up and fiddled with the outside of the safe. It was built into the wall, black in color and definitely made way before you were born. It was quite rusted, the gold numbers on the lock almost faded.
“Let’s hope he didn’t change it.” You turned the dial - seven, thirty-three, eighteen - and it clicked on the first try. “Bingo.”
“Did you have a backup plan if that didn’t work?”
You snorted quietly, “Smash?”
Steve rolled his eyes and pressed his ear back on the door.
Everything inside had been recently rearranged. You figured your father used some of these ID’s when entering the country for the wedding and left them stacked on one another for the quick heist on Saturday. “We’re in luck! Both my father’s and Seda’s ID’s are here, along with-”
You cooed, taking out your phone and opening the camera app. You snapped multiple pictures, with and without flash. “Stacks and stacks of cash.”
You pulled your purse in front of you and pulled out your wallet to make room, shoving it into your back pocket instead.
“Help me put this in my purse.”
Steve left his post to help you shovel the ID’s discreetly into every pocket your purse provided, shoving things into corners so nothing protruded.
“Damn, we gotta leave the money,” you pouted.
Steve chuckled, “What a horrible thing.”
A sudden, boisterous laugh right outside the door caused you to rip your arm away from the safe, thankfully pulling the last of the ID’s with you. You pushed them into your purse, zipping it up. Steve reacted quickly as well, shutting the safe and rotating the dial, pushing the bookcase back into its original position.
“It’s Ramirez and White,” Steve whispered, looking around the room for any help. “What do we do?”
“Ramirez…” you blinked, eyes wandering around the room as well. Think, think, think. The doorknob jiggled. “Trust me.”
You ripped your purse off and threw it to the nearest couch. You hooked your arms around Steve’s neck and jumped to wrap your legs around his waist.
“Oh my-”
In any other scenario, the whimper that left your throat would have been caused by a surge of ecstasy. But you were frightened of being caught, the whimper a blatant signal to just follow your lead.
“Slam me into the wall, Captain.”
The door flew open just as Steve did as he was told.
“And I told him it was ridiculous - oh my…”
You lifted your head from Steve’s neck, wide eyes to accompany your surprised state. “Oh! I thought we locked the door!”
Ramirez covered his eyes bashfully, turning around and staring at the wall. “Don’t mind us, we were just looking for loose smokes.”
Opposite to his intruding partner, White laughed at the scene before him. He dipped low, hands on his knees as he joked. “Didn’t think Captain America had it in him! Been a stiff ever since the ice, huh mate?”
You could feel Steve tense against you, and he froze entirely. You drew your hand up to play with the strands of his hair, putting on your best flirty tone possible. “Oh, trust me. He’s pretty stiff right now.”
Steve seemed to calm under your touch, so he turned his head over his shoulder and gave an embarrassed smile of his own.
“Excuse us again, Y/N. You two enjoy your time,” Ramirez apologized, pulling at White’s jacket to guide him out of the room. Once you heard the click of the door, you jumped from Steve’s grasp and immediately began patting his back.
“I’m sorry.”
Steve chuckled, his blush rising from his shoulders to his cheeks. “It’s okay, you saved us.”
You inspected him closely, a little embarrassed with yourself. It was a bold move, but one that needed to be done. You stood in silence for a few more seconds, each of you adjusting to such a sudden change of breathing pattern.
You shut your eyes and groaned silently, “I need to speak with him.”
“Can I wait outside the door?”
You picked up your purse and swung it around your torso, “No, you need to wait in the car. Or smother Ramirez and White, your call.”
The lines on Steve’s forehead deepened, “Y/N, I can’t leave you alone with him.”
You wanted to argue further because Steve really over exaggerated. You fought a whole army of aliens, robots, and even the infamous Winter Soldier. Sure, you lost the battle with Thanos on the first try, you lost a teammate with Ultron, and gained a collapsed lung from Bucky’s insane roundhouse kick, but you were positive you could take your father. “You’re gonna have to. I’ve been alone with him before.”
Steve placed his hands on his hips and gave you a blank stare. “He shot you last time.”
“Ehh, Seda did.”
“Y/N.”
You laughed softly, “Then wait in the living room.”
“The shield’s in the car. If you need help, I may not have enough time-”
Steve and that goddamn shield. The guy was acting like he wasn’t a super soldier. You were annoyed. Annoyed with a pinch of salt?
“You whip that shield out to save me and I swear to god-”
“Okay, okay. I’ll link our mics.”
He fumbled around on his phone for a few seconds before you heard the softest beep from below your ear.
The last time you had entered that room alone, you left with a bullet lodged deep in your abdomen and with the threat of having it done again. Stumbling and crashing into the walls and random trinkets, leaving your blood stains on anything you used to steady yourself. This time would be different - it had to be. Your father wouldn’t shoot you with the Captain America waiting in the other room. Then again, your father always seemed to top himself each time you were forced to interact personally. In an instant, he dropped the good guy act. Or, hyped joy.
Now, his stare was cold and calculated, posture upright like he was awaiting your arrival. You couldn’t help but smile and roll your eyes, a tiny scoff breaking the silence as he returned it.
“You’re one damn good actor.”
He chuckled deeply, “We do what we have to do in front of the people who threaten our reign.”
You kicked the leg of a nearby chair to turn it toward you. Sitting down, you retorted with a chuckle of your own. “You’re not royalty.”
“We are... you are.”
Third in command. Daughter of the biggest drug lord south of the border? In most cases, you could be considered goddamn royalty. Did you want to be? No, because the title that seemed to fit was ‘a chess piece in the middle of a mad supremacy’. But that was too long.
“So, what is this? You scared my Captain is gonna knock you off your feet and take your place?”
His hands slammed the desk. His little basket of pens and pencils toppled over and spilled onto the floor. “I have waited seven, long years for you to bring that man to me. And each time you defied me. Tell me why I shouldn’t kill you right now!”
You remained seated, a blank stare boring into your father’s. “Uh, probably because he would avenge me. Get it?”
He wasn’t one for jokes, though. “It would be so easy.”
Aggravating him further was not the smartest thing to do. And Steve had the same thought as he fumbled with his own thumbs outside, hearing the conversation from afar. He almost wanted to barge in just to put your ass in time out.
But you had seven years to make up for - a little joke here and there shouldn’t hurt much.
“You do know I’m an Avenger, right? Trained by Natalia Romanoff herself?”
You worded your sentence carefully, her alias need not be spoken out loud unless you needed backup.
“Answer me.”
When his nostrils flared, you knew better than to twist the knife.
“Steve didn’t sign the accords. He was on the run for two years before you asked me for him. This is public knowledge.”
He pointed his index finger at you, shaking it wildly. “You lie. Why you lie?”
You had to blink multiple times through your shocked state, mouth agape and involuntarily racks of laughter spilling. He couldn’t be serious. You could only repeat the same thing so many times.
“Like I said all those years ago - He. Was. On. The. Run. No contact. I had no way of contacting him!”
He struggled to grab whatever on his desk to raise toward your face. In this case, he pointed his phone in a threatening manner. “Excuses! Remember the last time you made such a poor excuse?”
The laughing stopped, your mouth immediately shutting. You clenched your jaw to work through your murderous impulses.
You wondered how your hands would look wrapped around his neck. Red and angry, tightening as each desperate second passes, nails forming crescents as they pressed in his skin. If there was a window, you would definitely kick him out of it. Wave goodbye as he fell dramatically. But the mansion was one story high and you couldn’t magically conjure up a window. God, this would be the absolute best time to have Wanda or Loki here to use some of that dark magic. Either way, you just wanted to wipe that shit-eating grin off his face right now.
“He. Was on. The run.”
“And I thought you learned your lesson.”
You stood from your seat and leaned on the desk, arms holding you up and face inches away from his. “You gonna send in your men to remind me? With my Captain a few feet away?”
His lips were trembling as much as yours were - face blotchy with silver droplets of sweat and an angry blush now reaching his forehead. For a seventy-five year old man, he still had such a rage in him that didn’t risk a heart attack. Lucky bastard.
“He best not interfere if it’s what I choose to do.”
Outside, Steve gripped the back door handle to the point it squished in on itself, metal twisting awkwardly and splintering the paint. His free hand was balled into the meanest fist, even his stubby nails wreaking havoc on his pale palm. He was making himself bleed by the restraint. He took slow breaths, eyes closed but ears fully alert. He wouldn’t cry. Not right now.
“I called you back alone to invite you to breakfast the day after tomorrow.”
Whether it was because he knew you were only a few seconds from lunging yourself across his desk to break his neck or because he was tired from all the energy he had just exerted, your father slumped back into his seat as he spoke.
“The hotel has free breakfast.”
He shook his head in complete astonishment, “You’re not getting out of this. I have important business to discuss with each of you.”
You continued to stare him down, “Over coffee?”
He shrugged his shoulders, “I can’t leave the estate so close to the wedding. Your sister is flying in tomorrow and I have to make sure construction is done by then.”
“Right, ‘cause you’re the best father in the world.”
Being in the same room was suffocating, but you couldn’t help but be fascinated by the man. How unbelievably thoughtless yet calculated he could be. How unbelievably fake yet so damn real in all his hidden meanings.
“Jackeline likes to think so.”
Your sister was sweet, sure, and there was an unspoken agreement between the two of you to not fight one another, being the only daughters and all. But you were eight years old when she was born, already tainted by the world in which she was just born into. Forgive your lack of sisterly bond. When you were sixteen, you dipped. Now, at the sprouting ages of twenty-six and eighteen, you two couldn’t be more different.
Actually, yes you could. If she thought your father was a good man, she was entirely ignorant of the world she lives in.
“Good for her. Why don’t we discuss the shipment transport during the most important day of her life?”
“Nice try. That’s what the rehearsal dinner is for - rehearsal.”
You gave your father a sad smile, “You really won’t trust me. After all these years of following your orders.”
“Now, let’s not go bringing up the past.”
You interrupted, “Why not? You’re trusting my Captain and I to help you move that shipment but won’t trust me enough to tell me where it is right now?”
He was back to standing but he was much calmer. “Right now, I trust your Captain more than you. What kind of man would leave everything moral behind for a bunch of criminals? A bad one.”
“You’ve known him for like, two seconds.”
Your father searched his pockets for loose cigarettes. “He left everything moral behind for me. For you. And you left me behind for everything moral.”
Rolling your eyes, you backed away from his desk and headed for the door. “Sometimes you don’t make any sense. Is that it? Are we done?”
“You accept my invitation?”
“Do I really have a choice?”
“No.”
The mansion seemed larger than when you entered, the hallways longer, the walls closing in, the trinkets reaching out to stop you by the wrist. The longer you stayed in this hell hole, the more likely you were probably going to unleash the rage attached to your body in the form of your favorite weapons. Bomb the hell out of this place.
You marched to Steve’s car. He was already waiting, leaning along the passenger door like he was going to open it for you. If he did, you might kill him too. So, you repeatedly snapped your fingers at him and pointed around the car, silently but angrily motioning him to get in. He didn’t need to be told twice. In fact, he thought it might be therapeutic for you to throw the door open and slam it yourself. It was.
Steve started the car. He didn’t need to ask, there was no reason to since he heard everything. And so did Sam. Bucky. Scott. It was being transcribed as you swerved out of the estate. God, you wanted to throw up.
“I’ll tell you when to stop.”
Steve choked on his breath, “Stop?”
You rolled down the windows to breathe in the crisp cold air, teeth becoming sensitive as it passed into your lungs. “Once we get past the cameras and nearby neighborhoods.”
“Did you need-“
“When I say stop, stop. Fucking damn, Steve! Listen to me for once!”
Steve didn’t know why he was challenging you. Your father had just brought up one of the most traumatic moments of your life, basically called you a hypocrite and a coward - he tried to tear you down. And here you were, holding it all together like the champ he found you to be. But he never handled your outbursts well, even if they were completely justified.
“Don’t fucking give me orders if you won’t tell me what they’re for!”
“Stop the fucking car!”
He slammed on the breaks, instincts still kicking in during your argument and he reached his arm out to your side to hold you back from the powerful surge. His body lunged forward, however, chest hitting the steering wheel and horn.
You scrambled out of the car and ran into the woods, feet guiding you through mud and prickly bushes until they reached a more secluded spot. Steve stumbled along after you, nearly tripping over the same rocks you had avoided masterfully.
Before he could ask what you were doing, you pulled your gun from its hidden holster and clicked the safety. Steve’s eyes bulged out of his head just in time to see the first round sound off mid-air. He crouched down to the floor and shielded his head. You shot away from him, obviously, until all seven rounds were dislodged, aimed in the sky diagonally.
Once the last bullet exited, you simply packed everything up. Now calm and collected, you turned around and headed back for the car.
Steve’s voice cracked as he spoke, “Seriously?”
You pushed branches away from your head as you walked, “Seriously.”
“Do you know how dangerous that is? Those bullets don’t just disappear into thin air,” Steve scolded, jogging up to speed walk beside you.
“So fucking what? I’m keeping the rent low in this area, then.”
Steve sighed in defeat, “Talk to me.”
“Sorry, I’m shutting down.”
“Y/N-”
You groaned, tears of frustration not entirely formed, but in their beginning stages. “You already know what’s stressing me out, Steve. Do you need it in writing?”
“I know, I’m sorry,” Steve lowered his voice. “What do you need me to do?”
“Just,” you paused, stopping to face him. You opened and closed your hands mid-air as if that would help you formulate your sentences better. “I don’t know. But when I find out, I’ll let you know.”
This Steve could accept. So he simply nodded, guiding you the rest of the way with his hand gently placed on your lower back.
The drive back to the hotel was fairly silent. The radio provided a calming relief from such drama. Steve would glance at you every so often to check on you, but you were always resting your eyes. This was only the first day of the mission - officially. If you were this drained from one encounter, Steve needed to rethink this whole operation. Whether it was healthy to keep you on, or if the threat was just too large. But no matter the alternatives, Steve understood that this week was going to be difficult either way, and you needed to be present. This was your mission after all. He was just your partner.
Even with a thousand things on your mind, you were still conscious enough to check your surroundings, check-in with the agent posted behind the front desk, and reconnect your mic with the teams.
Steve pushed open your room door and threw the car keys on one of the nearby tables. “Nap time?”
You ignored his initial question, “I didn’t think seeing them in person again would be so draining.”
Steve watched you carefully, somewhat scared that you would pull out your gun again and shatter a window. “It was pretty cramped.”
You started to disarm yourself, tearing off your sweater and holsters clumsily. “And they acted like we were all on good terms! Around you, at least. I know they’re acting for my sister’s sake and then we can go back to hating each other after, but really?”
Steve sat on the edge of his bed, eyes sorry. “I really don’t know what to say.”
You threw yourself onto your bed, burying your face into the pillows. You continued speaking, albeit muffled. “You don’t have to say anything - just let me rant.”
“You’ll tire yourself out, Y/N. C’mon, we gotta draft up this report-”
You lifted yourself up and started smoothing down your hair, “I need a drink.”
Steve pointed to the computer, “The report.”
“A drink.”
“Y/N, it’s getting late. The sooner we draft it, the sooner-”
You grumbled out again, already opening the door and shoving your boots on. “Steve, I need a drink. You know what they do to me, what they’ve done to me, what they continue to do every single day. Now, join me or not but I am going downstairs for a drink.”
Steve paused for a moment, looking around the room hesitantly. “Can I at least take the laptop?”
You threw your head back and walked out the door, “Take the goddamn laptop, jesus fucking christ, c’mon.”
If there’s one thing you were happy about today, it was that you booked a hotel with a mini bar on the second floor. It wasn’t an outright full bar, but it was low lit, clean and the counters were made from fine wood, and there was a variety of flavors to choose from. There were only a few hotel guests spread out and a single bartender. You and Steve took seats at the counter.
“Whiskey sour,” you called for the bartender, trying and failing to give him the nicest smile you could.
Steve settled in his bar stool, “Thought you wanted to drink to drink hard.”
You chuckled at him and extended your arms in a stretch, “I’m mad, not depressed.”
He grinned at your movements - as if just sitting in a bar already loosened you up. “In that case, get me a beer.”
Natasha had called Steve for help after your fourth beer and fifth whiskey. Her coaxing proved to be pointless, each request of a safe passage home seeming to enter one ear and leave the other. And you’ll end up killing her when you were sober enough for sending unwanted reinforcements, but even she didn’t want to fight you. If you wanted to drown in liquid courage, that courage churning itself into raw despair, then she would allow it.
Steve stared at you for a few moments. Head hanging low, a deep frown etched into your tired expression, index finger tapping your glass as if you were debating whether to down it in one go or to leave it. Steve had never seen you like this, guard destroyed and face practically pale, just begging to be left alone. And it seemed the whole bar felt the same way, as there was no music playing and everyone was wallowing in their own grief.
“I can spot you from a mile away, you know?”
Your voice immediately pulled Steve from his own mind and he was surprised you could still form coherent sentences given the amount of empty glasses in front of you.
“I don’t mean to interrupt.”
You scoffed, leaning away from him as he sat down in the stool beside you. “Natasha sent you. Don’t tell me otherwise.”
“I’m not saying anything.”
“Good.”
Steve ordered a beer for himself, and although he was driving, one beer wouldn’t impair him anyway. It wouldn’t even cause a dent in his 20/20 vision.
“Fucking ridiculous, it’s fucking ridiculous!”
The bar patrons seemed to wince simultaneously and the bartender simply gathered a few of your empty glasses to wash. Steve didn’t hush you, didn’t touch you, didn’t try to reassure you. If you needed to cause a scene, it was time. Your silence for the past week had been frightening, but when Tony returned last night, half dead and without the kid, it seemed to be your breaking point.
“Wanda destroyed it. She destroyed the fucking stone and all he did was use another to bring it back.”
Steve took a sip of his beer to disguise his quivering lip, but his eyes had no curtain. His waterline swelled with fresh tears, eyes instantly reddening, an undesired sting pinching the corners.
“Strange must have had a reason. He must’ve, but - how can that reason include the death of trillions?”
“We’re going to find a way-”
“And if we don’t?”
Steve kept his lips on the bottle, incisors biting down only slightly as he took in your rhetorical question. You continued speaking.
“He destroyed the stones.”
“Carol is looking for answers.”
You shook your head and pulled out your wallet, leaving whatever cash you had on the counter before standing up. You stumbled but Steve latched onto your arm and pulled it to hug his waist.
“Loki?” you mumbled, raising your head to lock eyes with Steve. He didn’t know if you were calling him another name or if you were asking for the God’s whereabouts. “Bucky?”
“Hey, stop, stop.”
“Peter?”
Steve could only nod. What use was it to lie to you? Your new vertical position seemed to magnify the true extent of your intoxication as your eyes finally glazed over and limbs trembled.
“Let’s get you home, okay?”
Gripping his shirt, you apologized each time it would crumble and you would accidentally tug it downward. But Steve didn’t care. You were practically limp in his arms, heavy and without proper use of your legs.
“You’re a good man, Steve.”
Steve sighed sadly but couldn’t help the small smile that formed as he looked down at you and found you sporting a silly one of your own.
“A really good man. I’m happy you’re still here.”
Steve paused for a moment, taking in your words and holding back his own tears. If there was a time he wanted to be drunk off his ass, it would be now. He was somewhat jealous of the brief relief alcohol had given you, loose and not fully aware of the drama of the world. “I’m happy, too.”
“No, you’re not,” you slurred, allowing Steve to guide you to his car. You slumped against the passenger door as Steve searched his pocket for his key. “I heard you crying last night.”
Steve halted his search mid-pat, a hard crease forming between his eyebrows as he lifted his head. “I wasn’t-”
“I cry too,” you admitted, a drunken pout on your face. “You don’t have to lie to me.”
Perhaps it was a dirty thing for him to do at this moment because you wouldn’t remember a single word of this conversation in the morning, but he figured there was no immediate harm. He found his key, unlocked the car, and helped you inside. Only once he entered the car himself did he take advantage of your blurry mind.
“I cried for Sam and Bucky. Who do you cry for?”
You clicked the seatbelt on, mind clear enough for safety precautions it seemed. “Poor Wanda.”
Steve nodded and started the car. “Anything else?”
“Did I ever tell you about the time Loki asked me on a date?”
Steve immediately shut off the car and turned to you. “Huh? When?”
You grinned, small giggles bubbling from your chest. “A few months ago. He was so shy, too. I said yes.”
Steve ignored the twinge in his chest, “How was it?”
You leaned your head back and tilted it towards him, your smile faltered slightly. “Never went on it. And now he’s dead.”
The urge to lean over and wrap you in a much needed hug was there, eating away at him since you called him a good man. But he had taken advantage of this situation far too much, so he simply nodded in understanding and started the car again.
“I’m sorry.”
You barely heard him, but you mumbled a quick response before letting the alcohol fully consume you. “Me too.”
You thanked the bartender when they slid you your drink. “I hadn’t seen him since before the world went to shit.” You took a quick sip. “Kinda strange.”
Steve nodded, wondering if he should dive deep into the issue at hand. Instead of outright saying his outdated spiel, he eased into it. He gave you a few needed sips of your drink, at least. “Y/N, can I ask an honest question?”
You hummed, “My toes are already tingling. You could probably ask me what my kinks are and I’d tell you.”
Steve suddenly burst into a fit of giggles, “You never could handle a sip of alcohol.”
Your eyes rounded at his reaction. Perhaps the alcohol affected him in other fun ways that he didn’t know. “Nope, I’m a lightweight.”
Steve contained himself before clearing his throat, “The question…”
“Go ahead.”
He rolled his shoulders and took a sip of his beer. Leaning in closer, he lowered his voice. “If it comes down to it, and god forbid you’re incapacitated, do you want me to kill your father?”
Your mouth opened slightly, the words stuck behind your tongue. You looked down at your drink, as if some special response was swimming in it. You knew your answer, but the way to phrase it was lost.
“I don’t want his blood on your hands.”
“But if it was the last choice?”
You sighed, “If you pull that trigger, they’ll never stop coming after you.”
Steve’s eyebrows scrunched together, “But if you pull it?”
You shrugged and raised the glass to your lips. “That’s my life, Steve. Let me deal with the consequences.”
“That’s just it - you don’t have to. At least, not alone.”
God, you hated how perfect Steve sounded all the time. Whenever he was annoying you, fighting you, or protecting you, his syllables were stretched in the most glorious way, dipping into every crevice of the person they were delivered to and warming inches of body slowly. You wanted him to have somewhat of an evil side for once in his life, but no matter how many times you thought he would explode, he didn’t.
Two years ago, when he dropped you from his life in an instant, you had assumed you finally caught a glimpse at this evil side. It was the only time you were truly scared of him.
“You really are a good person.”
Steve swished his beer bottle around, “I wish everyone would stop being surprised by that.”
“I’m not surprised. I guess I just want to hate you, and I can’t.”
Steve’s shoulders slumped like crumbling mountains and you couldn’t stop thinking about how vulnerable he looked. You wanted to pull him closer and rest your head to his chest, hear his heartbeat and apologize for theorizing a possible hatred.
“Why do you want to hate me?”
“When you wouldn’t sign the accords, part of me saw that as the mascot of America not caring if he invaded and pillaged everything in his path.”
“But I-” Steve interjected, but you stopped him by raising your hand and waving it gently.
“I know why you didn’t. Hell, I helped you escape.”
“Why did you help if you hated me?”
Being vulnerable with Steve wasn’t anything new. You were each other’s support system for those lonely five years, but it all changed the moment you defeated Thanos. So, for the last two years you didn’t quite get along. But here, now, you could always tell when Steve was being honest and open.
“Guess I thought that if you were willing to help me with my family, I should help you with yours.”
His therapist desperately tried to rationalize the experiences Steve would tell, instructing him to look past hard exteriors and accept help from others. That his old friends were still friends, and enemies should never be compared to those he loved. And he knew he was easily blinded when something or someone had the slightest mishap, instantly writing it off as harmful.
He spoke of you often during his one hour sessions - stories of your blatant silliness and crude jokes; how you would poke your finger into his sandwiches when you thought he wasn’t looking; how you almost beat up a kid and his little gang for baiting Peter after his identity was exposed; and how you and Sam had gotten into a bar fight over something so trivial, so unnecessary, that it was almost unbelievable to see you innocently scoot away from the body on the floor in the police video, as if you had nothing to do with it and those few feet of distance automatically cleared you.
His therapist would just listen.
“Did I ever thank you?”
You smiled sadly, “You went into hiding soon after. Then we went to battle, lost everyone, went to battle again, and then…”
“And then.”
‘And then’ wasn’t really something you two liked to bring up. It was still a fresh wound, somewhat patched up, but still open.
You spaced out for a few minutes, both of you enjoying your drinks. You were no longer drinking to get drunk, not that it was your original goal to begin with. You just sat in comfortable silence, reliving the events earlier that day and drafting an internal report.
“What are you thinking about?”
You pursed your lips and thought, clicking your tongue when it finally dawned on you. “This was the first time I saw Marcus White sober.”
Steve sat up straighter, “Are you sure? He didn’t look it.”
“Yeah, he usually speaks quickly and he fidgets. But he was coherent this afternoon.”
“Should that be a red flag?”
You took out your phone and sent a quick text to Torres for him to monitor White closely for the next few days, just in case. “A big one. My father referred to him more often than he did Ramirez.”
Steve tackled every idea in his head quickly, speaking as a new one popped up. “They could be planning a move against Ramirez. He’s close to overthrowing your father.”
You raised your head from your phone, “And the wedding would be a perfect distraction.”
“He would kill his greatest rival on your sister’s happiest day?”
You let out a low chuckle, “This man has nothing to lose. It won’t matter who he topples along the way.”
Steve opened the laptop, silently congratulating himself for bringing it despite your insults, and began drafting the report. The two of you worked for the next hour, nursing a couple more drinks before you sent the final copy to Bucky.
~
TAGLIST: @dumb-ass-writer @justab-eautifulmess @supraveng @mycosmicparadise @missnighttigress
#steve rogers x reader#steve rogers x you#steve x reader#reader x steve rogers#you x steve rogers#avengers x reader#avengers x you#marvel fanfiction#Part Four#chapter four#ttag#to topple#a giant#reader insert#captain america x reader#steve rogers fanfiction#steve rogers fanfic#avengers fanfic#angst#captainsimagines#by moni#mini-series#enemies to lovers#steve rogers imagine
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I know about you: Tamakyo
These boys need to feel some happiness and I'll be darned if I'm not the one giving it to them. This is just Kyoya finally getting his well-deserved cuddles.
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The gang is on the run from people who wish them dead, Tamaki starts seeing things, and Kyoya learns to let himself be taken care of.
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"Kyoya pressed a kiss to his neck to thank him. Thanking him for saving him, for helping him, for making life worth living all over again and again and again every time he smiled."
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Tamaki Suoh x Kyoya Ootori
Genre: Fluff
Warnings: Mentions of riots, evacuation, similar themes.
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Tamaki shuffled in the darkness, groaning when he felt the empty space next to him. The sleeping bag was still warm without a certain Shadow King, but he would have preferred clinging to his boyfriend’s body over all the extra space. Kyoya knew Tamaki couldn’t sleep without tangling him in his arms.
So if Kyoya were missing, that led to two theories: he was in danger, or he was sitting by the fire.
Tamaki sat up and stretched, hand smacking against the knife handle on his left. The first theory canceled itself out simply by the fact of his own presence. If some wild thing had taken and eaten Kyoya, he would have been taken, too. He had never heard of a predator picking and choosing a meal when there was a whole buffet of tents to feast upon. Plus, they had a guard dog in Mori, whose razor-sharp senses had been keeping them all in line so far.
They all had survived so far just by sheer luck and Mori’s instincts, and he hoped that luck wouldn’t end the moment he stepped out of the tent.
Something rustled. A shadow moved in front of the crackling fire, long and tall and bespectacled--
Theory number two, proven.
Tamaki laid back down and folded his hands together, propping his head against his interwoven fingers behind him. He watched as the figure paced in circles around the fire, torso bent at an angle, posture tight and rigid. Waiting for Kyoya to finish, Tamaki turned back onto his side, pretending to go to sleep until his love returned to his arms.
Except, he didn’t. Kyoya sat on a log and bent forward, cradling his head in his hands.
It was odd, seeing him like this. He had a habit of staying up late, yes, but once he went to bed he stayed knocked out until the noontime sun shook him awake.
A streak of worry coursed through Tamaki’s veins, and he wondered if it even were Kyoya sitting out there, or if it were an imposter, a traitor, infiltrating their camp.
He grabbed the knife and crawled out of the sleeping bag, pausing at the edge of the tent. It was half-way unzipped, and through the transparent orange cloth, Tamaki confirmed it was his love who sat dejected and alone just a few feet away--his posture was unlike him, but he was wearing Tamaki’s shirt, and the leather straps from his necklace rode along his neck.
“Kyo?” he whispered, setting the knife off to the side. His voice kept its softness, even with the dehydration. He would do anything to dunk his head beneath a creek’s tide and gulp, despite Mori’s warning insurrectionists likely poisoned all the local watering holes.
