#op feel free to ignore this i woke up on wrong side of bed and j felt like ranting unfortunately | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

dreamkidddream · 4 years ago

Note

I’m the Doll!MC Anon and I just wanna say I’m so glad that you enjoy a soft/delicate!MC and I really didn’t expect it to get so much love!

Since I kinda want to be evil and see the boys be overprotective, can I request hc’s of them seeing Doll!MC getting hurt by some lesser demon that bumps her into the ground and she gets a bruise? 🌚

Omg Doll Anon I wasn’t expecting it to get so much love either (here’s the original Doll!MC HCs if anyone wants to read)!! So I actually had your request saved for when I was done with the prompt special bc it’s so good, so I decided to combine them and I have definitely been waiting to write this 😈😈 Reader is gender neutral!

CW: mention of blood (nothing graphic) and spoilers for Lesson 16 (Lucifer, Mammon, Beel, and Belphie’s part)

The Brothers and Diavolo with Doll!MC who Gets Hurt

Lucifer

Okay whoever is dumb enough to hurt you in front of him deserves this 100%

The air around this man is already more than intimidating, so whoever tries this is a poor, stupid soul

When he saw you fall down the stairs, he felt his stomach turn. He already caught you before you could injure yourself further, but after seeing the blood coming down your face, the damage was already done

Now, Lucifer is the brother who always has control over himself and what he does. But, we also know that how his temper can get, especially when it comes to his family

This demon is dumb enough to push you but not dumb enough to crack a smile in front of him, especially with how tense Lucifer is getting right now

He sat you up and tried to remember some first aid techniques to stop the bleeding. You’re on the verge of losing consciousness, but you’re okay right now. He’ll take you home, but first-

His glare is making the demon freeze in place right now, and the anger radiating off of him is petrifying

How dare- how dare this fool harm you, in front of him no less?! Did they think that he wouldn’t do anything? That Lucifer, the Avatar of Pride, one of the strongest demons to ever grace the Devildom, would just idly stand by and let this happen?

He’s stalking towards them, and he can feel his fangs showing and his diamond appearing on his forehead, growling out how they will pay for this-

But he’s stopped by Lord Diavolo, who was shocked by the scene. You’re unconscious, and Lucifer has this poor student hanging in the air by their uniform, claws ready to slice through them. Needless to say, he understands why his close friend is upset, but for everyone’s safety he should just take you home like planned

You thought Lucifer was a helicopter parent before? You haven’t seen NOTHING yet

He would start inviting you more to his room to sleep in his bed while he works away, and it started happening so much that he didn’t even ask anymore and started expecting you to always be in there

So instead of him being glued by your side, you’re glued to his. It’s obvious that he can’t let you out of his sight without something happening (again), so hope you’re ready to see experience Lucifer’s daily routine from sunrise to sunset and a whole new set of rules. Basically playing follow the leader, but with a lot more handholding and kisses

You had to practically beg to be back into the kitchen, and he only relented when he could be the one to supervise you, and even then he still didn’t want to hold anything sharp or be near anything that could injure you (which is pretty much everything)

The main one to put a stop to his brothers’ schemes, handing out harsher punishments than before each time they try to involve you. This man is not playing any games with anyone

You know he means well, he was already overprotective from the start, and this is just his way of showing that he cares about you. You can tell every time he gives you that soft look in his eyes, and the regret that he shows every time he catches sight of your bruise. He may not like to be vulnerable, but he couldn’t hide his emotions from you too long. You’re like a weakness to him, one that he isn’t against indulging in

And he hasn’t forgotten about that student, oh no. He made sure to have a nice lengthy chat with them when you both returned to RAD. You didn’t question it when he informed you that the student had been rightfully punished and no longer an issue, and you tried to ignore the red dots splattered on his shoes, or that sadistic gleam in his eyes...

Mammon

This isn’t happening, this isn’t happening, this isn’t happening-

The blood is pouring from your head, and your eyes are closing too fast for him, and his heart stops

You look lifeless, like when Belphie killed you, when he was too late to save you-

He’ll never forget that image, it’s drilled deep into his mind, forever a reminder of his failure to protect you. And now he failed again-

This demon is gloating about this, and that’s when he snaps

He was already in his demon form and beating the life out of them when he was restrained. Many people were shocked that he was capable of this, that Mammon the scumbag, Mammon the dummy, Mammon the punching bag was capable enough to be this dangerous, this deadly. He’s the second born after all, and he’s the strongest right under Lucifer himself, and he holds a lot in

He could- he would do a lot more because they deserve it, but just seeing you so still, it snaps him out of it. You’re more important to him than getting his anger out, and you’re the one he needs to be focusing on right now. But rest asssured, this isn’t over

You thought he was attached to you before? He is glued to your side 24/7 and will not be leaving anytime soon. Ever since you woke up he never let go of you, calling you “his human” and just hugging you tight

Also if you have to go down the stairs you guys are FLYING no exceptions! The stairs are the devil in his eyes (how ironic) and he will not be risking anything with you

If you guys aren’t out and about under his careful and watchful eye (and I mean very careful, he’s like your very own bodyguard but with a lot more growling and snapping on strangers than usual), then you’re in his room doing whatever. Watching movies, playing cards and somehow beating him every time (he swears that he isn’t letting you win! Lies), whatever you wanna do. As long as you’re with him, giggling and safe, he’s happy and stress free

You mean so much to Mammon MC, he can’t even tell you if he tries. Under his tsundere traits, he really loves you, like really loves you! He’s just so scared of being rejected and losing you a second time. But now that he knows you’ll always be there for him, he’s going to do the same for you (but he already was even if you didn’t like him) He hates looking at that bruise right now, but it’s set as a reminder to not let something happen to you again

Also, another thing that people forget about Mammon is that he can talk to crows. So it wasn’t much to have them track down the person who caused you pain, and it didn’t take long for him to find them either. He thinks that the aftermath will set a good lesson for everyone else who continues to underestimate him when it comes to you: don’t

Leviathan

See, this is why he never leaves his safe haven AKA his room!

After he saw your head hit the ground hard, he was freaking out. He doesn’t know what to do, he wasn’t prepared for this! He tried shaking you to keep you awake, but your eyes were steady closing

Everything is happening in slow motion. You’re slumped over on the ground while the person who did it is laughing at him

If anything, the person who did it should be the one on the ground, not you, not his Henry. It’s not fair, it’s not fair, it’s not fair!

The demon stopped laughing when their windpipe was getting crushed by the second. They couldn’t even try to loosen the grip, Levi’s tail is rather strong, and so is he. He is the third strongest out of his family and the Grand Admiral of the Navy, yet people tend to forget that

Everyone knows how bad Levi’s tantrums can be, but this isn’t just a tantrum, it’s much worse. Had the brothers not intervene, he would have done much worse than summoning Lotan (which he was on the brink of doing anyway)

When you did wake up, he was so upset. Of course he let this happen, he’s just a worthless otaku who couldn’t even keep his crush safe-

OMG why are you hugging him and patting his head?! Quit it- well wait, this does feel kinda nice...Ugh you’re such a normie! Getting hurt so easily and still trying to put a smile on his face. But it does make him feel better

He rarely left his room before, and you guys are definitely not leaving it now. It’s like having a sleepover, but it never ends. That sounds great, right MC? Endless marathons of TSL and other anime, co-op video games, trying on his cosplay outfits that he made (some even made just for you and he needs to cover that bruise somehow), it’s going to be so fun and you’ll be safe with him! Who wouldn’t want that??

We all know that Levi is very self conscious. He knows that he isn’t confident like Lucifer and Mammon, or attractive like Asmo, or smart like Satan or Belphie, or physically fit like Beel, he knows. But every time you listen to him ramble on about this new anime show that he wants you guys to binge, or when he rants about a stupid move his teammate did in an online match, he feels valued. He feels loved. And while it’s hard for him to express his feelings, it’s no doubt in his mind that you’re important to him, and that he’s beyond happy that someone like you is his best friend

One day he’ll get the courage to say those three words, but he hopes that you already know with everything that he does for you

For example, Levi is an aquatic demon, and he has the ability to communicate with all types of sea creatures. Granted, he knows right from wrong, but in his eyes he’s taking care of the problem. So it wouldn’t be a huge issue if he used them to clean up the remaining mess of said problem, right? I mean, his venom can only do so much, and he doesn’t need anyone questioning him, and Lotan does get hungry...

Satan

He could only see red. Both from his anger surfacing and from the fact that you’re bleeding

He had his claws wrapped around the neck of the one responsible before they could even think about running. This- this filth dared tried to escape after he hurt you? And they thought that Satan would just let them get away with it?

They must forget that he’s the Avatar of Wrath, the one who doesn’t show mercy

He just kept pounding the demon into the ground, over and over and over and over. He didn’t even care about the blood splatter it was leaving on the lockers or on him

He was this close to finishing them off when he heard you call out for him, and it took everything in him to drop them. He squeezed their neck a final time, not even close to being satisfied with the whimper he heard, and growled out a promise of that he will find them and will make sure that they suffer before he threw them down. They better count themselves lucky that they get to crawl away in one piece (for now), because had you not been there-

Oh, he is seething the more he thinks about it

But you bleeding is a distraction from it, even if it is making his stomach turn, it’s helping him know that he needs to help you now

He didn’t have to let his brothers know as they came to see what the commotion was, and Lucifer (even if he didn’t want to believe it himself) was anxious that he was the cause of it. But after he saw the hold he had on you and another demon barely clinging onto life, he knew otherwise

It was decided that you two going home would be the best course of action (which it didn’t matter to Satan, you both weren’t going to stay here whether it was demanded or not), and he calmed down enough to properly treat you

You didn’t leave his room for the rest of the day, and he even gave up his bed for you to lie in so that he can do some research. The human body is a complicated thing, but Satan can learn it like the back of his hand just for you. So just go ahead and rest for now MC- or maybe not, you might have a concussion according to this book and if you do he needs to monitor your condition!

Even after you were healed, he didn’t let you out of his sight and daily checkups were a must. Dr. Satan is in the building!

You eventually moved back into your room (you would have stayed longer but he’s a little nervous with his towering stacks of books and doesn’t want anymore accidents), but he practically moved in with you with how much he comes over, either falling asleep at your desk reading a book or falling asleep in your chair right next to your bed

Very reluctant to have you around stairs, it makes the hairs on his neck stand up. He’ll let you go down the stairs ONLY if you’re holding his hand. If you’re upset with those conditions (spoiler alert you’re not), then you better be ready to learn some teleportation spells (but even then he’s still not leaving your side)

He doesn’t hold his temper back with the others when it comes to you for the time being. If he even senses that Mammon, Asmo, or Levi is coming to you with something that can cause trouble, he’s growling at them to leave you alone, horns slowly coming out and tail whipping furiously

However, he tries not to lash out in front of you. He realizes that he lost control with that demon, and how it could have terrified you had you been fully conscious, but he doesn’t want you to think that he’s just a monster. He wants you to continue to treat him like you do now, and not have the image of bashing someone’s bloody body on the floor repeatedly

Speaking of bashing someone, Satan made well on his promise of coming back. The demon thought that avoiding coming back to school would save them, but Satan is a genius, and has many associates that he can sweet talk to get what he wants. It didn’t take much to figure out where they went, and he made sure to get out all of his pent-up frustrations from that fateful day. He felt better when he came home, but he needed to take a shower before he went to see you...

Besides from that, he does appreciate the peace that you do bring him. You just have this aura around you that’s so calming to him, and he needs to steal you away more he realizes

Also you make better cat-themed desserts than the cafe and he can’t risk Beel eating them all again

Asmodeus

He’s shook, and not in the good way

He just had your hand in his, complaining about how you cuticles look so good and his is lacking and how guys have to go to the nail salon after class, and then your hand is jerked from his, your form at the bottom of the stairs

The blood staining your uniform is alarming, but he can’t worry about that now. He’s trying to keep you talking, but you’re already on the verge of passing out

“MC, you can’t sleep yet! We have plans to go to the nail salon remember? And I need you awake so we can talk about what matching color we’re getting! So what color should we get now, MC? MC? MC!”

He’s trying to keep himself from panicking, but he can’t help it! You’re suppose to be smiling and laughing with you, loving him, but you’re unconscious on the ground, and he’s scared

Quickly dials Lucifer and tells him the whole situation, and he’s surprised to find himself blinking back tears

The demon who did this is long gone by the time Lucifer and Diavolo come, but he remembers the face, and he has something exciting planned when he comes face to face with them

Obviously you have to go home, but Asmo is so distraught that he has to go home with you. But when you wake up, prepare to be tackled to the bed with him crying his eyes out. All you can do is try to comfort him and tell him that okay, giving him little kisses on his cheek

But now that the sadness is out of the way (all this crying and worrying is causing him stress wrinkles), it’s time for a makeover/stress relief!

Fashion shows, makeovers, painting nails, face masks, the whole nine yards. All in the comfort of his dazzling room!

It’ll make you both feel and look better, and honestly you two need that right now. It also gives him the opportunity to cover that unappealing bruise. Your beauty outshines it but it’ll be best to cover it up for your and his sake (mainly his)

Every time Asmo sees your bruise, he gets upset and he’s tired of being reminded of what happened. He knows that he’s only loved for his looks, his vanity, but you see more in him than that

You’re...you’re the first person that loves him for him entirely, not because of his features. And when he tells you that he loves you, he honestly means it. He would have never thought he would fall so deep for someone, let alone a human, but...he’s glad that it’s you. He’s happy that it’s you

Which is why he wants to keep you safe and injury-free. Plus, your skin is too pretty and doll-like to be roughed up!

You guys still go out of course, he just has a better eye on you now. This one incident isn’t going to hold him back for picking out new cute outfits for you!

And don’t think he forgot about that demon who caused all of this in the first place. He actually waited by their locker, and convinced them to come with him. But what should Asmo do with them? He could always have them steal Beel’s food, annoy Lucifer, say something horrible about Ruri-Chan, the possibilities are endless! As long as they don’t cause him to get dirty, of course

Or maybe they should do something so severe that they have no reason than to leave RAD forever, or even leave the Devildom forever, depending on how far he’s willing to take it. He’ll do anything if it means you’re safe and he gets to keep you all to himself

Beelzebub

He thought it was an accident at first, you get so excited about things that you stumble over your own feet sometimes, but he’s always there to catch you or pick you up

You keep saying that you’re okay as he’s holding onto you, and after he sits you up he’s confused because he smells blood. His heart is beating a little quicker, and you’re not talking anymore, and your head is drooping, and that’s when he sees the blood running down the side of your face

He’s starting to panic, and he’s so scared that if he tightens his hold against you he’ll just make things worse, that he’ll just hurt you more. But he needs to go find Lucifer, he needs to get you help, you’re feeling so light in his arms and it reminds him of the Celestial War when he witnessed his sister dying-

He hears someone snickering behind him, and that’s when he loses his temper

You’re a part of his family now, someone that he loves and cares for more than he can describe, and they did this to you? Someone who wouldn’t even squish a bug, someone who made him late night snacks without even asking, always there to give him hugs after his games no matter how sweaty, someone that put his family back together and they did this to you?

Lucifer and Mammon struggled to hold him back after they found the demon flung through the wall, laying under the rubble. Beel just kept growling, fangs bared and wings buzzing. He won’t stop trying to get out of their hold, and he keeps inching closer and closer to the demon, and it’s only a matter of time before he finishes what he started

You were already in the infirmary getting treated, and Beel isn’t calming down anytime soon so you were both escorted home

You woke up to Beel upset and pouting. He’s so worried about you that he couldn’t even eat. Beelzebub could not eat, that’s how you knew this was a something serious

Poor Beel was so terrified of hurting you himself that he failed to protect you from the people that do want to hurt you, or worse

But this won’t happen again, he swears, both to you and himself. Move over Mammon, Beel is officially your new bodyguard!

Wherever you go, Beel is right behind you, literally. He’s like your shadow, just bigger and a lot more...menacing. Also isn’t taking any chances with Mammon’s schemes, just carrying you away before he can even open his mouth about another get rich quick plan

Speaking of carrying, you are not allowed to walk down the stairs anymore. As soon as you step near some you find yourself in his arms like it’s nothing. Both at home and at school, it doesn’t matter to him

Also he’s very cautious to have you around people besides his brothers, and the exchange students (but he’s still hesitant about Solomon, anyone who can cook food like him is automatically getting the side eye)

Also you practically moved in with the twins, and it’s nothing compared to the sleepovers before. Belphie sleeps easier, Beel’s stomach is satisfied (eating your homemade sweets with you is better than everything combined at Hell’s Kitchen, and trust me he knows) he feels all warm inside, and you’re protected. Everyone’s happy!

Beel is a sweet guy, just don’t come in between his family or his food. After that whole incident with the demon, everyone has come to understand that, especially after seeing just how much damage he caused both to the demon and the school in so little time...

Belphegor

If he was sleepy before, he’s completely awake now

You’re holding the side of your head, and he can see the blood seeping through your fingers, groaning in pain. You keep trying to say that you’re okay, but your words are starting to slur and he’s getting nervous, he’s getting scared

It’s reminding him too much of his worst mistake, of what he did to you, when he murdered-

No. He doesn’t need to be thinking about that right now, especially when the person who did this is bragging about it while your body is slumped over. Right there, he knows what exactly needs to be done

Belphie was already in front of them before they even registered it, and didn’t give him any time to form an excuse. His claws were already at their throat, inching deeper and deeper the more they swallowed

“I should just slit your throat now, it’ll be easy and not a lot of work. But you deserve much worse than that. You’ll wish I did by the end of this.”

After a tap to the demon’s forehead, they just collapsed before him, unmoving. He didn’t even look down when he stepped over them (or rather stepped on them) to get to you. You’re passed out, but still breathing. You can’t stay here like this, and he refuses to tell Diavolo or Lucifer. He’ll figure something out, maybe Satan has some books in his room on what to do...

When you woke up, you found yourself wrapped in blankets and Belphie sleeping beside you, arms wrapped tight. You were confused, when did you get home? You remember walking with him down the stairs, but everything was blurry after that. What happen-

“You’re always thinking so hard MC, you’ll never be able to get good rest if you keep that up. But Satan did say to check on you every couple of hours, so I guess it’s fine. And quit touching your head!”

“Oh, sorry Belphie, I didn’t mean to-”

“Tch, how annoying...”

But he’s lying. Even as he’s carefully re-wrapping the bandages, he’s relieved that you’re awake, that your eyes are still full of life, not like the dullness that he saw that fateful night

When Lucifer finds you he is not happy with Belphie, but he doesn’t care and tells him that everything is already under control and that he isn’t needed. Belphie didn’t miss the scowl that he sent his way, but he just smirked in response. You didn’t need Lucifer as Belphie is already taking care of you, as it should be

You know how he always carries around his favorite pillow? Yeah he’s doing that with you basically, minus the carrying. You’re practically attached to his side, wherever he goes you’re either right there with him or in his room, which is mainly just you two lazing around or sleeping (as usual)

Honestly, the only demons who he’s okay with disturbing you two is Beel and maybe Satan. Beel because that’s his twin and it’s his room too, and Satan only if he’s checking on you medically or if he has some new ideas to mess with Lucifer. Everyone else is just trying to bother you and be annoying, and you don’t need that

Of course he blames himself for this! How is he suppose to keep you safe, to make up for his mistake? But then it clicks

It’s not the fact that he’s weak, people think that he’s weak. But he realizes that this is fine, he’ll use that to his advantage.

Diavolo is upset and Lucifer is running out of excuses for him, but Belphie just plays stupid and says he can’t remember how to remove it (even though he does). Let the demon lose some more sleep until they learn their lesson, whether it’s from the constant nightmares or from sleep deprivation trying to stay awake to avoid said nightmares. He’ll remove it when he feels like it, and he doesn’t see that happening anytime soon

Let people think the Avatar of Sloth is weak, that he’s not a threat, and he can show them exactly how wrong they are. Better yet, this demon can be the perfect example, and many more if they become a bother to you (and him)

You’re too nice MC, too delicate. You treat him so good, like he’s not a demon, like he’s not the monster who took your life, and he has to thank you for that somehow. He feels like whatever he does won’t be enough for the kindness you give him, but protecting you from others who used to be like him could be a good start

Also now he can hog all of your head pats and cuddles for himself, and he doesn’t feel bad at all. Everyone else had their time with you when he was locked up, so he’s finally got the opportunity to be selfish

Diavolo

First of all...this demon is dumb enough to harm you in front of him??? The Demon LORD???? The FUTURE KING OF HELL??!

They have more than just a death wish

It all happened so quick, he just crossed paths with you in the hallways and started to ask about your day (and maybe invite you for a small tea date after school) but he didn’t even get the chance to open his mouth

One second he saw your eyes light up and hand extended to excitedly wave, then he saw your fragile form tumbling down the stairs

Barbatos was soon called to his side as Diavolo saw the red coating his palms and you barely staying conscious, trying to say that you’re okay and not to worry

See...he feared that this would be a problem. While Diavolo is a very kind and understanding ruler, there are still some demons out there who think he’s too lenient, too soft. But that’s where people are mistaken. Diavolo is kind, but do not mistake his kindness for weakness

He felt his anger rising, his demeanor starting to crack, but he set aside his emotions. You’re his first priority, and he needs to make sure that you’re okay! He’s still a ruler, and you’re his responsibility (and first love)

However, he made sure that Barbatos took the demon who did this and kept them in the dungeon until he was done treating you. He won’t let this go unpunished, he can’t and he won’t

You’re an important part of the exchange program, and you’re most important to him, and he’s upset with himself that you got hurt. You’re so delicate, and you don’t deserve any of this happening to you, but what can he do? While he trusts the brothers to keep you safe, he wants to keep an eye on you personally, but how?

Then it struck him

You liked to stay in the castle, always smiling and having fun whenever you spent time with him there, so why not relocate you there?? It’ll be like an extended sleepover/retreat with just you two!! You guys can do all of your favorite activities and won’t have to worry about going home because you won’t have to leave!! Why didn’t he think of this sooner?!

The brothers are very upset with this incident, and even more so when he announced this. Diavolo decided that your condition needed to be monitored closely, and since he’s the person directly in charge of the exchange program AND the ruler over the Devildom, there was no room to argue. You weren’t going to stay in the castle forever, just until he deemed it right to return to the HoL

Which would be...some time soon, maybe. He’s not really worried about that now, his number 1 concern is you after all!

You’re getting the royal treatment, literally. This is the chance that he gets to pamper you without interruptions and he is not wasting it!

You kept trying to convince him that you’re fine, but he wasn’t hearing any of it, especially after he sees the nasty bruise that was left. “MC, please! You still need to rest. How about I have Barbatos bring us some tea to help, and we can even have the royal staff bring us some outfits of your choosing if you like? Oo, we can even have our portrait painted!”

“Dia, I promise that I’m fine, you have more things to worry about than me-”

“Nonsense, MC. You’re what’s important to me, now and always. Don’t ever forget that.”

Even finished it with a hand kiss, UGH he really is a Prince Charming

Once you did return to RAD bruise free, Diavolo, being the gentleman that he is, walked with you everywhere in the beginning. Coming into the building, walking to class, lunch, even to the student council meeting, he was by your side. But he couldn’t avoid his duties forever (unfortunately), but he always made up for lost time afterwards

You never realized that when he wasn’t with you, someone else always was. Whether it be Lucifer who miraculously had spare time, or Barbatos who decided to escort you back to the castle to try a new recipe for his Lord, it was always one of them that stayed with you

Also, it never dawned on you why people were starting to be so nice to you. You thought it was because of what happened, not paying attention to how tense they would get, the fear in their eyes. You did notice that the demon who caused your fall never came back to class, and their desk is starting to collect dust...

When you did ask Diavolo about it, he just pat your head and said that what happened was unacceptable and that the demon has been dealt with accordingly.

You don’t need to hear about what really happened to them, he doesn’t want to scare you or taint your innocence! But he doesn’t mind if anyone else hears it, he’ll be more than happy to explain in full detail what happened and what will happen to demons that even think about attempting to harm you or think that he’s “too soft”. They won’t think he’s a soft ruler after that

Diavolo is a very sweet man, one that treats you as if you’re ruling by his side as his partner and one that you never have to be scared of, but even you didn’t miss the deadly glint in his eyes whenever he spoke about that demon...

But enough about that, he wants to try that new recipe that you made just for him!

He enjoys the time that he gets to spend with you, and after this, you’ll be in his company a lot more. He can’t risk having this happen again to his love- I MEAN favorite exchange student right?

#obey me x reader #obey me reader insert #obey me #obey me swd #obey me lucifer x reader #obey me mammon x reader #obey me levi x reader #obey me leviathan x reader #obey me satan x reader #obey me asmodeus x reader #obey me asmo x reader #obey me beelzebub x reader #obey me beel x reader #obey me belphegor x reader #obey me belphie x reader #obey me diavolo x reader

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ketsuyuki-hibana-typed · 5 years ago

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I always portrait Yoriichi as the sunshine version of Giyuu. Looks like an op character but actually a simple dumb-dork and also a big fan of his brother.

Tsugikuni Yoriichi x Reader (Domestic ModernAU)

Yoriichi is a professional in architecture, and you work as biology teacher.

You could say that he's that 'noble family but decided to take normal society path'. But it's actually not really dramatic, he just decided to stood with his own feet and building family from zero with you.

He has unique personality, people at his work really thought that he has undefeatable charismatic, competent, compassionate, kind, equitable, and decisive.

Pft.

You knew the real him and even if you bet ten thousand yen, people would never trust you, despite the fact that you're his wife. He just a dork for you and his brother.

We will soon know, how 'ridiculous' his true self will be.

In the morning, he always wakes up first but never woke you up. He said that he didn't has heart to wake you up when he saw your sleeping face. But sometimes, he'll wake you up if it's really late, which is not really helping.

You're the one who cooked breakfast, but sometimes he helped you but you always ended up tell him to sit back.

"The bacon is screaming", "You cook the child of its mother.", "Bread is just a floated wheat."

"Ok stop, let me handle this before you brought me to existential crisis."

You're the one who comb his hair, chose his suit, matched his necktie with the pin, and elses. He didn't suck at stylings, he just prefers you to do it instead of him.

You usually went to workplace with him, but sometimes if he's busy, you'll choose to ride the train.

His friends often invited him to have lunch at nearest restaurant but since you always made lunch for him, he didn't want to join them and eat your homemade lunch instead. His friends told him that he could ditch his wife's lunch but then he said,

"She made efforts in making this, I couldn't waste it."

But sometimes, you told him it's okay to go with them.

For some reason, Tokitou siblings at your school knew about Michikatsu and Yoriichi. You don't know why but every time you crossed with them, they always told you to be careful of Michikatsu.

But Michikatsu always being nice to both you and Yoriichi, so you just shrugged them off.

Both of you almost didn't have time to meet each other on daily days, so those 'lovely' moments in the drama often didn't happen on your daily life, but you satisfied with what are you now even after years being married. He still made sure to made you happy by buying you cakes, limited edition Pocky, various of KitKats and other foods when he came home.

Also, the main reason why you gained weight fast.

Sumiyoshi, Yoriichi's co-worker, often talked with you.

"(y/n)-san, Yoriichi-san really loves you more than anything else."

"Well... I'm his wife after all."

"Yes, I know! But I've never saw someone who really loves his wife from the bottom of their heart like this. He always brought your handmade handkerchief everywhere, set your photo in front of presentation slide as introduction, made a mini 'place' where he could place his keychains, manjuu doll, mochikororin, rubber straps, pins assembled with you as the model on his desk, plus-"

"Wait, Sumiyoshi-san. I'm concerned. He became an otaku me. I had to talk with him about this."

Yoriichi probably the smartest man in this country, but sometimes he forgot about 'common senses'.

"Hun, what are you doing?" You saw him looked in trouble.

"I'm trying to open the pen cap. It didn't work." He looked confused on the pen.

"Let me see."

"Here, if I can't, you can't-"

"....it's a ballpoint."

"..."

"You just spin it like-"

"I know."

"... sure."

Or when he didn't know how to use common things.

"(y/n), what is that?"

"It's vending machi- WAIT YOU DON'T KNOW VENDING MACHINE?" He shrugged.

"How to use it? Can you open the front glass like refrigerator do? Is it free?"

"No- Geez, you put the money, like this. And then-" You spend your evening to explain him on how to use a vending machine. He was amazed on how its work and how well you present it as what he called 'Future machine.'

"It's superb. We are one step ahead to the future. The distribution of drinks are easy now."

"I don't know why I'm married to you."

Dates? Do outdoor activities such hiking count as dating? The answer is yes, at least for both of you. You often went to the mountain with him for fishing at nearest lake. It wasn't far from your home, so you never complained.

While fishing, you sat on his lap and reading your book. He put his chin on your head.

"Wait, don't flip it yet, I haven't finish the 2 paragraphs."

"I thought you concentrate on the fishing?"

"I could do both task."

"Sure, King. Sure."

When you're lazy to prepare the picnics, he's fine with just staying at home and watched his favourite TV show with you beside him. You usually put your legs or your heads on his laps while doing something or simply watching the TV too.

"Ok, Quizzy Time! I have 2 questions and each answers had to be one and different. The last question will be your true wish!! Now, let's start!!"

Yoriichi slightly bended his body, eagerly focusing on the TV. You eyed him while playing with your phone.

'Is being cute legal for my husband.'

"Who is the person you wanted to protect most?"

"Big Brother."

"Who is the person you loved the most?"

"My wife."

You snorted.

"And last, if you had to choose one person between those two who will you choose?"

He started to sweat and looked at you. You looked at him while smiling, "Is there something bothering you, hun?"

"Uh, uhm-"

"Now, tell that person, you love them!!"

He fidgeted, looking at you again. You just wanted to bursting out laugh. He became panicked, between dilemma if he should call Michikatsu or tell you.

"(y/n), I know you're my wife, but-" He started to push his brother contact on his phone. "I also wanted him to know."

"Oh, so you choose him over me." You started to tease him.

"No! You got this wrong!!"

"Oh now you yell at me."

He became frustrated. Before he started to break down, you sat down and hugged him, "Haha, just kidding!! Don't sweat it, it's a dumb TV program- Oh my God, don't cry!!!"

Yoriichi didn't want you to be far away from him at home, especially when he did works. He will call your name and told you to stay in the same room with him. Even though his face didn't say too much, you immediately knew that he'll be sad if you're not there when he was at home. Like that one time.

Michikatsu was calling you when you're shopping for dinner.

"Hello?"

"Hey, it's me. Uh, are you divorced with Yoriichi?" His statement made you dropped a can of tuna from your hand.

"What? No!! What do you mean?!"

"Yoriichi said it. He said that you leave him."

"I'm??? Going to the supermarket??"

"...I'm sorry, my brother is being a troublesome for you." He cut the phone.

When you're home, you found Yoriichi laid down on the sofa. You called his name, and he looked at you.

"I was being scolded by brother."

"Of course you are, geez." You sat beside him. "I'm just going for errands. I'm not ignoring or leaving you."

"You didn't leave message."

"I do, look at your phone."

"..."

You let out a long sigh, but then you hugged him. "Do you want me to stay when you did your work on your laptop?" He nodded.

"Fine, but help me with the dinner, and don't say anything. Just obey what I told you to do." He nodded again happily like a puppy.

He likes to spooning you. He always asked if he could kiss you even though you've been married for a long time. He's often saying that kissing you on your lips is really felt good, and became a little bit 'addicted' about it.

He didn't say much about himself, he never confide you how his feelings unless you asked him. But he loves to hear your stories about your works and students on random occasion like bathing, eating dinner, sitting on sofa, and even casual walks.

And do not start about how many times he said that he didn't deserve you when both of you are about to sleep and cuddling on bed.

"I am man of no wor-" You clasped both of his cheeks and pinched it.

"Say that again, and I will end your life for real."

"But I already end up with you."

"You have no rights to say negativity and flirting at the same time."

He probably had that unchanged expression on daily basis, but when you're by his side?

A content smile will always formed on his lips

#kimetsu no yaiba imagines #kimetsu no yaiba x reader #kimetsu no yaiba #kimetsu anime #kimetsu no yaiba scenarios #kimetsu no yaiba headcanons #kny #kny x reader #kny imagine #kny imagines #kny headcanons #kny scenarios #tsugikuni yoriichi x reader #yoriichi tsugikuni x reader #tsugikuni yoriichi #yoriichi tsugikuni #kimetsu no yaiba yoriichi #kny yoriichi

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luna-rainbow · 4 years ago

Text

A meta on Steve, Sam and Bucky (part 1)

This is a meta - almost fanfic (?) - for myself to work through their dynamics (and vent my frustration how poorly they've built Sam's relationships with both these guys, as well as Riley). Part 1 covers events in The Winter Soldier. Told from Sam's POV.

My personal preference is platonic, but feel free to read into it what you will.

“It’s your bed, right?”

That was their first meeting. He’s seen the broadcasts of the disaster in New York. The descent of otherworldly beasts and the parting of the skies. Against all odds, this man’s team had won.

The guy has a memorial to his name in the Smithsonian. A legend during the war, and a legend now. He was personable, but also reticent, until Sam brought up the bed.

Steve nodded, "Like lying on a marshmallow, feel like I'm going to sink to the floor."

It was how they connected. He was unmoored, trying to find his new purpose, and they saw themselves in each other.

Sam ran therapy sessions now, but Riley's death still haunted him.

It had been a standard rescue op, something they could do with their eyes closed. They never knew there was danger until the RPG flew out of nowhere. All the evasion drills and emergency plans meant nothing as he vanished in the blast.

It was a rescue op that should never have gone wrong. Why were they not told? Why were they not prepped? He asked for answers and was ignored, and when he asked louder he was told to stop kicking up a stink.

He took Riley’s belongings to his home. Riley’s parents were still young, but looked like they had aged years since he last saw them. Riley had told them he was coming back, this last op was just a walk in. He had hinted that he had a partner and was looking to settle down.

They wanted to talk, even though the very memory was too raw for him to touch, but he could not leave them. He can't remember how he sat through the numbness as Riley’s mother talked about her child, as she went through his photo albums, as her smiles dissolved to despairing tears. “How did this happen? He said he was on his way home.”

The woman wanted answers, and so did he, but his next conversation with their superiors didn’t go so well. Frustrated by the empty consolations they kept feeding him, he snapped that he couldn't take his team and put them in danger again if they weren't going to sort their shit out.

They simply sat back and suggested, condescendingly, that perhaps he should indeed come off the field if he couldn’t keep his emotions in check.

He quit.

He stayed in DC because he didn't want to worry Sarah. She's pregnant and still working 7-day weeks to hold up the family business.

The sudden inactivity in his life made his days so much longer, and the nights endless. The bed was too soft. He was sinking but his feet cculdn't reach the ground. When he closed his eyes he saw the night sky showered with flaming shrapnel.

He got busy studying, then took up the therapy job. He was a pararescue and helping others is his calling, but this...while it was fulfilling, was never quite as invigorating as snatching hostages away from terrorists. But how could he fly again without trusting the people at his back? And he knew the military was too monolithic for one man to change.

When Steve turned up at his door and talked about Hydra's infiltration of SHIELD, Sam couldn't hold back anymore. He knew he was good at his job, and he knew no one else could make use of those wings as well as he does.

He decided to take his own advice. "Some stuff you leave there, other stuff you bring back. It's our job to figure out how to carry it."

He thought the weight of Riley's death would be too heavy to take to the sky, but he was now ready to fly with it, and he couldn't sit it out when he knew he could be useful.

As they headed down the highway, they met the Winter Soldier - a masked, terrifying killing machine who had no qualms about the collateral damage to civilians as he tried to kill the two superheros.

Sam stopped the Winter Soldier from shooting Steve as the Captain stood frozen and aghast at the sight of the man's face.

"It was him," Steve said.

The Hydra assassin was Steve's best friend, but no longer recognised him.

Sam saw how close the assassin came to killing Steve, and reminded him, "Whoever he used to be, the guy he is now, I don’t think he’s the kind you save. He’s the kind you stop."

"I don't know if I could do that."

"He might not give you a choice. He doesn't know you."

Steve turned to him and said with certainty, "He will."

Sam knew what it felt like to be so close to saving someone. The night of Riley's death still replays, uninvited, in his mind. He could not stop wondering - if they had taken the mission a little earlier, not flown so low, had kept their eyes to their side... He knew if there had been any chance of stopping Riley from dying, he would seize it, so he could not push Steve to change his choice.

They lost contact with Steve when the Helicarrier exploded. For one long hour, Sam wondered if he should have spoken more firmly to Steve, should have given him clearer warning, should have told him not to hold any hope for "Bucky" - because the Winter Soldier did not hold back one ounce as he ripped through the airport and dismembered Sam's wings. If he had done more, could he have saved Steve? Could he have saved Riley?

Then they found Steve, battered, unconscious but alive. Against all of Sam's misgivings, the Winter Soldier did not kill Steve. Perhaps there was still something there under the efficient lethality - but if that was the case, how horrifying would it be for the man trapped behind it?

When Steve woke up in hospital, Sam could see the determination in his eyes. The man had found purpose, and he could not bring himself to dissuade Steve of it.

When he saw the file in Steve's hands, it was mere confirmation. "You're going after him?"

"You don't have to come with me."

"I know," Sam took a breath, "When do we start?"

#sam wilson #bucky barnes #steve rogers #captain america: the winter soldier #catws #tfatws #captain america #cacw #meta #almost fanfic

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spideywars · 5 years ago

Text

tell me the world’s alright

chapter four; flux

pairing: peter parker x stark!reader

words: 5.6k

warnings: none

summary:

After the blip and everyone including you disappeared, you realized that things weren’t as safe as you thought. Even under your father’s iron wing, you knew the world was going to be a very dangerous place.

last chapter

“Have you started packing yet?” Pepper’s voice chimes in your ears as you sit at your desk. You’re working on some paperwork that’s needed at the lab for your co-op job. You look up, blinking towards the door to see her leaning against the frame.

“I leave in two months, I’ve got time.” You shrug her question off and hear Pepper chuckle lightly as you try to focus yourself back into your work. It’s a hint that you wanted to be left alone, but your mom makes her way into the room, settling herself on your bed.

“What?” You ask with the smallest smile across your face. You didn’t push her away, knowing she never did this unless something was really bugging her.

It took Pepper a bit, her eyes scanning along the four walls of the room until they finally landed on you. She looked almost guilty, and you raised a brow at her expression.

“Why don’t you go to your father’s opening night for his tech?”

Her words barely came out of her mouth before you were letting out a loud sigh and shaking your head. You didn’t want to fight, but you thought you made it clear that this was something you didn’t want to be apart of anymore.

“Mom I can’t, I’m sorry. I love dad, but you know he’s showing my design and I don’t need to be near that right now.” It’s been two years and that project still haunts you, and you’d rather forget about the blood, sweat, and tears that the suit caused you while you were sixteen years old.

“Avoiding your past doesn’t fix anything, I can promise you that.” Pepper’s words are solid and she stares at you with intention in her eyes. She has married a man who never takes a step back in life, and she’s probably sat down hundreds of times with Tony, saying the same words.

“I just don’t want to get angry at him again or make him feel like he needs to owe me anything while I’m there.” You shrug, trying to give pathetic excuses after excuses to try and place some kind of sanity inside your mother’s head. “It’s his night, he can tell me all about it when he gets back next week.”

Pepper is still staring at you and radiating the same disappointment with the way her lips were formed into a tight line. But she didn’t retaliate, instead, she got up from your bed and walked over to brush her hand through your hair.

Her nails felt good, scratching at your scalp and grounding you back to earth. It soothed away all the stress that’s been clotting your mind for weeks since you got accepted to a University in LA. It’s been non-stop of thinking about what to pack, who to tell, where to stay.

You did need time off, a little getaway from all the stress before you were back to putting on scrubs daily. Being apart of disease control as your future has its ups and downs, and unfortunately, you had to ditch the idea of being fashionable.

“Think about it a little more, I’m taking a flight tomorrow afternoon.” She steps away, releasing her hold on you and walking out of your room. You watch her as she disappears and allows the door to close.

A loud breath escapes your lips when you’re left in the drowning silence. You have been ignoring the past, dodging any memories that threaten to come back up to the surface of your brain. Being a sixteen-year-old girl madly in love as well as being a genius inventor was something that didn’t mix well with the last name Stark. That’s why it could never work out, your love life and your inventing days.

And that’s why you’re here now, as an eighteen-year-old girl ready to become a doctor to save lives the normal human way instead of becoming something she knew would end in her being six feet under instead.

It’s not like you woke up and changed your mind, god, after that night with Peter you never cried, screamed, and yelled so much in your life. You wanted to start a riot against your father, defile his orders and become his living nightmare. Your blood was boiling for a good month, seeing his face made your hands tighten into fists.

But life went on, you got over Peter and your grudge for Tony and decided that you weren’t going to live life properly if you held onto the past. All that mattered was your future now, and that’s why there are empty boxes littered around your bedroom and ready to get stuffed. You’ve at least gone as far as taking a sharpie to them and titling them either ‘Uni’ or 'storage.’

But it’s funny how your motto is contradicting itself at this very moment. How you’re refusing to go and support your father and his show. Yea, don’t live in the past but your invention was going to be staring you right in the eyes on its display. You just know is going to be on a mannequin just like it was the first time you walked downstairs to see your father working on it and begging for a partnership.

It’ll hurt too much, and the last thing you want is to ruin your father’s big day.

The time struck midnight on your desk, flashing red and illuminating your face. It was time for bed, but something inside you knew you’d be staring up at the ceiling eating yourself alive with thoughts about getting on that damned jet the next day.

Knocking awoke you. Your eyes blinked opened and were met with sunlight shining through your curtains. It made you squint and roll over so your back was to it, now feeling the sun-rays hit your back warmly. Your mind was a constant cycle of thoughts the whole night, just like you had predicted. Now, you’re paying for it with the way your lids felt like they weighed a hundred pounds and your limbs stayed glued to your mattress.

The knocking continued, not planning to stop anytime soon. You were almost ready to bury your head between the pillow and the mattress before the door opened. It was Pepper.

“You know, I try to give you your space but when you don’t answer for the tenth knock, I say I’m free to open the door.” Pepper gives you a small smile, walking towards the balcony doors and allowing her hands to swipe open the curtains. Now the light was blinding, even from where your back was turned from it.

You forced yourself up to lean against your headboard, obviously sleeping wasn’t happening now.

Pepper’s body was almost just a silhouette, becoming nothing against the sun that shone towards you. You looked beautiful, all dolled up in new fancy velvet suit and her hair in loose curls. She was ready to go, and you were her last stop before she was off to the airport.

“Yes.” You say, without her even asking. You knew it was coming, the way her arms were folded across her chest and how her eyes widened towards you, begging ever so softly.

“Yes?” Pepper almost stuttered, her arms drop to her sides as she stepped towards you. It almost made you chuckle, how floored she looked. But hey, you really did need this trip. That suit was your last mini hurdle over the past you needed to get over. Maybe after this, you can sprint your way to your best possible future with no setbacks.

“Do you want me to change my mind?” You had to play with her, laughing when her face fell. In response, you just swung your legs onto the floor and jumped up to get ready.

“I-I’ll go tell the driver you’re coming, meet me down there in two minutes okay?” It’s almost like a switch turned on in your mother’s head, her feet moving forward and a smile appearing across her face. She made it halfway across the room before she stopped to place your cheeks into her palms. You were forced to look into her eyes, just for a few seconds to exchange smiles before she pressed a wet lipstick kiss to your cheek before disappearing out of your room.

You never realized how thankful your mom would be, seeing you come with her. Maybe you actually won’t regret this decision.

That feeling won’t come, the doubt, you know that as you pack your bags and grab your coat from the back of the door, rushing down the stairs to meet Pepper who’s standing in the middle of the front hallway. There isn’t any tightness in your chest, no jitters that send a shockwave through your body. Your steps get closer to the car, then the plane, and then into your seat. No bad feelings, nothing but pride.

It’s those damned emotions, the ones that make you push it all away and bottle them up tight to save yourself nights of tears and days of sorrow. You were so scared of feeling so incredibly in pain again that you became a stranger to your own feelings, it’s almost like you ripped your own heart out so you couldn’t feel a pulse anymore. As if that made you feel like you could live your life better.

You were wrong. That’s clear as day now as you feel the plane lift off the ground. Pepper’s wine sloshes in its glass, her fingers tightening along the neck of it so it doesn’t spill on her expensive clothes. Everything is finally coming into focus now, it’s time to stop running from yourself.

Tony is standing in the hallway, glaring down at the ground as someone whispers things lightening fast into his ear. It looks like he’s not listening, and you know he probably isn’t it. His brain is eating up his own thoughts, and the way he’s chewing his lip makes you raise a brow as you and Pepper make your way towards him.

He hears the click of both your heels, now meeting your eyes. It’s almost shocking, to finally see your father somewhere else that isn’t just inside your house. He’s actually at work, being an Avenger. It’s a weird feeling that overcomes you.

“Nice to see you’ve come.” Tony doesn’t sound okay, his eyes are glossed over with something that you can’t quite pin-point. Pepper even catches it and manages to sneak a glance over to you, now concerned.

“Tony…” Pepper starts to speak but Tony lifts his hand to silence her, giving him his famous fake smile before he shoos off the person still attempting to talk to him.

“Why don’t you ladies find your seats. I’ve got you both in the front row, popcorn and drinks waiting. Even some of that cheesy powder stuff you guys like on them…I don’t know what it’s called, one of the tech people got it-”

“Tony.” Pepper interrupts Tony abruptly, and he bows his head in shame. He is one tough cookie but easily softens under the pressure of his own wife.

“It’s the suit.”

“The suit?”

“The suit.”

That makes you freeze, your breath catching in your throat. You know those words, you know that tone. It’s an instant flashback to you standing in front of Peter, staring into his eyes with all your hopes and dreams radiating off your body and onto him. The way you told him your suit was going to be his next, your suit was going to be The suit.

“What’s wrong with it?” You don’t know how you manage to speak, but you find your voice enough to spit out a question. You tried to hold it in, this dread and the nervousness that suddenly spiked your whole body into overdrive. You really thought this day was going to be fine, that you weren’t going to regret this decision.

But Tony Stark always has something up his sleeves.

“Nothing serious, it just won’t connect to the automatic system I have set up. It’s for the show, so I want it to come on when I give the tech team the go-ahead but…”

“You need my help?” You finish off your dad’s sentence, even though you didn’t want those words to come out ever again.

Tony looked towards Pepper, seeing how upset and torn she looked. She knew damn well how much you struggled to get over the suit and that life. She was probably beating herself up for even asking you to come.

“No, well…yes? I mean you can just tell me what I need to do internally to the suit and I can do it myself.” You shook your head before he even finished, almost wanting to laugh at his attempt to make you feel better, to save you the memories and heartache. But you knew he knew that this wasn’t something you could just verbally instruct him on. It needed you, your hands, and your brain.

“Where is it?” You ask, already maneuvering past him as you make your way down the hallway. Tony is hot on your heels, and by the sound of the frantic click-clacking behind you, Pepper is too. She’s whispering with clenched teeth into Tony’s ear, words you can’t quite understand from where you’re walking. All you know is she’s not very happy, which is fair.

“Y/N,” Tony speaks as you come to Tony’s dressing room. You can feel his hand brushing your shoulder, just missing inches before you grab at the doorknob and turn it.

When you walk inside, you’re met with Peter Parker staring at you.

You grow numb, hands trembling as you push them into the side of your skirt. It’s like the world stopped, just a minute to stare into his eyes before he quickly had the mask pull over his head. He probably thought it was some stranger, walking in, but you see the mask’s eyes widen so largely you almost thought it was malfunctioning.

“Y/N?” Peter speaks breathlessly through the mask, it now slowly coming off his face and back into the neck of the suit. It’s now just him, his brown eyes that used to make your knees weak now staring back at you once again.

Two years. It’s been two years since you’ve seen Peter Parker in the flesh. You remember seeing him on tv, the suit on full display and making you sick to your stomach. You barely saw him for five seconds before you were changing the channel or turning the tv off. It was pain, pure, raw pain you felt when you saw his face. And now it’s back, but it’s all numb.

He aged well, and two years made him look manly, broader and caused some small beard hairs to grow along his chin. His jawline is sharper, he’s got more thickness to his form. God, he looks amazing.

And suddenly your world is tipped on its head again.

“Hi, Pete.” Your eyes turn down and you gulp awkwardly, not even realizing you said his nickname until it already slipped out.

He was shifting from side to side, his eyes moving along the floor as if the words he was trying to find were scattered across it.

“Y/N…” You could hear the guilt in your father’s tone, the hand on your shoulder and the way the air in the room grew thinner. But you took a deep breath, turning towards Tony who stood in the door frame with Pepper behind him, both with wide eyes and looking defeated.

“I told you, you need me.” Your voice was wobbly, you could feel it falling with each word. Tony could tell, the sorrow that rushed across his face and clouded his eyes. You hated it, you wished you were stronger than this.

You thought you were stronger than this. On the plane, you felt unstoppable, but one look into Peter Parker’s eyes and your walls are crumbling, everything is back to how it was.

“What system are you trying to connect to?” You asked after you cleared your throat and turned away from your parents and their pained glances.

There wasn’t an answer and you allowed them to process everything as you walked towards Peter.

He was looking at you again, those brown eyes scanning your body, reading every part of it. It’s like he was trying to remember the pages of a book he had forgotten about. He was reading the way you walked, the movement of your lips as you talked, the fumble in your voice. You felt exposed.

“I-I’ll go get the manual…” Tony spoke suddenly, making you jump. It made Peter laugh, just the smallest bit with the corners of his lips turning upwards as he stared at you. A shiver ran down your spine.

“Pepper.” You could hear Tony speak, and you didn’t have to look to know he wanted her to come with him. You couldn’t help but laugh too when you could hear them arguing as the door closed.

You wondered what changed your father’s mind about you and Peter being in the same room. To be fair, in two years you both have grown and changed, not just you and Peter but Tony too. You know your dad and the way his thoughts eat at his brain until there is nothing left, he knew how he hurt you and probably wanting to make it up to you by bringing Peter back into your life.

You don’t know how to feel about that. That numbness feeling comes crawling back every time you think too much into it.

“He didn’t tell you I was here, did he?” Peter asked, his voice building a dame to close off the thoughts that tumble harshly throughout your mind. You try to hide your smile, pretending to analyze every inch of the suit with your brows furrowed.

“And he didn’t tell you I was coming, did he?” You responded, making him chuckle and nod. His eyes glistened and glowed so perfectly, it reminded you why you got lost in them so easily when you were younger.

Your hands moved from your sides to the suit, trying to move through the motions as if that would help you stop daydreaming. But this just brought back the last time you ever saw Peter, when you both stood in your bedroom, his hands on your arms and yours cupping his jaw, how smooth it was.

You wondered what it would feel now, how prickly it would feel compared to when he was sixteen.

The dame was breaking.

“Is this okay?” You ask, hovering both your hands along his right shoulder. You refused to close his face in with yours, knowing what happened last time. It was smart, more professional, and Peter simply nodded with a loud gulp sound passing through the air before you decided to press your palms along the suit.

The suit felt how you remembered it, the bumps of the web design, the light reflecting off it. Peter’s body filled it in more than last time, and you could feel the muscle through it easily. You tried to blink passed that, trying to make sure no circuits were disconnected that could’ve caused the problems with tech.

You were an amazing inventor at sixteen, but you didn’t think about what your father would do with the suit business-wise. Everything was mapped out for Peter from bullets to bombs, but not about Bluetooth connection or HDMI and other cables.

“How has the suit been treating you?” You ask, trying to distract him as you timidly grab for his hand to check the movement functions. He flickered his gaze down at the contact but quickly looked back up to stare above your head.

“It’s been good, great actually. Took a good year to get used to healing like that but…” Peter trailed off, and that threw you off your guard enough to make you look up and attempt to meet his eyes. He did eventually, and he smiled pleasantly at you.

“You really did an amazing job, Y/N.” Peter mumbled, moving his hand the smallest bit so it was gripping yours. He gave it a pulse, just the smallest squeeze before you broke apart. You could feel the awkwardness taint the conversation, but the dressing room door opened with a short knock from the outside before Tony walked in.

“Where’s the manual?” You asked, shaking your head when Pepper side-eyed Tony with a chuckle. She looked a lot calmer now, and Tony probably just wanted to calm her nerves and used the manual as a way to get her out.