Kyoya fidgeted, not sitting still for the first time in his life. It was good enough of an invitation, so Tamaki stood, dusted his hands, and joined him on the log.
“Please come back to sleep,” Tamaki mumbled. “The sleeping bag is cold without you.”
Kyoya smirked, finally looking up at him beneath his thin wire rims. That smirk detailed it was a lie, they both knew Tamaki’s body heat was enough for both of them, especially in such a tight, confined space.
But in the firelight, that smirk twisted into a grimace, highlighting the tears welling behind Kyoya’s eyes, and Tamaki reached out and grabbed him, sinking onto the log and pulling him against his chest, rubbing circles up and down his shivering back until the racking sobs and moans reduced to sniffles.
In his shock, Tamaki could only whisper words of comfort and press kisses into his hair. Above it, though, he knew that Kyoya only needed to hold him--that if he could feel his love, that would help quell the sea of anxiety and fear tormenting his soul.
Kyoya clutched Tamaki’s shoulders, kneading his fingers in and out of the seams of his shirt. He had been his anchor since the day he had arrived in Japan, with his cheery voice and chipper eyes and light-filled soul. Together they were a tangle of heartache and wishes, hope and regret, two young men in love thrown into a world that had once coddled them, now trying to kill them.
Their only hope of survival was each other.
“You know, Kyoya, I’ve been thinking,” Tamaki mused, “and since the rioting, the wanting to eat the rich and all that...since they’ve destroyed our property, I suppose we aren’t rich anymore! We should be safe!”
And just like that, the moment broke.
Kyoya didn’t know if he were supposed to laugh or scoff, but after a moment for his brain to process the statement, he let out a mix of both. Tamaki was famous for his fanciful ideas, but this stretched even the definition of fanciful.
“We are the heirs of some of the richest corporations in all of Asia,” Kyoya replied with a sneer. The teardrops dried on his cheeks. “The insurrectionists are not going to just forget what we look like.”
“They might! Put you in contacts, give Mori-senpai a wig, put the little devils in dresses and give Renge a moustache, we’ll be fine!”
Kyoya couldn’t help but laugh at that, a real laugh, and bury his head back into his boyfriend’s chest. He inhaled that distinct Tamaki smell, expensive cologne long forgotten in their evacuation, that persisted despite the sweat and dirt of a week of hiding and travelling in the forest. It pulsated from his soft skin, and Kyoya pressed a kiss to his neck to thank him. Thanking him for saving him, for helping him, for making life worth living all over again and again and again every time he smiled.
But as their laughter faded, the stench of their situation landed back into Kyoya’s mind, souring his mood. They were on the run from a burning society, and with the next safe colony still so far away, the doubts kept him awake.
“Be serious with me, Tamaki,” Kyoya griped. “Do you really have any hope any of us will make it out alive?”
Tamaki’s smile faded as he searched his boyfriend’s face, looking for the anchor and solidity he knew was there. He knew it was there. But it was hidden beneath that stern exterior, a mask of iron inherited from his father, a trait Tamaki had worked so hard with Kyoya to shatter. But in that seriousity was realism, the sobriety to Tamaki’s joviality, and he knew he finally had to face the music.
“I don’t know,” he replied, to which Kyoya scoffed.
But then Tamaki took his hand and spread every finger, admiring the way the skin stretched around each long, bony digit, how evenly polished and clean each nail was, even in the middle of the woods, how miraculous it was that each tendon could connect to bone that could connect to muscle that could be controlled by the brain, especially a brain as terrifyingly wonderful as Kyoya’s. How every part of him was beautiful, sacred, worthy. How he wished he could fill each insecure crack and crevice with his love and reassurances.
He brought that hand to his lips and kissed every knuckle, gently, like a butterfly landing on a rock. He kept his head bowed but heard the quiet sound Kyoya let out, a sound in between surprise and contentment.
“I don’t know about all of us,” Tamaki continued, “but I know about you.”
Kyoya jutted out his lower lip, unsure of how to respond amidst the tidal wave of emotion ravaging his soul. Tamaki folded his hands around Kyoya’s kissed one, like a protective shelter.
“The others are my family, and I love them dearly, but you are my priority,” he said. “I would do anything to make sure you get to the Akaishi Mountains. If my mother were here, I would ask her to pray. If Nekozawa were here, I would ask him to appeal to every spirit he knows. If I could I would sell my own soul to ensure your safe passage.”
“Tamaki--”
Tamaki lifted his face to Kyoya’s, clenching his jaw with such a chromatic force he could have chipped a tooth. “I love you more than anything, and I will do anything in my power or out of it to save you.”
A log in the fire snapped, but neither man noticed. All was silent in the air except for the promise, heavy and saturated and sinking in the air. They were going to make it. They had to.
“Come back to bed with me, yes?” Tamaki whispered, a yawn snatching the end of his sentence. His arm floated back down around Kyoya’s shoulders, rubbing warmth into them. Coaxing, prodding, as gentle as he ever was.
With the butterfly kisses smattered across his cheeks to accompany the plea, how could Kyoya refuse?
Something tight rolled in his chest, reverberating with every beat of his heart. He was always the one to take care of everyone else, protecting them through influence and power, his family’s money or private army. And yet here they were, all of them, on the run from those who wish them dead because of him--with Tamaki cooing and cradling him, taking care of him for once. Like he deserved it, like it was his reward for all the scamming, scheming and choking business deals he had performed.
So he let Tamaki propel him upwards, pulling him up into the night sky, where dozens of stars saw fit to smile on them as they lumbered back to the tent. Once inside, Tamaki gently laid him down inside the sleeping bag, secured the tent, and crawled in next to him, blowing air onto his chilly fingers. Kyoya allowed him, detaching the lock around his heart and throwing it into the forest beyond.
Tamaki hummed as he warmed the Shadow King, pausing only when Kyoya lifted his head from his chest to press a kiss against his chapped lips. It was so gentle, and rarely did Kyoya initiate affection, that Tamaki nearly cried from the happy blooms snaking through his body.
“Thanks,” Kyoya whispered, laying his head back down on Tamaki’s chest, syncing his breathing.
“Let me take care of you, baby,” Tamaki whispered, kissing Kyoya’s forehead. “I swear I will.”
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#ouran high school host club#tamaki suoh#kyoya ootori#tamakyo#tamaki suoh x kyoya ootori#kyotama#ohshc#tamaki x kyoya
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31 the I cant keep kissing strangers one for jack/Miranda. U know, if u want to
I’m gonna cheat bc I remembered the prompt wrong and already wrote half of it in my head while I was showering, so
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It’s years of experience, it’s meticulous and brutally honed control of her body, it’s her genetic predisposition to deceit and manipulation that keeps Miranda from reacting when her the alert pings, a brief series of flashes on the corner of her ocular overlay. S.O.S.
Dupont’s hand is on her thigh, just under the material of her dress, grip damp and too tight. He’s leaning in close, under the auspice of speaking into her ear in the crowded club, but she recognizes the clumsy excuse to peek down her dress for what it is. It takes every ounce of restraint not to shove him bodily away and rush straight for the rendezvous waypoint blinking on her display -- a maintenance closet beneath a stairwell at the back of the club. There’s a thrum of panic in Miranda’s chest that she squashes with a deep, subtle breath and a careful flick of her hair. She drags a teasing finger down Dupont’s chest as she leans back.
“Excuse me a moment,” she pitches her voice low, breathy, the way she knows he must be imagining it sounds in bed. She shoots him a smoldering look over her shoulder before she leaves, adding a bit of whine to her words. Desperate women are, to men like this, honey to flies. “Don’t go where I can’t find you.”
She’s careful as she slips into the crowd, gait controlled, face expertly molded into an expression annoyed enough to ward off potential interruption from men, yet still bland enough to fail to catch the interest of anyone watching.
It’s torture, keeping her pace unhurried as scenario after gruesome scenario of what could have gone wrong plays out in vivid detail. Jack wounded, bleeding out among the bleach bottles and filthy mops. A Cerberus trap, Jack captured, bait to lure her to the same fate. Dozens upon dozens of equally vivid, equally terrible possibilities conjured with each leisurely step, all laying the same accusation at her feet: Miranda’s mistake, with Jack paying the price.
Jack hadn’t been Miranda’s first choice.
Miranda’s list of trusted contacts is smaller than it’s ever been and shrinking by the day. Trusted and available? Smaller still.
She had wanted Shepard. Or, better yet, Kasumi. But Shepard was wrapped up on some affair on Tuchanka and Kasumi was running a different op for the Shadow Broker, out on the edges of the Terminus.
Jack had been an indulgence - and one that was proving to be foolish and selfish.
She was humanity’s strongest biotic and one of the most capable operators Miranda had ever known, but her strength lied in frontal assaults. Massive destruction, flamboyant, devastating attacks with lots of collateral damage. Not delicate infiltration missions like this.
She should have been safe with her students on Grissom Station, not here dying for Miranda’s cause, not--
--Grabbing Miranda roughly by the hips, slamming her back against the shelving unit along the wall hard enough to rattle the metal, laying the flat of her arm across Miranda’s chest, just under her neck, to pin her there.
“What do you think you’re doing?“ Miranda hisses. She can’t see any obvious injuries or damage to Jack in the dim light of the closet, not held in place like this. When she raises her hands to pat down Jack’s body there’s a flair of shimmering blue light in the air, and then the always disconcerting staticky sensation of stasis fields pinning them in place at her sides.
“What am I doing?” Jack huffs, fists still bunched in the material of Miranda’s dress. A shame - it had been nice. Expensive. She can feel the material ripping under the strain of Jack’s grip and despite everything, she finds it distantly erotic. “What the fuck are you doing?”
Miranda, for all of her considerable intellect, feels like she is at least three steps behind a conversation she doesn’t remember starting. She shakes her head, twisting as much as she can with her hands pinned. “Are you hurt?”
“No, I’m not fucking hurt,” Jack snaps, hips jolting forward to slam into Miranda’s rattling the shelf again. This time she hears the fabric of the dress rip in Jack’s hands, can’t contain the shiver it sends down her spine that Jack absolutely notices. “I’m fed up. I can’t keep watching you kiss strangers.”
Jealousy? Miranda doesn’t bother trying to hide her laugh. “If you’ll remember, my kissing a stranger was a key part of the plan you agreed to. I was supposed to be doing that while you were--”
“Keep him busy,” Jack growls, “You were supposed to keep him busy while I did all the hard work. You never told me your plan to distract the guy was to let him put his big stupid gorilla hands all over your--”
“Someone was taking their time ‘doing all the hard work,’“ Miranda sneers back. “I had to improvise. He was losing interest.”
“Hey, it’s your stupid hack module that wasn’t working,” Jack accuses.
Of course, at that exact moment, Miranda’s display pings again. The tracker she’d slipped into Dupont’s jacket shows him leaving the bar, headed for the elevator to his suite.
“Jack, let me go,” Miranda says quietly, urgently, and to her credit Jack does so immediately without arguing. “He’s on the move. I can try to head him off in the lobby, but-- Look, this is very important. Did you leave any evidence you were tampering with the safe or anything else in his room?”
“Uh, yeah,” Jack snorts. “I think he’s gonna notice his top secret Cerberus Reaper hacking plans are missing.”
“But you said the module--”
“Yeah, total crap. Useless. I just blasted the ever-loving shit out of the safe.”
“Jack.”
“Anyway, if he’s on the way up there he’s gonna notice uh. Pretty much right away. We should get out of here.”
“We should have been gone the moment you compromised the plan,” Miranda hisses, following Jack out of the closet, wincing at the sudden too-bright light of the hallway.
“Nag, nag, nag,” Jack drawls, throwing open the emergency exit door to the alley behind the hotel with a truly unnecessary flair of biotics.
“We went over the codes before we even got here,” Miranda reminds her. In the back of her mind, she’s counting down the seconds they have before Dupont realizes he’s been robbed, before he puts together she was involved, before he decides to come after them for the data (bad) or alert Cerberus to what happened (worse). She figures in how long it would take to stop running and strangle Jack in one of these dank Illium alleyways and realizes, regrettably, she can’t afford the slowdown. “There’s one for emergency exit, one for mission compromised, one for package acquired. Any of those would have done. S.O.S. is emergency only.”
“Well, it was an emergency, okay?” Jack says, stopping short at the curb while Miranda calls forth the skycar she’d arranged with a flick of her omin-tool.
“How so?” Miranda demands, shoving Jack into the back of the skycar first and clambering in gracelessly after her, ruined dress gaping open in the front. “This is coming out of your pay, by the way.”
“It was a pre-emergency--”
“That’s not a thing.”
“If his hand got any higher up your skirt I was gonna blow both of our covers by ripping his arms off in the middle of the bar.”
Miranda should still be mad -- furious -- that Jack had scared her so badly. Should be angry for the terribly botched mission as well, the absolute flouting of her discreet and effective plan.
But they’ve lived. Another day in a galaxy torn apart by war on multiple fronts, another day outmaneuvering the Illusive Man himself, another day Miranda gets to find herself in the company of this beautiful, blunt, maddening, impossible woman.
And they had gotten the data, despite everything. A success, however unconventional.
And if all she has to show for it is another burned identity and a ruined dress, Miranda finds she doesn’t mind as much as she might have in any other circumstance besides this -- in the backseat of a skycar with Jack, genuinely irritated to have seen someone else touching Miranda, a torn dress, the thrum of adrenaline still rushing through her veins.
“Never figured you for the jealous type, Jack,” Miranda says, relenting, twisting in the seat to pin Jack with a simmering look.
“Yeah, you did,” Jack mutters. “Were probably counting on it when you asked me to do this thing with you. Probably got off on it. Control freak.”
“Why would I do something like that?”
“Probably has something to do with you being an arrogant psycho that’s obsessed with keeping me under your thumb.”
Miranda pauses in the dark of the backseat and stares Jack down. She’s tense, pupils blown wide, breath coming in gradually quickening gasps.
Miranda has seen Jack scared and angry and hurt before. She’s seen her wound up tight on adrenaline, turned on to the point of recklessness too. Knows well enough the difference between the two to recognize this for what it is.
It’s that confidence that draws Miranda across the space between them, shrugging the straps of her dress down her shoulders in a movement that allows her to reach the zipper in the back and slide it down immediately after. Jack doesn’t move to stop her when Miranda drops a hand to Jack’s thigh, a more elegant parody of Dupont’s boorish groping earlier. The higher Miranda’s hand ventures, the further open Jack spreads her legs, nostrils flaring as Miranda leans in close, whispering into her ear at the same time as her hand slips past the waistband of Jack’s pants, to the soaked front of her underwear.
“Funny, Jack,” Miranda says, mockingly, stroking her slowly. She’ll draw this one out, as a lesson. “Under my thumb seems to be exactly the place you’re always so desperate to be.”
“Fuck,” Jack groans, a low hiss of air from between her clenched teeth.
Miranda grins in the dark. She’d been wrong, before. Jack had definitely been the right pick for this mission.
-
enjoy my work? wanna leave a tip?
ko-fi / cashapp
#mass effect#jack mass effect#miranda lawson#jackanda#prompt fills#explosionfic#i'll put this on ao3 later probably#woops i said i'd do short fills but this was really fun oh no#peachythesequel
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AT ODDS 6 (Kal Skirata x F!OC)
Summary: Tea gets spilled at Kyrimorut. Ordo gets involved. Ori makes a choice and a new enemy.
Warnings: Mando profanity, pregnancy, SPOILERS for Republic Commando books (all but the last one), medical shit, surgery, fucking SADS
As always, so many thanks to @detroitbydark who lets me screech about my weird fic and Kal and Ori! Also this is barely edited be kind, I’m on my psych rotation and barely scraping by.
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Kal realizes he’s slipped the figurine into the pocket of his bodysuit semi-consciously in his hasty retreat from the apartment. Knotted Jonah wood whittled smooth forms two stylized figures, one large and one small, their hands joined between them.
He barely registers the ride back home and comming Mij. They need a plan, and they need one fast if they are going to find her. He knows little about how the Empire treats their prisoners compared to the late Republic, but he isn’t about to have any illusions of honor or fair play. After all, he doesn’t play fair himself. But there’s a hydrospanner thrown into the mix. What he doesn’t know is how the Imps treat prisoners with … unique health conditions. Or if they even give half a bantha’s shebs. Odds are they send men and women alike to those osik’la camps he’s gotten word of. Yeah, the Empire was equal opportunity like that.
If Mereel can’t slice into the system remotely, they were going to have to do an old-fashioned infiltration. He’d ask his ad’ike if they were up to task, there’s no way he could ask to put them in danger, not after the entirety of their lives being war. It hurts him to even think about asking. But he has to do this, even if it’s just his sorry shebs.
He tries to put on a good Sabaac face when he’s back in the karyai, discreetly gathering up all the surplus weapons they have that he finds might be useful for an infiltration into a heavily armed and fortified position.
Mereel of course, catches on within minutes.
“You’re going to find her,” Mereel interrupts. Kal yanks his head up out of the gun locker to look at his son. “And you didn’t even think to ask for backup?”
His son’s tone is accusing, edging on hurt. That he did not expect.
“It’s my fuckup, son,” he replies, “I’m the one who needs to fix it. I can’t ask you to do this.”
“What’s so special about this doctor?” Mereel slams the door of the locker shut. It’s obvious his ad’ika is protective. They all are.
“She delivered your ba’vodu’ad, Mereel. I’m pretty sure she saved Parja’s life.” Kal says, keeping his eyes on his work, cleaning the weapons, arranging the ammo he needs. Sharpening his father’s three-sided knife.
“And that’s enough to go up against the Empire? ”
He’s going to have to spit it out. Mereel is looking at him expectantly, sure that he’s going to change his mind, see reason.
“She’s pregnant, son.” Mereel, who has been away for the events of the last few months, just stares back at him in a puzzled fashion, brows slightly furrowed. Looking at him like he’s lost his damn mind. Maybe he has.
“It’s yours, isn’t it?”
In comes a second voice, and the accusatory tone startles him enough that, when added to his baseline urgency and anxiety, causes his hand to slip and nick itself as he sharpens his knife.
“Osik,” he hisses, holding pressure to the cut as blood wells, looking up to the figure in the doorway. Ordo. Mereel stares at his brother, unsure whether he is joking. Kal sighs. He should know better, trying to keep things from them. The last time he was successful at that was when they were four.
“Does it matter?”
“Maybe,” Ordo replies, just this edge of indignant, “is she carrying my vod?”
A strange and protective piece of him flares at Ordo’s tone and Kal stands, still holding the cloth to his cut hand.
“Most likely.”
“Then we need to get her back.” Ordo meets his eye finally and Kal nods, satisfied, and starts gathering ammo from the safes. This time Mereel moves to help, still in a rare state of stunned silence.
By the time they’ve gathered what they need and loaded it into aayhan, Mereel has a willing team assembled and what they know of the building schematics up on a datapad in the karyai. Fortunately for them, the team won’t be breaking into any prison blocks, which are bound to be heavily guarded.
“All we have to do is get into the information security room that houses the main terminal,” Mereel starts confidently. “We can stay far away from the security blocks and the bucketheads.”
“Though it would be fun to bust some vode out of there,” Scorch adds.
“Not our mission,” says Mereel, regret plain in his voice, “we’ll have to get them another time.” The realization that they were leaving prisoners at the mercy of the empire sobers the group even more. It was becoming more and more apparent that more planning was needed before they could root out the Empire on Mandalore. Meanwhile, Kal had set Uthan to the task of trying desperately to make their own homebrew vaccine.
---
It’s been many many years since he’s fastroped. Lately, he has been finding that it’s been years since he’s done many things. Fastroping, underwater diving...fathering kriffing kids. He swallows, hard and regroups himself. Every single one of them needs to be focused if they’re gonna pull this job off.
Yes, he’s fast roped before. But he’s never liked it. Where his sons get twitchy when confined to tight spaces, he finds himself sweating more than usual under his beskar the more stories they climb. Right now, they’re about ten stories up, far above the sensors of the garrison and way above his tolerance for heights. They have about a minute to pull this off before the Imps realize this transport is lingering too long in their airspace.
Mereel, Sev, Scorch, and Kal are in Aayhan, hovering silently above the Keldabe imperial garrison in the inky black late summer night. The humidity sticks his tactical garments to his skin, making it itch and crawl in addition to his surging adrenaline. That was one thing that never changed, no matter how old he got, no matter how many missions he’s finished - that nauseating spike of pure fear and bliss.
He gives the signal to move move move and soon he’s roping down, strong north Mandalorian wind whipping around him, soaking through his underlayer. The four of them land silently on the roof of the compound, and Scorch starts laying a strip charge along the floor to create a hole leading below, straight into the admin offices. Four sets of Mando armor gleam lowly in the moonlight. It’s a perfect night for an op like this, whipping wind obscuring any slight noise they did make and the faint whine of aayhan’s engines. The charges detonate with a controlled bang and flash of bright light that briefly blinds his HUD. Kal switches to night vision.
*His child*. It’s barely a concrete concept in his mind yet, but an instinctual piece of him knows the truth. The timing is too perfect for him to be wrong. The way Orla had looked at him in the med center…
The stakes are too high to fail, and distracting thoughts get men killed. Mereel leads the way through the door, rifle at the ready, and Kal banishes his musings to the back of his mind, pushed away by a fresh rush of adrenaline. It’s a stealth mission, and they navigate by night vision, as silently as their boots will allow.
They stalk through dark quiet hallways lined with innocuous office doors until they reach the end, what is presumably the CO’s office, with its durasteel double doors and obviously larger size.
Mereel starts in on slicing the door panel while Sev shoots out the camera in the hallway corner while the rest of them listen for any approaching patrols. It was only a matter of time before someone noticed they were there, whether it was the hole in the roof or the blacked out camera. The double doors open quietly and they head inside. Vau’s boys guard the door while he and Mereel crowd the desk in the middle of the room.
“I need a few minutes to get into this,” Mereel says, eyes locked onto the screen before him. One of his slicing tools is between his teeth.
“You’ll get it, son. We’ll take care of anything that tries to get in our way.”
So far it looks like no one has noticed them. The imps must really be confident in the plan to neutralize Mandalore with so few guards and patrols. Sweat drops trickle down the back of his neck and into his bodysuit.
Mereel studies the datapad stripping the system for a few more moments and turns it towards Kal. There’s a concerned look stretched across his handsome face. Together the watch the recorded scene on the screen before them.
There’s Orla, still in her work clothes, talking with an Imp who’s behind this very desk, flanked by two stormtroopers. He knows those gestures - she’s spitting mad, barely containing the fury that was directed toward the man behind the desk. Without audio he can only guess as to the contents of their conversation. The Imp behind the desk gives a short reply and nods curtly to the right-hand trooper who, without hesitation, raises his blaster rifle and cracks her across the face with the butt end. She doesn’t even see it coming. Even in the shades of blue from the holoprojector the blood is obvious, trickling down the side of her face.
Kal is livid, trembling so finely it’s barely visible, and he almost forgets where they are for a moment. Deep in enemy territory, with hostiles incoming any minute.
Mereel makes a disgusted noise from deep in his chest as they watch her be pushed to the ground. They follow the video feed where she’s led to a cell. His breath catches. There’s a chance she’s still here. His hope is tempered, however, when an alarm starts to sound from within the garrison. A patrol must have finally found their breach point.
“Sarge?” warns a voice from outside the door. It’s Sev, by the gravelly tone.
“Almost finished,” he shouts, over the screeching din. Mereel continues to work furiously, his bulk hunched over the console. He’s able to parse through incredible amounts of data with immense precision; Kal can practically feel the concentration rolling off him.
“Wait,” Mereel says. Kal looks over at the screen. They’re centered on a video feed again, this time outside. The sheer amount of prisoners in line for the transport is shocking enough, but the fact that none of them are in armor is even more appalling. The Imps are slowly stripping their culture away, plate by plate.
“She’s not on the manifest for this transport, even though the records say she leaves.”
It doesn’t make sense. Unless… Kal knows Mereel must be thinking the same as him. Judging by the brutality of the footage they’ve watched, the stories from around the planet, he wouldn’t put it past the Empire to take care of a pesky problem in the easiest way they knew how. It wasn’t something that supposedly peaceful, orderly governments liked to keep records of. His dread and guilt intensifies, leadening his limbs already weighed down by heavy beskar.
He chokes the words out. He has to know. “Is there any footage of…” Kal can’t bring himself to say them. It doesn’t need to be said, Mereel knows what he’s looking for. He’s been in a war zone long enough to know that armies aren’t sentimental.
“No, no footage. Just them leading her away.” The alarm continues to blare. It could be minutes, seconds before they have to blast their way out.
“Here.”
Kal steels himself to watch. It’s his fault, he reminds himself again. Two more fresh marks in his ledger. His arm reaches automatically to his son’s to steady himself. He feels Mereel’s slump ever so slightly, whether it’s in relief or defeat, he can’t tell.
“I have what I need,” he says, “time to go. Debrief can wait for later.” Distant footsteps start to echo towards them, modulated shouts following close behind. They were about to be grossly outnumbered, by the sound of it. Kal shoves his helmet back on, heading through the doorway and signaling Sev and Scorch to follow.
They wind through the garrison, avoiding both patrols and squads of stormtroopers sweeping the building. It’s laughably easy compared some of the other heists they’ve pulled - except he speaks too soon. As they make their way out of the back door of the garrison onto the Keldabe streets, one squad catches up to them. Ordo has aayhan back at Kyrimorut - earlier they had decided it was too risky for the four of them to fly home and possibly expose the homestead. So instead their plan was to run the winding streets and strategically borrow a transport. The problem is that Kal is pushing sixty and the other men are - physiologically at least - still in their early twenties. They’re a lot kriffing faster than him, even with his ankle fixed.
The streets and alleys twist and turn, switching from ancient cobbles to smooth duracrete without warning. Easy enough to get lost if you’re a local, they are impossible to navigate as aruettiise. Soon the four are panting, ducked into an alcove off a cobbled alley. Finally, it seems they’ve dodged the patrol. Only time will tell if they were recognized. Kal finds he doesn’t much mind if they know his face. In fact, he hopes they do. He wants to meet that garrison officer.
-------
Imperial Rehabilitation Center
Weeks later
19 BBY
Life isn’t all doom and gloom. They are kept...occupied. Like rats in a maze. Ori shares a bunk with another Mandalorian, the only other there. Taren is a kid really, small and slight except for her distended belly. It’s obvious she’s used to wearing armor by the way she walks, how upright she holds herself, arms swaying slightly away from her body. And how she closes in on herself when she realizes it’s not there, when it’s nighttime in their room and thinks Ori can’t hear her sob breathlessly into her pillow every night.
It’s almost childish, the way they’re herded from room to room. Chaperoned and on a schedule, like one would handle a naughty child needing extra discipline. It was how she imagines Coruscanti boarding schools some of her medical school classmates attended - polished stone floors and crisp uniforms, all strict routines and synchronized repetition. It’s meant to numb the mind, making days run into weeks. She suspects they’re kept intentionally disoriented. After all, most of them are still political prisoners, and many she’s found have important connections on their respective homeworlds.
They’re at lunch, scattered around their assigned tables. Generously, they are allowed to converse during meals, though their seats remain assigned. The ‘rehab center’ has proven to be much more expansive than she expected - some rooms are swallowingly large, like the one she is in now, and some are as small as a broom closet, connected by narrow winding hallways. The building itself could have been any number of things in a past life - a school, factory, or prison. She supposes it doesn’t matter much now. Today there’s a newcomer, sitting quiet and sullen at a back table with the Corellians. Time would tell if she was one of them or if she hailed from a different world.
An arm jostles her, hitting her square in the ribs. It successfully knocks her out of her analysis of the newcomer.
“-did you hear what I just said?” Taren says, mouth full of tasteless nutritional paste. It’s far from delicious, but you ate what they give out and she is hungry *all the time* nowadays. A fleck lands on Ori’s face and she wipes it away with a raised eyebrow.
“Sorry, al’verde.” Commander. Her eyes roll automatically. She knows she doesn’t deserve the title. Discreetly, Ori shushes the younger woman - they’re lucky the stormtroopers here don’t understand Mando’a.
They put together kit for new stormtroopers, morning and night. It’s another endurable humiliation. She stabs at the cubes bitterly with her spoon, scattering crumbs across the table. They’re not allowed forks or knives, not after Taren’s first week. A tiny smile flits across her face as she thinks on the memory.
Ori feels like a geriatric compared to the spry warrior, though they’re less than ten years apart in age. She’s seen things in that time, lost people, buried dreams. Though Taren is looking older and older by the day, cooped up in this place.
“Theera is gone,” Taren says, “she wasn’t at breakfast either.”
Looking around and finding no sign of the woman, Ori hums an agreement. She’ll be gone for good soon, and her baby as well. Every time someone delivers it sends a sense of unshakeable dread down her spine and into the pit of her stomach. All of them are marching slowly towards that finish line.