“Oh, darn I couldn’t find it. Funny how those things happen. But anyways I trust you looked at the suit while I was gone, any thoughts?” You don’t know why, but your cheeks immediately heated up at your father’s words. You could feel Peter shifting awkwardly beside you, obviously not expecting Tony to say that either.

“I did. It’s uhm, fine. Just like I remembered.”

You wanted to slap yourself at that response, but all you could do was hang your head in shame as Tony gave you the tiniest sneer.

“I think you will have to disconnect it from all the other tech you’re showcasing tonight. I designed it so it wouldn’t be able to be hacked into other networks or allow foreign connections to control it in any way.” You distracted everyone with your words, blinking daggers at your father and wiping the smile clear off his face. He was now nodding with his concentrated expression plastered on his face.

“I was afraid you’d say that…” Tony mumbled, but you could already feel your mind urging your body towards the door, to exit from the situation, from Peter. But you were in the middle of the situation, you felt like a zebra cornered by a family of lions. You were defenseless.

“Peter I’m just going to have to nod at you from on the stage and you’ll swing in like that. Watch for me, yeah?” Tony moved away from the door to Peter so he could pat at his shoulder. This gave you a chance to escape, but your feet were glued to the floor.

You almost felt like you were inclined to say something, like there was a missing piece in the air that hung and awaited your voice to fill it in. But you couldn’t turn to look at your father and Peter, or allow your lips to move. All you could do was stare straight ahead, which Pepper noticed and quickly attempted to meet your eyes.

She looked like she felt horrible, the way her lips and eyes turned down and how she clasped her hands in front of her suit. This wasn’t her plans for you, and you could almost see the thoughts swirling dangerously in her mind, the guilt she felt for bringing you here and forcing you to face your demons.

“Good luck.” You spit out a cheesy reply, trying to give closure to this conversation. You felt bad for shoving yourself forward and rushing out on everyone, but once your feet disconnected themselves from the floor, you felt an intense need for air.

Pepper followed, of course, her heels click-clacking faster and faster down the hallway as you made your way towards the back again. You could see the sunlight leaking through the bottom of the exit door backstage, and it called for you.

“Y/N!” Pepper yelled, and she must’ve been calling your name a lot by the way she sounded breathless when she finally caught up with you. Your hand had an iron grip on the doorknob to outside, and you gave her one look over your shoulder before you pushed it opened and allowed the sun to completely blanket your body.

“I’m sorry my love, I didn’t want-I never knew Peter was going to be here.” Pepper was toying with her wedding ring nervously as she paced in front of you. She would move it up and down across her finger, allowing it to roll around her knuckle.

You focused on those movements as an anchor so you wouldn’t lose yourself, knowing if you looked at your mother’s stressed expression your head would explode. All you could really do was lean against the wall, palms pressed to the bricks and eyes cast down to the ring that shined in the light.

“Y/N?” Pepper’s voice was softer now, closer than it was before. This caught you off guard enough to make your eyes move up towards your mother’s eyes, now seeing her still stressed expression with her brows knotted tightly together.

“We can go home, right now if you want.” Pepper’s voice was firm but her eyes shimmered with doubt, you could tell this was something she was only doing for you. But it was too late to run away, your already scarred heart was laid out on the ground and stomped to a bruised mess again. This was a situation where you just needed to pick up the broken pieces and put it all back together again.

You’ll just have to a pathetically put-together mess for your father and crush.

“I’m staying, mom it’s okay.” You gulped roughly as if you were swallowing a pile of rocks. Pepper was still looking at you like you had just been snapped in two, the lipgloss she wore now unseeable on her lips because she was biting them too much from the nerves. This was almost just as hard for her as it was for you.

“Y/N…” Your name got lost in your mother’s voice, her trailing off and lowering her gaze to the ground. It was a minute of silence, just the wind against your ears as you stared off into the sky over Pepper’s shoulder before she finally looked up.

“Okay.” She said, nodding and moving her hands to grab yours. She squeezed at your fingers, holding you in your place for a few seconds before she released you and moved to open the door.

As soon as she did, you could hear the cheers and the lights were dimmed. The show was starting soon, and you used your mom as a beacon of light, zeroing-in on her form as she maneuvered past the bustling crowd of tech people and stage management to get to your seats.

You clapped and stood along with the entire arena, everyone cheering as your dad bowed and smiled from ear to ear with his inventions shinning in all their iron glory behind him. Peter was just a few steps behind him, his suit being the star of the night. You could see how confident he felt in it, with the way his shoulders broadened and his chin lifted into the air as people cheered 'Spider-man!’

You couldn’t help the smallest part of your mind that fell towards the thoughts of imagining you on that stage, beside both of them, being cheered on for your work.

What if you didn’t almost kiss Peter that night? What if your father didn’t stay home that night and find his way up the stairs to your room to catch you at just the wrong time? Would you be standing up there with them? Looking just as happy, your cheeks hurting because of how much you’ve been smiling?

That was a lot of questions to ask yourself, and you almost fell back into your chair when Pepper grabbed your shoulder, shaking you the smallest bit to get your attention.

“I’m sorry,” she snapped her hand back and you made sure to smile to reassure her that you were okay. “I need to go backstage to the dressing room to grab your father’s checklist before he startings organizing the clean-up.” She kissed at your cheek before wandering off as the crowd still cheered and clapped.

The lights started to come on and your father and Peter had left the stage. That was everyone’s queue to start filing out. You could’ve walked out with them, just so you could get swallowed up into the crowd and away from the problems that were awaiting you in that damned dressing room. But all you really wanted to do was watch as the sea of people that filled the room disappeared in a matter of minutes.

It was soothing almost, to just be sitting in an empty arena in the front row with no one to come up to you, no one to put on a fake smile to. Your whole life you’ve never really been alone, not like this. It felt refreshing and it gave you a couple of minutes to gather yourself before you had to face everyone.

“Y/N Stark?” Your content smile dropped when you heard an unrecognizable voice from beside you. You reluctantly gave the stranger your attention, plastering on that fake smile you’re so good at, welcoming him to come further towards you.

He was handsome, closer to your father’s age. His hair was slicked back and healthy, eyes soft to match his smile. It wasn’t as bad as you thought it would be, and you could see he worked with your father by how he had a Stark Industries lanyard around his neck and a pin tucked into the right side of the suit.

“Hello?” You didn’t want to sound rude, but you gave him an arched brow as he clasped his hands behind his back and moved to sit next to you. You wondered why he wasn’t helping with the clean-up, or why he wasn’t backstage with anyone else. It’s not like you needed company.

Who knows, maybe you didn’t realize how depressed you really looked sitting alone in an empty arena.

“My name Quinten, Quinten Beck. I apologize for disturbing you it’s just…I wanted to say, your father is a genius making all those amazing suits. It must be interesting to grow up with a father who’s this talented.” He spoke almost like he was in a dream, looking towards the stage longingly. It made your mind wander back to your invention and the what-ifs.

“Yea.” You say bluntly, blinking down towards your feet.

Quinten didn’t say anything, and it was like he was analyzing you with the way he just sat beside you silently and stared at you. Maybe he expected you to elaborate, or say something more than 'yea.’

You felt bad, but you’ve been through a lot today.

“Is everything alright?” He asks, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. You wondered if you could just not reply to him at all this time, maybe that would cause him to give up on this conversation and leave you be. But you couldn’t help but answer, he was only being nice.

“Just a long day, I’m glad you enjoy my father’s work.” You shook your head, trying to wiggle the bad thoughts pooling around your brain like a snake pit as you stood up and gave the man a decent smile.

“Understandable,” Quinten replied, looking at you for a split second in guilt before his eyes widened. He was quickly fishing through his pant pockets, finally grabbing whatever he was looking for and moving it towards you.

It was a business card, Quinten Beck written on the front with an email and phone number. It made you almost want to roll your eyes, now what was this for?

“Just in case you’re ever interested in following in your father’s footsteps, I’d love to work with you. You look like a woman that knows a lot.” Quinten smiles kindly, almost making you want to not rip the card in two.

“Thank you.” You take the card anyways, still showing that prize-winning smile as he laughs nervously when you take his card from his fingers.

You start to leave then, turning on your heels and walking towards the backstage door. But you’re shocked when he grabs at your wrist. It wasn’t anything rough or alarming, but the tender touch was enough to make you jump and retract your arm back.

“Hey, s-sorry just a quick question about that Spider-Man suit…since it was the big invention of the show…I was just wondering if the old Spider-Man suit was used at all?” He asked, now shoving his hands into his pockets because of your distaste.

That was a good question. Questions like that were rehearsed by your younger self inside your room as you paced back and forth or laid flat on your back upon your bed to stare up at the ceiling. You were so excited to get the press swarming you, screaming questions to you. Now you have one lone man standing in front of you looking like he was about to pee himself with the way he couldn’t keep his feet still in one spot, he was that nervous in your presence.

“I-uhm, my father used some of the parts, mostly just fabric samples to catch certain bits of DNA from Spider-Man and the webs to connect the new formulas together. It’s kind of…half and half.” You answered, feeling yourself now become the nervous one as you dodged his stare.

“Alright well…thanks for your time…really, Miss Stark.”

You gave him one short nod before turning back towards the backstage door. Your feet moved fast, and once you got to the door you carelessly tossed the business card into the garbage as you opened it, thinking you were being discreet with the way you shoved your hand into your purse to pretend you were throwing out a receipt.

You didn’t at all notice the glaring man behind you.

leave a comment or like/reblog! I’d really appreciate it.

taglist:

@fckingchile @the-crazy-fanfictionist @littlemissporter @werecoyote-diaries @maddi-bh @dreambigbelieveandtry @xemilyhill @undiadeestos @loveissupernatural @spideygirl2003 @eridansuwave @rachaeldonnaspiteri1

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the--sad--hatter · 6 years ago

Text

Frozen Heart (Prologue)

FANDOM - MARVEL MCU, DEADPOOL & X-MEN

WARNINGS - ALL OF THEM, SMUT, VIOLENCE ANGST

DESCRIPTION -

When Nick Fury finally catches Ex-Shield Agent ‘Black Ice’, The Thief with a Frozen Heart he puts her where she belongs. With The Avengers.

You’re not happy about that decision but you’re the only one who’s kicking up a fuss.

Natasha and Clint are happy to have you back in their lives, Sam Wilson is a big fan, Tony Stark just wants you to keep your hands off his stuff and Steve finds out that not only do you have a connection but you were there for him when nobody else was.

Bucky Barnes is one of the few people who doesn’t have a connection with you but he’d really really like one.

CHAPTER ONE

THE KALAHARI DESERT

The Kalahari desert was in Southern Africa so it was quite obviously hot. In fact it was 930 thousands square km of arid, sandy, scorching hell. Or at least it was supposed to be. Nick Fury used his one good eye to take in the perplexing scene in front of him. Smack bang in the middle of the sand dunes was a military style base which according to their intel belonged to a black arms dealer and known human trafficker known as "The Scorpion".

Bad guys having secret bases was hardly unusual however, what was unusual was the fact that this base was covered in at least three inches of ice. Mercenaries who worked for The Scorpion were scattered around, guns raised and alarm on their faces. Fury paid them little attention, they weren't a threat seeing as they were frozen solid like creepy gun wielding statues.

His attention was focused on the battered remains of a tent in the very center of the icy carnage. The tent was barely erect, the front panel frozen in place and giving him a clear view inside to the young woman lying on the frozen ground, two of his medical personnel checking her for signs of life.

They found what they were looking for and related the news to Fury with a sharp nod of affirmation. She was alive. Fury had known she would eventually make a mistake and now she had, he finally had her.

6 HOURS EARLIER

Your head felt full and heavy, your eyes burned and the air around you was so hot you were suffocating. You forced yourself to drag your eyes open, taking in the scene around you. Sand? Tents? You knew what these things were but why they were here was confusing and you couldn’t seem to get your brain to work properly.

Something moved and you looked up, seeing it was a person coming towards you. You knew them, your brain was telling you they were familiar. Your brain was also screaming something else at you, something important but you couldn’t grasp it.

There was a deep gnawing sense in your gut, not a good feeling. You shifted in the seat and tried to move and that was when you realized you couldn’t.

You couldn’t move.

You felt something on your wrists, binding them together. Raw panic started to claw its way through you and you reacted instinctively, reaching down deep inside yourself for the part of you that you’d locked away. You needed to be free, bad things happened when you couldn’t move.

You remembered the blood and you didn’t want to remember that.

You let the primal power inside yourself out and froze the ropes binding you but it all went horribly wrong. You couldn’t reign it in, you couldn’t control it. The last thing you remembered was screaming.

9 DAYS LATER – Avengers Compound, Up-state New York

You had a habit of waking up in unfamiliar places so you weren't too worried at first. It wasn't until you registered the steady beeping of a heart monitor that your brow furrowed in confusion. Your eyes flew open and you tried to sit up, immediately regretting it as the cuffs on either wrist snapped against the metal bed-frame, pulling you back down with a wince of pain.

Panic rippled through you but then a deep chuckle to your right had you turning to face your company, and a growl of displeasure ripped out of your throat as soon as you did. Still, the sight of him calmed your fears and you knew, even if you were cuffed you were safe.

"What the fuck Clint?" You spat out, your voice hoarse from disuse, your hands automatically twisting in the cuffs.

The blonde man sitting on a chair next to the hospital bed you were currently cuffed to smirked at you, unfolding himself ungracefully from the uncomfortable looking plastic chair and leaning over to offer you a cup of water.

You glared at him as he raised it to your lips, tilting it to allow the cool liquid to pour down your throat. The sensation was most welcome, you had no idea how you’d become so thirsty.

Then it hit you, you had no idea how you’d ended up in hospital at all. A quick glance around the room offered no answers. It looked like a standard, albeit well-funded hospital room. The blinds were closed, there were no glass panels on the door to look out of and you and Clint were the only ones in the room.

Panic and uncertainty started to claw at your gut and you looked up at Clint, your expression blank and controlled but he saw the fear and vulnerability in your eyes. He could always see right through you.

“What happened to me?” To anyone else it would have sounded like a demand but Clint knew you well enough to see the plea on your face.

You pulled at the cuffs again and huffed in annoyance. Clint smirked and tapped his ear to let you know he could hear you, you didn’t have to sign.

“What’s the last thing you remember?” He asked you gently.

You frowned, trying to pull up your memories and Clint watched the emotions flit across your face, confusion, pain and then horror.

“Motherfucker.” You whispered.

“That about sums it up... Miss Daniels this time are we?” A deep voice spoke and the door sprung open as Nick Fury walked into the room.

Your expression hardened instantly and Clint's turned apologetic. Fury noted that, the way he noted everything. He glared down at you, trying to intimidate you.

“You froze a 2 mile radius in the desert, killing everyone there instantly. When we found you, you were nearly dead yourself. Lucky for you, we patched you back up and covered up your little mess.” Fury stated.

There was a long pause as he waited for you to say something but you didn’t.

“What, you’re not even going to say thank you?” Fury enquired sarcastically.

“Saying thank you could be taken as an admission of guilt, so no.” You rebutted.

Fury turned to look at Clint who sighed heavily.

“It’s over, you were found in the middle of the scene. We know you’re responsible.” Clint told you.

“We even have a good idea as to why you did it.” Fury informed you and he didn’t miss the way your jaw clenched in response.

“One of the bodies we found on site was First Lieutenant Charles Braxton, your commanding officer. The man who trained you for the past two years and fast tracked you to his special black ops task force. Decorated war hero, husband, father and best friend to Senator Jim Grant. Oh and he was also the criminal known as The Scorpion.” Fury said.

You took in a deep shuddering breath before you spoke, keeping your voice as even as possible.

“If you already know what happened, why bother asking me? What’s your play here Fury?”

“I’m asking because I don’t know what happened but I’ll tell you my theory. You found out Braxton was The Scorpion and he drugged you, kidnapped you and took you to his base. He probably thought he could turn you to his side. He had no idea who you really were though because you would never trust anybody enough to tell them what you were capable of. So when you woke up tied to a chair in the middle of the desert, having just been betrayed and attacked by your supposed mentor and friend you reacting instinctively and tried to freeze the ropes binding you enough to snap them and free yourself. You didn’t account for the drugs in your system or the adrenaline or the emotional turmoil you were facing though because you have always hidden your abilities away rather than learn to use them and instead of freeing yourself you lost control and created a cold snap in the Kalahari that killed everyone around you. How’d I do Miss Daniels?”

“That’s not a theory, that’s exactly what happened and you know it. But you’ve got a second theory lined up where I’m the villain right? Either you rescued a powerful asset or you took down a threat.” You laughed but there was no humour in it.

You knew what was going on. Fury had told you this day was coming and deep down you had always known he was right.

“You’re damn right I do. You killed a lot of people and even if I wanted to I can’t ignore that. I can bring you into the fold and protect you or I can lock you up and throw away the key. Those are the only two choices here. Now I made no secret about wanting you to re-join Shield but last time I asked you told me in no uncertain terms where I could shove that offer. I’m hoping you’ll be smarter this time now that SHIELD isn’t around. So what’s it going to be Miss Daniels, are you finally ready to become an Avenger or are you going to spend the rest of your life in a 4×4 cell?” Fury asked.

You whistled lowly.

“Alright Shaft, I’ll admit it. I was not expecting that.” You said, eyebrows practically disappearing into your hairline.

It was worded like a choice but all three of you knew it wasn’t, not really.

Clint knew you were stubborn and liked to dig your heels in but even you wouldn’t choose life imprisonment just to be spiteful. Fury knew it as well. You looked up at Clint and he braced himself for the anger about to be hurled his way but it never came.

You wanted to be angry at him but you knew it wasn’t fair. He hadn’t done this to you, you had done it to yourself. You had locked your abilities away, pretending you were nothing more than human and it had led to you losing control.

Now you had backed yourself into a corner and the only way out was through Fury, whether it be as an Avenger or a prisoner.

“IF I agree to this ridiculous proposal, I want my record wiped. My real record.” You told him.

“You’re in an awfully precarious position to be making demands. You don’t want to go to prison, If I don’t agree to your terms are you really going to refuse to join The Avengers?” Fury asked you.

You met his eyes and he saw it, you didn’t believe he was going to pass up the opportunity to recruit you but if he called your bluff there was no way you would back down.

He couldn’t comprehend why you were so stubborn but he didn’t have to, he just had to accept it. He nodded his assent and you and Clint both let out a small sigh of relief.

“Welcome to Shield Miss Daniels, Agent Barton here will explain the situation to you regarding the events in the Kalahari Desert and as soon as you’re medically cleared you’ll be introduced to the team who will oversee your official training.” Fury spoke in a crisp and authoritative tone before making his way to the door.

He had gotten what he came for, he wasn’t going to stick around any longer but you spoke up before he could make his exit.

“20 bucks says you regret this before we even reach the end of the month.” You called challengingly.

“I’ll take that bet.” He said without even looking back, letting the door close behind him.

Clint shook his head at you.

“It’s impressive how well he can glare at you with just one eye. Wonder how scary he was when he had both.” You snarked.

“It’s the one eye that makes the glare so effective. And you’ve been unconscious for nine days. The end of the month is tomorrow.” He dead-panned.

You swore and tried to sit up, forgetting about the cuffs and swore again as you were yanked back down. Clint made a strangled noise as he tried not to laugh. He reached over and pushed down on the cuffs, they were pressure locked and didn’t need a key so they popped open quickly and you held your wrists to your chest and rubbed them.

“Nine days?” You asked, confused.

“You were extremely dehydrated and had mild hypothermia. Add that to the drugs Braxton used on you and well… you weren’t in great shape when we found you.” He explained.

There was an edge to his voice, he was holding something back and whatever it was was bothering him. You reached your hand out, palm to the ceiling and waited. He sighed and put his hand in yours

“You get yourself into some stupid shit kid, and she’s not happy about it.” He whispered with an apologetic look on his face.

You shot up in the bed, alarm on your face.

“No no no no no, tell me she doesn’t know!” You begged.

Clint swallowed thickly.

“Fury said he’d tell her when you woke up.” Clint said, getting off the bed and backing into the corner of the room furthest from the door.

You went pale as you glanced franticly around the room like a deer caught in a trap but there was nowhere to hide and you knew it.

“Traitor!” you hissed at Clint as the door swung open and you swallowed heavily before turning to face your fear.

Clint winced under his breath at the expression on Natasha’s face and you felt like you’d been kicked in the chest as you laid eyes on her for the first time in years.

There was nothing you could say in that moment, no way to ask for forgiveness so you just reached out you hand to her, silently begging for something you didn’t deserve. She didn’t hesitate to take it, squeezing your hand reassuringly. And then continuing to squeeze.

“Ow, ow, ow. UNCLE!” You shrieked.

“As soon as your better, we’re playing 60 seconds.” Natasha said with a wicked glint in her eye.

“If you’re so mad, why are you here?” You sighed.

“I came to check on Clint. I would have come to check on you as well but we both know you can take care of yourself can’t you? You don’t need me.” She responded cooly.

Clint could feel the rising tension and he didn’t want a repeat of last time you and Natasha had been in the same room.

“You need rest, you start training as soon as you’re upright and we still need to take an official statement regarding the situation in the Kalahari.” He spoke over whatever biting remark you’d been about to shoot off at Natasha.

Natasha turned her annoyed look onto him, though it was legions softer than what she had directed at you.

“I have to convince the team to actually take her. Just because it’s what Fury wants, doesn’t mean Cap or Tony will be on board.” Natasha said, releasing your hand.

“What are you going to tell them about me?” You asked her.

“For once, the truth.” She informed you.

Clint nodded at her and she turned to leave while you studiously kept your face turned away from the door. Neither you or Natasha could see each other expressions but from his position at your bedside he could see it all, the brief moment of regret and longing you both had before you schooled your expressions expressions.

Clint sighed heavily and wondered what he’d done in a past life that was so bad he deserved to be connected to two such stubborn people. It was only when the door clicked closed you allowed yourself to drop the anger and look at him.

“How bad is it going to be?” You asked nervously and Clint chuckled at your reaction.

“They’re going to eat you alive.” He reassured you.

Tomorrow he would break the news to you that officially Agent Daniels had died in the Kalahari. But that could damn well wait because Clint had missed you, only to get you back in a near death state.

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

“Stark, didn’t you get hit by that ice thief a few years ago?” Natasha asked as she walked into the meeting room.

“Four years ago, she broke into the tower and stole an Iron Suit Prototype and left an ice sculpture replica in it’s place.” Tony said with a sour look on his face.

“Yeah, but didn’t she put the suit back the next day? It was on the news.” Sam pointed out.

“Not the point Wilson. She did it to piss me off.” Tony snapped.

“I think it worked.” Wanda coughed.

“Why are you bringing up old wounds Romanov? Nobody’s seen Black Ice for years.” Tony asked exasperatedly.

“Nobody ever saw her, that’s why they called her Black Ice...” Sam added.

“She’s in your medbay.” Natasha said with a smirk.

There was silence.

“The new recruit Fury dropped on my doorstep is the thief who taunted me? And I saved her life?” Tony shrieked.

“Cho saved her life, you just paid Cho to do it.” Sam sniggered, sending Wanda devolving into a fit of giggles.

“Well I’m going to be the one to kill her!” Tony insisted.

“Barton might be a little upset if you do that.” Natasha informed him.

Tony squinted suspiciously at her.

“Why?” Steve was the one to ask.

“Black Ice is a former Shield Agent and yes Tony... Fury, Barton and I knew it was her who stole your suit. She dropped off the radar three years ago, faked her own death after an incident in Moscow. Clint just got her back, he might be annoyed if you go and kill her.”

“You knew?!” Tony was incensed.

“You’re friends with Black Ice?”Wanda asked excitedly.

“Who do you think gave her the name?” Natasha asked her.

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

The next morning you were all but tossed out of the hospital bed by Clint who flung a change of clothes at you and told you the bad news.

You didn’t have any close friends, actually any friends at all to mourn your “death” but you still allowed yourself a moment of sadness for the life you were leaving behind. You were shaken out of your moment by a knock on the door and you looked up to see a Natasha stood in front of you.

There was no readable emotion on her face, no indication as to whether she was here to hug you or to kill you. Though that question was quickly answered as with an almost unnoticeable flick of her wrist Natasha sent a knife flying straight at your face.

You whipped your head back just in time, though you were still a fraction of a second too slow and the blade left a slight nick across your left cheek before embedding itself in the wall behind where your head had previously been.

“Reaction time is a little slow but not terrible. You haven't been keeping up with your training. Keep the knife, consider it gift” Natasha told you with a smirk.

You glared at Natasha with wide eyes as she turned and sauntered away.

“Oh and welcome back to the land of the living сестренка.” Natasha called over her shoulder.

You scowled as you signed the medical discharge papers, almost signing Daniels out of habit. It would take some getting used to being a Barton again.

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

So this is going to be my next fic series after Name Calling IF you guys like it. If not, I can scrap it and work on something else. It’s kinda up to you lovely people, and I won’t be offended if this isn’t a hit.

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aceofwhump · 5 years ago

Note

poison/venom + remy?

I’M SORRY THIS TOOK ME SO LONG I HAVE NO EXCUSES!!!!

Character: Remy (my oc)

Tropes: poison/venom

for my @badthingshappenbingo card. See original post here)

When Remy woke up that morning he didn’t imagine his day would turn into a battle in an abandoned warehouse with a group of organized thugs who had been causing trouble for a local neighborhood. They’d normally kept to pretty tame tactics but the team had learned that they had recently upgraded their terror and had built a bomb capable of destroying the whole city. So here they were, dodging projectiles and trying to get close enough to a bomb in order to deactivate it before it killed everyone.

Remy ducked as another crossbow bolt shot past him, narrowly missing his head, and embedding in the wall behind him. “What sort of mercenary group uses crossbows!?” Remy shouted.

“Would you prefer it if they used guns?” Loch shouted back from behind the pillar he was currently hiding behind.

“Okay, yeah, good point. Crossbows are fine.”

Loch leaned a bit away from his hiding spot to try and catch sight of the bomb but another bolt had him quickly ducking back behind it. “We need to get to the bomb. Does anyone have a visual on the shooters?”