The artificial hierarchy into which they are forced has made the two Mandalorians de facto leaders, despite Ori being one of the newer inmates and to cement her as *alverde*; her medical expertise makes her invaluable.
The room hushes as Dr. Loesch sweeps down to the cafeteria, all business in crisp grey scrubs, so confident in his admiration. He insists they call him ‘Doctor L’ like he’s a popular lecturer at a university. He’s the worst kind of hut’uun, just as bad as the rest of the Imps she’s met here. Loesch is in charge of their medical care, all 100-some of them, including herself. Loesch towers over most of them, even herself.
As a physician, Ori is personally insulted at his complacency, the fact that he is perfectly content in his post and cemented in his belief that what he was doing is just, his complicity. She stabs at her cubes some more to try and make herself feel better.
As a woman, she’s decidedly less surprised. Men like him are everywhere, tall and handsome, handed success on a silver platter, born into families of privilege and power. Taking and taking with no thought of the carnage they leave behind.
He saunters his way over to their table and sits with a charming smile.
“Beviin,” he starts, “I heard through the gossip chain that you were an obstetrician before you came here?”
It’s physically painful to keep her retort in hand. She’s been here long enough to see women sent to solitary. And to see them come back, changed indefinitely.
“Mmm,” she mumbles affirmatively through a mouthful of cubes. She swallows. “Yes.” Keep it simple, that’s easy enough.
He smiles sardonically. “How ironic,” he adds, obviously pleased with the revelation. Expectantly, he looks around the table to gauge his joke, and they catch on, laughing softly, nervously, afraid of what might happen if they don’t. Even Ori joins in, the butt of the low blow, though her simmering rage ratchets up another level.
They finish the rest of their lunch largely in silence and Loesch pulls her away when she files out with the others.
“Ms. Beviin,” he says conspiratorially, “I know it must be difficult for you to be here.”
The man over her, face too close for comfort, his voice deep and low. Alarm fills her as the other people in the room dwindle until it’s just the two of them and the scattered troopers on the upper level. All Ori can think about is where the nearest exit is located when she realizes he’s still speaking to her.
“...what do you think?” He waits patiently, a benevolent expression in his face. He blinks too little, she thinks, and his eyes are devoid of expression, shining with an amused sort of malevolence. They’re a strange shade of brown...no, green? The little noise he makes in the back of his throat brings her back to their conversation.
“Ah...sure?” she replies weakly, stunned and frozen.
“That’ll be nice for the other inmates,” he says. Incredibly white, straight teeth flash as he smiles down at her. “I think it will give them comfort to have you there. I’ll have the guards collect you when it’s time.”
——
Three nurses eye her from across the suite. They wear sweet matching hospital uniforms, in the same soft fabric as hers except in a delicate petal pink. With a pang, she misses her fellow nurses and doctors on Mandalore. Who knows how many had fallen ill? Been arrested? The way they clustered in a little group reminded her of her schoolmates, when they found out she didn’t like fighting, whispering rumors from across the room. That she thought she was better than them, that weird girl who was more concerned with grades than winning fights and impressing boys. Now they stand across the room from her like a little bunch of flowers in their coordinated outfits, identical and perfect. She’s an other in their world, someone to be feared and hated, pitied at best.
Orla stands awkwardly, waiting for the show to start when her stomach flips. The scrub top she has on stretches across her middle awkwardly, pulling at the seams and the soft shoes that cover her feet are obscured by her bump. The strange sensation returns, a little differently this time, just the barest flutter, deeper down than that nervous feeling. Her baby. She lays a gentle palm over the swell, as discreetly as she can, still feeling the scrutinizing looks of the women across the room.
Another nurse wheels a bed into the room, complete with Theera shivering atop it, her hair and gown drenched in sweat. Orla rushes to the head of the bed as she’s prepped for the operation. Theera is dazed, too exhausted to make much sense of anything right now, glassy eyes focused on the ceiling. She smoothes back the sweaty hair from Theera’s forehead.
“Hey cyar’ika. It’s Ori,” she says softly. The woman’s eyes focus a little, just enough to meet hers. She bumps their foreheads together. It was as much to comfort herself as much as the other woman. Non-mandos typically didn’t understand the meaning behind the gesture. She can’t squeeze her hand like she wants to - it’s being hooked up to IV tubing.
“I’m cold,” she mumbles. Some of it is adrenaline, some from fear, and the rest from the icy operating room temperature to keep the surgeons comfortable. Drenched as she is, it’s no wonder Theera is shivering.
Ori asks the wary tech for a warm blanket, terrified of overstepping and getting her shebs kicked out of the operating room. She’s promptly ignored in favor of his work. Dr. Loesch enters the room and the nurses titter around him while he ensures everything is prepped to his liking. Ori settles for as much skin to skin contact as she can get with Theera, trying to warm her, mumbling comforting nonsense into her ear as Loesch starts to work. A warming bassinet waits ominously against the wall for its prize.
A thin cry interrupts their mumbling and Theera’s eyes sharpen at the noise. Loesch holds the little thing over the curtain separating them indulgently, just for a moment. A boy, he says, and she and Theera find themselves mesmerized by the bloody little thing and his tiny squished face and flailing arms, already so angry at the world. He’s held up for a second, allowing Theera a cursory glance and then whisked away by the nurses to the bassinet. His mother is still paralyzed on the table and it makes it all the more unjust that she isn’t even allowed to touch her son, see him up close. The nurses at the bassinet laugh and coo, oblivious to Theera, who starts weeping pitifully. Fat tears slide down the side of her face, wetting the starched white sheet beneath her head.
Ori is in the middle of the absolute emotional chaos around her. Theera crying, Dr. Loesch talking with his assistant about weekend plans, and the nurses with the baby, who have turned back at the sound of crying to glare at them judgementally. She can practically hear them now. Serves her right, their looks say. She deserves it. The rage congeals around Ori, settling itself in her throat. This feeling is exactly what had put her in this place to begin with and she knows she has to control it, use it somehow. She watches them place a little bracelet around the infant’s ankle and scan it into a datapad. They don’t bother with Theera. It dawns on her then that if she’s lucky - incredibly lucky - she can use the Empire’s obsession with order against them.
She makes her way over to the bassinet under the ruse of joining the indulgent cooing that is going on, trying not to throw elbows before she’s kicked out of the room. The little boy’s leg is caught for a heel stick an she gets her chance. The number on the leg band is just visible, only for a second. She sends a prayer up to the Manda that she gets it right.
Taglist
@clonewarslover55 @simping-for-fives @808tsuika @jedi-mando @cherry-cokes-world @nelba @fractiouskat @passionofthesith
#PHEW THIS SUCKED TO WRITE UGH#how do people write long chaps like goddamn I'm drained and this took MONTHS#i suck basically lol#At Odds#Republic Commando#Kal Skirata
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Black Velvet (1/1)
1919. The War is over, but life is far from normal. While the imminent danger is gone for many, it is not gone for Emma Swan. Her secrets have always been dangerous and had the ability to control her, but they have never been more dangerous than now as she is forced to work undercover as a barmaid and keep her true intentions hidden from the most notorious gang leader in England.
Her life depends on it, but unfortunately for Emma, Killian Jones can read her better than anyone ever has.
Rating: Mature
a/n: I was going to wait to post this next week since I’ve been catching up on posting other things this week and flooded you all with words, but I am sooooo excited for this one! Like, I haven’t written a big one-shot in awhile, and this one is a little different for me. But I love it, and hope that you do as well! For my Peaky Blinders fans, I think you’ll recognize some similarities because this is def based on it😘
Found on AO3 | here |
-/-
There is a sudden crash of glass shattering against the battered wood floor, stains of alcohol, blood, and the scuff marks of boots covering it to make it a darker wood than it originally was. She’s scrubbed that floor until her hands were dry and cracked, but the stains are as imbedded in the wood as the Jones family is in this place, their place. The stains might well be purposeful, and really, they could have been, a sure sign that the Joneses are not scared to let anyone know they do not mind getting blood on their hands or mind leaving the evidence behind. In fact, they are likely proud of it.
Loud cursing fills the usually subdued pub, arguments over whose fault it was for the spilling of the whiskey, but Emma knows that it doesn’t matter whose fault it was when she’s the one who has got to clean it up and scrub the damn floors clean when all is said and done.
Damn drunk men and their damn petty fights over what always amounts to being about a woman who has no interest in either of them.
Sighing, she turns on her heels behind the bar where she was polishing tumblers and other glasses and walks back into the storage room to retrieve the broom and dustpan along with some cloths. She is not supposed to leave the bar and the alcohol unattended, but she has been working here long enough to know that anyone who stumbles into this particular pub is smart enough to know not to steal from the Jones family.
They’ll be dead faster than the rum can pass their lips, and the Joneses don’t give out the good stuff to just anyone so that would be one pathetic last drink.
Twisting on the lights in the closet, her eyes scan over shelves of supplies and half-empty bottles that have somehow made their way back here, until she finds the broom, unattached from the pan.
Of course. Why would the broom ever be stored away with its matching set?
“Fuck,” she mutters, adjusting her trousers. They are too large around her waist, but she hasn’t had time to buy any new clothes lately. From what she’s gleamed, trousers on women are not widely accepted in Birmingham, but some days she cannot be bothered to wear a dress that squeezes the breath out of her. Today was one of those days, but unless she wants her knickers on display for everyone to see, she is going to have to buy new clothes soon.
“That’s no language for a lady.”
Immediately, she twists around to look at the other side of the room where the deep, accented voice originated. He’s standing with his gray suit clad legs crossed over another, arms stretched over his chest so that his shirt tightens around his muscles, and there is a bloody smirk plastered on that ever-handsome face under the dark brush of his facial hair. He’s without his cap and suit jacket today, but he’s never without his vest and the shirt that stays indecently unbuttoned. It is the one thing that never changes about his appearance, and the day she sees his shirt fully buttoned, Emma knows shit will start flying in every direction.
“Well, as you know, I’m far from a lady. I work here after all.”
Blue eyes flicker up and down her body, taking in the curves of her hips and her breasts even under her loose clothing, the bastard, and if possible, the smirk intensifies, curling from one side of his lips to the next.
“Now, darling,” he croons, uncrossing his legs and taking three strides forward to stand in her space, hovering just enough above her to make her feel smaller than she already is, “you and I both know that is not true.” “Do we?” she argues, raising a brow in his direction.
He chuckles, something dark that heads straight between her thighs, and then warm hands are on her hips, rough fingertips brushing against the skin at her waist, and hot breath brushes over her ear and down her neck while whiskers prick her skin.
“Did you miss me, love?” Killian whispers before pulling back, putting space between them as quickly as he closed it off.
“Were you gone?”
His head tilts back with laughter, and she watches him roll his shirt sleeves up, revealing angry red scars and marks on his left hand. She’s heard the rumors of how he received those scars, but when it comes to Killian Jones, rumors are not reliable. He’s done things the average person could never dare dream of, and fiction and reality toe a thin line, both of them crossing until everything is blurred.
“I was in London for two weeks, love. I cannot believe you didn’t notice my absence. I would have thought it would be at the forefront of your mind.”
“Well, I know this may be hard for you to believe, but my thoughts do not revolve around you.”
His brow lifts, lines on his forehead moving with it, and he cocks his head to the side, disbelieving. “A woman as fascinating as you must have too many things to fill her mind other than me, so I can actually believe it if you must know.”
“You flatter me.”
Killian clicks his tongue. “I intend to.” He moves around her, footfalls quiet, and presses open the hidden door in the closet he must have walked through to be in here. “My brothers and I will be in our dining room today. Get the good stuff from the safe.”
Emma mockingly bows. “It would be my pleasure.”
He stares, blue eyes bright compared to the darkness of the rest of him, and then he slips out, moving through the back hallways and compartments that were installed during the War but are now used for the family to avoid their enemies and the coppers, who are usually paid off but can sometimes still question the Joneses’ business practices, especially when there’s a new hire for their more questionable ventures. It is a fascinating thing to watch how a family who supposedly manufactures automobiles and distills rum has such a varied number of enemies. Maybe that is simply how it is for all businessmen, but Emma wouldn’t know.
She is simply a barmaid after all.
When she exits the closet with both broom and pan in hand, the argument is over, but the shattered glass remains. She quickly cleans it, dumps the glass outside, and gets back to tending bar, talking to the men who wander in and out of the place. Half of them fancy her, she knows. It’s obvious in the way they speak to her, even more obvious in the way they will often attempt to touch her, but Emma does not get paid to appease the baser desires of the patrons of My Fairest Lady. If she did, she would be in an entirely different type of business where her purse would be full for once.
As the day passes, men come in and out in their tailored suits and carefully curated ties, and Emma watches all of them, seeing where they go and what they order. She watches as some walk up the stairs and only appear again hours lately, but mostly she watches the ones that walk into the pub and immediately turn right into the private room the Joneses sit in when they decide they are going to conduct business at the pub instead of in one of their offices. When the rest of the place quiets, she can often hear them, especially if she decides to rest near the small trap door through which they order their drinks.
Tonight, they are talking about needing new men, but she cannot hear well enough as to why. This has been her problem for weeks. She gleams a little information, but not enough, and if Killian Jones wasn’t so in tune to every noise in the place, she’d sneak through the back tunnels and listen from there.
That would surely get her killed.
The sun sets early, the smog from the factories outside aiding in the darkening of the world, and when her shift is over for the night, Emma grabs her things and leaves, walking through the streets of Birmingham until she is at her flat, a small, dingy little place that reminds her of the homes she grew up in. It wasn’t her first choice, but so often, things aren’t.
Emma twists the key in the lock and walks inside. For all of its faults, the place has electricity. That makes her life much easier since she does not have to go about striking matches and blowing out fire every few hours.
“Hello, dearie.”
Emma’s skin pales, and heaviness settles in her stomach, weighing her down to keep her from moving. Sitting at her kitchen chair is Robert Gold, and no matter how long she has worked with him, she will never feel comfortable when he decides to show his face without notice.
She will never feel comfortable even when he gives notice.
“Gold,” Emma nods, straightening her back. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
Slowly, he stands, using his gold-encrusted cane to prop himself up, and Emma shuts the door behind her. She has a knife in a strap around her thigh, and while she technically works for him, she doesn’t trust Gold as far as she can throw that knife.
“Have you located the guns?”
“If I had, you would know.”
“That doesn’t work for me.”
Emma tilts her head back and scoffs, her rapid heartbeat calming as her skin heats, rage and fire and disbelief settling in the bumps of her skin. “Oh, my deepest apologizes. It is obviously a simple bloody task to infiltrate the most notorious gang in the city and gleam where they keep stolen guns. They don’t talk so openly about their business!”
Gold walks closer, beady eyes reflected under the lamplight, and Emma stays steady. “We hired a woman to do this because women are Killian Jones’s weakness. Get to know him, get in his bed, and then you will be in the inner circle.”
She spits. “I am not sleeping with him for your cause.”
“Is my cause not your cause? Getting rid of undesirable gangs and criminals that disrespect the Crown and steal from our arms factories?”
Emma laughs, her heartbeat racing again. “I work for you because I have no other choice. It was this or death.”
He shrugs, tapping his cane. “You shouldn’t have made a deal with me, and we wouldn’t be in this position. Alas, we are, and you must deal with the consequences of your actions, dearie. All deals have a price. I’ll be returning.”
Gold steps around her, making Emma move to the side, and then he exits her flat. His presence, however, lingers, and she feels as if grime and smog are coating her skin. That is a feeling that never goes away, but it is especially present after one of Gold’s visits. Emma curses and stomps her foot, despising her situation. She is only twenty-three years of age, but she has lived the life of an elder. Growing up in orphanages does not set a woman up for a good life, and seven years ago when she fell pregnant but couldn’t afford to take care of the baby, she went to Gold for help. He was known to be able to do anything, especially find homes for children without charging the birth mother exuberant prices, but no one told her the price of his services would be to work for him and the government in backhanded deals. It was this, death, or harm done to a child she has only held once but loves as if she was allowed to raise him.
She couldn’t be a mother, doesn’t know if she ever will be able to again, but she will not let harm fall on that child.
So, now, she is shipped across Europe, putting her life at risk every day. After all, what is the potential of death when compared to certain death?
-/-
Days pass, and Emma learns of no new information. She works long hours, taking extra shifts and standing behind the bar until her feet bleed from blisters, her heels too small with swollen feet. Every day, Killian and his brothers Liam and Lee walk inside, often with William Scarlet and Rob Locksley following behind them, but they say nothing more to her than greetings and drink orders. Killian will spend additional time leaning over the bar, his voice deep with his flirtations, but she pushes them away. She will not sleep with him to get information, and she will not sleep with him because he thinks she is easy prey.
Men like him, no matter how enticing, do not lead to good things.
Knowing he’s the head of a gang doesn’t reassure her.
Knowing one day he will have a price on her head, well, it does not give her any confidence that she could ever be anything more than a warm body in his bed. Most likely, he wouldn’t give her the curtesy of taking her there, instead taking her behind the bar.
If only she had been born into a family with means. Maybe then she could live a life where death did not linger so closely.
“Swan, darling,” Killian calls from his private room, “can you come in here?”
Emma stills, gripping on her glass, but she quickly composes herself. It’s not often she is called into the room, and while she would like an invitation to the inside, she knows it comes with risks. Slowly, she moves around the bar and heads toward the door. Liam opens it for her, nodding, and she steps inside as Liam closes the door behind her. Killian, Lee, William, and Rob are sitting in the cushioned booths, and Killian pats the seat beside him. She nods and sits next to him, keeping her posture straight and face neutral.
“Emma, love,” Killian starts, “you’re educated, are you not?”
“I am not.”
Killian twists and looks at her with wide eyes. “You speak like you’ve been educated.”
“Natural intelligence,” Emma shrugs. Gold gave her an education, but she refuses to give him any credit when most of it has been of her own doing. “I attended school as a child, but not much else. Everything has been self-taught.”
“See,” Lee sighs, “I don’t need more schooling.”
“You damn well do if you want to be a part of this business! We are educated men, and you will be no different.”
“Where did you go to school?” Emma asks, not able to help herself.
“Oxford. Though, my studies were interrupted by my needed service in the War.”
“It’s a shame.”
“I think I’m doing well for myself, regardless, love.”
“You should go to school, Lee,” Emma tells the youngest Jones brother, a bastard child of their father they brought into the family business. “You have the Jones Corporation to fall back on, but if you want to be a true asset, you should better yourself as much as you can.”
“Oi, am I bloody well supposed to take advice from a woman? A woman who is a barmaid no less? What could you possibly know?”
Killian slams his hand down on the table, glass and silverware shaking. “This woman is far more competent than you, lad, and I suggest you respect her. Everyone is your equal, no matter what dear old dad told you to make you believe otherwise.”
Lee curses under his breath, and Emma slinks back into the booth as the room stills, the air heavy with unspoken words waiting to be set free. She doesn’t know if she should stay or walk out of the room and back to her job, but Killian makes the decision for her. “Why don’t you all go? Get back to work.”
“What about what we were discussing?” Liam questions, but he still grabs his cap and his coat.
“We will discuss it later.” The men nod and then begin to shuffle out of the room. Emma moves to join them, but Killian reaches out and grabs her wrist, the warmth of his hand spreading over here. “Stay, Swan.”
She doesn’t dare deny him as she cannot give up any opportunity to learn more about him, so she turns and takes the seat opposite him, smoothing out her skirt and her hair. “Is everything alright?”
“The horse race is this weekend, as I’m sure you know, and I’d like to bring you as a guest.”
Emma blanches. “Excuse me?”
A smile creeps onto his face, and he reaches into his pocket to slide a bag of coins across the table. “I’d like to take you to the races as my companion. You should use this to buy a nice dress and hat.”
“Are you trying to buy my affections?”
“I think we both know you cannot be bought.”
If only he knew.
Emma studies him, trying to read past the smile and the friendly invitation, but she sees nothing of any use. “Why me?”
Killian leans forward, elbow pressed to the table and chin resting on his knuckle. “I fancy you from time to time when you aren’t ignoring me, as I have made no secret.”
Emma thinks to all the times where she’s forgotten herself and has allowed Killian to get close in the way she doesn’t want, all the times he has lingered close to her and pressed his lips to her neck before she pulls away. She will not sleep with him for money or for Gold’s cause, but she would be telling a lie if she said she has never considered it for her own personal reasons. Her mind is constantly contradicting her there, and Emma has never been able to settle her thoughts one way or another.
Getting into bed with dangerous men leads to getting into bed with dangerous things.
Emma has already put on the sheets and started slipping out of her shoes despite her best efforts not to.
“So, you expect me to buy a nice outfit and spend a day away with you as nothing more than an ornament on your arm because you fancy me?”
“I expect nothing of you. Every choice is up to you.”
Emma reaches her fingers across the table and takes the purse of coins. “Any color in particular you’d like for my dress?”
“Surprise me.”
-/-
Her dress is red, and when she walks into My Fairest Lady on Saturday morning, she can feel the eyes of the entire place on her. It’s made of a delicate lace and flowered accents and flares out at the hips, but the corset makes her breasts push up, cleavage showing where she usually hides it. Her heels were dyed to match, her hat too, and it is the nicest thing she’s ever worn. It feels foreign on her skin, and while Emma would prefer comfort, she doesn’t mind feeling elegant for once. Anna, the woman who lives next to her, saw Emma carry her dress home, asked where she was going with it, and insisted she allow Emma to roll her hair with hot curlers and apply paint to her lips. She thinks the redness of her lips along with the cleavage may be the thing that brings down the Jones Company, and if she’d known that, maybe she would have dressed like this earlier.
“You look,” Killian begins.
“I know,” Emma finishes, taking his hand as he helps her into the carriage. “You look nice as well.”
“And much like you, I did know that.”
The drive to the races doesn’t seem long, but Emma knows they’ve traveled for at least two hours. Killian doesn’t talk for much of it, but when he does, it’s to point out something on the side of the road. He’s able to tie everything in with a story from the War or something William Scarlet has done, and Emma chuckles, seeing the lighter side of them. She knows how they spend much of their time, and it is not taking all of Killian’s suits out of his closet and replacing them with Lee’s so they’ll be several sizes too small.
When they arrive at Cheltenham, it is like nothing Emma has ever seen before. The building around the track is glamourous and obviously newly built, and everyone around is in their nicest clothes. To Emma, this is foreign, every bit of it. Her life is a life in the shadows in tattered clothes and normal things. Her life is not spent betting on horse races and wearing dresses worth more than her flat to accompany the head of a gang while she secretly attempts to discover where he’s hiding the guns Gold wants.
She does not even know why Gold wants those guns so badly when the factory can surely produce more, but her entire life is about finding them.
She should have never stepped foot in his house had she known these would be the consequences, but she needed to give that kid the good life he has.
“This is spectacular,” Emma says as the carriage stutters to a stop amongst all the others, motors slowly dying out.
Killian takes her hand and guides her out of the carriage, placing his hand on her lower back when they set foot on the gravel. “You haven’t seen anything yet, love.”
Killian is right in that she hasn’t seen anything because when they walk inside, the floor is lined with black and white tiles, and the ceiling is home to ornate paintings and chandeliers that look too heavy to stay there. Emma shouldn’t feel overwhelmed by it all, but she does. Killian knows every other person they pass, some greeting him with reverence and some greeting him with fear, but they all greet him just the same. His hand stays steady on her back as he moves her though the hallways, and he introduces her to several other women before disappearing into another room. She wants to follow him, to see what business he’s doing, but she knows she can’t.
“How do you know Killian Jones?” a woman with long brunette hair asks. Emma thinks her name is Ruby, but she cannot remember. It was too much talking at once.
“How do you?” Emma counters.
“I was his lover years ago.”
Emma arches her brow. “Well, that does not shock me.”
“Oh, you don’t know, do you?”
“Know what?”
Ruby steps closer to her, whispering so no one around them can hear. “He had an affair with the wife of a powerful man, and the man killed his wife in front of Killian and burned Killian’s hand. After that, he slept with anyone who so much as looked like his lover because he was often too drunk to realize the difference. So, you, you’re different. I have never seen him go with a blonde.”
“Well,” Emma steadies, trying to keep her heart from racing after what she heard, “I am not his lover, so I imagine you’ll have to keep waiting to see that.”
“Not yet,” Ruby tells her before stepping away, dress trailing behind her.
“You ready to watch the races?”
Emma jumps at Killian’s returned presence, and he chuckles, placing his hand on her back again while looking down at her, amused. “You alright?”
“I’m fine,” Emma lies. “Just fine.”
She flashes a smile that reaches her eyes, making it as genuine as possible, and before Killian guides her to their seats, she sees a spot of blood on his shirt. She doesn’t know if it is his or someone else’s, but she does know that whatever business he had at the races has very little to do with horses.
-/-
Emma’s feet ache when she settles into her seat in the carriage, and she immediately toes out of her shoes and tucks her feet underneath her. Killian eyes her with curiosity, but he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he shrugs of his jacket and lays it over her lap.
“You may not have been able to move, but you cut quite the figure in that dress.” Her cheeks heat, but she doesn’t say anything, simply smiling at him. “Did you enjoy the races, Swan?”
“I did. Though, not as much as you.”
“What makes you say that?”
Emma hums and taps her fingers over Killian’s suit jacket, moving it to cover more of her. “Well, your purse is fuller. Your horse won, and if I heard correctly, you are now in charge of all bets.”
He turns to look at her, and if she were talking to any other member of the gang, she would back away. For some reason, however, the leader doesn’t scare her tonight, not like he should. She had one too many glasses of fine wine.
“How exactly do you know that?”
Emma points to the small blood stain on his shirt. “I’m assuming that is the blood of someone from the Mills family, who all mysteriously went away before the races even started. Everyone came to Rob and Liam to make their bets. It does not take a genius to figure things out once the pieces begin to fall into place.”
“Not a genius, no, but someone with an observant eye.” He leans forward, invading her space like he so often does. “You, love, know a little too much.”
“What are you going to do about it?” Emma whispers, breathless.
He leans closer, until her air and his air are the same, and Emma closes her eyes to brace herself, not knowing what is coming next. His lips ghost over hers, but they do not firmly touch. Instead they linger, and Emma feels every move he makes. “Keep you close,” Killian finally says. “I believe you would know too much for me to let you go.”
Enough but not what she needs.
“I believe you may be right.”
Killian rests his hand on her thigh before pulling back, their air separating into their own entities once more. “Lee would have a bloody fit if he ever knew you so quickly figured things out. The boy has potential, but he is too much like our father. I believe that will be his downfall.”
“I believe underestimating women will be his downfall.”
Killian clicks his tongue and nods. “You see, that stems directly from our father, the bastard of all bastards, and you are correct. Many a man was brought down by the kiss of a woman, but few of them have the smarts to know it was her brain that truly brought them down.”
“And you know that?”
“Aye, I do.���
Emma wants to ask about the woman Ruby mentioned early, but she doesn’t dare. She’s already toeing the lines of danger tonight, and mentioning the deceased woman Killian used to love seems ill advised.
So, she stays quiet and keeps her place, knowing she is one step closer to where she needs to be. She is gaining his trust more and more each day, but she also feels herself slipping into a place from which she cannot return.
Fuck.
-/-
Weeks pass, and the weather chills, Birmingham’s winter quickly creeping upon them. Emma freezes every day on her walk to the pub, but one day a coat appears in a box with her name on it. It is long and warm, and besides her red dress, the nicest thing she owns. Killian never confirms it is from him, but she knows it was. She knows the coat, the gloves, and the scarves are all from him, and while she tells him thank you, he never accepts any of her words. Instead, he invites her more into his life. She knows about the gambling and the illegal businesses of the Jones Corporation, and her knowledge gets her foot in the door.
Everything that happens inside is up to Killian.
He brings her in from the pub to settle arguments, to help with the numbers after he discovers she’s better with them than Rob ever has been, and when Liam goes away for some time to take his wife to visit her family in France, Killian often has Emma sit in Liam’s seat with his hand on her thigh underneath the table.
Killian Jones is not a man who takes his time courting women, but Emma cannot help but feel like that is exactly what is happening with her. It is surely not proper, but there’s too much lingering between them for it to be anything else.
Though, it does always stay lingering, never crossing the line, and Emma finds herself thinking more and more about the woman he loved and the string of women who followed.
She finds her resolve to keep her heart away from him teetering over the edge of no return.
She also thinks of Neal, of how much he promised her, of how much he let her down. He was going to give her a better life, but then he disappeared into the wind, never to be heard from again when she realized she was pregnant.
Surely she must take some blame for her situation, but Emma always remembers that so much of it is because of Neal.
Tonight Killian is allowing singing in the pub. He never does, says it makes the place too cheery when that is not his style of pub, but once a week, he allows the men to sing after she leads them off in whatever song she knows. The joyous mood leads to more drinking, which is more money for them, and she imagines that is the only reason Killian allows it.
If she were a conceited woman, she would say he allows it to hear her sing.
The Joneses and their associates march into the pub, some of them disappearing into the back room, but most come to the main part of the pub, moving around the crowd and disappearing into the thick of it. Emma watches Killian, and she can feel his eyes on her no matter where he is.
He never does come to the bar for long periods of time, not while the place is full of people at least, but then when Arthur Pemberton’s hand gets a little too close to Emma, suddenly Killian is there, standing with her, hand possessively on her hip while he warns Arthur not to let his libations get to him.
“I can handle myself,” Emma hisses when Arthur has stumbled away. “I do not need you.”
“Of that I have no doubt.”
“Then what was that? You wanted to show off who had the bigger cock?”
“Darling, I know that would be me.”
Emma’s head tilts back with feigned, exasperated laughter, but Killian does not seem amused. She waits for him to laugh, for the blue of his eyes to light up, but instead his jaw clenches from beneath his whiskered chin.
“Fancy a song then, sailor?” Emma asks to change the subject and keep them from getting into a row. For all the nights they have spent talking about small little details of their lives and their wishes, so, too, have they spent nights arguing. She knows when they’re on the verge of both.
“Why would I fancy a song?”
“To make you smile.”
“Alright then.” He taps his hand on the bar top before helping Emma up to her new vantage point, arching his brow while he looks at her. “Sing me a song then, lass.”
Emma nods and inhales, knowing the entire room will be listening, but she only focuses on the one man with blue eyes as clear as the ocean on a sunny day.
“In a neat little town they call Belfast, apprentice to trade I was bound. Many an hour’s sweet happiness had I spent in that neat little town. A sad misfortune came over me, which caused me to stray from the land. Far away from my friends and relations, betrayed by the black velvet band. Her eyes, they shone like diamonds. I thought her the queen of the land. And her hair, it hung over her shoulder, tied up with a black velvet band.”
When she finishes, the room is silent, her voice echoing between the four walls, and when she looks at Killian, she can see water in his eyes, a new ocean amongst the blue.
“Another!” someone in the crowd yells, but Emma doesn’t turn away from Killian.
“Oi, the lady sings one song. If you want a new one, sing it yourself!”
Emma chuckles and allows herself to sit down on the bar top, Killian helps her to the ground, her heels clicking against the hardwood. His hand lingers, warmth spreading through her, but as soon as it warms her, it disappears as Killian walks away, disappearing upstairs.
“Are you truly not going to sing us another song?”
Emma rolls her shoulders back and turns around, Leroy standing in front of her. She smiles softly and takes his glass, pouring him another drink. “If you ask me nicely, I just might.”
The night passes quickly, My Fairest Lady filling as it does on this day every week, but eventually everyone leaves, the place emptying as the streets quiet outside, the drunks all returning to their homes or their mistresses. Emma takes her time sweeping up, toeing out of her heels to let her feet rest, and she hums all of the songs sung today, their lyrics filling her usually tired mind.
She doesn’t hear him come in, and it would startle her if he didn’t step directly to her, taking her hands in his and pulling her close, joining in the songs she was singing. She didn’t think he could sing, but he carries a tune almost better than she does.
“I don’t dance,” Emma whispers.
“That is because you have never had a partner who knows what he’s doing.”
“And this partner is you?”
“Aye.”
Emma hasn’t danced in years, and she doesn’t know any of the traditional ones. She would be out of place at a ball for many a reason. She could wear the dress, have the nice man on her arm, but her footing would give her way. One wrong step, and everything would be over.
One wrong step here, she could be dead.
Once more, she has no interest in thinking of the real reason she’s here. She wants to stay in this moment, allowing Killian to sing sweet melodies to her, and she wants to forget about Gold and her mission and everything else.
Emma wants to pretend that for now she is nothing more than a woman dancing with a man she has come to fancy despite herself, no darkness and secrets between them.
What a world that would be.
Emma tilts her head up, looking at Killian, at the softness of his lips and the length of his dark lashes. He is different in this light, softer than his usual hard edges, but Emma knows they are still there, just below the surface.
“I took a stroll down broadway,” Killian sings, continuing her song from earlier, “meaning not long for to stay. When who should I meet but this pretty fair maid come a-traipsing along the highway. She was both fair and handsome. Her neck, it was just like a swan.”
Here, he runs a finger down her neck that ricochets into a tremor down her spine.
“And her hair, it hung over her shoulder, tied up with a black velvet band.”
“I thought you didn’t like music,” Emma whispers as his fingers toy with the ends of her loose hair. She’s enchanted by him, and for once, she isn’t afraid to admit it.
“That’s because not everyone sings like you, love.”
Slowly, Emma presses up on her toes, and her lips go gently over his, feeling the softness that resides there. He lingers, not pushing her forward, but before Emma can do just that, his hand comes to cup the nape of her neck, tilting her head for him to control the kiss. She never did imagine Killian Jones wouldn’t be the one to take charge of a kiss, so no part of this surprises her. He tastes like rum, the alcohol burning her tongue as heat overwhelms her, and Emma is so consumed by him that she doesn’t notice the way he’s backed her across the room until the edge of the bar is pressing into her lower back, leaving a mark that will linger longer than the burning of this kiss.
When Emma gently bites at his bottom lip, he growls, moving his hands to pick her up until she’s resting on the top of the bar. Emma cups his cheeks, the prickle of his beard scratching her palms, but she pays no attention to that when her legs wrap around his back and she feels his hips roll into hers, the firmness of him pressing into her in ways she hasn’t felt in too long.
It feels damn good, and if Emma were a proper woman, she would have stopped this and kept it from going too far.
She is not a proper woman.
Killian, however, seems to be a proper man, because he pulls back, sweat slicked forehead leaning against hers, and then he moves away, putting more space between him than Emma wants now that they’ve finally closed the gap they’ve lingered near since her first day on the job. All she wants now is to feel him pulsing inside of her, creating a rhythm that matches with the beat of her heart and brings her the pleasure she so craves.
“I am not having you on this bar,” he grumbles, his voice deep and hoarse. His hand falls down her back, grabbing onto her hip and pulling her closer to him. “You deserve more.”
“I wouldn’t mind.” And she means it. She once thought that he wouldn’t care enough to take her to a bed, but now she finds she’s the one who doesn’t care. Her blood is running hot, and she would be fine with it right here even if the countertop digs into her arse. “This is fine.”
He kisses her again, all teeth and tongue and rough determination, and she thinks he’s given up on his sense of chivalry, especially when he encourages her to wrap her ankles around him, but then he’s stumbling with the kiss and lifting her off the bar. She gasps at the sudden movement and circles her arms around his neck to keep from falling.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Emma protests, pulling away as Killian runs his mouth down her neck.
“I said I wasn’t having you on this bar, and I meant it. I have a private room upstairs for when I can’t sleep at home.”
There’s a dark hunger in his voice, one that thrums between Emma’s thighs, and while she’d much prefer to walk herself to the room, she allows him to have this moment. Her legs are likely too shaky with desire for her steps to be steady.
This is not what she intended to do when she kissed him, but she should have known. It’s been building for months, and Emma has shown enough restraint.
She is tired of convincing herself that she wants anything other than this. s
When they get to Killian’s room, he lays her down on the bed, and Emma immediately starts unlacing her dress at her breasts as Killian undoes the buttons on his shirt, pulling it off before he leans down to assist her, his tongue and teeth tracing her exposed skin and leaving red marks with all of his kisses. The heat between her thighs is a sharp throb now, and Emma writhes underneath Killian has his mouth touches the hollow of her throat and his hand reaches behind her knee, pulling her up until he drags against her in the perfect way that has them both moaning.
“You have tempted me since the moment you walked in this damn pub asking for a job.”
His mouth is eager with its ministrations, especially when he finds her nipple, and Emma is left searching for words as her heart threatens to beat out of her chest. Snow falls outside, cold white flakes coating the ground, but Emma is nothing but warm. Parts of her feel like she is on fire, and even as things progress and clothes no longer lay on her body, she might as well be wrapped in down blankets with a fire burning next to her and a hot drink in her hand.
Instead, she’s pressing into the mattress, Killian’s hand palming her breast while his mouth goes lower and lower until her back is arching into the air and she’s dragging her nails down his back and up into the soft tresses of his dark head of hair. Sweat is beading down her chest and collecting at her hair, and Emma never thought it would be possible to sweat in December in Birmingham.
“Killian,” she moans when he does something sinful with his tongue. “Oh fuck.”
He doesn’t say anything back, simply keeps working how he’s working, and for a long while, it’s like the pleasure is never going to end. It’s a constant working up and up and up until she’s dangling off the cliff, ready to let go.
Killian barely gives her any time to recover from her fall before he’s working his way back up her body, settling over her and settling against her so she can feel him bare where she wants him. Emma licks a stripe up his neck, salt on her tongue, and he grunts in response, rolling his hips against hers until both of them are messes.
Shifting beneath him, Emma moves until Killian is face to face with her, his lips lingering over hers and his wild, sweat slicked hair in front of her. She imagines her hair is tangled as well, and it’ll likely never be the same.
“Hello, beautiful,” he whispers, cupping her cheek with his hand.
“So, this isn’t the bar anymore,” Emma jokes, looking for levity in a moment that seems heavy.
“No, no it isn’t.”
They’re both quiet as he presses into her in a slick stretch of heat, and Emma immediately spreads her legs wider for a better fit, allowing him to settle. He’s thick and heavy inside of her, and Emma digs her nails into his back, holding on tight as she moves her hips to get a more perfect fit.
She is going to leave her mark with him tonight, red scars from her nails stretching across his back.
“You are wonderful.” He kisses her again, muttering soft words while his hips start moving, creating a rhythm that might just burn Emma alive, especially when Killian’s hand slides down to her arse and helps himself slide in deeper. “So fucking wonderful.”
“You are too.”
He groans above her, and his hips become that little bit more frantic as his chest hair creates friction against her breasts. This is the best Emma has felt in months, maybe even years, and she wants to chase this high for as long as she can, even as she feels herself tumbling over with each thrust of Killian’s hip and swipe of his thumb as his lips devour hers, only stopping to mutter filthy encouragements.
This is not how she expected today to go.
She wouldn’t change it for a thing.
Her skin is boiling now, and if the curtains were closed, Emma wouldn’t know it was winter outside. Sweat is slicked everywhere, but she doesn’t care.
She doesn’t care about anything except how good it feels when Killian engraves her name into the side of her neck as he succumbs to pleasure as well, his bodyweight pressing down on her, melding them from two to one.
After, Killian is gentle when he helps her clean up, and they settle underneath the blankets. Emma presses her right leg between his and rests her cheek against his collarbone as her fingers tread through the dark hair on his chest. She moves it around from where sweat has matted it, and she traces the red scars that make up so much of him. They look almost silver in the moonlight.
They look stunning.
Emma feels lips press to her temple, and she smiles, burying her face in his neck and breathing him in.
Happy. This is what happiness feels like. It’s been so long that it surprises her.
“I have to go.”
It’s like she’s been slapped.
“Sorry?”
“I have to go,” Killian repeats, but Emma can’t quite come to terms with the words. “I have…business to attend to.”
Her walls immediately come back up, brick by brick.
“You have business to attend to? Seriously? What the fuck kind of excuse is that? What? You fuck me and then leave? Were you using me because – ”
Emma pulls back away from him, sitting up and pulling the blankets with her, and Killian stays settled against the headboard, hands behind his head. “I had this business before I slept with you. Believe me, there is nothing I would rather do than stay in bed with you until I’m bloody dragged out of it, but I have to do this tonight.”
Emma scoffs and crawls out of the bed, getting finding her undergarments. “I’m coming with you.”
“Swan.”
“If I’m jumping into bed with you, I want to know the exact details of the man I’m jumping into bed with.”
He arches his brow, mouth curling into a smirk as his head nods to how exposed he is. “It may be a little too late for that now.”
Emma should be flustered, but she’s not. She’s determined that she won’t be left behind.
Her hands fall to her hips. “That depends on if you let me come with you.”
“Grab your damn coat and a scarf. You’ll freeze without them.”
“Are you a gentleman now?”
He clicks his tongue. “I’m always a gentleman.”
They take Killian’s carriage, only with him driving this time instead of the two of them sitting in the back, and they don’t speak wherever it is they’re going. Anticipation courses through her veins, gooseflesh spreading across her skin wherever it can reach, and a lump permanently lodges itself in her throat. She doesn’t know what to think, what to feel, and when they drive to a graveyard, Emma is certainly confused. When Killian grabs a shovel out of the back and leads her to his mother’s grave, her skin crawls for a reason entirely unrelated to the cold.
“She’s not buried here.”
“Oh?”
“No. I had a stone made, but she is closer to the ocean. It’s the place she loved the most.”
“Then what is – ”
Emma doesn’t bother finishing her question when she sees the gleam of guns underneath the moonlight. Her heart drops to the pit of her stomach, and for all that Emma has pushed away her thoughts of Gold and his threats lingering over her, there is no denying them now.
She found the guns.
Rather, Killian showed her.
She knows where they are, and by sunrise, she could be out of this place and out of this damn deal.
But Emma knows better than to think she’ll truly be free from Gold. He’ll find her again and bring with him new threats, and she’d be a fool to think otherwise.
Life as a moll has not seemed too bad lately, especially now that she knows how Killian feels when he kisses her, but she’s still torn between two places.
If she tells Gold where the guns are, she’ll be under his control for the rest of her life.
If she tells Killian, he’ll surely kill her.
For a moment, she contemplates a third option, one where she both keeps her breath and is able to truly live. It would never work, however. Gold would manipulate her, and she’d spend her entire life leading a double life, betraying the man who has obviously given her his trust.
The strange thing is, she has given him the same.
It’s not enough, and Emma, surrounded by all these graves, already knows she will have no headstone. There will be no one to mourn her.
She needs time to figure things out, and she’s running out of time.
Emma floats through the rest of the night, not knowing what she’s saying or doing, and when Killian leaves her at her flat with a resounding kiss that shakes her to her core, she thinks of running away with him. It should be easy. She’s been doing it her entire life.
“It’s late,” Killian whispers, “You should go inside and get some rest, but tomorrow, I have different plans for you.”
“Oh?”
He kisses her again, warming every bit of her body that is chilled. “Goodnight, my love.”
“Goodnight, Killian.”
Emma exits his carriage and walks into her building, a smile on her face until she unlocks her door.
“I’ve been waiting for you.”
“Fuck,” Emma mutters, her senses coming back to her as Gold stands across from her. She hasn’t seen him since the last time he broke in, but he’s here now.
It’s too late for her to run away.
She is no longer floating through tonight.
“Where have you been?” Gold asks, his voice as cold as the snow outside.
“Working.”
“I noticed that Killian Jones himself drove you home.” The floor creaks underneath him, and his cane thumps against the floor at the same beat as her heart. “Interesting that. You didn’t come from the direction of the pub either.”
“We went for a drive.” Emma takes off her coat in an attempt at nonchalance.
“To where exactly, dearie?”
“Around the town. Nowhere in particular.”
“Is that so?” He steps closer and taps his cane. Emma doesn’t have a gun on her. She can’t risk anyone finding it at work, but she knows Gold has one on him. Fuck. She doesn’t even have her knife today, and they’re both across the room where Gold is. “Would your drive happened to have gone near the cemetery?”
Emma’s skin goes colder than the outside weather could ever make it, and it is difficult to keep her breath from shallowing.
She’s been caught, and Gold is most likely going to kill her for her disloyalty to him.
“The guns are in Allison Jones’s grave.”
She had to tell him. She had no other option.
She hates herself for it.
“That is what I needed to know. Meet me in Nottingham in a week. I’ll have a new assignment for you then.”
Emma nods and backs against the wall as Gold moves around her, his hand turning the knob on her front door. “What are you going to do with the guns? Return them to Churchill?” she asks against her better judgment.
He laughs, and gooseflesh appears on her arms and down her legs, pebbling her skin as nausea settles in her throat. “Well, I’m going to return them to Churchill, of course, but not before I have a little fun with Killian Jones. Wouldn’t you know that a gang leader was mysteriously shot in his home in the middle of the night? Must have been one of his many enemies that did it.”
“Why?” Emma whispers.
Gold smiles. “Jones is known for sleeping with another man’s wife years ago, and well, I was that other man.”
And then he’s gone, limping out of the room with that slow, aching walk of his. Emma feels as if she’s been slapped across the cheek by his cane, and she immediately turns to her sink, releasing her insides and heaving, waiting for her breath to come back.
It never truly does.
Gold’s carriage sputters to life outside as Emma heaves once more, and even though her brain is functioning at half of its capacity, she knows what she needs to do.
She has to tell Killian.
Everyone in town knows what he does is illegal, but there’s no proof of his family’s crimes. They make it all as legal as possible through their legitimate businesses, and often the local coppers are on their side.
Gold, Churchill, and the Constabulary on not on their side.
Gold is going to murder him just like he murdered his wife.
Emma grabs her coat, shrugging it on as she runs out the door, and she wishes she had a carriage. She doesn’t however, so as snow falls down around her, Emma runs through the streets of Birmingham, taking the alleys she frequents so often, to get to Killian’s home. She’s only been there a few times, nearly all of it for business reasons, but she knows the way.
Her lungs are heavy, her breath short, and her feet ache from the heels of her boots. She imagines frostbite is hitting her toes, but she can’t stop. She was foolish and allowed herself to develop feelings for this man, to fall in love with him in the midst of all her protests otherwise, and she can’t let him get arrested.
She certainly cannot allow him to be murdered. Gold has an agenda against him, and Emma knows the only reason Killian isn’t dead is because he wanted the guns first to cover up his crimes.
Fuck.
When Emma comes across the house, she runs into the door, banging her fist against the wood before picking up the clapper and hitting it. It seems like hours before anyone comes to the door, but eventually someone does, Lee opening it with his gun in his hand.
“What the bloody hell are you doing here?” he grumbles.
“Where’s your brother?”
“If you’re here to fuck him, you’ll have to get in line.”
“What?” Emma gawks, her heart still pounding. She knows he’s fucking with her, but of all the people she doesn’t fully trust, Lee Jones is near the top of the list. She’s heard Killian talk about his similarities to their father too much to think of him as trustworthy. “No, it doesn’t matter. I need to talk to Killian.”
“If it’ll get you to be quiet, fine. First door on the right upstairs.”
Emma nods and hurries up the stairs, her steps as loud as a heard of elements, and while she does hesitate to enter his room because of Lee’s words, she still does. He’s sitting in his bed, alone, and now is really not the time for her to be focusing on how Lee is constantly trying to fuck with her because he spent too much time with their arse of a father.
“Swan? Bloody hell. What are you doing here?”
She may get murdered for this, but she’s trusting that she won’t. Maybe he’ll understand that she’s done him wrong in the past, but she’s trying to save his life now.
“Robert Gold.”
Killian immediately sits straighter and moves the blankets off him until he’s standing in front of her, looming. “How do you know that name?”
Emma rolls her shoulders back, the adrenaline pushing her words forward.
“I got pregnant when I was sixteen, and I didn’t have a job or a family. I had nothing. I heard of this man who could help with discreet adoptions, get the baby into a good home, you know? So I went to Robert Gold, and he took care of me and my baby, and he found the kid a family who could love him. I believed I didn’t owe him any debts, but he’s threatened to hurt me and my son if I don’t do what he says. I don’t think he’d hurt the kid anymore because I now know the kid’s parents are in the government, but I know he’ll hurt me.”
Emma starts pacing. She can’t look at Killian. She cannot look at the blue she loves so much because it is surely about to turn black while looking at her.
That would break her heart.
“I’ve been working for him. This entire time. He had me gain employ at your pub to learn the location of the guns you stole from the arms factory. All this time I thought it was because Churchill wanted them so they could send them to where they were intended. But tonight Gold was in my flat after following us to the cemetery, and he told me you had slept with his wife, which means the man who shot his wife and your lover in front of you was Gold. He’s going after the guns, Killian. He’s going to get them, and then he’s coming here to either kill you for your crimes against him or arrest you for your crimes against the Crown. Either way, he’s going to kill you.”
Emma doesn’t notice the silence between them as her heart is still pounding like the loudest of drums, but the silence is surely there, being filled second by second with Killian’s rage toward her and toward Gold.
She gained his trust, and then she betrayed him.
“Why are you telling me this?” he whispers, his voice as even keeled as she’s ever heard it.
She nearly falls to the ground at the sound of it.
“Pardon?”
“Turn around and look at me.” Emma braces her shoulders and turns, having no idea what she’s about to see, but she imagines it will be a low-burning fury. She’s wrong. “If you were anyone else in the world, I would have your head for this. I don’t take betrayals lightly, and I will not take this one lightly even though I understand what it is like to be under Gold's thumb. Do not be fooled. But for fucks sake, Emma, I love you. I haven’t loved a woman since Milah was taken from me, but I love you. I also believe all sins can be forgiven when you love someone, but that does not mean I forgive you tonight.”
Emma doesn’t know what to do or think.
There are too many thoughts stampeding in her mind, and she isn’t caught up with it enough to process it all. For now, all she can think is she isn’t dead.
But Killian may be soon.
“What are you going to do about Gold?” Emma asks even when she meant to say something else entirely. She meant to say the three words that reside at the tip of her tongue, but they keep being pushed back.
More important matters are at hand.
“How long ago did he leave your flat to go after the guns?”
“I don’t know. I ran here as soon as he left.”
Killian nods and cups her cheek, kissing her soundly, before he turns around and starts pulling luggage from his drawers before quickly grabbing onto clothes. “Find a few warm things for you. Quickly.”
“Why? What the hell is happening?”
“It’s not safe for us here. We have to go until I can figure something out. There isn’t time to ask every bloody question.”
Lee comes rushing into the room at the same time that Emma grabs a thick blanket and some of Killian’s shirts and what she can only assume are clothes women left here. She doesn’t have much time to process that particular fact. “What the fuck are you two doing?”
“We have to go. Gold is coming after us. Pack a bag and start the carriage.”
“What about Liam? He’s in France. We have to warn him.”
“Liam isn’t set to come back until February. We’ll have time to get him a message. Gold is only coming after me for now. Go, go, we don’t have much time.”
“I thought we didn’t run from a challenge.”
Killian’s jaw clenches, and he turns to face his younger brother. “We’re not running. We’re allowing me to conjure a plan so we don’t get our heads blown off. Fucking go or I’ll leave you here!”
Lee nods, and then he’s out of the room, his footsteps echoing in the hallway for a quick moment before he’s heading out the door and the carriage turns on with a rumble. Emma’s collected enough clothes to last her weeks, and she watches as Killian stashes money into his suitcase before handing some to her.
“For if we get separated,” he explains.
“Where are we going?”
“I have a place in mind, but I can’t tell you yet. Now, come on, go get in the carriage. He works fast, and he shows no mercy, as I’m sure you know. Don’t worry, love. We’ll be fine. I’m a survivor.”
Killian’s hand finds Emma’s back, and as they walk down the stairs, she takes in the beauty of his home. A lot of love has been put into it, and by all accounts, it looks more like a house than a home.
Emma would have liked to have this place as a home. She’s still aching for that place she can call her own.
Now is not the time to think of that.
The cold hits her when they walk outside, and it doesn’t fade away when she climbs into the carriage next to Killian, Lee sitting behind them. Emma clutches onto her luggage, her knuckles white but her fingers pink, and Killian quickly reaches down and hands her a pair of gloves. She takes them without protest, and in the dead of night, she begins moving with the Jones brothers, leaving a white-covered Birmingham behind them.
She doesn’t know what’s going to happen to anyone, not to William or Rob or any of the other Jones Corporation associates. Gold will surely go after them to try to learn of Killian’s whereabouts, hers too, but there’s not time to drive to their homes and tell them. They’re smart and resourceful. They’ll figure things out. At least, Emma hopes so.
There’s no way for them to avoid Gold forever. Emma knows firsthand that he has connections across Europe with his ties to the government, and he’ll never stop until he gets to Killian. She has so many questions about what happened between Killian and Gold’s wife, a woman he obviously loved, but now is not the time for questions when she’s being driven to who knows where, every breath she bringing her one closer to her last.
Now is not the time for a lot of things, but since she didn’t say it earlier, Emma whispers a quiet “I love you,” not knowing if Killian or the wind catches it.
When he places his hand on her thigh, the comforting movement he’s been doing for months now, she thinks she knows.
Emma’s exhausted, but she dares not fall asleep. Instead she sits silently, Killian’s hand still on her thigh, and she watches the sun rise, bright lights reflecting against the pureness of some of the snow. In some places, it is nothing more than slush, but in others, it is beautiful. She can smell water around them, the salt of the ocean becoming clearer with each passing minute, and eventually, she can see the budding activity in a port, a large ship waiting in the water as people walk on board.
“Where are we going?” Emma asks.
Killian turns to her and flashes a tired but bright smile. “America, my love.”
-/-
-/-
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#black velvet#cs fic#cs ff#cs fanfic#captain swan fic#captain swan ff#captain swan fanfic#captain swan
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Almost A Thousand Years - Battle Royal | Hisirdoux Casperan
Plot: You’ve known Hisirdoux Casperan for almost a thousand years. You’ve hated him for almost a thousand years. And for almost a thousand years, you’ve been cursed to feel each others pain. But somewhere in that time, things changed. [Hisirdoux Casperan x Mostly Gender Neutral but Probably Female Presenting Based on How Historical Men Treat Them!Reader]
Word Count: 2,975
Warnings: (Y/N) is traumatized, but you knew that already
A/N: IT’S B A C K, SHE’S HOME
Taglist: @furblrwurblr @rainningdoom @fluffydmonkey @blondie0458 @sitherin-mxschief @jinxedleo @lawlesshedgehog @einahpetsyarcip @dolphincommander @sorrels-scribbling @anxious-stitcher @alive-and-afraid @animedweeb333 @douxiesdamsel @saroski05 @justarandomhoman
You were very pleased to finally get a nap.
It took a few minutes of answering questions, and by the end of it you’d basically told Claire and Steve every secret you’d ever had, but it was worth it. You’d answer all of their questions and a million more if it meant you got to take another nap in the corner of Douxie’s room.
Waking up to general panic, however, was not as good.
“Morgana’s alive and coming for us!”
You sat up just in time to see Morgana’s hand reach through a shadow portal, only for Claire to shut the thing before any real damage could be done.
“Well… that’s not good,”
“Douxie, what do we do?”
Your wizard turned to face you, then Claire, then the empty space where the portal had been.
“Merlin?”
You nodded, “Yeah, Merlin,”
It took you less than a minute to wake up from your nap, and five minutes to get to Merlin’s workshop. After that, it only took you an eternity to convince him that Morgana had really returned.
“I swear, Morgana’s not dead!”
“Rubbish,”
“It’s true, master. She saw her in the shadow realm, which is great for saving history,”
“But she’s coming to attack the kingdom any second!”
“Which is less great,”
“We are all in grave danger,”
“And what were you doing in the shadow realm, hmm? Its dark mirrors trick you, sozzle your mind. Morgana is dead, and no magic can change that. I haven’t time to chase ghosts. We have more immediate threats,”
Typical Merlin, unwilling to listen to anyone except Arthur. But something he said struck a chord with you. No magic could bring Morgana back, at least no magic Merlin knew of. You, however, had some experience with a different kind of magic, one that had some alarming potential.
“Morgana is a threat!”
“Listen well, girl, even if she had cheated death, we don’t stand a chance if Gunmar attacks before I finish the amulet,”
Past Douxie kicked down the door. He was talking, they all were, but you were very lost in thought. The Arcane Order had mentioned something about being older than the stars, and that meant they were round now. If their magic could possess you, and create the green knight, then-
“I know you think we’re just a bunch of dumb teens, but we have to defend Camelot from disaster,”
“Hey, guys? What if we’re thinking of the wrong disaster,”
You had Douxie and Claire’s attention, but not Merlin’s. What else is new.
“Think about it. Morgana had to be brought back by extremely powerful magic. Maybe Gandalf over here can’t think of anything that could do that, but I think I have a good idea of we might be facing,”
Your wizard and the sorceress watched you with anticipation, but Merlin had no time for this. With a wave of his hand, half-masks appeared, covering the bottom of your face. The same thing happened to Claire and Douxie.
“Silence!”
“Wizard got your tongues?”
You couldn’t speak, but with the limited knowledge of morse code that you’d picked up in the wars, you told Archie that you would fight him in a Denny’s parking lot whenever the opportunity arose.
“If you truly believe the kingdom’s in danger, then go protect it… outside. I’ve an amulet to finish,”
Green magic surrounded you, lifting you, Douxie, Claire and Archie out the door and away from Merlin.
As much as you hated being silenced, it was kind of fun to watch Douxie struggle to remove the masks. It took a few minutes for the green magic surrounding you and Claire to turn blue, and when it did, you were thankful enough to help your wizard with his gag.
“No sign of Morgana anywhere,”
“Nothing but unwashed plebeians stuffing their faces, eh, Steve?”