Arya’s called out first. “I’ve got a visual on one of them but I can’t get to him. Second floor, behind the big slab of concrete, about 50 feet behind you Remy,”

“There’s another two to your right Loch. Through the double doors,” Wyatt said.

“And I see one on your left Wyatt. Next to the boxes,” Remy said.

“Alright I can get to the one on the second floor. Wyatt take the one to your left. Remy can you take the two to my right?”

Remy nodded. Of course he could. It’d be easy. Fun even.

“Good. That will free up Arya to get the bomb and turn it off. Everyone good to go?” A chorus of yes’s responded. “Alright. On three. One. Two. Three!”

On Loch’s count Remy took off. Speed was his best asset in this situation. If he could get to them quickly enough, they wouldn’t be able to fire a shot before he took them out. Unfortunately, the two shooters saw him come barrelling towards them and began to frantically fire straight at him. He dodged one crossbow bolt but felt the sting from the second shooter’s arrow slice through his side. He ignored the burn and crashed through the double doors, taking out one of the guys with a quick punch to the jaw.

Remy blocked an attack from the second shooter who stupidly tried to use his crossbow as a blunt object. Remy used his own momentum to loosen the crossbow from his hands and turned around in one swift movement to knock him over the head with it. Both guys were one the ground in seconds. And he didn’t even have to use his fire. Amateurs.

Running back out to check on his friends he found Wyatt had taken care of his guy and was heading up to where Arya was desperately trying to get the bomb to stop ticking down.

Remy looked around for Loch and found him struggling with the bad guy he had been assigned. Remy quickly ran up and blasted him away with some fire. The guy went flying across the room, hit the wall hard and stayed down.

Loch rounded on him with a scowl on his face. “I had him!”

“You’re welcome.”

Loch rolled his eyes and headed towards Arya and Wyatt. “Arya, how’s it going!?”

“Almost there! Just a few more...and...done! That should do it!”

The timer stopped and everyone relaxed. Remy stretched his arms above his head but winced as pain cut through him. Wyatt noticed the wince. His fell on Remy’s now bloody hip and he blanched. “Shit! Remy you’re bleeding!”

“Huh? Oh. It’s nothing. Just a scratch. I’m fine. Let’s get the hell out of here yeah?”

“Let me see” Loch reached out to forcibly lift Remy’s shirt up in order to take a look at the skin underneath but Remy dodged his hands and pressed an arm against the wound so no one could look.

“It’s fine. Really. Can we go now?” Remy didn’t wait for an answer and just turned around and started heading down the stairs unaware of the worried glances his friends exchanged with each other before they followed Remy out of the warehouse.

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

Remy began feeling poorly a few hours later.

The ache in his side seemed to keep growing, he alternated between shivering and sweating, and he’s been getting dizzier with each passing moment. He managed to completely avoid the post mission check up as per usual although he was going to get an earful out of Loch for that later. He really did hate medics. And hospitals. Instead he snuck away as soon as the returned to his room and patched himself up before heading to the briefing. The wound wasn’t bad so he thought he’d be fine without medical attention.

He was wrong.

The briefing is when he really began to feel poorly. Every moment that ticked by he grew worse. Every shift made the ache in his side scream and he kept surreptitiously wiping sweat off his brow hoping the others didn’t notice; that they didn’t see how badly he felt. He was sure it would get better and if the others noticed they’d insist he go to the hospital and well, that wasn’t going to happen.

Loch wrapped up the briefing. Remy only noticed it was over because everyone started standing up. He had busy trying not to throw up all over the table as nausea rolled over him. Arya and Wyatt were out of the room before Remy worked up enough energy to pull himself out of the chair. Loch lingered behind, glancing back Remy, his eyebrows scrunched together making that face he always made when he worried about him.

“You alright Remy?” he asked.

Remy straightened up taller and tried to look normal, “Yeah I’m fine. Just tired.”

“I really wish you would get that cut looked at by a professional.”

“It’s just a scratch. It’s not necessary.”

Before Loch could argue against him or worse, physically take him down to medical, Remy waved goodbye and left to return to his room.

Once he was safely hidden away in his room, his legs suddenly turned into jelly and he fell against the wall, sliding to the floor in a heap. Wincing against the pain and wheezing slightly he pulled his shirt up and peeled away his bandage covering the scratch.

It looked much much worse than it had a few hours ago. The cut was red and raw and it seemed like it had grown in size. No longer “just a scratch” this was now much deeper and more akin to a large knife slice rather than the small crossbow bolt cut. On top of that there were now black zigzagging lines coming out from the cut and cutting across his torso.

This wasn't just an infection. This was poison. The crossbow bolt had to been tipped in poison.

He felt sick, nausea hitting him hard and fast. He slapped a hand over his mouth and lunged towards the bathroom. He made it just in time to collapse in front of the toilet before he vomited violently into the bowl.

His stomach clenched as it expelled everything Remy had eaten in the last day and continued to do until Remy was throwing up bile and then just dry heaves.

When his stomach finally settled his body sagged in relief. He rested his head against the toilet seat, utterly exhausted and focused on breathing normally again. He was shaky, covered in sweet, and pain pulsed through his body to the rhythm of his heartbeat. His muscles ached due to the stress of so much throwing up.

Remy groaned loudly and pushed himself away from the toilet. He settled himself against the wall and closed his eyes.

Help. I need help. Should call Loch.

Remy reached for his phone in his pocket with shaky hands but he came up empty. His phone wasn’t in his pocket.

Swearing softly under his breath he remembered that he’d left his phone on his bed when they received the call to head out. WIth great effort he forced himself back up on unsteady legs. Dizziness and pain hit him hard enough that he had to close his eyes and put a hand against the wall to prevent himself from falling back down to the ground in a heap.

The moment passed and he managed to shuffle to his bed and grab the phone.He hit Loch’s name and put it on speaker. The phone rang three times before Loch’s voice came through.

“Hey Remy. What’s up?”

“Loch..” he said hoarsely. The wound on his side was radiating pain and only growing stronger with every second.

“Are you okay?”

“Something’s ...wrong. Don’t feel good.” Suddenly the room tilted around him and he felt himself crashing to the floor.

“Remy? Remy!”

Loch’s voice desperately shouting his name was the last thing he heard before blackness claimed him

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

Pain.

That was the first thing his body registered when he woke up. It crashed over him like a tidal wave and he bit his lip to prevent himself from crying out. He couldn’t make a noise. They’d know he was awake if he made noise. Don’t let them know how much it hurts. Don’t give them the satisfaction. That was the first thing he learned here in the cage.

“-something we can do!”

“-working on an antidote.”

“-my? Remy it’s gonna be okay. Just hang in there. Stay with us.”

Remy felt himself falling back into the darkness and the voices faded away.

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

He faded in out.

“-dangerous! I’m not risking anyone else getting hurt!”

“-our friend too. We’re-”

Unsure of how much time passed by him.

“-be okay. Hang in there.”

“-back soon.”

All there was, was pain. Blinding, burning pain. He struggled to escape it but something pinned him down which only made him struggle more. They were hurting him. They were hurting him!

“-op! Remy stop moving! You’re gonna-------worse!------lp! Someone!”

Awareness floated in and out.

“-got it!”

“Thank god!”

“How is he?”

“He’s been better. You got here just in time.”

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

Remy’s skin was as pale as the sheets he lay on, his cheeks flushed with fever, and his hair was plastered to his skin with sweat. He writhed on the bed, desperately trying to find a position that quelled the heat and pain coursing through his veins. His breaths came out rough and every now and then a moan found its way out of him. He gripped the sheets tightly in his hands, his back arching slightly off the bed as a wave of fresh, harsh pain shot through him.

“It’s gonna be okay. You’re gonna be okay. Just hang on. The doctor is here with the antidote. You just gotta hang on,” Wyatt whispered to him. The same sentiment over and over. Remy wasn’t sure who he was trying make feel better at this point, Remy or himself.

Remy moaned and writhed on the bed. Wyatt pried his fingers from his vice-like grip of the sheets and held his hand in his own. “Squeeze my hand, Rem. I can take it.” Remy complied as another wave of pain cut through him.

“Ungh, please,” he begged. “Please make it stop. It hurts. It hurts so much.”

“I know, I know. Just breathe. It’s okay.”

Remy felt a needle slip into skin.

A few minutes later, the pain began to fade and Remy’s body finally, blissfully relaxed into the sheets. He heard Loch whispering to him as the world faded around him and exhaustion took him into oblivion.

“It’s all okay now Remy. This will get rid of the poison. You can rest now. We got you. We got you.”

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early-sxnsets · 6 years ago

Text

Don’t @ Me

Archive Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18215168/chapters/43092371

Chapter 1/10 of It’s A Handheld Disaster

Word Count: 3118

Fic Summary: Teenage life is hard enough, but with the added weight of their lives, both Simon and Baz thrive online in a fandom for the British crime show, Gastrell, about the genius Huxley and his "flatmate" Sam. Through Tumblr, they find each other, and sink into something more than just being mutuals.

Chapter Summary: A shitpost is taken a little too personally, and an argument breaks out. In true Baz fashion, he seeks to prove himself right in the most ridiculous way possible.

BAZ

Morning routines are the most menial shit in the realm of existence of arbitrary tasks.

Everyone seems to have them, yet nobody really has a set one. For example, my step-mum has a long, seemingly pointless hour of simply facial cleansers, serums, and hair products. When I’d asked her years ago why she does it all, she shook her head and said “You’ll never be an aging woman, Basilton.”

I couldn’t quite argue with that.

Regardless, it’s a part of life. The routines. Wake up, morning routine, morning activity, eat, afternoon activity, usually afternoon snack, evening activity, dinner, night-time activity, sleep.

A boring, underwhelming cycle of the day.

Although, I suppose it’s shittier for me, since the homeschooling doesn’t give me a chance to do much besides sit and read. Of course, I have my car and I can drive off to whatever. Hell, father even suggested I get a job to occupy myself, but I don’t quite see the point given how much money we have (and the risk factors with moving around so frequently).

So, here I am. Finishing my classes in a matter of months, then having an entire year of pointless bullshit.

Needless to say, my entire day’s routine isn’t the most thrilling. Wake up at 10 on a good day, check social media and emails, then just lay here until I can’t wait to piss. Piss. Go to eat breakfast and get greeted by screaming children and my poor step-mum trying to wrangle them in. Go upstairs, go back online, see whatever’s on my dash, reblog some shit, then try to do something vaguely productive. Check Archive, check email again. Nothing’s on the emails, ever. Text Dev and Niall, who get awfully pissed since they are in school. Get more food. Eat. Bring tea upstairs, despite the disdained look from our maid (who hates collecting my piles of mugs). Write for a couple hours. Take an afternoon nap, if I please. Wake up and sit there (again). Maybe lonely wank. Go back to the bathroom, stare at myself in the mirror for a good few minutes. Sit on the toilet for half an hour for no reason besides the fact that my phone seems more interesting while sitting there as compared to sitting in bed. Sit then on the bathroom floor doing the same thing. Go back to my bed, listen to music on my phone and work on my laptop. Write, maybe scroll. Get dinner brought to me as they tut that I should be more active. Eat. Go downstairs for an evening workout (they’re right, I shouldn’t confine myself to my bed). Come back, do exactly what I do for half the day until I pass out somewhere around 3 am. Repeat.

Dream life for an 17 year old. Social life of a god.

Somewhat.

It’s shit to say (and sort of embarrassing to share) that there’s sort of a social media presence around me. Not quite the Instagram model bullshit, but based around fan life.

Yes, it’s a laughing stock. That’s where my popularity lies--a mixed grab-bag of various ages gathering around various platforms to enthuse about certain topics. And I’m somehow lucky enough to have the slightest bit of popularity here.

As in, a large following. A large, somehow active following.

It isn’t exactly thrilling as one would like to think. Sure, it’s fun to see a scattered group of regulars pop up, and I have my mutuals, but it’s a sad existence to sit around and make various shitposts with nothing better to occupy my mind. Or, at least, that’s what Dev and Niall tell me.

All in all, I blame Fiona. She’s the one who got me into the show, saying she thought the character was a bit like me. After I saw it, I found the three connections she’d grasped at.

Gay, dark-haired, and violinist.

As if that’s a rarity.

Yet, surely enough, I did love it. The cinematography, the characters, the storyline. It was intriguing--captivating.

It doesn’t hurt that the online community was still on the smaller side when I first got there. The show was only a season in when I made my blog, and I’ve stuck through all this bullshit to get me here. One of the regulars. Reposted everywhere, uncredited usually. Big fics, large interactions. Shitposts with thousands upon thousands of notes. I’m recognizable; a suggested name.

Don’t get me wrong, the attention is spectacular. I love interacting with people beyond this depressing household, and they’re usually fairly nice (usually) (except those ravenous for an argument). It’s just awkward to share at times when people ask why your mobile’s got 99+ symbols next to the apps and you just shrug and say “I’m shit at checking it” to avoid the conversation because most people see it as childish.

It’s a shame, really. Especially since I feel emotionally attached to these goddamn fictional fuckers.

I suppose that’s what makes it all the more personal, then. Even the shitposts mean something to me.

Which is what makes this is a long, winded way of saying fuck whoever’s arguing with me about whether or not Huxley is a fucking Ravenclaw. (He is. Hands down.) How’d I get here, staring at my mobile in disbelief at a brief back and forth post turned fight? Because it feels like a reasonable question to wonder.

I got here because, as almost all mornings, I woke up, opened my phone, read my notifs, then sat here, thinking of something. Anything. Then, in a tired haze, typed out a single text post on tumblr.

huxley gastrell is a ravenclaw send tweet

Following so, I went about my typical morning. Of course. Then--then--I check my phone as I’m going downstairs and I see it. I see the “@bi-sammy mentioned you in a post!” notif, then read the God-forsaken reblog.

@gaystrell op do you take criticism on your posts?

I frowned at my phone, typing out a quick response before tucking it back into my pocket.

@bi-sammy no.

What I hadn’t anticipated, though, was the reply I’d open up to soon after I’d started poking at my morning meal.

@gaystrell well too bad bc ur WRONG and ur opinions are UGLY

#he’s clearly a slytherin this is slytherin oppression #don’t tell me he and bryonie aren’t from a slytherin family

Now I sit, staring and completely awestruck at such a post. Now, I won’t deny Bryonie Gastrell is definitely, in all possible ways, a Slytherin. Cunning and ambitious as fuck, as any political spy may be, but fuck anyone who tries to dismiss Huxley’s clear Ravenclaw leanings.

It takes me a moment to fully process, mouth robotically chewing my eggs as I contemplate my answer.

@bi-sammy there is absolutely no proof of huxley being a slytherin and more than enough support towards him being a ravenclaw. get your clueless negativity off my blog, you utter tit.

With that, I settle my phone face down onto my table and try to enjoy my lovely plate of scrambled eggs, barely ignoring the boiling of my blood.

SIMON

My phone lights up with the new notification, dragging my attention away from my laptop as the words slide down onto the screen. “@gaystrell mentioned you in a post!” I hate to admit that I get a little pattering in my heart, urging my hand out to grasp the mobile as I pause the Youtube video currently playing. As I read his words, I slowly blink out of my excitement.

Tit. He called me a bloody tit.

Of course this fucking wanker called me a tit.

He must think that since he’s this big bad blogger, he can call me a tit right out in the open. (Although, he is talking to me, so that’s a plus) (No! No no no, bad validation, Simon. Bad). What, with his thousands of followers and fans of his own, he thinks he can try to say shit out in the open?

Fuck it. He’s either getting a DM or a bloody fist fight from me. I’ll take a train to wherever the fuck he lives (which is somewhere in England, since that’s what his bio says) (and his aunt lives in London, since he’s posted about visiting her) (I really do wonder where he’s from and how close he might be--what if I run into him one day?) (No wait fuck I don’t want that anymore).

Clicking on his blog, the little person drop down gives me the option of a message. I barely think as I type it out, vision going spotty from the adrenaline of the twinging anger.

bi-sammy: i swear to god there was no point to the battle of hogwarts if you’re just going to go around and absolutely slander the slytherin name and dare say that huxley is not one of them and, rather, is a ravenclaw

At first, I grin at it, watching my lone message appear into the empty chat. It’s so freeing--so powerful to send it. I pride myself, in the moment, for this solid move of communication. Of course I’m fucking proud. I messaged the arse myself and gave him a space to fight.

Maybe Penny’s right, I should dial down the confrontation, but it’s just the internet. Nothing important happens through a stupid little argument over Huxley’s true Hogwarts house (although, I’m sure I know I’m right in my heart), but it is a bit of fun to fuck around with someone. It’s a distraction. And that’s why I’m here, afterall. To have a distraction.

Penny thinks it’s a bit silly, but she doesn’t really complain. All she’s ever said was “I thought we left fandom stuff behind us when we were 14.” She said it over lunch, watching me scroll through my at-the-time new tumblr.

It’s funny, I thought I did leave it behind when I was younger. It seemed unneeded as life shifted. I’d just found a stable foster home, with someone who was going to keep me for a while. I found Penny a couple months before I deactivated my old account. I was happy; we were free. I didn’t need a venting place.

Shits been sort of hitting the fan recently, though. No uni plans, David’s been getting more controlling, and of course, Agatha dumping me. It all crashed on top of me a few months ago, and somehow, the only place that I could find healthy coping was online. So, I started fresh. Made a blog and settled in. It’s not big, but I’ve had a few posts get noticed. I have a good few hundred followers, and one nice anon who asks me how I am every few weeks. It’s not a lot, but it’s comforting.

I feel at home here, even with a little discourse.

Well, only when the discourse is answered. Which, in this situation, I don’t know if it will be, given it’s been over an hour now and Baz hasn’t answered.

If that’s even his name.

It’s what his bio says, at least.

baz. 17. cisguy (he/him). gay. don’t interact if you think huxley is remotely straight.

I’ve wondered for a while what Baz stands for. He refuses to answer it in asks; he always says it’s too personal. He’s sort of odd like that--never posts pictures of anything that could be linked back. Seems sort of creepy, but then again, a lot of people follow him. It’s reasonable to want space.

Maybe that’s why he’s not answering. He probably wants space of some sort, but it’d be at least decent to answer someone who tried to have a discussion (that’s at least what I’m calling that message I sent--a discussion starter).

I frown at my phone, keeping it on silent as I slide it into my front pocket and settle into my seat in maths. I’ll say it--I sulk in class, a little bitter that I don’t have his attention (despite the fact that he seems like he’s always active online, which seems odd). Eventually, I exhale and try to let it slip away. There went my one interaction with him. My few seconds of the weirdest fucking bliss online, gone.

Then, it happens. As the class is ending, I pull out my screen just enough to see and there it is. A clear notification telling me he’d answered. Oddly enough, it’s just him sending me a link to a Google Doc.

Weird.

I ignore it for the moment being, letting myself ride the wave of relaxation that I actually got a reply. It passes my mind until I’m sitting in the back of Agatha’s car, listening to Penny and Aggie in the front talking about whatever’s on their mind. The rides are sort of awkward as of recently. At least Agatha agreed to drive me home (it’s a good 45 minute walk, if not) after some convincing from Penny, but her and I don’t really chat. It’s just the two of them.

Given that time, I have a chance to pull out my mobile and thumb through what was sent.

gaystrell: https://docs.google.com/document/d/175qFASmqD7hey8lE0eoE-6VhhFYE9DP6bpnI32Aay98/edit?usp=sharing

I click on it, not expecting that much (or, really, not expecting anything at all). Yet, the second it pops up and loads, my jaw drops.

“Jesus fuck,” I say aloud, scrolling through it. Penny turns her head, frowning as I stay locked on my screen.

“What? What’s wrong?”

“No--no nothing,” I say, waving a hand. “It’s nothing.”

“It’s got to be something for that reaction,” she says, keeping turned in her seat as she eyes me up. “Just tell us, Si.”

“I mean it when I say it’s nothing.” My voice gets quieter as I shift, reading the title. “It’s just fandom stuff. It’s really nothing.”

I hear her disgruntled huff as she turns back, mumbling something about me reacting too dramatically to this. “It isn’t even real.” It’s said under her breath, yet it still rings clear in my ears.

It isn’t really fake, either.

Hell, this is six pages of real. “Why Huxley Gastrell is, Without a Doubt, a Ravenclaw”. Shared by Basilton Pitch (is that his actual name?!). Fucking hell, it’s detailed to no ends. You’d think, with this much writing, there’d be pages of pointless filler where he’d just type “im gay hi huxley is also a gay we’re all gay here aren’t we”, but no. It’s full, grammatically correct sentences detailing his points.

It’s a bit much to read in the car, so I settle my mobile face down onto the seat as I’m left reeling. That… was a bit more than I’d expected.

Shit, did he write that for me?

This isn’t real. This can’t be real.

BAZ

Whoever says that having a flair for the dramatics is pointless has clearly never met me, because I wouldn’t quite call this masterpiece of an essay “pointless”. In fact, I should send it to academics. Rename it “A Study In Multi-Dimensional Characters and their Associated Generalized Personality Traits”. I’ll be hailed as a genius, as I deserve to be.

I crack my knuckles, and see the little person pop up.

Surely enough, it’s @bi-sammy’s name that he has listed online, Simon. It’s curious, he has his last name listed as “Snow”. Although, the smallest part of me believes it’s a pseudonym. Given our interactions, I doubt he’s clever enough to think of a solid pseudonym. And, even at that, why pick Snow?

Either way, it’s surprisingly endearing. Simon Snow. Sounds sweet. Sounds innocent.

I watch his cursor turn on, then his icon goes grey after a few moments. My heart starts to trip, making my cheeks begin to flush. Is… he ignoring this?

No. He can’t be. I put in hard work and dedication into this work, and I deserve the respect I’d sent into it. Fucking hell, three fully developed points (his devotion to intellectual work, his effort to step out of public light for Sam’s sake, and his overall lack of ambition for moving forward). I clearly set it out, and ended it properly; I’d proven that Huxley is a Ravenclaw. Case and point, opinion made, the end.

And, here I sit, watching him have the audacity to open it up then close it back. That was my hard work put in there, and he closes it? Who in the name of all that is sacred thinks he’s that above other people to the point where he just ignores--

Oh. He’s back on. Nevermind.

He’s… probably a school student. It’s roughly the time that most classes end, I suppose.

I make a mental apology to him, despite having never ranted directly to him in the first place.

He stays active for a good bit; long enough to show he’s reading. I assume that he’d just close off and message me, but after minutes, I notice a little highlighted comment pop up on the last sentence.

Simon Snow i………. owe you every single possible apology

Each word makes me grin like I haven’t in a while. A wide, cheek-creasing grin. There’s something so sweet to that--so personal. It feels like a note passed to me in a classroom under the tables. Like a cute “Blink if you like me”, although I doubt he has quite an intention.

Nevertheless, it warms my chest, sending my head back as I smile. I’m not sure whether or not it’s the satisfaction of winning, or his words, but I laugh outwardly into the room. It stays with me, reverberating onto my skin and my throat.

I look back at the comment, then leave it untouched. If he won’t remove it, then I won’t either.

With a glance at our personal messages tab, I figure that’s that. Even field, no more argument. No more interaction. It’s a bit of a shame, given the effort I’d just extorted for his sake, that he hasn’t answered in our chat.

While I’m disappointed to close off the document, I smile at it one last time. Sometimes I have to move on from random people, especially when they come on a bit strong.

Except, I find, moments later that I’m wrong about one thing--the moving on. He didn’t just stop his interaction, but instead made a public post.

“@bi-sammy mentioned you in a post!”

This time, I really laugh. A full bellied, hand-covering-mouth laugh.

i guess i have to suck @gayhuxell’s cock now because i was wrong and the bloody arse was right. huxley is a ravenclaw.

#fuck me i guess

I take a minute, rereading over his words a few times before typing a simple answer with my reblog.

i’m available anytime behind a mcdonald’s parking lot

#fanfiction #fanfic #carry on #fic #mine #it's a handheld disaster #snowbaz #simon snow #tyrannus basilton grimm-pitch #tyrannus basilton grimm pitch #baz pitch #simon #baz #hhehehehe #this is like the longest chapter just a heads up #it's a short fic it's under 20k

71 notes · View notes

doodlelolly0910 · 6 years ago

Text

Close Encounters of the Spiritual Kind

Summary: Emma Nolan spent a lot of time alone, and that was fine by her. Because one is never truly alone. She should know. She can talk to dead people. What she didn’t expect was one of these spiritual encounters to hang around, taking her down a rabbit hole of missing women, revenge, and, least expected, love. Can she save the day and Killian Jones? Is there even another choice?

Read it from the beginning on AO3 and FFN!

A/N: Okie dokie, here we go with chapter 12! We are over halfway to done with this fic and what I have planned, and lots of big things are still to come. Big things happen here as well with Gold, Jefferson, Hook, and we even introduce a new character! Thank you so so much to every single person reading this and commenting on this. I know I'm still behind in my replies but I was super super sick this week and I couldn't do much of anything. Things are back to normal now though, and I cannot wait to see what you all think! As always, huge thanks to @kmomof4 who is just amazing and the best beta and go give some love to @courtorderedcake for the AMAZING art she did for this little fic of mine! She deserves it! Hope you like the new chapter!

Chapter 12

Go back.

“No.”

He needs you.

“Still no.”

Please.

“I'm not sure how many different ways I can say no.”

It had been like this since Emma left the compound, Milah chattering incessantly in her ear for her to return to Hook. Her perfumed presence followed Emma as she'd walked through the front gate, several sets of eyes on her every movement (though no one made a move to stop her, leading her to believe Hook had tipped them all off to her presence) all the way through the drive and even now as she marched determinedly across the parking lot towards her motel room. He clearly didn't want her there, she had the device she'd come for, she couldn't help someone who refused to accept her help.

The more she thought about it, the angrier she got. There was no way he could know how hard it was for her to let people in, but he didn’t have to be such an ass about it. She had been almost entirely honest with him, only omitting the fact that she was actually a police officer, and he had wanted to believe her. Instead, he’d soundly rejected her, thrown her out on her ear, even, and she didn’t know how she could even reach him again. Maybe if she could get the ring, she could go back to the compound, but that was a huge risk to this whole operation. Gold was the priority.

She knew she would find Jefferson inside the room as soon as she opened it, but the way he basically attacked her in a hug surprised her. She returned it awkwardly, patting him lightly on the back.