If you looked into the crowd, you could see Steve, an unwashed plebeian, stuffing his face.
You turned your attention from the teenager, who was now running towards your small group, to watch Arthur give his little speech. To be honest, you weren’t actually that focused on what the king was saying. In fact, you had zoned right out until he mentioned Bular.
At the king’s command, the troll was brought out into the shadows where the public could see him. The Gumm-Gumm prince roared, and you heard screams echo out through the crowd, one of which came from Steve.
You, on the other hand, didn’t scream. Instead, you took a few steps back, clenching your jaw and your fists. Seeing the face of the troll who had stalked you for a century, gotten you tortured, and tried to kill you and your friends was not something you’d been looking forward to.
Douxie noticed your discomfort and grabbed your hand, “You alright, love?”
“Not really, no,”
Your wizard looked around, forming a plan, “Ok, guys, come this way,”
You followed his lead and found yourself in a shaded alleyway discussing the plan. It wasn’t much, but it was way better than being anywhere near Bular.
“Right, we know Arthur’s the main target. I’ll draw stasis traps around the perimeter, put up defensive wards-” Steve cut him off, not with words, but with food, “I forgot how good these tasted. The ones in the future aren’t the same,”
You may have been viscerally upset by the fact that the Gumm-Gumm prince was anywhere near you, but you weren’t heartless. The sight of your boyfriend enjoying a part of his old home brought a smile to your face. Claire, however, had no time for this.
“Guys, this is Morgana we’re talking about. We can’t just wait for her to slice our throats,”
“Why not?”
“Well, I don’t know about you, Steve, but I’d rather not die horribly this week,”
“She’ll find a way in, she’s not just powerful,”
Archie flew down, perching on your shoulder in his dragon form, “No sign of any sorceresses, but then again, all you humans do look the same,”
“She is crafty. She’ll try to infiltrate the tournament,” your gang, minus Steve, started to walk down the street, “We have to go on the offensive, root the witch out,”
“You do that. We’ll secure the castle,”
Claire looked between you and the wizard. You gave her a nod, Douxie gave her a high-five, and the three of you ran off, Archie flying behind you.
You wanted to avoid Bular as much as possible, so you followed your wizard, placing your own protective warding around his. It didn’t take too long for your mood to improve greatly. Spending time with your loved ones just kinda does that sometimes.
“And there. The king’s chambers and Merlin’s tower, completely warded. No evil sorceress getting in now, eh?”
“Oh, you’ve done it alright. Overdone it,”
You cringed as a bypasser found himself trapped in one of Douxie’s sigils, and you walked over with him to free the poor dude.
“Well, at least the castle’s safe,”
“As safe as it can be when an evil sorceress is breathing down your neck,” you crossed your arms, looking around at your work, “I really hope we never have to use these,”
Douxie wrapped an arm around your waist and placed a hand on the side of your face, turning you to look at him, “You never know, love, but whatever comes next, I promise I will keep you safe. I won’t let anyone, Arcane Order included, hurt you again,” the emotion in his voice almost surprised you.
You knew that what the Order did to you had caused damage, both physical and mental, but you’d never really realized that had done the same to him. Obviously, you were worse off, but you just now realized just how much guilt Douxie felt over this, and it made you feel a lot worse. You already knew that he would blame himself and that it would just add to the guilt he already felt about messing up time (which was not his fault), but you had miscalculated just how much remorse the man you loved would feel.
You didn’t say anything. How could you say or do anything other than pull him towards you and bury your face in his chest?
“Thank you, Douxie,” you looked up into his hazel eyes, “And uh, just in case you were wondering, I’ve got your back also,”
He smiled, letting out a small laugh, “I know. Thank you, darling,”
“Ay, no need to thank me,” you said, a lazy grin on your face as you kissed your wizard.
Your hands moved from his back to rest on his neck. Maybe it wasn’t the most romantic thought, but you were really glad that you weren’t driven to strangle him. You broke the kiss, still grinning. He turned his face, taking one of your hands and kissing it.
“I love you,” his words were a little muffled by your hand, but that didn’t take away any of the meaning.
If possible, your smile got bigger, “I love you too,”
Externally, everything was quiet and peaceful, but internally, you were screaming and thinking, “Fuckin finally!” over and over again.
This might have been a bad idea for a future you, but screw it. You’d been waiting for this for long enough, and the same went for Douxie. You had been through a lot in the past few decades, and you both deserved a goddamn break, and to spend some time with each other.
But clearly, the universe did not agree.
“OI, the king summons you!” oh wow, and it was Gallahad specifically ruining the moment, which is, what, the second time he’s done that? He grabbed your boyfriend and shook him around a little before continuing, “Come with me at once!”
“What-”
You and Archie shared a glance of mutual confusion before following the knight and the wizard.
“We have reached the time that’s not the beginning, but not the end! A half-time, if you will. Enjoy this match of misfits, my lord!”
“Ugh, I thought the king was in danger, not looking to use my friend as a sideshow,”
“Well, that’s Camelot for you,”
While the crowd watched Archie burn a gnome to a crisp, you watched Bular, who sat looking extremely bored, in his corner. Technically speaking, he hadn’t sent spies after you, ordered your torture, or tried to kill your friends yet, but you knew he would one day, and that was enough to set you on edge.
Douxie slipped a hand into yours, squeezing it reassuringly, and you smiled. You may have been a ball of nerves and edges at that moment, but you still had a heart.
“Now, the formidable Knight of Skulls and his challenger, Sir Clairee of the House of Nuñez!”
Now, you were always down for a good scheme, but this was a little too unexpected. Your jaw dropped as you watched Claire enter the field dressed in her purple armour. Without a second thought, both you and Douxie had thrown yourselves over the stand you’d been in to get closer to the girl.
“What is she doing?”
“I think she’s Mulan-ing it,”
Whatever the hell Claire was doing, she did it with style, fighting with grace and elegance in a swirl of purple and black. She was doing well until her opponent grabbed Steve’s drink and threw it in her face. The girl fell back and the Knight of Skulls raised his axe above her head. With no other option, Claire used her magic to throw the guy against the wall.
“Sorcery? That is forbidden!”
“Yeah, but you have to admit it’s pretty epic,”
Claire didn’t give a shit about what Arthur had to say, something you respected. The girl got straight to business interrogating the fallen knight. You didn’t know why she was doing it, but you assumed she had reasons.
Or you did until she flipped the guy’s helmet off revealing a very confused red-haired dude.
Lancelot and another guard grabbed Claire, removing her helmet and revealing that she was, in fact, a woman. This mattered to no one. What did matter, was that she had used magic.
“The witch is disqualified!”
“You both fight with no honour! Begone!”
“Well, that isn’t the worst thing that could have happened,”
“Hail, Morgana!”
“But that is!”
A man with a green glowing blade appeared behind Arthur, prepared to stab him. Before he had the chance, Claire portaled the assassin out onto the field where he transformed into a troll.
“Oop, changeling,” you muttered, earning a half-smile from Douxie.
The creature laughed as it drew more green knives, one for each of his four hands. Lovely.
“Yep, changeling. Protect the king!” Douxie yelled as said changeling threw two knives. The blades hit their marks, turning two guards to stone.
The situation somehow got worse as the king entered the fray, jumping in front of the creature. The changeling, however, did not attack the king, instead, he elected to make your worst nightmares come true.
“Run free, Gumm-Gumm prince,”
“At last!”
“(Y/N), run,” Douxie said before he, too, threw himself right into danger.
As Bular pounced on the king, Douxie created a shield around himself and Arthur. Upon impact, the sphere-shaped defence rolled away and out of the courtyard. Bular wasted no time going after them, not even giving you a second glance. You supposed you should be relieved, but you could feel the hits Douxie was taking, and suddenly relief was out of the question.
You went to follow the king and your wizard when the kingdom exploded. You braced yourself for a moment before continuing on your course. Bombs or not, you were going to protect your wizard. And also the king. That was probably important.
You made it out of the yard just in time to see Bular jump through the flames and over the now crumbling walls of Camelot to his freedom. Cool, dope, the threat to your life was gone. Now all that was left was the threat to Arthur’s life.
Speaking of, you darted in front of the king, creating a shield just as the changeling attacked. It bounced off the force-field you’d created, giving you enough time to draw your sword. Your friends and Lancelot stood tall, protecting the king, weapons at the ready. It probably looked awesome, but you couldn’t tell. Fortunately for you, I can tell, and it did look awesome.
“Stay back!”
The creature growled, “Fools, I’ve already won!”
Your eyes widened as you watched explosions surround the castle, each one contained in a force-field of its own.
“Merlin’s tower!”
“Good call with the defences, guys!”
“Yeah, but they won’t last long,”
“Oh no, Douxie,” Archie warned, flying towards you.
“What?”
“The other Douxie! With the man-bun, in the tower?”
“fUCK!”
“Ohhhhh fUZZBUCKETS!”
You, Douxie and Claire bolted to the castle, but your speed did not stop your snark, “Still not gonna say it?”
“Be patient, love!”
By the time you got to the castle, green smoke was everywhere. True, it was surrounded by shields, but that didn’t make it any less horrifying.
Douxie was equally horrified, if not more so. This was his home once, and watching it go up in flames was not a pleasant experience. It also put the thought of Claire, or worse, you going up in flames into his head, and that made him feel sick.
“(Y/N), Claire, stay here, help the civilians,”
“Are you kidding!?”
“Douxie, we can help!”
You looked around. The civilians were, in fact, in need of help, and as much as you wanted to help your friends, the people needed you more. But that didn’t mean Claire had to stick with you. She was good in a fight, and you were more of a doctor. It just made sense for them to do this.
“Ok, you guys go, I’ll stay,”
“(Y/N)-”
You cut off Claire’s protests, “Ah, ah, no, we don’t have time for this, just-” you took a second to kiss Douxie, because you did have time for that, “Come back to me, ok?”
They both nodded, and you ran off in separate directions.
Healing calmed you. Sure, you could fight and whatever else, but healing was your passion. You hadn’t studied medicine for centuries for nothing. Taking on your role as a doctor cleared your mind. You were able to direct people to the safest places, protecting them from falling debris and fixing whatever wounds they had.
Then there was another explosion and your mind went fuzzy again. You didn’t feel any pain, so Douxie was probably fine, but you were still concerned. You ran back to where you’d left Steve and the knights, just in time to see the kid get himself knighted.
Everyone was alive, thank god, and they all appeared to be in decent condition, except for past Douxie who was passed out in a barrel.
“Do you have an explanation for that, or should I just assume you’re trying to give your past self head trauma?”
Douxie just laughed, and you hugged him, sticking with the head trauma theory because no other answer had been provided.
You relaxed into his hold, returning the hug, “Hey, can you do me a favour and never run into an exploding building again, please? Thank you,”
“I don’t plan on it, love,”
You smirked a little as you pulled away from his embrace, your hands remaining intertwined, “Good, would be worried if you did,”
Douxie laughed again, slinging an arm around your shoulders as you went to check on Claire and Steve.
It was just then that Merlin finally fucking noticed that his two apprentices were getting along. Even the old wizard had to admit, it was nice seeing you two not trying to murder each other. It really looked like that binding spell paid off.
A win for team Merlin.
#hisirdoux x reader#hisirdoux casperan x reader#douxie x reader#douxie imagine#hisirdoux imagine#almost a thousand years#aaty#hisirdoux#hisirdoux casperan#douxie#toa douxie#toa hisirdoux#fluff#angst
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The Return - Leo x Isabella (TRR/TRH AU)
Can Leo get to Isabella and the kids in time?
Chapter list:
Chapter 1: Enough
Chapter 2: Homeward Bound
Chapter 3: Band of Brothers
Chapter 4 Dearest Sympathies
Chapter 5: No Expectations
Chapter 6: Line of Succession
Chapter 7: Unspoken Truths
Chapter 8: Family Ties
Find links for previous chapters here!
Tag list: @lorirwritesfanfic @drakewalkerfantasy @desireepow-1986@rainbowsinthestorm @lorircreates @itslaniquelove @liam-rhys @hopefulmoonobject @speedyoperarascalparty @kimmiedoo5 @rafasgirl23415 @kingliam2019@mom2000aggie @texaskitten30 @the-everlasting-dream
Trigger warning: Violence, death, premonition of death, sexual innuendo, swearing
Isabella struggled against Barthelemy’s guards to break free, running across to Natalia and Alessandra who were petrified. Stroking their faces, Isabella tried her hardest to hide her true emotion; she was just as scared as them but she couldn’t let her children down, “it’s ok... it’s ok...” she nervously smiled, her eyes darting to check them over visually from head to toe “Where’s Nico?” Isabella whispered but the girls didn’t speak, their hazel green eyes reflected their fear. Isabella wasted no time bringing them into a tight hug as she had to think fast, “Mama’s here... I got you...” Taking a deep breath, Isabella bit down onto her lip as she stood tall once again, placing her children behind her, “What is this all in aid of?” Isabella shouted as it echoed through the quiet throne room, with one hand holding her children behind her, her other hand gesticulated wildly, “Why are you doing all of this?!” Barthelemy simply laughed, “My dear... it’s simple... The Sons of Earth never could in a million years take over our wonderful Cordonia alone... each generation would bring its own obstacles and tribulations...” he smiled evilly towards his niece, “... but when your divorce was announced, Laurentia would make our base even more powerful and prophetic. With me as our leader...” Barthelemy’s brow raised, “We would become unstoppable in our defeat of the Rys bloodline...” The roar of the thugs he used to infiltrate the Laurentian Palace filled the room of joyous chanting, “...and unfortunately for you my darling niece... you also have become a part of that bloodline...” Barthelemy’s eyes darkened, glittering with a madness Isabella could only describe as horrific, “Please...” she begged, “Please spare the children... they have not done anything to deserve this!” Barthelemy began to walk towards Isabella before he looked over her shoulder towards the twins grinning cruelly “Maybe they can join Camille and Nicolás in our new world... we always need a few... spares in case it doesn’t work out...” Isabella’s eyes narrowed, her dark chocolate brown eyes darkening as she spat at him, “Give him back you fucking piece of shit!!”
Wiping his cheek, Barthelemy’s nostrils flared with rage, “You insolent bitch!” as he slapped Isabella across the face angrily screaming, “You will not disrespect me!” The Royal guards were in a political stalemate as Barthelemy made his claim to the throne, their pledge to protect the Crown at all costs left them divided but as Isabella fell to the ground, Barthelemy glared at all in the room, “One step... take one fucking step and you’ll not leave this room alive!” He kneeled down, lifting her head by her dark, mahogany curls, addressing the young Queen menacingly, Barthelemy grinned with an evil smile, “You’re lucky I only need to keep you alive for a few more days... and to think...” he goaded her, “I sent you flowers, this is how you repay my courtesy... Obviously your parents didn’t teach you manners...” pointing to a random guard, Barthelemy clicked his tongue, “Take them out of here as we begin our ascension into greatness!” Isabella’s dark, chocolate brown eyes glared with rage as the guard attempted to pull her arm, “Get off of me!” she screeched, her eyes narrowing angrily, “You’ll regret that!” The Sons of Earth guard simply laughed, “I somehow don’t think so...” as he pressed a gun to her spine, “Time to go...” he sneered as Isabella reluctantly gave into his threats, holding Alessandra and Natalia close to her. Looking over her shoulder, Isabella’s dark mahogany curls bounced as she took a final glance at her Uncle. With her cheeks sucked in, and a brow raised, the young Queen stared at him momentarily until she was pushed out of the throne room and escorted to the holding cells held in the catecombs. Isabella’s temper was renowned, but at that very moment she vowed if they made it through this, Barthelemy would burn for this.
“Shhhii...” Jimena’s eyes widened as she reached over Matthew’s mouth to stop him from speaking; both of them staring helplessly through the vents into the Palace’s throne room. Jimena glared at him, her voice barely a whisper as she spoke, “Shut up...” before her gaze returned to the room watching those still in attendance. Taking her phone, she began to briefly record Barthelemy and his army’s chanting, panning left and right. “We need to get out of here...” she muttered quietly, “We need to get to the Parliament building...” Matthew looking more and more confused as Jimena began to rummage through the lockers. With a satisfied smile, she turned to Matthew holding a guards uniform, “Hurry up and get changed...” Matthew raised his brow as he was handed the garment bag but knew better to question her. The Queen’s lady in waiting terrified him as Jimena stared him down, “What are you waiting for?” Her dark almond eyes narrowed, “...A standing ovation? Hurry up before we get caught!” She was bossy to the point it could be construed as rude and like an arrow, straight to the point. Folding her arms, Jimena pursed her lips as Matthew undressed, “I would like to not die today thank you...” stripping himself from his light grey suit, Matthew draped himself in the military regalia before Jimena moved forward placing the military cap on his golden head, “Much better...” she cooed as her hands delicately dusted off his broad shoulders, “Now follow me...”
As the Cordonian Royal jet landed in a disused aerodrome, Leo, Liam and Drake embarked immediately to a waiting vehicle. During the flight, Leo and Liam called in as many favours as possible to veil their arrival into the Kingdom, working with their neighbouring countries to free up their air space, allowing them to pass freely and undetected. Leo was well aware of the situation he found himself in. Not only was Barthelemy attempting to take over, there would be defiance in rank. “Your Majesty...” Javier smiled as he pressed down on the accelerator, “Welcome home...” Leo could only chuckle as he patted his trusted confidante’s shoulder, “You’re a sight for sore eyes Javier...” before he handed Leo an iPad, “This is the latest we received from Jimena...” The three men huddled around to watch the blurry video, moving back and forth as they tried to analyse it. “Your Royal Majesties... we also have news...” Liam and Leo immediately rose their heads, eyes widening with anticipation, “The Princesses are fine, they are with the Queen for now... but...” Leo and Liam’s hearts began to sink, there always had to be something, “...Prince Nicolás has been taken alongside Princess Camille but they are safe for now...”
Leo could feel his blood beginning to boil, his face reddening as he tried to contain his anger. “Leo... he’s ok...” Javier continued, “...the children are with the maids, no harm will come to them...” Leo glanced at Liam momentarily who felt like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders, his daughter, his little Camille was so close he could almost feel her in his arms again. Liam sat stoically looking out the window as they drove to Parliament to meet the others. Barthelemy would regret the day he had taken her from Liam and Sienna and Liam was going to make sure that he felt every ounce of pain he had for months. “Li...” Drake quietly questioned as Leo and Javier we’re discussing the next course of action, “You ok?” Liam turned to Drake as Leo and Javier continued their conversation quietly murmuring, “How can he be so calm?!” Drake rolled his eyes to the left as Leo spoke tactics, “Li... he’s fighting for his family... his life... he knows he can’t be distracted from that...” Liam slowly bit down on his lower lip, “Drake...” he whispered, “I’m terrified... and I just pray to God my brother knows what he’s doing...” With his shaggy dark hair, Drake nodded as he reached out to grasp Liam’s arm to comfort him, “Li... he’s not the same Leo you grew up with; this has never been about him - it’s been about you. He is risking his own life to get Camille back...” Drake implored, “...without him, we’d still be searching...” With a sullen nod, Liam reluctantly agreed, he knew Drake was right but he couldn’t help but wonder what else was in it for Leo? He couldn’t have changed that much.
“Get you hands off of me!” Isabella’s nostrils flared as she struggled in the guards grip before lifting her foot and ramming her stiletto heel into his leg, the guard winced and clenched his teeth before grabbing her by the hair, “You fucking bitch!” he spat, “I can’t wait for them to fucking execute you and that husband of yours soon enough!” Isabella took a deep breath as she tried so hard not to scream out in pain but she barked back, “My husband wouldn’t even be allowed to speak to me like that!” Forcefully throwing her into one of the cells, the guard chuckled to himself as Isabella fell forward, caught by her two daughters, “Well guess what Your Majesty? Your husband ain’t here! Now be good girls and for once, do as you are told!” With two whimpering children and the metal door locking behind them, Isabella held Alessandra and Natalia as tight as she could, biting her tongue watching carefully as the guard walk off laughing to himself throwing the keys up and down in his hands. “Mi querida... mi querida...” she mumbled as her voice trembled, “It’s going to be ok... don’t listen to that crazy man... this is all...” she tried to smile, “...just a big mistake and Javier will get us out of here... I promise”
Alessandra and Natalia’s hazel green eyes glistened as they looked at one another quietly, “...mama?” Natalia squeezed her mother’s hand tightly, “mama... I’m scared... where’s papa?” Isabella blinked back tears as she brought her daughters closer, “Don’t be scared my beautiful girl... your father once he knows about this he will not...” she brushed the loose tendrils of her daughter’s chestnut brown hair from her face, “...he will not let a strand on either of your perfect little heads be touched, not by anyone... ok?” Each of them nuzzled into Isabella shoulders as they cried, struggling to understand what was going on. Their cries echoed throughout the dark, cold cells as Isabella rocked them back and forth to try to comfort them. She began to sing to them “Bailaba la niña alegre, en una noche estrellada. Movíase al son del aire, bajo la luna de plata. ¡Cómo bailaba la niña! ¡Cómo la niña bailaba!” She sang this song to her children every night before they went to sleep. “Cómo la niña bailaba...” she whispered as they sat in the darkness, only each other for heat and comfort.
Sucking in his cheeks, Leo proudly marched himself into Parliament, his sea green eyes scanned the room as he saw the Laurentian military gathered and standing to attention as he, Drake and Liam walked into the room. The crowd bowed as Javier stood next to him, “¡Atención!” he bellowed, “His Royal Highness, King Leo... The Queen and Royal family are still in the Laurentian Palace; we must fight together to reinstate normality...” Leo raised his hand stopping Javier in his tracks, “Sorry my friend... if I may?” Javier nodded as Leo addressed the many factions of military gathered, “I know I have no right to request; but my wife, your Queen and my children are under that roof. My wife has dedicated her life to you all, our daughters and son will do the same. This coup has came to our shores because of a self fulfilling prophecy embarked upon by those who were fantasists... Cordonian militants who I am ashamed to have called family once upon a time and have desecrated our home. I stand before you as a husband and a father to ask for your help to overthrow this madness...” Leo stood proud and tall as the military dropped to their knee pledging their allegiance. “For King and Queen!” their chants filled the Parliament building as Leo looked over his shoulder towards Drake and Liam winking at them as he smiled.
To blend in, all three Cordonian men were dressed in the same green military uniform as the others. Leo and Javier stood side by side as they reviewed the blueprints of the Laurentian Palace surrounded by Generals, Admirals and Royal Guard Commanders. “We make use of blocking the tunnel system as much as we can...” Leo’s voice was strong and authoritative, “The tunnels run from the Palace directly to here. The airforce and navy teams can help block off these tunnels, and work with the coast guard to review the ports...” Leo pointed towards the blueprint, “The army will surround the Palace as the marines and Royal guard will clear the entrances... allowing smaller factions of the army to follow behind... the main priority is to find the Queen and children to ensure their safety... the youngest according ton intelligence states they are with the maids, so should still be in the nursery...” The men gathered around the table nodded in agreement to the plan until they were interrupted by the banging against the Parliament Chamber door. Leo’s sea green eyes flickered to a shade of blue as he raised his brow before nodding allowing the heavy reinforced door to be opened. Jimena and Matthew stood with their hands raised as hundreds of rifles were pointed in their direction until Leo called them to a halt. The Laurentian lady in waiting was not pleased, her lips pursed as she confronted Leo, “Took you long enough!” Jimena barked as Leo chuckled, “I can’t teleport...” he looked over her shoulder and smiled towards the Englishman stood behind her, “New boyfriend?” Jimena bit down and tried her hardest not to giggle, “No... this is Lord Devereaux... Isabella’s lawyer...” Leo’s smile wavered as he looked the English Nobleman up and down, “I see...” he replied dryly, “Your services Lord Devereaux... are no longer required...”
#TheRoyalRomance#Choices#Leo x Isabella#King Liam#Drake Walker#King Leo#Playchoices#Trr#TRH#Choices fanfiction
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(cont.) 2. If anything, Ironwood erred toward compassion. He shouldn't have released/trusted RWBY, but he did. He didn't have to evacuate Mantle (infiltration risk) but he did. He could've declared martial law earlier, since he knew the city/Council was compromised (he didn't, and it cost him). He could've recalled important people to Atlas (eg Pietro) instead of letting them help Mantle (conservation of scarce resources). And as you said, he shouldn't have told people about Salem. (cont.)
I’m so sorry, anon, I seem to be missing part one here. I don’t know if I accidentally deleted it at some point or if tumblr just ate it :/
But under the general subject of “RWBY failed to give Ironwood a truly callous response to these circumstances and thus far there are no ‘good’ plans here,” I’ve honestly been surprised by the number of fans emphasizing how (supposedly) useless Ironwood’s plan is in the long run. I’ve read through long breakdowns about how even if they’re high enough to escape the grimm they’d be unable to sustain themselves and everyone would eventually starve. With the takeaway being, “Ironwood’s plan kills Atlas in the long run so he’s more heartless for abandoning Mantle than we originally thought, since that sacrifice won’t even save a portion of the population in the end.” However, ignoring that this is a massive conclusion based on RWBY’s incredibly flimsy world building (I don’t think we know enough about Atlas to prove one way or the other whether the city could live self-sufficiently up in the sky/for how long), these responses are missing the point. Ironwood is buying time. He’s retreating to regroup. Not to fight Salem then and there because, you know, immortality - a lot of fans are also insisting that a retreat is only a valid option if he turns around and re-enters this specific battle - but rather to fight her in the long term. Days, weeks, months, even years later. He’s trying to ensure that his top fighters, two relics, a Maiden, and at least a portion of his people are out of Salem’s reach so that they can find a more hopeful solution down the road. It doesn’t matter whether Ironwood could only keep the Atlesian people alive for a month, or a week, or just three days. The point is that those three days are more time to think and strategize than they currently have with Salem literally on their doorstep. I think that’s why we don’t see a more complicated plan like the one you’ve laid out above: that takes at least a bit of time to think through, conceptualize, and weigh against other options. Ironwood heard out of nowhere that Salem had appeared, while in the middle of three other emergencies (heat down, grimm attacking, Salem’s men on the loose) and had to come up with a plan in a matter of seconds. Obviously we, the viewers, will always be able to come up with something “better” with months of time to think it over, in the safety of our homes. But retreating would provide some of that much needed space/time for everyone to think. Retreating might encourage Salem to back off if she can no longer access what she came for. Retreating will allow the group to recover, regain their aura, prepare for another fight. If Atlas is truly safe up there maybe the relics can stay while the people head back down, keeping them continually out of Salem’s reach. Even if they’re not safe limiting the grimm army to just the flying grimm is already a boost. Maybe with even an hour of time where they’re not fighting for their lives someone could come up with a plan. It’s true that we don’t know for sure what would come of buying time, but no one is going to find out what possibilities might be made into reality if Ironwood isn’t allowed to try.
To simplify things with another wonky comparison, pretend some evil supernatural killer has broken into your home. They’re blocking access upstairs to where a bunch of your friends are and you have no way to reach them. If you try to attack this creature you die. If you try to sneak past it you die. No one has come up with a solution that allows everyone to make it out of the house alive and the chances of death aren’t just high, they’re nearly guaranteed. How do you fight a creature that just reforms every time you do damage? How do you defeat them and protect your friends? No one has figured out an answer. Ironwood is the one going, “The back door is open! It’s horrific that we can’t get the people upstairs but we need to go. Head into the wood where maybe this creature won’t be able to find us. If we escape we might be able to figure out a way to still save some of our friends before they all perish. If we escape we’re going to keep this Magical Relic safe that’s potentially the key to defeating this creature in the long run, saving the whole world. At the very least we’ll survive and isn’t that better than all of us perishing?”
Team RWBY are the ones insisting that the only heroic option is to charge the creature head on. We don’t leave friends behind. Noble, but a death sentence - and one that does damage to the overall war (it’s not just a personal self-sacrifice). They’re also locking the back door to make sure Ironwood and others who might want to escape have to stay and fight with them, all while knocking out four allies for trying to get them to stand down.
Meanwhile, a good portion of the fandom is going, “Ironwood wants to run into the woods? That’s absurd. You can’t survive in the woods! They’ll get lost. They’ll starve. There are other creatures out there that I’m sure would kill them even though we’ve never heard about such creatures before. This isn’t a good long-term option.”
But it’s not meant to be a long-term option. It’s meant to be the one option that might a) keep them alive in the short term and b) allows them to come up with a plan. Any plan at this point. To still save some of Mantle. Or keep the relics safe. Or help ensure that the 1,000 year attempt to defeat Salem doesn’t end here and now. Something to make this situation a little less horrible.
That’s not coldblooded pragmatism. It’s common sense in the face of noble heroics. Team RWBY should be commended for their bravery and their devotion to the people of Mantle (even though they didn’t care about the people while stringing Ironwood along...), but that doesn’t mean what they’re doing is smart. They know about this war. They know that their decisions are so much bigger than themselves and the immediate problems in front of them. They know there’s a long-term to think about, but so far they haven’t demonstrated any willingness to take that into consideration. It wouldn’t be so bad if the story just framed this around their trauma - some in the group literally can’t leave people behind after the death of Pyrrha - but insisting that this is the only Good and Smart solution here doesn’t work.
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Tradoshan Squad
Log: 1, Day: 1
The Base
(Author's Note: Thanks to @clonewarsreturns for helping me develop my characters and beta reading the story. My first language isn't English so I apologise for any kind of mistakes.)
„Get set and don’t let your guard down. This is going to be a high qualified mission, which is why General Unduli and I have chosen you here. This is more important than any mission before and needs to be perfectly executed. We mustn’t make any mistakes. This whole battle is sitting on our shoulders to win. So, don’t lag behind. Understood?”
Commander Gree’s words were loud and clear. The booming voices of identical men rang through the ship’s hull, each of them ready to fulfil their role. The hum of the bomber ship was an already familiar background noise. The Clones in 41st Battalion’s green stood ready to be deployed. Their mission wasn’t an easy one, since their input in the battle would turn the tides around in favour of the Republic’s grand army if they succeeded. They were supposed to land behind enemy lines and slowly work their way to the centre. The main base of the CIS was their mission’s objective. It had been a pain in the ass for the Republic since the beginning, providing the droids with never ending backup and maintenance. The Clone army suffered great losses, troops dying in major numbers with only little support and even less supplies. Commander Gree was leading the assault together with some of his best men, which he chose himself. Quiet whispers ensured after the commander’s speech, giving the troops one last time to talk before the true battle began.
“I’ve always wanted to blow one of those clanker facilities up. The five-o-first always make it look so easy.”
Some chuckles escaped the other men that were checking their gear.
“Not everything can be solved with explosions”, groaned one of them.
“Then you have never met Bootleg.”
“I have met Bootleg and I regret it.”
More chuckles.
“Aw, come on Checkpoint, I’m not that bad.”
“No, you are worse. Do you know how many times I had to patch you up in the medical bay because of your shenanigans?”
“That would be eleven times only last month and those were all unrelated to battles”, announced another Clone, squishing his locks under his helmet.
“Actually, Dropkick, it was twelve times but since he literally came half an hour later in again after leaving the medical bay, they wrote it down as eleven.”, corrected another Clone who was checking his backpack.
“As always, you have my back, Backup.”
“To be fair,” said Bootleg, crossing his arms. “My methods are working.”
“I do remember when you used an explosion to fight another explosion and it worked!”
This made the others in the transporter laugh but it was silenced by the pilot’s announcement. They would soon land and arrive at their destination. Lips were pressed into thin lines and helmets got strapped on. It was time.
The ship touched down on the soft surface, avoiding the large plants and fungi that took in most of the view. Not only were the turquoise and orange flowers taking up most of the space of the planet but they also blocked many free areas. Landing was a whole lot harder. Still, the skilled pilot of the 41st wasn’t so easily shaken. The ship doors slid open, allowing the troops to peek at the planet’s fauna, while the pilot’s eyes were scanning the ground for an open space. Gree scrunched his nose at the planet they were supposed to be stationed on. While he enjoyed learning about new planets and its life, he had a distaste for this particular jungle planet. It took too many men already, leaving the troops weak and open for attacks. The wildlife here was so different compared to anywhere else they had been. It was merciless. Gree read the reports about the beasts roaming through the thick leaves. Their terrifying screeches could be heard echoing in the night and on bad days in the day near their camps. Razor sharp teeth and equally dangerous blades, that were supposed to be the creature’s spindly legs, were haunting the dreams of many brothers. Acklays. Acklays and many other creatures called the bushes and thicket their home.
Gree felt the transporter land. The doors in front of him glided open, revealing the planet’s surface. The troops jumped off the ship and their feet hit the muddy jungle ground. The pilot closed the doors again and wished them all good luck before taking off into the air again. They needed to keep the ships out of the enemies’ radar. Gree gave the men a last salute. He turned to his team and called for attention. The troops were quickly divided up into their separate squads and positions.
“Alright, men! This is it. You know the goal of this mission is to blow up the enemy’s main base. If we don’t succeed, then nobody will and this fight will be over for all of us. Is that clear?”
The troops saluted, agreeing in unison. “Sir, yessir!”
Gree nodded, holding up a holomap of their target. The base was easy to spot and their positions were marked with green dots.
“As you can clearly see, the base lies straight ahead of us. Team Alpha will attack from the south side and sneak inside to turn off the alarm. Team Beta enters the base through the westside. One of the reactors will be located there. Team Gamma, you will enter the base through the east side.”
“Contact each other when you have arrived at your location. Set the detonators and leave this place. You only have a small time frame to leave this place before the bombs are ignited and the whole place blows up.”
“In the meantime, Team Alpha will take care of all the alarm and camera footage, giving you a free pass through the base. I’ll be joining Team Alpha for this mission and support them. The other teams will work on their own.”
“Contact each other as little as possible so they won’t pick up our signals. And the most important information for this mission; Do not, at any circumstances, get their attention. Do not engage in any firefight unless absolutely necessary.”
The Clones looked at each other and nodded, understanding the importance of the mission. They saluted Commander Gree before separating into their three distinct teams. Alpha was already ahead together with Gree. Beta was equally ready, heading straight for the jungle in the west side, led by their squad leader Corry. Checkup was bringing Gamma in position in the east.
Carefully they warded through the dirt and mud that kept sticking to their shin amor. The 41st color scheme helped them blend in with their environment and kept them hidden from unwelcome eyes. Despite the cover and camouflage, they had to be careful. Their white was still sticking out and the native creatures of this planet won’t fall for their trick. Not to mention the fungi and plants or diseases that couldn’t be fooled by their training and attacked on a different basis. For now, staying low and moving carefully was their best way to reach the base.
Checkpoint glanced back at his team only to witness Clickbait, in time, pushing a huge leaf out of his way and being smacked right back in the face with it. Backup stifled his snickering, holding his hand in front of his helmet, where his mouth was supposed to be. Clickbait huffed at the plant, ducking under it.
“I would rather be in the air.” mumbled Clickbait. It wasn’t that he had no training on the ground or that he disliked it, he just felt better in the air and away from all the ground obstacles.
Bootleg kept an eye out for patrols, blaster close against his chest. “Missing your jetpack already, huh?”
“’Course! I wanna fly”
“Well, right now you were called for this mission “, reminded Dropkick his brother, nudging Clickbait’s side. “Because we are supposed to be the top men who could -positively win- this mission.”
“Very funny, Drop. I know that. I just really want to activate my jetpack and go aloft, above all the fauna and away from the mud.”
Backup, who was a bit smaller than the others joined the conversation. “I understand that you would rather do something else. I miss the workshop, too but you need to get your head out of the clouds while we are still on the mission.”
“Betrayed by my own brother!”, gasped Clickbait. He looped his arm around Backup's shoulders and pulled him into a headlock. The support trooper started to whine, struggling under his brother’s grip.
“No, no head noogies!”, protested Backup, squirming around to try and pull his helmeted-head free.
“Quit fooling around and shut it, Click.”, warned Checkpoint in a low voice, reminding them that they were still on a mission.
“Yeah, ‘Bait. Quit fooling around”, repeated Dropkick in a mocking tone. The others snickered but settled back into their positions again.
Sometimes Checkup wondered if he was working with cadets. They were good at what they were doing but they weren’t exactly acting like it. The leader of the Gamma squad shook his head in defeat, quietly accepting of the team’s incompetence. Not that he was any different. His plans weren’t any less crazy or daring. He himself has a good count of stupid stunts he pulled off and survived, but at least he was more subtle about it. Or so he thought.
That’s when the beige color scheme of the droid base came into view. It’s bulky and edgy form sticking out between the natural fauna of twisting plants and colorful flowers that reached up toward the sky to get a glimpse of more sunlight than it’s competing greens.
Just as planned, Team Alpha was doing it’s job to turn off the alarm while Team Beta and Gamma went their separate ways to infiltrate the base from the opposite side.
Checkpoint peered out of his cover, looking both ways before rolling out into the open. Confirming one last time that his team would be safe to follow he gave them the ‘ok’. Soon enough Dropkick, Bootleg, Clickbait and Backup emerged from their positions. They followed their squad leader to the beige wall and settled down against it. By now Team Alpha should have disabled the alarm and cameras, making it easy for the rest to enter. Checkpoint moved up to a small panel in the wall and removed it. Soon the whole squad had squeezed itself into the small vent, snaking their way into the facility.
Checkpoint watched the droid patrol walk past them through the vent grid. Waiting for the right moment he signalled his team to get ready with a short hand gesture. The droids passed them and Checkpoint lifted the cover up to slide out of their hiding and into the hall. Soon four more troops followed him, sticking close to the wall. Backup reached into his backpack and pulled out a small device, similar to a holopad. He turned it on and a small dot started to light up in the upper right corner.
“This way”, pointed Backup. “The reactor is on our right side and should be easily accessible.”
The others nodded, letting Backup, their youngest batch mate, take the lead. He would know where to go with his fancy little devices. He would always tinker around on new things, show them their updated new weapons with greater firepower and attached mechanics. Not that they always know what they are for but they were never dismissive of his ideas. Backup was just their little brain when it came to weapons and electronics. He would sit all sleep-cycle long in the workshop, inventing tons of new gadgets. The Kaminoans never truly understood his potential, probably because of his mutation. They dismissed whatever he found out. It was a surprise for all of them that Backup was allowed to go with them in one team. His brother’s weren’t bothered by his blonde roots or heterochromia.
Backup followed the instructions of his datapad and walked straight ahead in the hall. He knew where to go but his attention was mainly focused on the screen in his hands. That’s when suddenly a hand gripped his arm and pulled him to the side, inside another room. Surprised, he looked up and met eye to eye with another brother, Clickbait. Backup tilted his head in confusion but Clickbait held a finger in front of his helmet. Staying quiet he could finally hear it. Steps. Heavy metal feet walking in sync down the hallway they just were in. That was a close call if it weren’t for Clickbait’s hyperawareness.
He had many qualities being a jet trooper. One of them was his awareness of his surroundings at all times. It came in handy whenever he was flying or on stealth missions like this one. He would hear or see things before others. It gives the Clones an advantage over their enemy, however Clickbait’s sensitivity to sound, touch and sight also make him vulnerable. His helmet has been modified by Backup. It filters out alarm sirens; Instead of the ear-piercing blaring, there would be a specific beeping, which he would recognize. His visor was darker than others, absorbing bright light to shield his eyes. Things like this help Clickbait to stay focused and perform his tasks just as well as others, however some things can’t be filtered out. He still gets distracted in briefings because something caught his eyes or he heard a particular strange sound. Usually a brother would update him individually on the plans for the mission. That way Clickbait would always be up to date.
Team Gamma left the room after the area was clear. Clickbait confirmed there were no more patrols outside. Rounding a corner, they could see the hall had changed from a narrow way to a much larger space, indicating they were in the main hall. There was a door at the end of the hall and a smaller path that led up on the right side. There were two rooms on the left and in the middle of the hall was a corridor leading to the right. There, this is where the reactor is supposed to be.
“The reactor room is around this corner”, explained Backup. “After entering we will contact team Alpha and Beta to inform them of our progress. Bootleg will attach the detonators and we will book it from here in no time.”
“Sounds good to me. I can’t wait to blow this damn thing up already.”
“Of course, you would say that, Bootleg. Let’s just get this over with and meet back with the other teams.”
Dropkick had a point. They headed for the door and with Backup by their side the door slid open in no time. In front of them opened up a huge, purple, illuminated room. Their target was in the middle, surrounded by empty consoles. No droids just as expected.
Checkpoint pulled his comm. link out and contacted the other two team leaders. Gree immediately picked up with Corry soon following.
“Team Alpha here. What’s your status?”
“Checkpoint from Team Gamma speaks. We infiltrated the base and am standing in front of the target. Asking for permission to attach detonators.”
“Team Beta is almost ready. We are picking the lock to the reactor room at this moment. We soon should be through.”
“Copy that. We will wait for Team Beta.”
Corry looked at his team as they tried to hack the door open. His team was good at what they did but this was a battle between time and sync. They had to leave the base all together so they could blow up the reactors at the same time. It would be futile if one team didn’t make it out in time. Sticking to the plan's time limit was important. That’s when the door hissed open and revealed the same empty room.
“Team Beta is set and ready to go.” explained Corry, keeping a lookout for droids.
Gree gave the others the a-ok and Team Gamma went straight to work.
“Finally!” gasped Bootleg, setting the timer. “I can’t wait to see the kids in action. It will be spectacular for sure.”
Dropkick rolled his eyes in amusement, enjoying the antics of his brothers. Bootleg always had an interest and knack for bombs and other explosives. While he would usually disable them for the Republic, he would rather like to build his own kids. He tried his hands on all kinds of explosions from small droid poppers to heavy artillery. The thrill with bombs always kept him interested and he would try new ways to disable or build new explosions. It got so far that Kaminoans perked up and listened in on his idea. That’s how they managed to make their droid poppers more powerful, giving them a bigger radius. Bootleg was still proud of that achievement. That’s probably why the Kaminoans aren’t as nosy about his almost daily medbay visits. He can’t stop trying out new things or test reckless ideas, which result in many absurd injuries. It’s said that the medics keep an extra file about his record. Checkpoint never agrees or disagrees about the theories, leading to some wild assumptions.
Bootleg set the timer for the detonator and gave his brothers a thumbs up. They were done and ready to leave this dump. The team gathered their belongings and headed for the door. It slid open with a loud hiss, a blaster barrel greeting the clones. Kriff! The new patrol was here and they weren’t exactly happy to see the uninvited guests.
“Clones!”, yelled one of the robotic voices in shock. “Blast ‘em!”, commanded another one, pointing his three fingered hand at the clones. Sithspit, Gree told them not to engage in a fire fight and leave immediately after the detonators were set because of the time limit.
A blaster clatter on the durasteel floor, pulling everyone’s attention to it. All eyes fell on Dropkick’s abandoned weapon. Another loud thud was heard and this time the droid's head was clean cut off. It met its fate fizzling and sparking. Confused by the unusual kill the droids stepped back in fear.
“What happened?”
“How can this be? B1-2222 suddenly went offline.”
That’s when another droid went down, a Clone without a blaster or blade standing above its body. That was Dropkick’s speciality; Hand to hand combat with a special liking for dropkicks. He always liked to watch the instructors show them new movements that he could use, memorizing the best ways to defeat specific kinds of opponents. B1 Droids were simplier to defeat than the heavily armoured super battle droids or sneaky and flexible commando droids. Magma Guards were a real challenge but not undefeatable with the right footwork, training and knowledge. Still, he would always prefer to take his opponents out with a dropkick. They were his favourite way to fight, leading to Dropkick abandoning his blaster more than once in favour of his hands and legs.
He threw one of the B1 droids over his shoulder, crushing another one’s neck in the same movement. He took the arm of a nearby standing witness and pulled him into the mess, switching places. Dropkick beheaded his opponent with a kick higher than most people’s standards and ended the fight with a dropkick to the chest. In just a hot second he took down a patrol of five droids.
“Let’s move it!” Dropkick was right. Backup tossed his brother his gun and team Gamma was on their way back again. The bomb would go off soon, taking this whole facility with it and turning the tables for the better for the Republic. Checkpoint glanced back while leading his men back out and grunted.
“Dropkick, you really overdid it this time.”
The clone shrugged mid run, believing he did a good job at destroying those droids. “It did the job, didn’t it? Commander Gree told us not to use our weapons unless absolutely necessary. I had everything under control.”
The medic rolled his eyes, looking down at Dropkick’s exposed right leg. “You lost your leg armor with that last kick!”
Dropkick could only shrug. “This won’t bite me in the butt later on.”
Checkpoint could only shake his head at his brother and kept running. If they were lucky, they would not only survive that mission but get back without a scratch. Hopefully the other teams had as much luck as them.
They dashed down the last corridor, rounding the corner and jumping each inside the vent. Crawling back outside, they each let out a whoop of excitement! Checkpoint took his comm. link to contact the others about their success but could only reach Corry’s team.
“We did it, we are done!”, reported the medic in an excited voice that indicated a mission with no casualties. Corry smiled ear to ear, looking back at his own full team, knowing all his men made it out as well.
“Congrats! Same for us, vod!”
“Thanks.” Checkpoint felt his heart race looking at the fauna of Felucia. A second later the picture turned blurry and the cold blackness welcomed Checkpoint’s consciousness as it slipped out of his grasp.
That’s when Team Alpha joined the conversation. Lense took the role of talking because Commander Gree was busy counting the seconds for the detonators.
“This is Team Alpha. We made it out in one piece with no casualties and minor injuries.”
Lense could hear the brothers from the other teams excitedly cheer for the successful mission, letting him instantly know that they were in the same good mood as the team he was in. He looked back at the base as the detonators went off. The ground was shaking and bird-like creatures looked for safety in the air. The facility itself was swallowed in the explosion’s blast, leaving nothing but rubble and droid parts back. Lense and Gree shared a meaningful look, knowing their mission was done. Without further ado the teams went their separate paths back to meet up at the splitting point. Team Beta arrived first with Corry smiling and happily chatting away at his brothers. Soon after them Team Alpha followed. Gree went up to Corry and affectionately patted his shoulder in good spirit, praising him and his team. That was until he noticed something crucial.
Team Gamma was missing.
Gree quirked an eyebrow at Corry and his team, looking back at his own. “Have any of you seen Team Gamma? They should be here already.” Corry only shrugged, taking a look around and noting that their third party did not come back to the meeting point. Did they goof around and ended up coming later?
Commander Gree told Lense to contact them just to be clear. The trooper nodded, immediately getting to work. Corry tilted his head in confusion. The other troops ceased their chatter at the sudden shift in the mood, looking around them. After a few more clicks Gree started to pace impatiently in a circle.
“Team Gamma, come in. Team Gamma.”
Commander Gree spun on his heel to face Lense, who desperately tried to contact the obviously missing team.
“What are they doing? We are supposed to meet here. Their detonator went off just like it should have. What is taking them so long?”, asked Gree himself more than the others. Team Gamma wasn’t the kind of team to just mysteriously cut all comms. Not that any team would do that since it would affect the other brothers in a negative way.
“Were they still inside the base when everything exploded?”, asked Lense, hoping for a response.
“No, can’t be. We had contact right before everything blew up.”, explained Corry in a thoughtful tone.
“That’s it I’m going to look for those slackers myself.”
“But sir, they aren’t picking up- “
“What do you mean they aren’t picking up? Call each of them. At least one has to hear their comm. link!”, commanded Gree anxiously.
“No, sir. What I meant is, that they aren’t picking up, there is only static; In fact, I can’t even locate their comm. links.”
“What?” breathed Gree in disbelief.
“We are doing our best, sir but it seems they have…” The trooper painfully paused. “vanished.”
Gree’s eyes widened as the truth finally hit him. Something bad happened.
#star wars#star wars the clone wars#tcw#swtcw#stwtcw#pixelga1axy#my writing#PixelGa1axy writes#Tradoshan Squad#Log 1 Day 1#cwacrossthestars#cwats#cwatst#Star Wars the Clone Wars - Across The Stars#fanwork#own characters#Clone Trooper#Clone Troopers#Felucia#Commander Gree#Checkpoint#Dropkick#Bootleg#Clickbait#Backup
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Next To You (Mob! Seb AU)
Part 1: Back For You
Part 2: Want You Back
Part 3: Kill For You
Part 4: Run To You
MASTER LIST.
Run-through: Following your friend’s instructions, and the direction to Seb’s place which she left you; you manage to be free from the clutches of your murderous uncle. But how long are you able to stay out of danger? Would Seb be able to keep his promise and keep you safe . . . from everything?
Themes: mob! Seb, language, smut, slight gore elements, dark! Seb
You mentally yelled at yourself to keep yourself awake and focus on the road, since it was around 1:30 a.m. your eyes started to immediately close at intervals of every few seconds. Seriously, driving at that time is next to impossible.
In your sleepy state, driving rather faster than usual, you couldn’t help but think about what must be happening back at Connor’s place.
What would Liana do?
Was she even safe?
If Sebastian sent his men, why didn’t he come to get you himself?
You had no idea what was going on. Yet, you hoped that Sebastian would explain everything to you soon.
As you drove, lack of sleep burning your eyes, you felt a weird discomfort in your stomach; felt like mild period cramps. Except, you weren’t supposed to have your period for the next 2 weeks – so you thought it was just your mind messing with you.
The pain eventually subsided, and your thoughts were infiltrated by a certain blue-eyed, devilishly handsome mob boss.
And right as you thought of him, Liana’s phone rang in your lap.
Your eyes burned as you looked at the bright screen, but they soon widened in surprise and relief.
Sebastian was calling.
You slowed down the car, unable to stop because Liana told you not to at any cost; and you answered the call.
“Hel-,”
“Baby? Y/n, are you okay? I am so, so sorry, babe I swear I- fuck! Where are you? Please tell me you’re okay. Are you hurt? Did anyone touch y-,”
He started getting hyper, and loud, so you cut him off.
“Seb! Calm down, I’m fine. I’m okay, and I’m on my way to you. Liana left me an address I believe to your place, I’m coming over. Don’t worry, I’m okay,” you explained the situation to him and he sighed loudly; signaling that his worries lessened a little bit.
“Okay, but- wait, are you alone right now? Did Liana let you leave alone? Baby, where are you?” he asked again, and you sensed the hint of anger in his voice.
“I’m driving Seb! Yes, I’m alone. And yes I checked, no one’s following me, okay? I’m fine, just-“you got cut off by a whooping cough. It was rather violent, and it caught you off guard.
“Babe? You okay?” Sebastian’s worried voice came through the phone again as you lowered it, in order not to cough right into the phone.
You couldn’t reply as a warm liquid filled your mouth; it had a metallic taste which you hated.
On the verge of gagging, you quickly rolled down the window and spit it out; it felt as though your mouth was salivating more than usual. You quickly wiped your mouth and got back to Sebastian.
“Yes, I’m fine. I’m okay, Seb. I’m coming over, my GPS says I’m only 40 minutes away. I’ll see you then, okay?” and without waiting for a reply from his end, you ended the call and took a deep breath – completely ignoring the fact that you just coughed up blood.
You found a seal water bottle and quickly rinsed your mouth, after which you finished the entire thing. The cool water going down your throat help in eradicating the taste of blood from your taste buds. God, why did blood taste so awful?
You drove, following Liana’s direction and the instructions led you to a yet another lavish mansion. Given that it was 2:30 and 3 a.m., the lights weren’t all lit – just a couple on the front porch and on the sides which gave off a rather warm, yet mystical vibe.
You sighed in relief as you parked outside the gates and grabbed your phone again, to call Seb and have him open the gates to let you in.
You tapped on his contact, but he didn’t answer; instead the gates opened slowly and once they widened enough that you could get through, you drove right in.
Tired, sleep deprived, yet relieved; your body leaned back into the seat once you realized that you were safe now.
You didn’t get out of the car, you just looked up at Sebastian’s home. You faintly smiled as you took in its architecture. It reflected his personality; alluring, dark and fascinating. Like the houses which belonged to heroes of gothic romances; the ones you loved so much.
Carefully, you got out of the car and walked up to the front door, and before you even knocked; it flew opened, causing your body to shake at the sudden movement.
On the other side of the door frame stood Sebastian, and he was a sight for sore eyes. You smiled faintly at him. Dressed in sweat pants and a tight, white t-shirt instead of his usual flawless suits – you thought he looked rather adorable.
He wasted no time in grabbing your hand and pulling you inside his home, and into him for a hug. His arms circled around you and his body heat surrounded you – and it was in that moment that you came up with the conclusion that nowhere would feel as safe as in his arms.
He tightened his grip on you and nuzzled his face into your neck, breathing in and out rapidly.
“I got you, baby,” he whispered and you smiled, placing your chin on his muscular shoulder; sighing in solace.
“I know,” you whispered back and pulled away to get a good look at his gorgeous face. Once you did so, you noticed the men who stood behind him – around 4 of them; and your body tensed.
You didn’t realize there were people watching you and Sebastian being cozy.
“Don’t mind them, they’re my guys. It’s late baby, you should get some sleep,” Sebastian grabbed your hand and started walking across the front area, through the spacious living room and up the stairs.
You briefly took in the interior as you followed him; mainly dark decors, with regular contrasts of white. The house looked well maintained, and you were sure that multiple people must be hired in order to do so.
As you walked up the stairs, countless questions erupted in your mind.
“Sebastian, I don’t understand what’s going on. What happened tonight?” you asked once you finally ascended all the stairs.
Sebastian halted and turned to face you yet again, the bags under his eyes were very visible and worried was written all over his face.
He sure was hiding something, and not knowing what was going on around you was frustrating.
“Can we talk about this in the morning? You need to sleep, babe, it’s late. Now, come on, our bedroom is this way,” he spoke and started walking again.
Our bedroom . . .
Just repeating those words mentally was crazy enough to invite the butterflies back in your stomach.
Our bedroom . . .
He said it so casually, while you began overthinking. Within the next few seconds, you had already imagined what it would be like to live with him, wake up to him every morning, and cuddling to him every night.
The thought was quite far-fetched but you liked it very much.
Sebastian walked the two of you through massive wooden doors and closed it behind you.
“Get some sleep baby, I’ll be here when you wake up,” he whispered, kissing the side of your head and pointing to the king sized bed.
“And where are you going?” you asked, seeing that he seemed like he had something very urgent to attend to.
“I, well, I have some things that I need to sort out. We’re dealing with real threats here, babe and I’ve got to make sure no one hurts my girl again, yeah? Go on, I love you,” he kissed your cheek and sent you off to bed.
As you walked to his bed, you heard the door opening and closing once again behind you, signaling that Sebastian was gone.
You sighed as you threw yourself onto his comfy bed. His satin sheets were soothing and cold against your tired body. Soon, you found yourself beneath the covers and his scent once again filled your senses.
You felt so comfortable and safe in his bed, that you don’t even remember when you fell asleep. All you know is that you coughed a few more times during the night.
--
The next morning, the urgent need to pee woke you up. Groaning, you lazily dragged your body out of bed and made your way to the bathroom.
You finished your business and rummaged through the multiple drawers and cupboards found in the well-furnished bathroom; in the search for a toothbrush.
As you did so, you noticed that the faint taste of metal was still in your mouth. Finding a brand new toothbrush, you made your way to the sink and immediately stuck your tongue out to figure out what was going on with you.
As you started at yourself in the mirror, you noticed patches of dried up blood on your pale tongue. And the sight of it worried you for a second.
Were you sick?
But you quickly shrugged it off; thinking it might be nothing at all, and proceeded to brush your teeth. Once done, you were about to go snuggle back in Sebastian’s comfy bed, but the shower looked extremely inviting, so you decided to have a nice, long, hot shower.
You didn’t think twice before slipping out of your clothes; you didn’t even bother checking if you had locked the door.
^^^
Sebastian walked into his bedroom, pumped to see you in his bed but when he got there; you were out of bed already.
He had asked his chef to make you breakfast while he came up to wake you up but you beat him to it; you were already up.
Just as he was about to call out your name, he heard the shower turn on. And he smiled at how quickly you had gotten comfortable with sharing his living space.
His innocent smile rapidly turned into a sly one as scandalous thoughts of your bare body under the running water filled his mind.
He still couldn’t believe how lucky he was to have you, to be able to call you his. He tried his best to let you shower in peace, but the little guy in his pants was shamelessly excited; so Sebastian slowly made his way through the bathroom door.
The glass concealing your body from his hungry eyes was foggy; and part of him was mad at that. You had your back facing him, yet, the rays of the morning sun caused your skin to glow more than usual.
He smirked again as he slowly got rid of his own clothing; easily discarding his sweat pants and his shirt. The water was rather loud so you didn’t acknowledge his presence until his torso pressed against your bare back.
^^^
You savored the warm water running down your body with a smile on your face. Somehow, hot showers in the morning made everything much more bearable. The temperature of the water was so perfect and you focused so much on it that your senses didn’t pick up on the arrival of the mob boss.
You sighed in relaxation as the warm water fell right on the top of your head, making you tingly all over. Soon, you felt something pressing onto your back, and a pair of hands wrapped themselves around you and soft lips left feathery kisses on your shoulder.
Your body tensed for just a second, but right as your heard his voice; you went back to relishing his touch again.
“Hi baby, morning,” Sebastian said, and resumed kissing your skin; his well-kept beard tickling your skin.
You chuckled as he hugged you from behind; you leaned your head back and laid it comfortably against his shoulder. Knowing perfectly well that this allowed him a perfect view of your breasts, you smirked when you felt something hard poke your back side.
“Morning, nice of you to join me,” you spoke and he bit your skin playfully; earning an involuntary moan out of you.
The water falling in the two of you felt like pure bliss; if you could freeze time and live in one single moment for all eternity, it would be right here – with him.