“Give me one good reason I'm not on the phone with Regina right now pulling the plug on this,” he said pulling back and looking her over, eyes blowing wide at the sight of blood in her hair.

“I am fine,” she said, exaggeratedly wide, placating eyes holding his panicked grey. “The op is safe, I have the device. I was held up at the compound, but everything is fine.” Pulled from his grip and flung her hair over her shoulder. Bringing the shoulder bag around to the front, she lifted the flap and pulled the device free. Jefferson examined it, suspended in the air, but didn’t touch it, his eyes darting between the object and her face.

“What the hell happened in there?!” he nearly shouted and Emma reached up with her free hand and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Why did you use our code names on that call? And whose phone was that? And where are your glasses? And how the fuck did you get away with that?” Jefferson’s voice was going higher and higher pitched with every frantic question that burst from him. Emma lay her free hand on his shoulder and circled her arm between them.

“Take a breath, in and out, there you go. I’ll tell you everything,” she said, darting her eyes to the floor and chewing on her lip anxiously. There was no way she could tell him everything. He would pull the plug before she could say “held captive.” What he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him...

“Okay,” he said after a moment, blowing out a long held breath and lacing his hands behind his neck. It felt like ninety percent of her time lately was spent explaining things, or talking her way out of things. Luckily, she was good at both.

“I didn’t get out of the compound free and clear. I was very nearly caught,” she lied and Jefferson continued to watch her quietly, his arm now resting on top of the other across his torso, one bent upwards at the elbow, hand pressed to his mouth. “I had to spend the night in a storage closet in the living quarters before it cleared out again and I could leave. I tried to sneak out once, but the guy that was sleeping in the room almost woke up, so I snagged a cell phone and went back in. I left mine in the car. That’s when I called you. I didn’t know if anyone was listening or not, so I played it safe. But, look, Jeff, I got it. Everything is fine!” She smiled at him and hoped it wasn’t as fake as it felt.

“Where are your glasses?” he asked quietly, his eyes boring into her like he didn’t believe a word she had just said and she struggled not to squirm under his judgement.

“I, uh, dropped them and stepped on them in the dark. They’re… well…” she fished in the bag again with the hand not holding the device and pulled the specs out, dangling them over one finger by the wires. Jefferson looked horrified and snatched them immediately out of her hands, looking over the damage. He looked back up at her again in disbelief.

“I’m sorry?” She winced as the apology came out as a question. He sputtered, red faced, trying to find words. “I may need another pair,” she joked lamely.

“This isn't James Bond, Emma, we don't just have spy gear laying around!” Jefferson flapped his arms wildly, the mangled plastic clacking against itself when he moved.

“Then give me the watch you had for Graham,” she suggested with a shrug, moving past him to finally set her things down on the farthest bed and shrug off her hoodie. Her hair was sticking to the now dry blood on her neck and she felt gross. She had less than four hours to shower and get back to Gold.

“It was stolen. In the robbery.” Jefferson admitted bluntly and Emma spun on her heel, eyes wide.

“Shit,” she muttered. “Have we heard anything back on Graham?” Jefferson’s eyes softened at her question and nodded.

“He’s okay. He’s going to be going home by the end of the week, but he is out on leave until he heals. He’s already begging for desk work. And asking about you,” he added with a smirk. Emma flushed scarlet.

“He’s just invested in this op. Tell him I’m really glad he’s okay, if you get the chance,” she replied with quiet sincerity. Jefferson nodded. “I really gotta shower and then I have to get back to Gold’s. I have a suspicion that something big is gonna go down soon. While I’m in there, see if there’s something you can learn about that thing.” She nodded to the abandoned device on the bedspread and hoped he would be able to tell it wasn’t working and get it up and running again. Jefferson muttered a reluctant sounding agreement as she shut the door to the bathroom.

A too short twenty minutes later, she was showered and changed, tender head throbbing less and less, so she counted that as a win. She tucked a knife in the side of her knee high boot, feeling safer with some kind of protection on her. Jefferson hadn’t been able to make any progress on the device, but she’d done her part. She got the device and that had to be enough. Milah had been oddly silent, but she supposed even ghosts had to give it a rest sometimes. Jefferson sent her on her way with a stern warning to keep her phone on her at all times and a pained look at sending her away with so little contact.

When she arrived at Gold’s building, Zelena was waiting for her.

“Cutting it a little close, aren’t we?” she hissed, dragging Emma up to Gold’s office by the arm where the man in question was sitting at his desk reading over some files with another man. He was young, little more than a boy it seemed, but he had a twisted smirk on his face as the two women entered and Emma recognized him instantly.

“Make sure you let me know when the shipment is ready. That will be all, Malcolm,” he dismissed the man and he nodded, eyeing Emma the whole way out of the room. Emma felt a chill run down her spine the minute the man’s name was confirmed. Peter Malcolm was well known in connection to Gold and his presence put Emma on edge. But he also reminded her why she was here. Marian’s face flickered through her thoughts briefly as the door shut sharply behind him.

“I heard you had quite a time at Hook’s compound,” he said to Emma passively, twirling his cane in his hand. Emma stiffened and her heart slammed a beat against her ribcage. Play it cool, you don’t know what he knows, she thought to herself and took a calming breath before speaking.

“Well, if it was supposed to be easy, I guess you would have had it already,” she said, retrieving the device from her bag and extending it to Gold. His eyes glittered and a slightly mad looking smile crept over his face.

“Indeed,” he replied quietly, flicking his wrist to beckon her closer. With her first step, Milah’s presence was back with a vengeance, the scent of her perfume spiking all around her and a low buzz beginning in the back of her mind. Emma grit her teeth and moved quickly towards the desk, ignoring it. She placed the device on the desk and slid it across to Gold’s waiting hand. He caught it deftly and immediately started pushing buttons. After a few moments, he tried again and Emma began to feel uneasy, his gaze rapidly darkening. Even Zelena was starting to fidget beside her. Emma was helpless to do anything but watch.

“Miss Swan, tell me what exactly is this that you’ve brought me.” Gold left the device where it lay and stood, making his way around the table.

“Is that the wrong device, or…” Emma said, feigning ignorance. Gold chuckled and before Emma knew what was happening, her head had snapped to the side with the force of the back of Gold’s hand.

“Playing dumb seems beneath you, Miss Swan.” He brushed his knuckles off on his suit jacket, Emma watching him out of the corner of her eye. She swiped her tongue over the corner of her mouth, tasting the metallic sting of blood there. Milah was screaming inside of her head.

GET OUT, GO BACK, GOLD, DANGER, KILLIAN, SAFE

She ignored her again and stood to her full height, a scowl on her face. Zelena had slunk back towards the door, clearly putting separation between herself and Emma. She glared at her briefly as she avoided Emma’s eyes and then looked back to Gold.

“That device is useless. I have no room in this business for useless objects. Or useless people.” The click of a hammer drawing on a gun was the only warning Emma got before the cold metal barrel pressed beneath her chin. Her breath stilled in her chest and even Milah had gone silent. She could still smell the jasmine but the only sound she could hear was the heartbeat in her own ears.

“Mr. Gold,” she whispered out after a moment. “I didn’t know. I swear. I put myself on the line here, I got you the device, anything outside of that, I don’t ask questions. I’m trying to prove myself to you here,” she tried desperately to reason with him.

“Now that I believe,” he said with a smirk, digging the metal into her jaw once more before withdrawing it. Emma couldn’t help the shuddering breath that escaped her as he clicked the safety back on the device and put it back in his waistband. “You will make this up to me,” he said, shaking his finger as he walked back around the desk. “Zelena has your contact information. I will reach out soon with further instruction. Don’t stray too far, now, dearie.” A little giggle punctuated the end of his sentence and it was clear she was being dismissed.

Emma practically ran from the building like it was on fire, not caring whether or not Zelena was walking with her or not. She gulped in deep breaths of fresh air as she burst through the doors to the building, the cold trickle of fear still trickling down her spine. Bile rose up in her throat and she ran to the side of the building, promptly emptying the contents of her stomach onto the pavement. She coughed and sputtered until she was dry heaving and there was nothing left. She drew a shaky hand up to her mouth and wiped it on the sleeve of the flannel she wore over her tank top, then wiped the tears that had escaped down her face with the other.

“That was… well, bloody disgustin’, love.”

Emma whipped around at the new voice behind her. A man, average height, sandy brown crew cut hair, and an expression that mirrored his words leaned up against the wall in the alleyway near by. Without another thought, she pulled the knife she had stuffed in her boot before leaving the motel earlier out and brandished it at the man. He put his hands up and his eyebrows shot up his forehead.

“Easy there, lass. I come in peace,” he held up two fingers, mimicking an alien voice and throwing off the thick British accent he spoke with.

“Not if you’re skulking around this place, you don’t,” she snarled. “Just who the hell are you?”

“I’m skulking,” he bobbed his head with a roll of his eyes, “‘cause this place ain’t exactly the friendliest to my sort. Name’s Will. Scarlett, if ya need that, too. And you’re Emma Swan.” Emma was on him in an instant, pressing him against the brick wall and holding the knife against his ribs. “Careful, that there’s sharp and I prefer me lungs without holes in ‘em.” He smirked cheekily, hands still suspended in midair. “‘Ceptin’ o’course the ones that are supposed to be there,” he said with a wink.

“That all depends on what the fuck you want from me,” she said, hyper focused on every move he made.

“So much fire,” he said and blew out a breath. The smell of clove and mint washed over her, mixing with the constant jasmine clinging to her senses. “No wonder Hook’s taken a likin’ to ya.” Emma blinked at him and she remembered his name from the research Jefferson had done into Hook.

“What do you want? What does he want?” she said, her breath catching on the question. Jasmine swirled around her and Milah began whispering in her head again.

Go back, she urged again gently.

“He says that you’re working for Gold. He’s worried about your safety, and he regrets throwin’ ya out on yer arse like he did. He wants to meet with ya. He wants to help,” he explained. Emma studied the man for any trace of a lie. She couldn’t see one at all.

Emma wasn’t sure what to believe. The last twenty four hours had taken its toll on her. She hadn’t slept, she’d been assaulted, threatened more times than she could count. The only sleep she had gotten was when she was unconscious. She shouldn’t give a damn about Hook. He had thrown her in crocodile infested waters knowingly and now she had to work even harder to get back on Gold’s good side. Sure, she had gone there with less than noble intentions, but she was honest with him, she told him things about her that she had told no one, not even Ruby. And he believed her. She saw it on his face. She knew she sounded crazy, but it was the truth.

And then there was this… connection she had to him. Liam and Milah had been so adamant that he was a good person, and she had believed in him. She could see it in his eyes that his actions had been born of heartache. She understood, and she would be lying if she didn’t feel the loss acutely the second she stepped out of the building, but she had just chalked it up to Milah’s insistence for her to return. She knew it wasn’t just that. Somewhere along the line, Emma had become attached to Killian Jones.

Go back, Milah whispered again.

Emma loosened her grip on Will Scarlett and stepped back away from him, withdrawing her knife but keeping it in her hand.

“Okay,” she said, to Will and to Milah. “Let’s go.”

#cssns #captain swan supernatural summer #Close Encounters of the Spiritual Kind #monday update #chapter 12 #csff #cs ff #captain swan ff #killian jones #captain hook #captain swan #emma swan

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orangeyouglad8 · 7 years ago

Text

Something’s Spooky in Your Blood

Having some fun with #clexahalloweenweek! Thought I’d throw something in for the Free Day today. Thanks for the fun idea @clexabrasil

This takes place in my SEIYB!verse (in case the title misled you…)

Halloween at the hospital is an event unto its own.

It doesn’t surprise Clarke or sneak up on her. She’s been well versed in the oddities that happen on this night since she was a child. Those nights when her mother would only come home well into November looking dead on her feet.

It’s nothing new.

What is new is being smack dab in the middle of it.

The weekend prior to Halloween stretched from Thursday to early Sunday morning. Full of shenanigans. Ghouls and goblins and drunken broken idiots all around.

The ED bursting at the seams. People of all shapes and colors – literally she saw a blue monster wheeled away on a gurney – poured from every nook and cranny. Fake blood mixed with the real and everyone was confused.

And now, now they arrive on the day itself. A Tuesday. Something so middle of the week, Clarke hopes the crazed frenzy of the weekend will not find it’s way back to the hospital.

She knows her hopes have no shot of coming true.

Indra gives them a strong speech at the start of their shifts. Reminds them all they probably won’t be leaving anytime soon.

Except Clarke is already on an overtime shift. Dangerously close to crossing the line and getting into serious trouble. Indra gives her a look and a nod before she leaves the locker room and Clarke understands it for what it is.

They both are aware of the situation.

But for now, Clarke will deal with whatever comes her way. And ignore Raven’s near constant pestering about the party at her friend’s giant apartment.

Her phone chirps in her locker and she grabs it, smiling at the picture she finds attached to Lexa’s message. She sniffs under her arms and applies another coat of deodorant, grabbing her lab coat and sweeping out of the locker room while her fellow interns get ready for the day.

The day she started hours ago.

She plays with her hair hastily, pulling it back into the tiny bun she can manage. Not yet used to the new short length.

Lexa, though.

Lexa’s eyes went wide when she showed up fresh from the salon.

Her fingers card through it every chance they get.

When the elevator slides open she practically dances through the lobby to the coffee cart. Lexa stands there waiting. Her shirt tucked in, her shoes shiny. Her hair perfect. Clarke’s heart beats so loud she’s surprised everyone can’t hear it.

“Hi, stranger.”

“Hi yourself.” Lexa’s eyes dip to Clarke’s lips. She needs them on hers. Settles for the soft look they both share. “How was your night?”

“Long, boring.”

“Boring is good though for post-op, right?”

“Boring is good.” She leans in then. Brushes her hand against Lexa’s arm, briefly.

Not yet over how well Lexa pays attention and how much she cares.

Lexa holds up a white paper bag that Clarke didn’t even see, too entranced by the girl before her. “I brought you some breakfast.”

“Lex-” She swoons. Constant fucking swooning.

“You need to eat,” Lexa says it low as they inch forward in line. And now Clarke really needs to kiss her. Wonders how much persuading she’ll have to do to get her into a closet or empty room somewhere.

Clarke takes the bag and spies inside.

“You didn’t.”

“I did,” she answers around a grin.

“Lexa…”

“Just eat your sandwich, Clarke.”

Clarke bites into it and releases a hearty moan, hungrier than she realized and happier knowing it was Lexa who was thinking of her. Who woke up early and waited in line before work to bring Clarke her favorite breakfast sandwich to the hospital.

“You’re too good to me.”

“I know,” she laughs.

Clarke nudges her with her shoulder while taking another bite. She offers the sandwich to Lexa, who declines with a soft shake of her head.

This day is already off to a better start than she would have hoped.

They sit in a small hallway off the lobby that no one frequents and enjoy their coffee. Clarke finishes her sandwich and tries not to focus too hard on Lexa’s soft admiration. She chances a small kiss on Lexa’s cheek and takes a deep breath in.

“Thank you,” she whispers.

Lexa gulps. Visibly and loud. “You’re welcome.”

“I need to get back. It might be a little crazy today. I’m already pushing up on too many hours for my shift though so there’s a chance I might make it out.”

“Just let me know.” Lexa’s eyes are still focused on her lips.

Clarke loves it.

“Any chance you’d be up for a party if I do?”

A confused brow finally looks up. “What kind of party?”

“Something crazy I’m sure. Raven has been pestering me nonstop.”

“A Raven party…”

Clarke laughs, “I know. But… it could be fun.”

“I guess it will depend on the shift you have, doctor.”

“I guess so.” She remembers her main selling point. “No one from the hospital will be there…” she dangles it in front of Lexa like a carrot.

Lexa’s eyes light up, just as she hoped. “That sounds promising.”

They smile at each other for a beat.

“Don’t forget,” Clarke says, leaning back in and brushing her lips against Lexa’s ear. “You first kissed me at a Raven party…”

Lexa grabs her wrist, doesn’t let her move. Clarke hears her intake of breath.

“As if I ever could.”

Her quiet morning with Lexa seems like it was days ago.

The hospital roars to life around midday, when a group of stupidly drunk frat boys roll in, already bleeding with bones protruding in ways they never should. Their togas leave nothing to the imagination.

“We’re pledging,” one of them grimaces as Clarke pokes at his slowly bleeding gash.

“Yeah, that’s the excuse for this?” She sends him a look. Poking again and earning a flinch. He smells like the bottom of a bar floor and Clarke hopes the banana bag she hooked up will start hydrating him. He’s already tried brushing up against her ass more than once. She can feel his eyes heavy on her chest too.

“We’re almost through it.”

“You have to survive it first.” She snaps off her gloves and glares again. He looks up from her chest and his cheeks at least have the decency to blush. “You’ll need stitches. I’ll have to numb the skin, I’ll be back.” She leaves and pulls the curtain closed behind her in a huff.

“Murphy, can you handle bed three? This guy is about two seconds away from sexually harassing me and I just don’t have the strength to ignore it right now.” Clarke leans against the nurses station and lets a little bit of whine into her voice.

“If you take the kid in five, then no problem.”

“Done deal.” She switches to the chart for bed five and walks away. When she pulls the curtain back she’s met with a surly little girl and a worried dad. He would dwarf anyone, but the way he looks at his child melts Clarke’s heart a little bit. The girl has curly brown hair and dark dark eyes. Black ringed around them and a little dot adorning her nose. She looks so sad and small under the hospital lights.

“Hi, I’m Doctor Griffin. What do we have here?” Clarke smiles. It’s harder when it’s a kid. Harder and yet… easier.

“She passed out at school. Clutched her stomach and just passed out.” Her father answers, worried and standing. His hand never leaving her shoulder.

“Dad, I told you my tummy hurt today.”

“I know, baby. I know. I’m sorry.”

Clarke checks the chart again. Seems like appendicitis.

“Maisie, did you throw up today?”

“Yeah. Right when I got to school. I ruined my costume!”

“Well, that is a shame.” She sets the tablet down and pulls on some gloves to assess. “What were you today?”

“I was a raccoon,” her voice breaks a little and Clarke hopes she can distract her enough to stop the tears.

“Looks like you’re still a raccoon to me?” Clarke boops her nose and smiles. “Can I check your belly, Maisie?”

The girl nods. Her lip quivers and Clarke knows she’s trying not to cry more.

“Which side does it hurt on?”

She points to her right and Clarke starts palpating. She barely touches her before the girl flinches and wails.

“Yep, alright. I think I know what’s wrong.” She nudges for Maisie’s father to stand and follow her out of the bay. Keeps her voice low to not scare the girl. “She’s got a pretty bad case of appendicitis. We’re going to need to take her up to surgery right away – we need to get it before it ruptures.”

He nods, tears streaking his face. “I should have brought her in sooner. She never complains.”

Clarke second guesses for a second before placing a hand on his shoulder. “It’s a hard thing to diagnose sometimes. I’m going to get her upstairs and we’ll get it handled, okay? You did the right thing.”

He nods and shuffles back into the bay to sit by his daughter and Clarke grabs a nurse to page Indra and the OR.

Murphy stands by the cart, picking up a suture kit and bandages. He glares hard when she shrugs and gets ready to roll Maisie upstairs.

“Thanks, Murphy.”

The surgery goes smoothly and Clarke gets to assist the attending, answering questions at rapid fire while she asks.

Peds is… peds is no joke.

And when it’s all over and Maisie is being patched up and taken to post-op, the attending lets Clarke notify her father.

A feeling she’s still not used to.

She finds him stalking the waiting room. Feels his relief and chokes on her words as she watches him break down, tears streaking down his face.

Indra finds her as she checks in on Maisie and brings her dad back. The rooms in peds are decorated with all kinds of animals and fun colors and Maisie gets a good drug induced giggle when she finds out that she’s in the room with raccoons and foxes and forest creatures prancing on the walls.

“Good job, Griffin.”

“Thanks,” Clarke nods. Always appreciative of Indra’s tough love.

“You performed well in there today. Dr. Hunter was impressed.”

Clarke blushes, Dr. Hunter is a rock star and everyone knows it.

“Thanks,” she stammers again. Indra barely conceals her eye roll.

“Make sure you watch that clock. I don’t need you getting written up for going over. We’re already pushing the limit… I should just send you home.”

“It’s barely five yet…”

“I know, but Halloween explodes around here. Something you seem familiar with.”

“Another perk of growing up with a surgeon for a mother.”

Indra simply hums out an affirmation.

“See to her post-op checks, don’t get trapped in the pit.” She offers gruffly and then she’s gone. “Don’t be surprised if you find yourself on Hunter’s rotation before long.”

Clarke blushes furiously.

The pit is slammed when she gets back and there will be no going home for her. Not when her colleagues are up to their ears again in Halloween shit.

Which is fucking crazy, because it’s still just a Tuesday.

But with so many college kids in this city, she really can’t be surprised.

The drunk frat boy with wandering eyes is still floating around. His almost-brother got taken up to surgery to repair the broken femur he came in with. He tells Clarke as much before sobbing and trying to earn some consolation.

Clarke just points him to the waiting rooms and gives him another banana bag. How on earth is he still this inebriated?

She handles two gashes from drunken fights and diagnoses a set of broken ribs and a concussion before Indra finds her and pulls her by the elbow out of the ED.

“Griffin, what did I say?”

She’s livid.

“I can’t just leave! Look how swamped we are!”

“Out. Now.” She growls and Clarke turns on a dime. The fight is not worth it. It’s almost eight and she’s definitely over her time limit. She drops her tablet at the charging dock at the nurses station and grabs a plastic set of devil horns out of the box of gathered and forgotten Halloween accessories.

The locker room is a ghost town and suddenly Clarke feels the exhaustion in her bones.

Raven has blown up her phone.

Lexa has left a few messages as well.

Clarke should shower, she really should, but she’s too tired. Suddenly completely over this hospital. Cannot bear another second of being here.

She changes quickly, asking Raven for the address again and sending it to Lexa. She coats her underarms with another round of deodorant and fluffs her hair, grateful that it always seems to hold better with a little bit of grease and dirt and sweat. Her boots feel comfortable on her feet even after her marathon day and her leather jacket is a warm, soothing comfort.

She sneaks out before anyone can find her. Not in the mood to deal with Octavia’s sass. Or Murphy’s grumping. Or Monty’s guilt trip.

She stops in the bathroom in the lobby and adds a dark coat of eyeliner to her tired face. Adjusts the devil horns just so on her head and grabs her bag not looking back.

The party is in full swing when she arrives. Bursting out of the big old house in Cambridge out onto the lawn and the porch. Clarke shakes her head, mystified by it all… it’s the middle of the fucking week.

She sets her bag down by the door and looks around. She sees a few familiar faces from her evenings out with Raven and her friends from school. Searches each room until she finds Raven cackling by the keg. Suited up in a stellar replica of a NASA space suit. Helmet under her arm and head thrown back laughing.

She can’t help but smile as she works her way through the crowd.

It’s a packed party. The air is humid and sticky with bodies and sweat and alcohol.

“You really outdid yourself this year!” She surprises Raven. Laughs at the shock and squeal her friend emits before turning around and punching her in the arm. “Ow, what the fuck?”

“Don’t sneak up on me, Griffin. You know I hate it!” She yells. Wraps her arms around Clarke’s neck and pulls her down for a hug. “They actually let you out?”

“If they didn’t I would have been written up so, yeah.”

“Oh, I never thought I’d be happier about your crazy hours than right now, Clarkey.” She pinches Clarke’s face. “Here, have a beer!” The red cup sloshes over her hand in Raven’s enthusiasm to hand it off.

Clarke more than happily obliges, downing the cheap light beer in large sips and refilling the cup before she pulls Raven outside to talk and enjoy the cool fall air.

“I can’t be inside another minute,” she says, leaning against the porch railing. There’s music, but it’s not so loud that the neighbors will complain.

They watch little superheroes and ninjas walk around collecting candy.

“How’s it been?”

“Busy as fuck. Halloween, Thanksgiving and New Year’s… the holy trinity of hospital visits.” Clarke ticks them off on her fingers with a sigh.

Raven raises her cup, “It’s all the alcohol, babe.”

“Mhm,” Clarke answers and gulps the gross beer down, already feeling a warm buzz. She should have eaten something on the way.

“I’m glad you’re here. You needed a night off.”

“I did.”

“You’re not going to be practicing hungover tomorrow are you?”

“No, my hours… I’ll have tomorrow off.”

“Good, because your laundry situation is getting out of hand.”

“Thanks for reminding me.”

“Anything for you, my dear.” Raven swings an arm around her shoulder and smacks a loud kiss on her cheek.

They stand outside chatting for a while. Clarke props herself on the porch railing and rests her aching feet. Raven refills their beers again and comes back with double decker orange and purple jello shots. Clarke groans but chews the shot and swallows it down with a grimace.

Raven is summoned to play beer pong and Clarke waves her off, needing a moment for the world to stop spinning and for the jello taste to leave her mouth.

This is how Lexa finds her.

Lexa who walks out of the crowded doorway and steals Clarke’s breath away. She almost falls backward off the railing.

Lexa. In scrubs. In a lab coat. Hair pulled up on top of her head in a messy bun and fake stethoscope around her neck.

Lexa with her real hospital badge clipped to the front pocket.

Lexa with a smirk – that smirk – on her face.

“Here you are,” She says, sauntering towards Clarke.

“Lex…” Clarke reaches out and pulls Lexa to her. Hands around her waist bringing her between Clarke’s legs. Clarke sees the familiar hospital logo stamped on the scrubs. Gets a thrill when she thinks about where Lexa must have pulled them from.

Brings Lexa down into a kiss.

She’s been wanting to kiss Lexa like this all day. There’s a sharp intake of breath, a hum, a tongue sliding along lips, and then it’s deeper.

Is everything Clarke wants and needs.

“You look really good,” Lexa whispers against her lips.

“So do you, doctor.” She purrs. kisses her again, because she can. Because Lexa is here with her, and Lexa is playing along, and Lexa looks really, really great in Clarke’s scrubs.

“Now you know how I always feel,” she says, dragging her lips down Clarke’s throat, giving them time to breathe.

“A taste of my own medicine?” She jokes. Lexa sucks a little too hard in response.

“Just proving my case,” she mutters into skin, her tongue soothing the spot.

“You know, sleeping with a doctor doesn’t make you qualified to practice medicine, Lex.”

“Why don’t we go home and test that theory.” Lexa husks it out against her ear and Clarke is about to say yes when another voice startles her.

“Griffin, come on, I need a new partner!” Raven calls out and breaks them apart. Clarke glares over Lexa’s shoulder to the door where her friend stands, hands on her hips and an expectant look on her face.

“Fuck off, Rave. I’m busy.”

“Come on, Clarke. I can’t go down like this!” She whines and Lexa giggles into Clarke’s neck where she is still hiding, cheeks red and warm on Clarke’s skin. That’s what does it for Clarke. If she stays here with Lexa between her thighs and kissing her neck, they’ll be doing things that can only be done in private.

“Fine, but you owe me.”

“Yeah, yeah. Let’s go, sweet cheeks, move it.” She disappears into the house and Lexa finally looks up.

“Sorry…”

“Don’t worry about it.” Lexa’s eyes are dark and her lips are plump and red. “Go show off for me.” She smirks again and Clarke laughs.

“Alright, you got it, doc.” She pushes Lexa back and hops off the railing. Grabbing Lexa’s hand and pulling her into the house.

“The horns seem appropriate…” Lexa whispers behind her. Clarke squeezes her hand and wishes they went home instead.

They beat the next five teams handily. Clarke only has to drink two cups of beer in their run.

Raven is sassy and on fire next to her, sinking shots and talking smack like she’s not short and barely a hundred pounds.

Clarke thinks their luck has to do with the tall lean girl off to the side. The one who can’t take her eyes off Clarke as she shoots. The one who sends her dark looks and private smiles behind her cup.

The one Clarke needs to get her hands on.

They are forced to relinquish the table after the host of the party and his roommate are beaten again for the second time, and declare Raven and Clarke the ultimate champions. Clarke blushes and laughs at the round of begrudging applause and cheers the partygoers cynically throw their way. Raven, though, Raven bows and lifts her hands up to her ears asking for more.

She is…

She is so ridiculous and Clarke loves her so much.

Lexa hands her a fresh cup of beer when she is finally released from her partner duties. Kisses her with a little extra something and smiles against her lips.

“Impressed?”

“Definitely,” Lexa nods. Her voice is husky and Clarke can feel that tension that lives in the space between them ramp up.

“Come on,” She pulls Lexa through the large kitchen away from the beer pong and to the bathroom she found in the hall. They only have to wait a moment for a tiny blonde girl to stumble out with a laugh before she has Lexa inside and the door shut and locked behind them.

They meet in a heated kiss, well past any teasing or propriety. Clarke knows what she wants and thrums with it. Lexa’s hands grip her ass and pull her close, her lips nonstop and devastating.

Hands sneak under Clarke’s shirt and scratch lightly at the skin at the base of her back. She gasps and pulls at Lexa’s lip a little, spurning her on.

Swallows the moan that lives in the back of Lexa’s throat.

Comes alive with it.

Tugs at the scrubs and tries to get Lexa closer, closer.

“Where did you get these,” she says, nipping along Lexa’s sharp jaw.

“My hamper,” Lexa replies, tilting her head to allow Clarke more access. They thud back against the door and Clarke groans at the way their bodies bump together. Push up against each other and seek the heat. “They’re the ones you wore home last week because you were-” she stops to gasp as Clarke’s hands rake up her stomach. “Too tired.” She finishes and tilts Clarke’s mouth back to hers.

“The coat?”

“Hospital laundry. Rhonda seemed particularly keen with me.”

“Do I have to keep an eye on that?”

“Hmm… maybe.” Lexa jokes. “I washed these by the way.”

“I can tell. They don’t smell like a fifteen hour surgery.”

“Just checking.”

Clarke dips into her again and keeps sliding her hands up, up. Teasing just under Lexa’s bra. There’s a patch of skin there that is so soft, and so sensitive, it always causes a reaction.

She’s not disappointed when Lexa inhales quickly and pulls her lips away from Clarke’s.

“Clarke,” she gasps.

“Shh, babe.” Clarke captures her mouth again and slides her thigh between Lexa’s in earnest. All too familiar with the very thin barrier the scrubs provide. Lexa’s teeth sink into her lower lip for a moment before her head tilts back again, enjoying the way Clarke’s thigh moves up against her.

Clarke smirks and kisses the strong neck under her lips, runs her tongue along that little dip just before Lexa’s collarbones.

Smiles as Lexa’s hands press into her lower back and pull her closer, tighter. She wiggles her fingers and gets up under the cloth and wire barrier, teasing the underside of Lexa’s breasts.

“Clarke,” Lexa hisses. Breaks out of their trance. Stands up straighter and looks at Clarke with wide, dark eyes. “We can’t.”

“Why not?” Clarke bites her lip.

“If we start this here we’ll have to finish. And I am not about to do this quickly.”

Those words send a shudder down Clarke’s spine. She’s suddenly speechless and gaping.

Lexa releases her grip on Clarke’s back and toys with the devil horns that have started to slip down her hair in the wake of their make out.

“Very, very appropriate.” She smiles and fixes them.

Clarke tries to shake the lust off of her, but it’s just not happening with Lexa looking at her like that.

“Come on, let’s go home and you can get me out of your scrubs.”

Another shiver. Clarke has to kiss her again after that. It’s hot and wet and insistent.

“Clarke, please…” Lexa begs and that’s what breaks her out of the trance. She needs all of Lexa, and she won’t be able to have her in this stranger’s bathroom.

“Okay, okay. Let’s go.”

They exit the bathroom much the way they went in, with Clarke throwing open the door and dragging Lexa behind her. They earn a smirk and a low whistle of appreciation from a guy waiting in the hall and Clarke would stop to shove him if she could think about anything else. But all she can focus on is getting Lexa inside of her.

Instead, they make their way to the door, grab Clarke’s bag and spill out onto the street.

“Wanna order a car? It’ll be quicker.” Lexa asks, tugging Clarke to a stop and waving her phone in her free hand.

“Yeah, do it.”

“Two minutes,” she says, eyes focused on Clarke’s lips again.

“Good.”

The wait is agony. They get closer and closer together. Share heated looks. The tension building.

The blue car pulls up and they both jump inside, eager to get back. Their pinkies touch on the seat between them, but nothing else.

Clarke can’t risk it.

Can’t even touch this girl next to her for fear that the unstoppable urges will take over. She leans her head on the window instead. Watches the city pass by outside and enjoys the cool glass on her face.

It’s soothing. Lexa’s presence relaxes her and the long shifts she’s had for the past few days creep over her. The beer she consumed on too empty of a stomach starts to work its magic. Her eyes feel heavy and she sits back in the seat even more.

The car ride isn’t long, but it’s long enough for Clarke to start drifting.

Even with the dirty make out still prickling her skin. And Lexa close to her, ready to reconnect after a long week.

She doesn’t realize she drifted off until Lexa is nudging her gently. “Come on, Clarke. We’re here.”

Clarke hums and allows Lexa to guide her out of the car. She hears hushed thanks and then the driver is gone. Clarke opens her eyes and tries to wake up. She smiles when she sees Lexa standing there under the streetlights in her scrubs with her bag over her shoulder and hair messily falling out of its bun.

It’s such a sight.

A warm wave tugs at Clarke and she steps closer to Lexa. cups her elbows and pulls her in for a soft kiss.

“What was that for?”

“I just like you, I guess.” Clarke shrugs. She loves the smile that plays at Lexa’s lips. It starts slow but opens and blooms beautifully into her full wide smile. The toothy grin that Clarke knows is special.

Lexa pulls her into a hug and hums happily.

“Ready to go upstairs?” Clarke teases it out.

“To bed? Yeah,” Lexa responds.

“No…” Clarke sasses. Stifles a yawn.

“You’re exhausted, Clarke.”

“No, I’m fine, I’m fine. It’s time for me to do dirty, dirty things to you, Lex.”

“Let’s see if you can make it all the way up and to the bedroom. Then we can renegotiate.”

Clarke groans as Lexa guides them up the stairs and to the front door. She feels weaker with every step, and grumpy because Lexa is probably right.

But all she really wants to do is make her come.

“You look good in my scrubs…” she purrs, her face tucked into Lexa’s neck.

“Don’t worry, I’ve already made note of that for the future.”

“Oh yeah? I think you’re the one who needs these devil horns, Lex.”

Lexa laughs as they begin the slow climb up to her apartment and Clarke’s heart flutters in her chest.

In the end, she does get Lexa out of her scrubs with a few long, slow, wonderful kisses stretched between them. But instead of the hot, steamy, dirty sex she was craving, she is pushed down into Lexa’s sheets with arms wrapped around her as they settle next to each other and drift away to sleep.

#clexa #clexahalloweenweek #SEIYB!verse

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welllpthisishappening · 7 years ago

Text

Tripping Over the Blue Line (27/45)

It’s a transition. That’s what Emma’s calling it. She’s transitioning from one team to another, from one coast to another and she’s definitely not worried. Nope. She’s fine. Really. She’s promised Mary Margaret ten times already. So she got fired. Whatever. She’s fine, ready to settle into life with the New York Rangers. She’s got a job to do. And she doesn’t care about Killian Jones, captain of the New York Rangers. At all.

He’s done. One more season and he’s a free agent and he’s out. It’s win or nothing for Killian. He’s going to win a Stanley Cup and then he’s going to stop being the face of the franchise and he’s going to go play for some other garbage team where his name won’t be used as puns in New York Post headlines. That’s the plan. And Emma Swan, director of New York Rangers community relations isn’t going to change that. At all.

They are both horrible liars.

Rating: Mature Content Warnings: Swearing, eventual hockey-type violence AN: I wrote most of this chapter during a playoff basketball game, in case anyone was wondering. The angst. It’s looming. But have some flirting in the meantime. And Graham Humbert. As always, you guys are tremendous and every click, comment, message, passing thought, is fantastic. This would not have existed without @laurnorder, @distant-rose and @beautiful-swan. Also living on Ao3, FF.net & tag’ed up on Tumblr.

He could get used to this.

No, scratch that. He was used to this. He was used to the feel of her next to him and the way she tugged the blankets over her shoulders, tight enough that Killian was half certain she was going to choke herself with them, and the way her feet were never quite warm, closer to blocks of ice that frequently hit up against the front of his shins when she pulled them up.

It didn’t make much sense, but Killian was used to it and could get even more used to it and maybe wanted to stay used to it for the rest of his life.

Except for the hair in his face. That was kind of driving him crazy – blonde streaks that didn’t just fan out over the pillow, but found their way across his cheek and against his nose and he’d lost track of the number of times he’d woken up sniffling slightly when Emma’s hair tickled across his face.

He reached out slowly, blinking blearily when he remembered where they were – a hotel in Los Angeles and All-Star weekend and it was skills day and they had fan events before and after skills and the Vankald-Jones family was slated to fly into LAX that morning. They were probably landing at that moment.

Killian took a deep breath, trying to make sure he didn’t actually move the bed and Emma shifted against his front, burrowing into the cocoon of blankets she’d created for herself during the middle of the night.

He gritted his teeth – far too aware of every inch of her skin against his – and he hadn’t meant to talk as much as he had the night before, every vaguely sentimental and overwhelming thought that had crossed his mind in the last few months, spilling out of his mouth in the middle of a hotel room in Los Angeles.

God, that air conditioner was loud. How had they fallen asleep?

Probably because they were so wrapped up in each other and how easy it had been to fall into this and fall in love with her and that was even more sentiment.

He had to skate later. He had to bring Roland Locksley on the ice and probably pose for more photo ops and smile for more cameras and there’d probably be an absolutely ridiculous amount of interviews with an absolutely ridiculous amount of questions about his FA status, but Killian couldn’t quite bring himself to care.

Emma was still asleep, feet pressed up against his shins – like normal – and that was enough to make him certain he’d do it all again.

He’d agree to All-Star weekend and another jersey with a ‘C’ on the front of it and he’d even answer the questions, maybe even throw in that he was particularly interested in returning to New York. That would probably drive Regina insane.

He was definitely going to do it.

New York still hadn’t made a move, hadn’t offered anything and the Rangers front office appeared impervious to Regina’s glares at this point, seemingly learning a thing or two after handing out a max deal to Robin the year before.

And Regina kept promising it would be fine, but she couldn’t ever quite bring herself to look Killian in the eye and, well, that was enough to make falling asleep, even with Emma pressed against him, a bit harder than usual.

He needed to relax.

They still had weeks until the deadline, still had plenty of reason to think the Rangers would sign him to an extension and maybe it wouldn’t be a max, but he’d take a cut if it meant staying in New York. Right? Absolutely.

Who could say no to that?

Not the New York Rangers. He was a goddamn all-star. They were still in a Wild Card spot – better than even winning the Metro at this point, since the Atlantic was garbage and they could absolutely beat the Canadiens in the first round, Killian was sure of it.

So, he had offers from other teams. So, a few months ago, that was exactly what he wanted. He was allowed to change his mind.

He could get what he wanted.

“It’ll be fine,” he muttered and he hadn’t meant to actually say the words out loud.

Emma moved again, hair shifting across the pillow when she sighed softly. “What did you say?” she asked, voice muffled when she tried to shift.

“Nothing, love,” Killian said quickly, squeezing his eyes shut in frustration when he realized he’d woken her up.

She grumbled and she’d gotten as good at reading him as El – maybe better, considering she wasn’t even looking at him – flipping onto her back and twisting her head to the side to level him with a very particular type of stare. “It’s early still,” Emma said, nodding towards the still dark windows outside. “Why are you awake?” “Force of habit.” “Yuh huh.” “It’s fine, Swan.” “Yeah, so you mentioned before.” “You asked what I said.” Emma shrugged, eyes still tinged with just a bit of tired when she blinked again. “That was just being polite.” “Ah, that so?” Killian asked, gaze tracing across her face and she absolutely knew something was wrong. He didn’t say anything.

Selfish. And just a bit terrified.

Emma twisted her lips and she’d brought the blanket with her when she’d moved, the edges of it wrapped up in her fingers when Killian’s eyes traced down her wrists. “What aren’t you telling me?” she asked.

“Nothing.”

“You woke up ridiculously early.” “I told you, Swan, that’s just force of habit. Early ice times and film and I think they’re supposed to be landing soon.” “You don’t know when your brother and El are landing?” “I’ve got some other things going on.” Emma’s eyebrows shot up her forehead and she grinned knowingly at him. “Things that would make you wake up earlier than you have to on a weekend that’s supposed to be fun?”

Caught.

Killian felt his eyes widened a bit and he huffed slightly, trying to pull the blanket out of the vice-like grip Emma had on it. It didn’t work. If anything, she tightened her fingers around it, staring at him intently as he tried to figure out how to explain any of this.

He’d tried the night before – had muttered more than anything in her ear in the back seat of a town car and tried to remember every single fact he could about the city of Los Angeles, shoulders going almost painfully straight when he saw Emma’s eyes as soon as they’d stepped onto the sidewalk.

And he knew it was a possibility, the PR guy was probably going to show up at some point during the weekend, but he hadn’t thought it would be in the middle of on an event and she had enough to deal with already – Bobby Flay and a lack of Bobby Flay and even just being in Los Angeles to begin with.

So he’d tried to explain, to find the words that had been bouncing around his head since August, the way Emma Swan might have changed his entire worldview, and made New York the only thing he cared about simply by virtue of her being there, but then he’d opened his mouth and he couldn't quite do it.

He’d stumbled over the sentiment in a way he’d never stumbled over anything before, half sentences that didn’t quite make sense and proclamations that she was it in the middle of a bed that had far too few pillows on it.

Killian was just glad he came to LA.

He’d be more happy if he knew he had some sort of on-ice future after they left LA and this weekend that was, apparently, supposed to be fun, but that was different concern all together. He needed to stop worrying.

His picture was on the side of Madison Square Garden.

“Hey,” Emma said softly, tapping her finger against his shoulder and she’d finally let go of the blanket. “You went all glossy there for a second.” Killian blinked once, gaze zeroing in on her arm and the concerned look on her face and Emma just widened her eyes, waiting for an answer. “Fine, Swan,” he repeated and she didn’t look particularly convinced.

He wouldn’t have been either.

And he was somewhere in between just telling her, words threatening to tumble out of his mouth again, and just kissing her until she couldn’t see straight and he couldn’t overthink, so, naturally, his phone rang.

Emma laughed softly, teeth tracing across her lower lip. “Look who just landed,” she muttered, ignoring Killian’s groan when he rolled on his side to grab the ridiculously loud phone.

“What?” he snapped into the phone and Emma made a reproachful noise in the back of her throat.

“Weren’t you already awake?” Elsa asked on the other end, hardly reacting to whatever temper tantrum he was throwing in the middle of a hotel room.

“That doesn’t mean it’s not early, El.” She didn’t say anything for half a second and he could see the smile inching across her face as easily as if she was standing in front of him – which wasn’t something he was particularly interested in when Emma was still laying next to him, a distinct lack of clothing on either one of them. “Oh,” Elsa laughed. “Did I wake Emma up?” Liam made a scandalized noise in the background and that made the twins start yelling and Killian could hear shouts about jerseysand Roland and ice and he was smiling in spite of himself almost immediately.

Maybe this weekend wouldn’t be the worst. Maybe it would be fun. Maybe he should tell his girlfriend he was terrified of free agency in a way he’d never been terrified of anything in his entire life.

It was too early for that.

“Did you guys land, El?” Killian asked, brushing over the question completely. She grumbled at that, far too familiar with his brush-off techniques. “Or are you just endangering an entire plane full of Los Angeles-bound passengers?” “Ok, first of all, I’m not even convinced that’s a thing and second of all, I wouldn’t do that even if it was a thing and third of all, yes, we did land and we’re getting our bags and going to check into the hotel.” “Was this just to let me know that? Because I appreciate it, but it is kind of early.” “You’ve mentioned that several times now, KJ. We just need to know where to go later.” “I told Liam where the thing was days ago.” “And in that time we’ve had several mini crises to deal with and four-year-olds to pack for who were only interested in bringing team-branded merchandise and Liam forgot. No, no, don’t click your tongue, I know you want to and I’m not interested. Just tell me where to go.” He did his best not to laugh – he really did – but he couldn’t quite turn it into a convincing cough or anything that sounded except the scoff it absolutely was and both Elsa and Emma groaned at the same time.

Emma tapped on his shoulder again, holding out her hand expectantly. “What?” Killian asked.

“Gimme the phone, you’re all grumpy.” “Grumpy?” “The phone.” Killian sighed, but he could hear Elsa’s agreement in the background and now Liam was the one trying to hide his laughter. He needed to shoot at something. He’d probably win several skills competitions fueled on frustration alone at this point.

Emma moved her fingers again, twisting her wrist and he only put the phone in her hand when the laces around her wrist shook slightly. “Hey, Elsa,” she said, hardly sounding as if she’d only just woken up a few minutes before because he’d been talking to himself.

“Yeah,” Emma continued, answering a question Killian couldn’t actually hear. “No, you can definitely bring them. I mean, it’s a chain, they’ll have burgers and stuff. It’s probably easier if you walk, actually.”

She nodded again when Elsa asked another question and Killian knew he was staring, eyes tracing over her face and the smile there and the way she kept darting her gaze towards him, that certainty that he wasn’t telling her something painfully obvious every time Emma looked his direction.

“Come at three,” Emma said, words mumbled a bit when she yawned. It was very early. “No, Elsa, I promise it’s fine. There’s a whole room in the back and I’ve got to be there early anyway. They’re encouraged to wear team-branded.”

Elsa said something else and then Liam’s voice was on the phone and Emma was still smiling, a fact that was probably going to spark a whole slew of brand-new sentimental thoughts as well.

“Alright,” Killian muttered, tugging the phone away from Emma’s ear. She glared at him when he did it, but he kissed the side of her cheek quickly and Liam was still talking, unaware that no one was really listening to him.

“Liam,” he interrupted and Emma was sitting up now, blankets pooled around her waist in a way that made him want to do anything except be on the phone with a clearly overwhelmed older brother. Liam, however, didn’t realize – still talking and asking questions and location of the hotel in relation to the restaurant the pre-skills fan event was at.

“It’s across the street right?” Liam asked. Killian wasn’t sure who he was talking to, sounding as if he wasn’t actually talking into the phone. He was absolutely asking Elsa and Killian could hear her soft grunt in reply, the sounds of the LAX baggage claim echoing in his ear as well.

“God, Liam, your wife is five months pregnant, get your own goddamn luggage,” Killian muttered.

“Grumpy,” Emma whispered under her breath, gasping slightly when Killian’s arm snaked around her waist, tugging her back down against his side. “You know we have to get out of bed eventually, I do have two events to run.” “A fact I’m painfully aware of, love.” “Painfully?” Killian made a significant face, moving his shoulder up as if that proved something and Liam was still grumbling on the other end of the phone. “If we’re going to keep having this conversation,” Liam hissed, “we should probably at least try talking to each other during it.”

“That was your fault,” Killian shot back. “You’re the one who picked the most inopportune time to call.” “You couldn’t possibly be busy right now.” “Oh my God, I’m not having this conversation.” Emma laughed, head pushed against the curve of his shoulder and that was hardlyplaying fair. This phone call needed to end.

“Yeah, well, we needed to know where to go.” “And look at that, now you do.” “Why are you being an ass?” Liam asked, the sound of a very clearly frustrated Elsa almost perfectly audible over the hum of an international airport in the background. “He is, Elsa! It’s not even that early, he was definitely already up!” Killian rolled his eyes and Emma was hysterical, body shaking against his as she squeezed her arm around him. “You are not playing fair at all, Swan,” he mumbled.

“Will you pay attention for two seconds,” Liam snapped. The sounds had changed now – they were definitely outside now, which seemed like a step in the right direction.

“Aye aye, captain,” Killian said, another force of habit and Liam didn’t say anything for several hours, at least.

Or at it felt like several hours. Emma stopped laughing, pulling her head up to stare at him questioningly and Killian made a face.

It was fine.

It was all going to be fine. He wasn’t grumpy – he was just worried.

And taking it out on everybody else. He probably should have gone back to sleep.

“Three o’clock?” Liam asked, slamming a door shut behind him. “And we can walk from the hotel?” “Yes and yes,” Killian answered. “Although I don’t know why we’re still having this conversation if Swan already told El both of those things two seconds before.” “Did you miss the part where we had to stave off several pre-weekend crises?”

He had. He’d only been kind of half listening. Jerk. “Apparently,” Killian muttered.

“Three o’clock, little brother. We’ll be the ones in a ridiculous amount of team-branded.” And he didn’t even get the chance to say younger brother before Liam started laughing and hung up the phone.

That seemed kind of fitting.

Emma didn’t say anything – head back on his shoulder and fingers tracing along his side – and it all felt a bit like a balancing act, something about skates and thin pieces of metal or that stick-handling competition he’d have to take part in later that night.

“It’s fine, Swan,” Killian said, sighing slightly when he couldn’t come up with something else to promise.

“So I’ve heard,” Emma mumbled and he jerked up slightly when her lips hit along his collarbone. “You’re very slow on the uptake, you know.” “What do you mean?” “I mean you have no concept of date when it doesn’t dictate what’s happening on the ice.” Emma pulled her head up, staring at him meaningfully and he still didn’t understand what was going on. “And,” she continued, tapping one finger against his chest. “You’re not usually this...what was that word you used for me before? Prickly. You’re not usually this prickly in the morning.” “Maybe I’m just avoiding getting out of this bed.”

One side of her mouth quirked up and, well, it wasn’t entirely a lie. He didn’t want to get out of bed and he would have been content if Emma’s fingers stayed on his skin for the rest of time. He should probably tell her that too.

And he should probably make a list of all the things he needed to do.

“You’ve got photo ops,” Emma muttered, but she’d ducked her head and her lips were back on his skin and just behind his ear and tracing along his neck and he’d lost all train of thought that wasn’t explicitly focused on her.

“It’s still early, Swan,” he argued. His hand found her hips, gripping tightly around her until she was half laying on top of him.

“This internal alarm clock of yours is kind of weird, you know.” “Helpful.” “How you figure?” “Well,” Killian said slowly, turning on her and Emma was on her back and he’d probably think about that sound she made the entire time he was on the ice that night. “It does leave us with some previously unscheduled free time.”

“You think so, Cap?”

“Swan.” She smiled at him and the look shot straight to his core and several other places and he kissed her when the first knock came. “Jesus Christ,” Killian mumbled and even Emma groaned slightly, shaking her head as she tried to keep kissing him.

“No, no, just ignore it, maybe they’ll go away, maybe it’s housekeeping or something.” “There’s a do not disturb sign hanging on the door, it’s not housekeeping.” “Look who was efficient last night. I didn’t even notice you do that last night.” “Go ahead and tell me how impressed you are, love.” “That ego doesn’t need any more help from me. You’ve got eight interviews to do later today and two different fan events that’ll have people fawning all over you. I am, but an afterthought on any of that.” He knew she was joking, could see the flash in her eyes that was a signal of the sarcasm and the attempts at humor and none of it really mattered, because somewhere between the hallway and the gym and that moment in the middle of a king-sized bed in a Los Angeles hotel room, he’d taken it upon himself to make sure Emma Swan never felt like an afterthought of anything.

Tell her the truth. There’s not anything to tell. You’re staying in New York. It’ll be fine.

“Oh, serious face,” Emma muttered, fingers tugging on the hair at the nape of his neck. The knock came again. “C’mon, you know I was joking.” “I do,” Killian said quickly, nodding for good measure.

Emma huffed and pushed against his shoulders – he didn’t move. That just made her huff again, rocking her head back and forth on the pillow. “What aren’t you telling me? For real. You’re doing that thing with your face.”

“That thing with my face?” “Yeah.” The knock came again, but it sounded a bit more nervous, as if the person on the other side suddenly realized they were interrupting a conversation and a lack of clothes and there was, suddenly, another set of footsteps in the hallway.

Roland. It had been Roland.

“Sorry, sorry,” Robin shouted towards the still-closed door. “We’re going back to our hallway now and Rol’s not going to try and break into other hotel rooms, right?” “Right,” Roland sighed. Emma hadn’t stopped staring at Killian.

“We’re leaving now,” Robin continued, doing a horrible job of actually doing that. “We’ll, uh, we’ll see you guys later. As you were. Or whatever.” Neither one of them moved – even after Robin’s steps had retreated and he must have actually carried Roland away from the door “I’m glad you’re here,” Emma whispered and her voice was so soft, Killian wasn’t entirely sure he heard it.