“You feel better babe? You need anything?” he asked and you turned around, still wrapped in his arms.
His face showed how much he needed to rest, the bags under his eyes were slightly darker than last night and his eyes a little more tired than usual.
You almost laughed at the twist in yours and Sebastian’s saga; how weeks ago you were running away from him, scared of him and his bad reputation. But now, weeks later; you were with him, in his home, in his bathroom – in his arms and pointing out how tired he looked.
You partially blamed yourself for his state. Yet, you didn’t know why you cared so much about a notorious mob boss. Was it love yet?
During the time you considered Connor your father, he once told you that love was something which developed gradually; he said that it took time for one person to realize that one loves someone.
Yet here you were, falling hard and fast for the blue-eyed man in your arms, defying all the rules.
“Yeah, I need to know what’s going on. Where’s Connor, and Liana? Why am I here, Seb, what’s happening?” you asked, the confusion and frustration very, very evident on your voice.
Yet, Sebastian ignored all of your queries with his seductive fuckery. He rubbed your sides slowly with his rough hands and kissed your forehead.
And you didn’t complain, because you needed him just as much as he needed you.
“Can we, just, focus on each other for a while? The troubles, the problems, it’ll all be here, and I don’t wanna waste my time on them when my baby girl is in my arms, yeah?” he suggested and you smiled, burring your face into the crook of his neck.
Slowly, his hand made its way in between the two if you and settled right on top of your core. His other hand massaged your breasts and occasionally pinched your erected nipples. Unmoving, he just pressed his two fingers on top of your folds and you weren’t sure if it was the shower or just your desire; but you felt wetness around that sensitive area.
“Seb . . .,” you moaned into his neck and your noticed the goose bumps which erupted down his back. You sneakily smirked, guess you had the same effect on him which he had on you.
“I’m here babe, right here,” he whispered, and the sound of the shower could barely veil the lust, the need and the hunger in his voice. All for you.
He slipped his fingers through your wet folds with ease and toyed with your clit with expertise. Your body shuddered as you held onto him tightly for support.
“Will you let me take you right here, in the shower? You’re gonna let me fuck you raw and rough and show you just how much you mean to me? Tell me baby, you’re gonna let me bury myself in you so deep that you forget your own name, huh?” his fingers quickened their sweet assault on your dripping core as he whispered his wild and vulgar thoughts in your ear.
You could only moan in response as his fingers slowly slipped into your entrance and his thumb settled upon your sensitive little bud; his hand moved in a circular motion and soon – he was all you could focus on. All your worries and all your burning questions could wait as you solely concentrated on his intimate touch.
His touch which made you feel like a toy in his hands, for him to play with as he wishes. And not one single protest left your lips.
Seeing that you weren’t replying, he slightly pushed you off him and against the shower wall instead. Your back side made contact with the cold marble and you whimpered – closing your eyes immediately; both at the contrasting temperature and at how Sebastian growled in your ear.
“Answer me when I talk to you, babygirl. Look at me,” he spoke again, one hand at your waist pressing you into the wall, while the other gripped your jaw and tilted your face upwards. So, you had no other choice but to look up at him.
Your core throbbed as you opened your eyes; only to find his blue orbs staring down at you. Your chest pressed against his and your hardened nipples brushed against his skin – almost as if unintentionally teasing you. The water droplets fell from his hair and down his face, making him look tempting, alluring and angelic at the same time.
He was beautiful; electric – majestic. Everything you would describe him as when you first laid eyes on him.
“I’m yours, Seb. You can do whatever you want,” you whispered as your hands snaked behind his neck and you pulled him down for a kiss.
Your words awakened the animal in him.
You nibbled on his bottom lip and he moaned into your mouth; tongue rubbing against yours sinfully and his hands roaming your body as if exploring it for the first time. The feeling of his soft skin against yours, with the warm water falling down on you; was unmatchable.
Soon, you felt his hard member press against your upper thigh and you smirked, anticipating what was coming.
“Tell me how much you want me, baby, and how bad you want my cock to pound into that tight little hole of yours. Tell me you’re mine, Y/n,” somehow, the sound of your name leaving his lips while he was in a haze; driven by lust and passion, was the most perfect sound you had ever heard.
“Fuck! Seb . . . just, please fuck me. I need you,” you whined and it was all he needed to hear. All he needed was the desperate pleas coming from your swollen lips to show you just how much he wanted you.
The hunger was rather clear in his eyes as he quickly placed his lips on yours, claiming them through the deep kiss as he rubbed his tip up and down your folds. You whimpered into his mouth as he quickly grabbed the back of your thighs and pulled you up further into him; causing you to wrap your legs around him and leaning against the wall for support as he held you tightly in his arms.
Steadily, his length slipped into your tight entrance as his one hand supported you while the other wrapped around your throat – tilting your head back.
“You’re mine,” he whispered out of habit. His voice deep and gravelly with sexual tension. And you smiled, eyes rolling back and wrist wrapping around his arm; signaling that you liked having his hand around your throat.
His thick member stretched you to your maximum and once you nodded at him in reassurance; he started thrusting in and out of you slowly, gradually increasing his speed.
He moaned out loud at the feel of your walls stretching to accommodate his cock. And you let out whimpers each time the base of his cock rubbed against your clit – driving you on the edge each time it did so.
Sebastian’s mouth hovered over your ear as he kept whispering comforting words at you as well as his vulgar words.
In that moment, nothing else mattered in the world. It was the two of you, present and consuming each other – and that was enough.
He licked a thick stripe from the base of your neck, up to your jaw and gently nibbled on your soft skin; making sure to leave behind dark marks which would remind you and everyone else that you belonged to him, and him only.
“Seb . . . fuck!” you whined as his hand left your throat. Both of his hands wrapped under your thighs, supporting your shaking body firmly against the marble wall as he rocked in and out of you relentlessly; the new angle giving him access to sensitive spot you didn’t know you had.
His touch was pure bliss.
He increased his speed each time his name immorally escaped your bruised lips and soon, you were a moaning mess; body moving rhythmically along with his and with each thrust – your back hit the cold wall behind you.
He sloppily kissed the side of your mouth and groaned as a sinful moan left your lips.
“Fuck! You feel so good baby, all mine,” he spoke in a haze as his eyes rolled back in pleasure.
You felt his cock twitch inside of you, as he sped up into you; earning more and more moans out of you.
Sebastian nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck and he moaned out loud and a series of profanities left his mouth.
Your felt the familiar pressure form at your core yet again and the sweet pain in between your hips got unbearable. So, you let go in his embrace.
You came with a cry of his name and your chest moved up and down rapidly as the waves of euphoria washed over you again and again.
Sebastian came right after; his cum shooting at your pulsating walls, whispering your name under his breath as he did. His chest pressed against yours, and you could feel his crazy heartbeat along with yours.
You both panted as you came down from your high, riding the waves of pleasure together. Sebastian kissed and bit the skin along your throat as he carefully placed you back onto your shaking feet. He didn’t let go of your figure just yet, knowing perfectly well that you wouldn’t be able to keep yourself up for long.
Your hands wrapped around his shoulders held onto him tighter than before and he chuckled in your ear.
The sound of it sent tingled down your spine, as did his warm load which trickled out of you slowly.
Once calm, you looked up at him and placed your hand on his cheek, your thumb instinctively caressing the soft skin below his eyes.
“I love you,” you whispered, unsure if he heard you over the sound of the water falling from the shower head.
As a reply, his lips found yours in yet another possessive kiss; as if branding you as his, he tugged onto your bottom lip and you sighed in the comfort of his arms.
“I love you even more. Now, come here, let me clean you up,” he said and reached out for the shower gel.
That morning, you had a rather playful shower with mob boss. And he was so gentle and caring that for a moment you forgot who he really was. Sebastian Stan wasn’t regular person, he wasn’t just another handsome man who managed to steal your heart – he was still the most feared mob boss in the country.
After you shower, as you wrapped your body in a fluffy, lilac towel; the questions you had resurfaced again in your mind.
“Seb?” you called out to the man behind you, who was busy securing a white towel around his waist.
You turned around, following his voice, and took in his appearance; tan skin in contrast to the white towel, perfectly muscular arms, toned chest and a God-crafted Adonis belt. He was literally way out of your league, but you were glad you had him.
Mindlessly, you bit your lip as you studied his perfect body shamelessly.
“Keep staring at me like that and I might just take you again, babe,” Sebastian teased and your face flushed as he caught you staring.
“Sorry, I just wanted to know about Liana and Co-,”
“Nope! Not right now, come on,” he cut you off and grabbed you hand and dragged you out of the bathroom you had just spent the last hour in; fucking and desperately trying to shower, before going back to fucking each other a few more times.
He walked you to the bed and sat you down on the edge of it.
“Seb! Cutting me off each time won’t help, I need to . . . oh fuck!” you involuntarily cussed as he rapidly pushed you back down on his bed, lifted the towel to reveal your still sensitive core to him as he started leaving soft kissed along your inner thighs.
He was on his knees by the side of the bed, hands wrapped around your thighs and mouth kissing his way up till he reached your glistening core.
The scent of his spicy body wash coming off your body was surprisingly enticing and inviting. To him, having his scent enveloping you, proved that you were truly his.
“Guess I’ve found a great way to keep you from asking more questions, huh baby?” he teased and slowly licked a thick, warm stripe from your entrance to your clit.
You shivered as his warm mouth worked on your wet core. His tongue teasing your tight entrance as his eyes looked up at you shamelessly. He pressed his mouth further into you as your eyes rolled back and your hands flew downwards to caress his face.
You already were quite sore from earlier and now his mouth just felt like it was all a little too much, but you weren’t complaining.
Sebastian ate you out feverishly, like he had an insatiable hunger which only seemed to grow with each passing moment.
“Seb . . . I- fuck!” you were out of control as your body squirmed under him again. His mouth on you was all you could focus on.
Within the next few minutes, and with a few strokes of his tongue, his steady fingers slipping in and out of your entrance; Sebastian had you coming around his fingers and mouth again – draining you of all the energy you had left.
As you panted, trying hard to catch your breath and calm your heartbeat, Sebastian threw himself on the bed right beside you.
You turned on your side to look at him; his face flushed and lips glistening with your slick. He was everything you didn’t know you needed.
“Silencing me each time won’t help, Sebastian. I need to know what’s going on,” you spoke softly, too tired to move closer to him to hold him properly. But he got the memo that you wanted to be closer to him so he pulled you into his side.
You laid your head on his damp chest and sighed. His hands wrapped around you as he cradled your head, placing a kiss on top of it.
“After you left, along with Liana, I gave it all a thought. And I was frustrated because I couldn’t figure out how to send him an indirect message that I was aware of all that’s going on. So, I called Liana and told her about a plan I had in mind. She was reluctant, but agreed soon enough. So, I sent my men and . . .,” he trailed off, obviously not wanting to tell you the complete story.
He was being so vague that it was driving you crazy.
“What plan? Seb, what did you do?” you asked, sitting up on the bed, securing the towel around your chest.
Sebastian sighed and sat up as well.
“I had my people take Dylan, Connor’s son. And long story short, he’s in my basement right now. And I know Connor did something, but that son of a bitch refuses to talk. I was with him last night, and I did everything, but he still hasn’t uttered a word. Unfortunately, I can’t kill him . . . yet,” he spoke nonchalantly.
“Seb! Why? And Connor found out?” you asked, shocked at his revelations.
“Yes. When Liana came to drop you at the loft, he had someone follow you. And he saw you and I together, so he knew something was up and that you were involved. When my people took his son, he was pissed naturally, and he finally put two and two together. Liana found him when he was on his way to you, and she . . . well, you know the rest,” Sebastian spoke, hanging his head low.
“Oh God, and what do you think Connor did?” you asked, probably more to yourself than to him.
He shrugged and looked at you helplessly.
“I don’t know, and I hate that I don’t know. He didn’t send anyone after you, he didn’t send anyone here. He’s not even trying to get his son back. I just- I hate it. I can’t lose you. I don’t want you to get hurt, but I can’t keep you safe if I don’t know what his next move is. I-,”
“Hey, I’m fine. I’m okay, I’m right here,” you whispered as you inched closer to him and laid your head on his shoulder. He sighed as he wrapped his strong arms around you and pressed you to his side.
“Connor can’t get to me here, Seb. I know you’ll keep me safe,” you smiled up at him and he had trouble believing that the angel in his arms was all his.
His heart filled with a sense of pride when he heard that you counted on him to keep you safe.
“I love you, babygirl. Come on, breakfast is ready downs-,”
The buzzing of his phone cut him off.
It caught your attention as well.
Sebastian sighed and walked over to where the phone was, on the other side of the room and picked up the call without even checking the caller.
“Hello? Liana, what-,”
You watched how all the color from his face drained. He wasn’t scared, but he looked extremely worried. As though someone told him that his worst nightmare had become a reality.
“What do you mean, Liana? I trusted you with that!” he barked through the phone, closing his eyes for a brief moment.
There was a pause, a rather long one. You were slightly worried as well, but hearing that Liana was alright made you feel a little better about everything that was going on.
“No, she’s with me, she’s safe. No, he won’t talk. Yes, do you think I’m fucking stupid? Okay, fine. Yeah, I’ll call him. And take care, you fucking idiot!” with that, he ended the call and had to refrain from smashing his phone to the ground.
You waited for a few seconds before speaking up.
“Is everything okay? How is Liana? Is she-,”
“She’s fine, babe. She’s on her way over right now. Don’t worry, everything’s . . . fine. Get dressed, Y/n, you need to eat something. I’m just gonna make a call, I’ll be right back,” he pointed to your luggage and started making his way out of the room when you called out to him.
“Seb, wait! You’re hiding something from me, what else happened?” you asked and he sighed, looking down at the ground.
“When Connor’s men found him bleeding and unconscious, they took him to the hospital. And Liana went to see him, but . . . he’s gone. He disappeared and no one knows where he is. We lost him, he could be anywhere, he could hurt you and I wouldn’t even be able t-,”
“Sebastian, calm down,” you whispered as you approached him.
His breathing got irregular and he avoided eye contact at any cost and you noticed the slight change in his tone; he was scared.
You wrapped your hands around his bare torso and placed a chaste kiss on his collar bone.
“Liana told me he’s after my dad’s money. If we just give him the money once it’s transferred to my name, won’t that solve everything? If it’s just money he’s after-,”
“It’s not the money babe, it’s you. He wants you, and the thought of not being able to keep you safe from him scares me. I always thought nothing could scare me, but the thought of losing you scares me a lot,” he spoke, closing his eyes and placing his forehead against yours.
His breath fanned your face and you smiled faintly.
“I trust you, Seb. And I know nothing will hurt me when I’m right next to you,” you whispered and connected your lips to his.
His soft lips moved along with yours, his tongue occasionally brushing against yours and making you feel all warm and tingly all over again.
Through the kiss, you could feel his worry and his concern. Yet, surprisingly, you had complete faith in him. You felt safe with him around.
You were sure that the broody mob boss, who you were undoubtedly falling for, would keep you away from any harm.
Right?
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Silver Service
At last Bastien has Anton in his sights
Word Count 3352
A/N There is a lot of action in this chapter - firearms are used and some are injured, but there are no graphic descriptions. Whole series is not suitable for under 18s
12 Just Desserts?
‘So as you see, we need to know numbers so we can accommodate the Court’ Gladys said as she lead him along the corridors of the first floor, swinging wide door after door to various guest rooms. ‘His Majesty can have the master suite, which has been thoroughly cleaned and renovated since the Duchess passed away’. Eventually she came to a door at the end of a corridor and turned to him.
‘This part is closed off, I’m afraid’ Her tone was apologetic ‘It may look sound from the outside, but dry rot has been found in the supporting timbers so it’s out of bounds until it can be repaired.’ Damien made a mental note – perhaps this was a ruse and she had something to hide.
‘Well it’s certainly an impressive building’ he said admiringly. ‘The walls are thick – are there any secret passages I should know about?’ He pitched his voice to make it appear a joke, but he saw Gladys blanch slightly before laughing.
‘Oh no, nothing like that, although there is a priest hole in the part that’s blocked off. It’s the oldest part of the building’ She turned and they made their way back along the corridor.
‘So I hear the Duchess was quite a character’ He saw her shoulders tense slightly
‘She certainly was a taskmaster’ she replied ‘To be frank, I’m relieved she’s gone, it was very challenging trying to keep her happy. She had mental health issues, but she refused to take medical advice’
‘I’ve not worked with Royalty before’ Damien replied ‘King Liam seems a nice enough person, but those born into wealth and privilege can’t understand things the way most ordinary folk do’ he probed gently, attempting to sound out her loyalties. She gave a hollow laugh
‘And don’t I know it’ she replied ‘Honestly, she genuinely thought we’d been born specifically to serve her and not question her eccentricity’ He made a sympathetic noise.
‘A lot of rich and famous folk in the States are exactly the same. I worked with a few celebrities who’d be right at home in the Court’ he said ‘But I’m not here to complain about the folk who pay me’ he grinned, satisfied that she might be easily influenced by the Sons of the Earth.
‘Well, I must admit the pay cheque is some compensation, she was oddly generous. I think she didn’t really understand the value of money and I’m glad she wasn’t a skinflint.’ Gladys replied as she lead him into her office. They perused some schematics of the grounds to work out parking arrangements and staging for the lantern release. There wasn’t enough time to bring in any heavy duty staging, so they had to work with what they had available.
‘I’m afraid I have to ask about your security arrangements too’ he said ‘the King’s Guard need to know what’s in place before they bring his Majesty in. I have full authorisation to evaluate any weak spots and work out what might be needed to make sure he is safe, though that of course will be up to Captain Lykel’ He saw a shadow cross her face
‘Of course. We didn’t need anything elaborate, despite the Duchess’s dislike of visitors. She relied on keeping the walls and fences well maintained, and the only technology she agreed to was the intercom at the gate.’
‘That’s fine Gladys. If you would email schematics of the house and grounds to Captain Lykel, he’ll make an evaluation’ She nodded uncertainly
‘I’ll do what I can’ she said.
-----
Later on, Damien bid her farewell. He had charmed her and they were on good terms.
‘Are you sure you won’t stay?’ she asked ‘As you saw, we have plenty of room’
‘Thankyou, but I promised to visit some family friends. It’s been a long time since my parents left the country and I’ve a slew of relatives to reconnect with’ He’d thought long and hard about staying, but on balance thought that leaving would bring Anton out of hiding – presuming he was at the manor. The bugs on the luggage could just be sitting in the old locked off wing of the castle and he might have gone elsewhere, but he judged that going back and reporting to Bastien would be a more effective use of his time.
‘She should have emailed plans of the castle to you by now’ he explained to the Captain of the Guard. ‘If you let me look them over I’ll tell you if I think they’re accurate. I think it most likely that if they’re still here, Anton and his men are hiding out in the old wing and plan to stay undetected until the Court arrive. The grounds are extensive but there aren’t any outbuildings they could use that I could see. There’s a stable block that’s unused but it’s not big enough to house anything of any use’
‘I have some plans from a couple of decades ago’ Bastien mused ‘Let’s compare them for any discrepancies. If you go back you could check with her for any additions or renovations – but I think we’re ready to go in. The sooner we move the more advantage we have’
‘Gladys told me that the Duchess relied on keeping the perimeter sound, but it looks like there’s an old entrance that’s not been used for years’
‘We’ve already done a sweep, it’s an old wooden door in the walls, locked and bolted, but the hinges are rotten. The vegetation is challenging, she appears to have only cared about the portion of the grounds she could see from the Manor. Our neighbour Monterisso have some excellent stealth tech that they loaned us for this operation, and we sent a spy drone in as low as we dared. It shouldn’t have been noticed on the ground, it’s whisper quiet and damn near invisible.’ He sat up and straightened his jacket.
‘Time to brief everyone. We move at midnight’
------
‘So the whole damn court is coming here in less than 48 hours’ Anton mused ‘I was planning on striking at Applewood, but this is too good to miss. All we have to do is sit and wait for them to come to us’
‘It does seem too good to be true. Are we sure it’s not a trap?’ Claudius asked cautiously, but Anton waved his hand.
‘They have no idea of this little bolthole, they don’t even know we’re in the country’
‘But that American that snuck around this afternoon saying his parents were Cordonian…’
‘I thought the same, but the accent tied in with his story’ Anton said dismissively. ‘The lantern festival is a fixed date so it’s to be expected they’ll be scrambling to get the place ready, and the Americans have little or no interest in who runs Cordonia as long as they continue to trade with them’
‘As long as the housekeeper kept her mouth shut’ Claudius glowered
‘Of course she did, she’s right in my pocket. I spun her a sob story about how cruel Constantine was to my parents – which is exactly the case, I just threw in the hearts and flowers. She’ll cooperate with us, and I can deal with Lykel when the boy King’s been disposed of.’
‘There’s not many of us though’ Claudius cautioned ‘The Guard will be on full alert’
‘You forget the secret passageways. We can get hold of the King anytime we like with a full guard right outside his door. As soon as he’s dealt with we can invoke the clause of succession and I’ll be on the throne along with the Nevrakis woman. She’s a bit skinny for my liking, but she has spirit. My lawyer has the papers and is ready to make the announcement as soon as I call him’ He yawned and stretched. ‘I’d better get some sleep. Tomorrow we make our plans, and then Liam will walk right into our grasp.’
------
On the stroke of midnight, the Guard entered the grounds of the manor through the old oak door, quickly and quietly. They moved cautiously, using the drone with infra red sensors to check for security patrols. None had been in evidence when Damien had visited, but that was to be expected. Only one man was detected, and was swiftly captured and silenced. Next, two groups infiltrated the Manor, one through the staff entrance which had been left unlocked for night staff, and another through the conservatory. Frightened staff were rounded up and corralled in the staff dining room with a man to guard them in case anyone not loyal to the Crown decided to warn Anton, if indeed he was still there.
Bastien monitored it all from the surveillance van which had been moved to the perimeter of the Manor grounds, as they didn’t expect to meet much resistance. Although the manor was a good size, Damien had been able to ascertain that the bedrooms he had been shown were all unused, and the part that was closed off could not house more than half a dozen men. It was risky not knowing if Anton was there and how many men he had, but that was outweighed by the advantage of surprise.
Damien confronted Gladys, tight lipped and angry at the intrusion. He explained the situation and reluctantly she revealed that the manor did indeed house a number of Anton’s sympathisers. The Duchess had allowed him space for his operations, but she swore it was only a resting place for him – there was another bigger location, though she did not know its whereabouts. It appeared he and the other two men had arrived from Monaco and had planned to move on before he had learned of the charity tour coming to the manor. There were three other men resident at the manor, one of which Damien knew they had already neutralised on their way in. That left Anton, Claudius and three others to track down.
The numbers and the element of surprise were all with them, and Damien lead a team to the first floor of the blocked off section of the manor, which Gladys admitted was not damaged. Another group went in at ground level. He took a deep breath before he carefully opened the door to the corridor beyond.
-------
Anton woke to a rough shake and a cautioning hand on his mouth, and he sat bolt upright without a sound. Claudius stood by his bedside, picking up a torch from the bedside where he had left it to wake him.
‘Get dressed fast, we have company’ he hissed in a low tone.
‘Shit’ he swore ‘How the fuck…’
‘Never mind how, just get some clothes on. Preston and Parks will hold them off, we need to move’
‘We should stand and fight’ he blustered as he grabbed some clothes.
‘We don’t know how many there are. They must have taken out at least one of us to get into the house.’ He went to the door to listen while Anton struggled into pants, sweater, socks and shoes, thanking his lucky stars he slept naked. It had given him valuable seconds. He heard a noise in the corridor outside – voices and a scuffle.
‘For the King! Severus, come out with your hands up.’ was the loud proclamation.
‘Shit, if it’s the Guard they’ll have more than one team.’ He snarled in anger, but Claudius was opening the window and beckoning him over. Swiftly he went across, now hearing gunshots outside. Claudius was scrambling down the vine that grew up the wall to gutter height, and he followed, cursing. He looked out across the lawn and saw a glint in the moonlight in mid air.
‘Fuck, they’ve got a drone’ Claudius swore. ‘I’ll shoot it down and we can run for it. Make for the stables, there’s a car there’ He hit the ground and aimed into the air. A shot rang out, followed by a curse, then another shot. Anton looked toward the stables and they ran together, hearing the whir of the drone’s rotors. Claudius had hit it but it stayed aloft, no longer silent. Anton heard shouts from the manor and looked back to see someone following them, hitting the lawn and racing toward them at breakneck speed.
‘Interpol, stop or I’ll shoot’ he heard the figure shout as he ran. By this time they were at the stables and Claudius turned to fire at their pursuer. Anton fumbled with the door latch and heard a shot and a grunt close by as the door swung open. He saw Claudius stumble and fall, before regaining his feet and lunging after him. A third man was making his way to the car from the house, obviously one of his men, firing at the Interpol man, who threw himself to the ground and rolled toward a bush.
‘Keys - glove compartment’ Claudius gasped. Anton flung himself into the car and rummaged for the key before locating it in the ignition and turning it. Claudius got into the passenger side, blood staining his shirt in the dim light of the dashboard, the other man getting into the back seat. Claudius and he wound down the windows ready to shoot as the engine roared into life. Anton turned the headlights on full to dazzle anyone trying to get to them, and burst out of the stables to barrel off down the drive. He heard shots hitting the car from the Interpol operative – and maybe more.
‘The gates’ grunted Claudius, pain in his voice ‘We’ll have to ram them. They’ll have them closed and covered’
‘Interpol?’ growled Anton ‘Lykel must have called them in, damn him’ They careered along the driveway toward the presumably locked gates. There were no other vehicles blocking the way and no obvious presence, but armed men could be hidden nearby. There was no choice – this was the only exit. Anton rammed the gates and Claudius gasped in pain at the impact, the third man bracing himself so he could shoot if needed. The gates didn’t budge. He tried again without success, and screamed with frustration. He flung the door open and dropped out of the car, hugging the ground.
‘Cover me, damn you’ he snarled as he moved toward the gate, and they crouched with their firearms out, using the car doors as shelter. More shots rang out, but Anton had lost a sense of where they came from in his drive to escape. Cursing his lack of a firearm he climbed onto the top of the car and scaled the gates, feeling a sharp stinging pain in his lower leg.
He dropped over onto the road outside - his ankle blossomed into pain and he realised he’d caught a bullet. He ran for his life as best as he could, adrenalin spurring him on. Shouts and more shots rang out followed by a cry of distress, and he crossed the road alone to make for the forest in the hope of shaking his followers. He had almost made it when lights suddenly dazzled him. Just ahead of him was a van, dark in the shadow of the trees on the verge of the road. The headlights had suddenly snapped on full and he stumbled, arm across his eyes against the light. A figure appeared in the harsh blue white light, broad and tall, and he heard a familiar voice. He also heard the cocking of a firearm behind him.
‘Stop, Severus, there’s no place to go’ came Bastien’s voice. He screamed in rage and threw himself at the Captain of the Guard, barrelling into him with all his weight, judging that the gunman behind him wouldn’t shoot for fear of hitting the Captain. It was sheer luck that he caught Bastien’s injured leg and made him stumble, but that was where his luck ran out. Bastien stepped to the side, regaining his balance and sending Anton to the ground. He swiftly followed him down, knee in his back with his full weight. He heard the breath wheeze out of him and twisted his arm up behind him.
‘Let me go’ he panted when he could get his breath ‘You’ll regret this – I should be king - you’ll see. I’ll have you – executed - when I’m crowned’
‘I think not, Severus’ he replied. By now, others were arriving, and he was cuffed and dragged to his feet. ‘It all ends here, you’ll not escape this time’ Bastien assured him. Damien appeared, breathing heavily, Lewis behind him.
‘Mission accomplished, Captain’ Lewis said ‘We’re double checking for any stragglers, but if our information’s right, we have them all. We’ve a couple of gunshot wounds on both sides but everyone’s alive. One of the men by the gate needs an ambulance, he could bleed out’ Bastien frowned at Damien as Anton was lead away.
‘Looks like you were one of the unlucky ones’ he said, pointing at his upper arm. Dazedly, he turned his head to look at his bloodied sleeve.
‘Just a flesh wound’ he said ‘Are you okay?’
‘Not a scratch, Nazario. Thanks for your help, you made our job much easier’
‘That’s what I do’ he grinned ‘Now, do you think Gladys would break out the brandy?’
‘You can go and find out’ Bastien said ‘I have a phone call to make.’
-------
Bastien settled into the seat in the back of the security van. He called up Sophia’s number and barely heard the ring tone before she answered.
‘Bas! Is that you?’ her voice showed no sign of sleepiness despite the fact that it was some time after midnight.
‘Yes theá mou, it’s all over and I’m fine’
‘Are you? Are you really? No gunshot wound, no knife injury, burns, broken bones?’ Her voice was becoming shrill.
‘Perhaps a bruise or two’
‘A bruise? How could you get a bruise in the surveillance van?’ she scolded, frantic with worry. He sighed.