“What?”

She grimaced, squeezing one eye shut and he tried to rest his weight on his forearms so he didn’t actually crush her. “I didn’t say anything last night and I know I’ve got a habit of doing that, not saying things and then just blurting things out and, I, well, I’m glad you’re here. That’s all.” Killian shook his head slowly, disbelief sinking through him. “No, Swan,” he countered. “Not all. That’s...everything.” “Sap.” “Absolutely.” “You’re going to have to answer an absurd amount of contract questions, you know,” Emma said suddenly, as if the realization had only just dawned on her.

“That’s alright.” “Yeah?” “Sure. I knew that going in.” “Did you? What are you going to say?” Killian hummed in the back of his throat. “Probably wing it. That’s what I normally do. It drives Gina absolutely crazy.” “Which is probably half the reason you do it, right?” Emma asked, hand still in his hair. Her thumb kept moving up and down the line of his spine. Killian just shrugged – they were back on that blade or however the metaphor had been working. “That’s what it is, isn’t it?” she pressed, thumb tapping out an impatient rhythm now. “It’s not like they won’t resign you. You’re on the side of the Garden!” And for the first time since he’d opened his eyes that morning, Killian actually felt like he was breathing again, certain he could linger in the confidence in Emma’s voice for the entire weekend.

“We’ll see, love,” Killian said and Emma’s eyes dimmed slightly. “That’s why I pay Regina an exorbitant amount of money.” “They will,” Emma repeated. She twisted underneath him, pulling herself back to her side of the enormous bed and Killian bit back the urge to sigh at the movement. “I’m going to take a shower,” she said.

“Ok.” “That was also an invitation.” He moved quicker than he could remember ever moving, blankets and worries and free agent deals forgotten as soon as he saw the smile on Emma’s face.

“You’re lurking,” Liam muttered, sinking down next to him at the end of the bar. He had a drink in his hand and an infuriatingly self-satisfied look on his face and Killian didn’t even try and stop himself from groaning.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Killian argued. “What’s going on with you?” “Same answer.” Liam made a noise in the back of his throat – matching up almost perfectly with the look on his face – and Killian pulled his eyes away from his frustratingly well-informed older brother to stare across the restaurant at Emma, fully in her element with a smile on her face and his All-Star jersey on.

There were more fans here than there’d been in the square and, thankfully, no sudden appearance from Kings PR directors threatening to absolutely destroy the entire weekend. Mulan was taking pictures and there was a camera there, something about filming it for the website and Roland had done his best to steal most of the spotlight, directing the twins in some sort of overcomplicated cheer.

The fans kept clapping and ooohing and Killian was sitting in the corner of the bar, the same drink he’d ordered when he’d walked in an hour ago sitting almost untouched in front of him.

“Seriously,” Liam sighed, kicking at Killian’s outstretched leg. “You haven’t even asked what the crisis was. That’s not you at all.”

Shit. He hadn’t.

He’d been too preoccupied with the bed and the omissions that weren’t really lies, but might be as bad as lies and Killian’s head snapped up when the door to the restaurant swung open again, the small army of fans gasping when they realized who it was.

“Graham,” Emma yelled, the smile on her face growing as she practically sprinted towards him. He was wearing Vancouver gear, but he caught her when she all but leapt towards him, arms wrapping around her waist tightly.

Killian could feel Liam’s gaze on him, knew he was biting his lip and his eyes had narrowed slightly. Graham said something, his own smile taking up three quarters of his face, and Killian took a swig of his drink.

“Emma knows Graham Humbert?” Liam asked, kicking at Killian’s foot again.

“She started in Vancouver,” he answered. “Before she came to LA.” “Wait, wait, she worked here?” “Did you not know that?” “No, because you’re trying to keep this relationship a secret.” “I’m not,” Killian sighed and Liam made a disbelieving noise that sounded a bit like a guffaw. “It’s just…” “What?” “I’m not going to mess this up.” Liam almost looked surprised at that, holding his arm up out of instinct as soon as Elsa moved towards him. She settled against his side, hands resting on her stomach and she didn’t look surprised. She looked...elated.

“Good,” Elsa said. “And you’re not, by the way.”

“Did you know Emma worked in LA?” Liam asked.

“Wait, what? Really?” She stared at Killian and he’d almost finished the drink at this point. “You won’t even be able to stay upright later,” Elsa pointed out, tapping her nail against the almost empty glass critically.

“I’ll be fine,” Killian promised. He kept using that word. He needed another word.

“Yuh huh,” Elsa mumbled.

“You know,” Liam said pointedly, glancing at Elsa before he continued. “I don’t think he’s told Emma the entire truth.” “You know, I think you might be right.” Killian rolled his eyes, not looking forward to the intervention or the lecture he was just a few moments away from. “An omission,” he said, arguing with himself as much as he was the two determined individuals standing in front of him with skeptical looks on their faces. “And neither one of you has any tact at all. You’re practically shouting all of this in the middle of a fan event.” “No one is shouting anything, KJ,” Elsa muttered, reaching her hand out to rest against the jersey he’d been forced into.

“But, like, why haven’t you told her?” Liam continued and even Elsa rolled her eyes at that.

“It’s not like she had some great experience working in LA,” Killian reasoned. “There’s a reason she came to New York this year and it timed up pretty well with Gold buying the Kings and her ex-boyfriend taking her job.” Liam let out a low whistle and Elsa’s grip on his wrist tightened a fraction of an inch. They both opened their mouths at the same time – probably some poor attempt at supportive and every reason Killian had already come up with for why he should just tell Emma – but neither one of them got a chance.

“Hey,” Emma said brightly, Graham Humbert on her side and there was a trail of fans behind both of them, eyes trained on the Canucks winger. “You got a minute?” “Two, in fact, Swan,” Killian answered. He pulled his hand away from Elsa’s, refusing to acknowledge whatever she was doing with her face and held out his hand towards Humbert. “Killian,” he said. “It’s nice to meet you when I’m not trying to check you.” Humbert laughed and Emma’s eyes kept darting in between them, tongue flicking out over lower lip in a way that was almost completely distracting. “Ah, there’s a good reason for the checking,” Humbert said. “I heard you’re front-runner for the Hart.” “He is,” Emma said quickly, stepping into his space almost as soon as the words were out of her mouth. Killian felt his eyes widen, dimly aware of the look Liam shot Elsa’s direction. It was far too crowded in this restaurant.

Humbert smiled, lips quirking up and he hummed in the back of his throat. “You must be Liam Jones,” he continued, glancing at the other half of the Jones brothers perched in front of the bar. “I remember you guys winning that national title, I think we talked about that set-up in Vancouver for a month after. Hell of a pass.” “Thanks,” Liam said and Killian’s stomach clenched. He glanced cautiously at Elsa and her hand had fallen back on her stomach, fingers tapping out a quick rhythm that seemed to counter the almost calm look on her face.

Emma realized what was going on immediately, fingers lacing through Killian’s without a word and Graham didn’t even bat an eyelash at that. “How was your flight?’ she asked, directing her question at both Liam and Elsa.

“Better once the twins fell asleep,” Elsa admitted. “And once she stopped moving.” Her eyes widened and her mouth fell open and Killian was more worried about staying upright in that moment than he was whenever he eventually got on the ice. “Well, there went that surprise,” Liam muttered, but he was smiling. “We were going to tell you at some point this weekend. That was the crisis, by the way.” “Is everything ok?” Killian asked, tightening his hand around Emma’s out of instinct.

“It’s fine, KJ,” Elsa promised. “Just there was a lot of kicking and a, frankly, ridiculous amount of heartburn and we went to the doctor and got an ultrasound and, well, it’s a girl.”

“Surprise,” Liam added, barely even moving when Killian pulled Elsa into his arms. Or arm. He hadn’t actually let go of Emma’s hand.

And he almost felt bad for Graham Humbert, pulled into this weird, family moment in the corner of some chain restaurant a few blocks away from the Staples Center, but the winger didn’t seem too put off by it – smile widening even more when he saw the look on Emma’s face.

Her free hand was pressed against her mouth, smile obvious even behind her fingers and she kept blinking. Killian let go of Elsa, arm wrapping around Emma’s shoulders and his lips found the top of her hair almost immediately.

“Banana’s going to be mad she missed another moment,” Killian pointed out and Liam shrugged. “She and Kristoff went to some sort of mountain retreat. I shudder to think what Anna is actually doing this weekend.” “Oh, God, enough” “You brought it up!” “Will both of you quit it?” Elsa sighed, shaking her head in frustration. “Jeez. Children, both of you.” “We should be celebrating shouldn’t, we?” Emma asked. “Right? Like not champagne, obviously, but there’s got to be something you can drink here.” “Soda has bubbles.” “No caffeine, though,” Liam warned and Elsa rolled her eyes.

“Soda it is,” Emma agreed, nodding towards one of the bartenders a few feet away from them. The glasses were filled with Sprite, because Liam was nothing if consistently frustrating, and Emma took a deep breath when she held up her drink. “To Liam and Elsa and…”

Elsa was crying, tears falling down her face quicker than she could brush them away because she didn’t actually have a free hand and something in the back of Killian’s mind realized what was going to happen before it actually did. “Lizzie,” she mumbled, staring at her shoes and Killian didn’t move.

Liam was staring at him. Emma was staring at him. Graham Humbert was playing with the laces of his Canucks jersey.

“Lizzie,” Killian repeated slowly, like he was testing out the name on his tongue. Elsa glanced up, cheeks still tear-stained and nodded slowly. “I like it.” “Well, you didn’t really have much of a choice,” Liam added quickly, cutting himself off when Elsa elbowed him in the side.

“We just thought…” Elsa started.

“Yeah, I know,” Killian said. “She’ll probably be the first female hockey player in the league.” “They have a women’s league now, KJ.” “Well, then she can be captain of that one too. She’ll play in both leagues.” “You’ve already decided that?” “Absolutely.” Elsa laughed, but it sounded a bit like an exhale and she nodded. “To Lizzie,” Killian said and all five of them clinked glasses before they downed the soda.

They stayed for another hour – and toasted the soon-to-be-born Lizzie Vankald-Jones several times with a variety of different sodas – and it was better than the fine Killian kept promising himself it would be.

It was happy and hopeful and the ridiculous pomp of a skills competition that required him to skate as fast as he possibly could didn’t seem quite as ridiculous – until there was a microphone in his face and a camera light in his eyes and Killian had to squint to make out the reporters standing a few in front of him.

“What about free agency?” “Are you determined to stay in New York?” “We heard the Stars expressed some interest.” And then the one he hadn’t been expecting – a voice he didn’t know and a face he didn’t recognize and the question nearly made him laugh it was that ridiculous. “Killian, is there any truth to the rumor you’ll be heading out here permanently?” “What?” he gaped, running a hand through his hair before he could stop himself. “Where the hell did you hear that?”

Regina would kill him when she heard that soundbite. He hoped no one ever heard that soundbite. The reporter shrugged, brushing her hair off her shoulders and staring at him with a stare that made him twist his eyebrows in confusion.

The woman smiled just a bit wider and the lights got a bit brighter – or maybe he was just losing his mind. “Los Angeles,” she repeated, glancing around her as if she were introducing him to the city as a whole. “There’s been a report you’re heading here at the deadline. Care to comment.” “No.” “No to the comment or no to the rumor?” “No,” Killian repeated and the reporter stared at him a bit ruefully. “Now, if you guys will excuse me, I’ve got to go skate fast and help make sure some pretty adorable kid doesn’t fall over on the ice.” Roland didn’t fall over – he skated better than Killian and Robin combined and the two-man jersey was so well-made Killian was certain Regina would lord that fact over him for the rest of his life and then probably a few days after, just to make sure he never forgot how much it cost.

He laughed when Humbert tried to guard against him, twisting around backwards to try and block his shot and if this was All-Star weekend, then, maybe, this wasn’t that bad.

“You’re not even trying, Hook,” Roland shouted, crashing into the boards and Killian was certain his spot on the Rangers first line was safe for now. “You can go so much faster than that.” “That so?” Humbert asked, stopping next to Roland and shooting a questioning glance over the six-year-old’s head.

“Seems a little early in the relationship to be falling into sarcasm, doesn’t it?” Killian questioned. He tugged Roland closer to his side, ignoring whatever noise the kid was making in the back of his throat. “And I can’t show all my cards in the first round, Rol.”

“Ah, but I almost feel as if I know you,” Humbert laughed. “I can’t remember the last time I saw Emma smile that much in one afternoon.”

Killian had expected the conversation – had been almost mentally prepared for it as soon as he saw the Canucks jersey walk into the bar that afternoon, but he hadn’t really anticipated it in between speed drills as he tried to catch his breath.

God, he was old.

“Yeah, well, that’s kind of the point,” Killian muttered. Humbert made some sort of noise that might have been agreement or might have been support, undeterred by Roland’s exclamations that they were about to start again.

Humbert nodded thoughtfully, glancing at Killian out of the corner of his eye. “You’re not going to Los Angeles are you?” “Whoever came up with that rumor lied.” “Emma won’t have time to see that spot, especially since it’s local, but if you’re even thinking about going to Los Angeles I might actually take a misconduct in this All-Star game.” Killian scoffed, digging the toe of his skate into the ice. “I’m not going to Los Angeles. You can ask Regina about it if you want.” “I have no idea who that is. I’m not actually on this team.” Point to him.

“Hook,” Roland cried, hitting against Killian’s leg and he didn’t understand why he had to wear full pads if he wasn’t actually going to hit anyone. Or get brutally cross-checked by Graham Humbert, all-star winger. “You’ve got to go. Skate fast.”

“Thanks for the tip, mate,” Killian mumbled and he couldn’t actually mess up Roland’s when there was a league-mandated helmet on his head. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Humbert was still staring at him, something that looked like amusement flashing in his eyes as he followed Killian towards the other side of the ice.

“I realize it’s not really my place you know,” Humbert muttered, tapping his stick thoughtfully on the ice.

“What isn’t?” Killian asked and he kind of dreaded the answer.

“You know she thinks she doesn’t have anyone in her corner. Emma, that is. She thinks she’s on some sort of metaphorical island of emotion or something. And she’d absolutely punch me in the face if she heard me say something like that.” Killian laughed, eyes darting up when the first skater started sprinting down towards the opposite blue line. Slow. Way too slow.

He was absolutely going to win.

There was a deeper meaning in there somewhere. Killian refused to acknowledge that, however, turning, instead, to stare right back at Humbert.

“Yeah,” he agreed. “She would. And Swan’s not nearly as alone as she seems to think she is. That’s a work in progress.” “You sound very determined.” “You’ll find I’m rather determined when it comes to things I want.” “And that’s what you want?” Humbert continued, gaze moving only slightly when another whistle sounded and another skater moved. “For Emma to know she’s not on some sort of emotional island?” “Have I not made that clear?” “You tell me.” “Yes,” Killian said pointedly. “And truth be told, I’m not so concerned about whatever you think you’ll be able to do to me on the ice.” “What are you concerned with?”

“Mary Margaret.” Humbert whistled – the sound barely audible over the scrape of skates and actual whistles and a surprising amount of fans in the Staples Center, most of them decked out in red and blue and some of them were shouting his name. Roland Locksley was absolutely shouting his name. A PA announcer called out his name and Humbert nodded slowly at him as Killian pushed forward towards the crease.

“Yeah,” Humbert said, sounding appropriately intimidated by the teacher on the other side of the country. “She wouldn’t just check you, she’d probably kill you and make it look like an accident. Those police connections make things like that easy.”

Killian grimaced – far too aware that Mary Margaret would do exactly that – before trying to turn that determination to prove something into speed as soon as the whistle sounded and Roland shouted his name again.

He won.

And he couldn’t remember the last time he’d skated that fast – including the breakaway goal earlier that season or when he’d been desperately trying to break out of the skid that absolutely wasn’t Emma’s fault. It all felt a bit instinctual, skates moving and legs moving and Killian was hardly out of breath by the time he found himself behind the opposite net on the other side of the ice.

He could still hear Roland yelling.

The rest of the night didn’t really matter, there were accuracy shots and the relay and some sort of obstacle course that Robin might have won if Killian was actually paying attention to anything – and he was absolutely shirking whatever duties he had as captain of the Metro, but Killian had only really half-listened to the rules when they’d been explained to him that afternoon.

There were more cameras – Robin had been mic’ed up – and more photo ops, posing together in front of lockers and with players who, just a few minutes before, had promised to check Killian particularly hard if he dared mess up things with his girlfriend.

The Rangers contingent made its way into the locker room no less than ten minutes after they’d gotten off the ice – even morecameras and Ruby demanding something about post-game with the beat writers.

“It’s not a game, Rubes,” Robin pointed out, bending over to unlace his skates. Killian hadn’t even bothered sitting down, far too familiar with Ruby Lucas and her post- whatever media demands. They were both going to talk – whether they wanted to or not.

“It doesn’t matter,” Ruby argued, tugging a still-rambunctious Roland against her side. “We’ve got people here and they flew to Los Angeles and you guys are going to give quotes. Also, if you could actually pretend to pay attention, Cap, that’d be super awesome.” Killian snapped his head up, eyes wide with something he hoped looked like innocence. He knew it didn’t work, knew his attention had been completely consumed by the post-fan event he needed to get to if only to see his girlfriend and make sure she hadn’t seen some local Los Angeles news spot about his free agency status.

“I’m definitely paying attention,” Killian said, the lie falling out of his mouth with practiced ease and even Robin scoffed under his breath.

“One statement, one promise that you’re having a super fun time and you love Los Angeles a super amount and then you can get back to that restaurant and everything will be disgustingly romantic,” Ruby muttered. She arched one eyebrow and Roland huffed slightly when she moved him back towards the door.

Killian did everything Ruby told him to – demanded him to – and there were cheers when they walked back into the restaurant, a sea of blue and Let’s go Rangers chants greeting him as soon as he walked through the door.

And it would have been almost endearing, would have made him smile and nod and probably pose for several dozen pictures if Killian still weren’t entirely paying attention. Because he’d done what Ruby had said, stood in front of another slew of reporters and answered questions and swore up and down he was having a super fun time in Los Angeles when he saw someone move in the corner of the press room – a suit and a cane and a face he’d only ever been vaguely aware of in the last five and a half years.

Robert Gold didn’t look quite as intimidating in person as he did in the vaguely absurd picture Killian had created in his head – some sort of crocodile, amphibian monstrosity that might have actually had scales and a tail in one version.

He was old and he had a limp and gray hair that must have been buzzed it was so short. He was wearing a suit and a there was an actual chain going across the vest under his jacket because he was probably the type of person who had a pocket watch.

And he didn’t say anything, didn’t stand in the back corner of the press room for any longer than a few moments, but his eyes had landed on Killian and it almost felt like all the air got sucked out of the room.

It had kind of stolen some of the excitement from the force post-game presser that wasn’t actually a post-game presser and Emma had noticed almost immediately.

Killian nodded towards a group of fans that were shouting something at him, doing his best to smile honestly and he could see Emma weaving her way towards him, eyebrows pulled low and head tilted in the question she hadn’t actually asked yet.

Tell her.

“Hey,” she said, hand falling on the front of the team-branded sweatshirt he’d tugged on when Ruby had tossed it his direction after post. “You were other levels of fast tonight.” “You’ve been talking to Roland.” “Nah, I just have eyes. And David might have sent a string of ridiculous text messages detailing all the reasons you winning that particular skills competition were a sure sign that we were going to win the Cup this season.” And, just like that, he forgot about Gold. He forgot about free agency and a distinct lack of moves from the New York Rangers front office and anything that wasn’t the way his heart seemed to stutter in his chest when Emma Swan used the word we.

He kissed her before he could come up with any kind of response and she was smiling when he moved – like she was waiting for it.

“I have a theory,” Emma muttered, glancing up at him when the door swung open again and even more fans piled into the restaurant. She was absurdly good at her job.

“And that is?” “Why you skated so fast.” “Maybe I was just trying to impress you,” Killian suggested and it wasn’t a complete lie.

Emma laughed, smile widening a bit, but she shook her head.

“Can you be serious for, like, two seconds? I’m trying to ask you a question.” “I thought it was a theory.” “Jones.” Killian nodded solemnly and Emma rolled her eyes, finger looping through the front of his belt. “You freaked out when Liam and El told you what they were going to name the soon-to-be mini Jones-Vankald.” “That’s not true.”

“Yuh huh.” Killian sighed. “Alright, well, maybe a little bit. What’s your theory then, Swan?” “That was your mom’s name wasn’t it?” Emma asked, voice going soft and her finger tightened when his eyes widened out of instinct.

Tell her. Tell her everything. Tell her you’d take a pay cut to stay in New York. With her. Use the word ‘we’ several times in succession.

He didn’t say any of that. He just stared at her in awe and Emma’s smile was nervous at best and, well, he had gotten used to this.

He had gotten used to her.

“I love you,” Killian said, feeling a bit like he was shouting the words at her. He might have been. There were a lot of fans in this restaurant. Or bar? It was a bar.

Emma blinked once, lower lip stuck out a bit and the smile didn’t look quite as cautious anymore. “So I’m going to go ahead and assume that means I was right then? And also I love you too.” “Solid save there at the end, love,” Killian laughed, hand moving instinctively down when Roland collided with his thigh.

“Shouldn’t you be in bed, Roland?” Emma asked, reaching forward to tug on the laces of his customized jersey.

He just shook his head. “It’s All-Star weekend, Emma,” he explained slowly, as if that were the only explanation there could have been for being up at eleven o’clock at night.

“Oh, obviously.” “And,” Roland continued, “dad said that I could stay with him and Hook tonight.” Emma narrowed her eyes, tilting her head slightly, but her smile didn’t waver when she crouched in front of Roland. “That so? And what are you guys going to do?” “We’re going to watch film and probably make fun of the Pens and practice stick-handling,” Roland answered quickly, voice picking up with each facet of the schedule.

“And sleep,” Killian added, ignoring Roland’s soft gasp at even the suggestion.

“You’re no fun at all,” Emma accused.

“It is the night before a game, Swan. There are rules we’re supposed to be sticking to.”

“Seems a bit like an excuse.” Killian shrugged. “Maybe I’m not particularly interested in this plan.” “No?” “The one where I’m not with you? No.” Roland made some sort of six-year-old noise and Emma bit her lip lightly. “Smooth,” she muttered. Roland didn’t seem very impressed.

“Well there was some sort of compliment about skating quickly and being dominant on the ice and absolutely the most impressive player out here.” “I seem to have missed that part. I only remember telling you you skated fast.” “There was an undercurrent of compliment there.”’

Emma shook her head, laughing under her breath and Roland had disappeared at some point – Killian felt guilty for all of half a second before remembering Emma was still standing in front of him and had, just recently, used the word we.

And knew why he’d freaked out about soon-to-be Lizzie Vankald-Jones.

“You were right you know,” Killian added, taking a step forward until his left hand landed on her hip.

“That happens more often than not,” Emma said. “About what?” “It is my mom’s name. Or was. I’m not sure what tense we’re supposed to use.”

Her shoulders sagged just a bit and it felt like she was exhaling, smile taking on a tinge of sadness when she looked up at him. “Yeah, I kind of figured. Are you ok?” “With them using that name?” Emma nodded. “It’s not my kid, so it’s not really my call, but, yeah, I think I am. It seems right. And she’s totally going to dominate both hockey leagues. My mom probably would have appreciated that.”

She kissed him that time and at some point they should probably stop using kissing as some sort of emotional response, but in the middle of that bar with several dozen uniform-wearing fans, Killian didn’t care about anything except the vague idea of a we with Emma.

“I love you,” Emma said again. “A lot.” “I love you too, Swan.”

And he’d do whatever he had to in order to stay in New York.

#cs ff #captain swan ff #ouat ff #cs #csbb #blue line #the never ending saga of the idiot killian jones #who's getting tag-teamed by siblings in los angeles bars

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owlways-and-forever · 7 years ago

Text

A/N: Thank you so much for all your patience and especially for all your positive feedback. I guess this story is something a lot of people wanted, and I’m happy to fill the niche, and hopefully I can give you guys all what you want.

Summary: After tragedy tears his life apart, Killian Jones is determined to exact revenge on the ones who wronged him. But his path to revenge turns out to be a winding one, filled with surprising characters that may even change his life again. American Assassin inspired AU.

Tagging: @killian-whump, @hollyethecurious

Word Count: 1480 (2784)

Links: ao3, ff.net, (tumblr) Prologue

Chapter 1: Caught

Killian dragged himself out of bed at 6:00, rolling away from the girl splayed out next to him under the sheets, bare legs and arms peeking out. He cast a cursory glance in her direction, trying to remember her name – Anna? Or perhaps it was Kate? He shook his head as he grabbed a pair of shorts and pulled them on. It didn’t really matter what her name was, in all likelihood, he would never see her again. It was a routine of sorts, taking home a new woman each night and then leaving for his usual run before she woke up, so he could return home and continue his training in peace. Killian laced up his shoes and quickly gulped down some water before he left stretching his legs as he made his way down the stairs of his apartment building.

It took Killian a little over an hour to finish his customary 10-mile morning run, slower than his usual pace, and when he made it back to his apartment, he felt frustration boiling inside him. Immediately, he grabbed the thick foam wrap and the heavy athletic tape from the coffee table and began delicately wrapping his hands. He never bothered with all the fancy stuff, since it wasn’t exactly boxing he was training for, but he did take some precautions. There was no sense in getting injured before he could accomplish his mission. He cracked his neck and began pounding away at the heavy bag, and time seemed to bleed away into nothing as he worked.

After some time, Killian heard the private messaging app on his computer chirp, alerting him that his contact was back online. He grabbed a towel and wiped the sweat from his forehead, chest, and neck, and then sat down in front of the monitor. The icon showed a new message waiting for him, and he poured himself a tumbler of rum as he clicked on the glowing envelope.

The Pushkin. Donetsk. Two days. Noon.

Killian barely finished reading the message before he was vaulting out of his seat and stuffing his belongings into a rucksack, pulling on clean clothes as he moved. He had less than 48 hours to get to Ukraine, or the opportunity he had been waiting so long for would slip right through his fingers. The months of being tested and having to prove himself at every stage, all so that he could find himself face to face with Zloto, the head of the organization. He had so many burning questions, and Zloto was the only one who could provide the answers.

His fingers brushed over the picture of Milah he kept on the windowsill next to his bed, the only personal item in his studio apartment, and he closed his eyes as the pain swept through him like a tidal wave. He clenched his teeth and used the pain to stoke the fire in his belly. It was rare that Killian didn’t feel a seething anger within him, but Milah’s picture was unfailingly enough to ignite a spark anytime he felt it fade. He grabbed his phone and wallet and stuffed them in the pockets of his hoodie and then headed out the door.

It had started to drizzle outside, and Killian vaguely enjoyed the light tapping of the raindrops on his skin as he walked toward the metro station. He felt like he was always on fire, as if the rage that boiled inside of him actually heated him up. Idly, Killian wondered if others could see steam coming off of him as the drops of rain touched his skin.

Killian’s flight landed in Ukraine and he tapped his feet impatiently, checking his watch. He felt like a ball of energy, or perhaps a ball of tension, as he waited for his rental car and drove to Donetsk. Only the thought of Milah, the image of her blood seeping out into the pool, kept his mind focused on the task at hand. He arrived at The Pushkin a few hours before his meeting was scheduled, so he walked around the city for a little while, noting the chaos that seemed to envelope it. Killian knew the city was a warzone, it was part of his preparation, but there was something different about seeing a warzone with your own eyes. It made the hollowness from his brother’s loss ache painfully, imagining Liam’s last moments spent fearfully in a place like this.

At last noon arrived, and Killian made sure he was sitting at a visible table, his back to the wall so no one could sneak up on him, and he surreptitiously sipped a glass of water that had been placed in front of him. It tasted unpleasantly of copper and it reminded him of the way blood tasted on his lips, and he hoped it wasn’t a premonition of the way his day was going to go.

Precisely nine minutes past noon, his waiter slipped a note onto the table with another address, and Killian ducked out of the restaurant, careful to remain inconspicuous. He made his way to the new address – a seemingly abandoned building that looked as though it had taken a shelling. He kept his eyes peeled as he picked his way through the rubble, looking for any sign of an ambush. Inside the building were too large, brawny men flanking a doorway, and Killian approached them slowly, trying to make it clear that he was on their side. Their hands tightened on the rifles they clutched, but the lackey on the left nodded to Killian as he passed between them. He sensed movement behind him, but before he could react, he felt the butt of the lackey’s rifle connect with the base of his skull, and he dropped to the ground, his vision going black.

Killian came to somewhere deep within the bowels of the building, his arms and legs strapped to a chair in the middle of the room, and he almost laughed at the idea that this would bind him. As if he hadn’t practiced escaping this kind of restraint a hundred times before. A door behind him opened, and Killian heard several sets of footsteps approaching his position, and he waited, not sure whether to expect words or a blow. The scraping of a chair against the floor told Killian that at least one of his new companions had pulled up a chair behind him, but still nothing happened, and they continued to sit in silence.

“Gde Zloto?” Killian demanded, his impatience getting the better of him as the silence persisted. “Where’s Zloto?”

“Do you think ve vould really bring spy like you to Zloto?” a deep voice challenged in its thick Russian accent, laughing heartily, and Killian’s eyes closed briefly as he processed his situation.

“I’m not a spy,” Killian hissed, his fingers tightening around the arms of his chair.

“Naturally,” the voice answered, and Killian got the sense that it’s owner was leaning back in his chair, entirely at ease with the situation. “Tell me, rat, what do you vant from us?”

“Chaos,” Killian supplied, and without warning, the butt of another rifle crashed into his temple, making his ears ring and his head throb painfully, but Killian breathed in through his nose and blocked it out.

“Try again. Truth this time.”

“I want only chaos,” Killian persisted, and he was met with a growl of aggravation.

He prepared himself for another blow, but instead his ears were met with a cacophony of sound as the room ignited with gunfire and shattering glass. Killian looked up, ignoring the shards of glass that were flying, leaving small scrapes against his skin, and saw for the first time that there was a hole in the ceiling that had been crudely covered with a glass pane. Men dressed in black special ops gear were plunging through the hole made by the shattered pane, their rifles belching bullets that found their targets in the brutes standing behind Killian.

“NO!” he snarled, struggling free of his bonds and rushing at one of the soldiers in front of him, tackling him to the ground.

To his credit, Killian put up a better fight than most people this strike team encountered, but he was still woefully overmatched. It took only a few minutes before he found himself pinned, face down on the gritty floor, his arms twisted behind him and a knee pressed painfully into his sciatic nerve.

“Alright cowboy, time to go home, you’re in some deep shit,” the soldier on top of Killian grunted, manhandling him as he tugged Killian to his feet.

“I prefer dashing rapscallion,” Killian spat, his blue eyes like icicles trying to pierce the soldier’s armour.

“Let’s see how dashing you are after Regina gets her hands on you,” he snorted, shoving Killian toward the door.

#cs ff #cs fic #cs au #killian jones #ouat #captain swan #etml

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overwatchimaginations · 8 years ago

Text

Start of Something New

Gabriel Reyes x Reader

WARNINGS:

Implied Sexual Tones

Implied non-con (nothing actually happens)

An obnoxious repetitive beeping woke you up from your slumber. Light was beginning to peep from underneath the curtains, swaying softly from the soft breeze of the open window. You blindly skimmed your hand across the bedside table to push several buttons to turn that damn alarm off.

You’d been working at Overwatch for the past year or so. Secretly. You don’t think your parents would approve, they were very much.. against the Omnics. To say it kindly. Your parents weren’t for peace and justified protests, expecting you to do the same. However, you loved your job and you wouldn’t trade it in for anything else. Your job consisted of buying in ammunition for the agents, from shotgun shells to handcrafted arrows and shurikens.

A quick shower, brush teeth, comb hair, and get dressed. You had to think what you needed to do before you left the comfortable confines of your warm bed.

Just a few more minutes..

* * *

“L/N.” “Yes, sir?’ “Reyes wants to see you. Now.” “Yes, sir.” You had become accustomed to calling everyone ‘sir’, or ‘ma'am’ in the time that you had been here. Strike Commander Morrison had made sure of that.

You made your way through the grey corridors of Watchpoint: Gibralter. To an outsider it may look very much like a military base, but to you it was home. You passed by a couple of agents, nodding in acknowledgement, heads close no doubt whispering about an upcoming mission. You reach the office of Gabriel Reyes, the head of Blackwatch. Blackwatch is a unit of Overwatch, that carries out black ops missions not so legally. To the public, Blackwatch didn’t exist which is why you had to swear secrecy when you joined Overwatch. You were no stranger to this side of the of watchpoint, delivering confirmations and news of deals as you also had to buy ammunition for the unit.

You knocked at the steel door. “Come in.” Your hand went to the handle and turned it, letting yourself in. Reyes was sitting at his desk, some holoscreens open which were swiftly shut. “Commander Morrison said you wanted to see me, sir?” “Yes, Y/N. I have a proposition for you.” You waited in silence, respectfully. “Blackwatch need something. You are the perfect candidate, gatita.“ Your eyes slightly fluttered at the pet name, something only Reyes calls people when he wants sweeten them up. “Unfortunately, some of our other agents are on missions, and some just aren’t.. suitable.” Your right eyebrow slightly raises. “Y/N, we need information. There’s an event that Morrison and I are attending this Friday night. This is where you will retrieve said information. “Sir, may I?” Reyes looks at you, leaning back his chair, waiting. “I.. Sir. I’m not an agent. I buy in ammunition, not use it.” “Gatita, you haven’t even been briefed yet and you’re declining?” He seemed amused. “No, sir, I er-” “Y/N, McCree taught you to fire a gun, sí? Jack has taught you hand to hand combat, sí?” You blush slightly. Reyes wasn’t wrong. It had been compulsory that you learnt the basics of combat, long or short range. “Yes.. sir. But may I enquire as to why you chose me?” Reyes bows his head, pushes his chair back and stands up. He walks around his desk to stand directly in front of you. Reyes puts his finger underneath your chin and tilts your head to look up at him. You can count on one hand the amount of times you were alone with the leader of Blackwatch. Never have you had the chance to study his features this close: his coarse beard hair, the slightly dark tints under his eyes, his eyes. Wow. Dark pools of chocolate staring into you. “Niña. You are the perfect assett. Attractive. Naturally flirtacious. Which is exactly what I need you to be this Friday. It’s a gathering of government officials; everyone dislikes each other but put on a mask as they are the ones that sign off our pay checks. However, they don’t know your face and wouldn’t expect you to pull of something so.. risky.” The corners of his lips tugged up slightly at seeing the reaction from your face. “Don’t worry, gatita, you won’t be in much danger, plus Morrison and I will be there. A simple in and out, if you will.” Reyes smirked. You nodded. You weren’t in a position to decline, both mentally and physically, as Reyes’ finger hadn’t moved from your chin and he was still oh so very close to you. “I’ll send the whole brief over to you later today. You’re dismissed, L/N.”

Your back to the cool steel of the outside of Reyes’ door, you let out a breath you hadn’t realised you were holding. A black ops mission? With Jack and Gabriel? You were excited, but incredibly nervous. He said you weren’t going to be in much danger - what exactly did he want you to do?

McCree snapped you out of your thoughts. When did he get here? “Y'all okay, Y/N? Look like ya seen a ghost.” “Yeah, thanks, Jesse. Just some er, unexpected things going on is all.” “Why’re you outsida Reyes’ door?” “Jesse, please-” “Has he got you goin’ on a mission? Oh my God Y/N if he has you gotta let me kno-” “McCree. Leave L/N alone.” Reyes had somehow opened his door without either of you knowing, making you both jump a little. “Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.” McCree scurried off, leaving you two alone, again. “Y/N, I forgot to mention - don’t tell anyone. Especially McCree.” “Yes, sir.” You dropped your head slightly and walked off, making your way back to your desk.

* * *

You had made it back to your apartment, only after a long day of thinking about your conversation with Reyes. The holoscreen of the brief he had sent you was hovering above your coffee table. You were perched on the edge of the sofa, elbows resting on your knees and hands clasped underneath your chin.

You were to arrive outside of the watchpoint at 7pm, adorned in this dress that Reyes had picked out for you. Black, floor length with a thigh high split, sleeveless but not quite low cut. You had to admit, he had good taste. You were to pose as his ‘partner’, oblivious to Blackwatch and ignorant to other political happenings in the world. Once Morrison and Reyes had distracted the higher ups, you were to say you were going to powder your nose, while actually looking for the Target’s office. From there, you were to insert the drive, download whatever is on the computer and leave. Nice and simple. Everyone important enough should be distracted and if the worst happens, you can always play ignorant and say you got lost. Easy.

* * *

Fresh air drifted across the back of your shoulders; you’d have to talk to Reyes that although his tastes were good, he forgot a bloody jacket. You were standing outside of the entrance to the watchpoint, scuffing your black heels on the ground as you waited for the commanders. You were a bit early, but you’d rather impress your higher ups than be late on the first mission.

Reyes and Morrison arrived together, and boy did they scrub up well. Morrison wore a pair of navy trousers and a matching blazer, with a white shirt that had the few buttons at the top undone. Reyes had on an onyx black suit, with a black shirt and a black tie. To say you were impressed would be an understatement. You did however feel a tad more relaxed that you weren’t the only one dressing up tonight.

“Sir. Sir.” You looked at them both and nodded your head slightly. “Y/N. Ay Dios mío. You look..” Morrison had leaned over to Reyes and whispered something in his ear, then gave him a little nudge. “..Very good. Erm, well done.” Reyes swiftly turned around and motioned for you to follow him, no doubt in the direction of the mission. “So. Although the building is in walking distance, we have decided to bring the dropship along just in case things do decide to get hairy.” You nodded at Morrison’s explanation. “Y/N, you will stay with Gabriel until I give the all clear. Understood?” “Yes, sir.” The rest of walk was in comfortable silence, as Morrison had said the journey wouldn’t take long. You could hear the sounds of people talking and fake laughs, just around the corner. “Y/N, hold my hand.” You couldn’t say no. Well, it was in your brief that you were acting as Reyes’ girlfriend, but you’d imagined it more being his actual girlfriend than a faux one on a mission. You took his right hand in your left, your other hand occupied by a black clutch purse containing the drive. Your face burned a little, Morrison and Reyes were whispering at this point, too quiet for you to hear but there were a couple of chuckles, and a few squeezes on your hand from Reyes. Whether it was reassurance or they were talking about you, you weren’t entirely sure. Before you reached the entrance, you all stopped. “Y/N, this is for you. You may have seen the other agents wear them.” It was a tiny earpiece, almost invisible. “You just put it in there, yes, like that.” Reyes brushed your hair back over your ear to see if you had inserted it correctly. To anyone else it looked as though Reyes was being affectionate.

“Ah, good evening Gentleman and what I may say, a fine lady.” The greeter at the door bowed slightly and smiled at you. He opened the door with a curt nod to the security. “We hope you enjoy your evening. There’s an open bar and canapés will be arriving shortly.” Free drinks and food? You smiled at the greeter, and made your way in through the open door towards the mass of people that had gathered in the bar area. “Y/N, where do you think you are going?” A sharp tug on your hand made you suddenly stop. You turned back, eyes wide and eyebrows raised. “I was going to get drinks. You want this to go as smoothly as possible, don’t you?” “.. Let Jack get them.” Morrison smirked slightly as he made his way through the crowd, leaving you and Reyes in the middle of the tiled floor. “Come, let’s go grab a seat.” You led him over to one of the bar tables that luckily still had three chairs free. Reyes hadn’t let go of your hand, and was making small circles on your knuckles with his thumb. A small awkward silence followed once you both had sat down. You looked over towards the bar, seeing if you could see Morrison with your drinks. “What, missing our company already?” You could hear a hint of sarcasm in his voice. What was going on with him lately? “No, I er, was just seeing if I could see him with our drinks.” You inwardly cursed yourself. You were alone with Gabriel Reyes for goodness sake, the commander of Blackwatch. The majority of people in Overwatch have at some point fancied the likes of him, and now here you were. “It’s okay, gatita,” His thumb making motions on your knuckles again. “You’ll do great.” You smiled slightly at his praise. You were about to take a breath in to say something before Morrison came back with his hands full of glasses. “Open bar, my ass.” He set the drinks down on the table. “Oh ‘Sprite and Coca-Cola are free but you have to pay for the alcohol’.” He was clearly impersonating what seemed to be a very Californian accent. Reyed chuckled slightly, and raised his glass in a toast. “To Y/N’s first.” Morrison nodded and clinked his glass with Reyes’ then with yours. You tapped your glass with Reyes’ and took a large gulp. “Sir, I thought you said you had to pay for alcohol?” “I did, Y/N. And please call me Jack. People might start gettng ideas if you call me that in public.” Morrison squinted his eyes at you and smirked. What you couldn’t see was Reyes glaring at Morrison, his mouth twitching slightly just itching to say something.

“Ah, yes of course, the highly praised Jack Morrison and Gabriel Reyes. How are you both?” A what it seemed very high up official shook both Morrison’s and Reyes’ hands, before turning to you. “And who is this absolute treasure that you have found, Reyes?” “This is my girlfriend, sir. New to the scene, should we say.” All three men chuckled at that. New to the scene? You suppose you had to play along. The man gently took your hand and brushed his lips against your knuckles. “Enchante.” He winked. “Pleasure.” You returned.

An hour and half of mingling, and you had made your way to the centre of the crowd. A light tap on your elbow from Morrison signalled your cue. “Gentleman, if I may be excused, I must go powder my nose.” A smile and a nod from Reyes granted your leave. You turned and headed towards where the ladies’ were, pushing the swing door open and silently thanking that there was no one else in here. Setting your purse down next to the sink, you looked at yourself in the mirror. This dress had done you wonders, probably because of the split up your thigh and the tightness around the waist. You brushed your hair behind your ear and push the button to turn the earpiece on. “Testing. Can you hear me?” “Yes, Y/N. We’ve moved away from the crowd a bit so we can talk to you more freely.” “Okay, good. I’m just making my way there.” You stepped out of the ladies’ and began your course of navigating this maze of corridors. Your heart was beating louder than usual, all down to nerves. Your heels clicking against the tiles made you feel empowered; there was just something about that noise that you absolutely loved. You stopped at the wooden door with a wavy glass pane, at the end of the hallway as instructed by the brief.

Well of course it was locked.

Reyes had prepared you for this. This building was incredibly old, and had not been updated to preserve the history. You took out two bobby pins that were in your purse and straightened them both out. You had bent the tip of one to make it almost look like an alan key, and slid that into the lock. The straight pin slid underneath that one, and with some pressure in the right places and a turn of the pins, the door clicked open. You hastily stepped inside and quietly shut the door. A quick look around the office, and you found what you were looking for: the Target’s computer. You perched on the edge of the chair behind the desk. Reyes had said all you would need to do would put the drive into the slot and it would do all of the work for you. You inserted the drive, the holoscreen lighting up and a progress bar slowly making it’s way 100%. “The drive is inserted. It said it should take approximately 8 minutes.” “Well done, gatitio. Let’s hope everything carries on as smoothly as it has done.”

You had time to spare, so you being as nosey as you were decided to have a look around. A few papers here and there, folders strewn about. You picked up a letter and skim read it. Something about Omnics. When was it not? You tilted your head as something caught your eye. ‘L/N, Y/N.’ Wait, what? ’D.o.B:…’ What is this? Why do they have information on you? “Y/N, time?” “Oh, er, 2 minutes and 24 seconds.” “That’s not enough. Y/N, they’ve noticed a breach in security and have armed guards patrolling. You need to get out now. We’re on our way.” Shit. Could you not hold off for a few minutes? Your heart was racing now, your palms clammy with the thought of being caught. To be safe, you hid against the wall where the door was, that way if anyone looked in, they wouldn’t be able to see you. You could hear several footsteps. Your shoulders tensed, arms up and fists clenched should you need to fight. “I er, zink it vas zis one, boss.” “Well go on, what are you waiting for?” Those voices weren’t familiar. Those voices were close. You heard a click of the door being opened but you sighed in relief when you realised it was the door opposite to yours. “Zhere’s novun here.” “No shit. Keep looking.” The door closed and a few taps on the tiled floor. Your door clicked open. “Look, novun again.” “Jesus, Maksya, you haven’t even loo-” You think your heart stopped when the ‘boss’ walked in. Shit. You weren’t an agent. You weren’t trained for this. “Well, well, well. What is this?” Boss man walked over to the desk and with some expert swipes flipped the holoscreen around. “Download complete? What the fu-” Now was your time. You launched forward at the boss and brought your right arm around his neck, securing it in place with your left. The other guy shouted in surprise and brought his gun, level to where you were. You swung the boss around, so he was being used as a human shield. “Put the gun down.”

You had hoped your would have sounded a bit more threatening, but your dry throat made your voice crack. The gun man chuckled. “Boss, it’s zat Reyes’ bitch. You know the vun that has been showing off all zat she has to offer all night?” A sharp, unsuspecting jab to your ribs from the boss man made you let go, clutching your side. He grabbed your hair at the base of your scalp, crying out in pain, and kicked the back of your knees to make you fall down on the floor. Shit. Your hands clawed at the boss man’s hand in your hair. “She’s feisty.” Boss man’s eyebrow raised. “Tie her up.” Oh no. You weren’t going down without a fight. You eyed the guy with the gun like a hawk, until he went behind you. You heard the clunk of the gun being put on the desk, and then some rustling. Was he taking off his belt? Your arms were brought down behind you, you couldn’t move unless you wanted to rip out half off your hair. Your thoughts were confirmed when you felt leather digging in at your wrists, and then being cinched. The boss let go of you hair, only to be replaced by the other guy’s left hand, and feel of cold metal against your temple. “Pretty. Hands behind her and on her knees. I can think of several ways to make her talk.” The gun man cruelly laughed with his boss.

“Gatita, we got held up. Did you get out okay?” You couldn’t reply. You couldn’t let these strangers know you had contact to the outside. You were supposed to be gone by now, not held hostage in a a stuffy office. “Y/N?” Your heart sank. It wasn’t rare for an agent to die in the field, but it did happen. You just never thought it would happen to you. Tears sprung at the corners of your eyes, threatening to fall. You weren’t an agent. End of. “Now. We know you must be working for Overwatch, hmm?” Boss man stood in front of you, his hand clenched around your jaw to make you look up at him. “That you must be Reyes’ new whore, and got you to do the dirty work, hm?” Your eyebrows creased into a frown. You weren’t going to talk. Feign ignorance. The metal pressed harder against your temple. This was it. A hard slap across the face sent you spinning. You were still held in place but your jaw hurt and you were sure your lip had been cut open. A sharp yank of your hair sent your head further back looking almost directly above you. “If you’re not going to talk, then we’re going to have some fun.” Boss man produced a knife from his back pocket. He brought the blade up to your face, your eyes widening as you were now being threatened by both a knife and a gun. You had always hated knives, even more than guns. There was something so.. personal about being threatened by a knife that had you shivering in fear. “Oh boss, I zink she’s scared.” He chuckled again. Boss brought the blade lightly down your right cheekbone, enough to cause pain and make beads of blood appear. He looked at you, almost as though he was questioning why you weren’t talking. “Y/N??” You heard your name again, but not just from the earpiece. They were running down the hallway, feet stomping on the ground. Boss man grimaced and looked at his colleague. You were brought to your feet by a sharp yank of your hair, the gun now gone from your temple and given to boss man, pointing at you. The blade now pressing against your throat. The door slammed open. Both Reyes and Morrison had their guns already aimed, sweat beads on their foreheads. “Let her go.” “Or what, Reyes? You’ll shoot me?” “Sí.” Clear as crystal. Their mocking tones made you think they have some kind of history. “Fine. Maksya, let her go.” As soon as the blade dropped from your neck and the hand left your hair, boss man had pulled the trigger. Everything seemed to be in slow motion: the pulled trigger, the bullet hitting you, Reyes and Morrison pulling their triggers on the boss. You fell back against the desk, sliding to the floor. You’d been shot. On your left side. Above your hip. You cried out in pain, tears finally falling from your closed eyes. Adrenaline took over and everything went numb. You heard footsteps come closer to you, and another gunshot. You daren’t open your eyes. Your hands were suddenly free and tried to cover your wound in vain. A slump to your right told you the other guy had been dealt with. “This wasn’t supposed to happen, I am so sorry, so so sorry. Jack, we need Angela, we need to get Y/N to the ship, now.” The urgency in Reyes’ voice scared you. You tried to open your eyes but they were too heavy. Reyes was still talking to you, his voice becoming distant. He gingerly picked you up, bridal style. Your head leaned into him and your left hand fell down, finally giving into the darkness.

* * *

A bright light was all you could see through your eyelids. The sterile smell and clanging of metal on metal told you that you weren’t in heaven, but rather a hospital room. A faint repetitive beeping brought you fully out from your sleep. Your eyes fluttered open and your thoughts confirmed. Pristine white sheets, a metal tray with tools, an uncomfortable looking chair with a sleeping Reyes.

You looked more around the room. The window was open, and you could hear the crashing of the waves on the rocks below. Sunlight was streaming in, creating a warmth that you didn’t know that you needed. “Ah! Y/N, you’re awake.” Your eyes shifted over to the source of the voice: Doctor Angela Ziegla, alias Mercy. She was the resident doctor, Swiss, stern but incredibly friendly. “Yes,” you smiled. “I suppose I am.” Your body was aching, and there was a dull throb on the left hand side of your waist. “I managed to remove the bullet and heal you up fine. Healing from a bullet wound is a long process; it could take several weeks, even months. However, you should be back to normal in no time. You may have a scar om your cheek too.. but only time will tell. You were out for about 36 hours..” You frowned at this. Upon seeing your reaction, Dr Ziegler stepped closer to you and reassuringly put her hand on your forearm. “Gabriel hasn’t left your side. He’s been worried sick.” You glance over to him, and can see the prominent dark rings around his eyes. His eyes that were now looking at you. “L/N. You’re awake.” Reyes stood up next to angela, a slight frown crossing his face. “No need for formalities here, Gabriel.” “Of course, Angela. How are you feeling, Y/N?” “Achy. Tired. Hungry.” Both Dr Ziegler and Reyes chuckled at that. “Well, I’ll leave you two alone, and let you catch up.” Dr Ziegler smiled as she tool her hand back, picked up her clipboard and walked out of the room.

Reyes had moved the chair closer to your bed and sat back down in it. He picked your hand up and held it in his own. “Gatita, I am so sorry.” His brows were furrowed. “Please. It’s okay. Dr Ziegler said I’d heal fine and-” “That’s not the point, I put you in danger!” “Danger that we couldn’t expect to happ-” “Y/N. I care about your safety. Hell, I care about you. Anyone could have delivered all those confirmations to Blackwatch, but I always asked for you.” He still wasn’t looking at you. Your eyes moved from him to directly in front of you, taking in the bunch of pastel flowers that you had missed. “Gabriel- may I?” Reyes nodded. “Gabriel. No one could have guessed what would have happened the other night. No one. Don’t beat yourself up for it, because it looks like you have. You have panda eyes, you know that right?” Reyes smiled but it quickly faded. “Panda eyes are better than a bullet wound.” “Very true. I don’t think any amount of cucumbers will help the bruise that I’ll get from being shot.” You started chuckling at your joke but then grabbed your side as the pain shot through you. Reyes half stood out of his chair, concerned. “Do you need anything? I can bring back Angela?” “No, thank you. I’ll live.” You grimaced. “How about I teach you?” “Teach me what?” “How to really defend yourself. To shoot, to fight, to be an agent.” “I.. I don’t know. Yes, it sounds exciting but.. “But what?” “What about my job and well the way that I’m currently in?” “You can teach someone and we’ll wait until you’re fully recovered.” You think that Reyes has been planning this. Taking you on a mission, being taught basic combat. You just weren’t sure. “Y/N, I promise you won’t get shot on every mission.” “That’s if I accept.” “You didn’t say no last time.” Reyes smirked.

God damn, Gabriel Reyes. He was going to be the death of you. You, however, didn’t mind one bit.

#gabriel reyes #jack morrison #angela ziegler #jesse mccree #gabriel reyes x reader #overwatchimaginations #overwatch #overwatch imagines #reaper #soldier 76 #mercy #mccree

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