‘Really Sophia, I’m unscathed. I had the pleasure of capturing Anton myself, but only because he came to me’
‘He came to you? Why didn’t you have a lookout?’ she asked incredulously.
‘Theá mou, be calm’ he said soothingly. ‘Breathe, my goddess. Listen to my voice. All is well. Anton scaled the gates to escape and ran in front of the van. He had no weapons, so I stepped out and apprehended him myself. I had armed support, and all is well’ There was a hiccup on the other end, and he realised she was crying, hopefully with relief, though it was hard to tell just by listening.
‘Come back to me, agápe mou’ she pleaded ‘I need to see you – hold you’ He took a deep breath.
‘Sophia, I love you more than life itself’ he pledged ‘I will be with you as soon as I can. Please, try to sleep, you need rest’
‘It was – it was Anton’ she sobbed ‘I was so afraid he’d take you from me’
‘He’ll not escape this time, I promise’ he said ‘Rest, théa mou. I still have tasks to perform’
‘Let Lewis do it’ she said faintly ‘Please. All I can think of is when Anton had me in the dungeon. I need you’
‘Call Drake’ He replied ‘Remember the techniques I taught you. Breathe’ He wondered at what had triggered her, feeling a pang of guilt at the probability that it was his departure. His normally calm and self possessed lover was in distress at the other end of the line. ‘I have to ring off’ he said soothingly. ‘Promise me you’ll call someone to sit with you until I return’
‘O – okay’ she sniffled ‘I’m sorry Bastien. I don’t know why I’m like this’
‘I broke my promise’ he said regretfully ‘I went into the field. This was important, I know you understand in your logical mind, but your emotions are not so easily soothed. I’ll tell Lewis that I’m coming back. Hold on Sophia, I know you’re strong. Be strong for me, my love’
‘Drive carefully’ she said, her voice a little calmer.
Next Chapter 13 Home and Dry?
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Bucky x Reader x Natasha
Notes: Bucky was saved from HYDRA just before Steve was thawed. He still has the metal arm and went through most of the HYDRA torture, but has had much more time to become readjusted. Reader is a mutant.
“We need a place to lie low.”
“There’s no safe house anywhere near this place.”
Most of the team rolled their eyes at the continuing argument between Steve and Tony. It was understandable they were mad, everyone was, that mission was a disaster. It was supposed to be a simple infiltration; the information said the building was near empty but the second they got near the building dozens of men began shooting at them.
Luckily no-one was hurt, but it meant they would have to come back until they could find a way to infiltrate the facility.
“Can’t we just book a couple hotel rooms?” Bruce asked exasperatedly.
“No. A group of seven people continually walking in and out of a hotel? Too conspicuous.” Tony vetoed.
“Look, if it stops the god damn arguing, there is a place we can go.” Bucky spoke up from next to Natasha.
“No there isn’t. Shut up Barnes.” Nat said glaring at the man. He turned to the red head and grabbed her hand.
“Nat, this is the only place anywhere near the facility. There’s nowhere else and besides wouldn’t you like to see her again?” Bucky reasoned looking her into her eyes. Bucky and Nat stared at each other, both waiting for the other to give in. After a few minutes Nat sighed.
“Fine. We can go. Clint set the coordinates, you know where.” Nat said moving to the front of the jet to take the other seat.
“Hello.” Tony said calling Bucky’s attention back to the rest of the team. “It’s great that you two figured out your dilemma, but do you want to share with the rest of the team where we’re going?” he added, in typical snarky fashion.
“Buck, you sure you want to take us there? It’s your space.” Steve asked apprehensively.
“It’s our only option at the moment, punk.” Bucky sighed.
“Why am I out of the loop?” Tony asked no-one. “How many people are in the know?” Tony asked but the team was too exhausted to answer. Bruce and Wanda were both almost asleep on opposite benches, Steve had taken a seat next to Bucky and the only sound that could be heard was the low murmuring of Clint and Natasha.
Secondary Point of View
It was a quiet afternoon with you working on some new courses for your classes when you heard something outside. Getting up from your chair you cautiously walked to stand behind the wall of the kitchen.
“Doll? Are you here?” You heard a male call as the front door opened. You let out a sigh of relief as you walked into the living room.
“Buck.” You breathed as you took in the sight of your two lovers. “You scared the shit out of me.” You said as you pulled Bucky into a tight hug and gave him a quick kiss before repeating the actions to Nat.
“Blame him.” Natasha stated as you pulled her into your arms. “He wanted to surprise you.”
“I thought you said you weren’t going to be back for at least another month.” You uttered as Natasha clinged onto you.
“Change of plans.” Nat murmured into your hair. “We need a place to lie low and here’s the only place close enough.” She added looking back to look at her team. You followed her gaze and spied the people you had failed to see on your way in.
“Guys this is Y/N.” Bucky introduced wrapping his arm around you and Natasha.
“I know, um, know all your names.” You said with a smile.
“Well I hope you remember my name.” Clint said moving forward to take you out of Nat and Bucky’s arms to give you a tight hug. “How you are doing, L/N?”
“I’m doing great, bird boy.” You replied patting him on his back.
“We’re sorry to barge in Y/N.” Steve said. “But we didn’t have many other options.” He added moving forward to give you a hug when Clint let you go.
“It’s not a problem, Stevie.” You voiced. “You know you’re always welcome here.”
“How about I show everyone to the spare rooms, while these two get you caught up?” Clint proposed to which you smiled.
“That’d be great thanks Clint.” You replied. Clint and Steve lead the other three out of the room and upstairs to the rest of the house.
“What happened?” You asked once their team had moved out of the room. Bucky sighed, dropping onto the couch and pulling you into his lap.
“We went on what was supposed to be an easy mission, but we got ambushed.” Natasha said as she curled into Bucky’s side and pulled your legs onto her lap. “The whole thing was a disaster, but we need whatever information they’ve apparently got.”
“So, you’re going to have to go back.” You guessed, taking one of Natasha’s and Bucky’s hands into your own.
“Yeah.” Bucky murmured running his thumb across the back of your hand. “Everyone agreed we needed to stick around the area, and this was the only place nearby we could remain somewhat inconspicuous.”
“It’s fine, Buck. We have plenty of space in this place and it’s not like we haven’t housed this many before.” You responded making him look you in the eyes.
“I know doll, but I just wish we could’ve kept this place a little more private for a little longer.” He sighed burrowing his head into your neck and pulling Nat in closer.
“They’re your family, Buck. Both of yours. You wanted to tell them one day, this is just moving that date forward. Yeah?” You said running your fingers through his hair.
“Yeah.” He agreed. “Yeah you’re right doll.”
“Now that we’ve got that out of the way.” Nat began as she yanked you into her lap. “It’s been almost three months since we’ve last seen each other, and I don’t think any of us have gotten a proper kiss.” She said trailing her fingers up your arm.
“Oh really?” You queried. “Well maybe we should do something about that.”
Natasha pulled you closer and placed a series of kisses along you jaw before reaching your lips. You wrapped your arms around her neck pulling her closer and Bucky peppered kisses along the both of your necks.
“There are other people in this house now, horndogs!” Clint called from the stair case causing the three of you to jump apart. “Keep it G rated!”
“Fuck off, Clint!” Bucky grunted as you and Nat giggled.
“Language!” Multiple voices called from upstairs to your confusion but to Natasha’s delight.
“So, Y/N.” Tony said as the team sat down in the dining room. Bucky and you were working in the kitchen and Natasha was in your bedroom. “Clint gave us the bare minimum details of what’s going on between you, so tell us how did you meet?”
You smiled looking away from the bread you were kneading, to look at the man. “Diner.” You said simply. “About three months a year I go to live in New York and teach at a private school. After class every day I would go sit in a booth in the back. It was three years ago when I saw these two wander into the diner and pissed me off for a week.” You said fondly.
“We didn’t mean to.” Bucky defended. “To be fair we thought it was romantic.” He added under his breath.
“It was creepy.” You reaffirmed. “For a week straight, they would send a slice of cake to my booth and bribed the waitress not to tell me who did it. Pissed me off to no end.” You explained to the confused Avengers. “Took the entirety of the week for any of us to even speak.”
“It was sweet, and you know it.” Bucky said not wavering.
“Sure, it was sweetheart.” You said rolling your eyes.
“Y/N have you seen Felix?” Nat asked as she walked into the room.
“He’s under the porch. I swear he only listens to you.” You said shaking your head.
“Let me guess he was an asshole, again?” Clint asked as Natasha walked out back.
“He understands me, and he listens, but then he does the opposite just to spite me.” You said exasperatedly.
“Only you would have the power to talk to the thing and have it ignore you.” Clint laughed.
“Sorry power?” Bruce interjected. “Did I hear that right?” He asked as you stiffened slightly.
“Shit, N/N, I totally forgot they weren’t in the know.” Clint said regretfully. “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s fine, Clint.” You assured. “It was probably going to come out anyway.”
“Doll, you don’t have to explain yourself if you’re not comfortable.” Bucky said placing his hand on your arm.
“Buck it’s fine.” You repeated. “They’re your family and it’s not like no-one knows.” You said before turning to face the rest of his family. “I’m a mutant.” You explained. “You could pretty much simplify my gifts as a control freak.” You added causing Wanda to smile, Bruce to nod and Tony to have a puzzled face.
“Aren’t mutants illegal in most states?” Tony asked.
“Sort of. There is a registration act but it’s more a tracking number honestly. The government deems us a threat because we’re different and we can do things most people can’t.” You explained as Natasha walked in with a black cat in her arms.
“It’s a load of horse shit.” She said sitting next to Clint. “It’s just scared old men, being scared old men.”
“Can you explain what you mean control?” Wanda piped up. “How much of an extent do you have control wise?”
“I’m able to persuade humans to do things I ask of them, as well as a certain control of the body. I am also able to maintain that trait with plants and animals.” You described watching Wanda nod along to the information.
“Can you demonstrate what mean control of the body?” Bruce asked, sitting forward at the prospect of new science.
You gave a large grin before turning to Steve. “Stevie you wanna be my Guinea pig?” You asked as he, Clint, Bucky and Natasha smirked.
“Why not?” He shrugged as you moved over the draws and pulled out a hammer.
“I love this game.” Clint mentioned as you moved over to Steve and he placed his hand on the table.
“Ready?” You asked and Steve nodded. “Ok. 1. 2.” You exclaimed and slammed the hammer down on his hand. “3.” You finished as Bruce, Wanda and Tony all made noises of surprise.
“What the fu- “Tony started to yell but you waved your hand at him. Grasping Steve’s now broken hand in both of yours, you mentally began to move the bones in his hand back to where they were supposed to be, as well as lowered the swelling, until no-one could tell the hand was even broken.
“Ta-da.” You said taking a bow as the super soldiers and master spies laughed at the perturbed faces of the other three. “I wanted his hand to be fixed and now it’s fixed.” You said by way of explanation.
“So, it’s practically a manipulation of reality. How far much have you tested this out?” Bruce asked, looking as if he were mentally taking notes.
“A decent amount.” You shrugged moving back to the kitchen next to Bucky. “Charles and I have tested a lot of different ways to use it and for most part it works 9 out of 10 times.” You said placing the ready dough into the oven and looking over what Bucky had done.
“Can we possibly see a little more?” Bruce inquired shyly. You laughed slightly at the change in demeanor.
“Of course. Dinner should be ready in about 30 minutes, so we can try some things out now?” You said and the man nodded a bit enthusiastically and ran upstairs to grab his notebook and a pen. You turned back to look at the table and saw Wanda and Tony looking at you inquisitively.
“You can come too if you want.” You offered and watched as they both nodded quickly, and Tony ran out of the room yelling for Bruce to loan him a notebook and pen. You laughed at the ridiculousness of the situation.
It had been a week since Bucky, Nat and the rest of their team had come to your home. Every morning two to three of them would scout out the area of the base, to try and find some sort of routine they could intercept.
You were able to easily get along with Wanda, Bruce and Tony. Wanda liked to help you out in the kitchen and learn new recipes with you. It felt nice to have another girl to talk to. Getting along with Bruce was very easy because of how fascinated he was by your gifts and the extent you could push them. It was quite entertaining to watch. Tony was your sarcastic soulmate. The two of you would make cracks at everything and soon had your own inside jokes.
It was currently the seventh day of having a full house and you were sitting in the living room with Steve and Bruce quietly reading books on the couch next to you. Tony was outside, working on fixing some of the equipment and Wanda was upstairs taking a nap.
“Logan, for the last time, I can’t exactly help you if you don’t tell me what you’re doing.” You sighed into the phone.
“For the last time N/N, I can’t tell you yet.” Logan replied.
“Then at least give me an idea what you’re trying to find here?” You asked as you attempted mark the papers the class had sent in, as well as find what Logan was looking for.
“Information.” He responded making you roll your eyes.
“Fine.” You told the man. “I’ll see what I can do, and I’ll let you know.”
“Alright thanks N/N.”
“Not a drama Logan.” You said ending the call with the man who might as well have been your brother.
“Are you going to find what he needs?” Steve asked, looking up from his book.
“Can’t really help when he won’t give me any details.” You shrugged pulling your laptop into your lap. “He’ll call back in a couple days and give me the information I need to help him.”
“It sounds like he does this a lot.” Bruce commented.
“Every now and then. He likes to think he never needs help.” You said before the sound of a jet landing penetrated the atmosphere. Bucky, Natasha and Clint all ran into the living room, the former two dropping quick kisses onto your forehead before excitedly explaining they had a plan.
“We figured it out!” Clint exclaimed dropping onto a recliner. “We figured out the perfect time to extract the information.” He added as he settled in.
“That’s great guys.” Bruce said closing his book.
“It is. We need to make a plan.” Steve said adorning an all business face.
“I’ll grab Tony for you.” You stated, standing from your chair. You gave Natasha and Bucky a quick kiss on the cheek each and walked out into the backyard.
“Metal man!” You called out as you entered the barn.
“Control freak!” Tony responded, his head popping out from behind the tractor.
“Please tell me you didn’t break the tractor.” You whined as you made your way over to him.
“Do you doubt my abilities?” He asked with a mock pout. “I’m hurt.” He added placing his hand over his heart.
“Oh, you’ll get over it.” You dismissed with a smirk. “Your needed inside, Metal man. Steve’s called a meeting.”
“Yeah, yeah I get it. We’re here to watch HYDRA, not have fun. I’m going, don’t touch that tractor Y/N, I’ve almost fixed it.” He said as he left the barn, causing you to laugh.
“So how early are you leaving?” You asked later that night. You were laying in between Nat and Bucky, all three of you tired and sweaty.
“’Bout six doll.” Bucky murmured. “We’ll try not to wake you.”
“I wouldn’t mind.” You whispered. “Are you going back to the tower after this?” You asked, trying not to sound needy.
“No, sladkiy.” Nat shook her head. “We’re going to come back here for a while. We spoke to the team and we’re going to take about five months leave.”
“Are you sure that’s what you want?” You asked. “I know how dedicated you are to your job.”
“Of course, doll.” Bucky said grasping your hand. “We need a vacation, and it’d be nice to spend some time with our favorite doll.”
“It’d be nice to spend some time with my favorite people, too.” You agreed, snuggling in deeper into the warmth of the blankets and Bucky and Natasha. “Just promise you’ll come back in one piece.” You begged the two.
“Of course.” Bucky readily agreed.
“We’re the best of the best sladkiy.” Natasha smirked as she curled deeper into your side. “We’ll always come back.”
“Good.” You mumbled. “I love you both.”
“Love you too, doll.”
“Love you sladkiy.” The three of you fell asleep to the sounds of gentle breathing and the feeling of warmth.
When you woke up the bed was cold. Stretching out, your hand came across a sheet of paper. Wiping your eyes, you sat up in bed and read the note.
Doll,
We didn’t want to wake you because you looked so peaceful. We’ll hopefully be back by later tonight, but if not just remember when we came back, we won’t be leaving your side for months.
We love you so much doll,
Buck and Nat.
A smile crossed your face at the sweet memento and your heart fluttered at the idea of them being home more often. Lifting your head as the door gently nudged open and Felix strolled in and jumped on the bed.
“Looks like it’s just you and me today, huh, Flix?” You asked scratching him behind his ears. “You want to spend some time with me?”
Felix’s yellow eyes stared back at you before he shook his head, jumped off the bed and laid in a sun spot on the floor.
“Asshole.” You muttered as you got out of bed to begin your day.
The day was as quiet as it was tedious. You did odd jobs around the house, marked some essays and attempted to find something to keep you entertained. You were in the middle tiding the living room when your cell rang.
You took one look at the scowling face before answering. “Hey Logan, you finally ready to tell me what you can’t tell me?”
“Y/N! Listen to me, you need to get out of your house as fast as you can!” Logan rushed out in his gruff voice.
“What the fuck are you talking about, Logan?” You asked already moving up the stairs to grab sentimental items.
“You need to get out of the house as fast as you can. I was looking into what was supposed to be a Hellfire copycat group, turns out they’ve teamed up with HYDRA and think you’re the key to controlling the phoenix.” Logan quickly explained into the phone.
You were running through your bedroom throwing anything that meant anything into a large backpack. “How the fuck did they find out where I was?” You questioned grabbing the cat carrier.
“Felix, get into the carrier.” You said commanding the cat, who immediately followed your instructions.
“I don’t know N/N, but I’m coming to get you as fast as I can. I’ll take you to a safe house off grid and you should be fine there. Just get out of the house and as far away as quickly as you can.”
“Got it. I’m evacuating as we speak, I’ll see soon.” You said hanging up without a goodbye. “Let’s go cat.” You said throwing on the backpack and grabbing the cat carrier in one hand. Running down the stairs you dialed Bucky’s number.
The call immediately went to voicemail, but you knew this would happen as the two always turned their phones off on a mission.
“Buck, whenever you get this call Logan on the number I gave you. You can’t go back to the house. I repeat whatever you do, do not go back to the house, call Logan.” You said as you made it outside. Quickly moving away from the house, you cursed as you realized you left the keys to your car inside. Taking off the bag and leaving it next to the carrier on the ground you turned around to go back inside.
“I don’t know how but they’ve found us, but Logan’s got somewhere safe off grid we can crash.” You began as you took a few steps towards the house but that was as far as you got before it exploded. With a surprised shriek you turned and ducked as low to the ground as you could. You were far enough away from the house most debris missed you, but some pieces still flung towards you.
After a minute you dared glance back to the burning wreckage that was once your home. You spotted a group of figures walking towards you, three clad in red and four in all black. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” You growled a you jumped to your feet to face the advancing group.
“Back!” You yelled throwing your hands out. The men in all black easily flung backwards but the red robed figures barely moved an inch. “Stop!” You exclaimed focusing on the robed figures specifically.
One of the members stopped while the other two advanced. “Sleep.” You commanded the frozen figure, barely watching them fall to the ground before you focused on the still advancing figures.
The left one raised their hand and a jolt of electricity hit you causing you to fall to you knees as a choked scream left your lips. You opened your lips to attempt another command but the one on the right raised their hand you could feel a tight pressure on your throat. The two advanced on your kneeling figure continuing the hold on your throat and the continual flow of electricity.
The group of men in all black seemed to have recovered from the shock of being thrown and were quickly moving towards the three of you. You made continual attempts to stand or release another command but were stopped by an increase of pressure on your throat or increase in electric waves.
“Subdue her.” The one jolting your system commanded. The men nodded and took large strides towards you. With renewed vigor you attempted to free yourself, with a great deal of strain you were able to stand and were able to produce two words through the tight grip.
“Stop.” You growled lowly. The HYDRA men stopped immediately, all frozen to the ground. “Attack.” You snapped pointing towards the two goons in red. The men all nodded before turning and attacking the figures, the distraction saw the grip on your neck to disappear and the electrical flow to cease as well.
Focusing all your energy on the man, on the left, you growled, “Freeze.” The man froze after several seconds and gave a panicked look as the HYDRA men advanced their attack on him. You quickly turned to face the other only to find yourself forced onto the ground, unable to move.
The shock of being unable to move was enough to lose control of the men. The men shook their heads, trying to clean their head of the fog.
“Subdue her.” The one holding you to the ground growled. The robed figure who had shocked you was on the ground out cold from being attacked.
The HYDRA men all moved towards you, muttering about preparing for transport. “Make sure she doesn’t get up again.” The figure barked. As the men come closer you tried to move but were unable to feel anything, let alone make yourself move. One of the men pulled out his gun and proceeded to shoot you in the thigh. You couldn’t scream, couldn’t cry out, you couldn’t even attempt to grab the bleeding hole in your leg.
“You idiot!” The figure yelled pushing the men out of the way to examine the wound. “What the hell were you thinking!”
“You said to keep her down.” He answered in a thick accent.
“I meant knock her out, you moron. We need her in prime condition.” The robed figure growled as they stood. “Never mind just get her in the car, and for gods sake make sure she doesn’t bleed out.”
One man grabbed you off the ground and threw you over their shoulder. As you dangled limply, you tried to use any semblance of your power but were unable to focus on anything apart from the blinding pain in your leg. You were drawn out of your head when you heard a deep scream in front of you.
You were still powerless to move but you could hear people shouting and the sound of guns being fired. Before you knew it, the man holding you was running, you were getting further away from the control of the robed figure and could slowly feel your body beginning to twitch.
The man dropped you to the ground as he began to fumble attempting to open the car. Slowly you were able to push your self up on your arms. Shakily lifting one of your hands you focused everything you had on the man. He turned around in time to give you a look of surprise before falling to the ground, neck snapped.
Letting out a loud gasp, you moved your hands to grasp you bleeding leg. Blood began to pool through your fingers as you let out a choked sob.
“Kid!” A voice called as pounding footsteps came towards you. Snapping your head to look at the voice you saw Logan barreling through the trees. “Shit kid.” He muttered kneeling down next to you. “They really did a number on you, didn’t they?” He asked applying pressure on your leg.
“You’re timing is impeccable as always.” You muttered as Logan tore part of his shirt to wrap around your leg. Once the wound was wrapped tightly, you attempted to stand but fell back down when your leg gave out.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Logan asked wrapping his arm around your waist and winding your arm around his shoulders.
“I need to go back, I left, the cat and, our stuff back there.” You said breathlessly as he pulled you towards his car.
“I’ll go back for it. You need to stay here.” He said as he sat you in the passenger’s seat.
“Who put you in charge?” You asked, letting out a small cry as your leg hit the seat.
“I did.” He said simply and shut your door before turning back to grab your items. Looking down at your leg, you willed the wound to heal but when you peeled back the bandages the wound was still there and still bleeding.
You moved your hands onto the wound and let out a hiss at the pain, but still attempted to close the wound. “Heal. Heal.” You growled but the wound remained open. “Fuck!” You shouted hitting the dashboard in front of you.
“Don’t beat the car up.” Logan scolded as he opened the driver’s door and placed your backpack and the cat carrier in the back. “Wrap that back up before you bleed out.” He ordered and you complied.
“I can’t make it heal.” You stated as you wrapped it. “I can’t make it fucking heal.” You repeated out of breath.
“There’s been too much strain on you mentally and physically. You need rest.” He stated plainly. The two of you sat in comfortable silence, before you drifted off to sleep.
When you awoke you were laying in a bed with Felix looking over you. “Hiya Flix.” You croaked running your fingers through his fur. “You keeping watch, clever cat.” You commented as you tried to sit up. You let out a strangled cry as you felt pain shoot through your body. Felix shot up and pressed his paws to your shoulders trying to push you down.
“I’m okay. I’m okay.” You assured Felix as you moved to sit on the edge of the bed. You let out a groan as you stood, you were able to take two steps before you collapsed with a thud. Loud footsteps reached your ears before the door was flung open. Logan raced forward with Bucky and Natasha closely following behind him.
“Kid, what the fuck are you doing?” Logan asked as he helped you back onto the bed.
“Oh, you know, the bed was just too comfortable, I had to find somewhere a bit harder.” You replied as Natasha sat down next to you. “Hiya.” You said giving Natasha and Bucky a soft smile.
“Oh, moi sladkiy.” Natasha cooed grasping your face in her hands. “How do you feel?” She asked as you leaned into her hands.
“Sore.” You answered honestly. Bucky moved to the opposite side of the bed and sat next to you, pulling you into his side. “How long have I been out?”
“‘Bout a day.” Bucky responded. “We got here last night, and Bruce patched you up.” He said gesturing to your thigh. “You gave us quite a scare there doll.”
“Sorry.” You murmured softly. Natasha curled into your side, resting her head on your lap.
“Not your fault.” She responded. “HYDRA had files on you at the base. When we found them, we were going to go back to the house when Bucky got your voicemail. We should’ve been there.”
“No, you shouldn’t have. I got out just fine and you had a job to do.” You said firmly.
“Doll you have a hole in your leg.” Bucky said matter of factly.
“I will heal.” You responded. “I just need some time and rest, and then I can make it heal fully.” You added firmly.
“I guess now vacations off the table?” you asked after a few minutes of comfortable silence.
“No, we’re still going to take some time off, but we’re going to stay at the tower until we can find a new place.” Natasha assured looking up at you.
“Our home’s gone.” You stated in a low tone, memories of the explosion coming to the forefront of your mind.
“Doll,” Bucky started gently taking your chin gently in between his fingers. “As long as we’re together, we are home.” He finished placing a kiss on your lips, then one to Natasha’s as sat up, Natasha then gently gave you a kiss.
“I love you Nat. I love you Buck.” You murmured as Natasha curled into your side.
“Love you too, doll.”
“Love you moi sladkiy.”
The three of you laid there with Felix at your feet guarding the three of you. Bucky was right, here, in this moment, you truly felt at home.
Could possibly create more parts with this pairing and mutant reader.
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It is so deeply frustrating to see the rest of the world pretending this is only a US problem. The meanest trick the devil pulled on the world is giving any person the feeling of "well at least my grass is greener" because it ignores the point that the bar their government is jumping is lit on the ground, or worse, shields their ignorance of their own issues. I struggle having these convos with non-Americans bc I feel like I get the attitude "Hurr, stupid American dance. Such pity."
Well I understand your concern. With the yellow vests protests last year in France we could see how violent our police could be, and on a large scale. It's an evolution that is quite recent because up until maybe 5 or 6 years ago, I could go to protests without being afraid of being trampled by police or smothered with tear gas. And there is a huge double standard in terms of who's going to be a victim of police brutality and who isn't.
About 5 years ago there was this movement called Nuit Debout that spent a few years occupying place de la République in Paris. It was mainly comprised of Parisian "Bohemian Bourgeois" as we call them (in fairness, I totally fit the profile) , so obviously 'the government let them occupy a public space. It's pretty safe to assume that any similar demonstration made in the banlieues would have been terminated on sight.
So I went there out of curiosity, I even sat and listened to incredibly stupid "feminist" debates, where so-called anarchists wanted to set up a female-only space on a public square filled with men, to talk about sexual violence. I said that it was impossible, that men would listen and women would feel unsafe, but they were not interested in women's safety, but in the practicality of putting up a fence.
Anyway, people there, white people, to be clear, were trying to provoke the police *all the time*. At one point they tried to block car circulation on a boulevard, the police tried to get them back on the square to protect them (drivers were getting fed up, someone could have tried to force the passage) and those idiots were chanting all cops are bastards. Obviously no one got hurt, and the police patiently pushed them back to safety.
One of the most glorious parts of this whole thing was when some of the movement "leaders" said that it would be great if activists from the banlieues would, like follow the movement! And the activists were like hey, we've been working and talking about all these issues for literal years and we've never seen you, or the media, or anyone so... No ? Because obviously the media was fawning over that movement.
Now the yellow vests movement comes from the countryside and disenfranchised small towns, like the one I grew up in. The media hated and despised them from the start, and tried, since the very beginning, to paint them as uncultured, stupid, violent etc... They downplayed police brutality to a ridiculous point. Dozens of people were badly injured, many lost an eye because of rubber bullets. And the government let the protests be infiltrated by so-called 'antifa' or 'black block'. These guys are just white men who get a hard on when they break something. They love nothing more than to dress up in riot gear to break a Starbucks front window, apparently that's peak activism.
Our government used them to scare moderate protesters and the public opinion and it worked!
And finally the situation in the banlieues has been explosive for years and for many reasons, but police brutality is also a problem there, a problem that has been widely ignored. About 15 years ago, our then President Nicolas Sarkozy suppressed a police unit that was specifically designed to foster good relations with people in these neighborhoods. It was called the proximity police (police de proximité) and Sarkozy, who was authoritarian, resented the idea that policemen could like, play football with young people there and participate to neighborhood events, when crime hadn't been completely eradicated. So he did that and since then, the only policemen to go there is the anti crime brigade, which recruits aren't exactly poets. Obviously, things got worse.
So all that dissertation (sorry !) to tell you that yes, indeed, the problem also exist in other countries. I'd say that one of the big difference here is that people aren't armed, so I guess the general levels of violence are lower. But it's just a matter of proportions.
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